Oregon brown, p.9
Oregon Brown, page 9
“You mean this guy feels guilty because he kissed me, so now he wishes he hadn’t, but he can’t admit he has regrets?”
“No! He couldn’t have any regrets—Dammit, the record’s over. Call me again.”
He sounded frantic. Not one bit like his usual laid-back self. She smiled and listened as he changed to the familiar slow drawl. “There, darlin’. Everyone should be wide awake now. Darlin’, call me again tonight, will you?”
“Sure, Rory.”
“Good. Let’s settle down with the next tune. Put your head back on a soft pillow, close your eyes, think of that special person, someone you want to be close to. Think of that certain someone in your life and listen to this next tune. It will help you relax. Here’s ‘Kisses Sweeter than Wine.’ ”
The music came on, and as she listened, her thoughts were on Oregon’s smile, his green-and-gold-flecked eyes. Floating in a cloud of bliss, she listened to two more songs, a commercial done in Oregon’s husky voice, which could sell furnaces in the Amazon, another request by a sultry-voiced female named Samantha, and more songs. Time ticked past. Samantha called in again. Charity didn’t care for her deep, breathless voice at all. Finally the last chance for a request came over the air. Determined to beat Samantha, she dialed hastily and was gratified to hear the ring, then Oregon’s husky voice. She was aching with longing for him. She wanted his kisses, his big strong arms, his loving. She wanted him to tell her he was Oregon Brown!
“Rory, this is Charity again.”
“Charity, darlin’, you stayed up until the end of the program. What do you want to hear?”
“ ‘All Alone Tonight.’ ”
“ ‘All Alone Tonight’ it is. I wish you were here with me, darlin’, so I could hold you close. Here’s your song.”
The music started and Oregon’s voice came over the phone. “Charity?”
“Yes. I’m lonesome, Rory.”
“Oh, darlin’, if you only knew how lonely I am. I wish we could be together. I get so lonely …”
“Rory, isn’t there anyone in your life?”
“No, darlin’. Except you.”
“You tell everyone that.”
“No, I don’t. Charity, darlin’, you don’t know how lonesome I’ve been. I feel like a rolling stone. I don’t belong any place, no one belongs to me.”
He sounded sincere. Heartbreakingly sincere. She wondered about Oregon. How could anyone who seemed so self-assured, who had worked for one of the largest newspapers in the U.S., who had a nice house and so few apparent worries, be lonesome? There should be a flock of women in his life. The thought startled her. Oregon was appealing, sexy, intelligent, and such a magnificent lover!
“Charity, don’t go away. Maybe you should give this guy a little time, a chance to talk to you.”
“You don’t want to be the one man in my life?”
“Oh, yeah, darlin .”
“Rory, there must be some woman in your life.”
“Just you, darlin’. I think I’m falling in love with you.”
“I might be falling in love with you.” Was she?
“What about the guy who kisses so well?”
“He simply doesn’t have what you do. We don’t talk things over, we don’t feel the same about life, the way you and I do. He doesn’t have your … voice.”
“Charity, we’re going to have to meet.”
She looked at the phone, then returned it to her ear. “Tomorrow?”
He chuckled softly. “Soon, darlin’. Real, real soon.”
“I can’t wait until tomorrow night.”
Another tiny pause, then he asked, “Charity, are you going to listen to ‘Nighttime’ tomorrow night?”
“I wouldn’t miss it for anything.”
“Darlin’, I won’t—well—Hell, the music’s over.”
Now, what had he been about to say? She listened to his closing.
“Well, that wraps it up at station KKZF for tonight. Sleep well, darlin’. Nii-aight.”
She melted. Then she turned off the radio, climbed out of bed, pulled on a robe, and stepped out onto the back porch. While she sat in the dark, staring at Oregon’s house to watch for his light to come on, she wondered about him. Was he really so lonesome, or was that a line? Crickets chirped a shrill melody in the quiet night, while moonlight splashed over the flowers and yard. Finally Charity saw a light flicker on upstairs in Oregon’s house, then off again. His room was downstairs, hidden by the board fence, but for a few seconds he had been in the bedroom where she had slept last night. She wished she were there again and was shocked at her feelings. How could she fall for Oregon so completely and quickly, when she had been so cautious with men in the past? There was no logical answer. Reluctantly she rose and went inside to bed.
