Beauty & the Beasts (14 page)

There hadn’t been a time since their divorce when he would have answered yes. He enjoyed the company of women; he liked their softness; he liked sex. There was always someone. But “seriously”?

The minute she asked, he had a sudden picture of Madeline. A cat was draped over her shoulder of course, and she was listening with that intense focus that let him know she wasn’t just looking attentive, she
was
attentive. Then in a blink, that picture was gone and another took its place. In this one he’d just kissed her, and she was smiling up at him, her eyes dreamy, a smile gently curving her mouth. And God,
she was beautiful! His body tightened at no more than the fleeting memory.

“Yeah,” he heard himself say slowly. “Yeah, I think I am.”

“You
think?”

“We haven’t known each other that long,” he said defensively. “I’m too old to jump into things.”

“Hah!” Noreen scoffed. “I bet you don’t have a gray hair on your head! There’s no justice. The only reason
I
don’t is because my hairdresser sees to it.”

He smiled, even if she couldn’t see him. “I probably have ’em, too.”

“With hair as blond as yours, you’ll just turn white and never notice.” She heaved a sigh. “Why am I talking about you when my adoring new husband is no doubt pacing down in the lobby, waiting to take me out for an exotic meal?”

“I don’t know. Why are you?” He grinned and, before she could say something tart, added, “Enjoy yourself, Noreen. I mean it. Don’t give Garth another thought. He’s just throwing a giant temper tantrum. They didn’t impress us when he was two and they shouldn’t now. You have a right to remarry. He’ll come around.”

Her voice was thick with tears again. “Yes. Thank you, Eric. I’ll…I’ll call in a week or two.” The line went dead.

He hung up the phone, stood indecisively for a moment, then decided to take the bull by the horns. Something he literally had to do on occasion. He’d rather do the real thing than confront his rebellious son.

Eric strode down the hall and knocked on Garth’s door.

“Yeah?” The voice was sullen.

“May I come in?”

“It’s your house.”

He wouldn’t dignify that one with an argument. He opened the door and went in. Garth was stretched out on the bed as usual, holding the headphones he’d obviously just pulled off.

“You should give your mother a break,” Eric said mildly.

“What do you know about it?” the boy said with a sneer. “Just ‘cause you listened to
her
side…”

“I’d listen to yours if you want to tell it to me.” Eric sat down on the bed. “But I don’t want you to forget that she’s a nice lady. Maybe not perfect, but she tries to do her best. And she loves you.”

“And
Chuckie.” Garth said the name with loathing. His face twisted with hate.

“Yeah. And Chuck. But it’s not a competition. I know you don’t believe me right now, but eventually you’ll figure it out What she feels for him is nothing like what she feels for you.”

“Oh, right.” Garth turned his face away. His voice was muffled. “Is that all you came for?”

“No.” He clapped his son on the shoulder. “Why don’t you give Madeline a call? See if she can meet us at the shelter. No reason to leave those poor kittens in a cage when they could be getting used to your room.”

Garth shot up onto his elbows. He blinked fiercely
to hide tears, but his face was lit with excitement. “Now? Can we?”

“If she’s around.”

“Cool!” Garth scrambled off the bed. “I’ll go call her.”

“You do that.”

Eric followed more slowly. He was damned near as excited as Garth, just because their errand meant he’d see Madeline briefly.

A puppy dog. That was all he was. Desperate for a kind word and a pat on the head.

Although a kiss would be better.

CHAPTER EIGHT

A
JADE GREEN
C
HEVROLET
was parked in Madeline’s driveway. She pulled in beside it, her gaze immediately finding the rental-company sticker in the back window. Her mother had arrived

Shutting off the engine, Madeline pulled the key out of the ignition but didn’t immediately reach to unfasten her seat belt or open the car door. Instead, she leaned her head back and closed her eyes, trying to…what? Marshal some psychic energy, she decided. She wasn’t exactly bracing herself—after all, her mother was a perfectly pleasant guest who picked up after herself, had lovely dinners ready most nights when Madeline worked and only got in a dig about the cats every other day or so.

