Trey's Secret

by Lois Faye Dyer

  He strolled after her into the house and down the hall to a small office. She clearly didn’t want to talk about her father’s death, nor her mother’s grief. And probably not her own, either, he thought.

  The hallway had floor-to-ceiling windows on one side and the opposite wall was hung with drawings framed in narrow black. Sunlight poured in, highlighting the pen-and-ink sketches behind the glass.

  Trey slowed, drawn to the bold black ink caricatures of people he recognized from the Granger Bar.

  “These are really good. This is Kari, isn’t it? And this is Ralph?” He bent closer. “They look a lot younger.”

  “They are.” Lori joined him, hands tucked into her shorts pockets. “I drew those while I was still in high school.”

  “Where’s your recent work?” he asked, stepping back to scan the length of the wall, expecting to find current drawings of Kari and Ralph.

  “There isn’t any. I stopped sketching a few years ago.”

  “You stopped? Why?”

  “I don’t have time anymore. The restaurant and bar take most of my days, and what little free time I have is eaten up with other obligations.” She shrugged. “Too much work, not enough time. That’s the story of my life.”

  “I thought artists this good kept creating, no matter what else was going on in their lives.”

  “That’s the generally held belief. Unfortunately, my version of the story is a little different.”

  “Don’t you miss it?”

  The naked yearning on her face appeared and was gone so quickly, Trey would have missed the emotion if he hadn’t been totally focused on her.

  “It was a dream. I don’t have time for that nonsense anymore.”

  “No one should give up dreaming,” he said with conviction. “And it’s downright criminal for someone with your talent not to use it.”

  “Maybe.” She shrugged again. “But sketching faces won’t pay the rent, nor keep Jane and Randy in college, nor Mom in nail polish and manicures.”

  “Can’t you hire a business manager?”

  “Not if I’m going to juggle expenses and keep everyone moving forward.”

  “It’s a damn shame,” he said bluntly.

  “Someday, when Jane’s done with med school and Randy has his doctorate, I’ll get back to drawing. And painting. And creating.” Her voice turned wistful as she stared at the picture of Kari, grinning impishly. Then she visibly drew herself up. “Dad’s office is just down here.” She walked briskly away.

  Trey followed, wondering if he’d ever met a woman as self-sacrificing.

  Lori tried to concentrate on her work but it was difficult to ignore Trey’s presence. Normally she was alone in the office, although the muted sounds of the restaurant and bar were a constant reminder that busy people weren’t far away.

  Trey had joined her right after lunch. He sat across the room, long legs stretched out beneath the desk. Fingers tapped a tattoo on the keys or maneuvered the mouse as he clicked from one Web site to the next.

  She watched him from beneath a screen of half-lowered lashes. He seemed unaware he was being observed, totally focused on the laptop, a faint frown of concentration drawing lines between his dark brows.

  He knew Lori was looking at him. Each time she glanced over, he felt her gaze as if she reached out and stroked her palm over his skin. Much as he wanted to test her interest, he was determined not to respond. He needed access to her computer and was damned if he’d do anything to make her reconsider letting him share her office for the afternoon. He wouldn’t have been here at all but the library was closed today.

  The door opened suddenly and Risa walked in, destroying the relative quiet and drawing both Trey and Lori’s attention.

  “I need some cash from the safe, Lori. The Fashion Shoppe is having a sale.”

  “Can’t you write a check?”

  “My account is overdrawn again. I gave you my check register yesterday, remember? You said you’d talk to the bank and straighten it out, but in the meantime they tell me I can’t use my checkbook.”

  Trey glanced at Lori and saw her pained resignation before he heard her sigh.

  “I’ll call them this afternoon. For now, why don’t you buy things with your credit card and you can pay it off when your checking account is usable again.”

  “That won’t work.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’m over the limit on my card.”

  Lori drew a deep breath. “You know we can’t take money from the business account, Mom.”

