Drive Me Wild

  Drive Me Wild

  Julie Ortolon

  Chapter 1

  “Hey, Michaels!” a gravelly voice shouted over the clamor of the newsroom. “Telephone!”

  Brent Michaels turned from the bank of TV monitors to see Connie Rosenstein, his news producer, waving a receiver over her head. The cord stretched across her cluttered desk to his immaculate one. “You want to take it?” she called.

  He glanced at one of the digital clocks mounted on every wall of the Houston newsroom. He had fourteen minutes, twenty-six seconds to air. Plenty of time. “Who is it?”

  “Claims to be an old high school friend from … Beason’s Ferry?” Connie shrugged as if that meant it could be any one of a hundred people.

  Brent’s chest gave an odd lurch at the mention of his hometown. “Did he give a name?”

  “No name. But it’s definitely not a he.” Connie’s wink belied her tough-as-nails New York demeanor.

  Brent stared at her, unable to think of a single person he’d classify as an old friend from high school. A whirling click jarred him back to his senses as the tape finished downloading the satellite feed for his lead story. Handing the tape to a runner, he crossed to his desk. This close to airtime, the chaos was migrating down the hall to the control booths and set, leaving the newsroom quiet.

  Connie exhaled a cloud of smoke as she handed him the phone and gave her watch a warning tap.

  “I’ll be right there,” he assured her with a smile to hide his tension. Once she’d joined the exodus, he glanced at the receiver in his hand. He hadn’t been back to Beason’s Ferry since the day he’d left for college, had almost forgotten that sinking sensation in the center of his chest that came from being an outcast. How could something so simple as a phone in the palm of his hand bring it all back?

  Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself and brought the receiver to his ear. “Brent Michaels here.”

  “Brent! Thank goodness I caught you.” The soft voice conjured an unexpected memory of honeysuckle. “I’m so sorry to bother you right before the news, but I couldn’t take a chance on waiting.”

  Something in that voice made his pulse pick up speed. “Who is this?”

  “Oh, goodness.” The honest laughter triggered his memory, and he pictured white-blond hair pulled back in a ponytail and wide blue eyes behind Coke-bottle glasses. “It’s Laura. Laura Morgan.”

  “Laura Beth?” The air left his lungs in a rush of relief.

  “Bre-ent…” She dragged the name out in a teasing scold. “I used to count on you, at least, to call me Laura—even if the rest of Beason’s Ferry still insists on Laura Beth.”

  “Little Laura Beth Morgan.” He propped his hip on the desk as he remembered the awkward, skinny kid. As the daughter of the town’s doctor and most prominent citizen, she should have had the easy life. Oddly, though, Laura had been nearly as much a misfit as he, which was probably why he hadn’t thought of her the moment Connie mentioned an old friend from high school. While they had gone to school together, he’d never considered her a part of the high school crowd. Of course, he’d never exactly been part of the crowd either. “Good Lord, Squirt, how long has it been?”

  “Fourteen years, seven months, and ten days. But who’s counting?”

  He laughed. “Only a math brain like you would remember something like that.”

  “It has nothing to do with brains,” she insisted crisply. “A girl never forgets her first kiss. Not that that brotherly peck you gave me the day you left was all that memorable, mind you,” she added quickly, making him smile.

  That, at least, hadn’t changed. Laura had always been able to make him smile. “Well, I didn’t want to shock you, just give you something to remember me by.”

  “I would have remembered you either way,” she said quietly, with the slightest touch of hurt.

  Confused by a barrage of emotions her voice had stirred, he strove to keep his tone light. “So what has you tracking me down after all these years?”

  “I’m running interference, if you must know the truth.”

  “Oh?” He could feel the old wariness tightening his chest.

  “You remember the annual Bluebonnet Homes Tour?” she asked.

  “Beason’s Ferry’s biggest festival?” He scowled. “How could I forget?”

  “Well, I’m on the fund-raising committee this year.”

  “And?” he prompted.

