Sinister

by Nancy Bush

  Good. That’s what you get, Mia thought, not giving a fig who was coming to the church. She just wanted to get the measurements for Sally and be on her way, far from all the painful memories.

  “You can start on the staircase here,” Pilar said, gesturing toward the wide wood staircase that was the focal point of the entry room. “We’re doing a garland all the way up.”

  “I’ve got the design from Sally.” Conscious of Pilar’s eyes on her, Mia unspooled her tape to check the height of the newel post.

  “But I don’t think we’re doing any decorations on the back staircase—the one off the kitchen.”

  “Nope. Nothing there.” If Pilar was so busy, why was she standing there watching her? Mia started the slow climb up the stairs, pulling herself along from the railing. Stairs were a problem for her.

  Pilar sighed audibly behind her.

  Mia gritted her teeth, knowing she was keeping “the bride” waiting. “Why don’t you go take care of those million and one things, and I’ll come find you if I have any questions,” she suggested. “And I promise, I won’t bother Ira.”

  “Well, if you’re sure,” Pilar said, then added, “I’ll come back and check on you in ten minutes.”

  Control freak, Mia thought. Was it any wonder that Pilar was stressed about the wedding, when she wouldn’t leave the people she’d hired, like Mia, alone to do their jobs? With Pilar out of sight, Mia paused to take off her coat and smoothed down her cashmere sweater, pleased at how the V-neck exposed just the right amount of cleavage. She had donned her Sunday best for this appointment, and she didn’t appreciate Pilar treating her like a cleaning lady.

  Measuring the stairs was difficult, with Mia’s unsteadiness, but in a few minutes she was done with the banister and moving on to the other areas. Working her way into the great room, she found Ira sitting in his chair and reading a magazine with the flat screen tuned to some show about Wall Street and investments.

  “Hello, Ira.” She held up the tape and smiled. “I’m here to get the right dimensions for your wedding decorations.”

  He looked her up and down, his eyes lingering. Was he checking her out? He was, the son of a gun. That was not what she’d expect from a man his age; well, in truth he wasn’t all that old, only in his sixties, but he was a man about to be married. “Do I need to move?” he asked.

  “No. You’re fine where you are. I’ll work around you.”

  “Good.” He picked up his magazine but didn’t look away.

  Aware that his eyes were still on her breasts, she went over to start working on the windows in the connecting room, separated by a wide arch but visible from Ira’s chair. That way, he could check out her butt. Men seemed to like full curves in the rear.

  She moved on to the dining room, smiling to herself. Dillinger men … She’d always had a thing for them. Pilar appeared a minute later, walking right past Mia as if she were invisible.

  “So we’ve had a wonderful change of plans with Colt here,” Pilar said, perching on the arm of her husband’s big recliner. “I’m heading to the dress rehearsal, and Rourke is going to spend some bonding time with his dad. They’re going to watch some college football at Ricki’s.”

  Colton was here?

  And what was that about Rourke’s dad? Chad Larson had died years ago …

  “I’d like to watch a little football,” Ira said. “Maybe I’ll join them.”

  “Hold on. This is a chance for Colt to finally get to know his son. I don’t think you need to be there.”

  “What the hell? It’s not like I’m not involved. I’m going to be Rourke’s stepfather. I’m already his grandfather.” He shook his head as if he, too, couldn’t believe the weird familial ties. Mia didn’t blame him.

  “Well,” Pilar said, “Just don’t get in the way.” Pilar pressed a kiss onto Ira’s forehead. “Okay?”

  “I know how to handle my family,” he said gruffly.

  Mia jotted down the measurement as the news washed over her. Colton was Rourke’s father? She nearly fell over and had to grasp the windowsill to keep herself on her feet. Wow … wow … This was some hot gossip. When she heard the news, Sally was going to be annoyed that she herself didn’t come to measure.

  “They could have bonded years ago if you’d let out the truth,” Ira was saying.

  “Don’t you go second-guessing me,” Pilar said, half scolding as she draped an arm over his shoulders. “I was protecting my son, and I think I did a damned good job. You men don’t understand the mommy instinct, so don’t even try.”

