Lovin' a Good Ol' Boy Page 15

  "Annie? This is Buck. I . . . well, I miss you. I just wanted to hear your voice. Call me sometime. We can still talk sometimes, huh?" There was a pause, as if he were going to say more, then the line went dead.

  Call him sometime? Why hadn't he simply suggested that she commit emotional suicide every night? Calling him and saying good-bye over and over again would amount to the same thing. She'd never call him. She knew that. Clean cuts healed faster than long jagged wounds. He should have known that and left her alone, she thought bitterly. Racked with sobs, her chest painfully tight, she cried his name and ached for him to answer. That scenario was repeated night after night for nearly a week before Buck gave up on her. She'd waited for the phone to ring again. When it didn't, she cried once more as she pictured Buck at the Steel Wheel, a girl in very tight jeans sitting on his lap.

  Shortly after that, everything in her life just seemed to shut down and go insensate. Gray. Getting up in the morning was an ordeal. Going to work was worse. If she'd had the energy, she might have gone out looking for a new job. She had proven her point at Harriman. Maybe not the way she had intended in the beginning, but well enough at the office—and certainty to herself. She'd done the right thing for all the right reasons, and she was proud of that at least.

  She stepped up on the curb and around the people heading for the double chrome-and-glass doors leading into the Harriman Building. Without looking she automatically pushed the elevator button and stood in a limp stance, waiting for it to arrive.

  "Young people." A woman behind Anne spoke the words with great disparagement. "They give up so quickly nowadays. If they don't get the six-figure salaries their first year out of college, they think life isn't worth living. They turn to drugs and become street people. Whatever happened to the good old American work ethic?"

  "Sylvia," the woman's companion said in a hushed tone of voice, "calm down please. Trevor will find his way."

  "No. He thinks one try at anything is plenty. He failed as an Investment counselor, so now he wants to go back to school to become a doctor. I swear, Milly, Marvin and I’ll be paying that boy's tuition until the day we die if he doesn't figure out that nothing worthwhile comes easy. Everything takes work." The elevator doors opened and Anne walked in, followed by the two women. One of the women, obviously Sylvia, gave her a "young person" stare with a raised brow. Anne smiled weakly in return and watched the numbers above the door light up as they began their ascent.

  "My mother used to tell me that water could wear down a mountain if it kept moving in one direction," Sylvia said, leaning toward Milly and keeping her husky voice a little lower, excluding Anne from their conversation. "Do you know what Trevor said when I told him this?" Milly shook her head. "He said, 'I don't want to wear down a mountain, Ma. I want to be a doctor.' I tell you, Milly, young people have no sense of perseverance anymore. They try it, if it doesn't work like magic, they give up. No backbones."

  Regrettably, Anne's floor came before Sylvia's, but not before the woman had struck a chord deep within Anne. The lift stopped, the doors opened, and the two women stared at Anne for several seconds before she realized she was supposed to get off.

  Water could wear down a mountain! So could the wind. So, too, could Anne Hunnicut, she hypothesized, a brilliant smile forming on her lips as her life blossomed before her eyes.

  "Oh, sorry," she muttered to Sylvia and Milly as she moved to get off the elevator. Impulsively she held the door open and turned to Sylvia, grinning. "Thank you," she said. "Find a way to make Trevor listen to you. You're a very wise woman, Sylvia."

  The woman looked aghast that Anne had been eavesdropping, but for the life of her Anne couldn't feel sorry that she had been. Everything seemed so clear now.

  A giggle bubbled up inside of her, and she didn't try to suppress it. She marched down the main hall with a spring in her step that drew the attention of several secretaries along the way. All the way to the end of the hall, to where the great window offices were located, her path to happiness grew clearer and clearer. So that by the time she reached Calvin's outer office, she knew exactly what had to be done.

