Where the Heart Leads (4 page)

Ten minutes and far too many handshakes later, they were out the door and into the sudden silence of the night. A cool breeze rattled through the live oaks, and Moira pulled the sweater around herself like a shawl.

No need for that
—he put an arm around her shoulders and drew her against his side. God, he was so hot that she should have felt branded. Not that he hadn't already branded her in another way—by tomorrow morning, everyone in Bosque Bend would know he'd cut her out of the herd.

When they got back to the truck, she circled an arm around his neck to be lifted up into the truck. Her eyes half closed and her sweet breasts rested against his chest.

Poor baby. She must be exhausted
—within twenty-four hours, she'd moved into a new house, met the board, been yanked out to a honky-tonk by a guy she hardly knew, and slow danced against him like she meant it.

He drove slowly down the rough road to minimize the bumps and jolts, picked up speed when he turned onto the highway, then dropped it again when he spotted the BUY-1-GET-5-FREE fireworks stand. A protective steel wire with flags hanging from it blocked access to the stall itself, but left enough room in the lot to accommodate the truck. Exactly the sort of setup he'd been looking for.

He crossed the road and pulled into the clearing.

Moira's eyes went wide as he jerked to a stop. She glanced at the darkness out the side window, then backed as far away from him as the seat belt would allow. Her hand moved to the door handle, and her voice became a frightened whisper.

“What are you doing? Why are you parking here?”

Rafe slipped into the same slow, easy cadence he used to calm a spooked horse. “Just wanted to talk, Moira. Thought it was a good place to sort out a couple of things without Mrs. Fuller countin' the minutes we stayed in the truck before I walked you up to the door.”

Her eyes switched back and forth from window to window as if she were searching out an escape route. “I don't like being locked in.”

He flipped open the latch and leaned back into his door to put a few more inches between them. Pretty good bet she wouldn't hop out into a cedar thicket in the middle of the night.

“First of all, I want to say thanks for going with me to Good Times, and second, I'd sure appreciate it if you and your sister would consider comin' out to the ranch Sunday afternoon.” He gave her a lopsided smile. “The only way I could get Delilah to stay with Sissy this mornin' during our board meeting was to promise her the pretty lady would visit us this weekend, and I figure two pretty ladies would make her even happier.”

And that having her sister along would make Moira more comfortable.

Her voice was tight and brittle. “I don't see a problem with that, but I get the feeling the other shoe is about to drop.”

He ran his hand through his hair. How could he say what he wanted to say without her becoming one with the truck door?

“Okay, here goes—number three.” He took a deep breath. “You know I'm attracted to you—I made that pretty clear while we were dancin'.”

He glanced at his wedding ring, then looked back at Moira. “I'm committed to Delilah's mother in eternity, but down here on earth, I think we could have a good time together.”

Moira glued herself to the door again, and his redheaded temper flared.

“For God's sake, stop lookin' at me like I'm goin' to have my wicked way with you! Yes, I want you in my bed! Yes, I'd like to roll you under me right now, but what I'm tryin' to say is that whatever relationship we have and how long it lasts is up to you!” He switched on the ignition and shoved the truck into gear. “And whatever you decide won't affect your job! You have an iron-clad contract, and I'm not in it!”

Goddamnit
, she'd grown up in Sodom and Gomorrah. Everybody knew what it was like in Hollywood. She'd probably had twice the number of lovers he'd had.

Moira awoke the next morning to the screech of her Darth Vader alarm clock, Arne's birthday present to her last year, followed immediately by Ivanhoe leaping onto the bed and licking at her face like a sponge mop.

She squawked, and Astrid came running in, grabbed Ivanhoe by the collar, and hauled him off the bed, then commanded him to lie down, which, judging by the steady beat of his tail on the carpet, he did.

Moira wanted to draw the sheet up over her head and get a few minutes more sleep, but she felt the mattress dip and knew her sister had sat herself down on the side of the bed.

Astrid wanted to talk.

