"I understand." She was one hundred percent in survival mode, and utterly determined that she would reach that promised land called freedom.
Satisfied with her humiliation, Harold assembled his troops and led them away. One hung back. Wondering why, Arabella looked up, which was the signal for the girl to clear her throat and spit in her face.
When they'd all left she gagged on an empty stomach. The relief when she heard their cars pull away was indescribable. She liked to be self–sufficient, and didn't like to bother anyone, but for once, she had to admit that she couldn't sort this out on her own.
She reached for her phone. It seemed to take an age to find it, and then another age to bring it to her ear with hands that were shaking uncontrollably. She speed–dialed Tracey. "Can you get here sooner?"
"Arabella...?" In the space of a breath, Arabella knew that Tracey would be assimilating information and making a quick and accurate judgment. "Is something wrong, Arabella?"
Collapsing back, she took a trial breath, and was relieved to find that it didn't hurt as much as she had expected. She doubted her ribs were broken. Harold was too clever to do her any real harm. It was enough for him to humiliate her in front of his friends.
By the time she lifted the phone to her ear again the line had cut. She was confident Tracey was on her way, and sank back with relief. The women in the Ladies Club hadn't just come together to try and liven up their lives, they understood each other, and they offered each other very real support.
Tracey wasn't alone when she arrived. She'd brought all the Ladies Club members, with the exception of Miranda who was still
on duty at the hospital. Tracey had worked as a paramedic at one time in her colorful career, and she checked Arabella over while the others cleared the room. Having pronounced the damage superficial, Tracey next turned to her phone.
"You're coming with me," she told Arabella when she'd finished making the calls.
"Just wait a minute," Arabella insisted. "There's something I have to do first." Picking up her phone, she dialed the police.
Tracey's idea of recovery for Arabella was a long, hot shower in Tracey's luxury mansion, followed by treatments from an army of beauticians, headed up by a drag queen, who, according to Tracey, gave the best massage in town.
"Honey, you look as if you draped yourself in the Jamaican flag," the masseuse called Pepper exclaimed when she pulled back the robe Arabella had put on after her shower. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you had visited a really talented tattoo artist, but one of the Jackson Pollock persuasion, rather than a realist, if you know what I mean?"
"Do you think you can ease up my back before it seizes up all on its own?" Arabella asked hopefully.
"Honey, there isn't anything I can't do with the human body—most of which you don't want to know about just now. Anymore questions I can help you with?"
"Just one," Arabella admitted. "Do I call you she, or he, when I talk about you to my friends, because you have a seriously amazing touch, and I'm definitely going to spread the word."
"Well, thank you, honey—and in answer to your question? When I put on my guy's clothes, I'm a guy. When I put on my gal's clothes, you refer to me as she, or as Pepper—whichever you prefer."
"Got it," Arabella murmured with a smile, sinking back into the couch.
"That's right, you relax," Pepper encouraged. "We need to get this heat down on your bruises. These ice packs? They're going to do that for you. That man did quite a number on you."
Arabella said nothing, though she gave Pepper a warm smile. She liked Pepper on sight, and would like to know her better. She wondered if one day Pepper might like to join the Ladies Club. She would definitely propose her.
"Don't you worry, honey. We're going to have you party–fine in no time," Pepper drawled.
He couldn't wait to see Bella. He couldn't wait to see Bella in the red dress, and could think of little else as he burned up the road to the party. He was late. He'd had a lot on, and there was hardly anywhere to park by the time he reached the venue. Every side street and lot was full of cars. It made him smile to think that Bella and her friends were so popular. He brought the Harley right up to the door and, dismounting, strolled in. A welcoming blast of country music enveloped him. The band was playing, people were dancing, and the place was packed. The smell of good food assailed his senses. There was a line of chefs manning a hot buffet down one side of the room, while a barbeque stand was attracting quite a crowd on the other. A bucking bronco had attracted a long line of would–be cowboys in a room garnished with hay bales and saddles. Bella had created a great atmosphere. Everyone seemed to agree, and the crowd was in top form, while noise levels were off the scale—but he had only one thing on his mind.
It didn't take him long to spot Bella at the bar, where she was dispensing drinks like a pro. Dressed in tight–fitting jeans and a casual shirt with a Stetson pulled low over her face, she looked great. He felt a twinge of regret that she had chosen not to wear the red dress he'd had delivered, but—she'd look great in a sack. He was cutting through the crowd to surprise her when a vision in what might as well have been painted–on jeans, with a matching fringed top plastered in rhinestone, stepped in front of him.
"Tracey," she said as she shifted her bottle of beer from one hand to the other to give him a surprisingly firm handshake. "Don't look so worried. I'm not accosting you hot stuff. I'm a friend of Bella's," she explained. "Jack Castle. Right? I recognize you from the description Bella gave me." Cocking her head to one side she observed, "Bella was right. You do stand out like a yak at a PTA meeting. I need to have a word with you, before you—"
"Before I what?' he challenged, turning away from her to look at Bella. He wasn't in the mood for delay. "Is Bella okay?"
"That's what I want to talk to you about," said Tracey.
"Jack!"
"Bella..." He'd cut through the throng to get to the front of the bar, and he wasn't waiting a moment longer. Reaching over the counter, he took her face between his hands and brought her close.
"Jack—"
"Don't stop me, Bella. I've waited too long for this."