“I had a good reason for that.”
“Yes, you never trusted me.”
“I was obviously right not to trust you.”
Hope grabbed her gloves from the ground. “I’m tired of defending myself to you for something I didn’t do. For the last time, I didn’t call the tabloids.”
He looked at her as if he could stare a true confession out of her. “I’ll never know that for sure, will I?”
“No.” She shook her head. “You never will, because that means you’d have to believe in me, without proof. It means you’d have to have faith in me, but you’ll never do that, because you never really cared for me.”
“You’re wrong.” He raised his gaze to a point over her head, then said, “I cared.”
“Not enough.” She took one last look at the man she loved with all her broken heart. “And I deserve better than a man who doesn’t care enough for me.”
Myron Lambardo grabbed his Swisher Sweet between his stubby fingers and pulled it from the corner of his mouth. He blew a fog of cigar smoke and smoke rings toward the ceiling. If he had to spend one more day hiding out in his Winnebago in Paris’s barn, he was going to go freakin‘ nuts. Maybe go medieval on someone.
He rose on his elbow and looked down into Paris’s face. Beneath the sheet on his bed, her bare body was pressed to his. She was a nice woman, and he cared about her more than he’d cared about any woman, except for his mama, of course.
Paris could cook like nobody’s business, and until two days ago she’d been a virgin. The first night she’d come to the Winnebago, they’d had sex, and it was still a bit unbelievable to him that he was her first. She’d chosen him, and that knowledge puffed out his chest and put a swagger in his step. It was just too bad he wasn’t the type of guy to settle in one place for very long, because if he were, he could see himself settled with her.
“I wish you could go to the dance tomorrow night,” she said, all dreamy as she looked at him. “They get colored streamers and decorate the grange for the Founder’s Day Ball. Everyone dresses up real nice, and they even hire a band. I could teach you the two-step.”
She already knew he couldn’t be seen anywhere in town, but he thought it was real sweet of her to want to go dancing with him. Even if it was to crappy country-and-western music.
“I’m afraid I’m going to have to be leaving here soon.”
A frown settled between her brows. “I don’t want you to go.”
“Do you think I can hide here in your barn forever?”
She smiled. “I’ve enjoyed having you here. It’s been fun sneaking out.”
“Yeah, but I can’t stay much longer. The thing is, I’ve been thinking of going to Mexico. Since the WWF won’t sponsor midget wrestling, and Hope Spencer made everyone think I’m a pansy, I don’t know that I have a future in this country. I’ve been thinking of making a name for myself in Mexico. It’s always been a dream of mine to be one of the top wrestlers. Those guys get respect.”
She turned her face into his chest and he felt her tears. “I’ll miss you, Myron.”
He stuck his cigar in his mouth and rubbed her shoulder. “I’ll miss you. You’re a good woman, Paris.”
“Not so good. I’m not proud that I got angry and called all those reporters up here.”
“If you hadn’t, we wouldn’t have met.”
“That’s true,” she sobbed. “And you’re the best thing that has ever happened to me.”
Chapter Sixteen
LOST WOMAN FOUND IN WILDERNESS
Dylan pulled the sheriff’s Blazer off the side of the highway and parked in the shadow of a dense crop of pine. It was close to eight in the morning, and he positioned his radar to pick up speeders. Not that he thought he would get many. The highway was usually quiet this time of morning, but there were always a few stragglers late for work and pushing the posted limit. He radioed his location to dispatch, then sat back with copies of People magazine and The Weekly News of the Universe. He’d picked up both at the M & S this morning and flipped open People to the interview Julia had given them. He read about half before he became so disgusted he lobbed it into the back. She’d all but come right out and said he’d kidnapped Adam and brought him to Gospel to live. She’d made Dylan look like a jerk, while she’d come off smelling like a rose.
He wondered how many people would believe her bullshit.
He reached for The Weekly News of the Universe and thumbed past a “Bloodsucking Vampire” story to Hope’s alien article. He chuckled a few times, thinking it was all pretty amusing, until he read on and discovered Dennis Taylor, the cross-dressing sheriff of the small wilderness town.