“Oh, Moira—I'm so excited about Rafe inviting us to visit his ranch tomorrow afternoon. It's totally awesome—a real live Texas cattle ranch! And he's such a sweetheart. That vet he recommended for Ivanhoe—I called as soon as the office opened this morning and made an appointment for eleven. We'll have to work out the transportation, though. You're supposed to meet Mrs. Atherton at ten thirty, aren't you?”

Moira rolled over and tried to clear her head. She'd set Darth Vader for later than usual, then hadn't slept well, even though she'd found her night light last night when she rummaged through her underwear. Maybe it was because she was in a strange bed in a strange house. Maybe it was because she was still haunted by demons of the past. Or maybe because whenever she shut her eyes, a certain redheaded Texan was looking at her with way too much interest.

Happy Times had been an experience in itself—Omar and Seward Gap and the cowboy costumes. Then there was Rafe and what he'd suggested—an affair, a sexual relationship, which she could opt out of at any time. No romance, no commitment. Their joining would be strictly physical, a gratification of her female parts and his male parts.

It sounded so…so heartless—but it also sounded safe. No strings attached, which might suit her just fine. At least in theory.

She'd loved Colin so much, and for the first couple of months, everything had been great—until she learned what he really wanted from her. So maybe the sort of relationship Rafe was proposing, one that was based on sexual attraction rather than love, was the way to go.

And she certainly was attracted to him.

But could she risk it? She'd never made the Hollywood party circuit and didn't know the ropes. What if she fell in love with him—or he fell in love with her?

She swung her legs to the side of the bed.

“I've reconsidered. Maybe we should put off visiting Rafe's ranch. Maybe next weekend instead of tomorrow.”

Astrid gave her a look of disbelief. “Come on now. You don't want to let the cowboy's little girl down. Besides, it was pretty obvious last night that he's got the hots for you.”

“I'm not sure whether I feel the same way about him.”
Liar. You want him, but you're afraid of getting involved.

Astrid waved her hands in the air. Her nails were painted with red-and-gold scallops today. “What's not to like? He's good-looking and rich and nice—and oh, those eyes! Besides, he didn't give you any grief about your Roscoe tee, did he? In fact, he complimented you on it—and what was under it.”

“It's just that he—he…”

“He what?”

“I-I'm not sure I'm ready for a relationship yet. Colin—”

“Colin's dead. Moira, get on with your life. I like Rafe. He brought you home safe and sound, he gave me the name of a good vet, and he didn't stare at my boobs like he was trying to figure out my cup size.”

“I'll think about it.” She stood up and headed for the bathroom. “Give me a few more minutes to wake up.”

It's just a visit to a ranch, nothing more
, she told herself as she brushed her teeth. Rafe won't try anything with Astrid and Delilah on the premises. And when you come right down to it, he'd done the gentlemanly thing in an ungentlemanly situation—proposed they have an affair but keep it light.

She washed her mouth out, combed her hair back off her face, and swiped her mouth with lip gloss. No need to dress up today and no need to make pretty.

And Astrid was right. It was time for her to start dating again. Colin was dead, and she wasn't going to let him control her from the grave. Maybe this sex-only thing would be just what she needed to get a new start, a new life.

Her mind made up, she grabbed some underwear, a fresh pair of jeans, and her old UCLA sweatshirt from the closet off the bathroom and finished dressing.

Astrid was pulling up her sheet and coverlet as she emerged from the bathroom.

What else do you say to a little sister sweet enough to make your bed? “Okay, Astrid. Sunday's a go. But don't leave me alone with Rafe.”

“Sure thing. I'll stick to you like glue.” She shot her sister a coy glance. “Unless you want me to unstick.”

Rafe dismounted, gave Sarge a pat on the flank, then led the big pinto into the corral. Sometimes he drove one of the lighter pickups around the ranch, but as Dad always said, you have a lot better view from a horse's back than you do from inside a truck. Besides, Sarge needed the exercise.

