Lies of the Heart (Heart Romance #3)

by Laurie LeClair

  Chapter 21

  Being in the doghouse always had its disadvantages, sometimes more than others, like now, Chance thought wryly. He’d parked a few yards down the road from Mrs. Warfield’s house on the opposite side of the street. Leaning forward, he turned off the ignition. The sudden silence blanketed him. He shivered at the eerie stillness all around him and the absence of his heater.

  Sighing heavily, he drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, wondering how to launch his attack. It had taken him three days to get this far with the crabby lady; the first day she’d hung up on him when he called her and the second day she refused to open her door when he showed up yesterday. He pulled out his keys from the ignition. The jangle seemed loud in the enclosed cab of his truck. Triumphantly, he singled out a key and held it up to the yellow arch of the street light, the light bouncing off of the shiny new gold. “All’s fair in love and war,” he muttered as a smile tugged at his lips.

  He’d sweet-talked Tessa out of the house key and had made a copy of hers. If he was going to get past the barricades Mrs. W. laid out for him then he had to outsmart the old biddy.

  Now all he had to do was walk right up to the door and slip the key in the lock. But, as good as it sounded to take the woman by surprise, he held back. Something nagged at him. He just couldn’t put a finger on it, though.

  For long moments he checked out the area. All’s quiet. “Just like it should be for a Sunday night.” He rested his elbow against the doorframe, and then tapped a finger against his lips. Deep down he realized he’d picked up the habit from his wife whenever she was thinking. He smiled inwardly at that and continued to tick off the normal occurrences on the street.

  All the streetlights were on, even the one down the road flickered as usual. Some cars were parked in the darkened driveways of the neighbors. Other homes seemed tucked in tight for the night with, what he assumed, their vehicles in their garages. No toys littered the sidewalks which fit into the picture.

  “Hmmm… Something’s just not right.”

  He scanned more, looking for any outward sign of anything out of the ordinary. His gaze landed on his grandmother’s house once again. Her kitchen light snapped on. He frowned, wondering if she was all right.

  A part of his heart tugged for her, thinking how much she missed his granddad. Oh, she’d kept herself busy since his death, but late at night, like now, he figured that’s when the loneliness hit hardest. A pool of dread settled in the pit of his belly; he realized that would be him in a few months once the terms of the will were fulfilled. “Tessa,” he whispered softly as an ache shot through him.

  The porch light flashed on, and then the door opened. His grandmother, bundled up in her winter coat and scarf and holding a paper sack, stepped outside. Chance sat up taller, wondering where in the world she was headed.

  It didn’t take long for him to find out. As if she was were being spied on, his grandmother scurried down her yard, stopped at the edge of the road to look both ways, and then hurried on across the road and up to Mrs. Warfield’s front door.

  “No way. This can’t be happening.” The stunned wonder in his voice echoed in his ears.

  Once she disappeared into the enemy’s house, Chance eased out of his truck, thanking his lucky stars he’d had the great forethought to park far enough away where his grandmother hadn’t been able to spot his truck.

  Slowly, he crept along the shadowy street, recalling how many times he’d done this growing up. An idea began to form. He’d sneak in with the key and eavesdrop on the two women. He would surely learn a lot that way, since the two women were usually closed-mouth about most things. Then, when he was ready, he’d announce his presence.

  Coming onto the porch, Chance reached out for the screen door. Inch by inch he gingerly eased the door open, letting out a breath when he hadn’t given himself away. Next, he slipped in the door key and slowly twisted it. The click rent the air. He stilled, sweat gathering along the back of his neck.

  Straining to listen to the interior sounds, he made out muted voices, but no one coming this way. “Phew,” he muttered, and then nudged the heavy door open by degrees.

  A few moments later, he stood in the formal living room. He glanced over at the chairs, recalling how he’d bargained with Granny Warfield for Tessa that night not so long ago. A sly smile crossed his face and he had to hold back a chuckle at besting the old broad. Just as quickly, he remembered, how later on, Tessa had confessed to overhearing the conversation. A dagger sliced through his heart at the memory of hurting her. “Never again, if I can help it,” he whispered in the darkened room.

