by Lori Wilde
Her cheeks flushed red with embarrassment. She made a face, waved a hand. “I know, I know. I’m irresponsible, unreliable, immature.”
“I didn’t say that.”
She was trying so hard to be tough and brave, enduring a burned-up apartment, a repossessed car. A sudden tenderness swept through him so raw and stark it had him shaking his head. He wanted to pull her into his arms, hold her close and tell her everything was going to be all right. But he had no right to comfort her. He’d given up his right when he’d filed for divorce.
“You were thinking it.”
“I was thinking…” No he couldn’t say what he was thinking. A spasm shot through his right hand. He dropped the weight. It fell to the floor with a loud thunk. He shook his hand trying to free it of the charley horse. “How heavy that weight was getting,” he finished, wincing.
“Cramp?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Here,” she said, stepping across the room toward him, hips swaying in that sassy walk of hers. “Let me.”
He started to say no, that it would be all right, but before he could pry the words from his mouth, she was there, reaching for his hand.
Touching him.
Tilting her head and studying him.
She placed the pad of her thumb in the center of his savaged palm, her fingers wrapping around the back of his hand. Her skin was so warm against his, but he was self-conscious about the scars.
Her thumb kneaded his palm in widening circles. She was so close. Too close.
He could feel the blood pumping through his veins as he stared at her moist, luscious lips. He remembered exactly how they tasted like summer raspberries. A taste he craved.
Swallowing past the lump of aching desire blocking his throat, Shane pulled his hand from hers. “The cramp’s gone.”
He lied. It wasn’t gone. But for the sake of his sanity he had to distance himself from her. Before he ended up doing something that would ruin everything for both of them. He couldn’t have her. He was engaged to Elysee and the river of ancient history was too wide to cross.
“Come on,” he said gruffly. “I’ll give you that ride.”
“Yes,” she agreed with a quick nod.
Forty minutes later they stood in her driveway, surveying the burned-out ruins of her apartment.
A gasp rose to Tish’s lips the minute she grasped the extent of the damage. He watched the impact on her face, saw how her features sank and crumpled. He had an overwhelming urge to reach out and put an arm around her shoulders to steady her, but he did not.
The arson investigator and his team were there, sifting through the rubble.
“Who are you people?” the investigator asked.
“It’s my apartment. Or it was,” Tish said, eyeing his helpers as they relocated pieces of her charred life and sifted them into different piles.
“You can’t be here. The investigation isn’t complete.”
“We just came for my car.” She jerked her thumb over her shoulder in the direction of her landlady’s garage.
“All right, but please back away from the perimeter.”
“Is everything completely destroyed?”
“Pretty much.”
“Do you have any idea who might have started the fire?” Shane asked. He stepped closer to the investigator, his shoes crunching loudly in the red lava landscape gravel that fronted the garage.
The investigator shook his head. “We can’t release any information at this time. I’m going to have to ask you folks to get what you came for and be on your way.”
“Hey,” one of the team members called to another. “I found something intact. It was buried under a stack of burned-up books.”
All eyes swung the man’s way. He was holding up a bookend, a sculpted little girl with a pail of water in her hand carved from the burl of two banyan trees that had twined and grown together. Somehow it had come through the fire unscathed, probably because it had been buried under the books. Shane recognized it and felt an immediate sorrowful tug in his gut.
He’d bought the Jill half of the Jack and Jill bookends for Tish at a rummage sale while they were on their honeymoon in Galveston. She’d fallen in love with it the moment she’d seen it.
“Remember the day you bought that for me?” Tish whispered.
“I remember,” he said gruffly.
“We never did find Jill’s mate.”
“No Jack.”
“Can I have it?” she asked the arson investigator. “Please.”
“I’m afraid it’s evidence until the investigation is closed.”
Evidence of what? Shane wondered. A memory gone bad? A promise forgotten?
“All right,” she told the investigator, then to Shane she said, “I’m ready to leave now.”
Shane walked her to the car and opened the door for her. She slid across the leather. He handed her his cell phone. “Here, take my cell.”
“What for?”
“Your cell phone burned up in the fire. You’re a woman driving alone in a big city and it’s almost forty miles to the ranch. Take my phone.”
“But aren’t you following me back?”
“No, I’ve got a couple of things to do first.”
They looked at each other. Was that longing in his eyes? Sadness?
She took the cell phone. “Thank you.”
He moistened his lips and for one wonderful moment she thought he might kiss her good-bye. “That was weird about the Jill bookend. The only thing that survived the fire intact.”
“Weird,” she echoed, her eyes hooked on his mouth. The tension, the emotion, the sad yearning for days gone by vibrated the air between them.
“I never found the Jack bookend for you like I promised.”
“No.”
“I should have found it,” he said. “I should have kept my promise.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It does matter, Tish. I let you down.”
“It’s too late for that, Shane.”
Was it her imagination or was his hand trembling ever so slightly? She saw the anguish in his eyes. What did he want from her? What did he expect?
