by Kara Lennox
Eli stared at her for a few excruciatingly slow heartbeats as the meaning of her words sank in. “What did you do, hire a private investigator?”
“No, I—”
“I don’t want to hear any more excuses. Gwen, if you had doubts about me, why in hell did you marry me?” With that he walked out of the bedroom, slamming the door.
GWEN COULD HAVE kicked herself around the block. Why had she brought up the bankruptcy? Damn Bobby Larson for telling her about it in the first place. She’d have been much better off not knowing.
She and Eli had been making progress. They’d been talking, really communicating. He hadn’t even been defensive when he’d explained to her how he’d spent all that money. Then she’d blown it by mentioning the bankruptcy.
Shoot, shoot, shoot! Things were going to be worse than ever.
She rubbed her swollen belly, impatient for her babies to arrive, though she knew the longer they stayed inside her, the stronger and healthier they’d be. Maybe when she gave birth, she and Eli would pull together for the common cause. No matter how angry he was with her, she couldn’t see him abandoning his children. He’d seemed too enamored with the idea of becoming a daddy. He’d bought that book of baby names, and the floor of the nursery was about to collapse with the weight of all the baby gear he’d brought home.
She picked up the baby book and flipped it open, caught by surprise by the inscription: For my darling and very pregnant Gwen. I believe we can do better than “Thing One” and “Thing Two.” Your husband, Eli.
Gwen’s heart gave a lurch. That was about as sentimental as Eli had ever gotten. She stared at the word “darling” for many long moments. Eli had never called her darling before. She grinned as she thought about showing her daughters the inscription when they were old enough to read. But the grin turned to a frown.
“This is what your father wrote before he started to hate me.” At the rate they were going, he would never call her darling again, much less tell her he loved her.
Eli wasn’t anywhere in the house when Gwen roused herself for dinner. But she heard hammering next door, relentless pounding that had her wincing with every blow.
“You’re still not talking?” Stella asked as she passed Gwen some mashed potatoes.
“We started to. But then I blew it again. I just seem to do everything wrong.”
“It takes two to disagree,” said Irene.
“Eli should make more allowances for you,” Oggie added. “You’re pregnant, after all. Stella, can I pass you the cornbread?”
“Yes, Oggie, thank you.” Was that a blush in Stella’s cheeks? Was it possible Stella had finally, finally noticed that Oggie carried a torch for her?
Gwen would dearly love to see two of her favorite people get together. Of course, if they did, they would probably move out. As newlyweds, they would want to set up housekeeping in their own place. The loss of income for Gwen would mean little, but she would miss their companionship.
But she was jumping the gun. All Stella had done was smile and blush.
By the time Gwen went to bed, Eli still hadn’t returned home. She saw lights on at the house next door, though. A chill wiggled up her spine as she wondered whether Eli was accelerating his renovations so he could move out of the boardinghouse.
Surely it wouldn’t come to that. This was merely one of those adjustments that newlyweds had to make.
Gwen tried to believe that when she woke up in the middle of the night and found herself still alone in bed. She was hungry and decided to venture downstairs to raid the fridge, a bad habit she’d developed lately. She found Eli asleep on the sofa in her small living area, sprawled in an uncomfortable-looking position.
If he didn’t want to sleep with her, he could have returned to his room on the first floor. It would have been much more comfortable. But he’d stayed in their quarters, which must mean something.
Gwen retrieved a huge, fluffy afghan from the linen cupboard and covered Eli with it. Then she sat in her rocking chair and watched him sleep. She watched him a long, long time, wondering how to escape from the pit she’d dug herself into.
The next morning, Eli showered and left the house early, while Gwen was still asleep. When she awoke, she found a terse note explaining he’d gone to Denver on personal business and wouldn’t be back until after dinner.
Personal business. He still wasn’t going to open up to her.
Early that afternoon, she got a call from her bank. “There have been three fairly large checks drawn on your account,” John Timms, her banker, explained. “The numbers are out of sequence, and the signature isn’t yours. We’d like you to come to the bank and help us straighten everything out.”
