Wyoming True

by Diana Palmer

  He stared at her blankly for a minute. “Physics, huh? Are you sure you didn’t study fortune-telling?” he probed, but he was smiling.

  She laughed softly. “Sorry.”

  “Yes, he made her pay for it, over and over, until I was old enough and mean enough to make him stop.” His face hardened. “There’s nothing in the world I hate more than a woman beater.”

  “You and the sheriff, from what I hear,” she said.

  “His mother was the victim of an alcoholic father,” he replied. “Cody had an older brother who was sensitive and kind. He loved his mother, but he was afraid of his father, who hit him, as well. He tried to interfere with his father just once, when he was hitting his mother, and he was beaten bloody for it. Two days afterward Cody’s brother took his own life. Cody said his father didn’t even go to the funeral.”

  “Oh, the poor man!” she exclaimed, and her sympathy was obvious and not pretended. “And he’s so kind!”

  “Yes, he is,” Jake replied. He was trying to cope with a bad memory of his own, of a brother he’d had and lost to tragedy. He understood how Cody had felt.

  “What happened to his father?”

  “Died of a heart attack when Cody graduated from high school and joined the army.”

  “Just as well. His mother?”

  “She was always frail. One winter she caught pneumonia, viral pneumonia. She was alone in the house because Cody was overseas, and by a quirk of fate, the distant cousin by marriage who was supposed to be staying with her didn’t show up. His mother died.”

  Ida just shook her head.

  “As you might imagine, he and the cousin never speak. I understand that she tried to explain, but he wouldn’t listen. She was only sixteen at the time. I always felt that Cody rushed to judgment. People usually have reasons for what they do, and the girl wasn’t flighty or mean-spirited.”

  “He blamed himself, but it was easier to blame the cousin,” she murmured.

  His intake of breath was audible. “Do you always do that?” he asked.

  She looked at him with both eyebrows raised. “Do what?” she asked, all at sea.

  “See things that most of us miss.”

  She averted her eyes from his piercing silver ones. “I suppose I’ve become introspective from spending so much time alone.”

  “No boyfriends, in other words.”

  She shook her head. “Never again,” she said, the words rough and angry.

  He frowned. “Ida, there are kind men in the world.”

  “Maybe they look that way,” she said. “Even act that way. Then they get you behind a closed door...” She stopped abruptly and drew in a breath. “Where are we going exactly?” she asked with a social smile.

  She was far more damaged than he’d realized. He wondered just what else her ex-husband had done to her and was surprised that he cared.

  “This little fish place I know,” he replied after a minute. “Best fried oysters on both coasts.”

  “And you’d know this, how?” she asked with a little smile.

  He grinned. “Because I’ve eaten at most of them. I can pick a restaurant.”

  “Can you, now?” she chuckled.

  “Wait and see,” was all he said.

  * * *

  THE RESTAURANT WAS a tiny little hole-in-the-wall in a strip mall, right on the ocean. There was a back patio where people could sit at a small table and eat while they watched the waves come in, foaming on the white sand.

  “This is absolutely charming,” Ida exclaimed when they sat, waiting for their order. “They could make money just renting the tables!”

  He laughed softly. “I agree. It’s a beautiful place.”

  “I lived in Massachusetts while I was going through college,” she recalled. “I loved the ocean. My husband actually bought a hotel on the ocean near Boston so that I’d have a nice place to go on weekends and holidays.”

  He felt a pang of something he couldn’t quite identify. “Kind of him.”

  She smiled. “He was like that. He sent me to Paris on our first wedding anniversary and had a personal tour guide take me everywhere I wanted to go. It was the grandest trip! I’d never even been out of the country. I saw Versailles and the Eiffel Tower and the Louvre...”

  “He didn’t go with you?”

  “No.” She sighed. “I never knew why until he died.”

