Love Will Find a Way

by Barbara Freethy

  "You're a good mother."

  She smiled sadly. "I try, but I don't know if I'm going to be enough for him."

  "You will be," he said with confidence.

  "I hope so. I will start going through Gary's things. I just need to catch my breath for a minute or two."

  "Okay. I get it. I'll go back to the house, check out the blueprints, and we can talk tomorrow."

  "Good," she said with relief. "Tomorrow is good."

  He started to turn away, then stopped. "By the way, I hope you don't mind, but I accepted a spot in your grandfather's poker game tomorrow night. I tried to say no, but your grandfather refused to accept my answer."

  "I'm not surprised; you're fresh meat," she said dryly. "I hope you have enough money. The old boys around here like city slickers."

  "I know my way around a poker table."

  "Yeah, Gary said the same thing."

  "Gary couldn't bluff. I can."

  She thought about that. A few weeks ago, she would have agreed that Dylan was far better at keeping secrets than Gary. Now she wasn't so sure. "Maybe he could bluff, Dylan. Maybe he could bluff better than anyone."

  * * *

  Dylan stopped at the house long enough to pick up the blueprints; then he headed back to town. He wasn't quite ready to put hammer to nail where Rachel's house was concerned. He needed to go over the plans and hire some local subcontractors. That part of his life here he could handle. That part of his life he could do in his sleep -- or at least on autopilot. Which was a good thing, since his mind was having trouble focusing on construction.

  It wasn't just Rachel who was getting to him now, it was Gary; it was the new information he'd learned about their finances – the missing cash, the absence of any long-term investments. Gary had been making enough money to start saving for Wesley's college and all the other expenses that came with having a family. Of course, Gary hadn't planned on dying young. But he still should have had more life insurance. Granted, he'd apparently tried to rectify the problem last year. But he should have done it sooner. And if he hadn't done it earlier, what had made him suddenly decide to do it a year ago? And on another subject entirely, why the hell had Gary gone to Lake Tahoe?

  That was the question that really bothered him. It was clear to him now that Gary had gone to Tahoe for reasons other than a bachelor party. He just had to figure out what those reasons were and why his friend had felt the need to lie to him, to lie to his wife. That wasn't Gary.

  Or was it? As Rachel had suggested, maybe Gary was a better liar than either of them had thought.

  Pulling into the parking lot of his hotel, he shut off the engine and got out of the car, trying to shake the doubts out of his head. Until he knew more, he wasn't going to judge his best friend. Walking into the hotel, he said hello to the manager, Janet Laningham, an older woman who'd made a point of chatting him up as soon as he'd checked in, especially when she'd learned he was a friend of Gary's and Rachel's.

  "How's Rachel?" Janet asked. "Is she doing all right?"

  "She's fine. I got a tour of the farm."

  "Oh, it's something, isn't it? I take the grandkids out there every October during the Harvest Festival. We pick apples and pumpkins and have a grand time."

  Picking apples and pumpkins had never been part of Dylan's "grand time" vocabulary, but his life was changing. Just as Gary's life had changed when he'd met Rachel on a warm September day ten years earlier.

  "Did you get a chance to see Lady Elaine?" Janet asked.

  "Lady Elaine? I don't remember any relatives with that name."

  Janet laughed. "Lady Elaine is an apple tree named after Rachel's great-great-grandmother, I think it was. The seeds came all the way from Virginia. She's a very special apple tree, and her bounty is magical."

  "Is that a fact?" he asked, surprised Rachel hadn't told him about it. She'd told him every other little thing about the farm. But he had definitely not been introduced to any Lady Elaine.

  "Well, I don't know if it's a fact, but it's quite a legend. You see, if a woman, a descendant of the first Elaine Wood, gives the man of her heart an apple from that special tree, he's hers forever. It's worked a dozen or so times in history."

  "Really?"

  "Yes, but some years the tree doesn't bloom, and no one knows why. And once in a while the locals have stolen into the orchard at night and tried to swipe one of the Lady Elaines and give it to their own true love, but they always break up after that. The tree only blesses the direct descendants. To others it's a curse."