  She gave a heavy sigh. “You remember Janet Kleberg?”

  “Big head but no brains. The cheerleader who made passes at me behind the school gym but wouldn’t be caught dead talking to me in the hall? Yeah, I remember her.”

  “That’s not fair,” she chided. “Janet would have given her eyeteeth to go out with you, as would most of the girls in this town. You’re the one who snubbed them.”

  “I was just saving them the effort,” he said. “So what’s ol’ Janet Kleberg up to these days?”

  “Actually, it’s Janet Henshaw now. She married Jimmy right after graduation.”

  “My condolences to both of them.”

  “They’re divorced.”

  “My congratulations, then.”

  “Anyway,” she continued in an exasperated tone, “Janet is the chair of the fund-raising committee, and she’s come up with a rather, uhm … imaginative idea.”

  “Spill it, Squirt.”

  He heard her take a big breath before she spoke in a rush, as she always did when she was nervous. “They want to have a Dating Game reenactment, like the old TV show, the one that used to run when we were kids?”

  “I’m familiar with the show.” Brent checked the clock. He had eight minutes and twelve seconds until airtime. He’d need exactly one minute, twenty-eight seconds to reach the set and take his seat.

  “Yes, well.” She cleared her throat. “They want to get a celebrity for the bachelor so we can sell more tickets.”

  “And?” He could feel the trap closing around him.

  “And, well, you are the nearest thing to a celebrity to ever come out of Beason’s Ferry.”

  “Let me get this straight.” He rubbed at the tension in his chest. “Back when I lived in that snobby little town, I couldn’t have asked out a ‘decent’ girl without the town fathers hauling me into some back alley for a little talking to. And now, just because I’m on the evening news, they want to pay money to watch me ask one of their daughters out on a date?”

  “That’s not exactly how I would have phrased it, but I see you get the general idea.” She fell silent, as if waiting for his answer. “So,” she asked at last, “will you do it?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “It’s for a worthy cause.”

  “Restoring old houses is not a worthy cause, Laura. A children’s hospital, or aid to indigent elderly, now there’s a worthy cause.”

  ”Brent, you know how important tourism is to this town. The Homes Tour has put us on the map.”

  “Sorry, it’s just not something I can get worked up about.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Keshia Jackson, his co-anchor, leave makeup and head for the set. “Look, Laura, it’s been great hearing from you. I mean that, really. Maybe we could get together sometime, but—”

  “Brent, wait.” Panic edged into her voice, “I know this town doesn’t mean anything to you, but it’s my home, and I care about it very much. Not just the town, but the people who live here. This festival is important to us.”

  “I realize that. But what’s important to Beason’s Ferry and what’s important to me are not the same thing. You of all people should understand that.”

  “No, I never did. You always cared deeply about things, as deeply as I did. Until it came to this town, and then you’d turn your back without a second thought. How am I sup
posed to understand that, Brent? It makes no sense.”

  “It makes sense to me.” Pinching the bridge of his nose, he realized nothing had changed. He and Laura were still the same mismatched misfits they’d always been. She was still trying to save the world, and he was still taking it head-on with shoulders squared and fists clenched.

  “I’m sorry,” she offered softly.

  “No,” he sighed. “I’m the one who’s sorry. For a lot of things.”

  “I had no right to ask,” she continued. “I shouldn’t have even called. I should have known you wouldn’t consider such a thing—”

  “Would you stop,” he said. God, he hated it when she sold herself short. Besides, even if he would never admit it out loud, the thought of returning to Beason’s Ferry as the conquering hero had been a nagging temptation since he’d moved back to Texas two years ago. In brief moments of fancy, he imagined everything from a homecoming parade complete with a big brass band to the wary frowns of the town fathers wondering what “he” was doing back in town.

  “You’re not considering it, are you?” she asked hopefully.

  He didn’t answer.

  “Because if you are, I just want to point out that it’d only be for one weekend. The first weekend in April. If you don’t have plans.”

