by Dawn Atkins
“Yeah. My wife’s twenty-four weeks along, but it’s been tough. The doctor asked to see her every two weeks.” They started back toward the cart.
“It’s good of you to take off work to support your wife.”
“Jeb’s not happy about it with us so busy, but family’s the most important thing.” The earnest look on his face touched Tara and made her feel guilty about her own behavior toward her family.
“Of course,” she said. She wondered now if she should have given them another chance, visited despite the tension, pushed past the barriers. Maybe she was dreaming.
As they passed the office, Dylan stuck out his head. “How about Ruby’s for dinner? Give us a chance to catch up. Say six?”
Catch up? They’d been together the night before, but maybe he had more news. “Sounds good,” she said, secretly eager for more time with him.
“My best to your wife,” Dylan said to Matt.
“Thanks,” he said, not meeting Dylan’s gaze. What was that about?
“Dylan knows your wife?” she asked.
“Yeah. Melissa was at a cookware party at his ex-wife’s.”
“Small towns, I guess,” she said, still not understanding the hostility.
“He’s a nice guy and all. It’s just that he’s selling us defective units. That’s what they were arguing over, Jeb and him.” He frowned.
“It’s a big problem?” she asked.
“They can talk all they want, but standards are standards. Ryland buys cheap components out of Tennessee and blames the tests when they turn out bad.” He glanced at her. “No offense to your friend.”
“None taken.” But it sounded like Dylan had his work cut out for him if what Matt said was true. Both companies had a lot riding on the project.
It was almost four o’clock when Tara got home, her head jammed with data and plans. She’d made headway with Davis Mann and the two people Miriam said Joseph trusted. It would take a couple days for the idea to percolate up to Joseph. If all went well, she wouldn’t have to say a word. He would approach her.
Judith met her at the front door holding out a paper sack with a receipt stapled to it. She looked oddly pale. “The funeral guy dropped this by. He didn’t want Rachel to have to fetch it. It’s from the medical examiner.... It’s, you know...from the body. What Mr. Wharton had on. I don’t want your mother to see it.”
“No. That’s smart.” She took the sack, fighting queasiness, and carried it to her room. She had to see what clues might be here...her father’s wallet...possibly Faye’s phone. Steeling herself, she yanked the sack open, popping the staple. A sour, earthy smell filled her nose—moist earth, leaves and the metallic scent of blood.
On top were her father’s shoes. They were dusty, not bloody, thank God. Beneath them were tan slacks that had been cut apart. The waist area of the pants was stained with blood. The shirt below was crusty with it. So much blood. Her heart lurched in her chest. An envelope, also bloodstained, stuck out of his shirt pocket. She made out part of the return address—CGC Gen—before bile rose in the back of her throat. She turned her head, deciding to feel for what else was there. She touched a belt...coins...then a wallet, which she pulled out. It was clean. Thin, finely stitched and well worn. Inside she found several fresh twenties, a black American Express card, a driver’s license and a few photos—her father in cap and gown, a wedding picture, a family portrait with Faye as a toddler. No pictures of Tara, but then, these shots were quite old. Her father likely hadn’t changed anything since he first used the wallet.
The only other items in the wallet were two business cards. Looking at the first, she was startled to see her own name. Her father had kept her business card. She stared at it a long time, swallowing against a lump in her throat.
The second card was from a Randall Scott. She’d seen that name before...
In her father’s desk drawer. Yeah. This time, she noticed Family Law below the name. That was code for divorce lawyer, right? On the back of the card was written an appointment from three weeks ago.
What the hell? Her father had seen a divorce attorney? Why? Had something happened?
Her mother hadn’t said a word to her. Maybe she didn’t know. A divorce would have devastated her mother, whose social status meant everything to her. The stigma, the gossip, would be more than she could bear.
