Homecoming (22 page)
The truth was, he’d like nothing better than to go camping with Federica. Comfortable camping, not Dad’s variety. Maybe with a camper and a generator. Just take off somewhere, say around Mt. Shasta, maybe as far north as Crater Lake. There were some spectacular places he’d like to show her. Just go and stay away a week…a month…a year. It was crazy. They probably didn’t have more than another twenty-four hours together.
“I feel a little guilty being up here and letting Ellen stay down in town, all alone.” Federica interrupted his thoughts. “Especially after she came galloping to my rescue.”
“Well she can’t very well stay here, honey. There’s only one bed. And we’re occupying it.” Jack didn’t have to glance down to know that Federica was blushing. “She’ll be much more comfortable at Stella’s. Don’t worry. Wyatt will look after her. He said he’d show her around Carson’s Bluff, then feed her.”
“It doesn’t take much to show someone around Carson’s Bluff. A couple of hours is enough.”
“Oh, not for Wyatt,” Jack said. “And especially not with a beautiful woman. He’ll take her through the tri-county area before he’s through.”
Federica stirred uneasily. “I don’t know, Jack,” she said. “Do you think—”
“Don’t worry, honey,” Jack said firmly. He tightened his grip on her shoulder. “Ellen’s in good hands. She’ll be fed and entertained and taken very good care of, just like I told you. I don’t know what kind of impression you might have had of him, but Wyatt is a real gentleman. He wouldn’t ever make Ellen uncomfortable in any way…even if she did shoot him.”
Federica whipped around. “Come on, Jack, Ellen didn’t mean—”
Jack laughed. “Hey, loosen up.” He kneaded her shoulder muscles. For the first time in days, her muscles were tense. As tense as when she had first arrived. “Nobody’s going to press charges, least of all Wyatt, especially now that he’s got a war wound to brag about. We’ll never hear the end of it.”
Federica polished off the last bite of the cherry cobbler, put the pale pink dessert plate away and leaned back against Jack’s thigh, almost purring when he gently stroked her cheek with his forefinger.
“I can’t believe you get to live like this all the time,” she said suddenly.
“Get to live like what?” He bent to kiss the top of her head.
“Like this.” She waved a hand to include the Folly, the woods and the town and searched in frustration for the words to express her thoughts. “I don’t know…living in that beautiful little town, working with people you like at a job you like, surrounded by family, making your own hours…”
Jack could almost hear her muscles tensing up. He thought about what to say next. If there was to be any hope for them at all, he had to get it right.
“I live in a small town, Federica,” he said finally. His voice was soft, almost dispassionate, and he looked out over the lawn instead of down at her, but he kept stroking her cheek. “Carson’s Bluff
is
pretty, and it’s true that we all make a real effort to get along, but we’re only human and sometimes we get on each others’ nerves. The same with family.” He took a deep breath. “Don’t romanticize me or my life, Federica. I make forty thousand a year and I’ll probably never make much more than that. I don’t even want to. I’m happy with what I have. I don’t need a lot. I live in a small town and lead a quiet life and I will continue to do so until the day I die. This is my life and it’s enough for me.”
He stroked her cheek, wondering if he should say more. He could. He had the words. But she either understood what he was saying or she didn’t. The choice was right there in front of her, down in the valley. Twinkling lights and wood-frame houses. Friends and neighbors meeting up before dinner. Bikes in the driveways, barbecues firing up. No fancy dinner parties, no big events.
It was useless dressing Carson’s Bluff up. She either wanted that life or she didn’t.
She was either going to stay or she wasn’t.
Federica sipped her wine. The sky was a deep turquoise now. Soon, the lights in the valley below would start winking on, one by one. First Stella’s, then a few houses, then more, until Carson’s Bluff looked like a handful of diamonds against a black velvet backdrop. Funny how in just a short while she had grown used to the rhythms of Carson’s Bluff. When was the last time she had spent eight whole days in one place? She couldn’t even remember. Now it felt as if she had spent her entire life here, with Jack and Wyatt and Lilly and Stella.