  "Mornin'," she said cheerfully. "Cal in?" Before the woman could answer, Anne was halfway to the door. She wasn't normally so pushy, but her life had been on hold too long. She felt super-energized, revved up, and ready to go. "I’ll just go on in. This’ll only take a second." Then she stopped and turned back to the somewhat flabbergasted woman. "Say," she marveled, "your blouse isn't gray at all, is it? It's teal."

  "Y—yes," the woman stammered, stunned.

  "What a relief," she said, grinning as she opened Calvin Schwab's office door.

  "Anne," he said, looking up from the work on his desk, puzzled. "Were we supposed to meet this morning?"

  "I believe we were, Cal," she said, placing herself in the hands of fate.

  He frowned. "When was it scheduled?"

  "A million years ago. In the stars." She was way beyond caring how she sounded. She knew where she was going and what she wanted, and that's all that really mattered.

  "What?"

  "Never mind. I just came in to tell you that I quit."

  "What?"

  "My job. I quit."

  "What?"

  "I'm sorry, but I don't want to give you two week's notice. In fact, I quit as of yesterday, because I have a zillion things to take care of today. And you needn't tell me that this is very irresponsible of me, because I know that. Actually, I don't think I've ever been so irresponsible in my whole life. But I just can't help it. Isn’t that great? I gotta go."

  "Where?"

  "Kentucky."

  "What?"

  "I have to keep moving forward, or I’ll never wear down the mountain. And I don't care if it takes me the rest of my life to do it; I'm going to wear him down."

  "What?"

  "Thanks ... for everything, Cal. Have a wonderful life," she said sincerely, as she backed up toward the door.

  "Anne. Are you out of your mind?" he screeched, appalled by her behavior.

  She grinned and another silly giggle escaped her. "Yep. And it feels great."

  She ducked into her office, took what she wanted, left what she didn't, and was back at the elevator doors inside fifteen minutes. With the skill of the practiced, she had half her apartment packed, an appointment with a realtor for the next day, and a moving company lined up for the day after that, all by five o'clock. She hadn't felt so alive in weeks. Why hadn't this occurred to her before?

  She'd never been a quitter, never . . . well, except for that very morning at Harriman's. And that had been a long time coming. And yet, she'd given up on Buck without so much as a good old American heave-ho. She had gone into their relationship thinking of it as a temporary thing. Buck had too. Her feelings had changed. She wanted Buck forever, but she'd been too proud to tell him. What if, just what if Buck's pride was getting in his way too? What if he did love her? Ha! It didn't matter if he did or not. At this point, if there was the slightest possibility of a future with Buck, she was going to take it. She'd make him love her. If the move to Kentucky didn't work, she'd try something else, and she'd never give up. Not ever.

  She loved Buck and she loved Kentucky and she was going to have it all. And everyone who knew Anne Hunnicut knew that there wasn't anything she couldn't do. Once she set her mind to it.

  ~*~

  "I’ll call when I have a new address and number to give you," she said, speaking excitedly into the phone as she shoved the last of the packed boxes into her bedroom with her foot and closed the door. "The movers’ll be here tomorrow, and I’ll leave after they do, so I’ll probably have something definite for you by Friday or Saturday."

  "Are you sure this is wise, honey?" her father asked, worry and concern clear in his voice. "It's all so sudden. You don't usually make your mind up about this sort of thing quite so quickly."

  "It's the wisest thing I've ever done."

  "Well, you’ve got a good head on your shoulders, and you�
��ve always known what you wanted. So, I suppose you'll do just fine," he said, trying to convince himself that Anne's odd behavior was still based on the good sound judgment she'd used all her life.

  "I'm going to do better than fine," she told him. They exchanged news about her brothers and finally said good-bye.

  Anne stood with her hands on her hips, wondering what else was left to do. All but the bare essentials were packed and stacked neatly in her bedroom, out of sight, so the realtor could get a good look at the apartment. She'd left the furniture in place, because even as excited as she was about this particular move, she still hated the "moving" look a place got when the furniture was out of place, set about haphazardly.

