Expecting him to walk in the door at any moment, Abby went out through the living room to the dining room, where she discovered that Mrs. Helm had outdone herself. The sight of the table made her sigh: a snowy lace tablecloth, gleaming silver and china, red roses in a cut-glass bowl and long cream-colored candles in crystal candle holders. Abby debated over whether to light the candles or not. She decided to wait until they sat down to eat.
She went to the kitchen. “Mrs. Helm, it’s all just perfect.” She sniffed the air, which carried the rich scent of Madeira-braised ham. “It smells like heaven in here.”
Mrs. Helm turned to her. “And you look just beautiful. Mr. Bravo won’t care about dinner at all once he sees you.” Mrs. Helm held out a wooden spoon. “Here. Taste this.”
Abby tasted. “Umm.”
“More salt?”
“No. It’s just right.”
Abby wandered back into the dining room and then on into the living room. She put on a stack of romantic CDs and turned the lights down nice and low. Then she picked up a magazine and turned one of the lamps up a few notches so that she could read.
Half an hour later, she’d thumbed through the two Western Horseman magazines and the three Architectural Digests on the coffee table. She got up and went to the kitchen again.
“Everything okay in here?”
Mrs. Helm smiled. “Just fine.”
“Good. Terrific.” She ducked out of there and went back to the living room, where yet another romantic CD was playing. She switched it off. All those strings were starting to get to her.
She went to the bedroom. The lights were low, the bedcovers turned invitingly back. Not a single article of her own clothing was strewn anywhere. All lay in readiness for the romance to come.
Only the husband was missing.
Fifteen minutes later, he called.
“Abby, I’m sorry. This is taking longer than I planned.”
She could hear masculine laughter and glasses clinking in the background.
“I meant to call you earlier, but I couldn’t break away.”
“From what? A card game?”
“You guessed it.” He sounded sheepish. “I’m on a roll. I can’t quit now.”
She wanted to scream at him, something shrill and hateful and totally unfair.
He asked carefully, “Abby, are you all right?”
She reminded herself that he hadn’t known what she planned, that she shouldn’t take her disappointment out on him. “I’m fine. When will you be home?”
“Tomorrow for certain.”
Abby heard another man’s voice, muffled, from his end of the line.
Then he said, “Listen, I have to go now.”
She whispered, “Goodbye,” but he was already gone.
She hung up very slowly. And then, for a few minutes, she just sat, her hands folded in her lap; she felt sad, disappointed and a little silly all at the same time. Finally, she dragged herself to her feet and went to the kitchen to tell Mrs. Helm that Mr. Bravo had been detained until tomorrow.
Mrs. Helm looked at her for a long moment. “Are you all right, then?”
She forced a smile. “I’m just fine.”
“I’ll clean things up, shall I?”
“Leave it all. Get it tomorrow.”
“Let me just put the food away, then.”
“Whatever you think.” Abby turned to go, then stopped and turned back. “Thank you.”
“You’re very welcome, Mrs. Bravo.”
“Just call me ‘Abby.’”
Mrs. Helm promised that she would.
Abby leaned wearily on the door frame and slipped off her high-heeled shoes. Then, in stocking feet, she returned to the bedroom, where she took off her dress and her beautiful lingerie and put it all away. She washed her face and brushed her teeth.
As she climbed into the big bed alone, she couldn’t help wishing that she had the nerve to go get Tyler from her mother’s house. To hold his small, warm body would have been a great comfort right then. But that would only get Edna all stirred up, worrying that something was wrong.
And was it? Abby couldn’t be sure. Cash was Cash, after all. He made his money gambling, whether it was poultry futures or five-card stud. She didn’t expect him to show up at five-thirty every night. And she knew that, as his wife, there would be nights when she would sleep alone.
She didn’t mind sleeping alone sometimes. As long as it didn’t become a habit.
But her husband was a smart man. He’d read more than one book about childbirth and recovery. He’d gone through those childbirth classes with her. He knew what her six-week checkup meant. And he knew that it had taken place yesterday. She’d had it marked on the calendar since the day she got home from the hospital. And yet he’d chosen to be gone when she went in for it….
No, she had to stop thinking like this. Cash had no idea of her plans for a romantic evening. She had never told him. And she had no right to expect him to read her mind.
Still, she just couldn’t shake the feeling that things weren’t right between them. Things hadn’t seemed right for a few weeks now.
She wanted to talk to him about it. But she didn’t know quite how to broach the subject with him. And what would she say, anyway?
Are you avoiding me? Is something wrong? Are you tired of me? Are you just waiting for next July, when you can be free of me?
When she asked the questions to herself, they sounded weak and whiny. How would they sound like anything else to Cash?
And she couldn’t stop thinking about the way he had reacted that other time, before they left Boulder, when she had tried to talk to him about their future as a couple. He’d made it painfully clear that he didn’t want to discuss it.
Yet he had also promised that they could talk about it again after the baby came. So he had to be expecting to hear more on the subject.