Through a break in the oak stand, she could see the sun’s red crescent slip below the Earth. It was officially night now. Maybe her last night of peace. All of a sudden, she felt as if life were slipping through her fingers. Something precious, something irreplaceable was being lost, draining away as surely as the light was draining from the sky.
Leaving blackness.
“Jack.” Her voice was urgent as she tipped her face up to his.
“Yeah, honey?” Jack’s voice was soft and disembodied in the gathering darkness.
“Jack, make love to me.” Federica’s voice was shaking. She clenched her hand on his knee, then turned around. She rose on her knees, her arms snaking around his shoulders and pressed her face into his neck. A tear slipped out of her eye.
“Hey.” He cupped her face. “What’s the matter?”
“I want you to make love to me.” Another tear, hot and painful, slipped down. “Now.”
“Okay.” He kissed her gently, wiping the tears away with his thumb. “There’s an old Western custom we respect around here.”
“What?” She smiled through the tears.
Jack lowered his mouth. “Never say no to a lady.”
June 7th
EMAIL FROM: [email protected]
Federica,
I don’t know why you haven’t been in touch. We had put the Carson’s Bluff deal on the back burner for a while, but we have decided to go full speed ahead with it now. As a matter of fact, the old June 15th deadline no longer holds. The sooner we secure the property, the better.
As soon as you cinch the deal, you’ll be traveling to New York, London, Hamburg, Copenhagen, Kiev, in that order. We’ll want you in Kiev for some time, since we’re planning on expanding there. Get going with the sale, it’s part of our business plan for the second semester of the year, which looks very busy. We want you out of Carson’s Bluff as soon as possible.
Paul
“Hi, Ellen.” Federica slid into the booth at Stella’s. “You been waiting long?”
“No.” Ellen carefully dog-eared the page of the novel she was reading. “And anyway, I had
‘The Sleaziest P.I. in L.A.’ to keep me company. It’s one of Sutter’s best. How did you get down? Did you walk?”
“Mmm. Jack left very early. And I’ve got to do
something
to work off Stella’s cooking. I walked down yesterday, too. Today my feet are less sore and I might actually have developed a muscle or two.” Federica waved hello to Stella, who was leaning over the counter of the bar, chatting with a customer. “Did you enjoy yourself last night? I felt a little guilty about leaving you alone.”
Ellen sipped her coffee. “Well, I certainly understand. The way Jack was looking at you…” Ellen laughed at Federica’s blush. “Forget it, honey. And don’t worry, Wyatt took very good care of me.”
“What did you do?”
“Well, we walked around Carson’s Bluff for a while…”
“Did you see the Square?”
“Yeah. It’s fabulous. I loved those irregularly shaped flower beds.” Like Federica, Ellen had seen most of the world’s great gardens, but there was no condescension in her voice. “Then we stopped by Lilly’s and had drinks.”
“She’s great, isn’t she?”
“I’ll say. Husband’s a bit odd, though. He spent the whole time holed up in his room and had to be dragged out by his beard.”
“Well,” Federica said charitably, “he’s a recovering workaholic. Where did you go then?”
“Wyatt took me down to a little town near here called Shelby. There was this great little Mexican tavern. Tacos to die for. He said he wanted to save Stella’s for when we could eat with you.”
“That was nice of him.”
“He’s a nice man.” Ellen traced a pattern in the napkin with a toothpick. “Very nice.”
“It’s not every day a girl gets to date a man she’s shot.”
“Federica,” Ellen said warningly. “He was very, very understanding about it.”
“That’s what people are like around here. Nice and understanding. And relaxed.”
“Very relaxed. Though not overly loaded with ambition.” Ellen sighed. “What a waste.”
“Would you like a refill?” Federica and Ellen looked up to see Stella hovering over them with a coffeepot. “You want some coffee too, Federica, or would you rather have a beer?”
“It’s a bit early for beer. I think I’ll stick with coffee.” Federica took a deep, appreciative sniff at the aromas coming from the kitchen as Stella poured the coffee. “What’s for lunch today? Something smells great.” With any luck, whatever was causing those mouthwatering smells was going to be picnic lunch at the Folly.
