Sweet Dreamin' Baby Page 2

  Bryce was confused . . . and dismayed. How was he going to get to talk with her if she wouldn't have anything to do with him, wouldn't even let him break his back for her? Since Buck was permanently out of the picture with his marriage to Anne, and few others could hold a candle to the LaSalle brothers in charm, wit, and good looks, the dating game in Webster had been played primarily in Bryce's ball park. He was used to the contestants lining up to take their turn at him, all hoping to be the grand winner. So, why didn't Ellis want to play?

  He didn't speak to her again, except to murmur a thank you when she delivered the next round of drinks to his table later in the night. But he did continue to bother her.

  She couldn't count the times her gaze wandered back to his table to find him watching her. He was very handsome. Her face and neck would grow warm, her hands would tremble, and her insides would tie themselves in knots. She felt nervous and excited at once. He disturbed her in the oddest manner. And she couldn't say she didn't enjoy it. Wondering about what he was like, what he thought about, and what it would be like if he touched her, took her mind off her problems for whole periods of time that were like minivacations. Refreshing and invigorating.

  But her problems far outweighed the pleasure his attention and her fantasies brought her. All too quickly they dispelled her notions of feeling silly and happy and young. All too quickly they would call forth the worry, the struggle, and the strife that were her life.

  It was a physical relief to see him leave with his brother and friends shortly before the bar closed for the night. The emotional bouncing between giddy and guilty was exhausting. She was convinced that once he was out of her sight she could concentrate on one thing at a time—the one thing she needed to concentrate on—money.

  "Come an hour early tomorrow and clean out the back room," Tug Hogan told her, as she pulled her thick woolen coat over her shoulders, getting ready to leave.

  “Yes, sir." She was glad for the extra work. But even though the man scared her half to death and had obviously dismissed her for the night, she couldn't leave. "Mr. Hogan?"

  “Yeah?" He continued to count the till money, not bothering to look at her.

  "Would ya ... would ya know of any more part-time jobs around here? Day work? Somethin' I could do before I come here?"

  He turned his head and gave her a sharp, keen stare. She trembled inwardly.

  "Looty's diner, maybe," he said in his usual terse manner. "But don't be late."

  She was already aware that he didn't tolerate tardiness or laziness. That he'd answered her at all thrilled her.

  "No, sir. Thank you," she said. "Good night."

  He didn't answer.

  She opened the door and stepped out into the night, feeling tired and old beyond her years. She hardly noticed the new crisp shift of snow on the ground except to add it to her list of tribulations. Her feet throbbed on the far end of her aching legs as she climbed into the cab of the old pickup truck. She closed her eyes and prayed that the motor would start.

  The key to the ignition had disappeared long before Ellis had started driving the old truck, but she knew where all its quirks and idiosyncrasies were to be found. Four pumps on the gas pedal and a quick flick of the ignition turned the motor over in cold weather. Four more pumps and another quick flick, and it usually came to life. However, for Ellis, the truck's best feature was its heater. It worked. Winter and summer.

  She waited for the engine to warm up, huddling close inside her coat and wondering how early Looty's diner opened in the morning. She needed to do some laundry too the next day. She drove past the Webster Textiles mill, across the railroad tracks and beyond, to the outskirts of town. She watched for patches of ice on the road and continued with her mental list of things to do as she followed the mountain road to the southeast. An affordable place to live was high priority, along with the second job—a third job might be possible if she could work it in.

  She slowed the truck at a familiar bend in the road and turned onto a deserted logging road. About two hundred yards into the woods she stopped. She wasn't sure why she continued to pull off the road. She'd parked the truck in the same place for the past two weeks and had yet to see another vehicle on the old dirt road.

  She cracked a side window and left the motor running, storing its heat in the cab as she carefully emptied tip money from her pockets. By the dim overhead light she counted eighteen dollars and thirty-five cents. She sighed heavily. She had a grand total of one hundred ninety-two dollars and eighty-one cents to her name.