Abby rolled over, punched her pillow, sighed aloud in the dark, lonely room. She just knew he wouldn’t like it if she brought up the agreement again. She could feel it in her bones. Secretly, she feared that as soon as she brought it up again, she would lose him.
No. Actually, it was worse than that. In her deepest heart of hearts, she feared that she had already lost him.
At Christmas, before Tyler came, when she got so sick, she had told him that she loved him. So much else about that night was a scary blur to her now. But she remembered that moment, after the first set of convulsions had rattled through her body, when she had honestly feared she would die.
She had dared to whisper of her love. And then she had asked him if he loved her, too. He had hesitated, but then he had said it: “I do, Abby. I love you….”
She remembered his words exactly. It seemed they were engraved on her soul. Everything got fuzzy after that. She recalled no more until she woke up and learned that Tyler had been born.
But she had told Cash that she loved him.
And he had said that he loved her, too—which was true.
He had always loved her, would always love her.
But not the way she wanted to be loved. Not the way she loved him.
The past few weeks, she couldn’t shake the growing conviction that the darkest fear of her childhood had come true.
She had told Cash she loved him.
And now he was going away.
Oh, he had stayed close during her illness. But now that she’d recovered, she would lose him. Because he just wasn’t a marrying kind of man.
He’d given his son his name and he would see to it that his son’s mother was well provided for. But other than that, he would want to be free.
And if she dared to try to talk to him about it, she would only lose him all the sooner.
Chapter Fourteen
Cash returned home the next day, as promised. But he’d hardly walked in the door before he told Abby he was heading out again—for San Francisco this time. He wanted to talk to some old buddy of his about investing in a new computer chip that hadn’t be
en put on the market yet.
Carrying Tyler, Abby trailed after Cash into their bedroom. She stood in the doorway, holding their son, watching her husband as he emptied dirty clothes from his bags.
“Cash, you just got home.” She tried to sound reasonable, and thought she succeeded pretty well. “I was hoping we could—”
“I’m sorry,” he cut in without letting her finish. “But this could be a big one. They say this chip is a damn miracle. And if I miss out now, my chance won’t come around again.”
She said nothing for a few minutes. Cash moved back and forth between the bureau and the bed, collecting clean underwear and socks. Then she tried a different approach. “I know. How about if Tyler and I go with you? You know it always helps to have me there to keep track of the numbers. And Tyler may as well get used to our traveling life-style.”
Cash tossed a stack of underwear in his suitcase and turned to her. “Abby, it’s not a good idea.”
“Why not?”
“You’ve been very sick.”
“But I’m fine now. I saw Dr. Pruitt day before yesterday. For my six-week checkup, remember?”
He turned for the closet and disappeared inside. When he came out, he was carrying a stack of shirts, folded and wrapped in plastic from the dry cleaner’s.
Abby stroked her son’s small, warm head. “Dr. Pruitt says I’m fine. Completely recovered. In every way.”
“Well, that’s good.” Cash set the shirts in the suitcase. “But you have the baby to think of.”
“I am thinking of him. He’s coming, too, remember?”
“Abby, he’s too young to be dragged all over the place.” Cash headed for the closet again.
She waited for him to emerge. When he did, carrying two pairs of slacks and two jackets, she reminded him, “Your mom and dad dragged you all over the place, almost from the day you were born.”
He marched back to the bed and tucked the slacks and jackets into a garment bag. “Tyler’s not going to have that kind of life.”
“Why not?”
“It’s not a good life for a kid.”
“You loved it. I know you loved it. You used to tell me how you loved it!”
He looked up from the garment bag, frowning. “Quiet down.”
On her shoulder, Tyler was squirming. She realized her voice had become a little shrill. She patted Tyler’s back and forced a low tone. “You were a happy little kid, Cash. You know you were. It was only later, when your mother died and your dad took off without you, that you—”
“All right.” His tone sent a chill through her. “I was happy. And I’m going to San Francisco alone.”
She rocked from side to side, rubbing Tyler’s back. “We have to talk, Cash.”
“Fine.”
“When?”
“When I come back.”
“When will that be?”
“I’m not sure. A few days. Maybe a week.”
She looked at him for a long time, over the feathery newborn fuzz on their son’s head. “All right, then,” she said at last. “When you get back.”
He returned in six days, flushed and happy, certain he’d made the deal of the century. He grabbed Abby around the waist and swung her in a circle—and her firm intention to sit down and talk with him just seemed to evaporate into the air.
Mrs. Helm served them a wonderful dinner, and afterward, they sat in the living room and talked. Tyler lay in Cash’s lap, staring up at his father in what Abby would have sworn was pure adoration. Abby just couldn’t bear to ruin such a lovely evening with a discussion of that awful agreement that she never, ever should have made.
Cash gave Tyler his bottle. Then, together, they put their son to bed.
After that, they went back to the living room for a while. They listened to some music and talked some more, about the computer chip deal, about how well Edna was doing. And about Tess’s new job at a gift shop over on Main.
“She likes it,” Abby said. “But I know she worries. She doesn’t make enough to save anything. And she’s bright. She wants more from life, for herself and for Jobeth, you know?”