“Yes, of course, I’ll come right now.”
Gwen tried to believe this was all just a silly mistake, that she would get to the bank and discover she’d made an error and it was completely innocent. But the sense of dread that plagued her all the way to Pine Run grew stronger with every mile.
ELI HAD DRIVEN to Denver because he had a sales contract on his house, and he needed to sign papers. He hesitated only briefly before signing his name, knowing this meant there was no going back. Kind of like the Spanish conquistador who’d arrived in the New World and ordered his ships burned, so he couldn’t return to his homeland. He was committed to living in Jester and continuing his business there, though he wouldn’t get as many customers located so far from a large business center.
He supposed he didn’t really care about that. He had more money saved than he could ever spend, and lately his consulting work was paying most of the bills. He’d only been taking on the hands-on restorations that were fun and challenging—like the Nash Coupe, dammit. It chapped his hide that his painstaking restoration had been undone by one careless turn.
He wanted to live in Jester to be close to his daughters. Even if he and Gwen couldn’t make a go of their marriage—and it was looking more and more that way—he still intended to be closely involved in raising his children.
As he was leaving Denver, he spotted an FAO Schwartz and couldn’t help pulling into the parking lot. He couldn’t imagine what was left to buy for his already spoiled daughters, but he looked anyway.
Nothing seemed right. Frustrated, he left the toy store and wandered into the Mommy & Me store next door. A bevy of young mothers and two pregnant women stared at him as he intruded on the female den, but he didn’t care.
Swimsuits. That was something the babies didn’t have. Calculating how old they would be when next summer rolled around, he looked at the choices for nine and twelve months. He found two styles that matched, gingham checks with ruffles on the butt. They were cute as hell. He pictured two baby girls with Gwen’s reddish curls, playing in the wet sand at the beach.
Unfortunately, Gwen was in the picture, too, wearing a sleek swimsuit, the slender figure he remembered restored, her legs long and tanned. Ah, hell. Why couldn’t he stop wanting her when she continued to shove him away with her mistrust? But again he found himself wanting to forgive her, wanting to make allowances for her behavior, wanting to give her one more chance.
An older woman with a pinched face rang up his purchases. As he signed his name to the credit card slip, she pushed her glasses on top of her head and stared at him. “You’re the—oh, my goodness, you’re the guy who married that pregnant millionaire!” She then clamped her hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. That was incredibly rude.”
Eli chafed at the attention. He was well-known among classic car enthusiasts, but he wasn’t used to being recognized on the street. “That’s okay,” he forced himself to say. “May I have my receipt?”
“Oh, yes, of course. How exciting that Fortune’s Twins will be wearing clothes from my shop! That’s what the media is calling the babies, you know.”
He was unfortunately aware of the nickname. He hoped to hell it would be forgotten before Thing One and Thing Two were old enough to hear it and understand it.
“Coul
d you send me a picture of the babies wearing the swimsuits? I could frame it and put it right by the register.” She gasped as a new brainstorm hit. “Or I could use it in my advertising! Maybe they could pose for a professional photographer.”
It was all Eli could do not to snatch his purchases out of the woman’s hands and stalk out. “We don’t want any further publicity,” he said.
Crestfallen, the woman handed Eli his bag, and he departed.
Terrific. He was no longer Eli Garrett, antique car restoration specialist. He was the pregnant millionaire’s husband. Soon to be ex-husband, if things continued on as they were.
During the drive back to Jester, Eli wracked his brain for some way to fix what was broken. But it wasn’t like a crumpled fender, which he could hammer and sand and paint until it looked like new. Nothing was going to heal his marriage as long as Gwen didn’t trust him.
So how did he go about earning her trust?
Then it hit him. Trust was something Gwen couldn’t automatically give, not when her own father had betrayed her mother in such spectacular fashion. And maybe trust should be earned. He certainly didn’t automatically trust his clients, even if they shared a mutual love and appreciation of classic cars. He required contracts and cashier’s checks. Once he worked with a client several times, he might do business on a handshake basis.
