The Rebel's Return

“Look, Maddie, it’s Dylan Bridges,” one girl said as she curled a lock of her blond hair around her index finger and gave him the once-over.

“Why don’t you leave Maddie alone?” Another perky blonde asked. “She’s not interested in the likes of you. Why would she want anybody else when she’s practically going steady with Jimmy Don Newman?”

Ah, yes, Jimmy Don Newman, a high school senior and captain of the football team. Every girl’s dreamboat. Not rich by Wainwright, Carson and Delarue standards, but acceptable because his mother’s family had deep roots in Mission Creek and Jimmy Don’s athletic prowess had gained him the town’s admiration.

“Is that right, Maddie?” Dylan eased away from the truck and took a tentative step toward her. “Do you really agree with all these other airheads who think Jimmy Don’s so wonderful? Or are you dying to find out what it would be like between you and me?”

Maddie jerked around and glared at him. “There is no you and me and there never will be.”

“Never say never.” He winked at her.

She huffed.

When he walked toward Maddie, her friends stepped aside and moved behind her.

“Come on, honey, let me drive you home.”

Maddie lifted her chin, stuck out her snooty little nose and glowered at him; then she glanced at his rusty, battered, old truck. “I wouldn’t be caught dead in a rattletrap like that. I’d never date a guy who didn’t have a decent car.”

Her words stung him, but what pissed him off royally was the fact that she stood there so smugly, looking down her nose at him while the tittering laughter of her friends echoed in his ears.

Oh, yeah, he could certainly lay the blame for his present predicament at Maddie Delarue’s feet. But his father shared at least half the blame. The very morning he’d borrowed the Porsche from the country club, he and his father had gotten into another rip-roaring argument and he’d stormed out of the house, bitterly angry. Adding to his bad mood when arriving for his valet job at the Lone Star Country Club was Maddie’s arrival to play tennis with Jimmy Don. When he saw the two of them together, he’d never wanted anything more in his life than to grab Maddie and run away with her.

And that was just what he’d done.

“That Bridges boy is being sent to the Texas Reform Center for Boys in Amarillo,” Jock Delarue said. “It’s a damn shame that a fine man like Carl has such a worthless, troublemaking son.”

“Perhaps his hoodlum tendencies come from his mother’s side of the family,” Nadine Delarue commented in her usual superior manner. “Who was Carl Bridges’ wife? I don’t think we ever knew her, did we?”

“Can’t recall her name.” Jock laid the Mission Creek Clarion aside as he lifted his second cup of coffee. “I vaguely remember meeting her once. Curvy little blonde. Rather pretty. Didn’t we send flowers when she passed away?”

“I’m sure Dodie took care of that.”

Yes, I’m sure Dodie did, Maddie thought. Her daddy’s private secretary, Dodie Verity, took care of anything Maddie’s mother considered beneath her. Nadine Gibson Delarue didn’t bother herself with underlings, except to issue orders or complain about their lack of intelligence or breeding. Her mother had been born in Georgia, the granddaughter of the governor, and once arriving in Mission Creek, Texas, a good twenty years ago, set about procuring herself a position as one of the town’s grand dames.

Sometimes Maddie wondered how her cultured, Southern belle mother had ever wound up married to a gruff, plainspoken Texan, who, despite being the richest man in the state, was a down-to-earth, good old boy. Jock Delarue’s granddaddy had made a fortune in oil, and his daddy had taken that fortune and tripled it by making smart investments. Maddie sighed. Maybe what she’d heard was true—maybe her mother had married her father for his money.

Growing up, Maddie had basked in her parents’ doting love for her and had always been daddy’s little girl. Believing herself to be the child of a loving union, she had never questioned the solidity of her parents’ marriage. Not until recently. She certainly hadn’t seen much affection between the two lately. And even at sixteen, she wasn’t totally naive. She’d heard the rumors about her father’s other women.

“May I be excused?” Maddie tossed her napkin on the table and scooted back her chair.

“You look a bit pale, dear,” her mother said. “Are you upset because your father mentioned that awful Bridges boy? I know how traumatic being kidnapped by that delinquent was for you.”

“Hell, Dinie, the boy didn’t kidnap Maddie,” Jock bellowed. “She told us, she told the police and she testified in court that he didn’t force her to go with him.”

