The Secrets of Rosa Lee (21 page)

A
few miles away, on the north side of Clifton College campus, Sloan McCormick carried the rocking horse into Sidney's house as she held the door. They'd spent an hour filling out forms and answering questions at the sheriff's office. Deputy Adams seemed more interested in what Sloan, Micah and Billy were doing in the house than in the fact they'd been shot at.

Sidney explained that as committee members Micah and Billy had every right to be there checking water damage, and Sloan was a personal friend of hers who just happened to be with her when she stopped by.

On the way to the station, Sidney and Sloan agreed not to mention anything they found in the house, so Sloan stuck to his story that they went by the place to check for water damage.

“Do you think Adams believed us?” Sidney asked as she closed her front door and relaxed. She was glad to be home. It seemed like days since she'd left this morning.

Sloan paused in the hallway just long enough to remove his muddy boots. Then, he followed her into the tidy little living room before answering. “The deputy may have believed us about the shooting, but not about why we were there.” He carefully placed the rocking horse in the center of the room. “He might have pushed, but he didn't feel
comfortable calling the preacher, or you, a liar. My guess is first chance he gets he'll ask Micah what he was doing at the Altman place just to make sure the story holds. As far as I go, he sees me as a stranger in town and, therefore, guilty of something.”

Sloan knelt and carefully began removing the wrapping from around the horse. “Really, everyone had a reason for being there, except me. I was the piece the deputy couldn't figure out.”

He looked back at her. “You've got a nice place here, Sidney. A real home.”

“Thanks. I put together all the things I loved from my mother and grandmother's house. I like having memories around me. It makes me feel like I belong.” She picked up the one photo on her desk. “I'd like you to meet my grandmother, Minnie, my mother, Marbree, and me.”

Sloan tipped an imaginary hat. “Nice to meet the family.”

Sidney knew she was being foolish, but she wanted him to see where she'd come from and, in a strange way, she wanted them to meet him, too.

He turned back to work. She crossed to the kitchen area and asked, “Would you like a cup of coffee?”

“I'd love one. The sisters' iced tea made me feel even colder in these damp clothes.”

She'd been so worried about everything, Sidney hadn't noticed how wet he was. She'd walked to her house with an umbrella, but he'd carried the rocking horse through the rain. She reached for a towel and tossed it to him. “I'll turn up the heater.”

“Just coffee will be fine.” By the time he ran the cloth over his clothes and towel-dried his hair, she stood before him with the coffee. He downed half the cup and smiled.
“Thanks,” he said, handing back the cup so he could continue cutting the tape around their find.

She sat on the ottoman behind him, her knees almost bumping his back. “It frightens me to think that one of you could have been shot.” Sidney reached out, almost touching him.

“We weren't. Someone just wanted to let us know we shouldn't be in the house.”

“Why were you there, Sloan? Why'd you stay with me all day?” Like the deputy, she wanted the pieces to fit together and Sloan didn't fit. She didn't want to think that he might only be interested in the Altman house, but she couldn't help wondering how many times he'd have to prove otherwise before she believed him.

He forgot the rocking horse and relaxed on the carpet in front of her. He used one of his long legs as an arm rest. With his hair a mess, he looked younger. “Don't you know, Sidney?” His words came slowly, not with his usual confidence. “It has nothing to do with the house, or this horse.” He ran his fingers through his hair, doing little to straighten it. “I'll tell you that a thousand times if you need to hear it. My company will get along just fine without the Altman deal. That has nothing to do with you and me, except that I wouldn't have met you if I hadn't been on the job.”

He leaned nearer. “Truth of it is, I'd do whatever I had to do to be close to you.”

“I'm not sure I believe you,” she answered in the only way she could, honestly.