  “I didn’t ask you to take it from the account. Just give me a few hundred out of petty cash in the safe.”

  “I can’t do that, either,” Lori said patiently.

  “Of course you can. Your father used to do it all the time.” Risa was visibly upset, her toe tapping a quick rhythm against the wooden floor.

  “I’m sure he did, Mom, but things are different now. Each of us draws a monthly income from the trust and all the profit from the business has to be itemized, including petty cash. The books are audited regularly by Dad’s estate attorney. We can’t take money out unless it’s for the restaurant or bar.”

  “That’s ridiculous!” Risa’s voice rose. “It’s my money.”

  “Yes, Mom, but now it’s mixed with Jane’s, Randy’s and my money, too, which is controlled by the trust fund and reviewed by someone outside the family.” Lori rubbed her forehead. “None of us can help ourselves to money directly from the business.”

  “I don’t know what your father was thinking when he did this,” Risa fumed tearfully. “Other husbands leave their estate to their wives.”

  “Yes,” Lori said solemnly. “I know.”

  “It’s outrageous,” Risa went on, her hands fluttering in agitation.

  “It is,” Lori sighed. “Why don’t you go shopping, and if you find something you can’t live without, maybe Annette can hold it for you until I can visit the bank and straighten out the glitch in your checking account.”

  “All right. But I’m not happy about the way my money is being handled. I want you to talk to Warren and tell him I expect him to do something. His attorney fees are being paid by the trust, which means he works for us, and he absolutely must find a way to solve this.” Risa spun on her stiletto heels and stalked out of the office, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue.

  Lori groaned and dropped her head into her hands. “I’m sorry you had to hear that,” she said, her voice muffled.

  “Your mother’s an interesting woman,” Trey said, purposely keeping his voice neutral.

  Lori lifted her head and looked at him. “Oh, yes. That she is.” Her voice held heartfelt agreement. “I have to lock up and go to the bank. I’m sorry to cut your time short on the Internet.” She took her purse from a desk drawer. “Did you learn anything new?”

  “No, but your server is much faster.” He closed the program and turned off the laptop. “Makes the searching easier.”

  “Oh, good, I’m glad it’s helpful.” They stepped into the hall and she turned to lock the door behind them. “I have no idea how long it will take to straighten out things at the bank — maybe the rest of the afternoon.”

  “Then I’ll see you tomorrow.” Trey watched her walk off down the hall and wondered if Lori’s younger brother and sister were as high maintenance as her mother.

  Lori spent the next hour and a half at the bank. Risa’s personal check register was filled with scribbled entries that were often difficult to decipher. In the end, the banker agreed to waive the bounced check fees and extend a five-hundred-dollar line of credit until the automatic deposit from her trust fund arrived.

  Deciding not to go back to work, Lori went home. Risa wasn’t there and the house was quiet, blessedly cool and welcoming. In her bedroom upstairs, she dropped the armload of files and her purse on the bed, and toed off her sandals before padding barefoot into the bathroom. She shook a generous amount of foaming bath salts into the tub and while the water was running
she stripped off her clothes and left them lying in a pile on the tiled floor.

  Clipping her hair up off her neck, she stepped into the scented water, almost groaning as she settled into its soothing warmth.

  What a day. Would Risa ever assume responsibility for the details of her life? Not likely, Lori mused, resting her head on the rim of the tub. Her father had coddled and spoiled their mom in so many ways; now she refused to deal with the simple practicalities other people had to face.

  And to make matters worse, Troy had heard the entire conversation. It was one thing for Lori to know her mother was financially irresponsible, but quite another for outsiders to be aware of Risa’s spendthrift ways.

  And somehow, she realized, she regretted even more that it was Troy, specifically, who had had to witness the spectacle.

  It’s not as if he hasn’t had to deal with her at the bar. So why do I wish he hadn’t been in the office when Mom came in this afternoon?

