INDIGO PLACE Read online

  She got into the passenger seat of the sports car and closed the door hurriedly.

  James shoved the car into first gear and it took off like a rocket, burying Laura in

  the cushiony leather seat, in which she was very nearly reclining already.

  He drove fast but skillfully. Even so, Laura held her breath at the lightning speed

  with which he negotiated the streets of town, until they were outside the city

  limits and on the straightaway.

  "Are you going to tell me where we're going?" she asked his profile.

  If he was angry, he gave no indication of it. He was practically reclining in his seat

  too. When he wasn't shifting gears, his right wrist was draped over the padded

  leather steering wheel. His left elbow was crooked in the open window. He

  seemed not to notice that the wind was tearing through his hair, much less that it

  was wreaking havoc on Laura's. He glanced at her briefly before answering,

  "Parking."

  "Pa—" She couldn't even fashion the word. Her mouth had suddenly gone dry. She

  turned her head and stared out the windshield. The road he had taken east led to

  the shore of St. Gregory's Sound. In the distance, she could see the water through

  the trees.

  The road narrowed, and finally came to a dead end on the marshy beach of a cove.

  James cut the powerful engine. They were in a deserted area, and the surrounding

  trees seemed to close in on them ominously. Dense vines wound themselves

  around the branches of the trees and draped to the ground. Pines reached for

  heaven.

  The beach itself was only a narrow strip of sand and was littered with clumps of

  sawgrass. In the twilight, night birds were just beginning to gather in small choirs.

  Insects buzzed low over the sluggish water lapping at the shoreline.

  Reflexively Laura jumped when James stretched his arm across the back of her

  seat. "Relax."

  "I'll bet you say that to all the girls you bring here," she responded tartly,

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  shrinking against her door.

  He laughed, a deep, seductive sound. "Come to think of it, I did."

  "And did they? Relax, I mean."

  His eyes looked lazy and slumberous when they lowered to her mouth. "Most of

  them."

  "And the others?"

  "The others were too excited to relax."

  "Excited?"

  "Sexually excited."

  You had to ask, didn't you, dummy?

  "And just plain excited to be here with me."

  His conceit was beyond belief, and she made a scoffing sound. "Well, I'm neither

  relaxed nor excited. I'm mad as hell. Will you please take me back to the market

  so I can get my car and go home?"

  "No. Not yet. We're going to have a little chat first."

  "We could have had a little chat over the telephone. But then, that would have

  been proper and conventional, wouldn't it? And you've never done a proper or

  conventional thing in your life."

  "Right." Smiling, he leaned closer. "And you know what? I think you like that

  about me. I think you like it a lot. That's why your heart is beating as fast as a

  frightened bunny's."

  She didn't want to honor his observation with an argument, mainly because he

  was right on both accounts, and secondly because the only way he could have

  known her heart was beating so fast was by looking at the cloth vibrating over it.

  For safety's sake, she merely returned her stony gaze out the front windshield.

  "Why didn't you accept the offer I made on your house?"

  "It was unacceptable."

  "I offered what you were asking."

  "I want more than money from the party who buys Indigo Place."

  "Like what?"

  "Like commitment."

  "Care to expound?"

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  "I don't want some fly-by-night character to come in and buy it, then let it go to

  ruin."

  "I don't intend to do that."

  "I'm sure you'd tire of it soon. It's too isolated. Gregory doesn't have the kind of

  glittering night life that I feel certain you're accustomed to. You'd get bored with

  the town and the responsibility that goes with maintaining an estate like Indigo

  Place."

  "I want to retire there."

  "Retire?" she asked with open skepticism. "At thirty-two?"

  "Yes, retire," he said with a smile that crept over his mouth gradually. "Until I can

  think of an interesting way to make my next million."

  No one with any integrity talked openly about his financial success. His comment

  only confirmed how uncouth he was. But if he could be blunt, then so could she. "I

  don't want to sell the house to you. Period."

  "There are laws against discrimination," he replied calmly.

  "I'll think of some way around them."

  "I can afford the property."

  "I know. But Indigo Place isn't a trophy you've earned for a job well done."

  "Meaning what?" Defensively his body tensed, and Laura knew she had struck a

  nerve.

  "Meaning that you don't crave the property nearly as much as you crave the

  respectability synonymous with the address. What you don't seem to realize is

  that honor and nobility aren't for sale. Respect is something even your millions

  can't buy you, Mr. Paden."

  His jaw bunched with anger, but he didn't contradict her. Finally he said, "All

  right, you see through me. But you're as transparent as glass yourself. I know the

  real reason you don't want to sell to me."