Tara felt chilled to the bone. Her father wanted a divorce? How serious had he been? She checked the clock: four-thirty. Still business hours. She called the number, asked for the billing office and told the bookkeeper she needed to confirm the total charges on Mr. Wharton’s account, holding her breath that the ruse would work.
It did. The bookkeeper told her that her father had seen the attorney at his office twice and had three phone conferences. That sounded serious, especially with her father as frugal as he was. There were no charges for filing fees, so he hadn’t done anything official yet at least.
Her parents hadn’t seemed close, but their marriage stood for something, a bond that mattered to the two of them. They’d been married almost forty years. Talk about standing the test of time.
But if her father was unhappy enough to take such drastic action...something terrible must have happened.
She remembered Bill Fallon and how solicitous he’d been of her mother. And her mother had talked about him in a strange dreamy voice. What if he’d been more than a friend to her?
No. Her mother would not cheat on her father. That would violate the social requirements of the life her mother had chosen.
Tara didn’t dare ask her mother about this. If she didn’t know that her husband wanted to end the marriage, Tara would rather die than tell her. Some truths caused useless harm.
Her head spun, but slowly, as if through fog. Dread seemed to press her into the floor, compressing her lungs. She had to sort this out, make some sense of it, clear her head, decide what to do about what she’d learned.
She needed Dylan. He would listen. He would help. Thank goodness they had dinner plans. He was her port in the storm even now.
* * *
WHEN TARA STEPPED into Ruby’s, Dylan felt a shift in the energy of the restaurant, similar to the way a theater audience reacted when the curtain opened. Conversations faded. Heads turned. Breaths were held. Tara’s striking beauty would draw attention anywhere, especially from men, but this was different. This was Wharton.
Everyone knew her or of her. They were curious, titillated, or envious. For the first time, he imagined how difficult this would be for her. He’d always thought she made too much of her name and people’s opinions of her.
Now, with what she was going through—losing her father, her sister so ill, her theories about the accident—this much scrutiny and speculation would be a trial.
He saw her hesitate, take in the room, almost shudder. Then she threw back her shoulders and strode forward, sexy and confident. A girl at the bar called to her, so she stopped to talk for a few seconds. A few feet farther and someone in a booth spoke. After that a girl he remembered from high school stopped Tara in the aisle for a hug, some words, a laugh.
When Tara finally dropped into the booth, her back to the restaurant, she looked worn out. “Sanctuary,” she said in a drawn-out voice.
“I see what you mean,” he said.
“It’s exhausting. Even my old friends make me crazy. They treat me like a wax figure in a museum, frozen in time. They got married, had kids, have mortgages, but they talk to me like I haven’t changed at all. Dana Gibbons wants to tear up the town one night. Riley Evans is sorry he can’t hook me up with weed now that he’s a teacher. Reed Walker said he’d dust off the Harley and hit the highway the minute his wife leaves to visit her sister. Can you believe that? He’s ready to cheat on his wife for old times’ sake.” She shook her head. “Do I look like I want a drunken bender or a ride on a Harley to you?”
“Nope.”
“Good. I’d like to think I’ve grown up that much.”
“It’s tha
t imprint thing again, I guess.”
“Well, it sucks.” She took a shaky breath. “People are staring, aren’t they?” They were. “I hate being in this goldfish bowl.”
He realized that this dinner would add to the rumor they were back together. Fallon had no doubt spread the word.
“We could leave. Go to my house,” he said, though he didn’t trust himself alone with her again. Since last night, his desire had only intensified, as foolish and shortsighted as that was.
“No. I won’t be chased out.” She sat taller. “Just ignore them.”
“You got it.” That had always been his approach when the scrutiny got to be too much for him. It was easier for him because he was comfortable here. He knew the people, their flaws and strengths. He didn’t see every look as a criticism the way Tara did.
The waitress arrived with chips and salsa to take their orders. Tara picked up the menu, scanned it, then looked up at the waitress. “So I hear Ruthie Rand makes great goat and nopalitos empanadas. I’ll have that and a draft beer.”