“Jesus,” he swore as he read about himself dressed up in a pink marabou teddy. The story reported that the sheriff always placed bets on how many unsuspecting female tourists he could lure up into the mountains under the guise of “wanting to show them the most beautiful place on earth.” The sheriff in the piece didn’t bet on broken bones, but on broken hearts.
He folded the paper and tossed it on the seat beside him. He was obsessed with Hope, there was no other explanation. Especially after he’d kissed her yesterday. He’d thought of little else but the texture of her tongue and the taste of her lips. His heart had pounded in his chest, draining the blood from his head and sending it to his groin, and in those short moments while he’d held her again, he’d felt an almost overwhelming… rightness. A feeling like every cell in his body whispered yes, and his hair stood on end.
He’d thought with each passing day he’d miss her less, but the opposite was true. He missed the tangle of her hair in his fingers, and he missed looking across his pillow and seeing her sleeping beside him. The other day in the M & S, he’d picked up a peach and smelled it before he even realized he’d been searching for the scent of her skin. Just this morning, as he’d reached into the freezer for a box of Eggos, he’d thought of her naked on his kitchen table, him buried deep within her body, her eyes filled with lust shining up at him. Remembering had gripped his belly and flushed his face, and he’d stuck his head in the freezer to cool down. Adam had walked into the room and asked what he was doing. He’d lied and said he was inspecting the ice cubes.
You really never cared for me, she’d told him, but she was wrong. He was in love with her. He’d been in love before, but not like this. For the first time in his life, the love he felt for a woman was total and consuming and he ached for the touch of her hand in his. Heart and soul, it went to a place so deep, he couldn’t imagine living without her. It filled him up and left him longing for a glimpse of her smile and the sound of her voice. Something had to be done. Each day without her was worse than the day before, and as he sat in the sheriff’s Blazer, morning light spilling through the windshield, he knew what he had to do. He had to believe her. Not just for himself, but for Hope also. He had to believe her without proof or witnesses. He had to listen to his heart, and to the deep-down part of his soul that knew about unconditional love and faith in another person. And in the end, he believed her simply because he loved her.
The radar’s digital display flashed, and Dylan straightened as a small Winnebago with Las Vegas plates sped past. He pushed his hat down on his forehead and shoved the four-by-four into gear. His foot hit the gas pedal, and the Blazer shot onto the highway as he radioed the code. He flipped the switch to his grille lights, and within less than half a minute he came up behind the Winnebago.
He didn’t know what to expect from Myron Lambardo. He hoped he didn’t have a long chase ahead of him, and he hoped Myron didn’t resist arrest. Dylan just didn’t feel right about wrestling a dwarf to the ground. Especially a dwarf who knew how to tombstone.
The Winnebago slowed and coasted to the side of the road. Dylan parked behind the recreational vehicle and turned on the video camera mounted overhead. As he approached the driver’s side, the window rolled down, and he got his first good look at Myron the Masher. He had to admit that the wrestler really did look a bit like Pat
rick Swayze, just more compact.
“May I see your license, please?” he asked as he took in the cab; then his gaze suddenly stopped on the woman sitting in the passenger seat. “Paris?”
“Hello, Dylan.”
He stared at the woman he’d know for as long as he could remember. “What are you doing in there?”
“I’m leaving town with Myron.”
Paris had never had much of a sense of humor, but she had to be pulling his leg. Myron shoved his license at him, and Dylan took it. He’d seen the same picture of the man when he’d searched the NCIC.
“Myron’s going to teach me to wrestle. My wrestling name will be Sweet Thing,” she gushed.
Dylan glanced up from the license. “Now I know you’re kidding.”
Her pursed lips got all puffed up. “Is it really that hard for you to believe that a man could want me?”
He felt as if he’d been transported into the twilight zone. Or one of Hope’s stories. This could not be happening. “I didn’t say that, Paris.”
“Myron appreciates me. We’re in love and going to get married as soon as we get to Vegas.”