“I’m not too sure. I’ll have to check with my new assistant chef.” Stella turned her head toward the kitchen and bellowed. “Newton! What’s the lunch special today?”
To Federica’s astonishment, a smiling Newton appeared at the swinging doors that separated the kitchen from the dining and bar area. He pushed through. Federica gaped. Newton was wearing a real chef’s toque and a thick canvas apron, covering his ample chest and reaching almost to the ground.
Grinning, Federica stood up and hugged Newton. She held him at arm’s length. “Newton, you look…great. Just great.” It was true. He looked handsome and dashing in his chef’s outfit, more than when he wore the Mansion Inn livery.
Newton gently returned Federica’s hug. “Thanks, Miss Federica.”
“Since when do you cook?”
“My momma taught me how. She was a very liberated lady, my momma, said a man had to be able to fend for himself. And since I like to eat well,” Newton patted a big stomach which was almost all muscle, “I learned to cook well.” Newton stepped back. “I got a little bored just waiting around here and I saw Stella needed a hand, so…” He shrugged massive shoulders. “Thought I’d help out a little.”
“More than a little,” Stella said. “My regular cook sprained his ankle the other day and I don’t know what I would have done if Newton hadn’t volunteered. Actually, I’m hoping my cook stays away. Newton’s much better than Burt.”
“So what’s this wonderful smell, Newton?” Federica breathed in deeply.
“Yeah,” Stella asked, interested, checking her watch. “It’s 11:30. The lunchtime crowd will be coming in soon. What do I write on the blackboard?”
“Cream of asparagus soup, crepes Florentine and chicken gumbo,” Newton said with satisfaction. “Now if you ladies will excuse me.” He disappeared back through the swinging doors.
“…and chicken gumbo,” Stella finished writing on the blackboard. She sighed happily. “God, I love that man.”
“Wow, Newton as a chef.” Federica shook her head as she settled back into the booth. “Who would have thought it?”
“He looked…happy,” Ellen mused. “Certainly happier than when he works for Mansion Enterprises.” She looked at Federica with troubled eyes. “So do you.”
Federica froze. Jack had loved her out of her anxiety attack the night before, but the future was still this enormous black cloud hovering on the horizon, roiling and building up. She kept it away by sheer force of not thinking about it, but sometime soon… She pushed the thought away.
“Jack’s coming to pick me up here in a few minutes. We’re going to picnic on the lawn up at the Folly. You want to join us? You haven’t seen the Folly yet.”
“No, ah, actually,” Ellen glanced at her watch, “I’m meeting Wyatt at noon on the Square and I’d better get going. He said something about showing me this little lake up in the mountains. We might be getting back late, too, so don’t worry. Wyatt said we should have left early in the morning, but he had something to do.” Ellen sighed and gathered her things. “Probably some beer to brew or something.”
“Well, he must have made quite an impression,” Federica teased, “if you’re already walking around with his photograph clutched to your heart.”
Ellen looked blank. “I beg your pardon?”
Federica pointed at Ellen’s chest. “You’ve got his photograph—” She stopped.
Ellen took the paperback she clutched in her hand and turned it around.
“You’re right,” she breathed. “It looks like…” She turned the book to its cover.
Death and the Bogeyman
, by W. E. Sutter. One of her favorite authors. She turned the book back around and looked at Federica in befuddlement. “
Wyatt?
”
Federica grabbed the paperback, turned to the back cover and stared at the studio photograph of Wyatt. She read the author’s bio out loud. “W. E. Sutter was born in 1975 in a small Northern California town and has lived there ever since. He is the author of ‘The Sleaziest P.I. in L.A.’ series, which has enjoyed cult status since the first novel in the series,
Dead Dog
, appeared in 1997. Seven more ‘Sleaziest P.I. in L.A.’ novels have followed. Incidentally, W. E. Sutter also brews great beer.” She stared at Ellen.
