The Talk of the Town (12 page)

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Setting the cloth bag that held their lunches on the tabletop, Roxie pulled out two wrapped pieces of chicken, two bread-and-butter sandwiches and two slices of cake. Then she sat down in her chair and waited. She knew Luke’s routine almost better than he did. He would go to the icebox to get a sandwich and then, carrying his glass jug of water, he would head outside. But not today. Not if she could help it. Where, after all, was it written that they couldn’t be friends?

The murmuring that drifted through the lunchroom would have told her he’d arrived even if the jangling of her nerves had not. Standing, she put on a wide, welcoming smile. The low hum around her deepened.

Roxie paid no mind to it. Her attention was riveted on Luke. He eclipsed everything and everyone else. He always had. In the old days, if she’d thought about it at all, she would have assumed it was due to his cocky stride, his bold stance, his smug expression. He’d had a way of looking as if he owned whatever piece of property he happened to be standing on. He didn’t look cocky right now, yet his effect was precisely the same.

Just inside the doorway, his steps slowed as if he sensed something was different. He swept a hand through glossy black hair that had grown some but was as unruly as ever and looked around him. Roxie’s mouth went dry and her tummy tightened when he glanced her way. He stopped dead as their gazes locked. Still smiling, she crooked her index finger and beckoned him over.

Luke wavered briefly and then slowly approached the table. How often had he fantasized about her warm smile? How painfully had he yearned for it? He tried to tell himself that she was generous with her smiles, that she smiled at everyone, that she had no way of knowing what it meant to him. But a bolt of excitement shot through him nonetheless.

A dozen clever things to say flew through Roxie’s mind as he neared the table. But she’d also had time to remember all the occasions that he’d rebuffed her over the past few weeks and so she remained silent. Would he reject her again? Had last night changed anything? Was she a fool to believe they really could be friends?

“Hello,” she managed at last.

He nodded a greeting and looked down. “How’s the ankle?”

She stuck out her leg and wiggled her foot. The cloth wrap her mother had applied the night before was barely visible beneath the white anklet she wore with her brown lace-up oxfords today. “Much better, thank you.”

“Were you able to drive yourself to work?”

“I was, and it didn’t bother me a bit.”

“Swell,” he said, and then, feeling everyone’s eyes on them, repeated himself. “Swell.”

It was new to Luke, this sharing of simple memories and good-natured remarks. But a rising tension pierced his pleasure. He glanced around. A clearly avid curiosity gripped the lunchroom. As much as he regretted it, he knew he had to put an end to this sweet interlude. But still he lingered.

Roxie cleared her throat. “Thank you again for taking me home last night.”

“Forget it. I was happy to do it.” He gave her one of those conversation-ending waves of the hand and made to move away.

“I brought lunch for you,” she said quickly. She indicated the food she’d arranged on the table. “Mother even sent the last of the Scotch cake as a special treat. It doesn’t keep well in this heat. The cake dries out and the chocolate icing melts and gets all gooey, and then it’s just a mess to eat.”

He gazed steadily at her but didn’t reply.

Feeling nervous now, she yammered on. “If you don’t help me out, I’m going to have to eat two lunches all by myself.”

Luke continued staring at her, not really believing the entreaty he saw in her beautiful blue eyes. He longed to touch the curve of her lips, to feel the smile he was seeing, to know the reality of it. But her smile gradually faded into a puzzled frown. She tipped her head and the honey gold of her hair whisked softly against the shoulder seam of her simple blue blouse. He stared and he hungered, but not for the lunch.

“It’s chicken left over from our dinner last night as well as bread-and-butter sandwiches to go with it,” she prompted.

And still he just stood there staring at her.

She reached for the chicken pieces she’d set out, partially unwrapped them and passed them slowly in front of his nose, trying to tempt him. “Which piece do you prefer? A leg or a thigh? I remember you ate one of each last night.”

He snapped to his senses, and not a moment too soon. A swift survey told him that everyone had heard her, that they all now realized they had eaten dinner together the night before, and that they were watching them even more keenly than ever. “Thank you,” he said stiffly, “but—”

“Don’t you dare try to decline my mother’s chicken and cake.” She knew by his stilted response just what he’d seen in that quick appraisal, and all her indignant hackles were raised. She drew herself up ramrod straight, sounding amazingly like Mary at her maternal best. “Now, if you’d be so kind as to get me a cup of coffee with no sugar but lots of milk . . .”

