Banjo Man by Sally Goldenbaum Read Free Book Online Page B

childish—”
    He broke into her words, his voice harsh with anger. “But you
were
only a child! Your dreams should have been nourished, treasured—”
    “Rick,” she said, brushing away her anger with a smile, “in my big, middle-class, Irish Catholic family, common sense, practicality, tenacity, hard work—those are things to be treasured. Not dreams. But my family meant me no harm.”
    “Were you harmed?” He asked it softly, his gaze lingering on the faint worry line above her honeyed brows, the solemn set of her delicate jaw, the deep shadows behind her wide gray eyes.
    Laurie shook her head earnestly. “No, oh, no. I learned a lot during those years, saw into one part of myself I might never have tried to get to know otherwise. I made many dear friends, rubbed elbows with truly good, fine people. But I could never focus as clearly as I needed to, could never take that leap. I guess it was because”—she hid her smile behind her hand, but not before he had caught a glimpse of it—“I kept dreaming. Even in the convent, when I was trying so hard to adjust, dreams would fill my head at night. And in the day-time, too, when I was walking through the garden on the way to matins, or sitting at a window with the sun spilling through. Or even when I was teaching, when a class went especially well and some eager face would light up with understanding at something I had said. All those times, and so many others, I was filled with the feeling that I hadto be part of this life again. Had to leave behind some of those restraints and be free to step back in, open my arms, and take what might come!”
    “Whew! You’re as bad as I am, darlin’. Ask the right question and we do know how to talk, the two of us.”
    “You know”—Laurie leaned across the table, grinning, her chin propped on her hand—“I think that was the worst. The single thing that drove me away. The silence. No one to talk to. To hear. To listen. Sometimes I thought I’d explode and go flying into space, whirling in the darkness, searching, searching for someone to understand, to share—”
    “Someone to ride to the moon with.”
    She gulped air in a gasp. “Oh, is that it? Do you feel it too?”
    Rick Westin sat quiet for a moment, a hint of surprise and wariness darkening his eyes. Then he smiled and pushed his chair away from the table.
    “Come on, I’d better get the check and walk you back. Wouldn’t want you to get fired and have to return to your old line of work, now, would we?”
    Without thinking, he wrapped an arm cozily around her waist as they started back down the Mall, but then she felt him stiffen and his hand dropped to his side. They walked along for a moment, silent.
    Rick ached to touch her, but did he dare?
    Laurie craved the warmth and delight of his touch; it was such a newfound pleasure! But now what? Would it all start again, the restraint and isolation, the loneliness? All because she had told him—
    Oh, she couldn’t stand it! She just couldn’t!
    Feeling slightly dizzy with desperation, she slipped a hand around his arm, and held on.
    Rick grinned, bent his arm to trap her handtightly between his forearm and biceps, and strode on with a new jauntiness in his step.
    “Slow down!” Laurie laughed, her heart doing happy somersaults.
    “Are you kidding? I could leap, dance, kick up my heels, fling up my cap if I had one, Laurie O’Neill! You make me feel good, darlin’.”
    “I’m feeling none too bad myself, Banjo Man.” She giggled, drunk on his excitement. “How do you expect me to work this afternoon?”
    “Quickly! And then it’ll be evening, and I’ll look out into the audience and see your bright, shining face. Promise?”
    “I
will
try, Rick. Honest!”
    “I’ll settle for that. And this.” He lowered his face to hers and she felt his breath warm on her lips and then the dizzying pressure of his mouth, sweet and hot and more delicious than anything she had ever known.
    And then he flashed