Mrs. February (The Calendar Girl Duet Book 2)

by Karen Cimms

  “Not interested.”

  He followed with another fifty and tapped it with a neatly manicured finger. “Oh, you’re interested.”

  I willed my hands to stop shaking but they ignored me. Several drops of tequila splashed over the edge of the glass and onto the bar. I set a salt shaker in front of him and a wedge of lime on top of the glass.

  “Where’s yours?”

  “I told you. I’m not interested in drinking with you.”

  After a quick glance around the room, he grabbed my hand and pulled it across the bar. I tried to yank it away, but he had a solid grip on me. I could’ve yelled for Irena, or either of the men at the other end of the bar, but I couldn’t take the chance that Preston might explain why he was there. Instead, I let him run his tongue along the inside of my wrist and up my arm, cursing the goosebumps and salt that followed in its wake. He licked me again, did his shot, bit his lime, and then he dropped a kiss on the inside of my wrist. When he released me, I rushed to the bar sink and scrubbed my arm under the hottest water I could stand, listening to his laughter from behind me.

  When my skin was about ready to peel off, I looked up to see him standing at the door. “Be a good girl, Rain. You don’t want to make me angry.” Before he left, he gave me one more parting shot. “I’ll tell Barclay to give you a little more time, but then that’s it. I’m going all in.”

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  November

  Living in a constant state of fear had one unexpected side effect that worked in my favor: adrenaline. Working the equivalent of two full-time jobs was getting to me, but those fight or flight hormones kept me going. And I was leaning heavily toward fight, because flight wasn’t an option. Besides, where would we go? I’d never even been on a plane before.

  Over the past six weeks I’d been able to squirrel away over two thousand dollars. I cut corners wherever I could, including bringing leftovers from the restaurant home for dinner and doing my own hair and nails, until I eventually just gave up on the nails completely. My flirting rose to the shameless level, and my tips went up as well.

  If a boob shot earned me a twenty-dollar tip, then you could be damn sure I’d do it. I’d smile and fawn over the perv with the fat wallet. I’d become quite the little actress, even though the job I used to love was slowly torturing me. My stomach turned each time I pulled into the parking lot at Blondie’s. A part of me wished that Irena would ban body shots altogether, but then where would I be? What little self-esteem I had left high-tailed it out of there as soon as I began prostituting myself for tips.

  I was shameless, not to mention exhausted, but I was getting there. Each night I’d count out my tips and add them to the cookie tin I kept hidden in the back of my closet. But the money still wasn’t coming in fast enough. Yesterday’s mail had included a slip from the post office alerting me to a certified letter. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out who the letter was from.

  My time was running out.

  If I could find an attorney who had blood running out of both sides of his mouth—better yet, both sides of her mouth—I might be able to get Preston to back off. If he’d been paying such close attention to my life, then he’d known about Zac all along. Not once in four years had he tried to contact me or offer any kind of support. Not that I would have wanted either, but he hadn’t even tried. That had to mean something, right?

  With a loud yawn, I brushed a strand of hair out of my eyes with my forearm. I was prepping for the lunch rush and slicing a loaf of domestic ham, when my cell phone rang. I didn’t recognize the number, but answered it anyway.

  “Mrs. Holgate?” a woman asked.

  “Yes.”

  “This is the emergency room at Millstone General. I’m calling to let you know your husband was involved in a crash a little while ago.”

  My heart skidded to a stop. “Is he okay?”

  “His injuries don’t appear life-threatening, but you may want to come to the hospital.”

  I was already tugging off my apron. “I’m on my way.”

  “Mom!” I darted into the office to grab my jacket and my purse. She popped her head in through the swinging door that led into the restaurant. “I’ve gotta go. Chase was in an accident. I’ll call you when I know something.”

  Fifteen minutes later, I was racing through the automatic doors into the lobby of the emergency room, feeling as if I hadn’t take a full breath since I’d answered my phone.