Without waiting to see if he accepted her imperative invitation, Roxie unwrapped the rest of their lunch. By the time she smoothed out the waxed paper that held their food and divided the luncheon napkins and forks that she’d brought from home, it was patently obvious that she had planned this lunch down to the last detail. Throughout the room the buzz of speculation took on the drone of certainty.

Luke thought she’d gone stark, staring mad. He quietly said as much when he returned with her coffee and his full water jug. She answered by pointing to the wooden chair across from hers.

“Don’t you care that they’re all talking about you?” he demanded almost angrily.

“No,” she said with a dismissive shake of her head before asking him again, “Which piece—the leg or the thigh?”

“The thigh.” He knew when to give in, especially when he wanted to anyway. If she didn’t care what they thought, he certainly wasn’t going to try to convince her otherwise. He sat down, picked up his chicken and took a bite.

“It’s as good cold as it was hot,” she said.

“Cold or hot, it’s delicious,” he answered truthfully.

“Mother drenches the chicken pieces in honey before she flours and fries them.”

“Where does she get the honey?”

“She used to buy it from your grandfather—I remember how good his honey tasted on her warm biscuits—but I don’t know where she buys it now.”

“Regardless, she’s a wonderful cook.”

“She certainly is,” Roxie agreed.

Luke chewed and swallowed. “What about you?”

“Me?”

“Can you cook?”

She made a so-so gesture with her hand. “I make really good cookies, if that counts for anything.”

That got his attention. “What kind of cookies?”

“Molasses is my specialty.”

“They’re my favorite.”

“Well, then, you can sample them on Saturday.”

He paused with his bread-and-butter sandwich halfway to his mouth. “You’re making molasses cookies on Saturday?”

“Actually, I’m making them on Friday night, in the church basement, and then selling them on Saturday. Or rather, the Ladies Aide is selling them.” She dabbed at her mouth with her napkin. “It’s how we raise money for the charities we sponsor.”

“What charities are those?”

“Well, Saturday’s proceeds will go to buy books for the town library.” She put down her napkin and picked up her sandwich. “Then next month’s will go to help buy whatever the orphan’s home needs.”

He mulled that over as he chewed and swallowed. “And just where will you be selling your cookies?”

“Dad lets us set up a table in the lobby of the bank.”

“I promised to paint my landlady’s porch, but I’ll try to stop by.”

“The bank closes at noon on Saturday,” she reminded him.

He nodded. “I should be finished by then.”

For several minutes they ate in silence, but she was keenly aware of him watching her. When he finished his chicken, she pointed to the piece of cake she’d set in front of him. “If you don’t eat every bite of that, you’ll receive one of my mother’s infamous tongue-lashings.”

“Spare me that,” he said in mock horror. “I’ve known wardens who could take lessons from your mother.”

She sputtered, choking back her laughter. “You shouldn’t joke about a girl’s mother.”

He found himself smiling again. It was a remarkably easy thing to do around her. He swigged some water, then drawled, “I don’t think I’d call your mother a joke. Fact is, I happen to admire her a great deal.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to say something ridiculous like,
You should smile more often
, but she sensibly swallowed the frivolous comment and said breezily, “Oh, you’re right. My mother is no joke. Neither is my father, for that matter.” His smile wavered and then faded. He looked down at what remained of his lunch, then up at her. “Last night,” he said slowly, “meeting your parents . . . I enjoyed myself very much.” He’d never be able to express how much.

“I’m glad, Luke, really glad. We enjoyed having you.” Roxie looked at him expectantly. “Maybe you could come again sometime.”

“But not too soon,” he said without thinking. He saw her stiffen and sprang into an explanation. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”

She sat back in her chair. “Oh?”

He shrugged. “I should have said I’m just not used to being social yet.”

Her expression went blank.

