Lovin' a Good Ol' Boy Read online

  What if she just kept making one mistake after another while she was there? If she kept judging people on the only standards she knew, she'd have the whole town in a rage. Buck's act of kindness was even bigger now that she knew he'd done it despite knowing who she was. She'd never felt so small in her life.

  She jumped, startled by the sound of another knock on the door.

  Her heart rate zoomed to Mach 1 when she opened the door and found Buck standing there once again. It went into a tailspin when she saw what he had in his hand. He wordlessly held out the fan belt and the change from the fifty-dollar bill. His face was stony and cold.

  Anne took the fan belt and then closed his fingers around the money. "Please, you keep that for your trouble."

  "I don't need charity . . . yet."

  "It's not charity. You saved my life out there and … and you went out of your way to get this fan belt and aft"

  He stepped past her into the room and smacked the money down on the little table just inside the door. Then he stepped back out.

  "I'm no redneck. You don't need to pay me for that," he said.

  "But I'd like to repay your kindness somehow. And I'd like to make up for thinking all those terrible things about you. I—I just don't know how."

  The look he gave her was thoughtful.

  "You could have supper with me."

  "No," she said too abruptly. "Thanks. But I don't think that's such a hot idea."

  "Why not?"

  "Well, I don't think we ought to compromise our positions by seeing each other informally."

  Buck's dark brows gathered in confusion. "Supper. That's all I'm offerin', Annie."

  "My name is Anne."

  "Unless, of course, you didn't really mean what you just said and you're really thinkin' I'll tie a bunch of strings to it."

  Anne hesitated. She wasn't sure what she was thinking anymore.

  "Maybe that's not it at all," he said, responding to her silence as he watched her closely. "Maybe you're thinkin' I'm just some jerkwater hillbilly with a pea for a brain who can't spit straight and walk at the same time. Is that it?"

  "No!"

  "Maybe you're thinkin' that I'm not good enough to go to supper with."

  "That's not true either," she said, feeling indignant and a little guilty at the same time. "I admit that I wasn't sure what the people here would be like. And I do have this thing about banjo music. But I've always thought that—"

  "You were a little better than most people anyway?” he said rudely finishing her sentence before she could.

  "Stop that." The man was infuriating. "I've always thought that people were pretty much the same no matter where they lived. Except for you, of course. I think you're rude, conceited, and mean."

  "Who me?" he asked, astounded. Something twinkled in his eyes. "I haven't got a mean bone in my body."

  He stood, arms out to the side, and displayed himself for her inspection. She didn't want them to, but her eyes roved slowly down the strong lean lines of his torso and slowly back up to his face again. A shiver of pure unadulterated lust passed through her as their gazes met and held once more.

  "You do admit to being rude and conceited, though, I take it."

  "Oh, sure," he said shamelessly. "But I'm a good ol' boy, and it's part of my charm."

  "That's hardly what I'd call it." She could see the light in his eyes flicker with humor. He had purposefully baited her, tested her, and he was pleased with her reaction.

  "That's just because you don't know me very well. . . yet."

  She heaved an exasperated sigh that seemed to come all the way up from her toes, before she shifted her hips impatiently and gave him a stony stare. "I really don't like being toyed with, Mr. LaSalle. I don't have time for this sort of nonsense. If you're such a good ol' boy, why don't you give me a break? I meant what I said before. I'm sorry I offended you. And I would like to make it up to you." She took a deep breath. "But if going out to dinner with you means an evening of being heckled and ridiculed because of my job and where I come from, then you can forget it. Tomorrow morning, at the mill, we’ll sit down and discuss whatever problems you have with the mill closing. We'll iron out the differences, and then I can go on about my business."

  "Annie, Annie," he said, throwing his hands up in the air as if she'd completely missed his point. "That's all well and fine for you. But what sort of business will I go about if you close down the mill?" His brows rose, then lowered again. "Be that as it may, the mill's got nothin' to do with our supper."

