Small Town Romance Collection: Four Complete Romances & A New Novella Page 3

  She opened the gate to the white picket fence surrounding the two-story farmhouse which looked like it had been there since the turn of the century. But she'd had the house custom-built just four years before. It was her dream house, and Angel loved everything about it.

  She crossed the verandah which wrapped the house on three sides and noticed that the blue morning glories climbing the porch posts were starting to open with the approach of dawn. She unlocked the front door.

  She always liked to arrive early in the morning and have a few hours by herself. This morning in particular she needed the tranquillity more than she'd needed it in years.

  Angel boiled a kettle of water and poured it over green tea leaves in a ceramic pot and waited for the tea to steep. She propped up her feet on the hassock beside the cold fireplace and watched the sun come up through the French doors leading out onto the patio. As it topped the well house, she could see the silhouette of her first oil well, now standing as a silent sentinel to all that was hers, and the beginning of the successful enterprise known as Conrad Oil, which had grown so fast it still didn't seem quite real.

  Dawn was gone and a new Sunday was born before she poured the lukewarm tea in a cup and put a slice of Hilda's home-made bread in the toaster. Granny would have liked this house. She would have fussed about the cost of it, but she would have grinned that big smile which made her eyes disappear in a face so full of wrinkles it looked like a road map, and she would have liked the peacefulness of a new home. Though Granny never would have put up with someone else cleaning her house and baking her bread. She would turn over in her grave if she knew Angel paid a gardener these days to keep the roses blooming and the morning glories watered, but then when Granny had inherited the property from her father and moved with Angel to the original three-room house on this twenty acres, she hadn't owned an oil company.

  Angel buttered the bread with sweet butter. Someday she might have to watch fat grams and calories, but not today. She liked real butter on her toast, just as her granny had. Thoughts of the past flitted through her mind.

  She and her grandmother had arrived with all their belongings in the back of that old rusty green truck which looked like an accident waiting for a place to happen. The old house had only three rooms—a small living room and kitchen and one bedroom where she and Granny put their twin beds, and a tiny bathroom just off the living room. They'd lived there happily enough until four years later, when her granny had died peacefully in her sleep.

  The preacher had read a poem and the Twenty-third Psalm at the graveside service, and a few church members showed up along with the five girls in her band. Three months later, Angel had mortgaged the property and drilled a gusher. From there, she'd taken one giant step after another, until today she was the major stockholder and president of her own oil company, based in Denison, with branch offices in Oklahoma and Louisiana as well.

  Angel closed her eyes. She had all the money she could spend in a lifetime . . . all the excitement of unexpected success . . . all the peacefulness of a country home to enjoy for the rest of her life. . . but none of it would ever ease the cold, blue loneliness in her heart.

  Three

  Next Friday night, Clancy parked his Ford Bronco a comfortable distance away from the big black bus sitting in the crowded parking lot of the Arbuckle Ballroom, just off I-35 west of Davis. He could hear the thump, thump, thump of the music every time the doors opened and someone either went in or came back out. It was well past midnight and he'd been sitting there for over an hour.

  He wanted to pay the cover charge and go inside to listen to Angel sing, to watch her move with that sexy confidence she hadn't had in high school, to breathe in the essence of her that sent his senses reeling, but he didn't want her to know he was there. He had thought at first that he would simply wait beside the bus and try to talk to her when she finished the gig.

  Whether she liked it or not, he was going to find out what really happened after he went away to college. It occurred to him that he didn't deserve to know after the way he'd treated her, but perhaps she'd forgiven him. They were adults, now, after all, and he had a feeling that his mind wouldn't be eased until he knew the whole story.

  Clancy realized the music had died down. The doors opened, but it wasn't the band members who came out. A big man dressed in black jeans and cowboy boots with silver tips on the pointed toes stumbled out with his arm around a skinny, hard-looking blonde wearing a denim miniskirt and red cowboy boots. Then another couple staggered forth, giggling as they held each other up long enough to get the car door open and drive away. Angel finally came out with her band members and started loading equipment. The lady she'd introduced as Patty, the rhythm guitar player, sat down in the driver's seat and revved up the motor.