“I can understand.” He took her hand in his. “You think it's all about the house, but it's not.” His thumb rubbed across her palm. “I'm here on a job. A big job for me. And that's what brought us together at first. But now…”

“But now…” If he was going to lie to her, she wanted to
hear it all. She was tired of being blindsided in life, thinking things were as important to others as they were to her. She'd had two relationships in her life with men and both of them had ended in the “let's be friends” speech. She didn't want to be a woman men loved, but couldn't be in love with.

“It's something else with you. I knew it the first day I stood outside your classroom and listened to you lecture. Something more. Like when you see something you didn't know you wanted until the moment you spot it.” He looked up at her. “And that scares the hell out of me.”

He leaned closer and kissed her so softly it made her heart ache.

“I understand.” She straightened, setting his cup aside. “You want to be friends. You think…”

“What do I think?” He leaned back a few inches, surprised.

She knew the lecture, she'd heard it before. “I'm the kind of woman who can be a good ally. A good friend. A cohort you could talk over mysteries with. Since we're both interested in the Altman house, we have something in common, that's all.”

He smiled. “Like hell.”

Before she could react, he raised to his knees and pulled her against him. “If you think all I want to be is your friend, Professor, you'd best think again.”

This time he kissed her with a hunger like no one had ever kissed her before. He tasted of the cool rain and warm coffee as he pulled her against his damp shirt.

The proper part of Sidney wanted to push him away, to tell him to go, to lecture him on how they could never be. Sloan McCormick couldn't just drop into her life for less than a week and expect—expect what? She couldn't think with him kissing her. For a part of her, the part that felt
she'd been waiting for this one kiss since puberty, couldn't resist. She wrapped her arms around him and kissed him back.

Without stopping to talk, he pulled her to her feet. They stood, wrapped in one another. His hands moved slowly over her back, pressing her closer.

When he finally broke the kiss, he whispered near her ear. “You feel so right in my arms, Sidney. I don't understand it. I can't explain it. You just feel so right.”

She smiled, realizing his words were true. Ever since she'd been taller than her prom date in high school, she'd always felt awkward. Ever since, she'd always felt too tall for any man in her life. She was the kind of woman who commanded respect with her proper behavior, not the kind anyone thought of with words like
passion
or
desire.
Even in college, the girls in her dorm had called her Mother Dickerson because she'd seemed so much older than them.

But she was not too tall for Sloan, she realized as he held her. He breathed in deep, filling his lungs with her scent. When she laughed, he caught the sound in his mouth as he kissed her once more. There was no doubt he looked at her with different eyes.

When he broke the kiss once more, he pulled away roughly. “I have to stop, or I'll be spending the night and ruining your reputation, Professor Dickerson.”

Sidney hadn't thought about it, but he was right. The faculty were like characters in a play. Everyone in town kept up with them and everyone who lived in the bungalows knew whenever anyone had company.

He grabbed her hand and pulled her along as he moved to the door. There, he put on his boots, leaned her against the hallway wall and kissed her once more with a hunger that surprised her.

“Before I go, I want to get one thing straight. I'm not
interested in being just your friend. If you're not agreeable to the possibility of mattering a great deal more than a friend ever would, I need you to tell me now.”

She felt too shocked to say anything. From what she knew of Sloan, he was a good man. Never, not even in her dreams, did she think such a man would ever say something like this to her. “I'm agreeable to the possibility,” she repeated his words.

He took a deep breath and placed his hands on either side of her face. “I'm willing to wait. I don't want to hurry you or talk you into anything. But I'm forty years old and through playing games. I'm attracted to you, your quick mind, your tender heart and to that body I feel beneath those very correct clothes.” He leaned closer until their bodies touched. “And if you've no objections, I'd like to get to know you better. Much better.”

When she didn't speak, he tilted her face and kissed her once more. The heat of his kiss warmed her all the way to her toes. When senses completely replaced thought, he leaned away, kissed her lightly on the forehead and walked out the door.

Sidney closed her eyes, trying to keep hold of every feeling for one moment longer.