  "It doesn't?" She couldn't help but sound suspicious. The man might drop most of the g's in his vocabulary when he spoke, but in his mind he didn't miss a trick.

  "No, ma'am," he said. "Supper's personal. For woundin' me so mortally." He tried looking pathetic but couldn't quite carry it off.

  "All right. All right. I’ll go," she said, chuckling. "You're not going to bleed all over the restaurant are you?"

  "Oh, no, ma'am," he said, grinning. Anne turned her back on his smile to keep her knees from melting and hurriedly set about making herself presentable.

  Coming out of the bathroom, she noticed that he'd stepped into the room and closed the door. She felt dumb for not having invited him in earlier. But being in a room with him was even more flustering. The cab of the truck was smaller, but somehow this was far more intimate. It didn't seem to bother him a bit that they were in the same room with only a bed separating the distance between them.

  "That's more like it," he said, smiling that smile again. He extended his hand to her, and as he was leading her out the door he said, "We’ll have supper together tonight and we can . . . compromise our positions some other night."

  Anne stumbled. Could he really have misunderstood the term compromised positions? She shuddered inwardly and began to wonder what kind of evening lay ahead. She looked up to see him glance over his shoulder at her, his eyes full of laughter, and a teasing grin looking very at home on his lips.

  "Had you worried for a minute there, didn't I?"

  "Of course not."

  He graciously overlooked her blatant lie and moved on good-naturedly. "We've got lots of time for feudin' over the mill, Annie. Tonight, well just be a couple of Harriman employees, havin' supper together."

  "Fair enough," she said. Her mind was riveted on the warmth generated by the easy clasp of his fingers with hers. He seemed to think it was the most natural thing in the world to be walking hand in hand with a perfect stranger, but she didn't. She was very uncomfortable, yet she didn't pull away.

  With laughing good humor he communicated his pleasure at having to help her into the cab of his truck again. Even she had to laugh at their ridiculous routine.

  "Stay put. I’ll go in and tell Jimmy to watch for your car and to take care of your things for you," he said through the open window.

  "Oh, he doesn't need to do that. If he could just get the keys from the mechanic, I can take care of my luggage later."

  Buck shook his head. "Jimmy's a good ol' boy. He won't mind helpin' you out some."

  Before she could say more, he was inside the office. Anne took the opportunity to catch her breath and to remind herself of who she was and what she wanted out of life.

  There was no denying that Buck LaSalle was a handsome, earthy man or that he appealed to a few of her baser instincts. Being attracted to someone like him was understandable, when she had time to give it more thought, but getting involved with him would be something else entirely. Insanity. The last thing she needed in her life was a—what had he called himself?—a good ol' boy?

  "Heaven help me," she muttered, once again wondering what she'd gotten herself into.

  Her caution served only to increase the feeling of being confined and too close when Buck finally climbed into the cab beside her. "Okay. We got an I-talian place," he said, pronouncing the first vowel with a long i sound. "Or we got an American place. Your choice."

  Anne smiled. "What's that? Pizza or hamburgers?"

&nbs
p; He looked over at her, a little surprised. He recovered quickly and smiled. "I'm goin' to be part of the unemployed pretty soon. I'm sure as hell not goin' to blow a wad of money on fancy food for the lady who's fixin' to put me out of work."

  "Well, I can understand that. Either one is fine with me," she said.

  "That's what I like," he said with a smirk. "An easy woman."

  Not as easy as you think, buster, she thought as the engine came powerfully to life. Anne found herself enjoying the moment. She derived a certain comfort from what was consistent and obvious. Like Buck LaSalle. With the superior attitude of someone who was used to dealing with people who had considerably more finesse, she began to think that handling somebody like Buck might not be all that hard. He was about as subtle as a wart on the end of a nose.

  "Is your brother very much like you, by any chance?" she had to ask, ignoring his "easy woman" remark, wondering if she could handle two LaSalles. The report Anne had received hadn't mentioned much about the younger brother, Bryce. Only that he existed and worked at the mill too.

