The Thunder Rolls

by Bethany Campbell

  For years Gordon had played his irrational game. First he inflicted hurt, then he pleaded for forgiveness and promised to change. But change never came, and Dottie’s forgiveness had worn out years ago, and so had Nora’s.

  Besides, Dottie knew, to her sorrow, that Gordon didn’t mean what he said.

  Yesterday he had spoken as if Nora and Dottie conspired against him, plotting his downfall. Today he spoke as if they alone could be his saviors.

  Often he blamed them for all his failures. Sometimes, paradoxically, he claimed they were his only hope. Neither version was true, but Gordon could never realize it.

  “What is it now, Gordon?” Dottie said from between her teeth. “You want money from me, no matter how you get it. Is that it?”

  “No.” He sounded insulted, but then his tone changed, became more beguiling, more sly. “Well—I could use some. Just a loan. I slipped. I wasn’t going to bet anymore, but I slipped a little. ’Cause I thought so much about you and Nora.”

  Dottie’s tone went frigid. “I’ve paid enough of your debts, Gordon. More than enough. And Nora doesn’t want you back. You hurt her too often and too much. You lost her, and it’s nobody’s fault but your own.”

  “I just want to talk to her.”

  “Gordon,” Dottie said fiercely, “leave her alone. She’s got a right to her own life. She’s making a future for herself—a good one. She’s—”

  “She’s my wife—dammit. She’s the mother of my son—”

  “She’s not your wife. Not—”

  “The hell she’s not—and why are you comin’ between us? What kind of mother are you? What’s the matter? Has she found somebody else? You hate me so much you’d rather she had anybody else than me?”

  Dottie’s distress was so intense that it had set off her ulcer. She felt as if someone was poking and twisting a sharp stick through her stomach. She was unable to speak. Tears burned her eyes.

  He took her silence for consent. “She’s found somebody else—hasn’t she? I saw Bubba give her the eye. I heard how he talked about her. He wanted to fight me over her. My God, Ma. First he practically ruins my life because I made one little mistake. Now he wants my wife, too? I’ll kill him first.”

  “Gordon, don’t talk like that,” Dottie ordered. “Bubba flirted with her a little, that’s all. There’s no call to talk of killing—”

  “Why not?” Gordon asked bitterly. “You’re all trying to kill me.”

  “We’re not—”

  “Well, I can take care of myself,” Gordon sneered. “I can take care of myself fine. I got opportunities. They’re dangerous, but I ain’t no coward. And if I want Nora back, I’ll come take her. You can’t stop me. And if Bubba Gibson gets in my way, I’ll knock his—”

  “Gordon, don’t—”

  But Gordon didn’t let her finish the sentence. He swore and hung up, banging the receiver so hard that Dottie flinched.

  Oh, Lord, she thought. She hung up the receiver then ran both hands through her hair. What had she done to deserve Gordon? What had any of them done?

  And what did he mean, that he had opportunities, but they were dangerous? Why was he suddenly obsessed with Bubba Gibson?

  She bit her lip. What if Gordon found out about Ken Slattery? What then? Would he be jealous, resentful? Would he be vengeful?

  And what would Nora do if she found out about this insane phone call? Would it frighten her as much as it did Dottie?

  Maybe this is a fluke. Maybe it’ll burn itself out, Dottie thought, praying it was true. Maybe this call will get things out of his system. Such things have happened before. Maybe Gordon really is drunk, so drunk he won’t even remember this.

  She shook her head and went into the kitchen to make herself a cup of coffee. She wouldn’t sleep again, she knew that. Gordon had seen to that.

  She felt ill with apprehension. She would not tell Nora of Gordon’s call. Not just yet. There was no need to worry her about something that might amount to nothing.

  Besides, who knew how it might affect Nora’s attitude toward Ken? Why should Gordon’s pleas and threats come between Nora and Ken when they were just starting to discover each other?

  Dottie sat down at the counter, willing her heartbeat to slow. It did not. She felt so unwell, it frightened her.

  She was alarmed to realize that she had never made any provisions for Nora and Rory should anything happen to her. She put her elbows on the counter and buried her face in her hands.