* * *

Sloan made it back to his hotel room before his cell phone rang. He'd felt it vibrate in his pocket several times since the shooting, but he'd ignored it. Once he left Sidney, he had meant to flip the volume back on.

“Yes,” he said, guessing who would be on the other line.

“Did you get the message, McCormick?” a low male voice said in little more than a whisper.

“I got it.” Sloan walked to the bathroom without turn
ing on the hotel room's lights. “Now, you get this. Leave me alone.”

The man on the other end laughed. “Stay away from the committee, McCormick. Stay away from the professor if you know what's good for you.”

“Go to hell! My interest in Sidney has nothing to do with the oil deal,” Sloan yelled as he flipped on the shower and turned it to hot.

“Sure it doesn't,” the voice said with a laugh.

Sloan closed the phone and stripped off his clothes as steam filled the room.

He stood, letting hot water hit him full in the face when the phone rang again. He didn't move. He knew who it was.

The committee might believe Sloan was only interested in the professor. The mayor would probably not comment one way or the other. Sidney might even accept that his feelings for her were real…but Sloan knew other oilmen would never believe it.

And tonight, they'd made their point in the rain in front of the Altman house.

M
icah awoke with a start. The whole side of his body was in pain. He slowly stood up from the chair he'd fallen asleep in and walked to the kitchen. For a few minutes, he couldn't figure out what was wrong. Then, he remembered. The rain. The rocking horse. Being shoved into Sloan's truck by Billy. Falling in the mud. It all seemed more like some old movie he'd been watching, not real life.

He'd taken aspirin when he'd gotten home, thinking it was just muscle aches. He must need more by now.

When he reached for the bottle, he glanced out the window. The rain had finally stopped. The street looked as though it sparkled in diamonds in the streetlight's glow. This time, just after the rain, was always his favorite time to run. Everything was newborn.

Maybe walking would stretch out a little of the soreness. He needed to think and he did it best when he was on the move. This committee he thought would be so simple was proving to be a mystery. Everyone agreed the house was falling down on itself, but something about Rosa Lee's story drew them all. It was almost as if they had to hold the house up for a little while longer so the secrets could come out. The stories of her never having a lover hadn't been true. The committee knew that much. But what else had happened in the house that no one knew? What other
secrets did it hold? Would they be smart to learn them, or let them stay buried?

Micah opened the connecting door to Mrs. Mac's apartment and grabbed his jacket. Within minutes he was walking the silent streets thinking about the house, the rocking horse, the poem the old nurse had told Sidney. Fuller had died without returning for Rosa Lee. Somehow, Micah felt tied to Rosa Lee. They'd both known the loss of a loved one. And, as of now, they'd both chosen never to get over it.

As he passed Cemetery Road and turned back toward town, he told himself he wouldn't stop in at Randi's place tonight. After Saturday night's crowd, she would be tired. She was probably already asleep.

But, when he passed, he noticed the back downstairs light on. It had to be well after closing time, but she must still be awake.

He decided to knock on the back door. If she were in the front of the bar, she wouldn't hear him and he'd move on without bothering her.

She answered the knock. “Looking for another dance lesson?” she said as she opened the door.

He stepped inside. “I just dropped by.” He didn't know what else to say. “I didn't mean to bother you.”

Randi headed down the hallway toward the kitchen. “You didn't bother me. I was making chili, want some?”

“No thanks.” He followed her.

She didn't seem to hear him. “Chili always sounds good on a night like this. The rain kept away most of the business.” She moved about the kitchen, returning to what she'd been doing. “Have you heard from the Rogers sisters?”

“They went over to the Altman house looking at the roses this afternoon.” He pulled off his jacket and relaxed.
“Then I dropped by their place for supper about eight. I don't think the sheriff's warning slowed them down any. We'd probably be wise to keep extra money around for bail.”

Randi laughed in the low way she had that made him think she laughed at the world. “So, Preacher, you're dropping by all the single women in town hoping for a meal.”

