by Joanne Pence
o0o
The next week, Tony told her how surprised and pleased Gene Cantelli was to get a big order for his top English saddles from a ranch near a small town in Pennsylvania. Lee said she, too, was surprised. Tony told her he looked up the towns on a map. They were right near the New York border.
o0o
Tony was lower than Lee had ever heard him the following Friday. The court hearing was postponed again, but this would be the last postponement. He would have gladly kept postponing the hearing as long as he could because, until the hearing, Ben was his. After it, anything could happen. He didn’t trust the courts or judges. He didn’t trust anyone to do right by his son except himself. In eight more weeks, he would be meeting his ex-wife, and Ben's fate would be decided. Lee did her best to cheer him up. They talked for almost two hours, and he thanked her for listening to him, for just being there when he needed her.
o0o
Gene Cantelli got more orders for saddles from Pennsylvania, as well as some from New York and Connecticut. Lee confessed to Tony, as she had earlier to Miriam, that a few weeks earlier she had visited some friends at their estate in Pennsylvania. The friends owned four beautiful horses. Through them, she met other horse lovers. Could she help it if the saddles they were using weren't half as interesting or distinctive as the ones Gene made? She was doing them a favor by telling them about the exclusive shop in a small, northern California village.
Tony laughed at her description of Miwok, but she pointed out she had bent the truth only a little, and that to Easterners, everything in northern California seemed either weird or quaint- San Francisco and its jaunty little cable cars being prime examples. He believed it.
o0o
Tony’s phone rang without answer when she called the following Friday. She phoned again, then once more.
There was no reason she should have grown to expect him to sit home every Friday night. He was young and handsome. She shouldn’t be surprised to find he’d gone out on a Friday night and didn’t want to answer her calls.
Could he be with Trish Hollingsworth? He had never mentioned her after the Miwok picnic. Judging from the way she acted around him, though, they had been quite close.
Feeling jealousy three thousand miles away was terrible. Even worse was the detailed way her mind imagined the two of them passing their time this evening. Trish's hand, low on Tony's hips as they walked away from her at the Settler's Park picnic, gave her a clear picture of the kind of relationship those two had. She remembered her own hand on his hips the night she spent with him. He had solid, sexy hips, tight buns. The kind of body that looked great in jeans...or out of them.
The thought of Trish Hollingsworth touching him that way made her wild.
The hypocrisy of being jealous of Tony when she had scarcely raised an eyebrow at the possibility of her own fiancé’s infidelity with her supposed best friend wasn't lost on her. But it made sharper the fact that she and Bruce had no relationship worth saving.
She went to bed, facing a restless sleep when the phone rang. It was three o'clock in the morning.
"Hello," she murmured, half-groggy, as she struggled to sit up.
"I know I promised you I’d never call, but--"
"Tony?"
"Oh, hell, I'm sorry. Christ, it's not even midnight here, but I just realized you must have been sound asleep. I shouldn't have disturbed you. Go back to sleep "
"No! Wait, I'm glad you called." She swallowed hard, trying to get her tongue to function, her head to clear. "I was worried."
"It was my father's birthday. Vic turned 65 today--ready for Social Security and everything. We went out with some of his old friends."
"Really?" She settled back against the pillow. His voice was so sexy it made her toes curl. "How great."
"I missed talking to you, though." He sounded suddenly hushed. "That is, if you tried to call me tonight."
"Of course I did." A couple of beats passed in the silence of her dark bedroom, then she spoke softly. "I missed you, too. I still do miss you, in fact. I miss seeing you, going to games...being with you."
"God, Lisa, don't," he whispered. "Please. Hell, I hate being so far from you!"
"Me, too."
"Hey," he tried to make himself sound playful. "You got too much special stuff to do to waste time missing old Tony. You know that."
Tears welled in her eyes, and when she spoke, her voice quivered slightly. "The 'stuff' I do is my job. After a while, it doesn’t seem all that special. For sure, I'm not special."