  "Interesting," he said, unable to repress the skeptical smile that spread across his face.

  Janet waved her finger at him. "You're not a believer, I can see that. But I've lived in this town a long time, and I've seen that apple tree work its magic. Why, it worked on Rachel's husband, Gary, just like a charm."

  "Rachel gave Gary one of the special apples?" An uneasy sensation ran down his spine.

  "Of course she did," Janet said with a laugh. "That's how she got that city boy so fast. She said she gave it to him on an impulse when he stopped by the fruit stand, and -- "

  "Oh, my God!" he interrupted, thinking back to the first day they'd met Rachel. He'd wanted to leave, but Gary had wanted to buy an apple. And Rachel, she'd turned around and pulled one out of a bin and handed it to him, saying something about a legend.

  "What's wrong?" Janet asked in alarm. "Did I say something wrong about your friend? I didn't mean any harm."

  "No. I just never realized." He shook his head in bemusement. "I never knew."

  "Well, it's probably just a silly tale, but sometimes you need a little magic in your life, you know?"

  He could barely follow her words. His mind raced. His heart reeled.

  Because Gary hadn't eaten that apple; he had.

  Chapter Nine

  Rachel spent the rest of Friday and most of Saturday doing exactly what she'd told Dylan she'd be doing, taking care of Wesley and catching her breath. When she wasn't playing with Wesley, she was working on plans for the upcoming Harvest Festival. She filled her mind with inconsequential stuff so that she wouldn't have to think about anything serious. It worked until Saturday night, when she ran out of work and excuses.

  Wesley was hunkered down in the family room with his best buddy, Joey, a videotape and a bowl of popcorn. Her grandmother was in town visiting with her girlfriends while Rachel's grandfather held his weekly poker game in the barn. Carly was out with Antonio, who had apparently invited her to dinner. That left Rachel with a problem she'd been trying to avoid.

  With a heavy heart, she entered the study and took a seat behind the big oak desk. It was a man's desk, she thought with a small pang. She could remember her dad sitting here paying the bills, reading the newspaper or helping her with her homework. So many times they'd poured over a math assignment or a history book together. And he'd been so patient, never rushing her, always ready to listen. He'd been a wonderful father, and she'd loved him. He'd died of cancer a year after her marriage, and she still missed him. Just as she missed Gary.

  The people she'd loved the most were also the ones she'd lost. She picked up a photograph on the desk. It was a picture of Gary, her father and herself at her wedding. Two fabulous men. She'd been lucky to have them. But they were gone and nothing would bring them back. She had to go on. She had to open the drawers of the desk and the filing cabinet. She had to start throwing things away.

  She began by reopening the file folder marked "Phone Bills," which she'd glanced through yesterday. She'd circled the strange phone numbers in red ink. Tapping one with her fingernail, she debated her options. There seemed to be only one solution: call the numbers and see where they led.

  She picked up the phone on the desk and dialed the first number in Reno, Nevada. The city was the closest location to Lake Tahoe and maybe had something to do with Gary's last trip.

  "Silver Legacy Hotel and Casino," the receptionist answered.

  "Oh, thanks, uh, never mind," she said, se
tting down the receiver. The Silver Legacy Hotel? Why had Gary been calling the hotel? As far as she knew, he'd spent his last weekend in Lake Tahoe at Harrah's on the South Shore.

  Unless they'd taken a side trip to Reno? There was gambling there, too. But why leave Lake Tahoe, which had its own casinos, not to mention a beautiful lake and incredible mountains? Why hadn't she asked Gary more questions about his trip? Why hadn't he offered more information?

  Because it had been just another trip in a lifetime of weekend trips. Gary had traveled at least once a month for almost all of their marriage. She'd gotten used to him popping in and out, and he'd always handled all the travel arrangements through his firm. His firm! A light bulb went off in her head. Gary's assistant, Beth, would probably still have all the particulars about his final trip.