Gwen had no basis on which to trust him. He’d certainly never provided evidence of his trustworthiness. He’d simply expected her to trust him. And she had married him, which indicated at least some degree of trust.
As he drew closer to Jester, he decided he would turn over a new leaf. She’d opened up to him about her painful past. He would do the same. Maybe if she understood something about his past, it would help her to understand him—and to believe him when he said he wouldn’t do anything to hurt her.
But he wasn’t sure he could do it. If she doubted him again, it would crush his soul.
AT THE Pine Run National Bank & Trust three blocks away, Gwen sat in John Timms office, staring in disbelief at the three checks in front of her, all drawn on her money market account, which she seldom used. One was for seven hundred dollars and change, to a building supply store. The second was to an automotive store, for several more hundred. The third was to a jewelry store, for thirty-seven hundred.
None of them bore her signature, but the illegible scrawl was one she knew well. She’d seen it on her marriage license.
“I take it by the expression on your face you didn’t authorize these purchases,” John said.
“What? Oh—oh, yes, I did. I just forgot. The signature is my husband’s. Eli Garrett. We just got married.”
“I’m not showing that your husband is a signatory on your account.”
“He will be. We just haven’t had time to come in and do the paperwork. I’m sorry to have caused all this trouble. I’ll tell him not to sign on my account until he’s officially authorized. It’s just that, in my condition, it’s been hard for me to get out…”
John was automatically contrite. “And I’m sorry for dragging you out today. So you want us to pay these checks?”
She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. “Yes.” She didn’t want Eli to go to jail. She didn’t want any legal hassles. She would tell him she didn’t intend to have him prosecuted—so long as he got out of her life and stayed out.
“I’m…I’m not feeling too well,” she said. “Could you call me a cab?” She could send Stella and Oggie to pick up her car later.
“Certainly, Mrs. Garrett.”
“And I’d like to have copies of those checks, if you don’t mind. Eli didn’t write down the amounts—I’ll have to get on him about that.”
“Of course.”
The taxi arrived in a few minutes. Gwen climbed into the back seat, her legs shaking, clutching three photocopies.
Eli met her at the front door. “Gwen, honey, I’ve been so worried. Stella said you took off like a bat out of hell, didn’t tell anyone where you were going. I was afraid you’d gone into labor or something.”
“I’m fine,” she said tightly, brushing past him, avoiding the hug he tried to give her.
“Where’s your car? Why are you in a taxi?”
She didn’t answer as she unbuttoned the maternity coat she’d been forced to buy. Her hands shook so badly she popped one of the buttons. She shoved the coat into the coat closet.
“Gwen, I know you’re angry, and I don’t blame you. I shouldn’t have come down on you so hard. I guess I don’t blame you for wanting to check me out—”
“I didn’t have you checked out. And if you’d stuck around to talk, you’d have realized that. Bobby Larson is the one who snooped into your past without my knowledge. But I couldn’t stop him from telling me what he found out.”
Now he really felt like a heel. “I’ll explain it all, if you’ll give me another chance. Here, I got you these.” He opened a long, white box that had been sitting on the coatrack near the door and withdrew the hugest bouquet of roses Gwen had ever seen. He held them out to her.
The sight of all those roses was overwhelming, the scent cloying, suffocating. She took them in her grasp. And then she did something that surprised her as well as Eli. She swung the whole bouquet over her shoulder and whapped him in the head with it. Red and white petals flew through the air and drifted down around them, snow and blood.
“How dare you! How dare you try to pacify me with a bunch of lousy roses. Did you pay for them with one of my checks?”
“Excuse me?”
“Oh, you were clever. I might not have noticed for weeks, because you took the checks from the back of the book. But thank goodness I have a bank that pays attention.”
“Have you lost your mind completely?”
She reached into her purse and pulled out the photocopies, now wrinkled and stained with her tears. “I suppose you’re going to tell me you know nothing about these?”
