Dry Creek Sweethearts. Janet Tronstad

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СКАЧАТЬ a squeak. If he had some coffee, he might actually be able to talk normally.

      Something had pulled Duane out of his sleep and he couldn’t figure out what it was. Phil was obviously not in the bus. The rain must have stopped, because Duane couldn’t hear it. No one was around. He knew the bus was stuck in the mud at his great-aunt’s place. It couldn’t have been the sound of another vehicle coming up to the bus that had awakened him. Nothing but a tow truck could get in and there were no tow trucks in Dry Creek. If anyone was here, they had walked down the driveway.

      Then he heard it. A quick, decisive knock on the door of the bus.

      Phil wouldn’t ordinarily knock, but maybe he had his hands full with something and couldn’t pull the door open. The thought encouraged Duane since that probably meant his manager was on the other side of the door holding several cups of coffee.

      Duane ran his hand through his hair as he walked down the aisle of the bus toward the door. He’d have to find Mrs. Hargrove and ask about getting the key to his great-aunt’s place. Well, it was technically his place now, although he never thought of it that way.

      Great-Aunt Cornelia would be the first one to tell him to get his hair combed before he went out and he had a stubborn spot that resisted his finger combing. If he could get inside the house, he could take a shower. The water would be cold, but it would be better than nothing. It should, at least, tame his hair. Maybe he’d be able to turn the utilities on without too much trouble.

      Duane stepped down toward the bus door and pushed it open.

      “Oh.”

      Duane grunted and took another swipe at his hair. The sun was bright outside and it hurt his eyes. He blinked anyway. What was she doing here? He always thought that when he saw her again, he would be looking good. Like maybe coming off a heart-pounding concert where there were screaming fans on the sidelines and reporters taking pictures.

      Instead, he suddenly remembered the ketchup stain on his T-shirt from the hamburger he’d eaten outside of Salt Lake yesterday. A T-shirt he’d just slept in. And he hadn’t shaved since he left San Pedro. Or even brushed his teeth last night. There wasn’t a fan in sight. And his hair looked wild.

      “You’re really here,” Linda said to him as she narrowed her eyes and examined him suspiciously.

      Duane winced. She would have given a warmer welcome to a spider crawling up her arm. And she hated spiders.

      “My bus,” Duane croaked out. His voice was not as strong as he had hoped or he would remind her it was also his land. The people in this part of the world might not be impressed by rock stars, but they were big on the rights of someone who owned land to be on that land, even if they were stuck in the mud and looked as if they’d slept on a park bench during a hurricane.

      Right now, Duane couldn’t speak all of the words he’d need to explain that he didn’t usually look like this. That he was successful and had money in the bank. In two banks, in fact. He even had gel that would tame his hair if he just had a chance to get to it.

      Linda held out a brown bag. “Your friend, Phil, asked me to bring this out to you.”

      He saw the forced smile Linda gave him. Her face was thinner than he remembered and her hair was definitely more subdued. She’d let it go back to her natural brown color and it looked good, all sleek and shapely. She was wearing jeans and an oversize chef’s apron that covered a white T-shirt. Of course, there were no ketchup stains on her T-shirt. No hair problems, either. She could have stepped off the cover of a gourmet food magazine.

      Duane needed coffee. There were two containers in the bag and as long as one of them was coffee he was okay. He’d drink almost anything if it’d give him his voice back so he could talk to Linda. “Thanks.”

      Linda stiffened. “No need to thank me. There’s some hot soup there, too.”

      Duane reached out and took the bag while he had the chance. “How much?”

      “It’s already been paid for.”

      “Oh.” Duane looked at the clutter tray he kept near the driver’s seat. He pulled out a twenty-dollar bill that was curled up there between several singles.

      He offered the twenty to Linda. “Tip.”

      Linda’s eyes snapped as if he’d insulted her. “You don’t need to give me that kind of money.”

      Okay, so Linda was finally talking to him.

      Duane’s head hurt. Giving someone a generous tip was supposed to be a good thing and, when he got his voice back, he intended to tell Linda that. He would try to tell her now, but the sun was shining down on her and he just wanted to take another minute to look at her.

      “Your hair—” Duane said. The sun was turning strands of her brown hair into gold. It was beautiful. She should have let it go natural years ago.

      Linda flushed. “I know it’s nothing like it used to be. I don’t take time to streak it anymore. I have to get Lucy off to school before I get to the café and—well, you don’t want to know all about that. You probably don’t have to worry about getting anyone anywhere, not even a dog.”

      “But—”

      “Sorry, it’s none of my business who you live with, dog or otherwise,” Linda interrupted, looking determined to be polite. “So, Phil tells me you’ve come back here to sing a big, dramatic solo in our church.”

      “What?” The word started with a squeak and ended with a whisper.

      “I hope it’s not supposed to be a secret. He’s back at the café now using my phone to make some calls. Cell phone reception isn’t very good here. People don’t usually have a press conference after singing in church, but I’m sure you know what you’re doing. After all, it’s your show.”

      Duane shook his head. His voice might be gone, but he didn’t want Linda to believe what Phil said about him giving a show. The agreement last night was that Duane would visit the church—visit the church—as in going to a church service and putting a big donation in the offering plate. He hadn’t agreed to call the kind of attention to himself Linda was talking about. Duane knew that people around here took their church seriously. He didn’t want to come in looking like some big shot throwing his weight around and demanding to do a solo in front of reporters.

      He’d been nearly invisible when he’d been here as a teenager; the cowboys, like his friend Lance, had overshadowed everyone else. Duane hadn’t expected any big attention from the church back then and he certainly didn’t expect it now. He’d played guitar for people in the café and that was it. He’d always wanted to keep a low profile in Dry Creek anyway. He wasn’t really accepted here and he knew it. He saw no reason to remind everyone else of the fact. Besides, they all knew he hated church; that much had been obvious.

      Linda moved slightly. “Well, I need to get back to the café.”

      The one person who had seemed to really accept him in Dry Creek had been Linda. She’d opened her heart to him when he’d been a lonely boy and never turned it away from him. He’d later thought she was like sunshine after a long Chicago winter.

      And then he’d made the mistake of asking her to marry him. He never should have done that. He was in some dreamlike fog when he asked, but he should СКАЧАТЬ