  "Bryce?" He was thoughtful for a minute. "Maybe, I guess. He's quieter than I am, but he's a pretty good ol' boy."

  Quieter?

  "I understand that the two of you are very close, almost inseparable."

  Buck laughed. "We work together sometimes and live in the same house. But aside from that, we're very . . . separable. We're scoutin' around for a good woman for him to marry. Then he’ll have to move out and find a place of his own."

  "Don't the two of you get along?" She would have sworn that she'd understood them to be very close.

  "We get along fine. Always have. But two grown men livin' together is a bit of a strain." A pregnant pause. "He cramps my style, if you get my drift."

  She got it but it wasn't worth commenting on.

  "How old are you?" he asked out of the blue, as if she might be a good candidate for his brother.

  Knowing that she wouldn't be, she answered, "I'll be twenty-eight in a few weeks."

  "How many kids do you have?"

  "None."

  He cast her a curious glance. "Haven't you ever been married?"

  "No."

  He frowned but kept his eyes on the road ahead of them. Anne could almost hear the gears in his brain grinding away on her answer.

  "Why not?" he asked, ignoring the fact that it wasn't any of his business.

  "Haven't met the right man yet."

  His brows shot up, and she could tell that he was surprised, that it didn't seem to be a good enough reason for a halfway decent-looking woman of nearly thirty to be unmarried and childless. Still, he didn't comment on it.

  "What about you?" she asked, feeling bold and entitled to be just as nosey as he was. "Shouldn't you have called your wife and let her know you wouldn't be home for dinner tonight?"

  "No."

  "Don't tell me you're not married either," she said, feigning incredible shock. She grinned at him playfully.

  He executed a sharp turn in the road and then glanced over at her, wearing that smile that made the muscles in her belly quiver. "Not anymore, I'm not."

  "Sorry."

  He shrugged. "It was a long time ago." He didn't appear to be overly affected by the loss of his wife or feel a need to elaborate. He simply changed the subject again. "Where'd you go to school?"

  "What do you want, my resume?"

  "Well, you have my personnel file. And my brother's. I'm just curious as to what we've come up against, is all."

  "Penn State. I got my M.B.A. at Columbia."

  He released a long low whistle. "And you been workin' for Harriman ever since?"

  Anne nodded. It had been a long, frustrating six years with Harriman Industries. But that was about to come to an end. Once she proved to everyone that she could handle any job previously considered to be a man's, she might just go out and find herself a new job. It was a principle she was dealing with here.

  "I noticed on your employment record that you've been with Harriman for considerably longer than that," she said conversationally.

  "Off and on, but mostly on, since I was fifteen."

  She quickly did some mental arithmetic and came up with seventeen. Seventeen years with the same company was impressive for this day and age. He'd done well for himself, moving quickly up to day-shift supervisor and union representative. She knew that there were men at the factory who had been there twice as long, but still, it seemed like a very long time. It certainly explained at least part of their resistance to the closing of the mill.

  As if reading her thoughts, he said, "Around here, gettin' a job at the mill is as good as it gets—unless you're the banker's boy. Then you go off to college and never come back."

  Anne thought she heard a note of bitterness in his voice, but his facial expression was bland until he glanced her way. Then he grinned and added, " 'Course if you leave town, you automatically lose your spot at all the best fishin' holes."

  "A grave consequence, I take it?"

  "The gravest." His smirk told her it was a penalty that far exceeded the deed.

  They passed several chain restaurants on their way through town, and Anne was prepared to pull into any one of them on Buck's whim. However, he passed them all by for a quaint little eatery in the business district of downtown. It came complete with red-and-white checkered tablecloths and candles stuck in wine bottles.

  "This is a wonderful place, but fast food would have done just as well," she said, even as she deeply inhaled the perfume of garlic, yeast, and oregano. It made her mouth water.

  "Not for me." Buck shook his head and recited his life's creed. "I believe in fast cars, hot women, slow sex, and real food."

