by Cara Bristol
“No progress, huh?” Tigre shook his head sympathetically.
“No. I saw her today. She apologized for ejecting me from the church, but then ordered me to never go there again and to stay away from her.”
“I’m sorry.”
Inferno acknowledged he had much to be grateful for: being safe from the Xenos, having a close surrogate family, gaining the acceptance of the people of Argent. Great food! But he, too, suffered from the fear of missing out. What good did it do to have a genmate if she repudiated him? “I get the impression Geneva doesn’t think I’m a ’Topian.”
Tigre frowned. “What does she think you are?”
“I have no idea.” He scratched a horn.
Tigre pointed at the fire with his fork. “Did you show her what you could do?”
“I didn’t think of it, and I doubt I’ll have an opportunity. I can’t explain or show her anything if she won’t see me.”
“That’s a problem,” his brother agreed, and then he cocked his head. “Maybe you should write her a note, tell her how you feel about her, and leave it where she’ll find it.
“That’s a great idea!” He brightened. He could explain everything then.
Tigre flashed his fangs. “I’m not just a pretty face.”
* * * *
First thing Monday morning, Uncle Mike poked his head into Geneva’s office. “I’m running back to the house. I forgot my reading glasses.” He started to leave.
“Uncle Mike! Wait!”
“Yes?”
“You’re wearing them. They’re on top of your head.”
He patted his head, dislodging the glasses. Donning the frames, he made a rueful face. “Thank the good Lord I have you to keep me straight.” He chuckled.
She giggled. “You would have found them eventually.”
“Not before I turned the house upside down.” He waved and left.
She shook her head, still amused. A math whiz and history buff, her uncle was one of the smartest men she knew—and one of the most absentminded. When Aunt Harriet had been alive, she’d looked after him and kept him organized. That role fell to Geneva now, but she was happy to do it. He was such a dear man.
She sometimes wondered if he was so smart because he didn’t clutter his mind with mundanities.
Unlike her. She couldn’t stop ruminating about the “alien,” replaying their recent interaction. The more she thought about him, the more steamed she got. What kind of asshole would try to pass himself off as an extraterrestrial? Though not a near-genius like Uncle Mike, she wasn’t stupid. It was insulting he’d think she’d fall for that ridiculous pickup line.
I’m an alien. Wanna ride on my spaceship?
And his name? Inferno? Har har. She twisted her mouth. Of course, his skin was kind of red. Well, not kind of. A lot. But if she ever got the chance—although she doubted she would—she intended to give those horns a good hard yank. She bet a month’s wages they’d break off in her hand.
Alien, my ass. Forget him.
Easier said than done. Her libido didn’t care if he was crazy or a liar; he turned her on. She’d had a sex dream about him the other night, waking up the next morning hot and bothered. He could utter the most ridiculous statement, but spoken in his rumbling voice, her body reacted.
The phone rang. “Church of Argent. This is Geneva.” Pissed off about “Inferno,” her greeting came out sharper than intended.
“Did I catch you at a bad time?”
That voice! She squeezed the receiver hard.
“Geneva? Are you there?”
She plumbed her feelings and, in a halleluiah moment, realized she felt nothing. The voice that once had evoked warm fuzzies and contentment then hurt and bitterness, now evoked no emotion at all. Only mild curiosity. “Why are you calling, Trenton?”
He laughed self-consciously. “I know it must be a shock to hear from me. We haven’t spoken in a long time.”
“Almost two years.” They had had no contact since signing the divorce papers in the lawyer’s office. His bombshell that he’d wanted out of their marriage had hit like the worst sort of betrayal, not only because he’d stopped loving her but because of the pretense. He’d allowed her to continue living the fantasy of a happy marriage—until he’d aligned his ducks. If he’d been dissatisfied with their life or her, he should have told her. She didn’t hate him anymore, but she didn’t respect him, either. Liars deserved no respect, and he’d lied by omission. As old memories surfaced, so did irritation.
“How are you doing?” he asked.
“I’m doing well.” Her little preoccupation notwithstanding, she was doing great. “Why are you calling me?”
“You’re not going to inquire how I am?”
“How are you?” she parroted. She’d give him another two seconds to get to the point.
“I’m fine, thank you for asking.”
Not funny. “Goodbye, Trenton.” She moved to hang up on him.
“Wait! I have papers for you to sign!”
She put the phone to her ear. “What papers?”
“Escrow papers.”
“For what?”
He hesitated for a long second. “The sale of some property.”
She frowned. “What kind of property? I don’t understand.”
“I have a buyer for a commercial parcel I purchased a few years ago, and you need to sign the closing documents so the sale can be finalized.”
“What do you mean purchased a few years ago? We were married a few years ago. You bought property and never told me?”
“Um, kind of.”
Son of a bitch! Her feelings were null and void, so she wouldn’t have guessed Trenton could still piss her off, but he’d just proven her wrong. “So, why are you telling me this? Why do you need my signature?”
“Because the parcel is in both our names, and you want your share, don’t you?”
“If it’s in both our names, how did you buy it without me signing?” The gears in her brain spun before locking into place. “You forged my signature?”