Rafe tilted his hat back to take a long last look around. He'd been in the saddle since dawn and would have liked to stay outside a while longer, but Saturday was when he worked on the books.

Damn.
Sometimes he felt like nothing more than a glorified accountant, but he had to keep tight rein on expenses for the ranch to pay for itself plus make enough profit to provide the McAllister bloodline with spending money. But along with his fifty percent of the take, he got one hundred percent of the problems.

He replaced the bridle with a rope halter, then draped the sweat-soaked saddle pad across the fence to dry.

And why shouldn't he be the one to handle the problems? Problem solving was his business. Want a house built across a stream? He knew how to do it. Need an old high school to be repurposed as a town museum? He was the go-to guy.

Yeah, the go-to guy.
But his father had died with a raging gut, and Beth had been killed by random gunfire. And he couldn't do a damn thing about either one of them.

His cell phone rang as he heaved the saddle over his shoulder.

Shit!
Hope that didn't mean that Travis had found another dead calf.

He pulled the phone out of his jacket.

“Rafe, this is Moira.” Of course it was. Every cell in his body recognized her voice. “How do Astrid and I get to your ranch?”

He couldn't help but grin. After the scene at the fireworks stand, he hadn't been sure she'd take him up on his invitation. In fact, he'd had the distinct impression that she was going to turn him down.

“Just go north on the highway and then east on Colby Road. A ways down, there's a turn off to C Bar M—that's our brand. Drive past the one-story house at the entrance—Travis and Rocky live there—and come on back past the trees to the big house.”

Sarge wiped spittle on his sleeve to remind him that he was waiting to be brushed.

“I forgot to ask—do you and your sister ride?”

“We can manage.”

Rafe dodged an impatient switch of Sarge's tail, switched the cell to his left hand, and started brushing the big horse with his right.

“I'll saddle up a couple of horses for y'all, then. Use plenty of sunblock and wear hats.”

Sarge nudged him hard, almost knocking him off his feet.

“Better go. Got a thousand pounds of horseflesh demanding my attention right now.”

He stuffed the phone into his shirt pocket and set to work for real. Sarge shivered with equine ecstasy and made gurgling rumbles deep in his throat.

Rafe snorted to himself.

Wished he could have that kind of effect on Moira Miranda Farrar.

Moira picked up the
Gift of the Magi
music score and dropped it in her portfolio. “I'll drive us over to Mrs. Atherton's. Then you can take Ivanhoe to the vet and stock us up on groceries. I'll call you when it's time to pick me up, probably midafternoon.”

She slid into the driver's seat and watched as Astrid tried to convince Ivanhoe he wanted to get in the car. Understandably nervous, considering how his last ride had turned out, Ivanhoe had to be lured into the backseat with the last of the Shredded Wheat.

After giving a quick wave to Mrs. Fuller, who was erecting blood-spattered Halloween tombstones in her front yard, Moira backed out onto the street and took the appropriate jogs and turns to get to the highway.

She took advantage of a red light as they neared the heart of town to review the directions Pendleton Swaim had scribbled down for her, then wound her way through a tangle of old-fashioned streets and ended up in front of a happy-looking yellow cottage surrounded by a pleasant confusion of flower beds and concrete nymphs. Its metal roof peaked up into a central point above a sweet dormer that looked like a half-opened eye, while pink roses weighed down a trellis on the right side of the house.

Moira handed the keys over to Astrid, grabbed her portfolio, and mounted the steps from the sidewalk to the ground level of the house. Up another set of stairs and she was on the white-railed porch that circled halfway around the left side of the house. A child-sized bicycle was parked under a window beside a painted box overflowing with boy-type toys.

Mrs. Atherton, her long silver earrings flashing in the morning light, opened the salmon-colored door before Moira had a chance to knock. “Come in, my dear. I've been watching out the front window for you.”

M
oira looked around as Mrs. Atherton escorted her past an ornate umbrella stand and a wall of gilt-framed photographs into a large room papered in soft yellow. A large painting of a half-dressed maiden carrying a water jar hung on the near wall, and an open violin case lay on the seat of the baby grand piano that dominated the far wall.