  He was thinking of Paris, how exciting it could be. He’d been in love once, with a model who’d worked there. He’d followed her to Paris, and they’d had an exciting few months while the affair lasted. Sadly, she was just getting over a failed affair, and just when Jake was ready to give her a ring, her old boyfriend came back and she was gone, just like that. It had left him with a bad taste in his mouth and an undeserved prejudice against the City of Light.

  “You’re brooding,” she said.

  He snapped out of it. “Sorry. Bad memories.”

  She cocked her head, pondering that.

  His dark eyebrows drew together. “No mind reading.”

  She held up both hands. “I know nothing.”

  “I’ll bet,” he murmured under his breath, because she was the most perceptive female he’d ever known.

  “No, really, I know nothing.” Her blue eyes twinkled. “You might decide to take me home before the oysters get here, if I open my mouth.”

  That provoked him out of his brief bad mood and he chuckled. “Point taken.”

  * * *

  “THESE ARE...UNBELIEVABLY DELICIOUS,” she moaned as she dipped a second delicately fried oyster in red sauce and popped it into her mouth. “Even better than the ones in Galveston, and those were out of this world!”

  He grinned. “I told you so.” He was eating his own with as much gusto as she was. “The owner could open a franchise if he wanted to. The spices are a very old family recipe, and he has a deft hand with breading, which he does himself. But he’s very content to carry on here.”

  “A happy man,” she replied. “And very lucky.”

  He drew in a breath and sipped cappuccino. “Happiness is a rare thing.”

  She nodded. “Exactly.”

  He studied her while she ate, his eyes going from the deep circles under her blue eyes to her long-fingered hands.

  “Is my hair on crooked?” she asked after a minute, both eyebrows arched.

  He laughed out loud. “No. I was just noticing the dark circles under your eyes,” he said honestly. “You don’t sleep much, do you?”

  She grimaced. “It’s a little unnerving,” she said finally. “Bailey made some pretty bad threats.” She looked up. “He doesn’t really threaten. He does what he says he will.” She shivered a little, remembering some of them.

  Jake winced, but he didn’t let her see. “You’ve been through a lot.”

  “Oh, yes, but everybody has problems,” she replied and smiled. “Mine are no worse than someone else’s. You just put one foot in front of the other and keep going.”

  “Sound advice.”

  They finished the oysters and had a second cup of coffee with a delicate little torte that was one of the specialties of the house.

  “What is this?” she exclaimed when she’d taken a bite of it. “My goodness, it’s awesome!”

  “Almond torte,” he chuckled. “It’s good, isn’t it? Mack makes these himself, too. He has a cook, but the man spends a lot of time twiddling his thumbs. Mack loves his kitchen.”

  “You know him,” she guessed.

  He nodded. His face hardened. “He was overseas with me, when we went into Iraq the second time.”

  She grimaced, because that hard face was briefly vulnerable. “I’m so sorry.”

  His eyes lifted to hers and he scowled. “About what?”

  “Bad memories,” she said quietly. “They show.” Before he could p
ull up an angry retort, she added, “I have them, too.”

  Which curtailed the hot words on the tip of his tongue. He drew in a breath and laughed. “You have a knack for disarming me.”

  “I’ve been through the wars, too, even though I’ve never been in combat. It...hardens you,” she said after a minute.

  He could have retorted that it had only made her more vulnerable. She saw deep inside him. He wasn’t sure he liked it. Most of his dates, with the exception of Mina, had been shallow women, with eyes for diamonds and high living. None of them had Ida’s ability to feel the emotions of people around her. It was a true gift. He wondered if she even realized it.

  * * *

  AFTER LUNCH IDA expected him to head for the airport. Instead, he caught her hand in his and walked her out to the beach behind the strip mall.

  The feel of his big hand holding hers made her feel awkward just at first, but it was warm and strong, and after a minute, she relaxed.

  He felt that, smiling inwardly.

