Sultry. Mary Baxter Lynn
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he wants is for me to marry Peter, live in the big house and have babies.”
Mary Jane harrumphed. “God, what a miserable existence.”
“I agree.”
“If I had to wake up and see Peter’s head on the pillow next to mine, I’d puke.”
Lindsay grinned. “As always, you’re the best tonic I could ever hope to have.”
“You go, girl. Don’t let Daddy shift your gears. You take this project and run with it.”
“Just pray I don’t chicken out,” Lindsay said, Cooper’s scandalized face popping to the forefront of her mind.
“You won’t,” Mary Jane said with airy confidence. “I’m not going to let you.” She peered at her watch. “Oops! Gotta go or I’ll be pounding the pavement looking for a new job.” She grinned as she gave Lindsay a hug. “I’m counting on you to hang tough.”
Later that same afternoon, Lindsay was trying to do just that, only to find her self-confidence in jeopardy, especially after she came home and turned on the computer. To raise money, to round up volunteers—to co-ordinate a project of such magnitude—suddenly seemed overwhelming.
Nonetheless, she had no intention of throwing in the towel until she had at least tried. Her game plan was to officially start the ball rolling in the morning. First she would talk to two very influential people whom she not only considered friends but who had the financial means to help fund the project. Next on her agenda was to approach the local junior college, which she hoped would become part of the triad that included the women’s shelter and her proposed facility.
Her palms turned sweaty as her faltering self-confidence soared into full-blown panic. What if she couldn’t do it? What if she failed?
Simple. Daddy would win.
Everything inside Lindsay cringed at such a thought. She pushed her chair back from the computer screen and rubbed her eyes. It was at times like this, when she was tired and discouraged, that she tended to think about her mother—missing her, reflecting on what her life might have been had Emily Newman lived.
More than that, Lindsay wondered if her own troubled past would always overshadow and undermine her future. Was she emotionally able to tackle such a task? Would she crash and burn again?
Like mother, like daughter?
Suddenly her eyes drifted toward her mother’s cedar chest, positioned at the foot of her bed. Every so often she opened it and fingered Emily’s personal items. The only item she hadn’t touched was the stack of letters from her mother’s best friend, who was also deceased.
Someday she planned to read them, hoping to better understand the woman she had called Mother.
Feeling her dissatisfaction and restlessness reach a dangerous level, Lindsay jumped up, changed into her workout clothes and bounded downstairs.
“I’m going to run,” she told Dolly, who was in the kitchen making a peach cobbler.
Dolly sniffed. “When you finish, I expect you back for a bowl of cobbler and ice cream.”
“I just might do that.”
“Huh!” Dolly snorted. “You best stop telling stories, child. The Lord’s gonna get you for sure.”
Lindsay’s only response was to plant a kiss on Dolly’s chubby cheek.
“It’s still too hot for you to be out there.”
“Love you,” Lindsay called over her shoulder.
Dolly’s satisfied grunt followed her out the door, where she instantly froze. Dear Lord, not again. Mitch Rawlins, along with his crew, was working the huge flower beds next to the porch.
When he saw her, his eyes locked on her, and for a long moment, blue met brown. Lindsay swallowed, but it was hard. The saliva inside her mouth seemed to have dried up, leaving it feeling like she’d been munching on cotton.
“Afternoon,” he said in his low, gravelly drawl. “We’re gonna have to stop meeting like this, you know.”
Lindsay stood transfixed, unable to take her eyes off his sweat-glistened chest. “Uh, right,” she finally managed to get out, mortified by her obvious confusion.
But he shouldn’t be so enticing, sweat and all. Every time she saw him, her body responded, becoming more pliant with a need that was threatening to careen out of control. On top of that, she felt torn by her mind’s resolve not to get involved at any cost.
“Going for another run?”
“It’s good for the old mind,” she said inanely.
He almost grinned. “Don’t you think it’s a bit hot?”
“You sound like Dolly.”
He frowned.
“Our housekeeper.”
“Oh, yeah.”
Their eyes met again for another long awkward moment in the ensuing silence. “Do you ever exercise?”
“All day, every day.”
She flushed. “I don’t mean that. I mean jog, like me.”
“Nope.”
“You ought to try it some time.”
She had no idea what made those idiotic words pop out of her mouth. But when she was around him, she seemed to become someone else, someone totally out of character.
“Is that an invitation?”
Her heart drummed in her ears while she licked her lower lip. She saw his gaze settle there and linger. “What if it is?” she finally said, her voice coming out on a husky note.
Suddenly his features changed, turning hard, almost brutal.
“Count me out. As you can see, I don’t have the time or inclination to entertain a bored rich girl who has nothing worthwhile to do.”
Lindsay sucked in her breath against his frontal attack and held it, her mind reeling. Just who did he think he was?
“You go to hell,” she said through clenched teeth, then swung her back to him and, as before, took off running.
Still, no matter how fast her legs moved, she couldn’t outrun the tears that rolled down her face. She wished she could say it was sweat, but she couldn’t.
First Mary Jane, now Mitch. Within the same day, two people had made comments about her easy, stress-free life. Mary Jane knew better, of course.
Damn him. Damn her for caring what he thought, how he perceived her. And damn her more for finding him attractive.
But what cut even deeper was how her apparent idleness appeared to other people outside her rich circle of friends.
Well, that was about to change. Lindsay straightened her shoulders. She wouldn’t fail this time.
She wouldn’t.
Eight
“Sara, what are you doing here?”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Peter,” she responded in a bored tone, “give it a rest. You can get your shorts in a wad quicker than anyone I know.”
Peter’s mouth formed a cruel line as he grabbed his current mistress by the arm and all but shoved her into a deserted corner of the bank. Once there, he loomed over her and spat, “You listen to me, you little bitch. You’ll do what I tell you.”
Sara Risinger jerked her arm free, then stuck out her lower lip. “Ah, honey, don’t be like that. It’s just that I wanted to see you, and I needed some cash.”
“People in hell need ice water, too,