  Her eyes closed and her head came to rest on the rear window. It was going to take forever to earn the money she needed, she thought wearily. Tired and discouraged, she felt the sting of tears forming in her eyes. She wasn't a quitter and she wasn't a crier. She wouldn't allow her tears to fall.

  She leaned forward and reached down behind the seat back that was as loose as a six-year-old's front tooth. She groped for the small paper bag that contained her vast fortune and added her tip money to it.

  Her booty was far from the total amount of money she needed to return to Stony Hollow, but, in truth, it was more money than she'd ever seen at one time. Ordinarily, she would have taken some pride in what she'd earned. As it was, she could only wish it were more and endure the ache in her heart.

  Her stomach growled as she returned the brown bag to its hiding place and gathered a blanket from the floor of the truck. Under the tattered blanket was a carpetbag that contained all her worldly possessions, save one. And she missed it horribly.

  It was that one small thing that had changed her life from dazed and dependent to discontented and determined five years earlier. The same one that kept her motivated and encouraged when her mind and body wanted to give up and hide. The one her heart clung to as she closed the window, locked both doors, turned off the engine, and covered herself with the blanket. It was the last thing she thought of when she closed her eyes at night and the first that came to mind when she opened them in the morning.

  Two

  "Anybody in there? Hey. Anybody inside?"

  Ellis sat up with a jolt. She'd barely closed her eyes. The voice was a roar in her ears. The rapid pounding on the truck window was nothing compared to the frenzied beat of her heart.

  "I got a gun," she shouted at the dark form standing beside the truck. She trembled as if the temperature in the cab had suddenly fallen to sub-zero. "Step away, or I'll blow your head clean off."

  Lordy, she wished she did have a gun. The presence standing outside the truck door was big and darker than the starless night. Cloud-covered moonlight played tricks with her vision, making it seem as if the human form was there one second, gone the next, and back the next.

  "No. Wait. Don't shoot. I mean no harm," came the obviously male voice—belonging to someone who was clearly worried about her nonexistent gun, someone who plainly didn't question the idea that it was as much her God-given right to bear arms as it was to breathe air.

  "Who are you? What do you want?" She prayed he couldn't hear the fear in her voice. She hoped she sounded like Granny Yeager back in Stony Hollow.

  "I . . . I saw your taillights from the main road. This road ain't used much anymore. I thought you might be in trouble."

  "Well, I ain't. Skedaddle."

  "Okay. I'm leaving." She narrowed her eyes and peered into the darkness for signs of movement. She couldn't tell if he was leaving or not. She jumped when he spoke again. "Are ya sleepin' out here?"

  "That ain't none of your concern, mister. Now git. I don't want to have to shoot ya, but I will if I don't see ya drivin' off before I count to ten." She grimaced with her lie.

  Over the past few years it had become a way of life for her to say things that she knew she couldn't back up. Still, it didn't come naturally. Every time she allowed hollow words to pass across her lips, she'd cringe and pray that no one would test them.

  "The reason I'm askin' is . . . well, we got bears in this neck of the woods. Bobcats too. They're pretty h
ungry this time of year."

  Lordy, she hated it when people played her for stupid. There were more bears than people in Stony Hollow, and she was no turnip. She knew bears, and she preferred them to most people.

  "One," she began to count.

  "It's gonna get colder out here. How are you goin' to stay warm?"

  "The heater works. Two."

  “You can die from the fumes, ya know."

  She hadn't spent the last nineteen years under a rock!

  "Three."

  "Wait now," he said. "Not everything that goes around in the dark is Santa Claus, ya know."

  "Four."

  "Stop that countin', for crissake." He sounded flustered but not frightened. "I can't just leave you out here alone. Why don't ya stay in town ... at McKee's or maybe the boardin' house? I'll go back to town and wake up Jimmy McKee for ya."

  "Five."