  The tape measure slid back into the case with a thwack and Mia cringed, hoping they hadn’t heard it. If they had, she figured that would end the discussion, but no, they either had forgotten, or didn’t care, that she was in the other room.

  “You should come with us to the church,” Pilar said. “I could use a little help. It’s your wedding, too, you know.”

  “I’m not stepping foot into that church until it’s absolutely necessary,” Ira groused. “Why we have to use the Kincaid church and not the one in town, I’ll never know.”

  “The Pioneer Church is perfect, and the Kincaids deeded it over to the historical society years ago. Trust me. It’ll be so much more quaint and intimate, for lack of a better word, than stodgy old Saint Ursula’s.”

  Ira growled, but Mia heard Pilar stop him with a loud kiss.

  Mia found herself hating them both. She couldn’t wait to tell Sally or someone about Colton being the father of Pilar’s kid. How unbelievable was that? Really kind of incestuous if you stopped and thought about Pilar sleeping with son and now father. Mia’s attentions might lean toward Dillinger men, but that didn’t mean she didn’t like to have some dirt on them.

  Half an hour later Mia had finished up and nearly ran into Pilar, who was hurrying out, her arms full of makeup and toiletries. The nervous bride-to-be barely said a quick “I’ll see you at the church,” before dashing out the door while juggling her bags. The second she was gone, the big house seemed quiet. Almost peaceful with only the muted sound of the television. Mia gathered her things and was walking to her car when she recognized the wraithlike figure sitting atop the pillar and post fence near the parking area. “Kit!” she declared, a hand covering her chest. As always, when she saw her daughter Mia felt a bit of pride, a lot of love and a ton of guilt.

  “I thought that was your car,” Kit said.

  In her down jacket, jeans, saggy skirt and beanie, Kit was a bundle of disappointment. Mia worried about her. Day and night. Kit should be in school instead of doing God knew what around the Dillinger ranch on a December day colder than a witch’s tit.

  “You want to come home with me, Kit? I’ve got a stop to make, but then I’ll take you back to the house.” Mia squeezed her daughter’s arm and was surprised at the rock-hard contours of her biceps.

  Kit disengaged herself from Mia’s grip with a sharp tug of her arm. “I’m feeding the horses today. None of the hands want to come in on a Saturday.”

  Mia nodded, unable to stop her mouth from curling into a pout.

  Kit stiffened. “Don’t cry.”

  Although Mia shook her head, she couldn’t deny the tears stinging her eyes. This was all so unfair: Pilar soaking up all the Dillinger money while Mia and Kit had to rough it.

  “I’ll come home later,” Kit said reluctantly.

  It was more than Mia could have hoped for from her strange and distant daughter. This had been their lot for years, half-estranged, Kit almost defiant and Mia not wanting to cross the line and get the police involved. Since Kit would soon turn eighteen, it seemed a moot point.

  She dashed away her tears and swallowed hard. “I’ve got to run over to the church, but when I get home, I’ll put on a pot of black bean chili.”

  Kit simply nodded.

  “I’ll leave the pot on the stove.” Mia wanted to pull her into her arms and hug her tight, but she knew from experience that the more she tried to rein in her free-spirited daughter, the
more likely she would lose Kit forever. So Mia forced a smile, then headed back to her car. Life was full of disappointments, but you had to move on. Hadn’t Judd taught her that so long ago? A person just had to keep moving. At least Kit was coming home for the night.

  “This isn’t gonna work,” Rourke said as he and Colton walked down the hillside to Ricki’s place.

  “What isn’t?”

  “I already told you, I have a dad.”

  “Okay.” The sky was a vault of white and the air had that brittle winter feel, as if it were sprinkled with minute shards of ice, tiny pieces that burned your lungs when you took a deep breath.

  Colton glanced over the rise in the direction of the valley where they’d dug up the coyote this morning. He thought of Sabrina and was almost embarrassed at how badly he wanted to set things straight. Annoyed at himself, he kicked at the curtain of snow over the trail. Damned if women weren’t the most difficult creatures to deal with.

  “So don’t do this,” Rourke said.

  “Well, I am your father, whether you like it or not. And I want to get to know you.”

  “Nobody asked me what I want.”

  “That’s true.”

  “How long is it gonna be before I can go home?”

