Susan Andersen - Burning Up

But that felt a bit too boo-hoo, I’m-just-a-poor-misunderstood-waif for a woman who had learned young that life was messy, life was unfair, but you sucked it up and dealt with it. Her shoulders squared. Well, guess what, pal? I’m not wild about you, either.

And she wasn’t, whether the guy was a big hot number with pretty, cool eyes or no. Not when he’d taken one look at her and embraced the role assigned her by the good people of Sugarville without even bothering to find out if there was any validity to it.

Not when he made her feel like that girl the town loved to hate.

As if, she reminded herself, I give a great big rip. She was what she was. She had no regrets.

None.

But she did know she’d had enough of this. Tilting her chin up, she looked at Johnny. “So,” she said. “What’s it gonna be? Yes or no on the ticket?”

“I’ll give you a pass this time.”

“That’s my preferred option,” she agreed, opening the car door and sliding inside. She started up the car with a roar and slid it into first gear. “See you around, boys.”

And without sparing either man another glance, she eased her Corvette off the shoulder and headed down the road toward home.

“LOVE THE GETUP,” Macy’s cousin Janna commented dryly. “But I can’t believe you wore it all the way from wherever you spent last night.”

Macy paused, glancing from the closet where she was unpacking to her cousin, who sat in a chintz chair in the study of their family’s boardinghouse. Her leg was encased in plaster from knee to crotch, a pair of crutches propped within easy reach.

“Medford,” she replied, naming the Oregon town six hours away. “And please. Of course I didn’t wear it the entire way. Do I look crazy to you?”

“That’s probably not the question you wanna ask when you’re wearing the wet-dream version of a sailor suit.”

Macy grinned. “Let me rephrase it then. Have you ever known me to be a martyr? No, you haven’t,” she hastily asserted when she saw her cousin open her mouth and just knew it was to bring up That Night.

But she wasn’t going there—it had all happened too long ago to rehash at this late date. “I changed in Wenatchee, baby. Hey, I could hardly arrive in town looking halfway normal and deprive the good folks of Sugarville of yet another chance to be scandalized.”

Janna rolled her eyes. “Yeah, heaven forbid people should have nothing to talk about.”

“Damn straight. Life as we know it would cease to exist.” She reached for a hanger in the closet. Whipping it beneath the skinny straps of a gauzy summer dress, she shook out the garment with a snap, then hung it on the rod above the tangle of shoes she’d already dumped onto the closet floor. “They gave me the name. The least I can do is have a little fun playing the game.”

“Right. Because you’re so tough.”

“Yes.” Looking up, she caught Janna’s who-are you-trying-to-kid expression. “Don’t give me that look—I am. You, on the other hand—” her voice softened with concern as she took in the other woman’s pale face “—look like a harsh word could knock you on your butt, let alone the proverbial puff of wind.”

“I’m okay.” Belying her assertion, Janna shifted uncomfortably. “It’s just hard to find a position that doesn’t hurt. The doctor told me to try to keep my leg elevated as much as possible, but—”

Contrition hit Macy like a freight train. “Oh, crap, Janna, why didn’t you say something?” She shifted the suitcase that she’d crammed with clothes two nights before in L.A. onto the floor and shoved the ottoman it had been sitting on toward her cousin. Easing it into position, she winced in sympathy when pain clouded Janna’s expression during the moment it took to lift her cast-encased leg onto it.

Dammit, Janna was the closest thing she had to a sister, and seeing her hurt made Macy want to wrap her in yards of warm chenille and ply her with cup after cup of hot tea. This, despite the fact that it must be ninety degrees outside.

Janna sighed. “I hate being an invalid, so I tend to overdo. Which is why Mom wants you here—when you ride herd on me I don’t get all defensive.” Spearing her fingers through her normally shiny but currently dull ear-length chestnut bob, she flashed a tired smile. “Thanks for dropping everything and coming so fast.”

“Are you kidding me?” She sank to her haunches in front of the other woman and, picking up Janna’s hand, held it gently between her own. “Where else would I be—you’re family. Do you have any idea how much I loved this town before all the crap began? And it was all because of you and Uncle Bud and Auntie Lenore. Not to take anything away from Mom or anything, but living with you guys? That was the first time in my life I felt as if I had a real home.”

“I thought it was so cool when you got to come here.”

Embarrassed by the sentimental tears that rose in her eyes, Macy looked around the room. Even with all the regular furniture moved out, there wasn’t much space to spare with the addition of two beds and two dressers. “Are you sure you want me to bunk in here with you?” she asked. “I can easily make do with the Closet.”

“It’s not available,” Janna said. “We had to do some switching around in February to accommodate a new boarder, and we moved Tyler in there. Wait until you meet—”

“Tyler got shoved out of his room and ended up in the Closet?” she interrupted indignantly. “Janna, that’s just wrong!”

Her cousin laughed. “Not in Ty’s eyes, it isn’t. He actually loves it. He likes pretending it’s a nuclear-class submarine and he’s the master spy. It doesn’t hurt that his best friend, Charlie, thinks it’s beyond cool, either.” Her mouth crooked in a wry smile.

“Only a nine-year-old,” Macy said, shaking her head at the notion of anyone thinking that sweatbox of a six-by-ten-foot room was “beyond cool.” “Then how about our old room?” They’d shared an upstairs room for several years as teens. “Auntie Lenore said they’re keeping it open for when you can navigate the stairs again, and I’d be out of your way but still close enough to help.”

“Uh, the thing is, I can’t use these crutches and carry anything bigger than a pair of undies at the same time. So I need help with the fetching and toting. I’m sorry, Macy, I know it’s cramped in here and not what you’re used to—”

“No, no, no, no, no!” She shook her head in vigorous denial. “I didn’t mean it that way at all!” The action made her realize she still had on the sailor hat and she reached up to lift it off. Tossing it onto the bed Janna had assigned for her use, she tugged free the blond wig she’d worn beneath it. “I was afraid I’d be crowding you, not the other way around!”

“Then we’re talking apples and oranges and don’t have a problem. Here. Fork that over.” Janna crooked “gimme” fingers at the wig. “I always wondered what I’d look like as a blonde.”

Macy tossed it to her, then ran her fingers through her own super-straight hair, which was more caramel colored than the do-me-daddy platinum of her wig. She rubbed her scalp to lift the roots and sighed as a breeze ruffled through the white curtains, combing cool fingers through the freed strands and setting them to dancing against her collarbones. Toeing off her Cuban heels, she kicked them aside, then breathed a long, attenuated “Ahhh,” and wiggled her toes. “Lovely.”

“I’m glad one of us is,” Janna murmured, making a face as she tugged at the wig and a pale blond strand flopped over her eye.

“It’s hard being adept in the beauty department without a mirror.” Macy crossed to her cousin and shifted the hairpiece into proper position, then finessed the curls into a sassy style. Standing back, she surveyed her handiwork.