Dawn laughed. “It was a black Mustang.”
“That’s what I said.”
“And you can’t possibly know what he looked like ‘cause he dropped me off at the employee entrance.”
“Well, it was just a hopeful guess.” Cassie cocked her head. “So, what did he look like? Warts? A potbelly? Ears like an elephant?”
“How’d you guess?” Dawn said, deadpan. She grinned when Cassie’s eyes widened. “I’m joking. No warts. No belly. No ears like Babar’s, either. He was okay looking.”
“Okay, how?”
“Okay, that’s all.” Dawn took another piece of pizza and bit into it. “How many kinds of `okay’ can there be?”
“You really have led a sheltered life.” Cassie refilled their glasses. “There’s `okay’ as in that dealer who still tells me how much he’d like to take me out.”
“I can’t remember what he looks like.”
“Exactly. Then there’s Mario. The headwaiter.”
“What’s wrong with Mario?”
“What’s right with him? Average looks. Average personality. Average everything.”
Dawn finished the last bit of her slice of pizza and licked some sauce from her thumb. “And?”
“And, there’s `okay’ as in Keir O’Connell.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning, okay, yes, perfect. Drop-dead gorgeous. You still want me to believe you haven’t noticed?”
“I haven’t. I don’t think about Keir that way.”
“I know you don’t and a good thing, too, or I’d have to buy you pizza every night until you gained two hundred pounds and took yourself out of the running.”
“I’m not in the running, Cass. Not when it comes to Keir or anybody else.”
“Yeah.” Cassie sighed, reached for another olive and instead slapped down the box cover. “I’m going to dump this, otherwise that two hundred pounds will be a reality. A hundred for you, a hundred for me, and even though it won’t matter to you because you’re determined to lead a nun’s life, it’ll matter to me because I’m not.”
“You’ve already landed that Frenchman.”
“Untrue. He spent four hours playing craps, kept asking me to bring him drinks, tipped me a hundred bucks…and just when I knew I was in love, his girlfriend came along and claimed him.”
“Ah.”
“Ah, indeed. But you’ll see. Someday, I’m gonna land me a big catch.”
“For a woman who says that, you’ve dumped an awful lot of fish back into the sea.” Dawn smiled. “You know what I think?”
“Yes. You think I should save what’s left of this pizza for your breakfast.”
“I think that the heart of a true romantic beats somewhere under that supposedly tough shell.”
“If your shell’s not tough, what’s the sense in having one? Just ask a soft-shell crab what he thinks sometime. Anyway, you’re trying to change the subject.”
“What subject? Pizza?”
“Men, and why you’re afraid of them.”
Dawn looked away. “I’m not afraid of men.”
“Yeah, you are.” Cassie sighed. “Look, we’ve been friends long enough for me to have noticed some things.”
“I am not afraid of men. Just because I don’t go out a lot—”
“You don’t go out at all.”
“I’m busy.”
“With what? I work, too, remember? It’s not exactly brain surgery that ties up your head twenty-three hours out of twenty-four.”
Dawn rose to her feet and collected the soiled napkins. “I’m happy with my life.”
“Miserable as the species is, a man could make you happier.”
“You don’t believe that any more than I do,” Dawn countered, and dropped the napkins into the trash can.
Cassie sighed. “No. No, I don’t. But locking yourself away from the world is no way to get a bad marriage out of your system.”
“Cassie, I know you mean well. But—”
“But, you don’t want to talk about it. Okay. I accept that. The thing is, you can’t let your ex ruin your life, Dawn. Just because he was a bastard doesn’t mean they all are.”
“I never said…”
“No, you never did. Actually you haven’t said anything about the guy, except that you were once married. Well, so was I. The difference is, I remember that I’m not married anymore. You don’t.”
“That’s not true.”
“What’s not true?”
“That I’m not married anymore.” It couldn’t hurt to admit just this much, could it? “I still am,” Dawn said in a small voice.
“What? Well, then, that’s the first step. Get a divorce.”