  A night light in the kitchen guided him through the lower rooms and to the stairway, the voices from above getting stronger as he approached. Leaning against one wall, he gazed up to the second landing. Bright light spilled out from what he knew from previous experience was granny’s room.

  With his pulse beating a mile a minute, Chance began to climb the stairs, inching along the wall as he went. Their conversation floated down to him, allowing him to pick out a word here and there.

  “…such a bother…”

  “Thieves…don’t…bring…” He was certain that was Granny Warfield’s sharp words.

  “Gabe never…” Chance stilled at the mention of his granddad.

  “Hah! Why…”

  Damn, he cursed silently, wishing he could make out the rest of the exchange.

  “It was you. Always you.”

  “Me? How dare you!”

  Getting closer to his destination, Chance could hear more and more of what they were saying. Now, if he could only piece it together and understand it. That would be a different story.

  “Stop fussing, Della, I’m fine,” Granny Warfield said.

  “It is not, Theresa. You know you always spill something down your front when you eat.”

  Scowling, Chance crept within inches of the door, peeking in. His grandmother tucked a napkin into Mrs. W.’s robe, and then settled back in a nearby chair while Granny Warfield sat on the edge of her bed. Between them stood a small table with a plate of food on it.

  “Now don’t eat too fast or you’ll get heartburn,” his grandmother said as she watched the other woman lift the fork of mashed potatoes to her mouth.

  “You always did make the best potatoes, Della.”

  Stunned, Chance stood stark still, trying to absorb all he was hearing and observing. They obviously knew each other well sometime in their lifetimes if they spoke of certain habits and having tasted Gran’s cooking before. But when?

  As Mrs. W. continued to eat the roast beef meal his gran had brought, his mind whirled with this new knowledge. They’d known, really known, each other.

  “You’ve outdone yourself this time, old gal.”

  His grandmother gleamed at the praise. “I always was a good cook. Now you, Theresa, you needed a lot of help.”

  “Did not.”

  “Did so.”

  Witnessing the exchange, Chance thought he was watching two little girls playfully bickering with each other. He shook his head, wondering if he were hearing correctly.

  “Gabe said I did,” Mrs. W. said, her words pelting Chance with what they revealed.

  Gran snorted. “Hah! What did he know back then anyway? He was too drunk to know anything.”

  “Not all the time, Missy.” Mrs. W. thrust her shoulders out one at a time as if taunting his grandmother.

  Shock rained down on Chance like icy drops of water plopping down his spine. No, it can’t be. Then realization hit him. The feud must have started with them, not long before as he’d always been told. What could have happened to cause the huge, gaping rift?

  “That’s right, I got him sobered up, didn’t I?”

  “And how many years did that take, huh?” Even from here, with her back slightly turned to him, Chance could imagine the lift of Mrs. W.’s brow offered along with the question.

  That did it; his grandmother gripped the arms of her chair and glared at the o
ther woman. “You always have to be nasty, don’t you? That was always your problem and still is for that matter.” She threw up a hand, saying, “That’s why you’re in this predicament. No nurse to care for you because you fired her and the one before her. And you’ve gone and shoved your granddaughter away, too. What a miserable old woman you’ve turned out to be.”

  Heavy silence filled the air, the tension building as Mrs. W. glared at his grandmother. Then Chance thought he saw Mrs. W.’s chin wobble, but he couldn’t swear to it.

  “Well, you think you’re so much better than the rest of us. Why your grandson rushed out of town as fast as he could the moment he graduated and didn’t come back ’til now. Did that show he cared a hoot about you?”

  Chance cringed inwardly at that.

  “He cares.” The conviction in her words warmed Chance’s heart. She didn’t feel he’d tossed her aside.

  “Hah! My Tessa stayed and devoted her whole life to me.”

  “You mean you kept her in prison until Chance came along.”

  “Don’t start with that, Della.”