She sounded serious, but really, how serious could she be? “That might be a while. Your fiancé here has violated a restraining order.”
“But I’m leaving the country for good.” Myron spoke for the first time. “I don’t ever want to lay my eyes on Hope Spencer again. That broad ruined my life. Until I met Paris, I had no direction. I’m a new man now.”
“Sure you are.” Dylan studied the woman who looked like Paris but sure as hell wasn’t acting like her. “Do you realize you’re involved with a stalker?”
“He’s not a stalker.” She smiled at her fiancé and reached for his hand. She looked all soft. Like a woman in love. “He’s just persistent.”
“Well, his persistence is going to land him in jail.”
Paris’s bushy brows lowered over her narrowed eyes, and Dylan was exposed to a whole new side of the easy-tempered girl he’d known since first grade. “Don’t you dare ruin this for me, Dylan Taber. I’ve waited all of my life for someone like Myron. Someone who could love me. God knows I wasted enough time waiting for you.”
“Me?” Dylan took a step back.
“Do you think I baked all those cakes and pies for you for the heck of it? Didn’t you ever notice that you were the only man in town I baked for?” She laughed, but it came out sounding very bitter. “I bet you didn’t notice. Especially ever since Hope Spencer drove into town. You’re obsessed with her. Her with her blond hair and skinny behind.”
“Now, Paris,” he began, but stopped because he didn’t know what to say. He’d always thought she baked because it was her hobby, and he wasn’t altogether certain she was wrong about Hope. “Do your parents know about this?”
“I plan to call them from Vegas.”
“I’ll tell you what,” Myron interjected. “If you give me back my license, I’ll get the hell out of this state.”
As much as Dylan hated the thought of letting Myron off the hook, he listened while the man talked.
“As far as I’m concerned, Hope Spencer and I are square,” Myron continued. “She ruined my life, but if it weren’t for her, I never would have met Paris. By this time next week, I’ll be in Mexico starting a new life with her, and you won’t ever see me again.”
The alternative was hauling him back into town, booking him into custody, another court date and hearing that Hope had said she didn’t want. Dylan handed back the license. “You better make sure I don’t see you. And you better not even think about bothering Ms. Spencer.” He looked at Paris. “Are you sure about this?”
“Oh, yes.” She went back to gushing, and her face softened once more as she looked at Myron. “I’ve never been more happy in my life. I finally have a chance for a life outside of my parent’s diner, and for a family of my own.”
Dylan thought he’d probably heard crazier, but he couldn’t remember it if he had.
Paris reached for her big purse and set it on her lap. “I was going to mail this to you,” she said and removed a stack of sealed envelopes and handed him one. “But since you’re here…”
He took it and stepped back. “Good luck, Paris.”
“She doesn’t need luck as long as she’s got me,” Myron said as he shoved his Winnebago into gear and pulled out onto the highway.
Dylan stood on the side of the road until he completely lost sight of the vehicle. Damn, what a crazy morning. He walked back to the Blazer and climbed inside. Paris Fernwood marrying Myron Lambardo, a.k.a., Myron the Masher, a.k.a., Micky the Magical Leprechaun, and becoming a wrestler herself. He just couldn’t picture her wrestling anyone.
He turned off the grille lights and opened the envelope Paris had addressed to him. He expected a membership to the dessert of the month club. Instead, it was a rambling, mushy note about how much she loved Myron Lambardo. Christ, all the i’s had little hearts above them instead of dots. At the end, she included a quick “by the way…”
I never meant to hurt you or Adam. And I wish I could say I was sorry for placing a few calls to the tabloids, but how can I be sorry when that is what brought my true love to me.
Paris Fernwood- soon to be Mrs. Myron Lambardo
Dylan reread the last paragraph three times before he crumpled the note and dropped it on the next seat. For a few moments he let rage tighten his fists on the steering wheel, but then he let it go. Knowing it was Paris and not Hope didn’t matter now. Not since he believed Hope without proof, but last week it would have mattered. If he’d known last week, he could have saved himself a lot of misery.