  Rachel let out a sigh, realizing today was Saturday. Why couldn't she have had this epiphany during the work week? She had no way to reach Beth out side of the office. She glanced back down at the phone bill. On impulse she dialed the next number in Las Vegas. She was about to hang up when a woman answered the phone in a heavy Hispanic accent.

  "Hello," she said. "Tanner residence."

  Rachel's heart jumped into her throat. Tanner residence? How could that be?

  "Hello," the woman said again. "Is anyone there?"

  Rachel's chest was so tight, she didn't think she could get any words out. Tanner residence? As far as she knew, Gary didn't have any relatives. His mother had died a couple of years earlier; his father, sometime before that. Cousins, maybe? An aunt or an uncle? That had to be it.

  "I hang up now," the woman on the other end said.

  "Wait, I'm sorry. Is -- uh -- Mrs. Tanner there?" Rachel asked hesitantly.

  "No. Can I take a message?"

  "What about Mr. Tanner?"

  "He's not here either."

  "Do you know when they'll be back?"

  "No, sorry. You want me to take a message?"

  "No. I'll call back. Oh, wait, I forgot Mr. Tanner's first name. I'd hate to call back and ask for the wrong man," Rachel improvised.

  "Gary."

  Rachel's heart stopped. No! It couldn't be! She wanted to demand answers, but the click in her ear told her the woman had already hung up. She set down the receiver, her hand shaky. She felt dizzy, confused. She had to think. She had to make sense of things.

  Gary Tanner? It had to be another man. It had to be. Just a wild, crazy, impossible coincidence.

  "Rachel?"

  Dylan's voice brought her head up. She stared at him in shock. Did he know? Was he in on it?

  "What's wrong?" he asked, coming toward the desk. "You're white as a sheet. What's happened?"

  "Gary's alive, isn't he?"

  "What?" he bit out. "What the hell are you talking about?"

  She heard his anger, but she didn't care. She picked up the phone bill and waved it in the air. "I called the number. They answered, 'Tanner residence'. The Gary Tanner residence." She spit out the words. "What was it? Some elaborate scheme? Gary had another family somewhere? Oh, my God, it's just like that movie I saw where the man was married to three women and traveled all the time and none of them knew about the others."

  "Rachel, stop," Dylan said firmly. He grabbed the phone bill out of her hand and ran his gaze down the page.

  "Which one?" he demanded. "Which number did you call?"

  "The one in Las Vegas."

  "Las Vegas?"

  "Yes. Go ahead, call it yourself. You'll see," she said, white-hot anger coursing through her body. How could he? How could Gary have lied to her?

  "Rachel, what exactly did you say?"

  "What does it matter?"

  "It matters. What did you say?"

  "I asked for Mrs. Tanner first. She wasn't home. Then I asked for Mr. Tanner. He wasn't home either. But the woman who answered the phone told me his first name was Gary. Ring a bell?" She knew she was taking her anger out on Dylan, but she didn't care. He'd been Gary's best friend. He must have known. And the anger was the only thing keeping her from screaming in pain.

  "It does ring a bell," Dylan replied. "Did you know that Gary was named after his father?"

  "What?"

  "His father's name was Gary, too."

  "His father is dead."

  "Who told you that?"

  "Gary told me that," she said flatly, her mind refusing to register this latest piece of information.

  Dylan shook his head. "No, Gary's father is alive. I spoke to him myself just after the funeral."

  She stared at him in disbelief. His words didn't make sense. "No, he's dead. Gary told me he died."

  "I don't know why Gary told you that, but his father is very much alive. And he lives in Las Vegas with his third or fourth wife -- I can't remember what number he's on now."

  Gary's father was alive? Wesley had a grandfather? She had a father-in-law? She sat back in her chair. "I don't know what to believe. Either Gary lied to me, or you're lying now."

  "Why would I lie to you?"

  "Your loyalty is to Gary. You told me that at the beginning."

  "I'm not lying about this, Rachel," he said forcefully. "I would have no reason to do that."

  "You would if Gary had another -- family." Her voice broke on the last word. She swung the chair around so she was looking out the window at her apple trees. She had to find some point to concentrate on, some peaceful focal point. But the trees blurred with the tears in her eyes. She couldn't see them. She couldn't find the peace, the harmony, the safe place.

