by B. J Daniels
“Why would she contact my husband?” Meredith asked, seeming to lose a little of her cool.
“He was kind to her. She could have gotten his name from his credit card. If she was in trouble, she might reach out to him,” Hank said, then tipped his Western hat. “I’m sorry if I upset you. Your husband mentioned you hadn’t been well…?”
“I’ve had a difficult pregnancy,” she said, her hand again going to her stomach.
“When are you due?” Arlene asked.
“Next month,” Meredith said and smiled up at her husband. “We can’t wait for the baby to be born.”
“You don’t know if it’s a girl or a boy?” Arlene asked.
“No,” Meredith said, cutting her gaze to Arlene. “I want to be surprised.”
“THEY’RE LYING,” Arlene said the moment they were in Hank’s SUV. “At least she is. She knows about her husband and Charlotte.”
Hank looked over at Arlene as he started the engine, admiring her instincts, especially since they so closely coincided with his own. “She’s covering for him, I agree. But I don’t think he knew Charlotte was pregnant—or that his wife was onto him.”
“So you think he’s the father of Charlotte’s baby?” Arlene asked. “He’s obviously been quite busy.”
“Hard to say until Charlotte’s baby is born and a DNA test can be administered,” Hank said.
“But I’d say he’s afraid he is. And so is his wife.”
“That doesn’t help us find Charlotte,” Arlene said. “Maybe he isn’t the father. Maybe Charlotte is with the father of her baby right now, safe somewhere.”
Maybe. “Well, the one thing I think we can count on is that Charlotte isn’t being kept locked in the basement of the Foster house.”
“No,” she agreed distractedly. “You didn’t tell me about what happened at the restaurant.”
He looked straight ahead as he pulled out into the street. He hadn’t told her, either, that a woman matching Meredith Foster’s description had been to the restaurant asking about Charlotte. “I should have told you, but you already had enough to worry about.”
“Well, you’re wrong. I can take it.”
He smiled over at her. “I never doubted that. That’s one of the things I admire about it. You’re a survivor, Arlene.”
ARLENE LAUGHED at that, shaking her head as she studied him. She’d quit asking herself why he was doing this. Clearly he was enjoying it. And he was very good at this intrigue business. Maybe too good at it?
“You never told me what kind of business you were in before you retired,” she said, watching his reaction to her question.
He kept his gaze on the road. “Corporation stuff, not very interesting.”
She said nothing, hearing the lie and feeling a little ill. She turned away to stare out her side window. Just when she was starting to trust him. Was even trusting him with Charlotte’s and her grandbaby’s lives.
Suddenly he pulled off the road, cut the engine and turned to her. “I worked for the government. I don’t want to lie to you. But I also can’t tell you exactly who I worked for or what I did. Let’s just say it was in security.”
“Thank you,” she said, looking into his eyes. They were a deep, rich brown. “Don’t worry. I won’t say anything to anyone, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“My wife got sick of the secrecy,” he said, chewing at his cheek as he looked thoughtful.
“So did I. But that life is behind me now.”
The way he said it, she wondered whether he was trying to convince her or himself.
“We all right?” he asked.
She nodded and smiled over at him. “What do we do now?”
“We hope we hear from Charlotte,” he said.
“If John Foster is the father, then she hasn’t contacted him.”
“What about Meredith Foster?”
“I doubt Charlotte would try to run a blackmail scam on her,” Hank said. “Even in her condition, difficult pregnancy and all, Meredith Foster isn’t the pushover her husband apparently was. Charlotte wouldn’t get anywhere with that woman.”
Arlene couldn’t argue that. Still, she wondered what a woman like that would do if she found out about her husband’s affair—and the subsequent pregnancy.
Chapter Six
“It’s all a horrible mistake,” John Foster said the moment the two had left.
“Of course it is,” Meredith agreed. “Why don’t you make us both a drink and I’ll tell you about my day.”
John didn’t move. “You aren’t upset with me?”
“John,” she said, cupping his cheek, “we agreed not to ever discuss those days you were gone. It doesn’t matter. I know that whatever problems that waitress has, they have nothing to do with us. Now—that drink?”
He nodded quickly. “I just don’t want you upset. The baby…”
She placed a hand over her stomach. “The baby is fine. Now, please, make yourself a martini. I’ll take a mineral water with a wedge of lime.”
He scurried away to the bar. Meredith Foster watched him go, wishing she didn’t know her husband so well.
She had sensed something was wrong the moment John came in the front door eight months ago, suitcase in hand, hangdog look on his face after being gone for three days.
At the time she’d thought, He’s damned lucky I haven’t had the locks changed yet.
“Back to get the rest of your things?” she’d asked as disinterestedly as she could sound.
“I made a mistake,” John had said, looking like a whipped puppy. “I haven’t been myself lately. I don’t really want a divorce. I don’t even know why I said I did. I want to make our marriage work.”
Meredith had been more startled and upset by this than when he’d asked for the divorce, packed a small suitcase and left, saying he’d be back for the rest of his things.
What had happened in the three days he’d been gone? Suddenly she’d been scared.