“Something like that.”

“Aren't the Rogers sisters a little old for you?”

“They're fine, but Ada May's meat loaf almost killed me.” Micah pulled up a chair and watched Randi cook. “We had a committee meeting about the old Altman place since we were all together but, as usual, we didn't make any progress.”

“Couldn't the six of you come up with a decision?” Like everyone in town, Randi followed the progress of a committee no one had wanted to be on when it had started.

“Not yet. What's the bet going in the bar?” Micah knew the locals were betting on which way the committee would vote, but then, folks in bars bet on everything.

Randi sat a bowl of chili in front of him. “Most think you'll let one of the oil companies have it. I've heard there are a few fighting over it, so the money they pay may be good. No one really cares about the house. They see it as another falling down property in town. Probably the only people around who can even remember Henry Altman are Old Man Hamm and maybe Luther Oates. As for Rosa Lee, I'm not sure anyone really knew her to start with.”

Randi filled her bowl and joined him. They talked about the sisters, the sheriff and his pregnant wife and what the committee had learned. It felt good to turn over ideas with someone. Randi poured him coffee and encouraged him to at least taste her chili. She told him about growing up in Clifton Creek and finally about the oil-rig accident that
took her husband's life. Something about the foggy night made secrets safe to tell.

“I came into a little money and figured if I didn't want to work at the factory for the rest of my life I'd better invest in something. A bar seemed like a good idea.”

“You could open a café,” he mumbled between bites.

Randi shook her head. “Once I dreamed of being a singer, but it's not easy to make it. In the end, I knew I was just a small-town girl and I needed to go back to where I belonged.”

“Do you still sing?”

She shook her head. “Not much. Once in a while I write a song down in a book I keep behind the bar. That kind of makes me feel as if I've still got my finger in the business. It was just a wild, crazy dream I had, but dreams, no matter how impractical, die hard.”

“I know how you feel.”

She laughed. “I doubt it. I have a hard time believing you were ever wild or crazy.”

“Probably not.” He realized by her standards he'd never done anything. “When I was a kid though, I wanted to raise horses. We moved around a lot, but in one town I got to take riding lessons. From then on I dreamed of having a horse ranch, raising horses.”

“Your parents farmed?”

“No. My dad was an interim preacher. A minister who fills in at churches when they are between ministers. When I was twelve he got assigned to this church that had problems. We moved to East Texas thinking we'd only be there a year. But the church was in a crisis my folks never bothered to explain to me, so I guess I thought we were finally settling. It turned out we stayed four years trying to help the church.”

Micah leaned back in his chair, but his words betrayed
any hint of being relaxed. “I met my wife when we were in middle school in that little town in East Texas. When my parents moved on to the next church, I stayed behind with friends to finish out my senior year, then we both got scholarships to Harden Simmons. I don't remember ever thinking about being anything else but a minister. Amy wanted it. My parents wanted it. My professors in college said I was a natural at problem solving like my father. My strength wasn't in the pulpit, but in meetings.” He hesitated. “I wanted to make things run more smoothly, make the world better, I guess.”

Randi's eyes looked into his very soul. “Did you ever tell Amy about wanting to raise horses?”

The question shocked him, but he answered honestly. “No.” He would have sworn he'd told Amy everything he'd thought or felt from the time he was in the eighth grade. But he'd never told her about the dream. Maybe because he'd known it was only a child's dream and nothing more. He knew little about horses, nothing about taking care of them and had no money to buy land even if he did have the knowledge.

“Well.” She smiled. “It's a nice dream.”

Without either of them saying a word, they stood and cleaned up the dishes. When he dried his hands, he said, “I'd better get back. I didn't mean to take up so much of your time. I guess I just needed to talk to someone.”

“Wouldn't the sisters listen?”

He smiled, caught in his lie. “Correction,” he said. “I needed to talk to you.”