  I leaned over the counter to get the attention of a harried young woman. “They brought my husband in a short time ago. Chase Holgate?”

  With a stiff nod, she picked up the phone and told the person on the other end that Mr. Holgate’s wife had arrived and asked if I could go back. The usual rush of heartache accompanied the thought that I was no longer Chase Holgate’s wife, but I wasn’t about to share that bit of information.

  She gave me a sympathetic smile and pointed toward the locked doors that led to the treatment area.

  “Go through those doors and then left to the nurses station. They’ll direct you from there.” She pushed a button on her desk and the doors swung open. I hurried through before anyone caught on that I didn’t belong there.

  A nurse was waiting for me on the other side. “Mrs. Holgate?”

  I nodded, feeling more like Chase’s mother than his wife. Whenever someone called me Mrs. Holgate when we were married, I’d tell them to call me Rain. Now I was sorry I’d ever done that.

  “Is he okay?” My mouth felt like it was filled with cotton.

  “The doctor still needs to evaluate him. He has some nasty bruising on his left wrist and some cuts and bruises on his face and his left shoulder from the seat belt. He might also have some bruised ribs. He’ll need some stitches, and it looks like he has a concussion. We’ll know more once the doctor gets to look at the X-rays. You can wait with him in the meantime.”

  I followed her past several bays, most with their curtains closed. At the end of the row, she pulled the curtain back. My heart leaped into my throat. Chase was lying flat on his back with a hard cervical collar around his neck. He appeared to be asleep. A blood-soaked piece of gauze was taped to the right side of his forehead, and some Steri-Strips held closed a long gash near the bridge of his nose. His right eye was already starting to swell and turn colors. An ugly bruise was forming on his shoulder from the seat belt. Several leads and wires were taped to his chest.

  I wrapped my arms around myself as if holding myself up. “Is he unconscious?”

  “No, but he’s probably feeling the effects of the painkillers. The paramedics gave him an IV dose of fentanyl en route, but once we got him situated, he was still in a lot of pain, so I gave him Dilaudid before they took him down for X-rays.”

  After she left, I stood at the side of the bed and said a quick prayer, grateful that he was alive and likely to stay that way. I couldn’t be certain, though, without touching him. I didn’t want to wake him, in case he would begin feeling the pain again, but I needed to know. His arms lay motionless at his sides, so I gently slipped a hand into one of his, as gently as I could, careful not to disturb him.

  The electricity I’d always felt was the same. No sense of foreboding. What I did feel was sadness—not surprising, given that I would soon lose him forever to another woman. Why it seemed to be radiating off him, I didn’t know. It was my heart that was breaking.

  “Am I going to live?” His voice sounded as if it came from some strange, unfamiliar place.

  I began to cry.

  “Oh, great,” he croaked. “They said I’d be fine.”

  “You will be.” I tried to make my voice sound light and casual, but I wasn’t pulling it off—not even close.

  “Son of a bitch totaled my truck,” he grumbled.

  Chase loved that damn truck. I’d often teased him that he loved it more than he loved me. All things considered, I guess I’d been right.

  “You can always get a new truck,” I said, trying desperately to keep my
voice under control. “We can’t get a new you.”

  He squeezed my fingers before he let go.

  “Where are the kids?”

  It was a Tuesday in November. He should know they were in school. Had he lost his memory? The ER physician entered before I could start quizzing Chase on who the past three presidents were. The nurse followed in behind him.

  “Mrs. Holgate?”

  Chase didn’t seem to notice what the doctor had called me.

  “I think other than getting banged up pretty good, your husband is very lucky.” He flipped through his chart. “He has a broken wrist, but we’re going to need to let the swelling go down before we can set it. We’re waiting for Dr. Hassan to come down to stitch up his face. He’s our best plastics guys and although your husband will still have a scar, it should be minimal.” When the doctor noticed that Chase was awake, he directed his comments to both of us. “You have some bruised ribs, which are probably going to hurt the most, and you have a concussion.” He turned to look at me now. “We’d like to keep him overnight, just to keep an eye on that. Plus we can give him better meds for the pain here. We should be able to set that wrist in the morning.”

