A Family Affair: Spring: Truth in Lies, Book 2 (7 page)

“Betty,” Jack said in a gruff voice, “those
kind of people ain’t askin’ about the likes of you and me. They get a bead on something and they don’t see anything else. Not you, me, a dog. Nothin’ but their target.” He scratched his stubbled jaw and pushed back his ball cap. “Something tells me you were the target, Nate.”

“Pretty much.”
And she’d nailed him, dead on.

“
Gonna tell us what she wanted?” When Nate didn’t spit it out, Jack added, “Want us to guess?”

“Nope.”
Would Gloria try to see Christine? She might have said she’d only come to see him, but a woman like that couldn’t be trusted with anything, especially the truth. “I’ve got to go. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Nate? Aren’t you even going to give us a tiny clue?” Betty’s question reached him but he was out the door and in his truck before she could try to corner him for details. He had to get to Christine in case Gloria tried to see her daughter. But even as the idea flitted through his brain, he admitted the bigger reason he needed to see his wife:
He needed reassurance they were in this marriage together, for better, for worse, and she wasn’t going to leave him once she realized he didn’t deserve her.

Christine sat beside Nate on the piano bench while he played Beethoven’s
“Moonlight Sonata.” She rested her head on his shoulder, her hand on his jean-clad thigh. This was peace, pure, absolute. Nights like these calmed her more than any massage or yoga class ever had. When she was with Nate, life made sense. He wasn’t big on words or showy gestures, other than the ones that counted like
I love you
, and
You’re a part of me
. There were times when she caught him studying her with such intensity, it unnerved her ,and while Nate had opened his world and his heart to her, there was still a part of him that was a loner. Maybe he’d always be that way, or maybe it would take years and a history together before he’d truly open up. But the thoughts were there, the yearning brushing the surface of his emotions even if he couldn’t always voice them. One day he would. She believed this as much as she believed in him and his steadfast commitment to do the right thing. Christine closed her eyes and drifted with the music, her body growing languid, her breath matching the soft cadence of the melody.

“Your mother visited me today,” Nate said, his voice blending with the notes. At first she didn’t think she heard him correctly, but then the music stopped and he repeated the words in the same tone of casualness. “Your mother visited me today.”

She straightened and stared at him. “My mother?”

His dark eyes turned opaque, his expression closed. “Oh, yes. Gloria was in Magdalena. She came to the shop.”

She sipped in air, tried to focus as visions of her mother and Nate in the same room took shape. It was not a welcome sight. “I haven’t spoken to her in months, and she just flitted in to see you?” Why would she do that? Christine knew why, had wondered if her mother would have the audacity to actually make an appearance in the town her father considered “home”. The more important question was, Where was she now?

Nate’s jaw
tensed, the lines around his mouth hardened. Whatever Gloria had “flitted” in about had not been a happy occasion. “I guess I wouldn’t use the word
flit
; that’s too low-brow for your mother. She’s first-class all the way.” He paused, his gaze even more unreadable. “And she made sure I knew that.”

Christine stroked his
stubbled jaw. He had no idea how quickly or viciously her mother could let someone know his insignificance. “Oh, Nate, I’m sorry you had to deal with that. My mother is very difficult in the best of circumstances.” What an understatement. “She’s got a lot of issues, and with me leaving, I’m sure she’s looking for someone to blame.” She could not tell him about her mother and Uncle Harry. If she did, she’d have to confess the rest, and that was too painful and surreal to acknowledge. Even now, all these months later, Christine kept that secret in the corner of her subconscious, pulling it out in the blackness of night when she was certain no one would catch a glimpse of her face and guess the truth. “She’s trying to punish me for choosing you and this life over the one I left in Chicago.”

He eased her hand onto her thigh and looked away. “She was pretty damn convincing.”

“What did she say?” It wouldn’t take much to guess what her mother had said in her sophisticated voice, her gestures and non-gestures equally demeaning.

He studied the music in front of him as if the notes held the answers to her questions. The only answers would be from a psychiatrist’s evaluation and her mother would never submit to one of those. “That you’re too good for me, that you don’t belong here.” He paused, squinted at the pages in front of him. “That you married the wrong guy. You
know, typical mother-in-law stuff.”

