Banjo Man Page 3

  Laurie’s mind was immediately filled with visions of high convent walls, and silent halls, and—

  With a start, she realized that was not the only image she had been holding at bay all week. Conjuring up a totally opposite emotion was the sharp, tantalizing image of a lean, dark banjo player. Excitement quickened her blood.

  Laurie blushed. Then, feigning nonchalance, she looked around the office. “Well, what does the good senator have in store for me today?”

  “Plenty!” the older woman answered briskly, her tone effortlessly becoming businesslike as she handed Laurie a stack of notebooks. “The senator wants these facts researched before he goes back to Pennsylvania tomorrow. All the info’s here. ‘All you have to do is do it!’ ” She grinned as she repeated the jovial legislator’s often-used dictum.

  Laurie looked down at the papers, then back up at Paula. “But where?”

  “Library of Congress. Thataway.” She pointed out the window. “Just go out the east entrance, up South Capitol Street, and turn right on Independence. And if it’s your first visit, you’re in for a treat!” With that, she bowed her head over a pile of memos stacked precariously atop her desk.

  Hugging the files to her chest, Laurie spun on her heel and marched briskly back out the door. Each day there were new things, unexpected, unpredictable things, to deal with: contact with public figures she had always relegated to another world, press conferences, cocktail parties, a pass by a coworker! And each day she felt more ready to handle them and less “different” than she had the day before. It was a wonderful feeling, one that warmed her heart and pushed away the fear she’d lived with these past months.

  And much of this new confidence she owed to Ellen.

  Dear Ellen, who had stumbled into her apartment at seven last Monday morning, yelped in surprise, and smothered Laurie in genuine affection. First she had handed over a battered suitcase full of outdated clothes sent ahead by Laurie’s mother, and a half dozen phone messages from her father, and then she’d offered another hug of welcome. “Oh, I am so glad you’re here, Laurie!”

  They had perched on kitchen stools, their mugs of hot tea steaming on the counter top, as Ellen groaned and gasped her way through Laurie’s retelling of her departure, perilous drive, and late-night arrival at the apartment.

  “That brother of mine! I’ll strangle him the next time I see him. Not checking the brakes! Where is that boy’s good sense?”

  “Oh, Ellen, don’t scold! ‘All’s well that ends well.’ ”

  “You call that ‘ending well’? Getting here in the wee hours of the morning and finding Westin asleep in the bed? Hmm. I guess you could call that ‘ending well,’ though I’m surprised you’re so … liberated!”

  “Ellen!”

  “Oh, I’m just teasing. But I bet you were surprised!”

  “That’s putting it mildly.” Laurie giggled. “Remember the time we walked past the boys’ locker room, just as they threw Steve Lanski out in his shorts? Well, I think I had the same expression on my face.”

  “Hysteria! Oh, my poor, innocent girl. You make me feel eighteen again, and that hasn’t happened in quite a while. Laurie, tell me,” Ellen prompted, her eyes warm with friendship, “are you still eighteen?”

  Laurie hesitated for just a brief moment, then answered clearly and honestly. “I’m afraid so. In some ways, at least.”

  “Well! Then I’d better do a little protecting here. Westin, up and out!”

  Disappearing faster than a rabbit in a magician’s hat, she vanished into the living room, where she routed Rick Westin from his berth on the sofa. “Time to go home, handsome. Here are your pants. Your banjos. Your shirt. Call me later in the week and I’ll cook you some dinner.”

  “Will that sweet thing be here?” he asked sleepily, pulling on his boots.

  “Depends on how safe she’ll be in your presence.”

  “Hey, you know me,” he replied, managing to sound terribly wounded by her unjust accusation.

  “That’s exactly what I mean!” Ellen insisted, and their mingled laughter floated back to Laurie’s hiding place in the kitchen.

  She vowed to stay right there, unseen, but Rick’s husky voice lured her out. “After all the trouble you put me through last night, Ms. O’Neill, don’t I even get a good-bye?”

  “Good-bye,” she answered, stepping through the doorway.

  “Good morning.” He grinned, stuffing his shirttail into the back of his jeans. “Sleep okay?”

  “Fine, thank you,” Laurie lied, heat suffusing her cheeks.

