Down Home Carolina Christmas (16 page)

She couldn't be within the circle of his arms without feeling a stab of desire so strong that she had to pay attention to it. “Luke,” she said as he found the zipper of her skirt. “Luke,” she said again as it puddled on the floor, but by that time he was lifting her sweater over her head and chuckling at the sight of her.

“I forgot to mention that I wasn't wearing underwear,” she murmured demurely as he swung her into his arms.

“If you had,” he said unsteadily as he climbed the steps two at a time, “we never would have made it out the door at my parents' house before I had my way with you.”

She smiled as he dumped her unceremoniously on the bed and proceeded to yank off his clothes, tossing them every which way until he stood before her, bronzed and hard and ready.

“Fortunately I know when to keep my mouth shut,” she said.

He leaped into bed on top of her and kissed her in a tangle of tongues and merging of lips, not to mention the advantageous juxtaposition of other body parts.

“And when to open it, too,” Luke said.

F
ILMING OF
Dangerous
resumed at the boardinghouse on Palmetto Street, which had been vacant since the last surviving Pankey sister died. Mary-Lutie and Yancey Goforth had lived there the first year of their marriage, and some of the same furnishings remained. Tiffany and Carrie had been working on the delivery of her lines at Tiffany's house on the lake for three days, and Carrie demurred when Tiffany asked her to be present on set.

However, on the morning of the filming, Tiffany phoned in a panic. “Carrie, I need you,” she said, sounding as if she'd been crying. “I can't do this scene without you here, and Luke says I need to pull myself together, and Jules stomped off the set, and I think I'm in big trouble.” The sentence ended in a long wail.

“I'll be there shortly,” Carrie said, tossing aside the yarn that she was winding into balls for Memaw, who intended to knit Luke a sweater for Christmas, never mind that he hadn't said he'd be in town then. Of course, his parents were here, but that didn't mean anything. Luke hadn't spent the last several holiday seasons with them, and she wasn't counting on his starting now.

She arrived at the boardinghouse to find Tiffany barricaded in a bathroom and Jules pacing the floor downstairs. Luke was wheedling Tiffany through the bathroom door but stepped aside when Carrie arrived.

“Maybe you can talk to her,” he said impatiently. “I sure can't.”

Carrie convinced Tiffany to open the door and slipped inside. Tiffany was seated on the lid of the toilet, and Carrie perched on the edge of the big bathtub.

“How can I help?” Carrie said, all concern.

“I'm not saying these lines right,” Tiffany said.

“We practiced,” Carrie reminded her. “Over and over.”

“Jules yelled at me. I need lots of takes, and it scares me when he yells.”

Carrie adopted a reasoning tone. “Let's you and me go over your lines, and then I'll have a word with Jules.”

“He thinks I'm a hysterical female.”

“All right, Tiffany, let's go. First Luke says, ‘Aren't you coming to bed, honey?' And you say…”

“‘Yancey, I told you, I'm not tired.'”

“Remember how we talked about pulling the vowels out of the back of your nose.
Ti-arred.
”

“
Ti-
arred.”

“That's better. After that Yancey says, ‘I love you, Mary-Lutie. I can't stand it when you pull away.'”

“‘I love you, too, Yancey.'”

Carrie continued to feed Yancey's lines to Tiffany, and as they worked, Tiffany's confidence began to return.

“Tiffany, you'll blow Jules away,” Carrie told her.

“You think?” Tiffany asked anxiously.

“Sure. Trust me.”

“I do trust you, Carrie, almost more than anybody. Okay, I'll compose myself while you talk to Jules,” Tiffany said, though not without a last forlorn sniff.

With some relief, Carrie told Becky, who was wringing her hands in the hall, to find the makeup guy for Tiffany and hurried off to locate Jules. He was talking with Luke downstairs.

“Tiffany is ready to resume filming,” Carrie announced.

“What was wrong?” Jules wanted to know.

“She doesn't like to be yelled at.”

Jules ripped off a few choice phrases in a foreign language unidentifiable to Carrie, and Luke slid an arm around her in a show of silent support.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” Luke said warmly as Jules stomped off upstairs. “You're just what we needed.”

“No extra charge,” Carrie said wearily as he massaged her shoulder. “I hope I can leave now.”

“We want you on set in case Tiffany gets upset again,” he told her.

Carrie sighed. She supposed that wrapping Memaw's yarn balls wasn't nearly as important as getting this scene filmed. “Okay,” she said. “I hope it goes quickly.”

After Luke and Tiffany resumed their places in a bedroom where the bed was suggestively mussed and the lights were as hot as the noon sun in July, Carrie wished she hadn't let herself be talked in to staying for this scene. She knew from reading the script that it culminated in Mary-Lutie and Luke falling into bed together and doing things that she and Luke did privately. The trouble was, they hadn't done them for several days, and she was starting to get itchy, if that was the way to put it. She'd have made love with him several times a day if she could.

But now there were his parents to consider, and they required attention as they settled into the Winder place. Luke bought them a car and showed them around town. He went to their house for dinner and stayed late to watch TV with his father after Ruth went to bed. He did this so Howell wouldn't be lonely, but what about Carrie? She was relegated to watching television alone, or working crossword puzzles or talking on the phone to her friends. Killer wasn't all that much company when she was accustomed to someone who carried on a conversation.

While Carrie was reflecting on all this, Luke was getting into the bed. That brought her back to reality, for sure.

With the cameras rolling, Luke smiled enticingly at Tiffany. “Aren't you coming to bed, honey?”

Tiffany exhibited her famous pout. “Yancey, I told you, I'm not tired.” Her accent was perfect, the intonation correct, and Carrie smiled in relief.