His guilty silence, along with another epiphany, heaped more fuel onto her burning temper. “Why didn’t you disclose the property during the divorce proceedings?” He’d hidden assets!
“I wasn’t ready to sell yet.”
He wasn’t ready. He hadn’t changed, either. He’d acted the same way in their marriage—left her in the dark until he wanted to make a change. “Oh, and now you are? Well, screw you! I’m not going to sign. You can sit on your parcel until it rots for all I care!”
“You should care. It means $100K in your pocket.”
A hundred thousand dollars? The sum caused her to waver, but she refused to ignore the bigger principle. She controlled her destiny. “I’m not signing.”
“You don’t have a choice.”
“Yes, I do.”
“It will sell anyway.”
“No, it won’t.”
“One way or another, it will. The land I—we—bought is within a blighted area the city wishes to revitalize. They’re behind the developer’s project 100 percent. The original purchase price was $50K; the developer is being very generous to save time. He’s offered $250,000. If we don’t take the money now, he’ll go to the city, they’ll claim the property through eminent domain, and he’ll get it anyway. We’ll get paid, but it won’t be nearly as much.”
Anger urged her to hold her ground to delay his deal, but pettiness wasn’t her nature. He could still push her buttons, but he couldn’t hurt her anymore. Besides, a devout person would call the windfall a blessing.
A hundred grand would buy a lot of options. She could move back to Boise, or Spokane or even Seattle or Portland where there would be a larger pool of eligible men. The money would tide her over until she got another job. She had to face facts: her soul mate wasn’t going to drop out of the sky and land in Argent.
It rankled to afford Trenton the satisfaction, but at lea
st this time she’d walk away with something.
“Mail me the papers, and I’ll sign them.”
“I’d hoped we could meet in person. I have business in Spokane. I fly in tomorrow. I can bring the documents with me and meet with you in the late afternoon.”
“Why can’t you forge my signature again?” she purred with saccharine sweetness.
“Ouch! I like to think I learned something from the divorce.”
She had, and the lessons were continuing. She couldn’t believe he’d invested in real estate without telling her. What other crap had he pulled? Perhaps she should see him eyeball to eyeball.
“Fine. Come on by. Call first. You remember where the church is?” He’d come with her once when she’d visited Uncle Mike and Aunt Harriet.
“I can find it. Argent isn’t much to speak of.”
“Goodbye, Trenton!” She slammed the receiver down, this time pissed off because he’d insulted the town she loved. The fact he didn’t recognize Argent’s charm proved what a jerk he was. If he’d learned anything after the divorce, it couldn’t have been much. “Jackass!” she muttered.
“I beg your pardon?” Uncle Mike peered at her from the doorway.
She hunched her shoulders. “Sorry. I just hung up with Trenton. He’s going to drop by tomorrow.”
“Oh?” Gray brows arched with concern.
She waved her hand. “He’s bringing escrow papers for me to sign. The jerk bought property he never told me about, and now he’s selling and needs my signature.”
“You need me to be with you?”
“Oh, no. I can handle him. He’ll be in and out.” His ass wouldn’t have time to warm the chair.
“Okay. Well, I might hang around anyway.”
She got up and kissed her uncle’s cheek. “You’re a sweetie, thank you. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
He patted her back. “You deserve to be happy.” He regarded her with a somber expression, and then he sighed. “Are you happy?”
“What do you mean?”
“Are you satisfied with your life? I love having you close and working with me, but frankly, honey, I worry about what you might be giving up.”
“Like a husband and kids, you mean.”
“You’ve thought about it then.”
“More so of late.” She nodded. “I love being close to you, too. I love Argent. I like my job. But I do want to get married again.” Kids weren’t part of her life plan. Above all else, children should be wanted, and she’d realized long ago she had no great desire to have them.
She shifted her gaze to the boxes of new hymnals that had been delivered that morning. She needed to collect the old ones and put the new ones in the pews. She recalled Inferno standing under the stained glass window, his horned head lit by a halo, hymnal pages flying around him.
She wet her lips and met her uncle’s gaze. “You’re going to think it’s crazy. I know I need to put myself out there if I expect to meet someone, but I’ve always had an idea that my Mr. Right would be coming here—to Argent, I mean.”
“That would be convenient. But wishes don’t make reality,” he said gently.
“No, they don’t.” Having voiced the idea floating around her brain, she heard how illogical it sounded. She who didn’t believe in God or aliens or ghosts or angels had been waiting for Prince Charming to sweep her off to the castle she’d built in the air.
He hugged her and kissed her head. “Whatever you decide, I’ll support you.”
* * * *
Like a hangover, melancholy dogged her. Geneva left work with a heavy heart. The day’s events had been a wake-up call, alerting her that she could no longer coast; she needed to take control. With the sale of the property giving her options, she had no excuses anymore.
Her secretarial salary barely paid the bills, leaving her savings account rather sparse. Now, she would have plenty of money to go anywhere.
But what if I leave, and then Mr. Right shows up?
Ridiculous! Wake up and smell the coffee, she chided herself.
