“I was afraid you’d get lost.”
“Oh.” She sighed and turned her head away. “Louella and Elvin moved the piano, just lifted it right up onto the dais in the great room like it weighed nothing. A grand piano.”
“Louella is Crooked Possum’s only EMT. I saw her roll a pickup off a guy once. He was pinned underneath it.” Gus slid his arm around her. She resisted for a second, then settled against him. “Still mad at me?”
“I wasn’t mad at you. I was just mad period.” She curled her fist on her chin and gazed over the porch rail at the fog beginning to rise off the cooling snow. “I tried to work on my book. I wrote two whole words.”
“That’s better than no words. Which two did you get?”
“Chapter Five.”
“Some days it’s tough.” Gus kissed the top of her head. “Did Louella tell you how it went with the Crisis Management Team?”
“No. What happened?”
Gus told her, doing his best to mimic Cloris and Mamie. Cydney smiled, then she grinned. At the end, she laughed, then stretched her arms out again and cocked her head at him.
“Domino gave me this coat. I’m not keeping it, but she gave it to me. It belongs to last year, she said. ‘Fletch, he will buy for me the new one.’ “She frowned and shook her head. “Be damned if I would.”
“Cydney,” Gus said in her ear. “I think your father’s impotent.”
“You’re kidding!” She flung herself sideways in the chair and stared at him. “That’s what you said to him, isn’t it?”
“Uh, well—more or less, yeah.” He tensed, waiting for the punch, but she blinked into space for a second, then focused on his face.
“That’s why he has to buy Domino a new sable every year, isn’t it? Cloris is one sharp little cookie.”
“The real power behind the throne of our mayor, Clovis Figgle.”
“No wonder Dad flew into such a rage when he barged in on us.” She laughed, her eyes sparkling. “He was jealous!”
“That hadn’t occurred to me. I thought he was just an SOB.”
“Well, that, too.” She leaned her chin on his knee and looked up at him through her lashes, her amazingly long, amazingly dark lashes. “Want to get naked and eat Chinese food in your bed?”
“Beats croquet.” He shrugged, and she laughed, wrinkled her nose at him, slipped her hand in his and let him help her out of the chair. “By the way, I invited everybody in Crooked Possum to the wedding.”
“Wonderful.” She stretched up on her toes and kissed his chin. “I’ll tell Bebe to make sure Louella catches the bouquet.”
chapter
twenty-four
At 9:17 Tuesday morning, Cydney sat on the blue leather sofa in the living room, the one that faced the foyer and the front door. She’d spent half of Monday there, too, sipping cups of tea while she waited for her mother to return from Eureka Springs. Georgette called while Cydney was in the bathroom, naturally, and told Gus she and Herb were staying over one more night so she could bid on a pump organ at an auction.
“Did you tell her Dad is here?” Cydney had asked.
“Doesn’t she know?”
“Did we know?”
“Good point. You think your sister knew he was coming. But if Georgette doesn’t know he’s here, then who the hell invited him?”
Gus had frowned at her, then said just as she did: “Bebe.”
This morning Cydney was playing it smart. No tea, just her laptop on her knees. She’d debated calling her mother back yesterday to warn her Fletch was here, but Gus had carried her off to the hot tub. They’d emerged an X-rated hour later to find a message from Aldo on the voice mail. He and Bebe had run into some friends from UMKC in Branson and wouldn’t be home until today. Cydney had thought then, at 3 P.M. Monday, about calling her mother, but Gus had lured her back to the tub, so she still wasn’t sure Georgette knew Fletch was at Tall Pines.
She hadn’t seen her father or Domino since Sunday. The second time she and Gus had emerged from the hot tub, they’d found an ashtray full of cigarette butts on the island, the fridge raided, and the kitchen in a shambles. “Looks like raccoons broke in,” Gus had grumbled. More likely, Cydney thought, her father was keeping his promise to Sheriff Cantwell to steer clear of Gus.
Cydney was surprised Georgette hadn’t already come through the door. She hadn’t heard a peep from her father or Domino yet today, and she’d been here on the couch since 6:30. Gus had shot awake at 5:20, thrown off the covers and grinned at her.