Get a divorce. Dawn didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Cassie made it sound so simple, but she could never get a divorce. You had to file papers for a divorce. They would be sent to Harman. He’d know where she was. Where Tommy was. And he’d come after her and her baby.
“It’s not that easy.” She dumped the empty cans in the sink, rinsed them and propped them, upside down, on the drain board. “My husband would never give me a divorce.”
“You mean, you’re terrified of asking him for one.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to. I wasn’t born yesterday. I don’t know why it took me so long to figure it out. You never date. You jump if a guy so much as looks at you.”
“I don’t.”
“You do. You get this phony smile on your face—”
“Would you prefer I slug him? I don’t have a phony smile, I have a polite one. You’re the one who told me that was the way to go, remember?”
“I didn’t tell you to treat perfectly nice guys like they were Jack the Ripper.”
“Dammit, Cassie—”
“Dammit, Dawn, you’re too young to lock yourself away like this.” Cassie took a breath. “Oh, hell. Okay, I’m out of line. I know I am. I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to be,” Dawn said, trying not to sound stiff and knowing that she wasn’t succeeding. “We’re friends. You can say whatever you want.”
“That’s why I said it. Because we’re friends, but the truth is, it’s none of my business.” Cassie carried the box containing the uneaten pizza to the trash can, hesitated, and put it into the fridge instead. “I don’t know what made me say all this tonight. Well, maybe I do. It’s the way you looked when I asked you about your knight.”
“My what?”
“Your knight in shining armor.”
“Do you know why armor shines?” Dawn said sharply. “It’s plated with tin. Shoots a big hole right in that `knight-in-shining-armor’ theory, doesn’t it? I mean, a tin-plated knight doesn’t sound half as romantic.”
“So call him your Good Samaritan. Who cares about names? I’m simply telling you that you said he was okay looking, but your eyes said something else.”
Dawn grabbed the sponge and scrubbed the table free of nonexistent crumbs. “Great. Now you’re into reading eyes.”
“Look, I don’t care. Deny it. Pretend you’re living in a convent but do yourself a favor, okay? Dig a six-foot-deep hole in the front yard, right next to that pathetic thing you call a shrub—”
“It’s an indigo!”
“Yeah, well, whatever it is, dig that hole and put your memories of the SOB you married inside it. Shovel the dirt back in, jump up and down on it a couple of times and you’ll be rid of him once and for all. And do it before he completely poisons your life.”
“Who would believe it?” Dawn threw her arms wide. “Oprah comes to Las Vegas,” she said dramatically. “Tune in tomorrow while she solves the world’s problems.”
“It’s good advice and you know it.”
“Honest to God, Cassie…”
“Yes?”
The women glared at each other. Then Dawn felt her eyes fill with angry tears. She tried blinking them back but they flowed down her cheeks. She saw the stunned look on Cassie’s face and then the words she
’d never spoken to anyone burst from her lips.
“I hate him,” she said, “I hate him! And I’ll never be free until he really is buried in a hole six feet deep.”
The words were so terrible, so unlike anything she’d ever permitted herself to think, that she began to tremble. Cassie flew toward her and gathered her into her arms.
“Oh, honey,” she crooned, “oh, Dawn…”
“I shouldn’t have said it. I know that. It’s wrong, to want someone dead, but—”
“It’s okay.”
“It isn’t. It’s not okay. That’s an awful thing, to wish somebody—”
Cassie led Dawn to a chair. “Sit down, honey. I’ll get you something to drink.”
“He did that, this afternoon,” Dawn said unsteadily. “The man. He—he sat me down on the curb, and he gave me something to drink.”
“That’s what I said before.” Cassie filled a glass with water and handed it to her. “The guy’s an absolute knight in shining armor.”
“It could be tin,” Dawn said, and made a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob. “But I admit, he was—he was very kind.”
“Take a drink.”
Dawn sipped at the water, then handed back the glass. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Cassie paused. “So, what’s his name?”
“Harman.”