  The bus pulled into the parking lot of an all-night convenience store across the highway from the Ballroom. Patty went inside and came out carrying a big bag of chips and a brown bag full of what he supposed was junk food. As he followed the bus, she made a sharp right at the overpass bridge and headed south on the interstate.

  Traffic was sparse at that time of night so Clancy lingered a quarter of a mile behind them. They crossed the Red River into Texas, going east at Gainesville. The bus made a quick stop, in Whitesboro and one of the girls got out. Allie, the drummer, waved at the black bus and hopped into a new model red minivan and drove north. Then the bus headed east until it arrived in Sherman, and turned north to Denison. He managed to keep the taillights in view as it stopped and started through town, finally going down an alley and disappearing through huge garage doors in the bottom floor of an enormous building.

  He eased into a parking place reserved for banking customers only in the lot across the alley and studied the sign which was lit up with overhead bulbs. "Conrad Oil Enterprises?" he said out loud. "Holy cow. Angel must have a rich uncle." He wondered why she had never mentioned anyone in her family having money . . . at least not to him.

  The doors opened again and four vehicles drove out of the building's garage. The first one was a dark Lincoln with the window rolled down, driven by Bonnie, the steel guitar player. A red Cadillac followed her, and Susan, the girl who'd played the fiddle, waved to the car behind her as she pulled out onto the road and went south. The third car was a black convertible with Mindy behind the wheel. The last one was a white pickup, and although Clancy could tell there was only one person in the truck, he didn't know if it was Patty or Angel. Just as he turned the key to start up the engine, he caught a glimpse of Angel, still wearing her sequined vest, standing beside the bus and watching the doors of the garage close.

  Clancy slid down in the seat and waited an hour. Finally, just after dawn, a black Jaguar rolled out of the garage and turned north. He followed it out of the alley, down the side street, and onto Main Street where she turned right and almost lost him. Angel drove faster than the speed limit and crossed the railroad tracks as if they weren't even there. When he hit the tracks, he bounced around like a puppet inside a rainbarrel, but he managed to hold onto the wheel and keep the back end of her car in sight. The road they were traveling on had to have more dog legs in it than the city pound, he thought crossly. It twisted this way and that, and she never seemed to even tap the brakes.

  Then Angel's car made an abrupt left turn. He thought she glanced up in the rearview mirror and spotted him, but evidently she hadn't, because she squealed the tires and took off across a rusty old one-lane bridge, with him right behind her. When he reached the middle of the bridge and looked down, his heart did a flip-flop. Clancy had always been afraid of heights, and this bridge had to be at least a mile above the Red River that flowed below, marking the border between Texas and Oklahoma.

  Surely Angel could have gone home via the interstate, Clancy thought. Anything higher than a two-foot stepladder made him nervous. He shuddered again, but didn't look down at the muddy water. Why in the devil would she want to drive over a deathtrap like this?

  Then the Jaguar took anot
her sharp turn and sped down the road past a cafe on one side and a beer hall on the other. Then suddenly it stopped in front of him so fast, he almost slammed into the rear bumper. Before he could collect his wits she had the door jerked open and was standing with her left hand on her hip, an angry look in her eye and a pistol in her right hand pointed right at his nose.

  "Why in the hell are you following me?" she demanded, then realized who was behind the wheel. "Clancy? What in the hell are you following me for?"

  "Well . . . I . . . I . . .just. . ." he stammered. "Put that damn gun down, Angel. I'm not here to hurt you."

  She lowered the weapon. "Just why the hell are you here?"

  "I just wanted to know where you lived. No one knew," he said honestly.

  "Oh."

  "Got a problem here, Miss Conrad?" A middle-aged policeman opened the door of the cafe.

  "Nope. I thought I did, but it turns out I know this man," she told him.

  "Sure?" the policeman asked cautiously as he noticed the gun still in her hand.

  "Yes, I'm sure," she said. "He's an old classmate of mine. I'm fine, Bruce. Thanks for checking on me."