“That’s it.” He’d yanked on his jeans sans his boxers. “That’s what Max needs to do in chapter twelve.”
She’d struggled groggily up on one elbow and said, “Huh?”
“I’ll be in my office.” He leaned one knee on the bed and smacked a kiss on her mouth. “See you later.”
She’d dragged herself into the bathroom, expecting him to join her as soon as he heard the water crank on, but she showered and washed her hair, dried it, brushed her teeth and dressed in jeans and the pink sweater she’d brought with her, all alone. When she stuck her head into his office, she’d seen Gus at his desk. Glasses on, mouth slack and partway open, his attention totally consumed by the PC.
“What?” he said absently, without looking up.
“Urn—coffee or anything?”
“No.” The clip in his voice was distracted, preoccupied, not at all sharp, but it hurt.
When she gathered her things and left, Gus didn’t so much as glance up from the cursor spewing out words at Warp 6. That hurt, too.
The impulse to pick up her laptop on her way downstairs was pure I‘11-show-you get-evenness, so of course it backfired. She’d been sitting here for the last two hours staring at the words Chapter Five on the screen. She hadn’t shown Gus a damn thing. She’d shown herself that she was not dealing at all well with the end of their idyll. There’s a news flash, her little voice said. I’ll alert the media. Her mother would be back today and Cydney couldn’t imagine trying to sneak into Gus’ bed with Georgette Parrish, the woman who’d always known when she’d had her feet on the couch, sleeping three doors away.
At least she’d had an extra day and night with Gus, but she was sure gonna miss beef and broccoli. She’d never be able to look another plate of it in the face after Gus had eaten most of his off her stomach and from between her breasts on Sunday night. Her heart fluttered, but she pushed the image of his mouth nibbling rice and her nipples out of her head.
Maybe if she read what she’d already written it would jump-start her brain. Cydney minimized chapter five, brought up chapter four and read the last couple pages.
“Hello, Mr. Munroe.” I put on my best smile and offered my hand to his book jacket photo. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
My voice sounded funny over the tinny ring in my ears from the whack I’d taken on the back of the head. It made the deep voice that answered me—from the depths of my imagination, I thought—sound like it was coming from the bottom of an empty fifty-five gallon drum.
“Nice to meet you, too, Miss—f “
“Vanish. Cydney Vanish. I’m Bebe’s aunt.”
“I thought she had an Uncle Sid.”
“That’s Bebe’s nickname for me, Uncle Cyd.” I laughed, pretending. “I’ve read all your books, Mr. Munroe.”
“So I see.” The deep voice didn’t sound hollow anymore. It sounded like Angus Munroe was really in the room, standing behind me, eyeing his books lined up in the bookcase. “Are those pictures of me? “
“Pictures?” I laughed again. “What pictures, Mr. Munroe? “
“The ones in your lap.” The voice sounded sharp and edgy and very close. “The ones on the wall over the desk.”
I heard the floor creak as if someone were walking across it. Then I felt it and my heart seized. I shot up on my knees, whirled around and saw Angus Munroe—
“Tall, dark and drop-dead handsome,” Gus read aloud over her shoulder. “Hey, I like this part.”
Cydney slapped her laptop shut and glared at him. He leaned on the back of the couch, one arm propping his chin on his hand. A grin on his face, his glasses slipped down on the end of his nose.
“Snoop. You snuck up on me.”
“Did not.” He vaulted over the couch and bounced down beside her, in his jeans and a red sweatshirt, and looped her under his arm. “I came downstairs, said, ‘morning,’ you said nothing. I went into the kitchen and drank a cup of coffee. I stuck my head past the door, said ‘Wanna go upstairs and get naked?’ You didn’t answer, so I tiptoed over and had myself a peek.” He raised his head and looked at her through his half lenses. “A peek not a snoop.”
Cydney laughed and leaned her head against his chest, her heart aching and melting at the same time. Gus jostled her against him, chuckled into her hair and said, “You’re still stuck, aren’t you?”
“Boy, ami. I just can’t think what happens next.”
“You know what happens next, you were there.”
“Yes, but I just—can’t think how to say it.”