  With nothing but last minute things to do, she walked over to the window and looked down at the busy street below. Two months earlier she'd been so content with her life. She never would have dreamed of giving up her cute little apartment in the family neighborhood she'd grown so fond of. She looked down at the shops and stoops and admitted that she'd miss them. A little bit.

  There were people she wanted to say good-bye to, sights and tastes she wanted to experience once more before she left. The idea of throwing her own impromptu farewell party took root just as the phone began to ring.

  "Annie? Is that you?" Only one person in the whole world called her Annie. She was too surprised to speak. It was as if her thoughts had conjured him up into reality—an extremely weird phenomenon. "Damn machine," she heard him mutter.

  "No, no," she said hastily, her heart seeming to come to an abrupt halt. "Buck, it's me. I'm here."

  "Oh, Annie. Thank God," he said, relieved.

  "Buck? Are you all right. Is something wrong?"

  "Well, not now. But I was beginnin' to think I'd never find you. I guess I should have taken a cab, but I figured that I might as well go ahead and jump in with both feet, so I took the subway. It's not exactly like a bus, is it?" His soft laugh kicked her pulse rate into a barreling speed.

  "No. It isn't." She was breathless and afraid to ask the question uppermost in her mind, fearing she'd be disappointed.

  "I broke down and finally asked a man for directions, but I think I took one too many blocks to the right and turned left when I shoulda turned right. But to make this long story a little shorter, I'm lost."

  Now she had to ask. "You're in New York?"

  "It's real hard to get lost in Webster, Annie."

  She laughed, as much at his discomfort as in pure joy. "Where are you, do you know?"

  "Some I-talian place. I can't even pronounce it."

  "Spell it for me." He did. "Stay right there, Buck. I’ll be there in ten minutes. Don't move."

  She spent the first two minutes screaming and dancing a two-step about her apartment, bouncing off the walls as if she were a bird escaped from its cage. In the next few minutes she pulled herself together and freshened up, trying to look as presentable as possible under the circumstances. She still made it to the restaurant, which was two blocks away, with three minutes to spare.

  She stood in the doorway while her eyes adjusted to the dim lighting. His deep, intimate voice caught her attention before she could clearly make him out. There were only a few tables occupied in the main room. He was sitting in the lounge with a beer in his hand, regaling two very enthralled young women with his good looks and soft southern accent. He looked as contented as ... as a goat in a can factory.

  "I swear. I caught one as fat as ol' Mario's arm there, last summer. Course—" He looked up then and saw Anne. He grinned that belly-twisting grin of his and got slowly to his feet. "Annie," he said. Well, she thought he said it. His lips moved, but there was no sound.

  They walked across the room, weaving through tables and strangers, until they met in the middle. For a long awkward moment they stood staring at each other, gauging reactions, questioning, silently wondering. He didn't seem to be aware that his hands had reached out and taken hers, as if he were testing to see if she were real.

  "Hi," she murmured stupidly, when the silence began to tear at her nerves, and she couldn't think of anything else to say.

  "Hey." His voice was hardly more than a whisper.

  They embraced. It was an uncomfortable gesture, a formality between two people who weren't at all sure what was happening.

  Then Buck stood back and looked at her. Without blinking, he watched her, his eyes foretelling a thousand ways in which he wanted to kiss her. And then, looking suddenly self-conscious and out of place, Buck glanced around the restaurant as if he were trying to find something. Then he turned back to Anne.

  "I. . . Is there someplace we can go? Someplace private. We need to talk," he said, his voice urgent.

  "My apartment?"

  He nodded, turning her back toward the door. He made a typically southern adieu to Mario and the girls that curled Anne's lips and warmed her heart. A month's time hadn't changed him. He was still the friendly, overly confident, kind, sweet, sensitive, adorable man she'd fallen in love with.

  "Pictures and maps don't do this place justice, do they? Ya gotta see New York to believe it," he commented as they left the restaurant and entered the sparse stream of pedestrians on the sidewalk.

  Laughing softly, she took his hand and held it tightly. She was supremely eager to be alone with him. She refused to pinch herself. If she were dreaming, she certainly didn't want to wake herself up.

