This Time(37)

The photographers slipped and stumbled in the sand as they scrambled to follow, their cameras still whizzing and flashing. Burke reached the low brick wall that surrounded the starlet's home and with deft precision, unlatched the rod iron gate. They slipped inside, disappearing into the darkness, safe from the intruding eyes of the cameras.





Chapter Seventeen





A shopping basket hung from Belle's hand as she stood in the middle of the grocery store soap aisle reading bottles of bath soap, amazed that each one promised some sort of emotional healing.

"Wash away stress," she read aloud with a guttural scoff and a roll of her eyes.

If it were only that easy, she thought, picking up one of the products and dropping it into her basket.

Ever since Burke's guest appearance on the David Dubois show, she'd been fighting the stress of disappointment, struggling with missing him.

How did he become so much a part of her day? How did he manage to touch her heart so quickly? He only worked at the Bar J for a couple of weeks. She now routinely looked for his face in the morning, listened for the sound of his voice and felt a hollow pang the second she remembered he would not be there.

Daily she captured her thoughts, willing herself not to think of him. The task was tedious and wearisome.

Several minutes passed before she realized she still stood in the middle of the aisle. With a sigh, she turned to leave, a slight ache creeping over her scalp and down the back of her head.

We're out of aspirin. Get aspirin. She tipped her head back to read the aisle indexes, searching for aspirin and the aisle number.

"Excuse me, lady. You're in my way."

"Oh, I'm so sorry," Belle said, stepping aside. She looked up as the other customer passed. "Spence."

"Hello, Belle," he said, his brown eyes laughing as he wrapped her in an exaggerated hug. "How are you, pretty lady?"

She forced a smile. "I'm okay."

He took a step back, shaking his dark head. "Frankly, Belle, I've seen you look better."

"What a nice thing to say, counselor."

Placing a protective arm around her shoulders, Spence walked with her toward the aspirin aisle. He pushed his cart with his free hand. "What's going on?"

"Nothing," she said curtly as she picked up the first aspirin bottle she spotted and tossed it into her basket.

He followed as she headed back up the aisle. "Sure ol' Spence can't help? I know people--" He lowered his voice and spoke out the side of his mouth.

She laughed quietly. "What? Did you join the mob?"

"No, just figuring out a way to make you laugh."

"I needed to laugh," she said, choosing a checkout line.

Spence stood in line behind her and said, "You going to tell me--" He stopped abruptly.

Belle glanced around to see what interrupted his question. His crooked smile had faded, and shock shrouded his face.

"What are you looking at?" she asked. Her gaze followed his, stopping at the magazine rack beside the cash register. There, on the cover of two major tabloids, was a picture of Burke on a beach with Grace in his arms. It appeared that they were kissing, but the enlarged, dark photo lacked detail and the images were murky and grainy. Several smaller insets depicted them walking along the beach, then running away from the cameras hand in hand toward a high brick wall.

A bold headline sprawled across the page. "Football great Burke Benning proposes marriage on a romantic Malibu beach."

"Belle, come on, you can't believe those rags," Spence said with an exaggerated chuckle. "You know Burke wouldn't--" Words failed him.

She couldn't look at him, her vision blurred by tears.

"That'll be nine eighty-five," the cashier said to Belle.

She fumbled in her purse for her wallet, her hands trembling as she reached for a ten-dollar bill. She felt weak and desperate inside, void of courage and hope. She wanted to pretend it didn't matter that Burke loved Grace and would be married to her. But it did matter. It did.

When the cashier handed her change and her purchase, Belle mumbled a hushed good-bye to Spence.

"Belle, wait," he called after her, stuck in the checkout line behind his cart.

"Gotta go," she said, her words choked and washed with tears. She managed to walk nobly out of the store, her head high. But once outside, away from Spencer's knowing eye, she ran across the parking lot to her truck and slipped in behind the wheel, succumbing to a torrent of tears.

***

"Good afternoon, Mr. Benning," the first-class steward said as Burke buckled himself into his window seat. "Can I get you anything to drink?"

"A diet soda, please," Burke said, settling back and closing his eyes.

His trip to Colorado had proved profitable though exhausting. His days were packed with handling last minute details, rearranging his financial accounts, putting his house on the market and saying good-bye to friends.

"Here you are." The steward placed a full glass of soda on Burke's tray table. "May I have your autograph?" He handed him a torn piece of notepaper and a pen.

Burke smiled and asked his name, scribbling a few words on the paper before handing it back to him. He sipped his drink and stared out the small plane window, his thoughts drifting to home, to Belle.