“Want some help?”
Cydney drew her head back and looked at him.
“Just offering.” He flung his hands up. “You could take advantage of something besides my body, you know.”
“I appreciate it, Gus. I really do, but I have to find out if I can do this on my own.”
“You think I never get stuck? Think your father never gets stuck? Sure we do, and I’m telling you from experience that it’s a one-way ticket to writer’s block to sit here beating your head against the screen if you don’t have to. It only makes it worse.”
“This is killing you, isn’t it? I’m writing about you and you can’t stand it. You’re dying to read it.”
“By inches I’m dying. By centimeters. By millimeters—”
“Oh stop.” Cydney laughed and opened the laptop. Gus could hate it. Pick it to death. Tell her she didn’t have what it takes. Get real, her little voice said. It’s about him. He’ll love it. “Here’s where I’m stuck, at the end of chapter four. I don’t know where to go from here.”
He pushed his glasses up his nose and leaned closer to the screen. “Scroll up a few pages.” Cydney did until he said, “Stop,” nudged her fingers off the page up and page down keys and took over.
Her heart banged while he read. When he reached the end of chapter four, laughed and kissed the top of her head, she let go of the breath she hadn’t realized she’d drawn and held.
“Funny, babe. Almost as cute as you. Nice job.”
“Thanks. Where would you go from here?”
“Right this second? Upstairs with me.” Cydney poked him in the ribs and he grinned. “Are you gonna stick with first-person?”
“No. That’s just so I can get the story down.”
“Then I’d change point of view.”
“Get into your head?”
“You’ve been in my pants. Why not my brain?”
“I thought that’s where your brain is.”
“Only when I’m around you. C’mon. I’ll help you get started.”
“Oh Gus. I don’t know.”
“Be brave.” He gave her a buck-up knuckle on the shoulder. “Live dangerously. Bring up chapter five.”
Cydney did, her fingers clammy. “If you pick on me, I’ll cry.”
“I’m not going to pick on you. Just type what I say. The last line of four is ‘What kind of a nut are you?’ So the first line of chapter five is, ‘A very fetching nut, Gus could see, now that she stood on her knees facing him.’ “He kissed her temple and Cydney smiled, feeling loved again, even though she wasn’t. “‘Probably harmless, but still a nut.’“
“A nut with no idea how to explain what she’s doing,” she said, laughing up at the grin on his face. “A nut who wishes she were dead.”
“That’s good. Write it down.” He gave her shoulders an encouraging squeeze. “Now this. ‘She had lovely, almond-brown eyes tipped up at the corners and oddly dark brows for someone with such silvery-blond hair. A gamine face, the face of a pixie.’ “
“What’s a gamine and how do you spell it?”
“G-a-m-i-n-e, Scrabble whiz, and it’s an urchin.”
“Oh how flattering.”
“Well, that’s what you looked like. All waifish and woebegone—”
“Ooh, I like that,” Cydney said excitedly, and typed it.
“I wanted to say, ‘Aww.’ “He breathed it in her ear from deep in his throat, tickling her with his breath. “But then it dawned on me that maybe you weren’t being charmingly coy, but coolly calculating.”
“Oh right.” She smirked. “Like I knew you were coming.”
“That’s pretty much what my big-mouth know-it-all voice said. Like you knew I was coming and planned it. Like all the women I think are after me because I’m a rich, famous writer lay awake nights dreaming up screwball scenarios to get my attention.”
“Do women really do that kind of thing to you?”
“No.” Gus snapped his fingers. “Damn it.”
“Aldo said that’s why you moved to Crooked Possum, so nobody could find you unless you wanted them to.”
“I moved us to Crooked Possum so nobody could find Aldo unless I wanted them to. I bought this place for Aunt Phoebe. Her dream was to own a bed-and-breakfast, but her heart gave out before she could open Tall Pines.” Gus tossed his glasses aside, rubbed his hand on her arm and gazed around the living room. “I ought to sell it, but I just can’t.”
He looked so wistful, so handsome, like such a little boy with his hair falling over his eyes. Cydney’s throat ached looking at him. He’d kept Tall Pines for Aunt Phoebe, kept the dining room just the way she’d left it and built a shrine from Aldo’s baby pictures on her grand piano.