  Ellen looked from one to the other with amused affection. “Well, I’ll be … but that’s enough chit-chat. Westin, out! This girl’s got enough to face this morning without resisting your sex appeal to boot! ‘Say good-bye, Gracie.’ ”

  And with a grin he was gone, taking the banjos and the brightness of the morning with him.

  But the nameless yearning he had awoken in Laurie lingered on all week. Of course, it was only one facet of the confusion that kept her heart beating fast. There were others: her job, the newness of the city, the rush of strangers around her. It was all frightening … and wildly intoxicating.

  Even now, her gray eyes blazed with delight as she headed up South Capitol Street and turned right on Independence. Here she was, Laurie O’Neill, just out of the convent, on her way to do research for a United States senator! Yes, all was right with the world.

  Three hours later, a dozen sheets of notes tucked securely under her arm, Laurie walked briskly out of the Library of Congress and back to the Rayburn Building. Another job well done, Laurie O’Neill! she silently praised herself. See, you can do it! She quickened her step, broadened her smile, and rushed through the glass door to Senator Murphy’s office.

  “Hi, Paula! I—”

  The words died in her throat. Leaning against the brass coatrack in the corner was a battered banjo case. And leaning on the edge of Paula’s desk, his broad shoulders outlined by the soft flannel of his work shirt, was Rick Westin.

  He spun toward her, his eyes lighting with pleasure. “Finally! Hello, sweet thing.”

  Happiness welled in Laurie’s chest, as unexpected as spring rain in a drought. “Hi, yourself.” She grinned. Then she caught Paula’s amused glance and felt the heat climb above the collar of her blouse. “Paula, Rick … I guess you two have already met.”

  “We’ve had a delightful hour, Laurie,” Paula assured her. “Rick was telling me about his travels through the Appalachians, and I was sharing a story I had heard years ago in Kentucky.

  “Darnedest thing I ever knew. Goat wandered into a wedding party and ate the dresses off all the bridesmaids, but didn’t even nibble on the bride. Ate the groom’s trousers, though, ’cept for the zipper!”

  Laurie laughed. “Oh, you two! And here I’ve been slaving away all morning over these files. Unfair!”

  Rick’s response was sure and deliberate. “Let me make it up to you, darlin’,” he said, taking the files from her arms and dropping them in a basket on Paula’s desk. He curved one arm around her slender shoulders and turned her toward the door. “I’m taking you to lunch.”

  Laurie glanced quickly over her shoulder, uncertainty clouding her gray eyes. “But work … the senator …”

  “Go on, Laurie,” Paula urged her. “It’s noon. Enjoy yourself.”

  “But—”

  “Go on, child. That’s a nice fellow you’ve got there.” And without another word she returned to her work.

  As they made their way down the hall, Laurie hesitantly fell into step beside Rick. What exactly had Paula meant? Rick Westin, with his wonderful eyes and wild, dark hair, was certainly not Laurie’s fellow! Heavens, she wouldn’t know what to do with a fellow, let alone this particular one! He’d cut through her naivete like a hot knife through butter. Just the thought made shivers dance up her spine.

  Overcome with awkwardness, she glanced up at his face, and then quickly away. “I’m not sure you should have come to the se
nator’s office, Rick. I mean, somehow it doesn’t seem proper.”

  “Proper, heck! I would have tracked you down at the White House, Ms. O’Neill, if that was where you had happened to be! Couldn’t stay away any longer.”

  The fire went racing through her blood again. Silently Laurie cursed her lack of control and prayed for a cool flippancy to match his. It seemed light-years beyond her grasp. How did they handle this kind of thing in the movies? No, that was no help at all. The last movie she had seen was The Sound of Music!

  Beside her, Rick slung the banjo across his back and tightened his hold on Laurie’s shoulder. He’d had this lovely coppery-haired lass on his mind for nearly five days now, and he wasn’t about to let her get away until he figured out what to do about it.

  “Aren’t you just the littlest bit glad to see me?” he asked, smiling down at her.

  “Yes, of course, Rick. It was a very pleasant surprise,” she gulped out, trying to maintain some semblance of calm.