  “I’ll start and finish it if I have to, old woman. That girl has been kowtowing to you all her life because you made her feel you’d done her a favor by taking her in and raising her and she had to repay you. It turns out she has, in blood. If you ask me, she’d have been a lot better off if you’d have let the state take her in.”

  The shocked gasp rent the air. “How dare you! Why I sacrificed everything I had for that girl.”

  “Including your husband.”

  Stunned silence hung in the air. Mrs. W. pressed her lips tightly together and clasped her hands in her lap. “Leave, this moment,” she bit out between gritted teeth.

  “Will not.”

  “Will so.”

  “Make me, Theresa.” His grandmother leaned back in her chair, folding her arms across her chest and smiled smugly at the other woman.

  “Bitch!”

  “Royal bitch.”

  At that, the unthinkable happened; they burst out into hearty laughter. Another ripple of stunned wonder raced over Chance. He couldn’t be dreaming this, could he?

  Grabbing a nearby hanky, Mrs. W. dapped at the corners of her eyes. “Oh, that was just like old times, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes and deedy.” His gran swiped the moisture from her eyes. “We had some good times, didn’t we? Hey, remember how Violet used to wear those god-awful clothes to school and thought they were the cat’s meow?”

  So they’d gone to school together, that made sense. He didn’t know why, but he’d never considered that before.

  “She still does.” Mrs. W. fluffed up her silvery hair and threw out her left shoulder. “And pranced around like she’s Queen Sheba to boot.”

  A mental picture of Mrs. Baker flashed through Chance’s mind. He grinned at that, thinking the woman hadn’t changed one iota.

  Suddenly animated, Chance’s grandmother waved her hands and sat forward. “Oh, Theresa, you haven’t heard the latest.”

  “Now don’t keep me in suspense like you used to. Spill it, Del.”

  “She’s gone and snagged old man Saunders!”

  She gasped loudly. “No! It can’t be. Why his wife hasn’t been cold for, what, six weeks?”

  “Five, but who’s counting?”

  “We are.”

  They giggled like schoolgirls then, carrying on like all the years of animosity never happened.

  Watching them, Chance glimpsed a side of both of them he’d never imagined. Something warm filled his heart at the way they bickered, and then made up like two old friends. Hope sprang in Chance’s being. If he could just figure out what had started it all he could end this feud once and for all.

  As his thoughts spun in his head, Chance half-listened as they continued to gossip like two magpies. His grandmother cracked a joke about someone in town and they laughed. Chance joined in.

  The women cried out, twirling to face him standing just outside the door. Shocked features soon turned into angry ones directed at him.

  Caught, red-handed. He swallowed hard, and then said, “Hello, ladies.”

  “Chance Deveraux, how long have you been standing there?” Mrs. W. asked with fire in her eyes.

  “Long enough.”

  The two women said in unison, “You dog, you.”

  “I prefer devil to dog, ladies.” He grinned wickedly and they scowled deeper. “So, why don’t you two tell me about this feud we’re all having?”

  Chapter 22

  “Tessa, wake up, will you?” Chance shook her gently, and then when she didn’t so much as twitch, he shook a tad harder. This time she moaned in her sleep. “Come on, you gotta hear this. You’re not going to believe what I just witnessed.”

  “Go away, Chance, I have to get up early tomorrow.” She tugged the covers up higher, tucking them under her chin.

  “Oh, no, you don’t,” he said, whipping the blankets off of her. “I can’t hold this one in until the morning.”

  She swatted at his hands as he nudged her arm once again. “Anything can wait.”

  “Not this, sunshine.” His patience, as little as he had, finally vanished. “Guess who I found with your granny tonight?” He didn’t let her answer. “My grandmother.”

  Tessa sat up quickly, banging her forehead with his. “Ouch.”

  “Damn.” He swore he saw stars for a moment. Sitting there, he rubbed his sore spot while she did the same to hers.

  “Are you serious about our grannies or was that just a way to wake me up?”

  Excitement bubbled inside him as he tried to fathom his earlier discovery. He jumped up off the edge of the bed, and began pacing back and forth. “It’s real. I would have never thought so the way those two went at it at our wedding, but, man, you should have seen it.”