  "In that order?" she asked, not surprised.

  He had to think it over. "Usually. Cars generally stay fast longer than women stay hot, or I'd reverse the order there. But I do get real hungry after sex." He paused thoughtfully and grinned. "Do you?"

  Caught up in mentally elaborating on the cause of his post-coital hunger, Anne didn't hear the question. "Do I what?" "Work up an appetite durin' sex."

  "For food?"

  "Yeah," he said, grinning at her confusion.

  Her mind went blank. She couldn't remember if she was hungry after sex or not. In fact she could hardly remember her own name as she sat staring into a pair of green eyes that seemed to twinkle and dance like exotic jewels, gripping her mind and hypnotizing her senses.

  Buck allowed the question to fade away as the silence and tension between them grew thick and oppressive. Anne could feel her heart beating in her throat and tried to swallow it, to no avail. She was holding her breath too. She began to feel as if she were suffocating.

  In a desperate attempt to save her own life, she released a gust of pent-up air by saying the first thing that came to mind.

  "My brother Charles is a priest."

  Buck looked startled. He laughed. And then he laughed harder. It was a wonderfully clean, pure sound, but it served only to make Anne feel more foolish. Boy, did she hate feeling foolish.

  Why on earth had she told him about Charles? He wasn't exactly the family talisman. Although, come to think of it, in this particular situation his name and occupation had effectively broken Buck's spell over her.

  "Look, Mr. LaSalle—"

  "Buck."

  "Look, Buck. How I feel after sex isn't any of your business."

  "You're right. I'm sorry," he said, looking not the least bit contrite. "I just thought I might need to bring in extra provisions, just in case."

  "No need to worry. I'm not going to be here that long," she said, refusing to allow his arrogance to get to her.

  "It only takes a couple of minutes." Lord, did the man ever give up?

  "Not if you like it slow, Buck," she said, her voice and smile dripping with saccharine sweetness.

  Buck was saved a reply by the waitress who came to take their order. But before he looked away, Anne caught a glint of approval—or was it challenge—in
his eyes? It might have been both. Either way, she was glad the discussion was over. She felt as rattled as a bat in daylight.

  Anne's manicotti was delicious, her companion docile, as the sun disappeared behind the tree-lined mountaintops that circled the valley. She carefully avoided conversational topics of an intimate nature, and he seemed to be steering clear of subjects that had anything to do with the factory.

  Ordinarily, Anne would have thought that there was little else for them to talk about. It was her understanding that men of the southern rural working class had few interests beyond their cars, their jobs, their women, and their favorite sport. Yet Buck seemed well informed on a variety of subjects, from farming to folklore to foreign and local history and politics.

  "Actually we were one of the border states," he told her as they drove along in the darkness toward her motel. "We are a southern state, and slavery was legal here. But there were a whole lot of abolitionists here, too, and we never did break away from the Union. We fought on both sides, with brothers fightin' brothers on the field."

  The small cab of the pickup truck was warm and cozy even as the late May night grew chilly. The delicious food, the two glasses of wine at dinner, and Buck's euphonious voice had lulled Anne into a relaxed state of contentment. And Buck's failure to mention even once anything about fishing, hunting, or football made her realize she was reluctant to see the evening end. Who would have thought that someone as rusticated as Buck LaSalle could be such a pleasant companion, Anne marveled to herself. Loath though she was to admit it, she was beginning to like him . . . a lot.

  "Course ya know Lincoln and Davis were both born here. Less than a year and a hundred miles apart. I always thought that was real interestin'," he said, contemplating it once again.

  "Mm. It certainly is," Anne agreed, but to tell the truth, Anne could have cared less about the one-hundred-mile coincidence. She was too beguiled by this man. To say that she'd never met anyone like him would be a huge understatement. To say that he puzzled and intrigued her would be another. One minute he was the "spittin' image" of a classic American rube. The next minute, he was an intelligent, charming, and fascinating man.