He didn't say anything for a long moment. "Tell me what's wrong, Lisa."
"Nothing."
"Your job?"
"No. It's fine."
"Friends? That jerk you hang around with giving you trouble?"
"Oh, Tony..."
"Well?"
"Nothing."
"If only you were here, Lisa, if only I could see you...it's so hard on the phone sometimes...."
She wondered what was wrong with her. She couldn’t love this man; she had no business being in love him. Nonetheless, somehow, lying here on her back in the dark, silent tears flowing into her hair, her ears, and her pillow, she realized she just might be. And that worried her. She wiped the tears, coughed, pretending her hoarseness was a cold, nothing more. Certainly nothing involving her heart.
She was making a mess out of everything. Why was she saying these things to him, upsetting him, herself, when she knew she couldn't act on her words? She rubbed her eyes. "Maybe I'm just tired. Maybe I need to try to get to sleep now."
Silence stretched for an eternity. "Are you crying, Lisa?"
"No. I...I'm fine. I’m glad you called."
He gave a half-laugh. "Oh? You could have fooled me." She thought she could hear tears in his voice as well.
She laughed as best she was able, wanting to tell him what was in her heart, but instead saying, "Oh, you."
"And Lisa?"
"Yes?"
"No one ever said you had to stay in New York, you know."
o0o
They had twice as much to say the following Friday, since they had missed their usual marathon conversation the week before. How had she managed to live so many years without Tony in her life? Without feeling the way she felt when they spoke together? Strangely, everything else in her life seemed to take on a warmer, happier glow as well. She felt better about the job she was doing than ever before.
For a little over an hour, once a week, she knew what it meant to live with her heart and not simply with her intellect, to act and speak on a gut level, and not for any logical or practical reason. Was this love?
o0o
In October, Tony's ex-wife, Catherine, had detectives combing the town for any unsavory piece of gossip they could find about him. Luckily, he did little that anyone could look askance at. Living in a small town with his father and his young son, he was so squeaky clean he should have gotten a medal.
The knowledge that someone was purposefully prying into his life, however, made him mad. If those detectives got too nosy, they'd at least learn something about his temper.
Despite his blustering, Lee could hear the worry in his voice. Using news sources, it was easy to check out Catherine's new husband, Dr. Graham Durelle, a Beverly Hills plastic surgeon. The man was everything Tony had claimed--well respected and very wealthy. His only weakness had been an eye for younger women, but since he married the young, vivacious Catherine Santos, his roving eye had wandered no more. He was said to be passionately in love with his wife, and heartbroken that he couldn't give her children. He would do all he could, therefore, to get back for her the one child that was hers.
Lee tried to find out if there was anything more Tony could do to fight Catherine. There wasn't. He had a good attorney, and all that was left was to state his case and hope.
o0o
"We go to court next Thursday," he said on the telephone on Friday night, "so, I guess when we talk on Friday, I'll tell you what happened."
"
Call me as soon as there's a decision," she said. "Please."
"I will...if I can." His voice broke. "I don't...I don't know what I'll do if I lose him, Lisa. I just don't know."
Chapter 21
Tony's words, his voice, his heartache filled Lee's thoughts throughout the weekend, pushing aside everything else she tried to concentrate on. On Monday, a thought struck her that was so impulsive and irresponsible she doubted her own sanity. By six a.m. Wednesday, she was en route to JFK airport.
On the plane somewhere over the Rocky Mountains, the possibility she’d taken leave of her senses hovered around ninety to one. She should take the next plane east and return to her job.
A family crisis, she had said when requesting time off. In a sense, it was. Her crisis.
Max Hobbs had given her the leave while making it clear he didn't like it one bit and demanded she return to New York as soon as she could. She knew one person, at least, would be ecstatic by her absence--Edie Canham, her Newscene temporary replacement.
For the first time in her adult life she was acting against her career’s best interest, and it scared her to death. And yet, her instinct told her Tony needed her now.