“I could go on the Internet tonight, check out eBay, search for the bookend.”
“You don’t have time for that. You’ve got a hand to heal. You’re getting married in a month. You’ve got preparations to make. Besides, what use do I have for bookends? My books are all gone.”
“Tish,” he murmured her name again.
“I release you, Shane, from any obligations you might still be feeling toward me. You don’t owe me a thing.”
“But I made a promise.”
“Things happen. People aren’t always able to keep the promises they made in good conscience. Let yourself off the hook, Shane. I’m not holding it against you that you never bought that other bookend for me.”
“You’ve changed.” He looked at her as if really seeing her for the first time.
“I have to go. Elysee is expecting me. We’re going to work on the video.” She had to get out of here before she did something completely stupid, like telling him she was still in love with him. She started the engine.
“Drive safely.” He raised his hand.
She slammed the car into gear, backed out of the carport, and left him standing there, looking utterly confused.
Seeing the burned-out remains of Tish’s apartment brought Shane face-to-face with the realization of how easily she could have died in that blaze. He could have lost her forever.
Until this minute he hadn’t fully understood the depths of how much he missed her. Of how he would miss her if she was suddenly gone.
He couldn’t let this lie. Last night, someone had tried to kill Tish and he was determined to find out why. Jaw clenched, he climbed into the Durango and drove to the police station.
Dick Tracy was reluctant to speak with him.
“The investigation is ongoing,” he said in that noncommittal way cops have perfected, when Shane p
rodded for answers.
“In other words,” Shane said, “you’ve got nothing.”
“I didn’t say that.” Tracy leaned back in his chair, sizing him up with one long, cool, appraising glance.
“And?” The conversation made him feel like a dentist trying to extract impacted wisdom teeth.
“And what?”
Tracy was apparently in no frame of mind to surrender his secrets, but Shane was in no frame of mind to leave this police station without some answers. “Any new leads? Any clues?”
“I don’t have to tell you anything.”
As Nathan Benedict’s future son-in-law and a former Secret Service agent, Shane could have thrown his weight around. He had connections. One well-placed phone call and he could force Dick Tracy to turn over the evidence. But that would take time. He wanted answers now.
“Sergeant Tracy.” He leaned across the desk. “You seem like a reasonable man who’s just doing his job. Don’t make me pull strings.”
“You threatening me, Tremont?”
Okay, wrong tactic.
“Not at all,” Shane said smoothly when he was feeling anything but smooth. Inside, he felt ragged and edgy. “I’m law enforcement, too. I was hoping you’d share what you’ve learned.”
Tracy considered him a long moment. He opened up his desk drawer and drew out a plastic evidence bag. He tossed it in the middle of his desk. It was a matchbook with Shane’s and Elysee’s names on it, along with the date of their impending nuptials—Christmas Eve. “Evidence team found this on the ground outside your ex-wife’s apartment, along with several cigarette butts. Someone’s been watching her. You have any idea who?”
“Those matchbooks were given away at our engagement party. Anyone could have grabbed a handful.”
“Not anyone. Only the people with access to you and your fiancée.”
“What are you saying, Officer Tracy?”
“I’m saying the culprit is probably someone you know and trust.”
Elysee lay on her bed, head buried under her pillow. Tish was one hundred percent correct. She was needy. Her neediness was the reason she’d thrown herself headlong into WorldFem and helping Rana. She’d thought that by empowering other women, she could empower herself. Her neediness was what had broken up her first three engagements. Was it also sabotaging her relationship with Shane?
If she were being honest with herself she would admit his need to be needed was the very thing that had attracted her to him. He was the strong shoulder she’d been looking for to cry on and he liked that role.
Was their relationship based on anything more than mutual co-dependency?
It was a troubling thought.
She rolled over, brought the pillow to her chest and stared up at the ceiling with a painful blend of hope and longing. Was there any possibility that she could hold on to Shane? Or was she doomed to make Tish’s tragic mistake?
Elysee knew she could never compete with Tish. The woman was so sexy and smart and brave. Elysee had no illusions about herself on that score. She was flat-chested and narrow-hipped and gap-toothed. She had been a solid C student no matter how hard she studied—which was why she hadn’t bothered with college. And she was such a coward that she had to call the Secret Service to swat spiders for her. She was a dowdy, dumb wimp.
Don’t marry him. The words Cal had spoken to her that morning rang in her head.
But how could she back out now? The last thing on earth she wanted was to hurt Shane. He’d already suffered so much.
Marriage should be forever. If Shane’s not The One, it’s better to break an engagement than a wedding vow.
Elysee covered her face with her hands as she imagined the tabloid headlines. Fickle First Daughter Flakes on Fiancé Number Four. She thought of the engagement party and the money her father had already spent.
Shane was a good man, a kind and honest man. Their marriage would be filled with mutual respect and admiration. On that score, she had no doubts.
