by Jodi Thomas
They talked of nothing when they pushed the plane back into the barn, then held hands as they walked to the Jeep.
He drove slowly, not wanting the world to catch up to them again. Twice, he stopped in the center of the road to pull her close and kiss her.
“I already want you again,” he whispered, and loved the way she laughed as she moved her fingers into his hair.
When she finished kissing him, she pulled away and added, “We’d better get home fast. Maybe we should have flown the plane home.”
He saw her need for him in her blue eyes and felt like his heart might explode.
The ranch house was dark when they finally made it home, and he noticed she turned on every light as she walked through to the kitchen. Then, like starving children, they collected everything that looked edible and camped out in the breakfast nook. They talked of nothing and ate ice cream over cereal topped with chocolate sauce.
He felt like he’d gone to prison before he’d finished growing. He never remembered allowing himself to act silly, but tonight the air seemed enchanted. They fought over every cherry he pulled from the jar. She tickled him, then giggled when he refused to tickle her back. Though he wanted to hold her tight against him, he kept his embrace light, easy for her to move in and out.
When they crawled into bed, they settled in the middle, making love one more time as if both knew eventually this day had to end. After she fell asleep on his chest, Cord lay awake thinking that if he had only one day of heaven coming to him in this lifetime, this one day was enough.
He kissed the top of her head. “I love you,” he whispered, wondering if he’d ever say the words to her when she was awake. Nevada didn’t believe in forever.
She didn’t believe in love.
He knew the seven months of married life they had left wouldn’t be long enough, but he’d take the time and do all he could to become the one person in her life that she couldn’t do without.
He’d become the habit she couldn’t break. Even if she never said the words, she’d love him, and when their time was over, she’d remain in his bed. She’d sleep with him through the first frost.
“Sleep, Babe,” he whispered as he bumped his chin against her forehead.
She moaned and wiggled closer to him for warmth.
He moved his hand down her back, pressing her against him. “I’m going to make love to you again at dawn.”
“Promise,” she mumbled, more asleep than awake. “It’d be a great start to the day.”
“Promise,” he answered, knowing that Nevada already loved him and didn’t even know it. “Tomorrow and every morning,” he added, smiling.
Chapter 22
APRIL 5
THE DOCTORS WARNED RONNY THAT MARTY WINSLOW would have good days and bad, but the good days were always too short and the bad days were growing worse. Sometimes he didn’t wake for more than an hour, and when he did, he didn’t seem to see the world.
His brother and cousins who had been waiting for him to die seemed content to stay away and let Mr. Carleon and Ronny handle the work of the last few days. With the nurses on eight-hour shifts around the clock and the doctor coming every day, there was still plenty of work to keep both Mr. Carleon and Ronny rushing.
Mr. Carleon read to him from adventure books he knew Marty loved, and Beau would still play for him in the evenings. A hundred times Ronny checked and swore Marty was less with them than he had been the day before. The machines were working, counting off breaths and heartbeats, but he seemed to be leaving an inch at a time.
Ronny found her escape in long walks when she knew he was resting well. Time lost all meaning. She would move like a ghost through the town in the early morning and again when the moon was high. People she sometimes passed were no more alive than the mannequins in the windows of the stores on Main.
She kept her phone close, knowing that Mr. Carleon would call her if anything changed, but sometimes she feared she wouldn’t hear it because she didn’t hear anything. The world, her world, was growing silent.
Cord McDowell dropped by on Thursday morning, just to see if she needed anything. He was a quiet man trying to be kind, and she knew being sociable didn’t come any easier for him than it did for her. On impulse, Ronny invited him in. Marty was awake and might enjoy the company.
Cord didn’t seem to know how to make small talk. When Marty asked him about the ranching business, he told him some of the problems he was having trying to run a ranch after spending most of his adult years in prison.