When he thought of the nights he’d lain awake torturing himself about his troubles with Adam and Hope, anger again welled up in his chest, and he was extremely glad Paris was on her way to Mexico and no longer living in the same town. He didn’t wish Paris harm, nor did he wish her happiness. In fact, he hoped some big Mexican senorita got her into the wrestling ring and tied her into a pretzel.
The Founder’s Day committee worked long hours to come up with the perfect theme for this year’s Founder’s Day Ball. They fought and argued and finally drew straws. The winner, Boot Scootin‘ into the Millennium, was Iona Osborn’s idea.
The outside of the grange had been given a fresh coat of green paint, and the inside had been decorated to reflect the wilderness outside. Thousands of foil stars hung from the ceiling and the air was scented with the freshly cut pines stuck in Stanley Caldwell’s papier-mâché and wire masterpiece. It towered in the far corner, an impressive rendering of the Sawtooth Mountains.
Pete Yarrow and his band, The Wild Boys, provided the night’s music. Pete’s one claim to fame was his two guest appearances on Star Search, which was enough to make him a local favorite and all-around celebrity. The music was a raucous mix of country, bluegrass, and rockabilly. If Pete occasionally missed a note, the citizens filling the dance floor didn’t seem to mind.
Beers were a buck fifty, a glass of wine two dollars, and a can of soda a dollar. Water was free from the fountain. The people of Gospel were decked out in their finest. The women in yards of tulle and lace, the men in suits, a few opting for the cowboy leisure kind.
Stanley Caldwell’s monument of the Sawtooth Mountains stood in one corner of the grange, lit by a soft white light.
Hope stood in front of Stanley’s monument, paying particular interest to the splash of blue glitter that represented Sawtooth Lake. Never big on tulle, she wore a basic black dress she’d bought in Sun Valley on one of her shopping trips. The dress was sleeveless, with a scoop neck, and fit tight against her body. Twin seams ran up the backs of her legs, and she’d shoved her feet into a pair of four-inch pumps. She’d curled and pumped up the volume of her hair and wore diamond studs in her ears. She looked good and she knew it.
According to Shelly, Dylan never showed up at the Founder’s Day Ball, and since he’d been in such a bad mood when he’d picked up Adam from her house, she didn’t thi
nk he intended for this year to be any different. Which was okay with Hope-she hadn’t dressed with him in mind. Well, maybe just a little bit in mind. A little-just in case he showed-bit.
Even though she knew she looked good, she did feel somewhat out of place amongst the other women who’d decked themselves out in vivid color and foo-faraw. Even Shelly, who usually dressed strictly for comfort, had squeezed herself into satin and sequins like she was a prom queen. She and Paul were out on the dance floor two-stepping their hearts out.
“Excuse me.” Someone spoke above the music. “I don’t think we’ve met.”
Hope glanced over her shoulder at an old lady clouded in blue net and gave a long, mental groan. The light from the mountain display shone through the woman’s baby-blue hair and lit up her blue eye shadow and lashes. Just like that day in Hansen’s Emporium, Hope found herself staring in horrified wonder. It was like staring at a bad traffic accident. She didn’t want to look, but she couldn’t look away.
“We met in your emporium last week,” Hope reminded her.
“No, that was my sister, Eden. I’m her twin sister, Edie Dean.”
Egad! “There are two of you?”
“Yep, but my sister prefers purple.”
Hope forced herself to look past all that blue and into Edie’s eyes. “I remember.”
“Iona Osborn over at the Cozy Corner told me you write those articles for that News of the World.”
“News of the Universe,” Hope corrected. “How did Iona know about the articles?”
“Iona Osborn works with Paris, and last night Paris told her all about it.”
She supposed it was bound to get out sometime.
“Since you haven’t been in town long, you’ve never met my brother-in-law, Melvin.”
“No, I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure.”
“Pleasure, schmeasure. Melvin is a rat-faced, sheep-lovin‘ two-timer, and that’s a fact. If my sister had the sense God gave a goat, she’d ram him with her Buick.”
True Confessions Page 28
