Rachel Gibson: True Confessions

Stanley Caldwell’s monument of the Sawtooth Mountains stood in one corner of the grange, lit by a soft white light.

Hope stood in front of Stanley’s monument, paying particular interest to the splash of blue glitter that represented Sawtooth Lake. Never big on tulle, she wore a basic black dress she’d bought in Sun Valley on one of her shopping trips. The dress was sleeveless, with a scoop neck, and fit tight against her body. Twin seams ran up the backs of her legs, and she’d shoved her feet into a pair of four-inch pumps. She’d curled and pumped up the volume of her hair and wore diamond studs in her ears. She looked good and she knew it.

According to Shelly, Dylan never showed up at the Founder’s Day Ball, and since he’d been in such a bad mood when he’d picked up Adam from her house, she didn’t think he intended for this year to be any different. Which was okay with Hope-she hadn’t dressed with him in mind. Well, maybe just a little bit in mind. A little-just in case he showed-bit.

Even though she knew she looked good, she did feel somewhat out of place amongst the other women who’d decked themselves out in vivid color and foo-faraw. Even Shelly, who usually dressed strictly for comfort, had squeezed herself into satin and sequins like she was a prom queen. She and Paul were out on the dance floor two-stepping their hearts out.

“Excuse me.” Someone spoke above the music. “I don’t think we’ve met.”

Hope glanced over her shoulder at an old lady clouded in blue net and gave a long, mental groan. The light from the mountain display shone through the woman’s baby-blue hair and lit up her blue eye shadow and lashes. Just like that day in Hansen’s Emporium, Hope found herself staring in horrified wonder. It was like staring at a bad traffic accident. She didn’t want to look, but she couldn’t look away.

“We met in your emporium last week,” Hope reminded her.

“No, that was my sister, Eden. I’m her twin sister, Edie Dean.”

Egad! “There are two of you?”

“Yep, but my sister prefers purple.”

Hope forced herself to look past all that blue and into Edie’s eyes. “I remember.”

“Iona Osborn over at the Cozy Corner told me you write those articles for that News of the World.”

“News of the Universe,” Hope corrected. “How did Iona know about the articles?”

“Iona Osborn works with Paris, and last night Paris told her all about it.”

She supposed it was bound to get out sometime.

“Since you haven’t been in town long, you’ve never met my brother-in-law, Melvin.”

“No, I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure.”

“Pleasure, schmeasure. Melvin is a rat-faced, sheep-lovin‘ two-timer, and that’s a fact. If my sister had the sense God gave a goat, she’d ram him with her Buick.”

Lord, not again.

“Now, I was thinking. If you needed those aliens in your stories to abduct someone, Melvin would be a good one. And when they beam him up into one of them spaceships, they should attach electrodes to his privates.” Edie held up a fist and shook it in the air. “And give him a good zap!”

“Ahh… okay.” Hope took several steps sideways until she was lost in the crowd. She’d always figured there was a possibility that someone in Gospel would discover what she really wrote for a living; she just hadn’t figured that it would be Paris Fernwood. And since Paris and Edie knew, Hope assumed everyone in town knew by now. She didn’t really know how she felt about everyone finding out. Maybe a mixture of apprehension and relief. No more lies. No more secrets. Of course, she’d have to listen to everyone’s ideas for her next article with a few life stories thrown in. But if a few of them cast disdaining glances at her for her articles, why should she care? They bet on broken legs and tossed toilets, and ate testicles, for goodness’ sake.

Hope walked around the edge of the large hall, casting her gaze through the crowd as she made her way to the bar. Even though she knew better, she still caught herself looking for Dylan.

She ordered a glass of zinfandel and dug into her little black bag for her money. “I heard about your articles,” Burley said over the music as he handed her the glass. “I’ve never known anyone who’s met Bigfoot before.”

Hope looked closely at his face and saw the humor in his eyes. “I’ve never met Bigfoot.” She passed him the money. “But I have interviewed several aliens and one possessed dog.”

He laughed and Hope turned away. She took a drink of her wine and scanned the dusky dance floor.

The overhead disco ball shot sparks off Shelly’s green sequins and Paul’s emerald tie as he spun her around like a top. The song was one that Hope had never heard before, something about a cowboy and his pickup truck. She spotted Hazel Avery dressed in pink satin and dancing with a man Hope assumed was her husband.

Hope took another drink of wine and remembered the day Dylan had taught her to two-step. They’d been completely dressed at the beginning of the lesson but naked by the end. They’d made love on the bearskin in front of her fireplace, and now she wondered how many other women he’d stripped while he’d danced with them.

A tall, lean cowboy she’d never seen before asked her to dance, but just as she placed her glass on an empty table, Dylan stepped in front of the younger man.

“Take a hike,” he said and gave the cowboy a hard look. Then he added for good measure, “Buddy.” Before she could say anything, Dylan grabbed her hand and pulled her along to the middle of the dance floor.

Once she recovered from the shock of seeing him there, of his touch and the sound of his voice scattering little shivers across her flesh, she looked up into his dark face, lit only by the disco ball hanging above his head. Slivers of mirrored light slipped through his hair and across his shoulders, which were covered in a nice navy wool blazer. He wore a white dress shirt and burgundy tie, and through the darkened shadows of the dance floor, she recognized the desire in his eyes. She’d seen it directed at her many times. She lowered her gaze to the knot in his tie. “That wasn’t very nice,” she said in a tight voice as he slid his palm to the small of her back. “He asked me very politely. You didn’t have to call him buddy like that.”

“That’s his name. Buddy Duncan. He lives in Challis.”

“Oh.” She looked up again, up into his face and at the outline of his mouth. “What are you doing here? Shelly told me you never come to the Founder’s Day Ball.”

“Shelly talks way too much.” He tried to pull her against his chest, but she resisted. He wanted her. She could read it in his eyes and feel it in the restless way his hand caressed the small of her back, but desire wasn’t love. And she wanted more from him.

“What are you doing here?” she repeated.

“Relax and I’ll tell you.” He tugged harder and she lost the battle. “That’s better,” he said and settled her against his chest. He bent his head over hers and spoke next to her ear. “I’m here because you’re here. When a man loves a woman, he wants to spend time with her. Even if that means he has to put on a suit and tie. He wants to hold her tight and smell her hair.”

His words pinched her heart, and she stopped trying to put distance between them. She was afraid to breathe. Afraid she hadn’t heard him right.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said yesterday,” he said as they slowly moved across the dance floor. “About me caring enough to believe you, and you’re right. I should have believed you all along.”

She looked past his chin to his eyes. She had to know why he believed her now, although she feared the answer. “Did you find out who really contacted the tabloids?”