“I did it, I did it,” Marcie cried, jumping up and down as if she were on a pogo stick.
Clifford joined her, wrapped his burly arms around her waist, and lifted her over his head. “That’s my girl,” he said, grinning up at her, his face filled with pride and happiness.
Marcie returned to the bench as proud of this one small accomplishment as she was of anything she’d ever done. It was as simple as mind over matter.
Clifford walked up to the ball return and reached for his own bowling ball. The smile on Marcie’s face faded as she studied him. The plumber would never be poster boy-toy material, but he was gentle and charming.
Marcie knew how difficult it must be for him not to question her about what was happening between her and Jack. He’d asked about Jack only once, and then just to inquire if she’d be seeing him again. When Marcie had admitted that she didn’t know what she’d be doing, he’d praised her honesty and hadn’t pressed the issue again.
If the situation had been reversed, not knowing would have eaten Marcie alive.
Clifford threw the bowling ball and scored a strike. She applauded wildly, reached for her beer, and saluted him. He bowed eloquently and marked the score sheet.
Marcie couldn’t imagine what it would be like to bowl with Jack. They’d never so much as attended a movie or a football game together. She didn’t even know if he liked sports or cheered for the Kansas City Chiefs.
Other than their lone dinner date, their entire relationship had revolved around their time in bed. Not that she hadn’t enjoyed herself. The sex had been incredible, but there was more to everyday life than a quick tumble in the sack.
Now Jack claimed he wanted her on a permanent basis. Marcie noted that the word “marriage” had never come up. At least not in regard to their relationship.
True, Jack had said something about two of his friends having recently married, but she’d noticed how he had carefully avoided the topic when it came to the two of them.
Men generally avoided the M word when it came to her, Marcie realized. A small pain stabbed her heart, and she shoved thoughts of Jack from her mind. It wasn’t fair to Clifford to spend time with him and stew about another man.
“How about catching something to eat?” Clifford asked when they’d finished with the game.
“That sounds great.” She feigned enthusiasm, although she wasn’t hungry.
Clifford carried both their bowling balls out to the car. He seemed a bit edgy, Marcie noticed, but she suspected his uneasiness had to do with the uncertainty of what was happening with them.
They pulled into an all-night diner, one of his favorite spots. The waitress motioned them to the booth in the corner, and Marcie slid across the red vinyl seat.
Clifford reached for the menus tucked behind the sugar canister and handed her one. “I’m in the mood for a cheeseburger,” he announced. “How about you?”
Marcie shook her head. “I’m not that hungry,” she murmured absently. “I think I’ll just have a piece of lemon meringue pie.”
The gum-chewing waitress stopped for their order a couple of minutes later.
“So,” Clifford said, holding on to his water glass with both hands, “how’s life treating you this week?”
“Good,” she said.
He cleared his throat and briefly met her eyes before lowering them once more to his water glass. “I got to thinking this afternoon about you and this other friend of yours.”
“You want to know if I’ve seen him again, is that what this is all about?”
Clifford shook his head. “No,” he said with emphasis. “It’s probably better if you don’t tell me, and not because I’m burying my head in the sand, either. If you are seeing him, which you certainly have every right to do, I’d dwell on it more than I should and risk screwing up Mr. Wallace’s remodeling project.” He smiled tightly and focused his concentration on the tabletop once more.
“Clifford, maybe—”
“I don’t mean to interrupt you, but if you’d let me finish what I have to say, it would be easier. Okay?”
“Sure.” He was so adorable that Marcie had to work not to slip out of her seat and join him on the other side of the table. Instead she reached across the table and squeezed his hand.
“When I left it up to you to date this old friend of yours, I got to thinking that maybe you assumed I didn’t really care if you did date this other guy.”
“Oh, Clifford, I know better.”
“I’m not much to look at, I realize that. There’s grease under my fingernails, and I could stand to lose a few pounds.”