  “Awhile.”

  The boy looked him up and down, a hard scrutiny. Grudgingly, he picked up his pace, snowflakes sticking to his hair and shoulders. “I’m just saying, this is lame.”

  Colton had decided neither he nor Rourke was ready for a heavy one-on-one session, so he’d enlisted Ricki’s help. The plan was to make homemade pizzas, catch a football game on television and maybe, if the mood was right, play some cards. Colton figured he’d take it slow with the boy and let things develop on their own.

  Following Rourke up the shoveled walk to Ricki’s, Colton wondered how he’d stepped into all this relationship muck all at once. He was suddenly faced with putting things right with both Sabrina and the son he never knew. Since Margo and Darcy’s deaths, he’d stayed away from relationships, but he couldn’t back off with Rourke. Their tie was for life. Whether the kid liked it or not. And he wasn’t going to give up on Sabrina, either, now that he’d found her again. Funny how she’d gotten under his skin with just a glance. Maybe she’d always been there and he just hadn’t noticed.

  Ricki met them at the door in an apron. She shuttled them both inside, where the scent of rising bread dough mingled with the sharp tang of tomato sauce and a faint smell of wood smoke from the fire blazing in the stove greeted them.

  “Aren’t you domestic?” he observed as Rourke kicked off his boots and flopped onto the couch.

  “Where’s Brook?” the boy asked as his gaze skated around the small living area.

  Ricki hooked her thumb toward the back of the house. “In her room. Why don’t you tell her to come join us? Otherwise she might have to suffer the indignity of having sausage on her cheese pizza.”

  “I heard that!” Brook appeared from the back of the house, cell phone in hand. “I hate sausage. I’m a vegetarian.”

  “Since when?” Colton asked.

  Ricki answered dryly, “Last week.”

  “Meat is not good for you, Mom.” Brook clicked through several channels. “Sophie’s been doing the no-meat thing for two months and she feels great.”

  “Sophie is Brook’s best friend. She lives in New York,” Ricki explained. Then, seeing that her daughter had settled on another reality show about a B-list celebrity’s life, she called, “Hey. We’re watching college football today.”

  “Ugh!” Brook dropped the remote onto the coffee table. “Why?”

  Ricki said, “Uncle Colton’s a fan.”

  Brook pulled a face and her gaze shifted to her uncle and she asked again, “Why?”

  Colton said, “Because I love seeing two teams trying to beat the crap out of each other.”

  Brook gazed at him as if he were a Neanderthal, but Rourke slid an appreciative glance in his direction. “I like the Cowboys,” he said. “But Colorado State’s going to be tough to beat.”

  “You want to hold your head up here, you gotta go with Wyoming,” Colton said, settling onto a corner of the sofa as he changed the channel. “Here we go. Looks like Wyoming already scored a field goal.”

  Rourke didn’t comment. Out of the corner of Colton’s eye he saw the boy put his feet up on the coffee table, just like he had.

  “Call me when the pizza is ready.” Brooklyn started down the hall, shouting back, “The vegetarian pizza.”

  Ricki handed a can of root beer to both Colton and Rourke and they popped them open at the same time. Rourke groaned when the Cowboy receiver missed a pass.

  They watched companionably for a few minutes, then a commercial came on. “So … do you hate my mother?” Rourke asked.

  Colton felt his jaw drop as he wondered where Rourke had heard that. “’Course not. Your mom takes good care of you and wants what’s best for you. So do I.”

  Rourke shrugged. “I heard you used to be in the rodeo. What did you do?”

  “Mostly roped calves.” He turned the soda can in his hand. “Do you ride?”

  “I’d like to, but Mom says it’s too dangerous.”

  “Around here, horses are a way of life. I can hook you up, get you going if you want. Nothing too rough. I can talk to your mom.”

  “She won’t like it.” A smile threatened Rourke’s lips.

  “Yeah, well.” He shrugged.

  “So, can you show me some roping tricks?”

  “I might remember how.”

  Rourke said scornfully, “You can’t have forgot how.”

  “Why? I’m pretty old.”

  “Not that old,” he said wisely.