More like typical Gloria
Blacksworth. Any thoughts of mending her relationship with her mother disintegrated the second Nate started talking. He was her husband, she loved him, and she would not let her mother’s manipulative attempts ruin her life or those she loved. Christine clasped Nate’s hand, leaned in and kissed his temple. “Don’t let her get inside your head. She’s a very unhappy person and she’ll try to ruin us.”

He let out a laugh filled with disgust. “That’s an understatement.”

“She’s not going to get away with treating you this way.” Damn her. Did she really think this type of behavior would make Christine want to mend their relationship? “Did she say where she was staying?”

“I got the impression she made the trip to meet me and you weren’t part of the equation.” He shrugged. “Of course, we both know you’re the whole equation, while I’m merely irrelevant data.”

“You have to forget everything she said.”

Nate turned and looked at her, his dark gaze burrowing straight to her soul. “She was right about one thing.” His voice dipped lower. “You do deserve better than me.” He swept a hand around the room.
“Better than this.”

Panic swirled through her, settled in her chest. “Don’t say that.”

“Why? A log cabin that’s probably smaller than your mother’s foyer? A town that likes you but hasn’t decided if you’re worthy of their trust?”

“Nate—”

“A husband who will never be able to buy you what you’re used to, what you deserve?”

Now he sounded like the old Nate, the one who didn’t want to need anyone.

“That’s absolutely not true. We’re meant for each other.” She placed a soft kiss on his mouth. When he didn’t respond, she pulled back and thrust her disappointment at him. “You’re going to let the words of a bitter woman come between us?”

The left side of his jaw twitched. “The bitter woman is your mother, and while I knew she was a tough lady, I didn’t expect her to have the ability to make me feel like a hillbilly piece of scum.”

“It’s what she does and why everyone always scurried around so they wouldn’t upset her. Heaven forbid if Dad was a second late for his welcome-home dinner. I went on shopping trips with her and bought clothes I knew I’d never wear again because I didn’t want to disappoint her. Even poor Uncle Harry tried to keep his mouth shut so she wouldn’t throw a tantrum. Appease, appease, appease. I was even going to marry a man I didn’t love, just so I wouldn’t upset her.”     The anger she’d held inside for so many months burst forth, coated her next words. “But guess what? It wouldn’t have been enough. She would have continued to insinuate her disappointments on everyone around her, especially me, until I had the number of children she wanted, named them the names she selected, even signed them up for her preferred schools. And I would have ended up just like her: drinking and self-medicating while I stumbled through a designer-clad life, disconnected from my husband and children, disconnected from myself.”

Christine swiped at her eyes. “I am not my mother and I will not be defined by her.” Her voice turned cold, challenging. “And if you think so little of me, so little of us, that you would believe her sick words, then maybe I am too good for you.”

Anger flashed across his face, but he remained silent, assessing her words, drawing his own conclusions. Nate was a hard man to love, and an even harder one to convince he was wrong. She waited for him to say something, anything, even a nod so they could start to talk about it. But he didn’t, or maybe he couldn’t. The anger on his face smoothed and shifted into something altogether different: fear. Was he afraid she’d leave him?

“I’m not going anywhere.
For better, for worse, right?” She offered him a smile, touched his arm. “I’ll be here for you, even when you’re a thick-headed idiot who doesn’t recognize commitment when it hits you in the face.”

His lips twitched, his dark eyes grew bright. “Now that’s a phrase that will win me over every time.” He pulled her to him, framed her face with his large hands and kissed her. “I guess I can be an idiot once in a while,” he murmured, nipping her bottom lip.

Christine sighed and pressed her body against his. This conversation wasn’t over, even if her husband thought it was. Time and patience would show him there was no need to worry; she wasn’t leaving him. “I said a thick-headed idiot.”

He laughed and slid a hand up her thigh. “Do you think this thick-headed idiot can entice you to bed?”

“Hmm. Let me think.” She traced the zipper of his jeans. “Oh, I absolutely think he can.”