  They filled their time walking with small talk. How were Bryce and Liddy? Jimmy McKee and Lily and a few other people? How was his trip? Did he drive or fly? How were things at the mill? What position did he hold now?

  "Well, that's one of the things I wanted to talk to you about in private," he said, following her up the second flight of stairs to her apartment door. "But they'll be closin' the deal in another month or so. Art Anderson, the attorney, and Lily and Drake’ll be comin' to town then, to sign all the papers. Everyone's real excited. I think it's gonna work out fine."

  "But what about you? Are you keeping your old job or taking a new one?" she asked, sensing that he was deliberately leaving something out. She had the key in the lock but was too busy looking at him, trying to read his expression, to turn it.

  He bussed her lips with his, and then smiled at her. "Let's go inside. There's somethin' a lot more important than the mill I want to talk to you about."

  She opened the door and turned on a lamp. They both stood in the middle of the room, looking at the absence of anything personal or interesting in the room. Anne had completely forgotten about her move. She had hoped to hear what he had to say before springing her own surprise on him, but he was bound to notice that something was amiss.

  He was frowning.

  "What's wrong?" she asked, noticing his hesitancy.

  "I guess I didn't realize what a clean person you were." He gave the room another glance and then shrugged. "It doesn't matter, though, I ..." He turned back to her, took her by the shoulders, and led her over to the couch, pressing down gently until her knees bent and she sat. Then he walked away from her, as if distancing himself would make whatever he had to say a little easier.

  He paced back and forth between the bedroom and kitchen doors. His agitation made Anne squirm uneasily and move to the edge of the couch. She'd been nervous and jumpy to begin with; his silence was exacerbating it. She was half-expecting him to tell her he was pregnant.

  Suddenly, he gave a shaky laugh and ran his hand through his hair and down the back of his neck anxiously. "Jeez, Annie, I've been practicin' this speech for weeks, and now I can't remember how it starts."

  She smiled at him encouragingly but didn't know how to help him. Besides, she had news that needed to be told too. She was busy searching for her own lead-in line.

  "Do you remember the night you accused me of usin' you? The night you said that you thought I'd had things all planned out between us, right from the start? When we met on the road?"

  "The first night we made love?" she asked with a sweet soft smile of remembrance. "Yes. Vivid
ly."

  "Well, you were right. I did have all sorts of plans laid out in my mind for you. Five minutes after we met. But none of 'em had anything to do with the mill."

  She met his gaze straight on. He had that same look on his face that he'd had the day they'd met. That voodoo look that seemed to paralyze her and make her heart quake with fear at the same time. She didn't speak but waited for him to continue.

  "You see, the minute I saw you standin' there on the road I wanted you. When you got ticked off and told me what an expensive piece of meat you were—" he smiled and chuckled then, remembering the moment, "I figured you might not just hop into bed for me, that I might have to court ya for a while."

  "Court me?" She couldn't help giggling at the old-fashioned term. But only in her mind was she amused. In her heart, his words conjured up emotions of another nature. It surged with excitement and with such vigor that it seemed to energize every cell in her body.

  "Woo you," he said, grinning. And then he gradually became thoughtful once again. "That was the initial plan. I've revised it since then. My goal was basically the same, but ... it all changed. Everything is different."

  "How is everything different?" she asked in a coaxing voice, wishing she could tell if he was feeling as supersensitized as she was, wondering if he was as anxious inside as she felt.

  He looked at her for several long seconds. She saw uncertainty and a real live fear in his eyes that she never dreamed someone as bold and self-assured as he could feel. He turned away from her. Absently, he twisted his made in America cap in his hands, then he turned back to face her a few seconds later.

  "Annie. I. . . damn. This is so hard to explain," he said, concentrating on every word he let out of his mouth. "I feel things for you. You scare the holy livin' hell out of me, but . . . but it's worse when you're not with me. I want to hold you in my arms and make love to you till you scream, but ... I'm afraid to touch you. You're different from the others."