Thursday morning the ringing of the phone woke her from a sound sleep. “Charity?”
It was Oregon, and he sounded just like Rory. If she hadn’t known before, she would now. “ ‘Morning, Oregon.”
“Darlin’, you’re in bed!” His voice lowered. “I can just picture you there, your curls all tangled, your blue eyes sleepy, your long, pale lashes curling over your eyes. Your mouth so inviting … I want you to wake me up, so we can love again.”
He sure wasn’t at a loss for words when he had a phone in his hand. His seductive voice stroked her, and she stretched sinuously in bed. “Enough of that!”
“You don’t like it?”
She heard the hint of laughter in his voice. “Not now. It’s disturbing.”
“That’s exactly what I want it to be, hon.”
“Oregon!”
“My attorney says you’ve decided to sell the paper.”
“That’s right. I don’t know anything about a newspaper. Aunt Mattie doesn’t either. So I want to sell it. Yesterday I talked to our lawyer, Mr. Oppenheim, about selling.”
“Well, I’m interested in buying. I want a paper. I can’t get the ink out of my blood.”
“I think we can work out a sale. I’d like you to have the paper. That would please Aunt Mattie. She sings your praises rather high.”
“She’s sweet. I’d like to hear someone else sing my praises.”
She laughed. “You’re cute.”
“Oh, my. I don’t care to be called ‘cute.’ I’ll have to repair my image tonight.”
“That was a compliment, not a challenge.”
“Yeah, sure. Cute.” He sounded disgusted. “Charity …”
“Yes?”
“It was better to wake up yesterday, with you in my arms.” His voice was intimate and husky, sending dancing sparks cascading down her spine. She was breathless, yearning for him.
“Hmmm.”
“Charity, I want to kiss you, to really kiss you.”
“Hmmm.”
His voice held a smile. “See you in a little while, darlin’.”
“Hmmm.” The receiver clicked in her ear. Bemused, she lay in bed while memories played through her mind like a kaleidoscope. Finally she dressed in cut-offs, a white cotton shirt, and sandals, and went to work to help clean the house thoroughly.
At about three in the afternoon, when she was in Aunt Mattie’s hot attic above the garage, Oregon’s head thrust through the opening in the attic floor and he grinned at her. “Hi. Want some help?”
Eight
She straightened, suddenly aware of the smudges of dust on her face and hands, of a sheen of perspiration on her brow, tangled locks curling over her forehead. She smiled. “You’re just in time.”
“Charity, is Mattie moving away?”
“I don’t know what we’ll do, so I’m trying to sort through things and get rid of what she doesn’t want or need. She can’t stay alone, but we haven’t reached a decision about the future.” She glanced around. “I don’t know what to do with all this stuff. There are some heavy things that should go to the Salvation Army and I’ve been wondering how I would get them down out of the attic.”
“At your service, darlin’.” He scrambled up with ease and crouched slightly to avoid hitting his head on the sloping roof. Then, without hesitation, he reached for her.
“Oregon, it’s too hot up here …”
“It sure is,” he murmured as he leaned down to kiss her. His kiss was more overwhelming than the last had been, and it turned the attic into an inferno. Dimly she heard Aunt Mattie calling her name.
Oregon released her, and she answered. “Yes?”
“You’re wanted on the phone. It’s long distance, Charity. It’s Ziza.”
“I’m coming.” She sounded as if she had run a mile. She pointed to Uncle Hubert’s golf bag and clubs and a screen door, propped against the attic wall. “Can you bring those down, please?”
“Sure thing.”
She hurried down the steps and discovered Aunt Mattie had pulled the phone around the corner from the kitchen counter to the garage. It rested on the washing machine. When Charity answered, Ziza’s voice came over the crackling wire.