Dylan ordered the same. When the waitress left, he said, “Where’d you hear about the empanadas?”
“Ruthie’s mom, Judith, is our housekeeper. Judith told me Ruthie had an offer to cook for a food truck in Tucson, but she’s afraid to leave here. I figure I’ll rave about the dish and hope that encourages her.”
That reminded him she’d been that way in high school, too. Pushing kids with talents to go for it. “Remember Sheila Stark? Goth girl who got suspended for fighting a cheerleader?”
“Sure I remember her. She had a great voice.”
“She took your advice and started a band. Might have an offer with an indie label.”
“How do you know that?”
“Her sister Cherry’s our receptionist.”
“Good for her. Growing up here, it’s easy to feel inferior. You have no real yardstick to measure your talent.”
“I’d say growing up here gave her a safe place to explore her abilities, develop the confidence to take risks.”
“So besides being town manager, you’re head of the Chamber of Commerce?”
“I’m a member, sure, but my point is that everything you disdain about small-town life has a positive side.”
“Yeah?” She grinned at him, ready to mock, except he thought he saw a light in her eyes, too. “So I say it’s stifling and full of gossips and you say...”
“It’s cozy and friendly.” He wouldn’t admit his dislike for the gossip because he knew she would pounce on any sign that he’d been wrong to stay, that he’d settled for less by remaining in Wharton.
He knew she was just as guarded with him.
“We’ll have to agree to disagree,” she said flatly, the light gone from her eyes. She would not bend on this. Probably not even about the bigger, better Wharton he wanted to build. That was unexpectedly disappointing to him and he found himself saying more.
“You’d be surprised how many midsize companies are looking to move to towns like Wharton. Towns that will give them more attention, where the jobs mean a lot to the community. I was at an Association of Cities and Towns meeting a month ago and started on a target list of businesses. I’ve been assembling proposals when I have time.”
“When do you have time? You’ve got a lot going on at Ryland it sounds like. Did you work things out with Jeb?”
He stopped reaching for a chip to answer. “I convinced him to adjust the threshold on one measurement, but we’re still at odds. I don’t get where the hostility is coming from.”
“Matt said something about Ryland using inferior parts...?”
“That’s bullshit.” He lowered his voice. “Sorry to bark at you. We got faulty components from a vendor on an early shipment, but that’s long fixed. I overheard Matt’s wife complaining about it to her cousin who’s on our assembly line.”
“At the cookware party, right? Matt said you met his wife there. You sure you don’t want to change friendly to gossipy? Sounds like you’ve been stung, too.”
“What matters is we work out the problem.” It didn’t help that his father was disengaged lately. They needed to be united in this final push to get Ryland over the hump, so Dylan could leave the place with a clear conscience.
“I hope you do,” Tara said.
They dipped for salsa at the same time, the mere brush of her fingers sending a jolt of lust through him. He had it bad and it made him feel like a fool.
She swallowed, so at least he knew she’d felt something, too. “I didn’t see Harvey behind the bar,” she said. “He retire?”
“Couple years back, yeah.”
“He used to make us great drinks, remember?”
“He used to make you drinks. He liked you.”
“That’s because he didn’t dare say no to a Wharton. That was one situation I didn’t mind my name.”
“People liked you for you, not your name.”
She shook her head. “Trust me. I had good reason to hang with the dropouts, the stoners and the lost souls. They had enough troubles they didn’t give a shit what my name was.”
He could argue, but he could feel her opinion was set in stone.
She took another chip and dipped it, her face troubled. “I feel bad about some of that. The way I was and how it affected my friends. Like Dana, for example. She was a B student until I got hold of her. Her grades dropped. She never went to college.”
“That was her decision, not yours.”
“But I made screwing off look cool. It wasn’t fair. I had a safety net. I would never starve. I don’t intend to ever take a dime from my family, but I know, deep down, that if disaster strikes I’m covered. That’s an amazing gift I sneered at back then.”