To Ronny’s surprise, Cord and Marty talked with a kind of honesty that few people bother to use. No frills or stories just to entertain. Marty’s mind seemed to sharpen. He knew nothing of ranching, but he knew business. Like a man working a puzzle, Marty asked the right questions, drawing Cord down logical roads.
“If you’ll bring your books over,” Marty finally said, “I’ll take a look at them. I stayed in college long enough to get a minor in everything and a major in fun.”
“I don’t want to be a bother, but thank you for the offer.” Cord smiled at Ronny, and she knew he saw what she saw in Marty, not the frail man in the bed, but a bright mind with little tolerance for fools.
“It’s no bother,” Marty said. “You’ve given me something to think about besides dying. I’m asking more for my sanity than your need.”
“I have to come to town tomorrow. Would that be too soon for you to start answering a few questions? I swear I can’t make heads or tails of the books, and I don’t know how to figure out exactly what the profit margin is on the cattle. I’d interview for a bookkeeper, but I don’t even know what questions to ask.”
“Sure.” Marty sounded excited. “If I can’t figure it out, Ronny might be able to help.”
Cord picked up his hat and backed out of the room. She knew without asking that having people be kind to him was still too new for the man to take it for granted. She kissed Marty on the cheek and followed Cord out.
“Thanks for coming. Your visit did him a world of good.”
Cord looked embarrassed. “He’s a good man. I wish I knew half of what he does.”
“He is a good man and you’ll learn fast with his help. I think I loved him from the first, even when he was angry and yelling at me. One thing I love about him is that he never stops growing.”
Cord reached into his pocket and pulled out a scrap of paper. “This is my cell number. If you need me just call.”
She looked at the note. “It’s an easy number to remember. With the two sets of thirteen, it’s like a double bad luck number.”
“Yeah, that’s probably what my wife thought when she picked up the phone.”
“I’ll bet she searched for an easy one to remember.”
Cord agreed. “You’re probably right, because she calls me several times a day.” As if on cue, his phone rang.
Cord pulled it from his pocket. “Hello.” He paused for a moment. “Yes, I’m in town. I’ll pick you up.” He closed the phone and smiled. “She wants to have lunch. Like I have time for lunch.”
“You’re going, aren’t you?”
“Of course. I’ll make time. She’s meeting me at the diner. Lied and told me she couldn’t wait to try the daily special.”
Ronny smiled as he walked away. He didn’t have to say a word. She knew Cord McDowell was in love.
The next night, Ronny pulled on her black coat and walked along the dried-up creek that crossed through the heart of town. She forced herself to listen to the crunch of leaves and twigs beneath her feet. She was fighting to stay positive, but she knew deep inside she was already grieving what would never be.
Marty had enjoyed a good day. They’d talked and watched the dawn together, and then he’d slept most of the morning. Cord, as he had promised, showed up around one with a pie his housekeeper had made and a folder full of accounts. They all ate a slice of pie while he showed Marty the mess he’d made of keeping books. Marty talked in “big picture” terms of running a business, teaching gently, whi
le Ronny pored over the books. After all her boring finance and bookkeeping classes, she finally saw reason in the lessons.
While Marty slept the afternoon away, she worked on Cord’s books, loving having something to fill her mind as she sat next to Marty, watching over him.
After supper, they had their time together. He talked about what life would have been like if they had years and not days. After all his traveling and adventures, Marty saw paradise as living here in Harmony with her. They could open a business. They’d build a funny house with round rooms and a skylight in every ceiling. They’d invite friends in for dinner and go to the movie every Friday night no matter how bad the film. They’d make love on a blanket in the backyard and pretend they were in the Amazon.
He fell asleep holding her hand, and she sat for a long while in the darkness, lit only by lights from the machines, and cried for what might have been and never would be.
When the shift nurse took her place, Ronny pulled on her jacket and went for a walk. Days, even the good ones, were sometimes too sweet to relive. She just wanted to stretch her muscles and feel the night. She crossed the calm darkness of sleeping streets, heading in no particular direction.