  Every nerve in her body was aware of the unfamiliar weight of a man’s arm across her shoulders, the solid feel of his muscle and bone, his latent power. His shirt sleeve tickled the nape of her neck. His hip brushed against hers with every stride. She was electrified with sensation.

  Rick was unaware of the turmoil he was causing. “Well, what’re you in the mood for, Laurie?” he asked.

  “An aspirin … and an hour to catch my breath, Banjo Man,” she quipped.

  Rick’s laugh was rich with surprise. “You are something else, darlin’! I have a feeling it’s going to take me a good long time to figure you out.”

  “No,” she insisted, shaking her head firmly. “There’s not that much to figure out. Honest.”

  “Thou dost protest too much, methinks.” He laughed, enjoying the slender warmth of her body within the curve of his arm. “Tell me about you, Laurie. Where you come from, who you are, how you like Washington and your job …”

  Laurie picked the easiest—and safest—of the three. “Oh, I’m really enjoying Washington, Rick. It’s such a beautiful city, and so exciting. And this job with Senator Murphy is just great!”

  “I’d say! Were you on his staff back in Pennsylvania?”

  “In … in Pennsylvania?” she stuttered. Slipping away from the confines of his arm, she stuffed her hands deep in her skirt pockets and stared at the floor. “Back in Pennsylvania I was a … teacher. Grade school. Kids. In Pittsburgh.”

  “Ah, a noble profession. I bet you were terrific.”

  “I was fine,” she replied with a little shrug. “Very serious, very conscientious. Sometimes I thought the children taught me more than I was teaching them.”

  “Like what?” he asked softly.

  “Oh … how to laugh, and be open to the experiences around them.”

  He nodded gravely. “I know what you mean. Not so many walls between them and life, for good or bad.”

  “Yes.” Her wide gray eyes flew to his face. “Yes, not so many walls …”

  He waited for a moment, thinking she was going to say more, but she didn’t.

  “So what made you leave?”

  “I just needed to get away,” Laurie whispered.

  Rick slipped an arm around her waist and flashed a wide, sexy grin. “Well, I’m sure glad you got away to here!” And without any warning he bent his dark head and brushed his lips against the curve of her cheek, his breath stirring the curling tendrils of her hair and tickling her ear.

  Laurie sucked in breath like a fish out of water.

  “Rick, no! Are you crazy? This is a public building. Senators have their offices here!”

  “Might as well start at the top!”

  “Rich Westin!”

  “Okay”—he laughed, feigning contrition—“I’ll behave. For here and now. I promise.”

  “You had better,” she flung back, her eyes and mouth round with surprise.

  Still laughing, he cupped her elbow lightly in his large hand and led her out into the sunlight.

  They walked up Independence Avenue and crossed the street to the Mall, weaving their way through the crowd strolling along its wide green expanse. Laurie was aware of two sources of heat: the bright sunlight on the crown of her head and the sure, possessive hold of Rick’s hand on her arm. Between the two, she felt as if she were melting.

  Sidestepping lightly, she opened a space between them. Rick’s dark glance seemed to measure that distance even as he closed it.

  “So, you were telling me about you. How did you go from teaching to a job on the senator’s staff?”

  With a sigh Laurie abandoned the struggle and matched her step to his. “Well, you could call it Irish nepotism.” She smiled. “He and my father are good friends. They were in the Knights of Columbus together long before I was born. And the Royal Order of Hibernians. And St. Patrick’s Parish, and—”

  “I think I get the picture. A political favor!”

  “Actually, more of a medical necessity. Having me under Senator Murphy’s wing prevented my father from having a heart attack when I insisted on coming to Washington.”

  Suddenly Rick stopped in mid-stride and, taking Laurie by both shoulders, turned her to face him. His searching glance swept from her tousled hair over her high, delicate cheekbones, her sweet, expressive mouth, then settled on the deep gray pools of her eyes. His own dark brows drew slowly together.

  “Laurie, how old are you?”

  Laurie blinked. “Why … well, I’m twenty-three. But that’s a rather blunt question, don’t you think?”

  Rick ignored her objection. “That’s about what I thought.” He frowned. “Are you sure you still want a guardian?”