  She’d woken up fully and now sat on her knees on the bed, following his every move. “Tell me everything, don’t leave out one teeny tiny bit.” Her voice rose as in glee and cupped her hands over her mouth to contain a giggle.

  He halted for a second to just stare at the incredibly sexy picture she made with her red hair tousled around shoulders, her green eyes sparkling, and the pink flush from sleep still on her cheeks. Something electrical, he thought, zapped through him and captured his heart along the way. Sucking in a sharp breath, he shook his head in denial. No, it can’t be. I can’t be falling in love with her, not now.

  “Yes, tell me now or I’ll have to shake it out of you.”

  She’d mistaken the shake of his head for an answer. Gulping hard, he cleared his throat and tried to focus on the events of just an hour ago. But in the back of his mind he was trying to deal with the shock of his own personal admission.

  Like a trooper, he brushed aside the troublesome idea of loving, truly, unconditionally loving, Tessa. “Well, I just couldn’t park my truck in her driveway, you know, so I parked down the street some…” He went on with his story, attempting to bring it to life for her so she could see the scene unfolding right before her. Nearly a half-hour later, he summed it up. “I had to ask them about the feud, but I didn’t figure I’d get an answer to that one, but I had to give it a shot, didn’t I?”

  She shrieked in delight. “Isn’t this great? If they were friends once, and it seems so, then they can be friends again.” She crawled out of bed and caught him by the arms, dancing him around in a circle. “And if they can be friends, then we can be, too, at least out in the open, right? Then husband and wife in the open.”

  Her enthusiasm was infectious, making him hope, for a brief second, that all could be as she imagined. But her wide smile tugged at his heart when he realized how impossible it would be for him. He still couldn’t be anyone’s long-term husband, especially not hers. Sometime, somehow he’d screw up. Old habits died hard. He couldn’t stay long enough for her to begin to hate him; that would cost him his soul if Tessa ever despised him.

  Gathering her close to him, he hugged her tight. What he pushed away moments
ago, he finally acknowledged and never could before. God, I love this woman, heart and soul.

  ***

  With his mind occupied with thoughts of Tessa, Chance tried to go about business as usual. He could wing it most days, but, like today, his heart was heavy. He knew, the more they came together and united the worst the parting would be in the end. How could this happen after all these years of wanting her and aching for her to be closer? He shook his head, trying to dislodge the horrible thought of hurting her eventually, and then having to leave her. This time for good.

  “There you are,” Walter said as Chance rounded the corner to the bar.

  “Been looking for me?” He punched in a few numbered codes into the cash register. Pulling out a pencil from behind his ear, he tapped it on the counter as he waited for the machine to spew out the required tape reading.

  Walter pointed a beefy finger at the pile of pink message slips tucked near the register. “Some boy’s been calling all morning for you.”

  Frowning, Chance stopped his drumming and picked up the papers. “Did he leave a name?” He flipped through each one, growing curious. He stilled at the last, the phone number all too familiar.

  “Said you’d know who it was.”

  “Rehab?” Chance barely got the word out of his suddenly dry throat, all his attention focused on something other than his wife for once. Glancing quickly at Walter, he asked, “Boy, you said? About how old?” The shrug he received had frustration welling in his belly.

  “Don’t know for sure. All kids sound the same to me.”

  Pulling at straws, he asked, “’Bout my age, would you say?”

  “Nope. Younger for sure.”

  Chance blew out a lusty breath, trying to sort it all out. Who did he know in rehab that young who’d call him here, who would even know this number? “There’s only one way to find out, I guess,” he said to himself as he walked away, patting Walter on the shoulder. “Thanks, old man.”

  He grunted in reply.

  Once settled in his office, Chance stared at the phone, his palms sweating. That was a lifetime ago for him. The dorm-like, Spartan rooms, hours of group therapy, one-on-one counseling, and then agonizing withdrawal symptoms had imprinted themselves on his mind. It had been the hardest six weeks of his life. But he’d made it and never looked back. Now, he had to step back, if only for a phone call, and delve into that existence.