As she paused to get her bearings, she heard footsteps behind her. Suddenly her numb body came awake.
Someone was following her.
With quick steps, she ran to the opening between the trees that led her out of the creek. No one was ever out at this time of night. In all the years she’d been walking, she’d never crossed paths with another so late. And this other wasn’t just walking, he was following her, for she heard his steps rushing toward her as she climbed.
When she reached the road, she darted across to the park, where shadows layered and no one would see her. The grass was slippery and damp, but she didn’t stop running until she passed behind the trees, leaning against an old cottonwood to listen.
Nothing.
Slowly, she looked around the tree. The foggy glow of a streetlight a hundred yards away showed nothing. For a long time, she stood, listening, waiting.
Nothing moved. Maybe she’d just been hearing the echo of her own steps. Maybe she’d let her imagination run away. When she’d been little, her mother had always filled her head with evil men roaming the world in search of little girls to kill.
Ronny pushed away from the tree. She wouldn’t live in fear. She wouldn’t base her life on her mother’s irrationality. She wouldn’t hide.
With sure steps she marched to the road and headed toward Buffalo’s Bar. She could just make out the outline of Beau’s ancient car. She didn’t want to retrace her path back to the duplex. Within minutes she stepped into the old bar.
It looked like it had been packed tonight. Bottles of beer were stacked on the tables along with empty red baskets that had once held wings and burgers. Even the floor was snowy with napkins and the place smelled of aging grease.
“We’re closed,” the bartender said.
“I just came to see Beau.”
“He’s—”
The bartender’s words were flooded by Border yelling from the cage. “Ronny. You need a ride home? We were just closing up.”
Ronny hurried over to the boys who were her neighbors. “I was just out walking and thought I might catch a ride. It looks like it might rain,” she lied.
Beau picked up his case. “How’s Marty? I got a new song I want him to hear.”
“He’s asleep.” They’d agreed days ago to stop giving medical reports to everyone who asked.
Border climbed out of the cage of a stage. “You want to go over to the truck stop for enchiladas?”
“I thought they fed you here?”
“Harley does, but that was ten o’clock.” Border glanced at Beau. “You coming tonight?”
“Sure,” Beau answered as he shoved his black hair out of his eyes. “If Trouble doesn’t show up.”
Border grinned and interpreted. “Trouble is this girl he knows. She comes in now and then. When she does, he drops me like I was his ugly half sister.”
Border was the only one who laughed at his own joke.
They walked out of the bar with both guys talking at once about everything that had happened that night. Border swore he had two women beg him to go home with them. Beau reminded his friend that both bar lizards had been old enough to be his mother. They talked about one woman who got so drunk she started stripping on the dance floor, and Harley had to carry her out with half the bar cheering and the other half booing.
Ronny let them convey her along, needing the time to just be normal for an hour even though she felt a twinge of guilt at not being home with Marty.
As they drove to the truck stop, she texted the nurse and learned all was quiet. Marty was sleeping calmly through the night.
They ordered three enchilada plates with rice and beans on the side. While they waited, Border showed her how one lady had danced like an upright snake, and Beau claimed another guy always danced like he was a rooster strutting around the yard.
Ronny laughed and breathed and relaxed, but Marty never left her thoughts. By the time they paid, she found herself in a hurry to get back home, and the ghost who’d followed her along the dried-up creek bed was forgotten.
Chapter 23
APRIL 7
MARTHA Q PATTERSON HEADED UP TO HER STUDY ON THE second floor Saturday morning before anyone woke. She had a house full of paying guests who were keeping her from doing any writing. Stories bounced around in her head like Ping-Pong balls, and she planned to get a few of them on paper before they dribbled out.
On the third step her left sock stuck to something. She wasn’t awake enough to investigate, but when her right foot stepped on something that pushed through the wool to her toe, Martha Q decided to sit down and check it out.