The room was joyous with color. Underfoot was an intricately patterned Persian carpet, and the Victorian sofa and chairs had been freshened up with pink-and-orange chintz and topped with brightly colored throw pillows. Mrs. Atherton's long purple skirt, scarlet cummerbund, and beaded blouse completed the extravaganza.

And here she was in jeans and a college sweatshirt, just as out of place in Vashti Atherton's house as she was at Good Times last night.

Her hostess gestured toward the sofa. A brass tray containing a steaming Chinese teapot and a pair of tiny cups sat on the low table in front of it.

“Let's get acquainted a little before we look at the score, dear. I hope you like jasmine.”

“It's my favorite,” Moira said, settling into the comfortable cushions. “And thank you for inviting me over, Mrs. Atherton. I've studied the score, but I really do need to hear what it sounds like. The music is what tells the story.”

“So glad to hear you say that, dear, but please call me Vashti.” Her hostess poured the tea and handed a cup to Moira. “After all, you are our director, and we're all calling you by your first name.” She lifted the cup to her lips for a long sip. “But from what you say, I assume you have a musical background?”

“Sort of ragtag, but I've got a good ear.”

Vashti replaced her cup on the tray. “Let's get right to it, then. I can't sing all the parts at the same time, but you'll get the idea. Did you bring a digital recorder?

“I get more out of listening to music on the scene. A recorder misses the nuances.”

Vashti beamed at her and stood up. “So true, my dear.” She crossed to the piano and closed the violin case, then placed it on top of a large music cabinet. “Oh, by the way, my older daughter, Carmen, will handle the violin parts and spell me at the piano. Her little boy is in the cast, so it should work out.”

“I'm sure it will.”

Moira put her cup down and moved a spindle-back chair over beside the piano bench. Now to open her ears and turn on her magic memory machine.

Vashti flexed her hands and began playing through the score, backing up occasionally to explain a standout moment she seemed particularly pleased with.

Pen was right—this woman was a genius. Her music defined the story arc—first there was status quo, then hope, then a minor success, then the real downer, and finally, the miracle of the happy ending. The audience would leave the theater feeling drained but satisfied, just like she felt right now. This show could make it a lot further than Bosque Bend.

“Vashti, this knocks me over.”

“Thank you, my dear.” Her voice took on a bite. “I just hope the Fontaine sisters' choreography won't detract from the music. Sometimes they get carried away, like last summer, when we did
You're a Good Man, Charlie Brown
and…never mind.” She turned back several pages. “Let's look at the last couple of measures of ‘Della's Prayer' again.”

It was after three when Moira called Astrid to come pick her up.

Mrs. Atherton walked her out onto the porch and patted her arm. “One more thing, dear. Micaela told me that you and Rafe McAllister were at Good Times last night, and I just wanted to say that Rafe's a dear boy. You can ignore anything Bertie Fuller tells you.”

With a benedictory smile, she turned and walked back into the house.

Moira stared at the closed door.

Now what the hell was that supposed to mean?

Ivanhoe barked joyously as Moira opened the car door. She gave her sister a tired hello, stuffed her portfolio under the seat, and looked in the back at Astrid's foundling. His eyes were bright with welcome, and his tail wagged like a fan set at too high a speed.

“Hi, doggie. Where'd you get that new collar and leash?”

Astrid checked behind herself for traffic and pulled out from the curb. “I thought navy blue was more appropriate for an alpha male like him, so I picked them up while I was at the supermarket, and…” She paused.

“And?” Moira prompted.

The words rushed out of Astrid as if she'd been holding her breath. “It's also in celebration of my new job!”

“Job?”

“Moira, it's rockin'! I'm going to be working part-time for Ivanhoe's vet! The minute we walked into the office, a German shepherd challenged Ivanhoe to a testosterone contest, and Dr. Sjoberg liked the way I handled the boys. Hired me on the spot. It'll be on a trial basis, just like your job, but I start Monday.” She turned onto Austin Avenue. “And transportation comes along with the deal, so you needn't worry about carting me back and forth.”