Tiffany slowly and provocatively untied her robe, revealing a pink nightie that Carrie recognized from her church clothes bank. Dixie had donated it over a year ago, and Carrie had folded it and put it in the box herself. And now here was Dixie's nightgown right there on Tiffany Zill's body while she climbed into bed with Carrie's own boyfriend!

Carrie turned away, unwilling to watch something so disturbing. But her exit was blocked, and it was supposed to be quiet on the set, and she couldn't leave. She faced front again, hugging her arms around herself and feeling slightly queasy.

Luke delivered the next line earnestly and as if it came straight from his heart. “I love you, Mary-Lutie. I can't stand it when you pull away.”

“I love you, too, Yancey,” Tiffany said, walking over to sit on the bed beside him.

Luke—no, Yancey—reached for Tiffany and pulled her into his arms. They kissed, slow and sweet, and Carrie hid her face in her hands. The scene hit all too close to home. Those were the things she wanted Luke to say to her, and hearing him speak them to someone else, even though she knew he was only acting, was devastating.

As soon as the director yelled, “Cut!” Carrie fled. Pushed blindly through the gaggle of techs and wardrobe people, clattered down the stairs and outside, where she ran all the way to her SUV. Her heart hammered against her ribs, and she clung to the steering wheel and rested her forehead on her hands until it resumed its normal beat.

When she was able, she drove home, where she put on her most comfortable bathrobe and climbed into bed. Before she yanked the covers up over her head, she knew what she had to do. She'd realized it before Luke left for New Hampshire. So why didn't she go ahead and dump him?

Huh. That was easy. She wanted to be with Luke as much as possible until he had to leave. And also, possibly, because she was a wimp?

No one had ever accused her of wimping out of anything in her life, but then, love reputedly did strange things to people.

“W
HAT WOULD REALLY
make this place more like home is a dog,” Howell said that evening over after-dinner coffee around their kitchen table. Carrie hadn't wanted to go to their place for dinner, but Luke had stopped by and cajoled her out of bed, saying that they lived so close, she could come home if her headache got any worse. Carrie hadn't exactly told him she had a headache, but he'd assumed it, and since it wasn't her time of month for cramps, she'd let it go.

Carrie looked around from the pot she was scrubbing in the sink. She had insisted that Ruth sit down because she seemed tired after cooking a huge dinner.

“A dog? Did you say dog?” Carrie said, forgetting she was supposed to have a headache. “I've got a wonderful dog for you, haven't I, Luke?”

Luke leaned against the doorjamb, hands in his pockets as he surveyed the domestic scene, which appeared to please him. “She certainly does, Dad. A very special dog.” He winked at Carrie.

Carrie dried her hands and explained how she'd been allowing Shasta to live at the garage but hoped to find her a good home.

“Maybe her owners will show up and reclaim her,” Howell said.

“Hasn't happened yet,” Luke contributed. “Doubt if it will.”

“She's a pretty dog, white with black spots. She loves to go for walks and play ball,” Carrie said. Howell had recently expressed an interest in exploring the countryside on foot but had decried a lack of companions since Ruth was unable to walk distances. Shasta could accompany him; she loved romping in the woods.

“You could meet the dog, Dad,” contributed Luke. “Plus, Shasta's a movie star. She has a cameo spot in
Dangerous.
”

“Okay, Carrie, I'll drop by the garage tomorrow,” Howell declared, his eyes lighting up.

“I'll even throw in a month's supply of dog food,” Carrie said. “And her leash and collar, of course.”

“We've discussed getting a dog before, but somehow we never got around to it,” Ruth said, and Carrie's heart went out to her. She realized from what Luke had told her and through her own observations since they'd arrived in town that the elder Masons held themselves back from participating in the full life that they could have if only they'd put the past behind them.

To Carrie, it seemed as if Ruth and Howell didn't feel worthy of enjoying themselves, as if they somehow blamed themselves for their daughter's death. She'd already made her mind up to draw them out of themselves and into the life of the community. It was easy to become involved in Yewville. People were friendly, welcoming, and no one knew about the tragedy they'd endured so long ago. Luke's parents could start over again in this new place and perhaps find the pleasure in living that had eluded them for so long.

It was late when Luke took Carrie home, and they chatted about his parents' situation on the way.

“I'll be forever indebted to you if you can interest Mom and Dad in something outside themselves,” Luke said gratefully. “You have a way with them, and they like you.”

Carrie brushed this compliment aside. “I'll get them involved in church. Your mother used to like to go, she said.”

Luke pursed his lips. “After the accident, she couldn't get over how God had let Sherry die. Even though the pastor counseled both Mom and Dad, her faith was never the same. I noticed that after Sherry was killed, every time we went to church, Mom would look over at the door to Sherry's Sunday-school room, and she'd tear up. Finally we all stopped going.”

“This church will be different. No sad memories,” Carrie said, and Luke's hand closed over hers. He didn't say anything, and she thought it was just as well that they weren't, for once, talking about themselves and how eager they were to be alone. That made it easier, when he walked her to the door, to tell him she wanted to get a good night's sleep.

“You're dismissing me?” he said, smiling down at her in a manner that was too charming by half.

“Not exactly,” she hedged.

“Can't I come in? For a good-night kiss?”

She offered him her cheek, but he wasn't having any of it.

“Carrie, what's wrong?”

“Nothing, I just—”

“You can't fool me. Something's going on.”

A chill breeze whirled out of the north, stirring the dried leaves on the porch fiercely. This wasn't going to be easy.

“Are you going to make me stand out here in the cold?” he asked.

She sighed and pushed open the door. He followed her inside.