“I don’t understand,” she’d managed to say.
“I belong here with you,” he’d said, sounding as if the words were very difficult for him.
She’d thought her father must have gotten to him. Or her father-in-law. The two older men were best friends, successful business partners and John’s bosses.
“If that’s what you’re sure you want,” she’d said graciously. “We won’t ever speak of this again.”
“Thank you, Meredith,” he’d said quickly and given her an awkward hug and an even more awkward kiss. “I’ll go up and unpack.”
“No,” she’d said. “Let me do that for you, John. Why don’t you make us both a drink?”
He’d glanced at his suitcase, and she’d seen that he would have preferred to unpack it himself. Why was that?
She’d reached for the small suitcase. “I’ll take a martini. You make such wonderful martinis.”
He’d nodded and handed her the suitcase with obvious reluctance.
Upstairs, she’d placed the suitcase on the bed, taken a bracing breath, opened it. He hadn’t taken much with him. Two casual shirts, jeans and some underwear.
She’d lifted out the wrinkled, obviously worn shirt on top. She’d been able to smell his scent on it—and another scent that had made her gag. Cheap perfume.
Repulsed, she’d leaned down to sniff the rest of the clothing in the suitcase. The cloying perfume had permeated everything, even those items he hadn’t worn. The woman must have been all over him.
Meredith had dropped the shirt back into the suitcase and tried to get control of herself. It wasn’t jealousy. She’d never loved John enough for that.
But she refused to let him jeopardize their lifestyle. She was content with John. She’d known what she was getting when she’d married him. She’d always believed that her father and father-in-law would keep John in line. What she hadn’t seen coming was some midlife crisis at thirty-five.
She’d taken a couple of deep breaths as she’d heard John call up the stairs t
o her. Hurriedly she’d closed the suitcase and shoved it into the back of the closet.
She’d told herself she would deal with it later. Right then she’d needed to just make all of it go away. Her mother had taught her that the best way to deal with this sort of thing was to pretend it had never happened.
She’d checked herself in the mirror, brushed a lock of her hair back from her face, straightened to her full height and gone downstairs to have a pleasant evening with her husband.
The next morning, after a restless, sleepless night, she’d called her father. “John is back.”
“I’m glad to hear he came to his senses.”
Had he? Is that what had happened?
“I assume he will be back to work today, then?”
“He’s on his way now. I’d prefer you not say anything to him.”
Her father had grunted. “Fine, I guess. No reason to beat a dead horse.”
She’d winced at his words. That morning John had seemed so cowed, so beaten down.
“Everything is back to normal, then?”
Normal. “Yes.”
“I really wish you would reconsider having a baby,” her mother had said when Meredith called her.
“You aren’t suggesting that the only way I can hold on to my husband is to have a child, are you?”
Her mother hadn’t been fazed. “A man is less likely to leave if there are children. Once men get restless, they need something to settle them down. John wouldn’t dream of leaving you again if you were pregnant. And if the worst came to pass, a baby insures that a judge would make sure you can take the son of a bitch for everything. Without a baby, you might be forced to get a job.”
She’d known her mother was right. The problem was that she didn’t want a child, never had. Especially with John. “I like my life exactly as it is.”
“Well,” her mother had said, “I hope you get to keep it. But once they start asking for a divorce—”
“I have to go, Mother. I just wanted to tell you that John is back. Back to stay.” She’d hung up more scared than angry, since she’d suspected her mother had already been down this rocky path. It would explain Meredith’s four siblings, she feared.
When the credit card bills had come a month later, Meredith couldn’t help but check the charges for the days when John had gone astray. Gas. She’d noted the Montana towns. Apparently he’d driven north out of Billings, buying gas at Roundup, Grass Range and Whitehorse. Twice in Whitehorse.
She’d glossed over the meal charges. Two charges on two separate nights at Northern Lights restaurant in Whitehorse. One almost double the cost of the first night. Apparently he hadn’t eaten alone. Then she’d seen that he’d left a huge tip.
Alarms had begun to go off. She felt it had to be a mistake.
Her pulse had thundered as she’d checked the accommodation charges. Two nights in Whitehorse at the Milk River Lodge. Nothing odd about that, since he’d returned on the third night.
But…there’d been an additional room charge at the Shady Rest Motel for the same night he’d already paid for at the Milk River Lodge.
The evidence had been overwhelming.
The perfume on his clothing—she’d washed his clothing twice and aired out the suitcase, but she swore she could still smell that nauseating scent sometimes.
The room charges.
And John’s guilt-ridden, shamed face when he’d returned home to her.
There’d been a woman.
A faceless, nameless woman in another town.
The man was an idiot. Didn’t he realize he’d left a trail?
As she’d carefully refolded the credit card bill and put it in the bills-to-be-paid file, she’d known the best thing she could do was forget it. Men strayed.
Her own father had over the years. She remembered the way he’d return from a business trip with expensive presents for her mother—and herself. He’d always seemed a little cowed and contrite after one of those trips. Just as John had been.
Meredith had told herself that nothing could be gained by confronting her husband. The deed had been done. The best thing she could do was forget it had ever happened, just as she was sure John was trying to do.