  He didn’t, unfortunately. He closed his eyes as resignation settled over him.

  “You can spare one weekend … can’t you?” she asked in a soft, sweet voice that made him think of home-made peach cobbler served in the shade of an old oak tree amid the scent of fresh-cut grass and honeysuckle vines.

  “Would you do it for me?”

  If anyone but Laura had made such a request, he’d have hung up the phone. But deep down he realized he wanted to go back, if for no other reason than to see her again.

  “All right.” He let out a pent-up breath. “I’ll do it. On one condition.”

  “Absolutely. Anything.”

  “I want you to be one of the bachelorettes.”

  “I can’t do that! It’d be cheating.”

  He grinned. “That’s my price, kid. I refuse to be stuck for one whole evening with some bouncy nitwit like Janet.”

  “How did you know she plans to be a contestant?”

  “Lucky guess.” He rolled his eyes and noted the time. Three minutes, eighteen seconds. “Is it a deal?”

  “I’m not getting up on a stage in front of the whole town and making a fool of myself.”

  “Oh, but you’ll ask me to do it, is that it?” he asked, knowing he had her there. “What do you say, Laura? I’ll do it if you will.”

  “Oh, all right.” She blew out a breath. “But I have a condition of my own. You have to promise not to pick me out of hand. At least consider the other contestants.”

  “No problem,” he agreed absently. Standing, he straightened his silk tie. “Right now, however, I really do have to go.”

  “Okay, okay.” A hint of mischief entered her voice. “I’ll have Janet call you with the details. Bye, Brent.”

  “No, wait—” The phone went dead. He glared at it for a moment, then laughed. Laura Beth Morgan. Who’d have thought he’d hear from her after all these years? He wondered what she looked like without a mouth full of braces.

  —

  Laura sagged with relief as she hung up the phone. She couldn’t believe she’d actually called Brent Zartlich, or rather Brent Michaels as he was now known. What choice had she had, though? The fund-raising committee had met that afternoon. If she hadn’t rushed home, frantically looked up the number for the station in Houston, and placed that call, Janet would have been the one to contact him.

  Laura cringed at the thought of Janet blithely putting her foot in her mouth—and Brent turning her down cold. Now all she had to worry about was how the people of Beason’s Ferry would treat Brent when he arrived. Surely his homecoming wouldn’t be that bad. In the years since he’d left, people’s attitudes toward him had done a complete about-face. Whereas they’d once called him a sullen loner with more pride than sense, people now delighted in saying they “always knew that boy would go places.”

  The question was, how would he react to their new attitude? His moods could be as unpredictable as the weather in Texas.

  The grandfather clock down the hall chimed the hour of five. Right on schedule, her father, Dr. Walter Morgan, entered the wood-paneled den. Though he now used a polished black cane, he still carried himself with dignity. His stoic features showed no more emotion than usual, though she noticed the grooves about his mouth looked deeper this evening. So many people thought of him as aloof since her mother’s death, but few of them knew the full story.

  Her heart ached as he lowered himself into his leather easy chair. “Can I get you anything before I start supper?” she asked. “A glass of iced tea?”

  Her father made a sound that she took for a yes as he aimed the remote control at the console TV. His easy dismissal never failed to hurt her. She longed to do something to make his life easier, happier. He wanted nothing more than a clean house, his meals served on time, and to otherwise be left alone, mired in twenty years of widower’s grief.

  Standing, she smoothed her skirt and started for the door. She stopped at the sound of Brent’s voice as his image filled the screen. The sight of him made her breath catch, as it did every night. Though his dark hair was now expertly trimmed and his body had filled out, he still had the most riveting blue eyes she’d ever seen, and a devastating smile.

  How clearly she remembered that smile from those long-ago Saturdays, when Brent would come to mow her father’s yard. The first time he came, she couldn’t have been more than ten. Brent had been a much older thirteen. She’d recognized him instantly as the boy from the outskirts of town, the one people always whispered about. As he pushed the massive mower over the large expanse of lawn, he reminded her of her father, daring the world to offer one word of sympathy or help.