  I looked at Chase. “Did you hear all of that?”

  He grumbled something about his truck.

  I smiled and shrugged at the doctor. “What about the other driver? Do you know what happened? Is he okay?”

  “From what I understand, the other driver ran the stop sign and crashed into Mr. Holgate’s truck. He has injuries consistent with this type of an accident, although since he was in a larger vehicle, he wasn’t as badly hurt.”

  Chase grumbled a little more about his truck and the idiot driver. When the doctor left, he told me he was thirsty, so I went to the nurses station in search of iced water.

  While I waited, the doors to the ER swung open. There was no mistaking Callie, clearly upset as she rushed by without seeing me. I’d tried to forget about her, but I should’ve known she’d show up. If I’d been a decent person, I would have offered to call her, or at the very least not allow the staff to continue believing that Chase was still my husband.

  Pitcher of ice water in hand, I returned to the last bay. I hated the feeling that I should knock or something. Besides, there was no door, only a curtain. I pulled it back, ready to step inside, but froze. Callie was sitting on the edge of the bed with her back to me, blocking Chase. Neither of them could see me, which was good, because the scene I witnessed tore what little was left of my heart in half.

  Callie leaned in close, which was hard enough to witness, but what completely undid me was Chase’s hand cupping her elbow, reassuring her. That tender gesture did more to destroy me than finding her in Chase’s apartment four months ago.

  I tried to step back, to leave, but as I did, I brushed the curtain, causing it to scrape along the rail. Callie turned, probably expecting the doctor or a nurse. The look on her face when she saw me was complete shock.

  “Here you go,” I said with way too much forced cheer. “I’m heading out now. I’ll have the kids call you later, once they get you into your room.”

  Callie’s cold, hard eyes bored straight through me, but I couldn’t even bring myself to acknowledge her.

  “I’m glad you’re going to be okay, Chase.” I set the pitcher and the cup down on the tray table nearby and turned to leave. I’d only gotten so far before I realized I’d left my purse and my jacket on the chair next to the bed.

  “Sorry,” I said, scurrying back, not wanting to leave, but needing to get out of there fast. “Forgot my things. Okay. See you. Bye.”

  I staggered into the hallway, biting hard on my lower lip to keep the tears from falling. I was almost to the nurses station when Callie called my name. I moved faster. Tears were filling my eyes, and it was difficult to see. The last thing I wanted was to talk to her, and I was pretty sure she wasn’t in hot pursuit to thank me.

  As I passed the nurses station, I walked directly into the doctor who had been in to see Chase earlier.

  “Mrs. Holgate, I was just coming to see you. Dr. Hassan should be here in about a half hour.”

  “Thanks. I have to go, but I’m sure he’s in good hands.” I stepped past him just as Callie caught up to me.

  “Mrs. Holgate? What the hell?” She rounded on the doctor. “This isn’t his wife, it’s his ex-wife!” She held up her left hand and waggled her ring finger. “I’m his fiancée.”

  The doctor looked at me, surprised, and I felt as if I’d been caught stealing bedpans or something. I tried to gather my wits, at least what was left of them.

  The doctor backed away nervously.

  “I’ll just let Mr. Holgate know about Dr. Hassan.”

  Coward.

  And then Callie was all up in my face. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? You have no business here, and you know it.” I thought for a moment she was going to pull my hair like she’d done sixteen years ago. I almost wished she did, because if I was remembering the incident accurately, I had kicked her ass afterward.

  “Well?”

  If she wasn’t all blurry, and we weren’t standing in a hospital corridor, I’d do it all over again.

  “First of all,” I began, “I don’t owe you any explanation. Whether you like it or not, Chase and I have a history and children together, and that in itself will always connect us. And second, you win, Callie, when it really and truly counts. You win the grand prize.” I leaned close enough so that no one else could hear. “So get off my fucking back.”

