Mike kept talking about the rumors that were flying around town. He mentioned that some folks were speculating Booker had served time in prison during the past fifteen years. But Josh couldn’t concentrate on his brother’s words. He was too busy remembering snatches of conversation with Rebecca last night, remembering all the opportunities she’d had to tell him she was moving in with Booker. He’d even asked her where she was going—and she’d said, “Out in the boonies.”
“That can’t be true,” he said, interrupting a list Mike was giving of Booker’s possible offenses against the law.
“’Course it’s true. Sounds just like her—wild as ever.” Mike kicked a clod of dirt off the back of his left boot. “I pity the guy stupid enough to tie the knot with her.”
Josh flinched. He pitied Rebecca’s prospective husband, too—in a way. He also felt something else, something he knew would surprise his brother almost as much as it surprised him—a sort of gut-roiling jealousy that a man was going to possess her and it wasn’t going to be him. She’d give her husband hell. But Josh liked his women and his horses with ample spirit, and there wasn’t a more spirited woman around than Rebecca Wells. Sure, she’d be hard to handle, but no one could make a man feel more like a man simply by closing her eyes and surrendering to his touch. He remembered the excitement he’d experienced with her, an excitement he’d never felt with anyone else—ever. Certainly not with Mary, who seemed to think of sex as a party favor to be doled out at the end of each date. There’d been no artifice in Rebecca’s reactions to him, no coyness, just a raw physical passion that had held him absolutely spell-bound—until Mike had come in, of course.
“Something wrong?” Mike asked. “I thought you’d be surprised, but…”
Josh dropped his brush. Whether he and Rebecca were calling a truce or not, he didn’t want her living with Booker Robinson. He didn’t want her anywhere near Booker. And he sure as hell wasn’t going to be the stupid fool who helped her move in.
“Come on,” he said. “There’s something we have to do.”
“YOU JUST HAD TO MENTION that I was staying here to my brother-in-law,” Rebecca complained to Booker. They were lounging on the couch at his grandmother’s house watching television, exhausted from their long day of moving.
“How was I supposed to know it was a secret?” he asked. “Were you just gonna disappear without a forwarding address?”
Rebecca punched the pillow she’d brought out of the upstairs room Hatty had designated as hers and curled into a more comfortable position. She hadn’t yet unpacked the clothing she’d carted over in a suitcase, but everything else was where it should be. Only a few things remained at her old place—her telephone and answering machine, her television, which she was planning to put in her bedroom, and some plants. She needed to pick them up tonight and do some last-minute cleaning so she could get her deposit back. But with all the progress she’d made in only two days, she figured she could allow herself a few minutes to rest.
“It wasn’t a secret exactly,” she said. “I was going to tell them in a couple of days.”
“I saved you the trouble,” he said with a shrug.
She rolled her eyes. “Thanks. Your grandmother said my father’s called four times already.”
“If you’d talk to him, he might quit calling.”
Rebecca wasn’t ready to talk to her father. She’d had enough distressing encounters today. First Josh, then Randy…
“Did Buddy get hold of you?” Booker asked.
“I’ve talked to him a couple of times this afternoon. Why?”
“He called here a little while ago. Seemed surprised to find I had such a deep voice.”
“He didn’t seem upset when I talked to him.”
Booker fiddled with the remote, surfing channels. “Did you tell him I’m g*y or something?”
“I didn’t lie to him. He wasn’t pleased that we’ll be living together, but he handled it just fine.”
“What’s just fine?”
“He said a lot of things like, ‘In the future I hope you’ll discuss your plans with me, Rebecca,’ and ‘communication is key in any relationship.”’
Booker scratched his head. “Does this guy have any testosterone at all?”
“He’s not the macho type. He’s low-key and sweet, and he’s going to bring more emotional balance into my life.”
“The kind of emotional balance that comes from being afraid of commitment?”
“He’s not afraid of commitment.”
“He’s put the wedding off three times, Rebecca. Doesn’t take a psychology degree to see he’s dragging his feet.”
“It’s not that. He’s just really close to his family and wants them all to be there.”
“Which could indicate something worse.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Maybe he’s a mommy’s boy.”
Rebecca sat up. “Quit being so negative, Booker. You’re going to like him,” she said, even though she doubted he would.
“Tell me again why you want to marry this guy,” he said, settling on VH-1.
“Besides being a very fine person, he’s gentle and consistent. I admire that.”
“To hell with gentle and consistent,” he said. “What about passion?”
“I have enough passion for both of us. I’m looking for other things. How many men do you know who’d go along with their fiancée moving in with a male friend? Now, that’s trust.”
“Or stupidity,” he muttered.
“What’s stupid about saving two months’ rent?”
“So he’s tight-fisted as well as stupid? Where’d you find this lemon?”
“Quit it!” she said. “You don’t even know him.”
He fell silent through a Janet Jackson video. “When’s the wedding?” he asked when the VJ returned to the screen. “Did Buddy say?”
“January 25th, but you’ll meet him before that. He’s flying out for my parents’ anniversary party a week from Friday.” She purposefully didn’t mention the only tense moment in her whole conversation with Buddy—when he’d told her it would cost as much as a new ticket to change his travel itinerary, and she told him she didn’t care. She doubted these details would reflect well on Buddy, considering Booker’s earlier comment about his being tight-fisted.