  Dylan came up behind her and swung the chair back around. He put his hands on the arms of the chair and forced her to look at him. "Gary didn't have another family. The number you called is his father's house."

  She stared at him, searching his face for the truth. His gaze was unwavering. He looked like a man who had nothing to hide. But then, she'd always thought her husband had nothing to hide. Where were her instincts? Why couldn't she tell who was telling the truth and who wasn't?

  "If Gary lied about his father," she said finally, "then I don't know what to believe."

  Dylan's face softened, his eyes filling with a kindness that only made her want to cry. "Gary and his father were estranged. To Gary, his father was figuratively dead. Just not literally dead."

  The anger slowly seeped out of her, replaced with disillusionment and sadness. "I understand what you're saying, but Gary knew the difference between literally and figuratively, and he chose to lie, to hide a part of his life from me." She paused. "I thought I could do this – look into all the dark corners of Gary's life, but maybe I can't."

  "Yes, you can." Dylan grabbed her hands and pulled her to her feet. "But you have to stop jumping to conclusions without getting the facts."

  "I went into shock when I heard that woman speak Gary's name. I didn't know what to think. I still don't. It's not what I thought, but …" She gave a helpless shrug. "It's not good either."

  He nodded, squeezing her hands reassuringly. "I get it, Rachel. I don't know why Gary didn't tell you about his father. But I'm here to help you sort through everything."

  She nodded, thinking she should let go of his hand, but it had been a long time since she'd felt the warmth of a man's hands in hers, a long time since she'd been able to lean on anyone. In fact, she found herself swaying forward, and before she knew it, her head was resting on Dylan's broad chest, her arms wrapping around his waist. She needed his strength, and she selfishly took it.

  "Let it all go, Rachel," he said quietly. "Clear your mind. Stop thinking for a few minutes."

  She tried to do that, forcing the confusing thoughts of the past half hour out of her head. Unfortunately, as the thoughts exited her mind, she was left with only her senses ... the smell of Dylan's musky aftershave, the feel of his chest against her face, the strength of his arms around her body … He was warm and solid and male, and she sensed an undeniable stirring of desire. She needed to pull away, because he was the wrong man, and he'd always be the wrong m
an.

  But he was the only one in the room. He was the only one who understood what she was going through. And he was the only one she would have allowed to hold her like this, to see her vulnerability, her fear. She trusted him, she realized suddenly. Maybe that was a mistake, but it was the truth.

  As the minutes passed, the quiet between them grew tense, and the desire grew deeper, more intense. She had to fight the urge to lift her face to his, to find forgetfulness in his arms, because she couldn’t go that far. It wouldn't be fair to either of them.

  So she lifted her head and stepped back, tucking her hair behind her ears, feeling a bit awkward and embarrassed now that they were face to face. She couldn't tell what Dylan was thinking or feeling. His face was completely unreadable -- a poker face. It suddenly dawned on her why he was here. He'd come for her grandfather's poker game, and she'd blasted him with wild accusations of Gary having two families.

  "I'm sorry," she said.

  He waved away her words. "Not necessary."

  "I can't believe for a minute there I thought Gary was alive and that he had another family. He wouldn't have done that. That's a movie of the week. That's not my life."

  "Of course it's not."

  "But I still don't understand why Gary lied about his father being alive. Estranged or not, it would have made no difference to me."

  "Maybe he thought you would have encouraged him to mend the relationship. You do put a lot of store in family."

  "My family, not his. And what about you? Why did you get to know when I didn't?"

  "So what? You're mad at me now?"

  She sighed. "No, I'm mad at Gary."

  "Good."

  "Why is that good?" she asked in surprise.

  "It means you're thinking about Gary like a real person and not a saint. He wasn't perfect. He had faults. He should have told you his father was alive. He probably should have told you a lot of things, but Gary didn't like to get personal. He was uncomfortable with emotions; he couldn't stand to see a woman or a child cry."