“Yeah. I know.”
“She told me she got good grades in high school.”
“So?”
“If someone helped her out a little, she could go to college.” Abby looked at her husband hopefully.
He shook his head. “Don’t think I haven’t tried. She won’t take that kind of help. She considers living with Edna more charity than she should accept.”
“But that’s ridiculous. She’s worked hard for Mom, and she understands Mom. And Mom’s been so hungry for that, for another woman who puts value on what she values. It’s just meant everything to her.”
Cash was grinning. “Some daughters would be jealous.”
Abby shrugged. “What for? Just because I admire Tess doesn’t mean I want to be her. I like being me just fine.”
“I can understand why.”
Abby met his eyes. She saw warmth and affection. Admiration. And yes, love, too. And she was sure, at that moment, that everything would work out all right.
She stood and stretched, thinking about the diaphragm that Dr. Pruitt had prescribed for her. It waited in the cabinet in the bathroom of the master suite, along with the little tube of contraceptive jelly. Before she set about seducing her husband, she had better put the darn thing where it would do some good.
“Tired?” Cash asked.
She smiled. “Not at all. But I think I’ll just go get ready for bed.”
“I have a few calls to make.”
Something in his voice gave her pause. An edge? A wariness?
Best not to dwell on it. “That’s fine,” she said tenderly. She crossed the few feet between his chair and her chair and bent to kiss him, a light but lingering kiss. “Don’t be too long,” she said softly when she pulled away.
“I won’t.”
In the bathroom, she set to work putting the diaphragm in place. After a couple of false starts, she accomplished the task. That done, she rushed back into the bedroom, yanked off all of her clothes, wadded them up and tossed them in the corner of the closet. Then she slipped on a little scrap of black satin that she’d bought on her shopping trip to Billings the week before. Over it she wrapped a matching robe.
She went out into the main part of the bedroom to wait. First, she sat in a chair. Then she stretched out on the bed.
When Cash didn’t appear after about twenty minutes, she went looking for him.
She found him in the study, on the phone. His eyes widened a little when he saw what she wore. She smiled invitingly and arched a questioning brow at him.
“Just a minute,” he said into the mouthpiece. He punched the “mute” button. “Abby, I’m sorry. This is going to take a while.”
She felt the smile fade from her lips. “How long?”
“I can’t say. Just go on to bed, all right?”
She had that same urge she’d had last week when he’d called and said he wouldn’t be home—the urge to scream and throw things. She quelled it, reminding herself how great the evening had been up until now.
“Okay,” she replied carefully.
“Good night,” he said, with way too much finality.
Abby returned to the master suite, where she traded her sexy outfit for a big T-shirt. In the bathroom, she removed the diaphragm, washed her face and cleaned her teeth. Then she crawled between the covers and turned off the light.
She laced her fingers behind her head and stared up at the dark ceiling and wondered where she’d gone wrong.
Maybe she hadn’t been direct enough. She thought of their wedding night, some of her misery fading at the memory of how beautiful it had been. That night, she’d come right out and demanded that he make love with her. And he had given in to her demand—with a good deal of enthusiasm, in the end.
But on their wedding night, he’d been committed to trying to make their marriage work. Now she kept getting the feeling that he’d do
ne all the “trying” he intended to do. And if she pushed him, he’d simply head out the door. Fast.
Abby sat up, lay back down, turned over. And admitted to herself that lovemaking—or the lack of it—was only a symptom of the real issue here.
The real issue was their marriage—which Abby felt more and more certain would not last.
At this rate, she feared, they’d never make it until July.
The dilemma remained the same: they had to talk about their problems. But she knew in her heart that as soon as they did, he would tell her that he wanted to be free.
Fearing she’d lose him, she put off confronting him. For weeks, they lived like polite acquaintances in the big house on North Street.
Cash wasn’t around that much. The computer chip deal went bad, and he flew to San Francisco to try to salvage the situation. But it turned out that the chip just didn’t live up to its advance PR. Cash lost a lot of money.
He could afford it. But it didn’t make him happy. He wheeled and dealed all the harder to make back what he’d lost.
Abby took all the papers from the chip deal and went over them in depth. Then she made the mistake of announcing that he’d never have made that deal if she’d been there to advise him.
“Don’t ride me, Abby,” was all he said in response.
She had that urge to shout at him again. But she didn’t. She held it in, somehow. And she went on holding it in, though more and more often, she wanted to scream at him.
Sometimes she saw desire in his eyes when he looked at her. But he never made a move on her. And she hated him for that. Because his unwillingness to make love with her could mean only one thing: he really did intend to leave her. Cash Bravo, after all, was much too noble a man to make love with his wife when he planned to divorce her.
Abby’s anger grew. He had trapped her—oh, yes, he had. She loved him and she wanted him. But as soon as she really started fighting for him, she would lose him. She knew it as she knew that the sun set over the Big Horns.
And so she held her anger in.
Until a gray day in March, when some old pal of his called from Provo with a sob story about needing the down payment on a pickup truck.
The Nine-Month Marriage Page 17