***

Harry stood outside of Greta’s tiny house and studied his list. Who knew spilling your guts could be confined to a 3x5 lined note card? Not him, that was for sure. But here he was, a fool in a gray suit and a lavender tie, squinting at the card because he’d left his readers in the car and dusk was settling in. Oh hell, he’d practiced the damn speech so many times he didn’t need the card to prompt him. He’d come here because the last eighteen days had been a mix of torture and agony, with Greta in the middle of it all. From that fatal luncheon when she’d witnessed Bridgett purring and pouring herself all over him, Greta hadn’t spoken one personal word to him. What do you think about adding portobello mushrooms stuffed with zucchini and topped with Parmesan cheese to the menu was not a conversation starter. He’d attempted a few jokes, even recycled ones that had once made her burst out laughing, but he got nothing. Dead stare, pinched lips, nose in the air. She could do a good impression of Gloria without even trying.

And forget the Sunday dinners. She’d shut those down so hard and fast
, he’d have better luck getting a seat at Gloria’s table. The whole thing didn’t sit well. He’d told her he wasn’t the commitment kind, and she’d gone and spouted off about what a good man he was, yada, yada… But she’d changed her tune when Bridgett strolled in with her skin-tight dress and five-inch heels. He might have been able to pass her off as his assistant, though probably not, but once she started on about the missing earring—in his bed—he was cooked. It’s not that he wanted to lie to Greta, but he hadn’t wanted to throw his depravity at her. He’d done more than that; he’d dunked her in the stench of his deeds and held her there until she’d emerged filled with repulsion and disbelief. And that had given him more to think about than he cared to admit.

Maybe it was time to change his act, grow up,
become a caring human being. Hell, maybe even attempt an adult relationship that started and continued past the bedroom. He wouldn’t be pushed, though, not by Greta’s disappointment or her expectations. He scanned the note card once again.
Your absence has caused me to reconsider my actions, which were a grievous offense against you.
What the hell did that mean? He must have been kicked when he wrote it.
Can we start again, fresh? See where it takes us?
See where it takes us? That sounded like code for heading down the aisle. How had that snuck in there? Harry yanked at his tie and vowed to scratch it from the list.
I miss you
.
Nope.
Why don’t we spend some time together, start slow?
Argh.
How about we take the kids to the zoo on Sunday and then out for pizza?
Okay, now he was going to puke. He could not picture himself on the best of days taking a kid to the zoo to watch a bunch of stinky animals fornicate and crap.

He crammed the note card in his pants pocket and turned to leave, pissed that he’d let an errant emotion like loneliness slip through and land him on Greta’s doorstep. Just because he’d broken off his sleepovers with Bridgett didn’t mean he’d done it for Greta or that he wanted her to invite him in for coffee and conversation.

“Harry?”

Damn. He swung around and there she
was, the thorn in his conscience; blonde, curvy, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, and looking more delectable than a golden pound cake topped with blueberries and cream. “Hello, Greta.” Harry shoved his hands in his pockets and moved toward her as though he were out for a stroll and had just happened upon her street. “Looks like another nice day.”

She stepped outside and closed the door behind her. Her feet were bare, her toenails a bright pink.
Dainty. Sexy as hell. “Harry? What are you doing here?”

“Me?”
Trying not to look like a jerk. “Oh, I don’t know.” He shrugged. “I’ve always liked driving this time of year, seeing the landscape turn green, the flowers popping, you know. Kind of picks you up.” What kind of bullshit just fell out of his mouth? She looked at him like she thought he was a whack job. Damn, but she had the bluest eyes he’d ever seen. He could get lost in them, float around like he was in the Caribbean…

“Harry? Harry!”

“What?” He cleared his throat and pretended he’d been deep in concentration, not daydreaming about her like some schoolboy imbecile.

“Is something wrong at the restaurant?” Her eyebrows knitted together and she bit her lower lip. “I hired a new waitress. Did you meet her? Was she not acceptable?” Before he could think of an answer, she barreled on
. “I know she’s young but I’ll work with her. She needs this job, Harry. Please don’t be harsh on her. Everyone deserves a chance.”

“What are you talking about? I didn’t come here about a waitress.” He rubbed his temples and sighed. “If you say she’ll learn, then she’ll learn. Just make sure she knows the difference between Pecorino Romano and Parmesan cheese.”

Greta offered a faint smile. “I will. Thank you.” And then, “Why are you here?”

Her voice was soft, close to a caress if he had to categorize it. Damn tempting. That was the problem with Greta
Servensen: Everything about the woman was too damn tempting. Oh, what the hell? A tiny bit of honesty wasn’t going to kill him. “I came because I missed you.”