“Charity, sweetie, this is Ziza.” Charity could picture Ziza’s wild tangle of black curls, her big blue eyes, and the slender figure that made people think she was ten years younger than her age. “Sweetie, I’m married to the most adorable man! This is finally it, Charity, forever! Bernard. I just can’t wait for you to meet him.” She didn’t pause for a remark from Charity, but continued breathlessly, with laughter punctuating her sentences. “Sweetie, you’re not married yet, are you?”
“No, Ziza.”
“Are you in love?”
“No …”
“Well, sweetie, it’s high time we changed that! You’re too cute and too old to live without a man. And I have just the one for you. Mr. Perfect.”
“Ziza, I don’t need to meet any men.” She saw a long black boot emerge from the attic and rest on the top step. She picked up the phone to step inside the kitchen, but the cord got twisted and she couldn’t untangle it without dropping the phone.
“Don’t be ridiculous! You need a man in your life more than anything else, and I’d be remiss in my duty if I didn’t see to it that you got one.”
Charity felt as if she were standing in quicksand. Sinking in quicksand. Mired to her waist in oozing trouble. Both boots came down a step and long, jeaned legs began to appear. She knew Oregon could hear every word she said.
“Ziza, please, I’m living the way I want to.”
“I can’t hear you. We have a damn poor connection. You’ll love him. It’s Bernard’s brother, Rolf. He’s a dreamboat. Who’s your favorite actor?”
“I don’t have one. Ziza, don’t bring him to meet me. I can’t go out with him.”
“Why not? There is someone else!”
Charity was aware of Oregon standing behind her. “No, there isn’t!”
“Then you’ll love Rolf and you need to meet him.”
“Ziza, I don’t have time to date. I have to take care of Mattie.” She glanced around. Oregon was investigating Uncle Hubert’s golf clubs, studying them intently.
“That’s all the more reason to get you out. Rolf looks just like … hold your breath … Christopher Reeve!”
Charity’s patience snapped. “If he looks so damned much like Christopher Reeve, why does he need you to introduce him to a woman?”
The minute she said it, she wanted to clamp her hand over her mouth. Oregon’s head raised, and he stopped all pretense of studying anything except her. He grinned. She felt her cheeks burning beneath his gaze.
“I had to do some arm twisting,” Ziza answered, unperturbed. “You’ll faint when you see him. If I weren’t so in love with Bernard … and a teensy bit older than Rolf … well, you wouldn’t lay eyes on him!” Ziza laughed.
“Don’t invite him to meet me, Ziza. When will you and Bernard get here?”
“We’re in Houston now, and we’ll get in about noon Saturday. Well stay at a motel, sweetie, but Rolf will stay with you, and don’t protest. Mattie has already said he can stay. And you have a date Saturday night.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Why not? Sweetie, are you in love? I think you’re in love! Don’t deny it, I can tell. Charity, who is he?”
A silence ensued while Charity mulled over the best answer to give her aunt. “I’m not alone, Ziza.”
“Mattie’s there?”
“Well, no. A neighbor is.”
“Charity, you sound different. It won’t hurt you to tell me who the lucky man is. Mattie and her neighbor will be delighted.”
“I can’t talk about it now.”
Oregon had folded his arms across his chest and planted his feet apart while he gazed at her thoughtfully.
Ziza laughed uproariously. “Prim and proper Charity. Come on, I can imagine your blush and the little ladies’ giggles. Tell me who the man is or I’ll have to ask Mattie.”
“You’re right, Ziza, I’m prim. Let’s discuss it later. Just visit Rolf in Oklahoma City on your way home and forget about introducing us.” She was on fire. Damn Oregon anyway!
“Charity,” come on. I won’t be satisfied until you tell me who he is.”
Now she had put herself between a slab of marble and a block of concrete. Either way She was up against solid trouble. She didn’t want to meet Rolf, to have him for a houseguest, yet she didn’t dare tell Ziza that she was in love with Oregon. She raised her chin and faced Oregon defiantly. “Ziza, there isn’t anyone I’m in love with, but I don’t want a blind date with Rolf!”
And she knew that the moment she’d declared she wasn’t in love, she had flung a challenge at Oregon. He started toward her with a gleam in his eye that told her exactly what he intended. Her heart thudded against her rib cage and her pulse went into high gear.