Cassie smiled. “Harman, huh? That’s a funny name for a knight.”
“A name for a…” Dawn looked up. “No. Harman is—was—my husband.” She licked her lips. “I shouldn’t have told you that.”
“Why? Do you think I’m going to take out an ad in tomorrow’s paper?” Cassie held up her hands and stretched out an imaginary banner headline. “News flash! Dawn Carter’s Ex Is Named Harman!”
Dawn didn’t smile. “It’s just better if you don’t know anything about him, that’s all. And I told you, he’s not my ex.”
“Yeah, well, he is. My ex was my ex long before I walked out on him.”
“You said he walked out on you.”
Cassie shrugged. “Same thing,” she said, sitting down beside Dawn and taking her hand. “The point is, as soon as you start thinking that the marriage is over, it’s over. Harman is definitely history.”
“I wish.”
“I know.” Cassie hesitated. “Do you want to tell me more? Like, what he did to make you so gun-shy?”
“I’m not…” Dawn sighed. There was no sense in lying and less sense talking about it. “No.”
“Well, that’s straightforward.”
“Cass.” Dawn squeezed her friend’s hand. “Honestly, there’s no point in discussing it.”
“There is, but if you don’t want to, that’s fine.” Cassie grinned at Dawn’s raised eyebrows. “Yup, it’s another Oprah-ism. Well, I probably heard it on Oprah, anyway. You talk about a bad thing, you purge it from your system.”
Dawn tugged her hand free and got to her feet. “Sorry, Dr. Freud, but that isn’t always the way it goes.”
“Okay, fine. Let’s talk about something else.”
Dawn filled the coffeepot. Cassie swung her foot and hummed. “So,” she said brightly, into the deepening silence, “did you lose those five pounds on that new diet we both started last week?”
“No.”
“Me, neither.” Cassie tapped a finger on the tabletop. “How about that baseball game last night? That incredible ninth inning? Did you see it?”
Dawn looked at her. “No.”
“Yeah.” Cassie sighed. “That makes two of us.” She hesitated. “Well, as far as I can tell, there’s only one topic worth conversation. Let’s talk about your knight.”
“Give me a break, will you? There’s nothing to talk about. Can’t I convince you of that?”
“No, you can’t. Let’s see… For openers, what’s his name?”
“I don’t know.”
“You didn’t ask?”
“No.”
“He didn’t offer?”
“No. And this is silly. He’s just a man. He helped me out. End of story.”
“Humor me, okay? If he didn’t have warts, a potbelly and ears that flap, what’d he look like?”
“I don’t know.” Dawn set the pot aside for the morning and took a box of cookies from the cupboard. “Want one?”
“What about the diet?”
She shrugged. “These are the low-fat kind.”
“And probably good for the complexion.”
The women munched their cookies in companionable silence.
“He’s tall,” Dawn finally said. “Maybe six-one, six-two. Dark brown hair. Blue eyes. Light blue.”
“Matthew McConaughey-blue?”
“Uh-huh.” Dawn ate another cookie and licked a spot of icing from her finger. “Anything else you want to know?”
“Of course. You don’t think that’s a complete description, do you? Let’s see. We’ve got his height, his hair color, his eye color… How about his weight?” Cassie wrinkled her nose. “Don’t tell me. He was soft, like he spends a lot of time behind a desk.”
“Well, he probably does spend a lot of time behind a desk. He’s a lawyer. But—”
“Big-time lawyer? Small time? No time?”
Dawn rolled her eyes. “How do I know? Big-time, maybe. He’s from New York.”
Cassie sprawled backward in the chair. “Be still, my heart. A New York lawyer with blue eyes, hair and, I’ll bet, his own teeth! So what if he’s soft and pudgy? I can survive.”
“He isn’t. Soft and pudgy, I mean. He’s got great shoulders and a flat belly and these amazingly long legs…” Dawn fell silent. Color flooded her face. She stared at Cassie and then she closed the box, shot to her feet and jammed the cookies into the cupboard. “This is stupid.”