  Colt looked over at Ricki, who was beaming at the kitchen counter. It was just like a woman to turn to Jell-O inside over a guy moment. Progress, Colton thought. He and Rourke both turned back to the TV. He had no illusions that he could completely break down the wall between them today, but maybe he’d get there eventually.

  Chapter Twelve

  Sabrina and Antonia walked to Molly’s Diner from the clinic. They closed the veterinarian office at four on Saturdays but left an emergency number listed on the door.

  “Who would do that to a coyote?” Antonia asked for about the fifteenth time as they bent their heads against the wind.

  “I don’t know,” Sabrina answered, just as she had every time. She adjusted her scarf as they entered the restaurant. An icy draft followed them in, fierce enough to rattle the diner windows.

  “So, Colton was there with you,” Antonia said as they slid into a booth opposite each other.

  “That’s right.” Sabrina reached for a menu left on the table.

  Antonia lifted her shoulders and smiled. “So … ?”

  “There’s nothing between Colton and me.”

  “Yeah, I know. Nothing.”

  “I’m telling the truth.” Sabrina snapped open the menu though she knew it by heart.

  “But there could be, right? I mean, do you have his digits?”

  “No.”

  “Does he have yours?”

  Sabrina lowered the menu and eyed her partner. “I’m sure he’s learned my cell number by now.”

  A smile bloomed across Antonia’s lips. “What are you going to do when he calls?”

  “Talk to him, probably.”

  “Probably?”

  Sabrina shook her head. She wasn’t ready to go there … at least not yet. But a little part of her was actually warming to the idea of seeing Colton again and she couldn’t help feel a bit of anticipation at the thought. There was a part of her, a very silly part, she thought, that had never stopped loving him, which, of course, was ridiculous.

  The door opened, and Mia Collins came over in a flurry of snow and cold air. “Good afternoon, ladies.” She took off her wool cap and shook it, sending wet flakes flying toward the table.

  Antonia scooted out of the way of the snow and Mia took that as an invitat
ion to join them, which sent Antonia’s brows sky high. Mia wasn’t a friend to either of them and both Sabrina and her partner weren’t big fans of hers. The woman clung to the past and hung on to the Dillingers any way she could. Sabrina had once told Antonia, “If I end up bitter and deluded like that, promise that you’ll shoot me.” It was only half a joke.

  Antonia pasted on a smile. “Hi, Mia. What’s up?”

  “I just came from Pilar’s dress rehearsal at the Pioneer Church,” Mia said as she hung her coat and hat on the hook at the edge of the booth, “and I gotta say, I wish Molly served something stronger than coffee.” She slid in next to Antonia with a sigh.

  “That bad?” Sabrina asked, eyes on Antonia.

  “I was there to measure for flowers, but of course Pilar put me to work taking pictures so she could see herself from a hundred different angles. I swear, when you look up vanity in the dictionary, there must be a photo of Pilar Larson.”

  “Harsh,” Sabrina said.

  Mia shrugged. “I call ’em as I see ’em.”

  “Sounds like Pilar,” Antonia said with a shrug. “How was the dress?”

  “Beautiful, but I think she’s going to make Emma change it again.” Mia lowered her voice. “But that’s not the big news. I overheard earlier that Pilar’s son, Rourke, was supposed to be at the rehearsal but didn’t come, and do you know why?” When both women shook their heads, Mia leaned forward and delivered the news. “It’s because he was spending time with his father, Colton Dillinger. Turns out Chad wasn’t the boy’s father at all. Pilar had an affair with Colt.”

  Sabrina’s heart did a painful little dive.

  “I don’t believe it,” Antonia said scornfully.

  “It’s true. Pilar and Ira were talking about it. Ira said he was the kid’s stepfather and grandfather.”

  “He could’ve meant anything by that,” Antonia said.

  “This sounds like another one of the stories that circulate about Pilar.”

  Sabrina could barely breathe. This had to be a lie, right? Gossip generated by bored minds.

  “It’s going to be all over town. Pilar got knocked up and pawned the kid off as Chad’s.” Mia sat back and folded her arms, her eyes glittering like a cat who’d just pounced on a mouse. “Can you believe that? Those Dillinger men sure are a fertile breed.” Mia wagged her head back and forth, grabbing one of the laminated menus. “What are y’all having?”