She didn’t have to take drastic action today, or next week or next month, but it had to be done sooner rather than later.
As she headed for her car, like the other day, a prickling sensation spread over her. She spun around, half expecting to see somebody sneaking up behind her, but the parking lot was empty. Pivoting, she scanned the area. “Who’s there? Show yourself!” she called out.
“Ghosts.” She chuckled, but the feeling of being watched persisted as she hurried to her vehicle.
A folded sheet of paper was stuck under the wiper. She grabbed it but waited until she was safely locked in her car before reading it.
I love you. We belong together.
“What the hell?” She stared at the brief note printed in a masculine hand on white copy paper. It was unsigned, but she could guess who’d left it. She crumpled it up.
“Shit.” She had a horrible suspicion she’d acquired a stalker. How long had Inferno been watching her? She scanned the street. He was probably out there now, having waited to see her find his note. If she’d needed another incentive to leave Argent, this was it.
She smoothed out the wadded paper. Any fingerprints had been smeared by her handling. She shoved the note in the side pocket of her purse. Should she tell Uncle Mike?
A parishioner drove into the parking lot; Geneva had forgotten about tonight’s Bible study. She’d better wait and tell her uncle in the morning.
She stuck the key in the ignition. The car whined and choked.
“Come on, Wanda, please,” she coaxed the aged car. She’d bought the vehicle after high school, having worked and saved for two summers. As a graduation present, her parents had made up the difference she needed for the purchase. For a reason she couldn’t explain, the instant she’d seen the bright-yellow hatchback, she’d recognized Wanda was meant to be hers. Preowned when she’d gotten her, poor Wanda wouldn’t last much longer.
Finally, the engine caught, and she reversed out of the parking space. She waved at the parishioner and drove home.
Chapter Four
She should choose the salad with grilled chicken, but the lunch specials scrawled on the whiteboard were tempting. Her mouth watered at the suggestion of chicken-fried steak with mashed potatoes smothered in white gravy. Maybe she could splurge this once; comfort food would fortify her for the meeting with her ex.
Speak of the devil. The door opened, and he strolled in.
Although he had changed his appearance—he had grown a long straggly beard and had his neck inked—she’d recognize that shit-eating grin and swagger anywhere. He made a beeline for her table.
“You said this afternoon.” She’d purposely slipped away for lunch early.
“My business in Spokane finished sooner than expected.”
“You were supposed to call.” She scowled.
He straddled a chair and set a manila envelope on the table. “I did call. Nobody answered at the church.”
She’d spent the morning in the nave swapping out the hymnals, so she hadn’t heard the phone. Uncle Mike had been called away; a parishioner had gotten hit with a family crisis. She’d planned to tell him about the note but hadn’t had a chance. “You should have called my cell.”
He picked up the menu.
“What are you doing?” Her annoyance was out of proportion to the offense, but she disliked surprises—at least the kind Trenton delivered.
Before he could respond, Millie approached with pad in hand. “Did you decide what you want?”
“I’ll have the chicken-fried steak lunch special,” she said.
“How about you?” Millie looked at Trenton.
“He’s not staying,” Geneva said.
“I’ll have what she’s having.” He handed over the menu.
The diner owner’s penciled brows arched then leveled. “Anything to drink?”
“Iced tea,” Geneva said.
“Water will be fine for me,” Trenton replied.
After Millie had delivered their order to the cook, she brought their drinks, and then they were alone.
Trenton appraised her with an approving gaze. “You’re looking good.”
“You’re not. What the hell did you do to yourself? This”—she waved disparagingly at the messy beard—“is okay at the bank?” He was a loan officer! Banking was still a conservative institution. Previously clean-shaven, Trenton wore button-down shirts to work and khakis and a polo shirt on his days off. Not holey jeans, a distressed leather jacket, and a T-shirt with a rock band on the chest.
“I don’t work at the bank anymore. I’m in real estate now. I’m flipping properties.”
“Speaking of which, I assume those are the escrow papers?” She eyed the manila envelope.
“Yes.” He removed a sheaf of papers from the envelope and handed them to her.
The documents were pretty much boilerplate, but she paid close attention to the terms that had been filled in. She didn’t think Trenton would outright cheat her, but she wouldn’t put anything past him at this point.
“You’re being very careful,” he observed.
“Wouldn’t you be?”
“I’m sorry for the way things worked out. For how I handled things. You deserved better.”
“You’re damn right I did,” she retorted. The papers appeared to be on the up-and-up, so she snagged her purse to find something to write with.
Trenton produced a pen and passed it to her.
She signed and initialed on the lines as marked by colored flags. “Don’t our signatures have to be notarized?”
Trenton pursed his lips. “You’re right. I don’t suppose you’ve got a notary in this town?”
“I’m a notary public!” Millie chimed in, confirming Geneva’s hunch the diner owner eavesdropped on customer conversations.
“There you go!” he said.
After wiping her hands on her apron, Millie unearthed her notary book and stamp from under the counter, bustled over, and settled at their table.
She and Trenton produced their ID, Millie dutifully eyed their driver licenses, stamped next to their signatures on the escrow document, and then recorded in her book.
