The phone jangled and Carlie ignored it. “The machine’ll pick up,” she explained as she slid her arms into the sleeves of her jacket. After a few rings and a slight pause, a woman’s shrill voice rang from the speaker.
“Carlie? Are you there? It’s Constance. Come on, I know you’re probably working in that damned darkroom or something.... Look, I know you’re not all that interested in trying to reestablish yourself, but Cosmos Jeans is doing a retrospective, wants all the women who have posed for their ‘out of this world’ commercials. They’re willing to pay and...if you want to launch that career again, this would be the perfect time. Well, think about it. You know my number. Can’t wait to hear from you.”
There was a loud click and Ben watched Carlie’s face as it lost all of its animation. “Let’s go before she calls back.” Grabbing her purse, she opened the door.
“Your agent?” he asked.
“Owner of the agency I worked for.” She locked the door behind them and hurried down the stairs.
“In New York?”
“She’s there, but there are offices in L.A. and London and Paris.”
“Big time,” he said.
“I’m not going.”
“Sounds like quite an opportunity.” He couldn’t hide a trace of mockery in his voice.
“It is. I just don’t want it.”
“You did once.”
“A long time ago.” She shoved open the door and stepped outside. The night was clear and cool and a soft breeze tugged at Carlie’s hair. She didn’t want to think about Constance, or New York, or the fact that she could really use the extra money modeling could provide. She was getting older; not too many more opportunities would come knocking on her door. And yet...she’d come back home because she was through with the fast lane.
Wasn’t she?
As Ben started the truck, she stared out the window. He was suddenly silent, wrapped in his own thoughts as he drove into the heart of town. She didn’t know what to expect from this night, but she didn’t really care. She slid a glance at him from the corner of her eye. Despite the call from Constance, being with Ben gave the evening a tingle of excitement and she let herself think about falling in love with him again.
Don’t! She couldn’t let herself start thinking about anything so foolish as falling in love. Especially not with Ben.
* * *
“THIS IS CHEATING,” she said as she struggled with her chopsticks. They sat at a small table in the kitchen of his house. White cartons and sacks from a local Chinese restaurant littered the tabletop.
“Why?”
“I definitely heard you say ‘I’ll cook,’ not ‘I’ll order out.’ Big difference, Powell.” She wagged a chopstick at his nose.
“Next time,” he promised.
“I’ll hold you to it.” She started to shove her plate aside but his black shepherd, seated next to her, barked and wagged his tail, hoping for a tidbit. “He likes chop suey?” she asked.
“He likes anything but me.”
The dog, as if on cue, placed his head in her lap. She ruffled him behind the ears and he yawned, displaying pink gums and sharp white teeth. “I think he knows a sucker when he sees one,” she said, giving the beast a piece of ginger chicken.
Ben grinned. It was funny how comfortable he felt with Carlie in his home, almost as if she belonged. He’d expected her to wrinkle her nose in distaste at the furnishings in his austere house: a single leather couch that he’d bought secondhand, desk, table and chairs from garage sales. No warm, soft rug, no throw pillows, not an afghan in sight and not one picture on the walls.
But she didn’t seem to mind and he was surprised. Although she’d grown up with humble roots, she’d always dreamed of escaping Gold Creek to the fame and glitter of Manhattan. She’d planned to model, had even considered acting and felt that she might end up in L.A., so it amused
him to see her sit, jean-clad legs tucked beneath her on his couch. She swirled a glass of wine as he built a fire and he imagined how easily she could fit into his life, into his routine.
“So why’d you quit the army?” she asked, when he settled back on his heels and watched the mossy logs ignite. The fire crackled and spit.
“It was time.”
“Because you were wounded.”