“Anything that makes me drool can’t be stupid. Go on. Did he have a nice face?”
Dawn closed her eyes and saw the man standing in front of her. He was leaning toward her, towering over her, watching her through those light blue eyes, looking at her in a way that told her he found her desirable. A knot formed in the pit of her belly. The last thing she wanted was to see desire in a man’s face ever again.
“Dawn?”
“Yes.” She turned and looked at Cassie. “You’re wasting your time,” she said in a low voice. The game had gone too far, and now it had to stop. “I know you mean well, Cass. But I’m not getting involved with anybody.”
“A date with Sir Galahad isn’t exactly getting involved.”
“Whatever. I’m not doing any of it.” Dawn took a breath, then slowly let it out. “Besides, I’ll never see him again.”
“Yeah, well, you should have asked him his name, at least. Where he was staying.”
“I didn’t care. I still don’t. He gave me a lift. End of story.”
“I meant so you could send him a thank-you note. That would be the right thing to do, wouldn’t it?”
“You are so transparent, Cassie Berk! Just look at your face!”
“Well, you can thank him if you run into him. Las Vegas isn’t really a big city.”
“It’s big enough,” Dawn said firmly, “and the discussion is over.” Her voice softened. “Thanks, Cass.”
Cassie smiled. “Hey, what are friends for if not to stop by with pizza that put ten trillion fat calories on your hips?”
“I wasn’t talking about the pizza. You know that. I mean, thank you for listening to—to that stuff about my husband.”
“Your ex-husband.”
“Right. My ex-husband. And thank you for getting my mind off the past.”
“The best way to get your mind off the past is to think about the future.” Cassie grinned. “Oprah says so.”
“Well, for once Oprah and I agree.” Dawn slid her arm around her friend’s waist as they walked to the door. “I really do think about the future,” she said softly. “All the time.”
“Just promise me one thing. You bump into your knight, give him a chance to show you he’s wearing s
terling, not tin.”
Dawn laughed. “Sterling tarnishes.”
“Look, just give him a chance, okay?”
“Twenty to one says I’ll never see him again.”
The women paused at the door and faced each other, smiling. “I thought it was against the rules for the dealers to lay bets.”
“I’m not a dealer anymore.”
“You ready to put your money where your mouth is?”
“Absolutely.”
“A buck,” Cassie said solemnly.
Dawn nodded. “You’re on.”
They laughed and gave each other high fives. The next morning, within minutes of starting work, Dawn lost her bet.
CHAPTER SEVEN
GRAY opened his eyes, shut them again, rolled over and groaned as he buried his face in the pillow.
No good. The sun was pouring into his hotel room and the spill of golden light seemed to have lodged itself in his brain, right next to the little guy playing the maracas.
After a minute, he sighed, rolled onto his back and folded his arms beneath his head. The ceiling was white and easier on the eyes. Not that he deserved a break. The way he felt this morning was his own fault. The sun was coming in because he’d spent half the night standing at the windows or on the balcony, and he’d forgotten to draw the curtains before he’d finally tumbled into bed. He probably should have left that last miniature of scotch in the minibar, too. Not that it mattered now. He was awake, his head hurt and his mood sucked. Even a grizzly would have given him a wide berth.
After a while, he looked at the clock, sat up and headed for the bathroom. Maybe an icy shower and some aspirin would improve things.
They did, a little. The banging in his skull eased. He knew his attitude still needed work but a couple of gallons of coffee and a large glass of vitamin C in the guise of orange juice would help. The problem lay in getting to them. Just thinking about the crowds and the noise of the casino he’d have to endure on his way to the open-for-breakfast restaurant made him shudder.
Room service promised to deliver within fifteen minutes. The woman who took his order was so unfailingly cheerful, so eager to add pancakes or waffles or omelets to his Spartan meal, that he wanted to garrote her. Instead, to atone for the thought, he added a request for rye toast.
Raising the Stakes Page 12