Chapter Twelve
Eli studied first one, then another of the three sheets of paper Gwen had handed to him. But he couldn’t make any sense of them. He’d never done business at Builder’s Corner. He’d bought lots of things from Tinker’s Automotive, but he’d certainly never paid with one of Gwen’s checks. And he’d never heard of Byrd’s Fine Jewelry.
Still, he couldn’t deny that the signature looked like his.
“You actually think I would steal your money?” he demanded.
She shrugged. “I’m sure you didn’t think of it that way. After all, we’re married.”
“It’s stealing, and you believe I did it.”
“That is your signature.”
“It looks like my signature, but it isn’t.”
“No one but you has access to my office, where I keep that checkbook. No one but you has a key!”
“Are you kidding? You leave your keys lying around all the time. Anybody could use them.”
“Are you suggesting Stella or Irene or Oggie—that’s ridiculous! I’ve known them all since I was born!”
“And you’ve known me only a short while. So naturally I’m the guilty one.”
“Eli, it’s your signature! And who else around here buys building supplies and automotive supplies and…and jewelry.” Her eyes filled with tears. “I can’t believe you would buy me a gift with my own money.”
“So I’m tried, convicted and hanged, huh? And Gwendolyn Tanner is judge, jury and executioner.”
Gwen’s shoulders drooped. She looked suddenly exhausted, defeated. “I can’t talk about this right now. I’ve had enough for one day. Please ask Stella or Irene to bring a tray up to me for dinner.”
Sure, he’d deliver her request. Right before he moved out. He didn’t have to take this, not from anyone, and certainly not from his wife.
“GWEN, HONEY, this is not good for you,” Sylvia said, perched on the edge of Gwen’s bed. “You need to get out of this room, get some fresh air. You need to do something with your hair.” She picked up one dull, lank piece of Gwen
’s hair, then let it drop onto her shoulder.
“I can’t,” Gwen said on a moan. “I don’t want anyone to see me like this. I swear, I’ve gained another ten pounds in the past few days. My face is all puffy, my eyes are red and my hair—I can’t make it behave. All the body has gone out of it.”
“I can’t do anything about your weight,” Sylvia said. “I’m afraid only childbirth is going to cure that. But the face and the hair I can fix. Why don’t you come into the shop? I have all afternoon free. I can give you a facial, an herbal wrap and a body wave. I’ll ask Shelly to bring us a whole chocolate pie.”
Gwen gave a desperate little giggle despite her misery. “I’d probably eat the whole thing, too.”
“Or we could do salads and bran muffins, you know, the whole health nut thing. It’ll be just like a spa. C’mon, Gwen. I hate seeing you like this.”
Gwen knew her grieving hermit act had everyone worried. Stella, Irene and Oggie had been hovering over her, three diligent mother hens plying her with herbal tea, hot chocolate and chicken soup. A steady stream of her friends had stopped by. Everyone had heard, of course, that Eli had left her.
He’d moved out the day of their argument, into his house next door. His close proximity was one of the reasons she didn’t want to leave the house, or even her room. She was afraid she would run into him and make some terrible scene.
“All right,” Gwen finally agreed. “I do need to get out and breathe some fresh air, if only for the babies’ sake. Anyway, my back is killing me from lying around in bed.”
“Atta girl. We’ll have a total, self-indulgence pity party. You can bad mouth your husband, and I can just slam men in general.”
But she didn’t really want to say nasty things about Eli. She hadn’t told anyone but Sylvia the reason for their breakup. Whenever she thought of their argument, she remembered the terrible anger in his eyes, and the hurt. He felt betrayed by her lack of trust, even when he’d just proved he couldn’t be trusted.
What Eli had done was the symptom of a problem. A pretty serious problem, but still, she had spoken those words, “for better, for worse.” Maybe her sudden wealth had made her a more attractive bride, but she was sure that wasn’t the only reason he’d married her. No man could fake the affection he’d shown her, the concern for her physical condition or the heady anticipation he’d shown regarding the twins’ impending birth. She was sure that deep down he was a good man. And if he had a gambling addiction or merely a spending problem, maybe together they could tackle it.