Marcie had never seen anything but a gentle, kind man who was good for her and to her. Clifford would never pretend to be something he wasn’t. He’d never lied to her. He was thoughtful, sweet, and generous.
“You’re my teddy bear.”
A smile quirked one edge of his mouth upward. “No one’s called me a pet name before. At least none that they were willing to say to my face.” He sat up straight and rubbed his hand along the backside of his neck.
“When I met you I’d given up the hope that I’d meet someone special,” he continued. “Hell, I’m close to thirty-five now. My younger brother’s got four kids. His oldest is going into junior high in September.”
“Bobby?”
Clifford nodded. “I’ve never been good with women, talking with ’em and stuff like that. It seemed every time I was around an attractive woman my tongue would get all tied up and I’d say something stupid that would sound like an insult. Then I met you.” He chanced a look at her.
“You came into my life at just the right moment as well,” Marcie said. She’d never mentioned her past. Never told him about the mistakes she’d made. The time, energy, and esteem she’d squandered on users and losers. For all Clifford knew, she was as white and pure as lambs’ wool.
“I did?”
“I’d given up on finding a decent man.”
“You?” He seemed incredulous. “But, Marcie, you’re beautiful. There must have been a hundred men who wanted to make you their wife.”
She hadn’t the heart to tell him the truth. Men didn’t marry a good-time girl. They’d had their fun and their kinky sex with her and then gone home to their wives and girlfriends.
Clifford lowered his head once again, then arched his back and stuck his hand inside his pants’ pocket. He brought out a diamond ring, which he held between his thumb and index finger. The stone was small and glittered in the light.
He cleared his throat and looked skeptically at her. “I’ve been trying for the better part of a month to find the nerve to ask you to marry me, Marcie. This here diamond’s been in my pocket all this time.”
“A month?”
“Everytime I’d try to come up with the words, my tongue would stick to the roof of my mouth. I must have rehearsed what I wanted to say a thousand times. Then your rich friend came in the picture and, well…I decided I’d wait to see what happened with him.”
“But—”
“I know, I know. This guy’s still in town, and I figure you’re probably seeing him. I called you last night and there wasn’t any answer.”
“You didn’t leave a message on the answering machine?”
“No,” he admitted reluctantly, “I figured I was going to lose you to this fancy guy even before I had a chance to propose.”
“Clifford, please.” Her throat was closing up on her at the unexpectedness of the proposal. She didn’t know what to say.
“I know this is probably the worst thing I could possibly do to you now. The truth is, Marcie, I was afraid this diamond would be burning a hole in my pocket when you told me you were going back to your old boyfriend.”
“Oh, Clifford.”
“I love you, Marcie. I have from the day I first walked into your shop and you gave me a haircut. It was the first time a woman had ever cut my hair. You were so friendly and nice and chatted away like I was someone special. Women generally treat me like a husk
y Forrest Gump. I suppose that’s because sometimes I don’t make a whole lot of sense.”
“Clifford, you’re smart and kind….”
“Yeah, but I don’t fit the image of the tall, dark, handsome hero, and so…Never mind, none of that is important. What is important is that I love you. I want to marry you, and if you agree, I promise I’ll do everything within my power to make you happy.”
Marcie covered her mouth with both hands as tears blinded her eyes. “There’s so much you don’t know about me.”
“I know everything that’s important.”
Marcie wiped the moisture from her face as she saw the waitress arrive with their order. She sniffled and smiled at Clifford.
“Would you mind very much if I took a day or two to think it over?”
He grinned and nodded. “I thought that was what you’d say. Take as long as you need. I’m not going anywhere.”
Then, with barely a pause, he reached for his cheeseburger and ate it like a man on the brink of starvation.
29
Hopelessly lost, Letty wandered aimlessly through the streets of San Paulo. She’d gotten separated from Murphy when she’d thought she’d recognized a young woman from Luke’s mission. Letty couldn’t remember her name. Rosa. No, Rosita. Something along those lines.
