BEVERLY BARTON - A Child Of Her Own

National and World Champions.

One

Carrying a steel gray toolbox, Rick Warrick entered the Dixie Twirlers studio and immediately realized half a dozen women were sizing him up. Not that he wasn’t used to the fairer sex paying attention to him, but these weren’t good-time girls at a local bar. These were wives and mothers, some of them the cream of local society. Glancing around the huge open room, he noticed that the decor was definitely feminine, everything done in various shades of pink and lavender, with gold and silver accents. Surveying the bevy of ladies seated together in a lounge section at the back of the room, he didn’t see the studio’s owner, Ms. Lori Lee Guy, who had called for a repairman.

His partner, Bobo Lewis, had brought him up-to-date on Lori Lee’s life. She was a hometown girl who’d gone to the University of Alabama as a majorette, become homecoming queen and snagged herself a star quarterback. Although he had feigned indifference to Bobo’s gossip, Rick had been interested. It wasn’t that he’d been carrying a torch for Lori Lee all these years—he hadn’t—but he still considered her “the perfect female.” He had come to that conclusion when he’d been eighteen and fantasized about scoring with Deshler High School’s head majorette. Having seen her recently in passing on the street hadn’t changed his opinion.

A hot, jazzy tune drifted down from upstairs, mingling with the sound of dozens of feet tapping and interspersed with childish giggles.

“I’m looking for Ms. Guy,” Rick said, not localizing his stare, but taking in all six of the women. “She called about the heat.”

A plump redhead dressed in a multicolored sweat suit stood and, swaying her hips provocatively, sauntered over to Rick. “You’re Rick Warrick, aren’t you? I heard you were back in town and working for Bobo Lewis.”

“I’m Bobo’s partner,” Rick corrected her. He wished it wasn’t so important to him for people to know he was more than a hired hand. But dammit, it was important. Because that’s all he’d ever been until he’d come home to Tuscumbia and bought half-ownership in Bobo’s heating and air-conditioning business. “I’m sorry, ma’am, do we know each other?”

She smiled, deep dimples scoring her round cheeks. “You probably don’t remember me from high school. We didn’t run in the same circle, but all of us good girls had crushes on you.” She held out her pudgy hand. Expensive rings adorned several fingers and a diamond tennis bracelet circled her wrist. “I’m Deanie Webber. I used to be Deanie Smith.”

Rick couldn’t recall the woman, but he admired her honesty and liked her genuinely friendly manner. “It’s nice to see you again, Deanie. You must have a kid who takes baton lessons here.”

“Yes. She’s one of the little darlings upstairs freezing to death,” Deanie said. “Twinkle Toes are rehearsing right now. They’re the talented six-to-nine-year-olds. All of us have daughters in the group.”

“I suppose Ms. Guy is up there.” Rick nodded toward the staircase.

“Yes, go on up. I don’t think they’re doing much practicing. It’s too cold.” Deanie crossed her arms across her ample bosom and patted herself on her arms. “Lori Lee will be glad to see you. Do you think you can get the heat working soon?”

“I’ll give it my best shot once I find the trouble.” Rick glanced over Deanie’s shoulder at the five other women who were boldly staring at him.

He bounded up the stairs, wanting to escape the ladies’ inspection. He heard a buzzing of female voices, the words bad boy, heartbreaker and always in trouble following his ascent to the second floor.

The second story was a large, open space with a row of windows across the front of the building and well-worn hardwood flooring. Music blared from a jam-box sitting on the wooden floor. Six little girls of various sizes circled their teacher, each child trying to talk at once.

Rick cleared his throat. No one noticed. “Excuse me. I’m A. K. Warrick. I’m here from Lewis Heating and Air.”

Suddenly silence claimed the children as all heads turned in Rick’s direction. Lori Lee Guy, her hand on a child’s shoulder, looked across the room and, for one split second, her heart stopped beating. The black-haired man standing there in his faded jeans, ratty navy sweater and old brown leather jacket took her breath away. Big, tall and badly in need of a shave and a haircut, he dominated the room with his powerful masculine presence.

“Hello,” Lori Lee said, amazed that she could speak with her heart caught in her throat. “The heat’s not working. It was fine yesterday, but when I came over this afternoon to turn up the thermostat, it wouldn’t kick on.”

“If you’ll show me where the unit is, I’ll check it out.” Rick tried not to stare too hard. He didn’t want to be obvious in his survey, but this was the closest he’d been to her in fifteen years, and he was tempted to drink his fill. She was even more beautiful now than she’d been as a teenager. She was still round and curvy in all the right places. Full breasted, wide hipped, long legged. A trim, hourglass figure. But a mature elegance had replaced her fresh, youthful innocence.

The picture of casual loveliness in her pale blue winter tights and her oversize white mid-thigh sweater, Lori Lee glided across the floor, followed by her pint-size entourage. Her shoulder-length blond ponytail bounced up and down on her back.

“The unit’s in the basement, I’m afraid. It’ll be even colder down there. I don’t know why the heat had to go out the first week in January.” Lori Lee paused before she reached Rick’s side, turned abruptly, placed her hands on her hips and faced the children. “Go on downstairs, and as soon as I’ve shown Mr. Warrick to the basement I’ll come up and we’ll discuss the Gadsden competition.”

She shuffled the girls ahead of her, sending them scurrying down to their mothers. Rick stood aside as she walked past him, then followed her down the steps.

“I heard he’s been in the penitentiary,” a female voice said.

“I wouldn’t doubt it,” another woman said. “Remember how he was always in trouble?”

“He still looks dangerous, doesn’t he?” A third voice asked. “And sinfully handsome.”

“Whatever he’s been doing these past fifteen years doesn’t really matter,” Deanie Webber told them. “He’s trying to make something of himself now. Ever since he came back to Tuscumbia last summer, he’s been a model citizen.”

Pausing on the stairway, Lori Lee glanced nervously at the man behind her. Even though he showed no indication, she knew he’d heard what was being said about him. She felt the tension emanating from his big body and saw his warm brown eyes turn hard and cold with pain. Instinctively her hand reached out in a comforting gesture, then her common sense took charge and prevented her from actually touching him.

Rick and Lori Lee exchanged an electrically charged stare, the air around them sizzling explosively. Turning around sharply and taking a deep, calming breath, she walked downstairs and opened the door leading to the basement. She flipped on the light switch, revealing the narrow steps.

“It’s dark and damp down here,” she said. “And a little spooky. There are closed-off tunnels that lead under Main Street.”

As they descended the stairs, musty, dank brick walls surrounded them. A single light bulb hanging from the ceiling illuminated the area. Cobwebs dangled from the rafters and spread across the corners like shimmery lace fans.

“You don’t have to stay down here with me, Ms. Guy.” Rick set his toolbox on top of an old wooden crate. “I’ll check things out and see if I can find your problem.”