Her spirits leaped as she gazed upon the sparkling whiteness of San Francisco's skyline against the deep blue of the bay. Driving her rented Lincoln Towne Car over the orange hued Golden Gate Bridge, her excitement grew, settling finally into a deep, clutching warmth as she turned off the highway and headed westward toward the rolling hills of Miwok.
A couple of weeks earlier Miriam had called to say she'd decided to move back to Miwok permanently. She would have to return to San Diego for a while to get her house ready to be put up for sale--a new paint job, inside and out, perhaps some new carpeting or other cosmetic touches that could mean the difference between a fast sale and a slow one. Surprisingly Gene Cantelli was going with her to help. Most of Miriam's belongings would be placed in storage, but all the things that were truly precious to her would be taken back to Judith's house. Then, after her current house sold, she'd begin to look for a small, easy to care for house in Miwok. She'd made up her mind that she'd buy only if the house was exactly what she wanted. Once settled this time, she said she'd leave only to go to the cemetery. Lee knew that Gene Cantelli would be playing a big part in Miriam’s decision on where she would live. Lee still couldn’t get over the way her aunt fell for Gene. She could scarcely imagine two people more different, or whose tastes were less similar. There was no logic behind a confirmed bachelor and a longtime widow becoming devoted to each other. Perhaps the point was that such things defied logic.
When she reached home, the front door wasn't even locked-- ah, Miwok!--and she walked right in. Miriam came out of the kitchen, a dish cloth in her hands. Her eyes grew wide with astonishment when she saw Lee and her suitcase, "What's this?"
"I missed you."
Miriam opened her arms, and in a moment Lee was getting a tremendous hug. It did feel good to be home.
Miriam put her hands on Lee's shoulders. "Is anything wrong?"
"Everything's fine. I just have some unfinished business I need to take care of."
"I could have taken care of any business for you."
"Not this kind."
"Tony's case?" Miriam asked.
Lee nodded.
Miriam patted Lee's arm. "Your room's waiting for you. I’ll make a pot of tea while you get settled."
"Thank you, Auntie." Lee gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. As she stepped back, she was surprised to see tears in Miriam's eyes. "What's wrong?"
"You haven't called me 'auntie' since you were a little girl. I'd thought you'd forgotten. It touched me, that's all. Good God, I must be getting old!" In her usual no-nonsense way, she brushed the tears away and briskly walked toward the kitchen.
o0o
After tea, Lee changed her clothes to casual slacks and blouse. As much as she wanted to visit with her aunt, that wasn't why she'd traveled three thousand miles. She found, however, that it was a lot easier to decide what to do while sitting in her apartment in New York than it was to actually do it here in Miwok.
Before long, she told Miriam she was going to Tony's house, and left.
As she neared the Circle Z ranch, her nerve failed her. She slowed the car to a crawl. What if he's not home? What if he is home but has Trish or some other woman with him? What if he doesn't want to see me? What if, what if...
Reaching the gate, she took a deep breath and swung the wheel to the left, nosing the car onto the oak lined driveway that led to his house.
His 4x4 and old Chevy pick-up were in the driveway, and no other cars were there. So he was home, and probably alone.
As she got out of the car and walked to the front door her heart pounded so hard she could scarcely breathe.
She rang the doorbell, then waited a long while before ringing it again. Where was he?
She knocked. Still no answer.
He was probably working somewhere on the ranch--in the company of his father or the foreman, or some of the hired hands. She dreaded the thought of running into Vic Santos.
She hadn’t traveled across the country to give up now.
Tony might be in the back of the house. At the pool, perhaps, unable to hear the bell or her knocks.
As she walked along the side of the house, she heard the faint sound of a radio in the distance.
On the patio between the pool and the house were an umbrella table, a couple of lounge chairs and a barbecue. Past the pool was a field with apricot, plum and peach trees, and to one side, a small building that looked like a workshop. The sounds of the radio were coming from that building.