  Perhaps that was when she’d started lying awake at night dreaming of grown-up things: like children of her own to laugh with and love, and a husband to notice how hard she worked to transform their house into a home.

  And in those dreams her husband always looked like Brent.

  She sighed now, watching him read the news into the TV camera. He had indeed come a long way from the guarded boy the girls of Beason’s Ferry had been forbidden to date but had been labeled drop-dead, grade-A gorgeous. His projection of confidence had earned him the admiration he deserved, and his success made her heart swell with pride.

  When the station cut to a commercial, she came back to the present. She needed to call Janet and let her know what she’d done. Even though Brent had agreed to do the show, the former Beason’s Ferry cheerleader was not going to be pleased, for Laura had stolen Janet’s excuse to call Brent herself.

  Heading for the kitchen at the back of the sprawling old house, she almost wished he had said no. Then she could cling to the possibilities spun of girlhood dreams. Another part of her, the daring part she tried to ignore, tingled with the anticipation of seeing him again. No matter how staunchly she lectured her heart, she couldn’t stop it from racing away with the thought that maybe, just maybe, this was her chance to make those dreams come true.

  Chapter 2

  “He’s here! He’s here! He’s here!” a high-pitched voice sang out over the sounds of the crowd on the courthouse square.

  Laura glanced over her shoulder to see Janet barreling straight toward her, or rather straight toward Tracy Thomas, who stood in front of her in the food concession line. Janet’s long dark hair and generous figure made a striking picture in the midday sun.

  “Omygod!” Tracy, an equally pretty blonde, squealed. “Brent Michaels is really here?”

  Laura’s heart leapt as her eyes darted about the square. Beneath the stately magnolia trees, throngs of people meandered through the arts and crafts booths. From the south side of the square, country-western music blared from the handstand, while the scent of barbecue
filled the air.

  “You actually saw him?” Tracy asked Janet. “Where?”

  “Over at the bed and breakfast. And you’ll never believe what he drove up in.” Janet waited a heartbeat before she blurted, “A Porsche!”

  “Ohmygod!” Tracy cried. “You are so lucky, and I am so jealous! If only I weren’t pregnant.” She gave her distended stomach a disgruntled look.

  ”Your husband still wouldn’t let you enter the show, even for charity,” Janet pointed out.

  “You’re right,” Tracy pouted. “Besides, Brent would likely pick you anyway, and then I really would hate your guts.”

  Like most of the town, Tracy assumed Brent would pick Janet from the bachelorette lineup. And why wouldn’t he? Janet had a figure to make men drool. Even the weight she’d gained from having three children was in all the right places.

  Laura, however, strongly suspected Brent had already made up his mind—to pick her. Not because he had some deep-seated urge to take her out, but because she’d never given him cause to suspect her infatuation. If he’d known of her attraction, he’d have avoided her as he did all the other girls in town who had set their sights on him.

  The thought of a grown-up Brent choosing her for a date sent a fresh attack of flutters through her stomach. Biting her lip, she wondered what Janet’s reaction would be. For that matter, what would Greg’s reaction be! No, better not to think about Greg.

  “Oh, Laura Beth.” Janet turned as if just noticing her. “Miss Miller asked me to help set up the stage over at the opera house. But you’re so much better at that sort of thing. Would you mind terribly taking care of it?”

  “Not at all.” Laura forced herself to smile as she mentally added stage decorating to her growing list of responsibilities.

  “Thanks!” Janet squeezed her shoulders and kissed the air beside her cheek. “You’re such a peach! I just don’t know what the committee would do without you.”

  Laura fought the urge to roll her eyes as the two women hurried away, no doubt to spread the news of Brent’s arrival. For the thousandth time, she kicked herself for making that call four months ago. But how could she have known the women of Beason’s Ferry would treat Brent’s return like the Second Coming? And the more ridiculous the women acted, the darker the scowls grew on the faces of the men.