But what about love? quizzed a tiny voice deep inside her. Cal was right. She deserved someone who’d love her fully, completely, wholeheartedly, without any reservations, the way her father had loved her mother. The way Alma Reddy and her husband loved. Could she and Shane ever love each other like that?
She had to find out.
Elysee went to Tish’s room, knocked tentatively on the door. When she didn’t answer, Elysee tried the handle. It was unlocked. She knocked again, pushing the door open as she went. “Tish?”
The room was empty.
But Tish’s camera sat on the dresser, input/output cords hooking it up to the television. Elysee slipped the disk of their engagement party that Tish had given her in the limo out of her pocket and inserted it into the camera. She turned on the television and perched on the foot of Tish’s bed to watch.
The sound of her father’s voice announcing her engagement to Shane drew her attention to the video. Her stomach wrenched with emotion—regret, sadness, guilt, and an inexplicable feeling of hope. The camera view panned the room, then came back to linger on Shane and circled the room again.
This time, when the camera caught Shane’s face, he was looking right into the lens with such an expression of abject longing it took Elysee’s breath.
How sad and lost he looked. Why would he look that way on the day of his engagement?
Puzzled, she tilted her head to study his features.
Why was he staring into the camera?
Why was the camera so focused on Shane’s face?
Realization hit her like a landslide. It was obvious to anyone with two good eyes and half a brain.
Shane was looking at the person behind the camera and the person behind the camera was fixed on him.
Tish.
In an instant, Elysee’s body went as cold as if she’d been doused with ice water.
Shane was still in love with Tish and she with him.
Her stomach churned. Her heart constricted. And here she’d been repeatedly throwing them in each other’s path. Oh, Lola had been right. Hiring Tish to videotape the wedding had been a terrible idea.
It’s not Tish’s fault if he still loves her. You love who you love.
The question was, did she love Shane as much as Tish did?
Elysee realized she didn’t know the answer to that question. What she felt for Shane was very calm and quiet and familiar. No Fourth of July fireworks. No angst. No intense yearning. Were her feelings for him predicated on nothing more than admiration, friendship, and gratitude that he’d saved her life?
She realized she did not know. Until now, her life had been dictated first by romantic notions engendered by her mother, and then by her father’s expectations. She didn’t blame her parents. They’d done what they’d thought best for her. She blamed herself for not questioning her values and beliefs before.
In that moment, Elysee knew what she must do.
Tish was roadkill.
Flattened.
Squashed.
Annihilated.
She drove blindly, not really knowing where she was going. Not caring. Desperate to blunt the devastation suffocating her heart.
Her apartment had burned to the ground. Her ex-husband, whom she still loved, was marrying Elysee and there was nothing she could do about it. Anxious for someone to talk to who wasn’t involved with the sainted first daughter, Tish pulled into a shopping mall parking lot, cut the engine, and punched Delaney’s number into the cell phone Shane had given her.
“Hello.” Her voice came out dry and reedy.
“Tish?”
Relief washed over her. “Yeah.”
“Are you all right?”
Tish couldn’t speak. Emotion was a wad of tears jammed up tight against her throat. She wasn’t going to cry.
“I read about the fire in this morning’s paper. I’ve been calling and calling your cell phone, but kept getting your voice mail. I was so worried.”
“I’m fine.” Tish finally managed to choke out
the words. “My cell phone burned up in the fire.”
“I tried calling your mom, but when she hadn’t heard from you either, I really started to panic. I had Nick check the local hospitals.”
“I’m sorry I worried you.”
“I’m just happy you’re okay. It scared me when the paper said the fire was a suspected arson and that you were at home at the time of the blaze.”
“Yeah.”
“Were you hurt?”
“No.”
“That’s good. I’m so glad you’re all right.”
“Shane was there.”
“Shane?”
“Yeah.” She was having trouble putting more than three words together.
“What was he doing there?”
“I don’t know.” Truly she did not. She wasn’t sure that she believed his claim that he’d had a dream she was in trouble. Why hadn’t he just picked up the phone and called her? The man was seriously messing with her head.
“Why would someone try to burn down your apartment?” Delaney asked.
“I don’t know.” She was starting to sound like a scratched CD, endlessly repeating.
“You’re really not all right at all.”
“No,” she agreed. “I’m not.”
“Where are you?”
“On my way back to the Benedict ranch. I’m staying there until the wedding.” Her voice sounded stronger now. That was good. “But I’ll be all right. I’m just shook up.”
“Are you sure? You know you’re more than welcome to stay with me and Nick.”
“I know. Thank you. I might take you up on your offer.” Her heart swelled with love for her friend. “But enough about me. How are you doing, Delaney? It seems forever since I’ve seen you.”
“That’s because you’ve been jetting off with the presidential set,” Delaney joked. “You’re going to get so big you’ll forget all about your friends.”
“That’ll never happen,” Tish said fiercely.
“You say that now…,” she teased.
“And I mean it.”
“I do have a bit of news.”
“Oh?”
“I wanted to tell you in person, but Tish, I’m so excited. I don’t think I can wait.”