“You were young. You had reasons.” At best, her parents treated her with benign neglect. At worst, deliberate cruelty. Children shouldn’t have to read between the lines to know they were loved.
“Don’t cut me slack, Dylan. I know the mistakes I made.”
They didn’t see the world the same—then or now. Maybe that couldn’t be helped. Tara, like everyone else, was made up of her experiences—the moments, big and small, good and bad, that had shaped her character, her hopes and expectations, her limits and her reach.
“You looked down on me back then,” she said. “Admit it.”
“I thought you were wasting your abilities.”
“You were such a straight arrow.” She pointed a chip at him, then licked the salt off.
He had to close his eyes to handle that sight. He’d forgotten that habit of hers. “Meanwhile, you used to call me Do Right Boy,” he said hoarsely.
“That’s right. I was pretty mean. How did you stand me?”
“I told you why last night.”
“I tickled your brain...I remember.” Attraction burned in her eyes, her pupils large and gleaming. She pursed her lips, her tongue peeking at him, the way she used to before she threw herself at him, as if she were famished and he were a banquet table. Their attraction surged again. It was constantly ticking in the background, waiting for one of them to flip the switch.
The waitress arrived with their beers, breaking the unbearable tension. When she’d gone, Tara tapped her beer to his. “To being wiser.”
“To that,” he said, feeling more foolish every second. “So how did your snooping go?”
“Mixed. I made headway toward getting hired to consult, but I got nowhere in Faye’s office. Joseph locked it down, possibly to keep Faye’s assistant from seeing sensitive stuff. I’d really like to know more about the finances at Wharton.” She tilted her head at him. “Which reminds me. You didn’t tell me Candee worked for us.”
“Yeah. She’s a bookkeeper.”
“I ran into her. It was awkward. I offended her, I think. She thought I didn’t know her name, then I cut her off trying to fix it.”
“You were nervous. So was she.”
“I’m sure that’s true.” She looked thoughtful. “I envy the two of you. That y
ou’re friends. You help each other, cook together, do each other favors.”
“It wasn’t easy, believe me. But we both wanted it, so we worked at it.”
“Yeah,” she said, going still. “You think we will ever be like that? You and me?”
No. He knew it instantly. It would be too difficult. He would always want more.
“You don’t,” she said. “I can see that. I’m not the work-for-it kind of person, am I?” She dropped her eyes to hide how hurt she was, pushing her beer forward, then sliding it back.
“It’s not that,” he said, stopping her hand, taking it in both of his. He’d made her feel bad about herself back then. There was the sadness of that beneath every word they said to each other.
“It’s not you, Tara. It’s us. The way we were. It was different with us than it ever was with Candee. Deeper somehow.” He rubbed the back of her hand with his thumbs, wanting to press the truth into her.
“You think so?” she asked.
“I do.”
“So we should give up on being friends?”
“No. But we have to be careful with each other, not get ourselves into tempting situations.”
“That makes sense,” she said, looking down at his hands holding hers so tightly. He didn’t want to let go. They lifted their eyes to each other. Her lips parted, about to speak.
“Watch it! Hot!” The waitress had arrived, holding their food.
They yanked their hands apart, the server’s words truer than she knew.
She set down the dishes and left. The aroma of spicy beef and buttery pastry filled the air.
“Smells great,” Tara said, clearly relieved for the interruption. She seemed as alarmed by the push-pull between them as he felt.
“Yum,” Tara said, licking her lips after the first bite. “These are delicious. I’ve never tasted anything like it.”
“So Wharton does have something you like. First, the empanadas. Next, the whole town.”
“Even you can’t believe that.”
“Wait until you taste the flan.” He didn’t know why he kept pushing her, trying to convince her, but he could no more stop himself than he could stop the fire in his blood when he looked at her.