“I refuse to believe that any daughter of mine would have willingly—”

“Shut up, woman!” Jock looked at Maddie, who stood behind her chair, trembling, tears swimming in her eyes. “You’re excused, honey pie.”

Maddie nodded, offered her father a weak smile, then ran from the dining room. She didn’t stop running until she reached her bedroom, upstairs. And all the while her mind whirled with unanswered questions, with doubts and uncertainties and with an un-bidden sympathy for Dylan Bridges.

She tossed herself across her bed and cried as if her heart were breaking. And in all honesty, she wasn’t sure her heart wasn’t breaking. Her safe, secure and sane life had in a few short months begun to unravel, to come apart at the seams. And there didn’t seem to be anything she could do to stop it.

She couldn’t help wondering if she was responsible for the constant bickering between her parents; it seemed they seldom had a kind word for each other. When the police had called her parents the day Dylan had taken her for a ride in a stolen car, her mother had blamed her father.

“It’s all your fault for allowing her to attend public school and to associate with riffraff,” Nadine had said. “If you had listened to me and we’d sent her to private school, she would have known better than to even speak to someone like that Bridges boy.”

“My father sent me to public school and it didn’t hurt me one bit,” Jock had replied. Her mother had simply rolled her eyes. “I felt Maddie needed to learn how to deal with people from all walks of life, just as my father believed that was best for me. Along with great wealth comes great responsibility, you know.”

“You should have acted in a more responsible manner toward your daughter!”

Could she have prevented what happened that day? Maddie wondered. Had her comments about Dylan’s dilapidated truck a few days earlier prompted him to steal the car that Saturday? Had the embarrassment her mother experienced because of her involvement with Dylan’s car theft created a rift between her parents?

Maddie curled into a fetal ball in the middle of her bed and cried until her eyes were red and her nose stuffy. As she uncurled her body, turned over and gazed up at the ceiling, she sniffed several times and wiped her face with her fingertips.

Enough of this feeling sorry for yourself, she thought. Your life hasn’t been drastically changed; not the way Dylan Bridges’ life has been. He’s going away to a correctional facility for underage criminals.

You shouldn’t waste your time feeling sorry for him, she told herself. He doesn’t mean anything to you.

Was she lying to herself? Was she trying to convince herself that Dylan Bridges had no effect on her whatsoever? If only that were true. She hated the very idea that Mission Creek’s rebel without a cause plagued her thoughts day and night. For goodness sakes, she didn’t even like him. But she did feel something for him. Those strange, unnerving feelings scared the heck out of her. During the past six months, whenever she saw him, her heart beat a little faster and a her stomach quivered. And heaven help her, she had daydreamed about him kissing her. Her reaction to Dylan was different from anything she’d ever felt. Even when Jimmy Don Newman French-kissed her, she didn’t get weak in the knees.

Maddie closed her eyes as memories of that Saturday at the country club six weeks ago flashed through her mind like a movie.

Jimmy Don had picked her up in his red Corvette at ten-thirty for their tennis date. They had played doubles with friends, then eaten lunch at the country club’s Yellow Rose Café before Jimmy Don and several of his buddies left the girls alone to go play billiards. Bored with the idle chitchat and endless discussion of next year’s Debutante Ball, Maddie wandered around on her own and finally went outside. Looking back at what happened that day, she wasn’t a hundred percent sure she hadn’t deliberately gone looking for Dylan. But if she had, it had been an unconscious action.

“Hey there, Red.” Dylan surveyed her from head to toe. “Looking good today, honey. But then you always look good. Mighty good.”

She pretended to ignore him.

“Get tired of Jimmy Don?” he asked.

“No, I did not get tired of—Leave me alone. I don’t want to talk to you.”

“What would you like to do to me?”

Maddie gasped, understanding the none-too-subtle innuendo.

Dylan laughed. “How about going for a ride with me? It’s a beautiful sunny fall day.”

“Aren’t you working?” She told herself to go back into the country club, to get as far away from Dylan as possible, but she didn’t heed her own warning.

“I get a lunch break,” he replied.

“Oh. Well, it doesn’t matter because I wouldn’t be caught dead in that old truck of yours.”

“See that silver Porsche over there?” He pointed to the sleek sports car in the private parking area at the club. “How would you like to take a ride with me in that?”

“But that’s not your car.”