And yet…Madeline sighed so deeply her hair stirred against her forehead. Sometimes she thought her mother’s visits would have been less of a strain if they’d yelled at each other nonstop. It was the politeness that got to her, the unspoken words, the…the carefulness with which they conversed. Within twenty-four hours she’d want to scream, by the end of three days she’d be making excuses not to be home, and at the end of the visit she’d kiss her mother’s cheek, wish her goodbye and thank God.

Or maybe this year she’d have snapped by then. Especially if Mom stayed as long as she’d hinted she might. Why now? Madeline wondered, rubbing her forehead

After a moment she grimaced, unsnapped her seat belt, grabbed her purse and got out. On the way up the front steps, she glued a smile on her face.

Good thing, too, because the door was flung open before she reached it. “Madeline!” Mrs. Howard said with apparent pleasure, stepping out to meet her. A cat scooted between her ankles and she started, but—thank goodness—didn’t complain, saying only, “You’re home earlier than I expected.”

“Yes, business was quiet, so I left one of my employees to close up.” Madeline submitted to the obligatory hug and kiss that didn’t quite touch her cheek.

Stepping back, she studied her mother. Fifty-six years old, she was still a stunning-looking woman. The genes that had blessed and cursed Madeline had come from her, not Madeline’s long-absent father. Her hair was darker than Madeline’s, and no gray had been allowed to mar the smooth sweep to an elegant French twist. She was still slim to the point of fragility, but she didn’t appear to be wasting away. Her brown eyes were serene, not sunken from illness or depression. Her makeup had been flawlessly applied and hadn’t dared smear or run. If she was dying of cancer or heart disease, she was doing a damned good job of denying its existence.

So why the insistence on a good long visit when she’d never before spent longer than a week?

“Well. Shall we go in?” Madeline suggested. “Did you have a good trip?”

“Oh, flying is always dull.” Gloria Howard crinkled her nose, to Madeline looking uncannily like she did herself with the same expression. “But then,” her mother said, “I suppose one wouldn’t want a flight
not
to be dull. I prefer my excitement to happen when I have both feet on the ground.”

Madeline laughed, some of her tension slipping away. “How true.” She put down her purse on the side table in the entryway. “Are you settled in?”

“Yes, but I didn’t have a chance to get dinner on,” she fussed. “I did notice you’ve stocked up.”

“Of course I did! But I wish you wouldn’t feel you had to cook every night.”

“I’m sure you don’t have a well-rounded diet when I’m not here,” her mother said, mouth pursing. “I just like to do what I can to remedy that.”

The headache crept back. “Mom, look at me.” Madeline held out her arms and rotated. “I’m not horribly skinny, I’m not putting on unwanted weight, and my complexion is good, reflecting my virtuous life.” She let her arms drop. “Come on, Mom. Give me a break.”

At this point she ought to suggest going to a nice restaurant in Everett. No eatery in White Horse would please her mother. And Madeline always tiptoed around where her mother was concerned. It had never seemed worth provoking more criticism. But she found suddenly that something inside her had changed. She felt…impatient. Freer, somehow, and unwilling to remake herself for several weeks. So
what if she shocked, her mother? she thought, the impatience becoming more akin to recklessness.

“Let’s go out for pizza,” she said.

“Pizza?” her mother echoed.

“Why not? It’ll be good for you.” Madeline headed for her bedroom, where three cats snoozed on her bed. “Just let me get out of this dress and into jeans.”

“Jeans?”

Madeline stuck her head back around the door frame. “Why don’t you put on jeans, too?”

Her mother was staring at her in astonishment. Madeline ducked back into her bedroom and let her mother think it over. After a moment she heard Mrs. Howard say, “Well, I suppose…”

Two minutes later Madeline came out wearing jeans and a T-shirt depicting a woman who had obviously just been sleeping but who now had a cat sitting on her chest, its nose almost touching hers as he willed her to get up and feed him. Maggie followed Madeline, meowing insistently.

“No, I won’t feed you,” Madeline told her. “You know I don’t open cans till later. It won’t do you any good to beg.”

Arms raised as she bundled up her hair, she came face-to-face with her mother coming out of the guest room. To Madeline’s astonishment, she, too, had changed. Her stylish jeans had a knife-sharp crease down the front, and her peach-colored sleeveless knit top had a matching jacket, so the outfit wasn’t exactly ultracasual, but still…

Madeline blinked. “That was quick.”