  "And what might that real reason be?" she asked sweetly.

  Her coyness provoked his temper. He snatched her upper arm so quickly, she

  jumped in fear. "My money's not good enough, that's why."

  "That's not—"

  "Hear me out. My money isn't 'old money.' It hasn't molded in bank vaults

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  through generations of gentility. It was earned, not by tilling this precious

  lowland, but by selling a product. To your way of thinking I'm no better than a

  peddler.

  "I don't even know my granddaddy's name, much less how much money he had.

  You can't trace my family tree back to the Civil War and beyond. I was the town

  drunk's misbehaving kid, so just who the hell do I think I am trying to buy Twentytwo

  Indigo Place? That's what you're thinking, isn't it?"

  She lied. "No."

  He shook her slightly. "Well, let me tell you something, Miss Laura Nolan. You're

  not so high and mighty anymore. I know all about your financial troubles. Your

  blue blood isn't paying the bills, is it? Your family name isn't putting bread on the

  table, is it? When you came up empty, the bank didn't give a flip who your

  granddaddy was. You're busted. So where has all that heritage got you, huh?"

  Tears of mortification smarted in her eyes. She couldn't bear his knowing that she

  was penniless and in debt. "How despicable of you even to mention that." She

  wrested her arm free. "I don't need you or your money."

 
"Like hell you don't," he said with a growl. "You're in hock up to your nose, which

  has always been turned up to me. Whether you like it or not, I'm gonna save your

  ass. I don't see any other customers in line, clamoring to take Indigo Place off

  your aristocratic hands. You don't have a choice but to sell it to trash like me, and

  that's what galls you."

  "Take me home," she grated out through her teeth.

  "What's got you bugged the most, hmm? That I've got money now and you don't?

  That James Paden is the one calling the shots? That I'm going to be living in a

  house I wasn't good enough to darken the door of several years ago?" He paused

  for emphasis. "Or that I kissed you today and you loved it?"

  Seething, she glared up at him. "You can have the house, damn you. Just take me

  back to my car. Now."

  He moved suddenly to take her face between his hands. He yanked her head

  around to face him when she tried to turn away. "That wasn't the first time, you

  know," he said softly.

  She squeezed her eyes shut. "Please take me back to town."

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  He stared at her for a long time, his face dark and tense. At last he released her

  and sat back in his seat. The motor roared to life when he turned the key in the

  ignition. They said nothing.

  The market was closed when they reached it. As soon as he applied the brakes,

  Laura opened her door and got out. "I'll call Mrs. Hightower tonight." She swiftly

  shut the door behind her. He didn't drive off until she was safely away from the

  parking lot.

  * * *

  The shadows the full moon cast into her room were mournful. She lay in bed,

  thinking how few were the nights she would sleep in this room. The pain was too

  much to bear. Her heart was broken, and she doubted it would ever be healed.

  Severing herself from Indigo Place was tantamount to cutting out her heart. How

  could she live without it?

  But that was exactly what she would have to do, because in two days' time it would

  legally belong to someone else. James Paden's name would be on the deed.

  Mrs. Hightower had been predictably giddy when Laura called to tell her that she

  would accept Mr. Paden's last offer. She didn't mention the hardship he had put

  her through before she capitulated. The realtor's only concern was that the sale

  was imminent and that she would get a generous commission from it.

  "I have the contract ready. If I get your and Mr. Paden's signatures tonight, we can

  close the day after tomorrow. Of course, the amount of paper work I'll have to do

  tomorrow is horrendous, but he was specific about closing as soon as possible."

  "The day after tomorrow," Laura cried in alarm. "But that doesn't give me time to

  pack."

  "You'll have time. The contract specifies that you have thirty days to vacate."

  That was some consolation, but not much. In thirty days she would have to leave

  22 Indigo Place forever. She couldn't bear to think of it. Any more than she could

  bear to think about the kiss James Paden had given her that morning.

  Or the kiss he had later referred to.

  For years after it happened, Laura had tried to eradicate that particular memory

  of him from her mind. Now James had brought it into the forefront, and she must

  deal with it. Perhaps as an adult she would see the incident from a different

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  perspective. But the familiar ambiguity stole over her as she recalled that night

  after the football game.

  She was in her junior year of high school. It had been a cold Friday night.

  November. Her breath had frosted in the air as she skipped down the concrete

  steps of the band building on her way to the waiting school bus.

  Exhaust from several motorcycles had also fogged the cold air as they roared up,

  seemingly from out of nowhere, and formed a ring around her. She was trapped

  between them and the brick wall of the building.

