She discovered a sudden interest in those dancing.
“Who told him, Beck?”
She ignored him.
He nudged her. “Beck? Who told him?”
“I did,” she admitted at last.
“And why did you do that?”
She slung one arm over the back of her chair, feeling belligerent. “I just don’t see any point in pretending to be something I’m not. Buddy’s mother said he could never be too cautious, and I told him she was right to be worried about me, that I’ll be making three-hundred-dollar-a-month payments to Josh Hill for quite some time.”
“And that’s why he broke it off?”
“Maybe.”
“So what Josh did wasn’t enough. You had to finish the job?”
“Quit harassing me,” she said. “If Buddy and his precious mother don’t want a woman like me to wear his ring, I’d rather find out now than when I’m living in the middle of Nebraska.”
“You wanted him to break it off.”
Rebecca scowled at the accusation. “Of course I didn’t.”
“Then why didn’t you wait to tell him about the fire until everything calmed down?”
“One call from Josh, and Buddy would’ve found out. He’s afraid of marriage, so I thought he should see the real me. I needed to know if he could take it.” Rebecca heard her voice wobble and used the excuse of pushing her sunglasses up on her nose to give herself a moment. “Obviously, he couldn’t.”
“Right.”
“What? I didn’t end it on purpose,” Rebecca said at his knowing expression.
Booker sipped at his beer, then licked the foam off his top lip. “We both know better than that.”
“I can’t believe you think I purposely blew up my engagement!”
He winked at her, gave a little salute and took another drink of beer.
“I did no such thing!” She drew some more circles in the moisture on the table, then added, “Buddy wouldn’t have been happy with me, anyway.”
The door opened and a brisk wind whipped into the room. Rebecca looked up to see Mary Thornton, accompanied by her usual entourage. She knew Booker had seen her, too, when he muttered one of his favorite expletives.
“Let’s go,” he said.
Rebecca took another drink of her margarita and made a dismissive motion with her hand. “I’m not going to leave just because Mary’s here. I have no problem with Mary. I have no problem with Josh, either.”
Booker cocked a doubtful eyebrow at her as Mary made a beeline for their table, her clique trooping after her.
“I ran into Dilma Greene at the gas station a couple of days ago,” she said as soon as she was close enough to speak. “She said it was you who set fire to Josh’s truck. Is that true?”
Those at nearby tables turned to gawk, probably shocked to witness the perfect Mary Thornton exhibiting such negative emotion in public.
Rebecca clamped her jaw shut so she wouldn’t vent the frustration that had been boiling just beneath the surface since Buddy first mentioned his great-aunt and her father set up that silly truce between her and Josh. Her knuckles went white, but she made sure the words that came out of her mouth were admirably civil. “I’ve apologized about the truck, and I’m going to pay for it.”
“Why would you set fire to anyone’s truck, let alone Josh’s?” Mary demanded.
Rebecca shrugged. “Ask Josh.”
“I have. He says he doesn’t know.”
“Then neither do I.”
Mary’s eyes narrowed. “You think you can get away with anything,” she said, her voice dripping with disgust. “When the rest of us were in school, you’d go joyriding in your father’s Lincoln. When the rest of us were learning survival skills on the eighth-grade camp-out, you were tossing Josh’s wallet down the toilet of the outhouse to see if he’d go after it. When we were decorating the floats for Homecoming, you were—”
“It wasn’t your truck,” Booker cut in. “So why don’t you let Josh and Rebecca deal with the problem?”
“Josh’s stuff is as good as hers,” someone behind Mary piped up.
Mary’s expression faltered for a moment when she glanced at Booker. But then she folded her arms and drew herself up to her fullest height. “You stay out of this,” she said primly.
“Or what?” He chuckled.
Mary didn’t seem to have an answer, so she turned back to Rebecca. “What you did really upset Josh. He called me in the middle of the night, acting strange. I couldn’t figure out what was going on. Then the next day, he couldn’t even—” another of her friends snickered from behind, which seemed to make Mary rethink what she was about to say “—well, he wasn’t himself. He hasn’t been himself ever since.”
“If it makes you feel any better, he’s already gotten his revenge,” Rebecca said.
“I heard Buddy broke up with you,” Mary replied. “And I can understand why he would. Lord knows we were all surprised he wanted to marry you in the first place. But what happened between you and Buddy doesn’t have anything to do with Josh.”
“Doesn’t it?” Rebecca said. Then she got up and shoved past Mary and her friends, suddenly eager for the open space and cool air of the outdoors.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
JOSH WAS JUST GETTING OUT of the old Suburban he was driving now, which was normally one of the ranch vehicles, when he spotted Mary’s brown Camry across the Honky Tonk’s parking lot. He hadn’t planned on seeing her this weekend. After the incident in his office two weeks ago, he’d told her he wanted to take some time off, maybe go skiing with his brother for a few days. But his brother hadn’t been interested in leaving town—at least not with him. Mike was seeing a woman from McCall he’d met at a horse show. He’d probably spend the night with her, if not the entire weekend, just like he had last week. Which left Josh pretty much on his own. He’d considered calling his old buddies Randy and Dexter. But they were both married now, and he wasn’t sure he could take any more talk about kids and wives and positive discipline and whether or not perpetuating the myth of Santa Claus damaged a six-year-old’s psyche. Lately, when he was with them, he felt like an apple that had been left on the tree through the winter.
He could change that, he thought, eyeing Mary’s car again. Mary was a nice person. She claimed to love him, and she had a great son. If he became Ricky’s stepdad, he could go right into coaching Little league and soccer with Randy and Dexter, instead of starting at the very beginning, with a squalling bundle that did little more than eat and sleep.