Letty had met Rosita the previous summer. She remembered her specifically because the lovely young woman was so clearly infatuated with Luke. Her twin, being obtuse and completely blind to matters of the heart, seemed blithely unaware of this woman’s devotion.
Letty had caught a fleeting glimpse of her. There was every likelihood Rosita could tell Letty what had happened to Luke. In her excitement Letty had broken away from Murphy, then twisted and curled her way though the throng, calling to Rosita.
There’d been so many people. Soon Letty had become caught up in the crowd, trapped in a sea of moving humanity. The last look she’d had of Rosita, Letty had found herself steered in the opposite direction.
In that brief glance, Rosita had looked pale and drawn. The deep shadows beneath her eyes spoke of pain and fear. It looked as though the beautiful young woman hadn’t slept in a week.
Once Letty realized she’d lost sight of Luke’s friend, she’d wanted to weep with frustration. Then she’d remembered Murphy.
“Oh, shit.” She’d actually said the words aloud.
By this time he was nowhere in sight. The very least he could have done was keep up with her, she thought, exhausted and alone. She wrapped the shawl he’d purchased for her more tightly around her shoulders. Not because she was chilled, but for the security it afforded her. Which was pitifully little, she realized.
Again and again, as the evening progressed to night and the night to morning, Letty had tried to think of where he would be. Where he would think to look for her or meet her.
Every logical place had turned up empty. She’d gone back to the apparel store and waited outside the locked doors, certain Murphy would think to check for her there.
She’d even traipsed all the way back to the river where they’d docked the boat. That had been a big mistake. Not only was there no sign of Murphy or the fishing vessel Aldo had lent them, but she’d run head-long into a group of drunken soldiers.
Luckily she’d escaped their interest and slipped away. Even more fortunate was that not one of them was in any condition to chase after her.
The city square had also turned into a dead end. She’d lingered around there for hours, hoping she was inconspicuous, knowing she wasn’t.
As the sun crept over the horizon, Letty realized she had nowhere else to go. Nowhere else to look. They’d lost one another irrevocably, and it was her fault. The only thing for her to do now was look for someone else to help her locate Luke.
That little shit, Murphy mused as he stalked through the dark alleyways. One minute Letty had been within his grasp and the next thing he knew she was gone.
The frustration was worse than heartburn. He’d been up and down the streets of San Paulo without so much as a trace of her.
Of all the stupid, idiotic things for her to do, this topped everything. As best he could figure, she’d chased after someone she’d thought she recognized. Someone she recognized from where?
He should have known better than to get involved in this fiasco. Women like Letty Madden lay awake nights thinking up ways to ruin men’s lives.
When Letty had first approached him, he’d recently returned from a mission and was in no mood to take on another. In the few days he’d been home, he’d actually started to enjoy the role of the gentleman rancher. Not that he was tempted to make anything permanent of it.
The sedate life wasn’t for him. Then again, he’d thought the same of Cain and Mallory when they’d retired from soldiering. His two friends were as high on adventure as he was himself, and he’d been sure they wouldn’t last long in civilian life. But he’d been wrong.
Mallory perhaps he could understand. The hulk of a man had stepped on a land mine and nearly lost his leg and his life. When he’d returned to Deliverance Company, whatever element had made him a good soldier was gone. Sometime between the accident and his recovery he’d lost his thrill for adventure. Murphy suspected the injury coupled with meeting Francine were what had led to Mallory’s retirement.
Cain was an entirely different story. Cain had been their leader, the most fearless, intrepid man Murphy had ever met. It was difficult to believe that a woman was solely responsible for Cain’s unexpected retirement, but it was the truth.
A lovely San Francisco widow had turned his friend’s life upside down. Before Murphy could account for what happened, Cain had set up house in Montana and was raising cattle with the best of them. More shocking to Murphy was the fact that Cain was happy.