  "Okay. I know you have a permit for that gun. But be careful who you point it at. If he really is an old classmate, I don't know why you have it out of your purse," the officer said as he got into his black and white patrol car.

  Clancy and Angel watched him drive away, and then Clancy spoke.

  "I want some answers," he demanded.

  "Oh? I wanted some answers ten years ago, Clancy. But you only gave me some unsolicited advice about marrying Billy Joe. So what gives you the right to expect answers now?" Her eyes flashed and her hands shook so badly, she nearly dropped her pearl-handled .22 pistol. Angel couldn't decide whether she wanted to kill him . . . or kiss him. And his reply didn't help her make up her mind.

  "Maybe I don't have any right to talk to you at all. I'll leave you alone if that's what you want. I just wanted to satisfy my curiosity, I guess. I waited in the parking lot at that ballroom up in Davis and followed you. Do you work for that oil company or something?"

  "It's none of your damned business where I work or what I do. Go home to your small town, Clancy. I'm not a naive little girl anymore. And I'm sure as hell not impressed with you." Angel slammed the door to his Bronco and stomped back to her car.

  She whipped the Jaguar back out onto the highway, spinning up the gravel. He watched the taillights getting smaller and smaller, and then, on the spur of the moment and against his better judgment, he followed her.

  Clancy noticed a sign that said Muddy Creek Road when they turned right and suddenly his tires were crunching over gravel, but she didn't slow down much. Just when he thought it was as bad as it could get, the road turned into little more than a pathway with tall weeds towering over his vehicle. He'd need a machete to chop his way out of this mess if he ever ran out of gas. Grass grew at least knee-high in the middle of the two ruts, and he wondered if she was aware of him behind her and was leading him out into the middle of someone's farm pond to drown him. Then she whipped the Jaguar to the right and down a beautiful macadam lane with trees and flowers growing on both sides.

  Angel didn't stop to smell the roses or enjoy the morning glories as she stomped across the wooden porch to the front door of the farmhouse. She had the door opened and was about to flip the light switch when she heard the scrunch of gravel as Clancy drove up. Great. All she wanted was a few hours to herself, and he had the nerve to follow her. Her nerves were exposed and raw after actually facing him and hearing him call her name.

  She heard his car door slam and turned to see Clancy walking up the flower-edged sidewalk to the porch. Her first thought was to pull that little revolver out of her purse and shoot him before he reached her porch; her second was to meet him halfway and drag him up to her bedroom.

  "This where you live?" he asked casually. Leave it to Clancy to act as if nothing important had ever happened between them.

  "No, this is where my boyfriend and I live together," she retorted as hatefully as she could, and then wondered where that lie came from.

  "Oh, really?" He was beside her. "What's his name?"

  "Nosey, aren't you?" she said.

  "You still haven't told me the story of your life," he said calmly. Clancy sat down in the porch swing as if he owned the place.

  "I'm going to bed. I played a gig half the night, and I plan to work here all weekend. Looks like you've been up all night, too, but that's your problem, Clancy. Good night or morning or whatever. Most important, good-bye!" she said, and shut the door.

  Angel bypassed the kitchen and went straight upstairs, took a quick shower and crawled into the four-poster bed. So now he knew where she lived and where she worked and he would probably be back. But even if he came back a million times she wouldn't tell him anything. What had happened after he'd left her ten years ago simply was none of his business. She pulled a pillow over her eyes and willed her tired mind and body to go to sleep.

  She awoke in the middle of the afternoon. She could hear a lawn mower in the backyard, so evidently Jimmy was working back there. The noise of the vacuum cleaner in the living room let her know Hilda was busy.

  Which reminded Angel to get busy herself. For one thing, it had been at least a month since she's been over to the cemetery and she knew the weeds were probably knee deep. She had planted a flower garden on and around the grave sites this past spring. On a whim, she'd then put a white wrought-iron bench at the end of the graves so she could sit and think. What might her granny have told her to do about a problem like this?

  A problem named Clancy.