  “I love the ocean,” she said softly. “I collect beaches.” She laughed. “My favorite was in Morocco. I spent a couple of weeks in Tangier. There were camels dancing in and out of the surf,” she recalled with soft eyes.

  “I’ve been to Tangier,” he replied. “Fascinating city. Did you see the church that the Berbers gave to the Christians?”

  She laughed. “Yes. It was a surprise.” She sighed. “But what I loved most about the city, even more than the bazaar and the wonderful food, was the call to prayer broadcast over the loudspeakers. I don’t know why, exactly. It was beautiful.”

  The hand holding hers was suddenly stiff. She recalled that he’d fought overseas, probably fought some of the people who would have loved those calls to prayer. She stopped suddenly and looked up at him. “I’m sorry.”

  His eyes were like steel plates, but he wasn’t looking at her. His eyes were on the ocean, and he didn’t speak.

  She never touched men voluntarily. Not since Bailey. But she moved, hesitantly, closer to Jake and slid her arms around him, laying her cheek against the soft chambray of his shirt. She held him, just held him. After a minute she felt something like a shudder go through his powerful body, and his arms closed around her a little roughly.

  She didn’t mind. He was familiar to her, in a way that she didn’t understand. She closed her eyes and drew in a long breath.

  He stood holding her, letting her hold him, while the anguish of memory slowly faded. His hand smoothed up and down her spine.

  “You can’t live in the past,” she said after a minute. “No matter how painful it is, you have to keep moving forward.”

  “You stole that line from Meet the Robertsons,” he chided at her temple, because she only came up to his chin.

  She laughed unexpectedly. “Don’t tell me you watch cartoon movies!”

  He smiled. “One of my vice presidents had a little boy, about seven at the time. It was his favorite movie. I’d go to his home for supper occasionally, and the whole family gathered around to watch the movie with him.” His hand stilled. “He was the sweetest kid.” He broke off.

  She drew back and looked up at him. “What happened?”

  “His father was late getting to work. He jumped into the car and didn’t realize that the little boy was standing behind it.”

  “Dear God,” she whispered reverently.

  “He lost his mind,” he said. “Quit his job, left his wife, ended up on the streets and died of a respiratory infection one winter as an indigent. I tried to find him after he left my mining company, but he didn’t want to be found. He went back East to New York City and just lost himself in the crowds. He was identified through his fingerprints—I’d made all my employees submit theirs, so they were kept on file. It was a wrench. I had him brought back to Billings, where he was buried.”

  “What happened to his wife?” she asked.

  “She went to live with a sister in Phoenix,” he said. “She came to the funeral.” His face hardened. “I don’t think she ever remarried. She loved him, right up until the end. She forgave him. But he couldn’t forgive himself.”

  She didn’t say a word. She put her cheek back on his shirt and just stood there, with the breeze whipping around them and the sound of the surf curling on the beach and the infrequent cry of a seagull.

  “You’re restful,” he commented after a minute.

  She smiled. “That’s a new adjective.”

  He chuckled. “You have a knack for calming me down. I lean toward extremes of emotion.”

  “I used to be like that.”

  “What happened?”

  “Ibuprofen,” she murmured dryly.

  He didn’t laugh, as she meant him to. He drew back. “Is your hip hurting?”

  She grimaced. “Just a little. No, I don’t want to go yet, please?” she asked. “I love beaches, too.” Her blue eyes pleaded.

  “Okay. Just for a few minutes.”

  She grinned.

  * * *

  THEY WALKED ALONG the beach, hand in hand. It was invigorating, the sound of the ocean, the whip of the wind, the foaming churn of the surf dancing in and out of the beach.

  “Oh, look, a shell!” she exclaimed and pulled away from him long enough to pick it up.

  “It’s just a seashell, not a treasure,” he teased.

  She turned it over. It was a simple shell, but perfect, with the softest pink inside and gray perfection outside. “I’ll keep it as a souvenir,” she said.

  “I can get you something from one of the shops...” he began.