  It took several moments of mulling over and considering the question before Lori found an answer. Having Troy know Risa was difficult was bad enough, but having him personally observe the lengths she had to go to in order to cope with her mother, was much worse.

  Meeting Troy had shaken her conviction that putting her personal life on hold until her family was settled was not only necessary, but practical. Lately she’d found herself wishing she were free of such obligations and entanglements. Much as she loved her family, Troy made her want things she knew she couldn’t have, at least not in the foreseeable future. There was no place for a romantic relationship in her life, there simply weren’t enough hours in the day to squeeze in a love affair.

  Maybe not, but what about a no-strings, hot-sex-only fling?

  The thought popped unbidden into her mind.

  The possibility was tempting. She’d never done anything so daring. Not that she was a virgin. The boys she’d dated during high school had been good friends but not lovers and her college boyfriend was charming and attentive during the three years they’d been an item. Unfortunately, no guy had ever driven her wild with passion. During their senior year at college, she’d lost her virginity to her boyfriend but it was such a nonevent that afterward, they’d agreed to be friends and parted amicably. Then her dad had died and she’d raced home. Ever since, life had been too busy to contemplate a relationship with anyone. Besides, she’d known all the eligible men in Granger since they were in diapers together. None of them made her want to tear off their clothes, or hers, and fall into bed.

  Until Troy. The mysterious gray-eyed stranger made her feel as hot and bothered as the heroines in the romance novels she loved to read. And she wanted to experience with Troy every one of the things romance heroes did with the women in those books.

  Especially after that kiss.

  She closed her eyes, reliving the hot rush of awareness she’d felt when he’d pulled her close and pressed his lips to hers with a fierce, carnal heat that melted her bones.

  She wanted more. But whether she’d ever follow through on her fantasies was still undecided.

  She realized the water was growing cold, her skin puckering from being immersed too long. Water sluiced down her body when she stood, wrapping herself in a towel as she stepped out onto the bath mat.

  Moments later, dressed in pajama boxers and a white cotton tank top, she raided the refrigerator and settled in for a quiet night.

  At 5:00 a.m. the next morning, Lori left the house and walked to the restaurant. Robins and meadowlarks chirped and swooped over the green stretch of lawn in City Park, deftly avoiding being sprayed by the automatic sprinklers as they landed and tugged worms from the wet earth.

  She left the park behind and turned onto Granger’s Main Street. The business district was empty and quiet without the hum of motors and pedestrians that would fill it later in the morning.

  She sang the lyrics to an Elvis Presley song as she entered the restaurant. She couldn’t get the tune, or the words, out of her head.

  I’ve got to convince Ralph to change the music on the jukebox. The chef’s love of early-fifties rock ’n’ roll was one of the things she enjoyed about him. But he’s got to stop playing “Don’t Be Cruel” for hours on end, she thought, as she pocketed the old-fashioned key and went inside. The shades were drawn on the street-side windows, making the big room dim. She was so familiar with the arrangement of tables and chairs that she didn’t need to switch on a light. Instead, she wound her way across the bar, down the short alleyway that held napkins and silverware, and into the kitchen.

  She registered the aroma of freshly brewed coffee at the same moment she saw the outline of a man, standing with his back to her, at the far counter.

  Her heart stuttered and she stopped abruptly, catching her breath in an audible gasp. Trey looked over his shoulder, his gaze meeting hers.

  “Oh.” She flattened her palm over her pounding chest. “It’s you. You almost gave me a heart attack. I wasn’t expecting anyone to be here.”

  “Sorry.” He glanced past her at the empty doorway. “Where’s Ralph? I thought he had the early shift this morning.”

  “He does,” she said, setting her purse and files down on the nearest empty countertop. “But he called last night to say he had car trouble in Havre and can’t be here until around ten. Marty’s sick so I told Ralph I’d come down and open up so the produce and meat trucks can deliver.”