  The man was back and he wasn't going to leave her alone, no matter what he said. She snuggled down in her bed and remembered again the look on his face when she'd told him she was pregnant that night on the sandbar by Pennington Creek. Every word he'd said still rang in her ears . . .

  "Angela, you mean to say you aren't on the pill? Hellfire and damnation, I never would've—" Clancy stopped and glared at her. "Well, it won't work. I'm not going to marry you. Lord, I'd be the laughingstock of the whole damn town of Tishomingo."

  "Did I ask you to marry me?" She looked up at him. "I sure wouldn't want to upset your precious plans with your sweet little Melissa, now would I? Heaven help us if she didn't get her way."

  "Don't you talk about her like that! She's got more class than—"

  Angela stood up and slapped him soundly across the cheek. "Go back to her then. And forget all about us. About everything we did this summer. Go ahead and marry Melissa," she said in a voice just barely above a whisper, hoarse with emotion.

  "Don't you dare go to my folks and tell them." Clancy held his red cheek. His eyes flashed anger and the deep cleft in his chin quivered just slightly. He raked his hand through his dark-brown hair, not knowing whether to walk away or sit down and talk some more.

  "I'll tell whoever I want." Angela turned her back on him.

  "I've got five hundred dollars of my graduation money left. I'll give it to you for an abortion," he offered.

  "Just go away, Clancy. I don't know why I ever thought I loved you, anyway. It's a cinch you never did love me." She stepped out of the water and grabbed her shorts.

  "Sit down," Clancy said. "Listen to me. There's a solution. Bob got Janie in the family way last year and they told everyone they were going to the mall in Oklahoma City and to the movies, and then he was taking her to her girlfriend's for the night. They got a motel room and stayed in it after the abortion. Nothing bad happened."

  Angela buttoned her shorts and sat down beside him. She put her feet in the water and watched the tiny fish nibble on her polished red toenails. "I didn't do this on purpose," she declared.

  "Don't worry about it," he sighed. "My checkbook is in the car." He nodded toward the Camaro his parents had given him for graduation. "I suppose you can get someone to take you."

  "Forget it."

  "What are you going to do?" he asked. "D
on't you dare tell everyone in town it's mine. Maybe you could marry Billy Joe Summers. You know he's been in love with you since we were little kids," he said sarcastically.

  "I'm going home."

  Angela stood up. "I haven't really been in love with you, Clancy. I was in love with the boy I thought you were. Don't worry about this baby. Don't let the thought of it ever cross your mind again. It's not yours . . . it's mine, and I'll take care of it. Just go on home."

  "Oh, hell, Angela, use your brain. You're smart even if you are—"

  "What?" She scowled at him. "Poor? Well, that didn't stop you from kissing me and making love with me all summer, did it? I've been a complete fool about you, Clancy. Someday you're going to look back and think about tonight, though. And I hope your heart hurts when you do. I hope it aches just like mine is aching right now. But between now and then, don't ever think about this baby we made again." Angela walked away from him without looking back.

  "Don't worry, honey," Granny had told her that night when she'd gone home crying. "He's a rich kid and he's not about to do right by you. He'll marry that stuck-up girl he's been seein' all this time, and we'll take care of ourselves. We'll be movin' tomorrow just like we planned, and you're goin' to college this fall on that grant money you got. Things look tough tonight, but it'll work out, Angela. Stop your weepin' and learn your lessons."

  "But I love him, Granny," she sobbed.

  "I hope you do," she snorted. "Be a terrible thing if you didn't. But cryin' ain't goin' to make anything different. We'll manage and nobody will ever know," she said. . . .

  Angel shook her head, clearing the memories and threw back the covers. She crawled out of bed, threw the covers over the pillows and picked out an old pair of jeans from the closet. She wiggled down into them and jerked a T-shirt over her head. She pulled her curls up into a ponytail, put on a pair of sneakers and was ready.

  "Got a guest," Hilda said when she reached the kitchen. The housekeeper smiled in an odd way, and Angel wondered what had happened while she'd been sleeping.