  She let out an ugly laugh as I turned to walk away. “That’s rich, coming from you. Everyone knows you do your best work on your back.”

  I curled my hands into fists but kept walking, head held high, trying to ignore the shocked faces aimed in my direction.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  I left the hospital and just drove. That tender moment between Chase and Callie kept replaying in my head. It was the final death knell in a relationship I had believed would last the rest of my life.

  An hour or two later, I found myself where I always landed, on Diane’s front porch. When she opened the door, I burst into tears.

  “Oh, sweetie, what’s wrong?” She held her arms open. Given that I was so much taller, it was an awkward hug, but I needed it all the same. After she poured me a glass of wine and another for herself, we settled in at her kitchen table.

  “Where’s Wally?” I asked cautiously. I loved him and trusted him, but I also knew after a few beers his tongue would unravel. I didn’t want news of how devastated I was getting back to Chase, and certainly not to Callie.

  “Christmas shopping, supposedly.” She rolled her eyes. “Which means he took his mother and is letting her figure out what to get me. Odds are I get a steam vac and another Dust Buster.”

  Tales of Wally’s shopping expeditions, coupled with Diane’s reactions to the knife sharpeners, pots and pans, and (biggest mistake of all) the hunting rifle he bought her, usually offered hours of enjoyment. The best I could come up with was a wobbly smile, and even that disappeared at the memory of the pearls Chase gave me one year or the diamond earrings from another. Victoria’s Secret lingerie always found its way under the tree. Even last year when we were separated, the kids got me a beautiful gold bracelet, which I knew Chase had picked out and paid for. With Callie in the picture, I’d be lucky if I got a Dust Buster.

  The tears fell harder.

  When I was finally able to explain that Chase wasn’t dying and that I was crying for myself, Diane gave me the time I needed to compose myself.

  “Does everybody think I’m the town slut?” With a shiver, I slumped forward, wrapping my arms around my waist to ward off a chill that had settled so far deep inside me, I didn’t think I’d ever be warm again. “Am I some kind of a bad joke?”

  “Of course not.”

  “I don’t know who I am anymore or even who I’m supposed to be.”

  “You’re you. Who else would you be?”

&n
bsp; I had been hiding behind the bleached-blond hair and the fake nails, the suggestive clothing—all of it—for so long that I had lost myself. And lately, it had gotten much worse. I couldn’t even remember what my goals had once been. All those times with Dad, gazing at the stars and dreaming of tomorrows . . . It had been a lifetime ago, and now I couldn’t remember.

  Diane had been there. Diane could remind me.

  “Well . . .” She took a sip of her wine. “If I remember correctly, you once told me you wanted to be a nun. You also wanted to be a Playboy bunny. You chose both of those career options because you liked the costumes.”

  The face she made had me laughing, despite the tears.

  I wiped my eyes on edge of my sleeve. “I’m too old to be a Playboy bunny now.”

  “Yes, at the ripe old age of twenty-nine, you should definitely hang up your ears and your tail—although on the other hand, maybe you should be a Playboy bunny. It would serve Chase right.” She gave me another pointed look—trying to be funny, I guessed.

  The ship to becoming a nun or a professional bunny had sailed, but there had to be something I could do so I could live a quiet little life. Away from people who always seemed to hurt me. “Maybe I should quit the restaurant and the bar and get a job as a secretary.”

  “Why? Did you wake up this morning suddenly knowing how to type and make spreadsheets?”

  “No. But how hard can it be?”

  “If you go to work every day looking like you usually do, I’m sure you’ll find someone who’d hire you for that reason alone. In that case, other than every other secretary hating your guts, it wouldn’t be hard at all. Of course you’ll still get hit on and maybe expected to put out. But I’m guessing you’re trying to get away from that. If you decide you should act, look, and dress like the rest of us, then you better get yourself some skills.”