  “Ah, I see.” He nodded, then yawned and scrubbed a hand down his face. “I’m not exactly awake.” He gestured at the coffeemaker. “Ralph told me I could use this if I needed to, and I ran out of coffee upstairs.”

  “Lucky for me,” she said. “I haven’t had my morning caffeine fix yet.”

  His smile was endearingly lopsided. Lori couldn’t help grinning back. His dark hair was rumpled, an overnight growth of beard stubble shadowed his jaw and his eyes were heavy-lidded and drowsy. He looked as if he’d rolled out of bed, pulled on a pair of Levi’s and headed downstairs while still half-asleep. His feet were bare, the muscles of his chest and arms shadowed and highlighted by the faint light coming through the kitchen’s solitary window.

  Behind him, the coffeemaker buzzed. He took two mugs from the employee shelf and filled them.

  Lori cradled the cup he handed her and perched on the tall stool normally reserved for Ralph.

  Neither spoke until their mugs were half-empty.

  “Isn’t it early for you to be up and about?” Lori asked.

  “Yeah, way too early.” He refilled her cup, then his, and returned to leaning against the counter, his long legs crossed at the ankle. “I had trouble sleeping last night.”

  Lori frowned. He didn’t appear to be ill, in fact, she’d never seen a healthier-looking guy. “Bad dreams?” she guessed, although he didn’t seem the type to be bothered by nightmares, either.

  “I think so,” he said. “Not sure I’d call them nightmares, exactly, but then I can only remember bits and pieces of them.”

  “Oh.” Surprised, Lori eyed him with interest. “What parts do you remember — anything that might give you a clue about the men who attacked you?”

  He shook his head, his features somber. “I didn’t dream about being hit. In fact, the pieces of the dreams I recalled when I woke up don’t make any sense. They don’t seem connected, either.”

  “I’m guessing they weren’t pleasant?”

  “No. All of them were about funerals.”

  She shivered. “Well, that’s gloomy. Did you recognize any of the people or maybe the churches?”

  “Three of them were in the same church, and I was sitting in a front pew. During the first dream, I was a kid and in the next two I was older. In the fourth dream, I was younger and at a cemetery.” He frowned. “In the cemetery dream, I was lying on a hillside with someone else, watching a burial going on below us. Come to think of it, the person at the cemetery was beside me in the church those three times, too.”

  “Do you think your dreams are actual memori
es of events in your life? Or could they be allegorical?” She looked at him over the rim of her mug, considering what dreaming about funerals might mean beyond reliving an actual event.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “The person I was with in each of the dreams felt real. I think she’s someone I know well — a sister, maybe, or a cousin.” He shoved his fingers through his hair and raked it back off his forehead, rumpling it further. “It’s so damn frustrating.”

  “You don’t remember your family?” She lowered her cup without drinking, staring at him in surprise. “I knew you were missing the few days before the actual robbery. How much time have you lost?”

  He went still and stared at her without blinking for a moment, then his expression became distant, and a muscle flexed along his jaw. Lori had the distinct impression he hadn’t meant her to know his memory loss involved more than a couple of days.

  “I have big gaps of time that are totally blank,” he finally said. “I don’t remember anything about the robbery except there were two men and one of them hit me with a tire iron. Before that —” he shrugged “— it’s dicey. Like I said, big gaps and blank spaces.”

  “I had no idea.” She shook her head in disbelief, appalled. “I can’t imagine what you’ve been going through. Has your memory been returning at all?”

  “Not as much or as fast as I’d like. But details are coming slowly, a few more every day.”

  “Have you considered talking to our sheriff? If he circulated your description and photo beyond Granger, maybe someone would recognize you and get in touch.”

  “Could be, but I think I’ll just wait until Bill and his wife return and I can call them.” His expression was grim. “If the sheriff makes this public, there’s a chance that whoever dumped me on the road in the first place would find out and come looking for me. If the wrong people find me before my memory returns completely, I might not recognize them.”