  "Well, at least tell me who you are. I'll need to tell the sheriff when he comes up here to chip ya outta there in the mornin'. Your kin'll want to know how ya died." He paused. "I'm Bryce LaSalle. I live about eight miles up the road back there."

  Oh no. Why him, she wondered, rolling her eyes heavenward.

  "Six."

  "I know most everybody in this county and some in the next, but I don't recognize this truck ..."

  "Seven," she shouted hastily. She could almost hear the bells of realization beginning to chime in his head.

  "You're not from around— Ellis? Is that you in there?"

  "Eight." Strangers must come to Webster about as often as they come to Stony Hollow, she speculated.

  The door of the truck rattled on its hinges when he tried to open it. "Unlock the door, Ellis. It's cold out here."

  "Then go home."

  "After we talk."

  "We got nothin' to say to each other. Go home."

  She thought she heard him using cuss words, but when he spoke clear enough for her to understand him, his tone was only mildly threatening.

  "If I go home now, I'll call the sheriff and have him come check on you. Want that?"

  No, she didn't. There was no way of telling if his threat was as empty as her own, but the last thing she needed was to draw any attention from the law.

  She was fully aware of the fact that Bryce had been drinking, and tried to mentally calculate whether the two beers she'd served him could have affected his mind. Taking a big chance, she reached out and popped the lock. The door swung open, and a gust of frigid wind attacked her.

  "Put the gun down," Bryce said, fury at having even an invisible gun aimed at him rippling in his voice. “You don't need it."

  "I ain't stupid, mister. I don't hardly know ya, so I’ll be keepin' my gun. Speak your piece and be done with it," she said, amazing herself with her own words.

  She could hear the limbs of trees cracking from the cold in the silence that followed. Several tense moments passed before he spoke.

  "Move over then. It's cold out here."

  Oddly enough, she wasn't really afraid of him anymore. His voice was gruff but his manner was easy and benign. She drew her legs up under the blanket and pulled herself across the seat to lean against the far door, making room for him to climb in behind the steering wheel. She felt like a child in a tiny box with a very large authority figure when he slammed the door closed . . . but it didn't last long. She was no little girl anymore.

  "What the hell are you doing out here?" he asked point-blank. He couldn't tell if he was more surprised or alarmed to discover her in the woods alone.

  "Trying to sleep?" she said, braving impertinence when his attitude stung her pride.

  She knew he couldn't see much of her body, much less the expression on her face in the dark. But she felt that he was trying to see her, to study her as he had during much of the evening at the Steel Wheel.

  "You have nowhere else to go?" he asked, his voice gentling a bit. "Hasn't Tug paid ya yet?"

  "Whether I been paid or not is none of your business," she said, thinking it best to keep quiet about the near fortune under the seat. There was one distinct advantage to being dirt poor—thieves knew they couldn't get blood from a rock and didn't waste their time trying to rob you. "And where I sleep ain't none of your business neither. So why don't ya get out of my truck and go on about what is your business."

  “You're a sweet talker, ain't ya?" There was a point to which he would applaud her guts and fortitude, but she'd gone beyond it.

  "If it's sweet talkin' ya want, ya got the wrong dog by the tail, mister. I got better things to do. So leave me be."

  “You know, I'm of a mind to do just that," he said in a similar tone of voice. "I don't take to thorny women, and I don't mind tellin’ ya that I’ve taken about all the pokin' and jabbin' I'm gonna take from you. Now, I'm trying to be nice here. But I'm beginnin' to think it would be easier to call the sheriff and have him tote ya off to jail for the night."

  “You can't do that. I ain't done nothin' wrong, and ya said yourself that nobody ever uses this road."

  “You ever heard of vagrancy?"

  "I'm no vagrant."

  "Then ya do have money?"

  "I got a job," she stated, showing a clear knowledge of vagrancy laws.

  He fell silent, and she smiled in satisfaction. She crossed her arms over her chest and waited for his next move.

  She heard rather than saw him groping about the dash just before the cab light came on, illuminating his handsome features and awaking the squirming critters deep in her abdomen. Lord above! He was the handsomest man! she decided, underscoring the jittery feeling she experienced in his presence.