  She had never made a will. She’d been superstitious about it. But if anything happened to her, she would leave behind money and property. Gordon would be back for sure, making Nora’s life a living hell. That mustn’t happen, Dottie thought, her heart drumming harder.

  She would see Martin Avery, the lawyer, as soon as possible. She would put things in writing and sign them, even though she would feel she were signing in heart’s blood. Gordon had left her no choice.

  Rory and Nora were the ones she must protect. The bitter irony was that she had to protect them from her own flesh and blood, her own son.

  Her confused, tormented and possibly dangerous son.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  NORA AWOKE to sunshine pouring into the room. She stretched in the brightness and warmth.

  She felt a strange mixture of content and excitement. Why? Luxuriously, she stretched again.

  Then she remembered Ken, and her sense of well-being fled. Her body tensed.

  She’d spent almost the whole night in Ken Slattery’s arms. She’d lain against the hardness of his chest, her head resting against his shoulder. From time to time, he’d kissed her ear, her hair, her cheek. And she’d closed her eyes and let him. She—Nora Jones, who’d sworn never to let a man near her again.

  No, she thought, I didn’t do that. I couldn’t have. But she had, and a shiver ran over her.

  What had they talked about, all night long? Nothing and everything. They had even laughed, softly as befitted the softness of the night. Because he had always looked so serious, she’d been surprised by his humor, which was quick, sharp and ironic.

  When, at last, she’d told him that he must leave, they’d stood on the porch, embracing, each reluctant to let the other go. He had kissed her so fiercely and sweetly that she hadn’t wanted him to leave.

  And when he’d fetched his hat out of the hollyhocks, she’d found herself fastening a flower in his buttonhole, then smiling up at him, waiting, happily, for him to kiss her again.

  She closed her eyes and relived the moment of that kiss. It made her body seem as if it were full of hummingbirds, wild and tumbling and drunk on nectar.

  She snuggled more deeply into the sheets, wondering if this was how other women felt when they were in love.

  Love? Nora’s eyes flew open. She couldn’t be in love with Ken Slattery. Her heart was barred and locked against it. Her plans did not allow it.

  And yet…she’d agreed to see him again—tonight, in fact. She mustn’t do it. She’d vowed never to become involved with a man.

  No, she thought in confusion. I do want to see him again. He made me feel things I’ve never felt before.

  She snatched the pillow and buried her face in its depths. What sort of intoxication was settling over her? She had a child to raise, school to finish, a job that took all her energy—

  Her job! Nora sat bolt upright. Anxiously, she glanced at the clock. Ten forty-five.

  Oh, heavens, she thought in guilty panic, she’d slept until nearly noon—what was wrong with her? What would Dottie think? She scrambled out of bed.

  But then she noticed a note propped against the clock radio. It was scribbled in Dottie’s nervous, slightly quavery handwriting:

  Sweetie—

  I thought you deserved to sleep late for once in your life. Take your time. I’ve got Rory. I hope you had a good time last night.

  Love, D.

  Nora’s guilt swelled. She reread Dottie’s note with perplexity. Dottie sounded happy that Nora had dallied away
the night.

  Oh, Lord, thought Nora, her pulse pounding. Was Dottie trying to play matchmaker? Dottie of all people should know that Nora was burned out on marriage.

  She snatched up her clothes, fled from the bedroom to the bathroom and scurried to ready herself for work. She was so shamefully late that she didn’t take time to eat.

  She paused only long enough to try to phone Dottie to say that she was on her way. Poor Dottie—she must have handled all the business with no help other than Tillie, the cook. How could Nora ever apologize?

  But when she lifted the receiver, the phone was dead. No dial tone hummed in her ear; there was only silence.

  How odd, she thought. Had there been a storm while she slept? Had lightning knocked out telephone service?

  A glance out the window showed her it was foolish to think of storms. The sky was as hot and monotonously cloudless as it had been for days.

  Nora pressed the phone’s plunger button several times, trying to coax the line to life, but it stayed silent. What could be wrong? The bill was paid. Nora knew because she herself had mailed the check.

  At last she shrugged philosophically; the phone company was so computerized nowadays, who knew what gremlin might have slipped into the system, ready for mischief?