She walked toward her office. “Have you time for one dance before you go? I want to make sure you haven't forgotten everything I taught you. You look like one of those slow learners/fast forgetters to me.”

He followed. “I've time and I haven't forgotten a thing.”

“Then pull off those running shoes and let's circle round the floor one time.”

He tugged off the shoes while she put on the music. When they walked onto the floor, she stepped easily into his arms and he fought to keep from saying
welcome home.

They danced an easy two-step, then when the music slowed, she melted against him and they moved unhurried and easy. He closed his eyes and let his mind drift with the music, drinking in the nearness of her with all his other senses. He could feel her heart pounding against his, smell the spices from the chili on her skin and in her hair. She softly sang the words to the song against his ear.

He let go of her fingers and crushed a handful of her wild hair, needing the feel of it in his memory. He might never hold her except to dance, but he planned to remember everything.

She wrapped both arms around his neck and swayed with him, her body fluid and warm against his as she whispered the words to the song so low he felt them against his throat more than heard them.

He would have been happy if the music had played on forever, but it ended. They separated and headed off the floor, staying close to one another as if the room were crowded. She flipped off the twinkle lights as she moved behind the bar.

He grabbed his shoes and followed not knowing what to say and unsure if he could form words even if he tried. They walked in silence to the back door. They were so close their clothes brushed as they moved.

“Take care,” she whispered and kissed him on the cheek. “Drop by anytime you see the lights on.”

She patted his side and he winced with sudden pain.

“What is it?” Worry pulled her from the slow waltz dream they'd both been floating in.

“Nothing,” he answered. “I just fell against a pickup in the rain.” He didn't want to worry her about the shooting earlier at the Altman house.

She flipped on the light and tugged at his jacket and shirt. “Let me see.”

Micah had a feeling there was no use in arguing with her, so he lifted his shirt. “It's just bruised.” He'd tried to look at it in the mirror at home, but most of the bruising had been on his back where he couldn't see anything.

Randi pulled him toward the kitchen. “It's also scraped. Didn't you clean this up?”

“I wiped the mud off it.” Micah didn't know how to take the mothering. He didn't want to admit how much it hurt and his usual remedy of ignoring pain until it went away would probably work fine.

“Pull off your jacket and shirt.”

He thought of arguing, but she disappeared. A few moments later, she returned with a towel and medicine kit. “I'm cleaning that scrape up and disinfecting it, even if I have to knock you senseless to do so.”

He laughed and pulled off his jogging jacket and raised his T-shirt to his shoulders. “Nice bedside manner.”

“Shut up and stand still.” She pulled a chair up and sat while she cleaned the scrape that ran from his side to his spine.

“This is deeper than you think, Micah,” she said. “If it got infected, it would be a mess.”

He didn't tell her that pain, physical or emotional, was something he'd learned to disconnect from a long time ago. Her hands moved over his skin warming him. He tried not to think about how long it had been since a woman had touched him.

She leaned forward, softly blowing where she'd doctored along his back. The feel of her breath moving along
his skin almost buckled his knees. “I think you'll live,” she whispered, “but I want to take another look next week.”

“Sure, doc.” He started to pull down his shirt, but she stood, so close he could feel the heat of her.

“I have to take care of you,” she whispered. “Friends aren't that easy to come by.” She helped him lower his shirt.

When they said goodbye for the second time at the back door, he turned when she leaned to kiss his cheek just as she had before. The kiss was light, friendly and on the lips.

“Thanks,” he said as he stepped outside and she vanished into shadow. For a moment he stood in the darkness, then knelt and tied his shoes.

She closed the door and he heard the bolt sliding across. The last thing she did each night before climbing the stairs, he remembered her saying. The light went out in the hallway. One came on upstairs. He thought he heard her singing the words to one of the songs they'd danced to.

Micah walked home trying to hold the memory of her near for as long as possible. Somewhere between the talk, the dancing and the chili, he'd become someone she cared about.