Moira's chest tightened. Her eighteen-year-old, drop-dead gorgeous sister had been hired on the spot? The vet was providing transportation?

“How…how old is Dr. Sjoberg?” She hadn't brought her baby sister all the way to Texas to be seduced by some hot-to-trot middle-aged veterinarian with a yen for teenage girls.

Astrid shrugged. “Maybe about fifty. She lives in the ritzy part of Lynnwood, up on the hill.”

Moira released her breath slowly—and silently.
She.
Astrid's employer was a woman.
Thank God!

“I got everything on the grocery list too, including all the Halloween stuff,” Astrid continued. “Bats, flying witches, a pumpkin, and half a dozen bags of those little Milky Ways we both like.” She slowed to a smooth stop for a traffic light, then upped speed as Austin Avenue became a highway. “How'd it go with Mrs. Atherton. She looks kind of like a combination of a Mother Goose and a deranged fairy godmother.”

Moira laughed. “Vashti has her own style, all right, but she knows her music.”

Her portfolio began to buzz. Maybe it was Pen Swaim or…Rafe McAllister.

But it was Donna Sue Gomez-Sweeny.

The drama teacher spoke in energetic rushes and interrupted sentences. “Welcome to Bosque Bend, Ms. Farrar! I'm Donna Sue. You've probably heard about me—and I wondered if—maybe about six thirty—or later, if it works for you—I could drop by this evening—you're in the Lynnwood house, aren't you?—to give you lists of the cast and crew.”

Moira nodded into the phone. Those lists were exactly what she needed, and the sooner, the better. “Six thirty will be perfect.”

Moira has just cleared the supper table when the doorbell chimed.

Donna Sue proved to be the same whirlwind of overactivity in person that she'd been on the phone. Her dimples flashed in and out, her hands fluttered, her brown eyes sparkled, and her head bobbed to dramatize her every word.

Her belly did too.

“Hi! I'm Donna Sue, and here's the list—cell numbers, landlines, e-mail addresses, and all. Just wanted to get them to you—and meet you too—while I'm still mobile.” She wagged a manila folder in Moira's direction. “I hope you don't mind my having cast the roles already.”

After taking one look at her guest, Moira was glad she'd asked Astrid to take Ivanhoe for an evening walk. He would have been all over Donna Sue, and the drama teacher, who appeared to be about twelve months gone, was in no condition to ward off a determinedly friendly canine.

“On the contrary, I'm grateful. Saved me a lot of time, and you know what everyone can do. Come in and talk to me, if you have the time.” Moira pushed the door open all the way to accommodate her visitor's girth.

Donna Sue grinned and patted her baby bump—which was actually more of a baby basketball. “Babes, I have two weeks to spare before my little girl arrives—at least that's what the doctor says I have—but what does he know—and then it's off to the races.”

Moira led her guest into the front room, at the same time trying to remember what her character in that after-school special had done when her “mother” went into labor on the kitchen floor.

After edging her bulk down carefully onto the couch, Donna Sue opened the folder and withdrew a sheet of paper. “Everybody's thrilled about you taking the job, babes, especially with
Gift of the Magi
in the works. I'm okay with the tried and true—you should have seen my
Sound
of Music
—but Pen's play has never been staged before.” She waved the page around. “One thing you got going for you—and I'm not kidding—is that Bosque Bend has some real talent.”

Donna Sue moved her finger farther down the list. “You've already seen Micaela Atherton, and you heard Travis McAllister sing—he's playing the Dreamer—when Rafe took you to Good Times last night.” She gave Moira a sly look and her dimples twitched.

Moira jerked and her eyes opened wide. “How did you—?”