  She snatched up her purse and swung open the front door, but paused when she saw the front porch. Memories of last night surged through her again, tickling and taunting her.

  She looked at the wide railing. She and Ken had sat precisely there, next to the clematis trellis. That was the spot where they had kissed for the first time.

  The memory gave her the sensation of pinwheels spinning dizzily in her midsection. For a split second, she was giddy.

  Stop it, she commanded herself, her cheeks burning.

  Then she was further dismayed to see that Dottie had left the car for her. Fresh guilt assailed Nora. Walking the six blocks to the coffee shop wouldn’t hurt Rory, of course. Rory had energy to burn.

  But Dottie had seemed so tired of late. She shouldn’t have walked, especially in this heat. Nora bit her lower lip hard, to punish herself. She’d get to work as fast as she could, then send Dottie home to rest.

  As she unlocked the car and got in, Emily Delaney appeared on the porch next door, carrying a throw rug to shake clean. She gave Nora a smug, conspiratorial smile.

  “Well, Nora, did you have a good time last night? That man of yours surely did stay late—I heard his truck when he finally left. And a fine fella he is, too. That’s one you should grab. Get your hooks into him, girl.”

  Grab? Get her hooks into him? The thought repelled Nora. “Can’t talk, Emily. I’m late.”

  Nora started the car and backed it out of the drive, anxious to escape.

  During the short drive to the coffee shop, she scolded herself. She wouldn’t get involved. She hardened her heart against memories of Ken. In determination, she squared her jaw. She would, she vowed, stay safely numbed to feeling. She didn’t ever want to need any man.

  Nora’s resolve lasted until she parked in front of the coffee shop and got out of the car. At that moment, Ken walked out of the coffee shop, and his eyes met hers.

  Momentarily paralyzed, Nora stood as motionless as a statue. It was as if his sudden appearance had bewitched her, taken her prisoner.

  Oh, but he was handsome, she thought helplessly. His white Stetson hid his hair except for the silver of his sideburns. The brim cast a shadow over his face, making the bronze of his brows and lashes seem darker still.

  The moment he saw her, the lines bracketing his mouth had tightened. But they relaxed as he stared unwaveringly into her eyes. At last he smiled, almost imperceptibly, and something within Nora melted. She smiled back.

  He walked toward her, and she sucked in her breath. His body seemed all height and leanness and wide shoulders. He swept off his hat, and the noon sun glanced off the gold of his hair. When he reached her side, he stood, looking down at her, his hat held over his heart.

  Neither of them spoke. Neither of them had to.

  INSIDE THE COFFEE SHOP, Dottie paused by the front window, a pitcher of ice tea in her hand. She watched as Ken reached out his free hand and tentatively took Nora’s, lacing his fingers through hers.

  At his touch, Nora looked both terrified and radiant. The complexity of emotions that played across her face made Dottie’s heart ache. Oh, Nora, she wanted to say, let it happen. Just let it happen, honey.

  He said something to her, and Nora’s shy smile grew stronger. Then she whispered something in return, and Ken nodded, smiling back. The two of them stood, hands linked, staring into each other’s eyes, apparently unaware that the rest of Crystal Creek existed.

  “I’ll be swoggled,” said Shirley Jean Ditmars, who worked in the business office of the telephone company. She was a short, plump, inquisitive woman. “Ken Slattery—and Nora?”

  Shirley had a round face with bright black eyes, and when she cocked her head, she reminded Dottie of a bold, curious little bird. She looked up at Dottie and cocked her head now. Dottie had the irrational desire to feed her a handful of seeds.

  “Do you approve, Dottie?” Shirley asked. “I mean she was married to your son. Does it bother you, her findin’ someone else?”

  Dottie refilled Shirley’s glass with tea. “It’s not for me to approve or disapprove. It’s not our business. It’s theirs, and theirs alone.”

  Shirley, never one to take a hint, cocked her head on the other side. A slyness crept into her expression. “Dottie, is this why you had your phone turned off at the house today? Does it have something to do with Nora? Did anybody tell you how much it’d cost to turn back on? Plus, it’s going to be very inconvenient.”