  "Well, what have we got here?" one biker drawled. "I do believe it's one of them

  twirly girls. What's that they call you, honey?"

  "A majorette, stupid," one of his cronies replied. "And she's that, all right. Looks

  as nimble as a ballerina, don't she?"

  They all thought that was immensely funny, and guffawed loudly. But not loudly

  enough to attract the attention of the other band members as they climbed aboard

  the school bus across the parking lot. They were on their way to a postgame party.

  Because of the football team's victory, everyone was in a celebratory mood. The

  school bus rocked with laughter and cheering. Someone had taken a drum aboard

  and a marching cadence was being pounded out. Laura was trapped in the dark

  shadow of the band building and doubted she could be seen. No one would be

  coming out behind her, because she had been the last one to leave.

  "Let me by," she said in her most condescending tone. Her heart was beating as

  wildly and loudly as the drum. She recognized the motorcyclists as members of a

  gang who aimlessly roamed the streets of town looking for mischief. Individually

  they might not be so bad, but together, goading one another on, they could be

  dangerous. Laura was sensible enough to be afraid.

  One, the first to speak to her, rolled his bike even closer. "Not before you perform

  for us, twirly girl. We didn't see near enough of you at the football game. Did we,

  guys?"

  His buddies laughed at his cleverness and heartily agreed with him. Encouraged,

  he reached out and jerked off her letter jacket, leaving Laura standing in the brief,

  glittery costume she and the other majorettes wore. From the football field, the

  sparkles showed up well. Up close, they looked flashy and cheap. Laura saw the

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  leering gazes of the men surrounding her, and terror clutched her throat.

  She spun away with the intention of running. But she was brought up short by

  bumping into another cycle she hadn't seen until now. Sitting astride it, a

  cigarette dangling from his sullen lips, was James Paden, the recognized leader of

  the gang. Laura hadn't seen much of him since, to the surprise of everyone, he had

  graduated three years before.

  She knew he was working at a garage on the outskirts of town, but she never had

  occasion to go near a place like that. Any automotive repairs that were needed on

  her family's cars were handled by Bo. She had seen the Paden boy in town, but the

  occasions had been few and far between. She had only spoken to him if he spoke

  to her first.

  Once, in the Safeway store, when a vending machine had taken her coins but

  failed to deliver her Coke, he had come up behind her, banged the machine hard

  with his fist, opened the forthcoming canned drink, and passed it to her. She had

  thanked him. He had given her that I - know - what - you - look - like - naked

  smile and moved on without exchanging a word.

  Now she
was meeting him face-to-face and they were on his turf. His brows were

  pulled down low over heavy-lidded, brooding eyes. His jaw was bracketed by the

  flipped-up collar of his black leather jacket. His thighs were wide-spread as he

  straddled the idling cycle. He seemed to purr, just as the cycle did, like a cat that

  had just trapped its dinner.

  He drew deeply on the cigarette and blew the smoke into the air until it ghostily

  wreathed his head. Then he tossed the cigarette onto the asphalt. "Where're you

  off to in such a hurry, Miss Laura?"

  "To – to the band party." She wet her lips nervously, aware of the other five bikers

  closing in behind her, blocking off any avenue of escape. One made a lewd

  comment about her legs.

  James hitched his chin toward his friends. "The boys and I, we can give you a

  party."

  They snickered. "We sure as hell can," one of them said.

  Laura shivered with cold and fear. "I'm supposed to stay with the group."

  "D'you always do what you're supposed to?" Paden asked her.

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  She didn't have time to answer before their attention was drawn toward the bus. It

  wheezed into motion and rumbled from the deserted parking lot. Horrified, Laura

  watched its taillights diminish until it was out of sight.

  "Now, ain't that a damn shame?" one of the boys behind her said. "They've gone

  off and left you, twirly girl."

  Panicked, Laura looked at James. "Please." Tears filled her eyes.

  "Let's see some high-stepping, girl." The speaker swatted her on the bottom.

  She whirled around. "Stop it! Don't you dare touch me again."

  He frowned. "Now, I'm not sure I cotton to your hoity-toity attitude, sweet thing.

  What are you bein' so snooty about?"

  "She's upset 'cause she forgot her baton. Reckon I'll have to give her another long

  stick to twirl."

  They all burst into raucous laughter at that. The last speaker stepped off his bike.

  "Let's see how good you are at making new friends." He lunged forward and

  grabbed her shoulders.

  "No!"

  Laura screamed and started fighting her attacker. She managed to smack him on

  the jaw with her doubled fist. Incensed, he cursed, and doubled his efforts to

  subdue her. His friends came to his aid when Laura proved to be more resistant