  “You're goin' to drain my battery," she told him, forcing herself to sound calm.

  "I'll jump-start ya," he said, pausing when his words conjured up another meaning in his mind. Looking at her more directly, he allowed his gaze to travel and linger where it pleased. She shivered in her blanket as she recognized the light in his eyes. It wasn't exactly the randy expression of lust she was familiar with, but the avid sensuality and desire were undeniable.

  Recalling himself, he cleared his throat and added, "I can't talk reason to ya if I can't see you."

  “Who asked ya to?"

  There was a warning in his frown but he circumvented her remark and asked, "Where's your gun?"

  "I ain't got a gun."

  Nodding slowly and considering her thoughtfully, he said nothing. His silence unnerved her.

  "I got a knife though. . . ." she said, her tone ominous and quite convincing to her ears.

  "Show it to me," he said.

  "Make a wrong move and you'll see it soon enough," she said, beginning to feel and sound weak.

  He sighed. "What are ya doin' in Webster?"

  "Workin'."

  "If I promise not to steal your money, will ya tell me if ya have any?"

  "No."

  He released another long breath and gave her a hard stare.

  "Damn, you're as stubborn as a blue-nosed mule. Didn't your mama ever tell ya not to stomp on a helping hand?"

  "I never met her, and I don't need no help."

  He closed his eyes in a valiant attempt at keeping his temper. Ellis held her breath and was amazed to see him calm and reflective when he finally opened them again.

  "Okay. Let's pretend that ya have enough money to rent a room in town. Would ya?" he asked.

  "No."

  "Why not?"

  "Why waste the money when I can sleep in my truck?"

  He looked away from her. She watched him with awary eye.

  "If you had a million dollars, would ya rent a motel room?" he asked, turning on her abruptly, his words rapid and impatient.

  "Sure, if I had a million dollars," she said, surprised by both his outburst and the absurdity of his question.

  "So you're not sleepin’ out here because ya enjoy it."

  Her mind focused on the throbbing ache in her back. “Course not."

  “You're savin' your money then. If ya have any, t
hat is."

  She chewed on her lower lip, unsure of how to answer the question without giving him any information. She nodded.

  "Why the hell didn't ya tell me that to begin with?" he asked.

  "Because it ain't none—"

  "—of my business," he said, finishing her most frequently used expression.

  Their gazes met, clashed, and they came to an understanding in a split second—then they laughed.

  She'd never come across anyone quite like him. His face and the appeal of his body notwithstanding, she had the distinct impression that if he were a fire, she could play with him all she wanted to and never get burned. The idea intrigued her.

  "What?" she asked when she looked up to find him staring at her in a peculiar fashion.

  “You're real pretty when you smile," he said in a voice that was soft, southern, and seductive.

  She looked young and innocent. His eyes narrowed as a thought occurred to him. “You old enough to be workin' at the Wheel?"

  "Don't let my baby face fool ya, mister," she said, dismissing her flawless features as a bothersome and irritating impediment in her life. "I'm old enough to do most everthin', 'cept die of old age."

  He was still suspicious. "Old enough to drink legally in this state?"

  “Almost. But seein' as I don't drink liquor that ain't too important, is it?"

  "Tug'll skin ya alive if you're not twenty yet," he warned her. "He's real careful with that liquor license of his."

  "We can't have him doin' that, now can we?" she said, looking out the front window into the darkness when she couldn't force her gaze to meet his honestly.

  Eighteen was the legal serving age for beer, to serve anything stronger you had to be twenty, and you had to be twenty-one to drink alcohol in the state of Kentucky. Ellis thought the age distinctions were negligible, not to mention pointless, when a body was in dire need of a job.

  Bryce had been digging and probing into her affairs nearly nonstop since his first tap on the truck window. She grew uncomfortable with his silence. A covert glance in his direction told her he was watching her again.