  “Inconvenient doesn’t bother me,” Dottie said shortly. “I chose to turn it off. And don’t mention it to Nora. You hear me, Shirley Jean?”

  Shirley blinked her button-bright eyes. “It’s Gordon, isn’t it? Gordon’s calling again—isn’t he? Is it because he knows—” she nodded significantly toward Ken and Nora “—about this?”

  Dottie set the pitcher down on the table with a thump. “No,” she said, putting her hand on her hip. “He doesn’t know. And he won’t—unless some bigmouth tells him.”

  Shirley was not fazed. “He’s calling again? But Nora doesn’t know? My goodness, what’s he saying? Why don’t you report him to your service representative? Why inconvenience yourself by cutting off your phone? I always say, the phone is the lifeline of modern—”

  “I know what you always say,” Dottie snapped. “And no, Nora doesn’t know he’s calling, and she doesn’t know I shut the phone off. She won’t know either thing—I repeat—unless some bigmouth tells her.”

  Shirley, as usual, was blissfully impervious to personal insult. “Well, how on earth will you explain it? Won’t Nora suspect something?”

  Dottie narrowed her eyes. “I’ll say that the phone company’s screwed it up. It won’t be the first time it’s happened.”

  At last, Dottie’s remarks seemed to ruffle Shirley. “Well, I don’t think that’s nice. But if you’re going to tell a fib, you might as well tell a big one. What about here, though? Gordon can call you here. How do you intend to handle that?”

  “I just make sure that I answer the phone first,” Dottie said, with both hands now on her hips. “And if he keeps at it, I pull the plug. That’s how I’ll handle it.”

  “Hmmph.” Shirley shrugged rather grandly and looked out the window again. Nora and Ken still stood, their heads close together, her hand in his.

  “Ken Slattery—holding hands in public,” Shirley said, shaking her head. “Him, of all people. I never thought I’d see the day.”

  “Leave them be,” Dottie said curtly and picked up the pitcher. “Let them discover each other in peace. Nora deserves a little happiness, God knows. Let her enjoy it.”

  The phone behind the counter rang, and Dottie stiffened as tensely as if she’d heard a shot. She hurried to answer. Shirley watched
her with frank curiousity.

  “Longhorn Coffee Shop,” Dottie said and braced herself, hoping the answering voice wouldn’t be Gordon’s.

  But it was Gordon, and he sounded both irritable and resentful. “I tried calling Nora. Now the phone company says the phone’s disconnected. What is this, Ma? What are you tryin’ to do to me?”

  “I’m having the number changed,” Dottie said.

  It was not a total lie. She did intend to change to an unlisted number when the phone was turned back on. Perhaps if she could have thought more clearly, that was what she would have done in the first place.

  But Gordon had rattled her too badly to think straight. Ever since his call, her temples had throbbed. An out-of-order phone would sound less alarming to Nora than a sudden change to a private number. She didn’t want Gordon harassing Nora, and she didn’t want Nora worrying about him.

  Gordon stayed silent for a long, ominous moment. When he spoke again, his voice shook with accusation. “You shut the phone off? You hate me that much? What kind of woman are you?”

  Dottie took a deep breath and tried to sound calm. “I’m a tired woman, Gordon. And I don’t hate you. It’d be easier if I did. I just don’t want you bothering Nora. You don’t love her. You never did. Stop trying to fool yourself—and us, too.”

  “You stay out of it,” Gordon said savagely. “Is she there? She’s there, ain’t she? Let me talk to her.”

  “No.”

  “Ma, you’re coverin’ up something. It’s Bubba, isn’t it? He’s dumped that Dumont woman and took up with Nora. And you’re gonna let it happen. Why? Because he’s got that big ranch? What’s he gonna do—divorce his wife and move you all out to his ranch? I’m not good enough? I’m your own son, but I’m not good enough?”

  Dottie closed her eyes; her head was aching harder than before.

  “Stop calling, Gordon. Stop—or I’ll have this phone turned off, too. I’m sick of this.”

  “It’s true, isn’t it?” Gordon persisted. “She’s mixed up with Bubba Gibson, and you got dollar signs in your eyes. Bubba—after what he tried to do to me! Deny it—go on—try and deny it.”