“I never waste a great deal of time on makeup or clothes,” Mrs. Howard said primly. “You know that.”

Startled, Madeline thought back. Her mother was always so impeccably turned out Madeline had come to think of her as obsessed with appearance, but it was true that she couldn’t ever remember waiting for her or seeing her spend more than five minutes in front of a mirror. She’d just assumed…And she hated people who assumed something and didn’t bother to find out the truth.

She gave her head a shake. The knot held. “I’m hungry. Shall we go? I’ll drive.”

“Yes, fine.”

“Uh…I wouldn’t leave that door open if you don’t want cats in there.”

Her mother hastily closed the bedroom door. “It’s not very…restful, having so many of them. Wouldn’t you be happy with just one or two?”

“Nope.” Madeline strove to sound cheerful. “I enjoy every one of them. To each her own.”

“I suppose so,” Mrs. Howard agreed grudgingly.

White Horse Pizza Parlor was on the main street. The tables were metal with Formica tops, the booths vinyl-upholstered. But the pizzas were divine, the breadlike crusts thick and chewy, the sauce spicy, the cheese subtly flavored without being greasy. And there were no video games, which meant no beeps or crashes or rat-a-tat of mock gunfire overpowered the murmur of voices. This was one of Madeline’s favorite restaurants. She had never brought her mother here before.

But Mrs. Howard looked cautiously around, sniffed and said, “I hope the pizza is as good as it smells.”

“Better,” Madeline told her.

They agreed on plain cheese—it needed no embellishment—and ordered salads, then settled at a booth to wait for their food. It was these moments Madeline dreaded; they had nothing meaningful to say to each other. Either they sat in stiff silence, or Mrs. Howard criticized under the guise of concern.

But the recklessness persisted; her mother had insisted on coming and making her stay longer than a week, so she might as well be inculcated into real life, á la Madeline.

“On Saturday I’m doing an adoption day for the shelter,” she said without preamble. “Why don’t you come?”

It was her mother’s turn to look startled. “Why… that would be interesting,” she said, her tone holding only a hint that she was dubious. “What do you
do
at one of these?”

“I put the cats in cages, if the store has them, or sometimes in a temporary kennel that we can set up at the front of the store. And then I sit there.” At her mother’s expression, she laughed. “I rarely do much sitting. I talk. Even people who aren’t interested in adopting like to stop and chat, tell me stories about their cats. And ones who are vaguely thinking about getting a cat want to hear all about each one. If you like people, it’s actually kind of fun.”

“Do
you like people?” Mrs. Howard asked.

What an odd question for a mother to ask her
grown daughter. But then, Madeline and her mother didn’t know each other very well anymore, if indeed they ever had.

“Actually I do,” she replied. “People, cats and horses, I’m discovering.”

Her mother arched one perfect brow, disapproval coloring her tone. “Horses? You haven’t gone into a new kind of rescue work, have you?”

“No, but I’ve been taking riding lessons.” She hesitated to tell her mother about Eric. But how could she avoid it, unless she made him stay away for the next few weeks? “Actually,” she admitted, “I’m seeing a man who’s giving me the lessons on his horse.”

“A man?” Mrs. Howard was obviously trying to sound only mildly interested. But her whole body quivered, like a pointer seeing a flock of ducks. “You never mention dating.”

“Don’t I?” Madeline left it at that. She was reluctant to admit she rarely dated. It sounded like a weakness, and she never exposed her weaknesses to her mother.

With a friendly smile but no finesse, the waitress arrived and plopped their salads in front of them. “Pizza’ll be along in a minute,” she assured them.

“Thank you,” Madeline said, picking up her fork.

Her mother did the same, but wasn’t about to be sidetracked. “Will I meet this man?”

“Probably.” What was that saying again? In for a penny, in for a pound? “His name is Eric Bergstrom. He’s a veterinarian here in town. He takes care of the cats at the shelter. He has a teenage son who’s
kind of a problem. Garth is here for the summer, but actually he and I are getting along fine. He’s volunteering at Ten Lives.”

Her mother bore an expression of stunned fascination. “Garth is volunteering? Or Eric?”

“Garth. Well, both actually. Eric isn’t charging us for his veterinary services. But Garth—who’s twelve, by the way—visits cats at the shelter, and he took two scared kittens home to get them used to people.”