  “It’s not just a matter of what I want.” Shrugging herself out from between his hands, she arrowed her gaze at his handsome, puzzled face. “I come from a large family, Irish Catholic, full of old spinster aunts and little brothers and sisters. My father always had the last say.”

  “Always?”

  “Yes,” she snapped, “under most circumstances. And somehow I was the overprotected daughter. The favorite. The one everyone took care of, cushioned from life’s many falls, as if I would break!”

  Her voice had risen sharply, and Rick drew close. He fought down a sudden urge to take her in his arms, and settled for a smile. “Hey, it’s all right. I can understand someone wanting to take care of you. Loving you that much …”

  “Oh, Rick, it’s more than that.” She turned away in frustration. “I’m sorry. There’s just too much to explain.”

  “You want to try me?”

  She shook her head, not looking at him.

  “Well, what if I promise not to treat you like you’re going to break? Will that do? I can’t promise not to want to take care of you—”

  Her fiery glance made him laugh. He tipped up her chin with one blunt finger. “Whoa, Laurie O’Neill. I’ll tell you this: You can take care of me any time.”

  Laurie squeezed her eyes shut and stood absolutely still. The man was impossible! Perhaps all men were, for all she knew, but this one did have a certain dizzying charm!

  Lifting one brow, she looked up at his angular features and found her voice. “I think I’m going to spend a little time taking care of myself, thank you very much, Mr. Westin.”

  “That’s all right.” He slipped the banjo off his shoulder and laid it gently on the grass. “I can wait; I’m a patient guy. In the meantime, can I make some friendly suggestions?”

  “No! Absolutely not!”

  “First, you’ve got to get to know me better. Second”—he held a quieting finger to her lips—“second, go ahead and laugh when you feel like it. Or sing. Or shout. Don’t try to hold such a tight rein on your emotions.”

  “Oh, thank you so much, Dr. Freud!”

  “And third”—he ran his hand slowly up her arm—“beneath this damnable uniform of the antilust league, there lies an extremely sensual woman. Why hide her?”

  Laurie’s mouth flew open as her eyes dropped to the
prim navy blue blazer she was wearing. “I … wha—what …?”

  His laughing dark eyes softened at the startled look on her face. “Ms. O’Neill, we’re in the nineteen eighties. They’ve done away with pantaloons and high button shoes. I can see that Irish beauty of yours lit up like high noon, with a beautiful apple-green silk blouse and a soft skirt that’d swirl about those lovely legs of yours when you walk. And a good hairdresser could do wonders with that shiny coppery hair.” His fingers walked seductively up her jacket lapel, brushed lazily against her flushed cheek, and tangled in the uneven strands of her hair.

  Laurie stepped back, away from him. “Now … now, stop it, Rick Westin! Since when are … are banjo players experts on women’s fashion? I have a job, you know, and I don’t think they’d like me to come looking like a gypsy or—”

  “Or a lovely, ripe woman?” His voice was soft and hushed. “I don’t think they’d mind at all, Laurie O’Neill, if you’d slip out of that cocoon you’re hiding in.”

  Her heart was beating wildly against the cage of her ribs, like some panicked bird. This was too much! Too complicated, too unexpected! She didn’t know whether what she was feeling was anger or excitement. Didn’t know whether to slap his face or melt into his arms. “How dare you?” she managed feebly.

  “What?” Confused, Rick narrowed his eyes and stared at her. “How dare I what? Tell you you’re lovely? You must know that; plenty of other men must have said it before me.”

  “No, never!”

  “Come on!” he exclaimed disbelievingly. And then he looked at her again and saw her confusion, her vulnerability. Saw in the depths of her gray eyes a new fire that had never been kindled.

  “Hey, I didn’t mean to upset you,” he said softly, hooking his thumbs in the pockets of his jeans. “Listen, sometimes I can be a little brash and presumptuous. But I’m harmless.”

  Oh, I doubt that, Banjo Man! Laurie retorted silently. But she summoned a smile. “It’s okay; it’s me. Sometimes I tend to overreact. New situations and things.”

  “Let me make it up to you,” Rick offered quickly. “Tom Preston’s going to be in town next week. I’ll get tickets and we’ll go one night when I’m off.”