Mud. There was mud on her stairs. Not dirt, but mud. Because she locked the doors after everyone had retired to their room, and she was the first one up, she saw only one answer. One of her boarders was sneaking out. And worse, tracking in mud.
Pulling off her socks to hold the evidence, she tiptoed upstairs. The three widows were on the second floor, but the mud droppings continued up the next flight of steps. Reason told her Mr. Carleon, with his neat habits, would never commit such a crime. That left Bryce Galloway, the well-dressed snob who didn’t bother washing his whiskers out of the sink. He was guilty as sin in her mind, and she didn’t plan to stand for it.
Thirty minutes later she was waiting when Mr. Carleon came down the stairs. “Morning,” she managed with a nod.
“Morning,” Mr. Carleon answered with a polite smile.
Martha was so angry she couldn’t return his smile. “Is Mr. Galloway awake yet?”
“I didn’t hear a sound. I like to be up and out of the bathroom before he wakes.”
“I don’t blame you. My housekeeper tells me what a mess he leaves. I wouldn’t want to be in there after him.”
Mr. Carleon smiled. “Sharing a bath is only a slight inconvenience for being so close to Marty. I enjoy the walk over and back every day as well as your company and conversation each evening.”
She led him into the breakfast nook, where he and the widows usually took their morning coffee while Mrs. Biggs prepared the dining room breakfast buffet.
“I’ve something to talk to you about while we’re alone, Mr. Carleon.”
He waited until she wiggled into the nook, then sat down across from her. “I hope there is no problem with my lodging here?”
“Oh, no, but you may find my question a bit personal.”
“Ask away, dear lady. I’ll answer if I can.”
Martha Q had to fight down a giggle to remain in her innkeeper mode. “May I ask if you left the house last night after I locked the door? I know you might be called back to attend to Marty at any hour.”
He frowned. “I did not, but if I’d been called, I would have gone, of course. If that happens, Mrs. Patterson, I assure you I’ll lock the door behind me.”
&n
bsp; “I know you would, Mr. Carleon. Just as I know you would not leave mud on the stairs.”
He nodded in understanding. “I stopped to pick up a few chunks that were not quite dry on my way down a few minutes ago.” He leaned closer, obviously enjoying the conversation. “You think Galloway went out last night and didn’t come in early enough to have his muddy footprints dry before dawn.”
“That is exactly what I think. I also think that it is strange for a man to go out after ten at night and not take his car parked in my drive. Bryce Galloway doesn’t strike me as the type for midnight walks.”
Mr. Carleon took a slow drink of his coffee. “The man wears Italian loafers. A man who wears that kind of shoes doesn’t walk in mud.”
“Good point. Just as a man who goes for a walk at night would be most likely to stay on the sidewalks or even in the street, where the lights would be bright enough to show any mud holes.”
They both sat in silence. Martha Q wiggled her eyebrows at him, loving that they were sharing something so intimate together. A conspiracy, maybe. A plot perhaps.
Finally, he said, “I’m sure there is a simple explanation for this.”
“So am I, but I got a feeling it’s not one we’re going to like.”
She made up her mind. “If he goes out tonight, I think one of us should follow him. I noticed a scrap of paper he carries has times in and times out. I’m guessing he’s watching someone who doesn’t know he’s watching.”
“Agreed. But who?”
“Maybe his ex-wife? I heard rumors that she didn’t play fair in the divorce. ’Course, that was from someone who played golf with Bryce when he was married to Nevada.”
Mr. Carleon shook his head. “Surely he’s not bothering her. She’s remarried to a nice guy. Cord McDowell’s been by the duplex a few times. Judging from the measure of the man, I think Bryce Galloway would be a fool to mess with him.”
Martha Q laughed. “It’s been my experience that ex-husbands turn into fools quite easily, and you’re right—if Bryce steps in Cord’s way, he won’t be the last one standing.”