But she’d been unable to shake the memory of that horrible perfume. Or the feeling that her marriage depended on knowing what had happened in Whitehorse.
“I’m going to go visit my friend Debra,” she’d told John one morning at breakfast. Debra lived in Big Timber to the west. Nowhere near Whitehorse. “I’ll be gone a few days.”
“Don’t worry about me,” John had said distractedly. “I have a lot of work to do for your father.”
“Delores will be here to make your meals.”
“Fine.” He’d been distracted since his return from Whitehorse. Polite. And preoccupied.
Meredith had known she had to find out if this other woman was a threat. She had to know for sure what had happened in Whitehorse—and with whom.
She’d packed a small bag. Her friend Debra had been in Europe for three weeks. Not that John would call to confirm where his wife had really gone. He would wait for Meredith to call him. She would use her cell phone and she would use cash. Unlike John, she was too smart to leave a trail.
Not that John would ever suspect her of anything. His mind didn’t work that way. Or maybe he just didn’t care enough to bother.
The thought had made her a little sad and she’d wondered why she was going to so much trouble. John wasn’t worth fighting for. But her marriage and her position in the community was, she had reminded herself.
She was Mrs. John Foster and she was determined to remain so no matter what she had to do, she thought now as John handed her the glass of mineral water with a wedge of fresh lime and she took a drink, watching him over the rim of her glass, hating him more than he could imagine.
“I’VE BEEN THINKING,” Hank said on the drive back to Whitehorse. “I’ll do some checking on Mr. and Mrs. Foster and see what I can come up with.”
Arlene let out a silent sigh of relief. “Thank you. There is something about that woman…”
“Yeah,” he said and let out an oath as he came over a hill. “What the…?”
Below them was the Milk River valley, the trees along the river black compared to the lighter green hillsides. But it wasn’t the valley or the few lights of town that could be seen that had caught his attention.
It was the northern horizon. Gigantic shafts of light shot up from it. Glowing white light, red, yellow, like a dozen colossal searchlights.
“It’s the aurora borealis—the northern lights,” Arlene said, smiling at their effect on Hank. “I take it you’ve never seen them before?”
“I’ve heard of them, but I’ve never seen anything like this.” There was awe in his voice, and he pulled over to the side of the road and got out. Arlene followed him as the luminous bands undulated, changing in color and brightness.
“They’re believed to be electrical discharges in the ionized air,” she said.
He smiled at that and put his arm around her as they watched. She loved that Hank Monroe could appreciate the simple things that Montana offered. He’d obviously seen the world, been places and seen and done things that other people couldn’t even imagine. And yet he was standing here tonight with her, transfixed by something that to her was commonplace.
“I saw the lights once in the middle of the night when I was a girl,” she said as they leaned back against the front of the SUV. “The sky was turquoise and bright as daylight.”
“It’s amazing,” Hank said as he pulled her closer. She snuggled against him, and they stood like that watching the northern lights until the sky darkened again, the lights fading and finally disappearing.
“I’ll never forget tonight,” Hank said quietly as he turned her in his arms. His gaze locked with hers, and she knew even before he leaned toward her that he was going to kiss her.
The kiss rocked her. Not that she wasn’t already on unstable ground just
being in the man’s arms. He cupped her face in his large hands, his touch gentle as he lowered his mouth to hers.
The kiss was soft and sweet as the summer night. A friendly kiss like a cool breeze. And then he pulled her closer, their bodies fitting together like puzzle pieces, and he turned up the heat. A scorching heat that warmed her to her toes and melted something inside her.
She let out a low moan as his fingers moved down the long column of her throat to stop on her throbbing pulse. And for just a moment his lips drew back. Their eyes met, a silent understanding passing between them, and then his mouth was on hers again, hot and demanding, and she was clutching at his shirt, balling the material in her fist as she opened to him.
Arlene knew what would have happened if the semitruck hadn’t come along when it did. She hardly noticed the glare of lights or the rumble of the engine as it came over the hill. But the blare of the horn definitely registered. She and Hank jumped apart as if stuck with a cattle prod.
The truck roared past, the driver giving the air horn another toot as he passed, his grinning face ghostly in the dim cab lights.
Hank laughed, the semi kicking up a small dust devil as it blew on by and down the hill into town.
Arlene watched the truck’s taillights until it disappeared over a rise, too shaken to move. Darkness settled in around them, the northern lights long gone. She smoothed her shirt over her hips, feeling a little embarrassed—and disappointed.
Her heart was still pounding and as she touched her tongue to her lips, she could still feel him, still taste him on her.
“Well, that was one way to end a kiss,” Hank said, sounding as taken aback as she felt. “I suppose I’d better get you home. It’s later than I thought.”
She nodded and walked around to climb back into his SUV. Neither said anything on the way to her house. He put a country-western station on the radio, and she settled into the seat. It felt so right being here with him. Just as the kiss had felt so right. And yet scary. She couldn’t remember her heart ever pounding that hard. Certainly not when Floyd had made love to her. If that’s what you called what he did to her.