And Ziza’s happy voice came over the wire loudly enough for Oregon to hear. “Oh, Charity, I wonder! I can imagine your blush. Are the ladies giggling?”
Oregon pushed the phone away from her mouth, bent down, and kissed her. His arms went around her waist and he pulled her to him, kissing her as passionately and as hard as possible.
She fought, but there was no way to combat arms like steel bands, a chest like granite, and a kiss like a roaring fire.
She did the only thing she could think to do under the circumstances. She hung up on Ziza. And Oregon kept right on kissing her until she felt she would faint. She trembled, she ached, she struggled, and she couldn’t resist—she kissed him in return. Fervently. She forgot Ziza, Rolf, her anger, everything in the world except Oregon Brown. Adorable, sexy, tongue-tied Oregon Oliver Brown.
The phone rang. And rang and rang. Finally she realized it and reached behind her, struggling again to pull free of Oregon’s embrace.
He relented, raising his head. She brought the phone to her ear while she stared into his burning eyes.
“Hello? Charity? What happened?”
Charity tried to wriggle free. Oregon grinned and leaned down to nibble her earlobe. “We … got cut off. Oh, don’t!”
“Don’t what? What’s the matter with you? You sound breathless.”
“It’s a … poor connection.” She couldn’t think. She felt tingles coursing through her. Oregon’s tongue touched her ear as she struggled to get away from him.
“Now, Charity, it’s all set. You have a dinner date Saturday night with Rolf. Is there a good restaurant in Enid?”
“Red Lobster,” Oregon said.
“Charity, is there a man with you?”
“A man? Whatever makes you think that?”
“I can’t hear you.”
“I said. Red Lobster is a good place to eat.” She covered the mouthpiece of the phone and whispered frantically, “Get away! Stop that, Oregon!”
“Go out to dinner with me Saturday night.” His chin thrust forward slightly, and his green eyes glinted with determination.
“I can’t, Oregon,” she whispered. She couldn’t let Ziza get hold of Oregon. There wouldn’t be a minute’s peace, and Ziza would ruin their relationship. What relationship? an inner voice scoffed.
“I can’t, Oregon,” she whispered.
“Charity, sweetie, is someone with you?”
“Go out with me.”
“No.” She said it to both of them, speaking into the phone while she looked Oregon in the eye.
He folded his arms across his chest and rocked on his heels.
“You sound different, sweetheart.”
“It’s the connection.”
Suddenly Oregon’s fingers closed over the phone, and he took it from her so swiftly, she couldn’t stop him. While his eyes warned her to leave him alone, his deep voice said, “Hi, Ziza, this is Oregon.”
Charity felt as if the quicksand had closed over her head. There went Rolf, peace of mind, Oregon, the weekend, her life. When Ziza got her teeth into a man, she didn’t let go.
“I’m a neighbor of Mattie’s and I have a date with Charity Saturday night.”
Charity couldn’t hear Ziza’s reply, but she saw Oregon grin. An eyelid dropped over one eye in a quick wink that didn’t do anything to soothe her anger.
“That’s right, Ziza. Why don’t you save old Rolf the trip if you can see him in Oklahoma City?” Another pause, a wider grin appeared, with dimples, and then he said, “Sure thing. See you Saturday. I’ll tell Charity and give her a kiss for you.” He replaced the receiver and smiled smugly at Charity.
“You just did the lowest, sneakiest—”
That one damned eyebrow climbed into an arch, and his eyes were filled with devilish glitter as he interrupted her. “I’m not about to let you go out with a guy named Rolf who looks like Christopher Reeve. You didn’t want to go anyway. Come here. I’m supposed to give you a kiss for Ziza.”
She flung her hands up to forestall him. “I didn’t want to tell Ziza about you either!”
“So I noticed. Not in love, huh?”
“Now, Oregon, you don’t know my aunt, but you will by Saturday night. Oh, brother, you will!” Charity was tempted to add that Ziza was probably planning a wedding right now. Heat burned up from her toes as Oregon pulled her to him and kissed her again. Kissed her as thoroughly and as fantastically as before. When he released her, she stared at him for long, long seconds until she remembered what she had been doing. “I’ve got work to do,” she said.