“By the way,” she said, blinking at the tears in her eyes. “Louella and I packed all your pictures in a box till after the wedding.”
“I might just leave them there.” He sighed. “I think it’s time.”
Oh Gus. Oh please, she prayed. Don’t say another word. Don’t even think about broken little angels who managed to find each other.
“So what do you think of chapter five?” He glanced her a smile, blinked and frowned. “Why are you crying? Did I pick on you?”
“Oh no. No, no, no.” Cydney kissed his chin, hoping he couldn’t feel the teary shiver in her mouth. “You were a big help. Thanks.”
She swung her head away, hit Save and sucked a breath. This was so hard, but she’d vowed to enjoy it, to enjoy Gus as long as she had him. She slanted a hey-big-boy smile at him through her lashes, laid her hand on his thigh and let her fingers creep toward his fly.
“Are you still not wearing any underwear?”
“Unzip me and find out.”
Cydney shut down the laptop and put it on the table, leaned into him and reached for the snap on his jeans. Gus bent his head, his eyes smoky, his lips parted. Cydney heard a doorknob turn, footsteps skid to a halt and looked over her shoulder.
At her mother, standing on the foyer in pink knit slacks and a creamy turtleneck, every strand of champagne hair in place, her makeup perfect and fire in her eyes. She threw her blue wool coat and her Hermes bag at a chair and thrust her hands on her hips.
“What the hell is going on here?”
“Beats me, Mother.” Cydney stood up with Gus beside her, his hand on the small of her back, and squared off on Georgette. She was thirty-two, not seventeen, and she was sick of having her privacy trampled. “What do you think is going on?”
“I think you’ve all lost your minds, that’s what I think. How could you let your father just waltz through the door?”
“How were we supposed to stop him, Mother?” Cydney waved at the open door behind her. “He barged through it exactly as you just did.”
“Did I barge? I’m sorry.” Georgette pressed one hand to her breast. “I meant to storm through the door screaming and throwing things.”
“Now, now, Georgie-girl.” Herb step
ped inside, shut the door and slipped an arm around her. “We’re all intelligent, rational adults. For Bebe and Aldo’s sake, we can make the best of this awkward situation.”
“You are intelligent and rational, Herbert.” Her mother turned toward him on one foot. “I am intelligent and rational. Fletcher Parrish is a moody, petulant, hypercritical egomaniac with a mean streak.”
“My finest qualities, George. Those of which I am proudest.”
What Cydney heard in her father’s voice was a wry, almost self-deprecating twist, not his usual sneer. She looked up at him coming down the gallery stairs in mauve silk pajamas, a matching dressing gown and leather mules, a fond smile on his face as he gazed at her mother.
“I’m warning you, Fletch.” She stepped down from the foyer, one perfectly manicured nail thrust at him like a dagger. “One tantrum, one snit, and you’ll pay me alimony until the day you die.”
“Is this your intended?” Her father smiled sweetly at Georgette and offered his hand to Herb. “Fletcher Parrish. You’re a lucky man.”
“Herb Baker.” Herb shook his hand. “Your loss is my gain.”
“Right you are. Let me buy you a cup of coffee.” Fletch laid an arm on his shoulders and glanced at Cydney. “I trust you made some?”
Not for you, she wanted to say. Well, then say it, her little voice egged her on, so Cydney did. “I didn’t make it for you,” she said boldly. “But yes, I made coffee.”
“Brews the best pot on the planet, our Cydney.” Fletch ignored the zinger and swept Herb across the living room, pushed the swinging door open, held it and glanced back at Georgette. “Are you joining us?”
“You bet I am,” she growled. “I’m not taking my eyes off you.”
And she didn’t until she reached the bar and the 125 pumpkins piled on it caught her eye. She turned toward Gus and said, “Pumpkins are fruit, Angus. These will store much better in a cool place,” then she wheeled through the door behind Herb.
Fletch turned to follow her, paused and looked at Gus. “How’s the hand, Munroe?”
“I may never play the violin again.”
Mother of the Bride Page 27