“Babes, you gotta understand. Everybody in Bosque Bend—and I mean
everybody—
is into everybody else's business. It's like a soap opera around here.” Her brows drew together as she regarded the list again. “A word of warning, though—Travis will drop you in a second if he gets a good gig—you can't blame him—and also, he's made some emergency visits to the hospital a couple of times lately—God only knows what he's got. You should probably back him up with an understudy—I recommend the Benton kid, Sergio.”

Donna Sue examined the list again and stabbed the page so hard it rattled.

“Billie Joe Semple plays the milliner—that's the second female lead. And then there's Rafe. He's the policeman—a London bobby complete with helmet, truncheon, and mustache. He begins and ends the show sort of like—you know—the Street Singer in
Threepenny Opera
.”

“Rafe's in the cast?”

Donna Sue's dimples deepened, and she patted Moira's arm. “Babes, Rafe's
always
in the cast. He's sort of a good-luck charm. Plus he's the only basso—at least the only
real
one—for miles around, and—wow—does he deliver! The audience loves him. Of course, half the town's related to him.”

Donna Sue looked at another page.

“I've printed out a list of the kids too—complete with phone numbers and e-mail addresses.” She cocked an eyebrow. “A word to the wise, learn from my mistake and don't rehearse them too often in the auditorium—they get used to it and run wild. Let Xandra and Fleurette—they're a little weird, but you can trust them—handle everything in their studio for as long as you can.”

Donna Sue shuffled her pages and pulled out a final sheet of paper.

“This is the list of the crew. Rafe's on it too, of course. Just tell him what you need—scenery, props—well, no, everyone in the cast pitches in on props—you'd be surprised what people have stowed away in their closets and back rooms.” She handed the folder to Moira. “And if Vashti and the Fontaine sisters have at it again like they did this summer, the best thing is to get Rafe—he's a rock—to step in. All the women—it's those sexy eyes of his—adore him.”

Moira stared at the page. “I didn't realize he was so involved.”

“Babes, Rafe McAllister's the one who put the Bosque Bend Theater Guild on the map. I got it up and running, but we weren't going anywhere—I mean, nooowheeere—till he joined us. That was after Beth—she was his wife—died. I think he did it to honor her memory—she had the most beautiful soprano—really luscious—I've ever heard. Sang Marian in my
Music Man
.”

Donna Sue handed the folder over to Moira, then heaved herself up. “I'd better head off. My husband gets anxious—he'll even call the police—if I run late. He's says he's afraid—and I think he really means it—the baby will drop out in the middle of the produce section at H-E-B.” Her dimples appeared again. “Get it—the
produce
section?”

Moira walked the drama teacher to the curb and watched as she maneuvered herself into a fire-engine red smart car.

Beth
—so now she had a name for Rafe's late wife. Probably tall, blond, busty, and beautiful—a Hollywood-beautiful woman for a Hollywood-handsome man.

Today was Beth's birthday, and he'd almost forgotten. How could he do that when he missed her every minute of his life?

The Sunday morning strains of “God Be with You Till We Meet Again” drifted across the cemetery as Rafe knelt to place a bouquet of fragrant lilacs in Beth's grave vase. Ever since he and Travis were kids, Mom had brought them here in season to decorate the family sites. So many McAllisters and Schulers were buried in this cemetery that the place looked like a flower garden by the time she'd hustled them back in the car. But the only grave he was visiting today was in the new section of the cemetery, the one with the headstone inscribed

He stood up, brushed the grass off his knees, and glanced around at the church he'd grown up in, the church in which he and Beth were married the week after they graduated from Eisenhower Consolidated.

They'd met when the high school students from the Bosque Bend end of the county had been transferred over to the newly constructed consolidated school. It had been a hard adjustment for him, especially since he'd had the flu and started a week late. His first day back, he'd been standing in the center of the front hall and trying to make sense out of the list the office secretary had given him when a beautiful girl smiled at him and asked if she could help.

She'd guided him to his classroom, then hurried off down the hall with a smile and wave of her hand. He saw her later that day in the cafeteria. She'd smiled at him again, and he knew he was in love.