As she got nearer, she could hear the broadcasters speculating on the World Series. Her spirit leaped--baseball. What else?
She stopped at the open doorway and looked inside. He stood at a table, his back to her, bent over what looked like a small engine. Pieces of it were spread over the table and onto the floor. The back of his white tee shirt was damp from perspiration as he wrestled to loosen some bolts. His hair flopped forward and his hands were black with grease. She watched the muscles on his back and arms strain. Dark grease stains smeared the jeans that rode low on his hips, hugging his legs, outlining the firm muscles that braced him as he worked.
Bruce was right--he didn’t fit in with her New York City crowd at all. Thank goodness.
Lee watched, waiting until a commercial came on the radio. The broadcast ended with the statement that the San Francisco Giants would finish in fourth place. She smiled at the choice language Tony muttered. It could have been directed at the team or the stubborn bolts on the engine.
"Hello, Tony," she said as casually as if her heart wasn't racing a mile a minute.
His head jerked up and snapped toward her. Dark, tension filled eyes met hers. They softened, and he slowly straightened, putting down the wrench he had been holding. But almost immediately, his expression changed and his brow furrowed with worry. He shut off the radio. "Has something happened? Why are you here?"
She smiled. "I like it here, you may recall."
As he studied her expression, the truth struck him like a fastball between the eyes. No, it couldn’t be. He had to be wrong.
She folded her arms, still grinning. "I’ve never seen you tongue-tied, Santos."
His heart began to pound and he stood motionless in the shed, grease smearing his hands and perspiration dripping from his brow. He scraped a hand over his forehead, changing sweat for an oil smear. He’d spend weeks telling himself he’d been a sentimental fool over her when she was here, that he couldn’t love her, heck, he scarcely knew her. Then, when they began to talk over the phone and he’d spend his days waiting for Friday nights, when he’d chase Vic out of the house on those nights and saw that Ben was with friends or playing a game or watching TV or somehow amused, when he would go into his bedroom and wait for the phone to ring--all that time he told himself he didn’t love her. It was liking, or lust, or nostalgia. Now, facing h
er, who had he been trying to fool?
"Lisa." He moved toward her in long, purposeful strides, feeling his pulse in his chest, against his temples. He glanced down at his hands. "Christ, let me wash this stuff off. Then we can get out of here."
There was a basin in the workshop, and he took a bar of Lava and work at the grease on his hands and arms, building suds up his forearms to the elbows before he washed his face and neck. As he bent over, his silver crucifix slipped out from under his tee shirt and swung freely, rocking back and forth against his chest. He splashed water like a five-year-old as he rinsed the suds off, wetting the back and front of his hair in the process. His eyes shut, he groped for the towel lying beside the wash basin. He held it to his face a moment, his hands still, and he wondered what it meant now, feeling as he did--admitting it--what should he do now?
He came out of the brisk rubdown with the towel looking like one reborn, a shiny glow on his chin, cheeks and forehead. As he ran the towel over the back of his neck, his eye caught hers. She could scarcely breath, his gaze was that strong, that filled with need, and more.
Their eyes held for several beats while she felt her color heighten and she smoothed a stray hair back to her chignon.
Abruptly, he turned, tossed the towel aside and reached for the blue and white striped shirt that hung on a hook next to a hacksaw. Shrugging the shirt on, he folded back the sleeves to just below the elbow and left it unbuttoned, the whole time taking care not to catch her eye. His sudden discomfort spread over the workshop.
"Want to go in the house?" he asked. "How about a soft drink?"
"Sounds fine."
They crossed the yard to the patio and entered the kitchen. Taking two cans of 7 Up from the refrigerator, he put them on the counter, as if needing to avoid chance of contact if he handed her the can. Then he opened the cabinet for glasses.
"Don't bother." She popped open a can.
He did the same.
They took the sodas outside and sat at the patio table. "So tell me, Miss Reynolds, what brings you out to these hick parts so soon? I thought it'd be at least another twenty years before I saw you again."