Unlike Mallory, who’d taken to raising llamas and children on a Washington State island, and Cain the rancher, Murphy didn’t know anything but soldiering.
Why such thoughts would come to him while he traipsed through the rebel-controlled streets of San Paulo on a wild-goose chase seeking Letty, Murphy didn’t know. Frankly, he didn’t want to know.
At this point, he promised himself, if he ever found the pest, she’d be fortunate to escape with just a good tongue-lashing.
He’d looked everywhere. The streets. The city square. The river. He’d even walked into a women’s rest room, thinking she might be there.
His patience, limited in the best of times, was gone. It’d evaporated in the time he’d spent searching for her. The only thing left now was to locate Luke Madden. Her brother was the best chance Murphy had of finding Letty.
If the little shit was still alive.
Letty surrendered all hope of ever finding Murphy. She simply couldn’t waste any more time looking. In her search, she’d kept an eye out for Rosita or anyone else she might recognize from the mission in Managna.
At nine the evening of the second day, she found herself standing in front of a Catholic church. Earlier, in Siguierres, she’d walked willy-nilly into just such a church, thinking she’d be safe. Instead she’d stumbled into a rebel command post. To say she’d learned her lesson was an understatement.
The large wooden door creaked as she gently pushed it open to peek inside. Her relief was palatable when she realized this was no military headquarters.
She stepped inside quietly. The church’s interior was lit with several candles. Rows of thin pews with bare wood kneelers formed uneven lines down both sides of the sanctuary.
The altar was an ornate wooden structure, painted white and trimmed in gold, that stretched two floors to brush against the ceiling. As she stared at the front, at the floor level, she realized that a body lay adorned in a white robe.
Letty remembered Luke telling her that many people believed that the cathedral in San Paulo possessed the actual remains of St. Paul. Not the original St. Paul, the one popularly known as the thirteenth apostle, but another one who had followed several centuries later. The practice of displaying th
e decayed bodies of dearly beloved saints was common in Central America.
Holding her breath, Letty carefully moved forward and slipped into the last pew. Seeing that the kneeler was down, she knelt and bowed her head for prayer.
If ever she needed divine intervention, it was now. Everything was a mess. Even if Murphy did happen to find her, he’d be so furious that he’d never feel he could trust her again. Then there was Luke and the time she’d wasted looking for Murphy.
Letty didn’t know how long she prayed. She was exhausted, hungry, afraid. And that was only the tip of the iceberg.
She heard a movement, a creak of a shoe, a whoosh of air, a fragmented sigh. Even if it had been a soldier, she wouldn’t have cared. Emotionally she was ready to collapse. Physically she’d gone past the point of no return.
Letty opened her eyes and raised her head. Her dark eyes met those of a white-haired priest she guessed to be about sixty. He blinked. So did she.
“My dear,” he whispered in stilted English, “these are dangerous times for a woman alone.”
“Yes, I know,” she whispered in Spanish, knowing the language was safer for them both.
“I’m Father Alfaro. Is there anything I can do to help you?”
Letty hesitated. “I don’t think so.” She stood, certain he would ask her to leave, but her legs were shaky and she fell back into the pew.
“You’re ill?”
“No, I’m fine,” she said, dismissing his concern. “Really.”
“Where are you staying?” He entered the pew and sat next to her, took hold of her fingers, and gently patted the back of her hand.
Her hesitation was answer enough, she suspected. Squaring her shoulders, she looked him directly in the eye. She had to trust him; there was no one else. “Have you heard of the mission in Managna?”
“Yes, of course.”
Hope sent a shot of adrenaline into Letty’s blood-stream. “Then you must know my brother, Luke Madden. He’s the missionary in charge of the Managna mission.” She leaned forward and gripped the priest’s frail arm. “Do you know what happened to him? Have you heard anything about him? I feel certain he must have been arrested, but—”
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