  She looked up, surprised. “No,” she said. “That’s not...well, it’s not really a souvenir, is it? I mean, things in shops come from everywhere.” She turned the shell over in her hands. “This came from here, from this beach.” She made a face and lifted soft blue eyes to his. “I’m not putting it well.”

  “Yes, you are,” he replied. He looked at her hands. They were bare. No diamonds, no jewelry of any sort. She was worth millions, from what he’d heard, but she didn’t wear her wealth. Not even a small part of it. “Don’t you like jewelry?” he asked abruptly.

  Her thin eyebrows arched. “Excuse me?”

  “You aren’t wearing rings or bracelets.”

  She studied his face quietly. “I don’t like rings and bracelets,” she said. “They get in my way when I’m working clay.”

  His own eyebrows arched. “Clay?”

  “I like to sculpt. It’s a hobby I started when I was in high school, before my mother died. She used to throw pots, but I like making busts.” She laughed. “It’s great exercise for my hands.”

  He shook his head. He’d never met such a complex person. “Physics and sculpting.” His silver eyes twinkled. “Starships and canoes,” he murmured absently.

  “Freeman Dyson,” she retorted immediately.

  He burst out laughing. “Yes. Dyson. It was a great book. He was quite famous for his theory.”

  “The Dyson Spheres,” she agreed. “I wonder if our civilization will ever advance to the point that we might actually employ them?”

  “Between the two of us, I seriously doubt it. There have been some massive, civilization-ending events in the past. They weren’t even discovered until late in the last century. When they noticed a layer of iridium that went all the way around the planet, and deduced that it was from a collision between the earth and—”

  “An asteroid,” she finished for him.

  He grinned. “Exactly. Luis Alvarez proposed the theory in the early 1980s, noting that a layer of iridium marked the Cretaceous-Tertiary or K-T boundary. Since iridium is a very rare element on this planet, but fairly common in asteroids, Alvarez proposed the asteroid theory.” He stared at her with admiration. “You’re constantly surprising me.”

  “I have geek issues,” she returned with a little lau
gh.

  “Geek issues.” He sighed. He caught her hand back in his and they walked some more. “Do you know what true geekdom is?” he asked lightly.

  “No. Do tell.”

  “It’s when you look at your weather apps to see if it’s raining, instead of opening the curtains and looking out the window.”

  She burst out laughing. So did he.

  “Do you do that?” she asked.

  He shrugged. “Once in a while.”

  “Me, too.”

  “I live on apps that cover weather, space, volcanoes, earthquakes, that sort of geeky stuff, when I’m not up to my neck in business matters.”

  “I have five earthquake apps, two volcano ones and about six weather apps,” she confessed.

  He beamed. “Well!”

  “I guess it comes from spending so much time alone.”

  “How about social media?” he asked.

  “Twitter.”

  He named a few others.

  She shook her head. “I don’t mix well,” she replied. “And I wouldn’t air my dirty linen online, no matter how popular it is.”

  “I feel the same way.”

  They walked some more. She still had her pretty seashell in one hand. She turned it over in her fingers and looked at it. She knew that she’d keep it forever. And every time she looked at it, she’d remember walking on the beach in St. Augustine with Jake.

  * * *

  THEY WERE ALMOST back at the restaurant when he spotted something in the surf. He let go of her hand to retrieve it.

  His was a tiny spiral seashell, but it also had the delicate pink coloring inside. He gave it to her.

  “It’s pretty,” she said.

  He took it back, to her surprise. “Souvenir,” he said absently and stuck it in his shirt pocket without further comment.

  She felt odd. Happy. Safe. But her emotions were in turmoil. She wasn’t sure what was happening to her. She wasn’t sure she liked it, either.

  They went back home with a strange silence between them. It was pleasant, but disturbing. The ease of speaking to one another seemed to have been replaced with an odd restlessness. Ida didn’t understand why. But she smiled and made small talk just to relieve the tension.