“People don’t realize how noisy prison is,” he explained. “There’s non-stop racket, what with doors slamming, sirens blaring, inmates yelling and fighting. Even the guards add to it. They holler orders and drag their batons across the metal bars. And when the prisoners get too rowdy, the guards turn their radios all the way up.”

She drew a breath that caused her chest to shudder. “It sounds horrible.”

“It is.”

She almost reached across the table to touch his hand in consolation but caught herself before she did.

He took another drink of water before he went on. “Now I live alone, and trying to talk to people, to keep up my end of a conversation, well, in all honesty, it tires me out.”

Relief pumped through her at the realization that he’d simply been tired when he left last night. “I didn’t realize.”

“How could you?” he said, struggling to keep from sounding bitter. “You’ve never known an ex-con, much less had one drive you home.”

She looked away, her heart curling up into a ball of sadness at his bleak tone. Then, remembering Frederick’s caustic remarks from the night before, she faced him squarely. “What if we’d been stopped by the sheriff for some reason? What could have happened?”

Now he shifted uncomfortably. “We weren’t, so why bother talking about it?”

“But if we had been, Luke, what then?” Roxie persisted. “I think I’ve a right to know.”

He could see she wasn’t going to let it go and blew out an exasperated breath. “If we had been stopped for some reason, say, because I was driving too fast or too slow, or maybe even because I wasn’t holding my mouth right enough to suit him, the sheriff would likely have found some reason to haul me in and throw the book at me.”

Swallowing a sip of coffee, she spoke with conviction. “You shouldn’t have taken the chance. Not on my account.”

Luke thought his heart would simply burst. Except for his grandfather, he couldn’t remember anyone else ever caring about what he did or what might happen to him as a result. Forcing an easygoing note into his voice now, he said, “You’re right. Next time you hurt your ankle, I’ll leave you to suffer. Even if it’s broken, I won’t come near you.”

She shook her hair back and looked at him with feigned exasperation. “I wasn’t talking about me. Just my car.”

“Afraid I’ll steal it, huh?” he teased.

Roxie couldn’t help herself, she erupted into laughter. As it waned, she pressed her lips together and said primly, “There is that to worry about.”

Luke laughed, too. Then he picked up his fork and cut himself a bite of cake. While he was at it, he changed the subject. “How did you come to work here, anyway?”

“I needed a job when I came back from St. Louis,” she said without thinking her answer through.

“You lived in St. Louis?” He was truly surprised. There was so much about her that he didn’t know, that he had no right to know.

She slid her gaze away from his. “After I graduated from college, I worked for a dress manufacturing company there.”

The small evasion told him a great deal. Someone had hurt her, badly, and even though he didn’t know who, he hated the person who’d caused her pain. But it was clear she didn’t want to talk about it. And given his own history, he was the last person on earth to probe into another’s painful memories.

Foregoing any questions about her previous job, he washed the last of his cake down with a drink of water. “I heard you’d gone away to school but figured you wanted to become a nurse or a teacher.”

Roxie felt her cheeks flush. It was what he didn’t say, what he didn’t ask, that spurred her to explain. “Actually, I studied accounting.”

“So you didn’t like accounting.”

The statement held a question, one Roxie longed more than anything to ignore. But she couldn’t. He’d opened up to her questioning a few weeks ago. Now it was her turn to keep the slender thread of communication between them from snapping.

“No, I liked accounting well enough.” Seeing he’d finished his slice of cake, she pushed hers toward him and was pleased when he dug into it. “I do quite a bit of it here and now, in fact. It was . . . St. Louis . . . that didn’t agree with me.”

Luke had learned to spot a lie. In prison his life had sometimes depended on it. But in a world without a moment of privacy he’d also learned to respect the sanctum of another’s privacy.

He gave her an out. “You must have missed your family, gotten homesick.”

A grateful smile lit her face, adding a dewy glow to her natural beauty. “I did. I missed them terribly. But to tell you the truth, they were the main reason I left in the first place.”

He found it hard to believe her. Given a family like hers, given the love and the warmth, the caring and the sharing, he’d have stayed put for eternity. They said you couldn’t miss what you’d never had, but they didn’t know what they were talking about. He’d never had the loving support of a family like the Mitchells, and he’d missed it like hell.