Irish Chain (40 page)

I swallowed hard, willing myself not to cry. What he was offering me was all I thought I ever wanted. But as Dove would say, “Wants are like a dog barking at a knot-hole; just because you think there’s something there you’d like to have, doesn’t mean there is. Sometimes what you really want is sitting right there in your own food dish.”

“Well then,” Clay said, “I’ve got a gift for you. You know that quilt that was being made for my uncle? I want you to have it. I’ll send a letter to the co-op. That’s on one condition though.”

“What’s that?”

He lifted one eyebrow and gave a crooked smile. “Everytime you and Wyatt Earp snuggle under it, I want you to think of poor old lonely me.”

I laughed. “I’m going to miss you, you randy old cowboy.”

“Likewise.” He leaned over and kissed me lightly on the lips. “Drop by the Triple Ought some day. I got a pretty little buckskin you’d decorate just fine.”

“Better watch it, O’Hara. I might take you up on that some day.”

He turned and walked toward the waiting paramedics, the limp from his wound still not covering that slight swagger I’d almost gotten used to.

Gabe appeared in front of me. “Ready to go?” His voice was cool, noncommittal.

“Yes. Do I need to sign anything? I didn’t really talk to anyone. And what about my truck and my purse?”

“I’ve arranged for you to give your statement tomorrow. O’Hara filled them in on most of the details. I’ll send an officer out to pick up your truck. Your purse is in my car.”

“What ... what happened with Todd and Mr. Morita?” I stood up, unwrapping myself from the blanket. Stars danced in front of my eyes and I felt the room sway, the ground loom up in front of me. Gabe’s arm caught me and I leaned into him, trying to ignore his rigidity.

“Mr. Morita’s dead,” Gabe said bluntly. “Todd’s got a broken back.”

Hearing that, my legs did buckle; Gabe gripped my shoulders tighter and kept me from falling.

“Am I going to have to carry you?” he said in a low voice.

“No!” I said in a panic, forcing my knees to lock, to take one step, then another. No way was I going to be carried out of there in front of all those men like some kind of weak-kneed Victorian damsel.

“Just a minute,” he said when we reached his Corvette. From behind the driver’s seat, he pulled out an old gray sweatshirt. Without a word, he led me behind the building. Then, as if I were a child, he pulled off my soaked sweater and tugged the sweatshirt over my head. His hand accidentally brushed my cheek and it seemed, for a split second, that his face softened.

“Gabe ...” I started.

“Let’s go.” He took my upper arm in a firm grasp and steered me toward the car.

He turned the heater on full blast as we drove out of the pier parking lot onto the small access road leading back to the highway. When we made the curve, we could see the county fire engines and a large tow truck struggling to pull the Toyota out of the bay.

“How’s your son?” I asked, my teeth chattering slightly.

“Fine.”

“What happened?”

“He’s gotten involved with a gang of kids I don’t like. They tore up someone’s place after a party and the landlord took names.”

“What did you do?”

“Paid damages. Talked the owner out of pressing charges. Told Sam he was an idiot to screw up his life hanging around scum like that. He wants to quit school, but I convinced him to stay through June.”

“Think he’ll listen?”

His eyes remained glued to the highway. The jaw muscle underneath his ear jumped. “I don’t know. My advice doesn’t seem to affect people much. Guess I’ll just have to wait and see.”

We didn’t speak the rest of the way back to San Celina. The drone of the car’s engine and the warm air from the heater made me nod with sleepiness. My head drooped, leaning toward Gabe’s shoulder until I forced it the other way and laid it against the cold window. I awoke with a start when the engine stopped.

“We’re home,” he said. He got out and came around to the passenger side. With a leaden feeling, I swung my legs around. He reached down to help me and I jerked away from his outstretched hand. “I can walk just fine. Thanks for the ride.” I made it to the front door under my own steam, Gabe close behind, dug in my purse and found my keys. After three unsuccessful attempts at getting the key in the lock, Gabe calmly took it out of my hands and unlocked the door. The phone started ringing when we walked into the living room.

“Get out of those wet clothes,” he said, picking it up. “Take a hot shower.” Part of me was irritated that he so arrogantly took control and part of me was so tired and sad, I didn’t care. I stood waiting to see who the caller was. He carried on a brief conversation, his back to me, then hung up and looked at me, his face still and unreadable.

“Go on, do what I told you,” he said.

“Who was that?” I crossed my arms and tried to control my shivering.

“Dove.”

“What did she want?” As if I didn’t know. And how does she find out about these things so quickly?

“To beat you black and blue for doing such a stupid thing.”

“What did you say to her?” I clenched my teeth in anger.

“To save her poor old arm, that I’d be happy to do it for her. Now go get those clothes off like I told you.”

“Quit telling me what to do. You know, I—” The look on his face stopped my words. I closed my eyes for a moment. I was going to say my piece, that was certain, but not in cold, soggy clothes and not until I had it perfectly clear in my mind what I wanted to say. I went into the bedroom and slammed the door. I stood in the shower a long time, letting the hot water stream warmth into me, using more shampoo than necessary to wash my hair. My mind kept picturing that little car sinking in the ocean. More than once I had to lean against the tiled walls of the shower stall for support.

After dressing in old jeans, a blue sweatshirt and my warmest pair of wool socks, I toweled my hair to semi-dryness, feeling almost up to the emotional battle that was about to take place.

Gabe sat on the edge of the brown leather recliner, his head bowed over clenched fists, staring at the floor. I stopped dead, not sure what to do. He raised his head when he heard me walk in. The raw, vulnerable look on his face scared me more than any anger I’d ever seen in him.

“Gabe,” I said in a wavering voice. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for it to happen like this. I only did what I thought was right.”

“You should have waited,” he said, his voice thick. “You should have trusted me.”

“Yes.” He was right and I knew it.

“You could have died.”

“I know.”

“Do you realize what that would have done to me? Do you?”

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. My voice seemed to be frozen somewhere deep inside me. Tears slowly filled my eyes.

His face turned hard. “I should have known it was him. If I’d done my job right, this wouldn’t have happened.”

“That’s ridiculous, Gabe. I won’t let you take the blame for this.”

“If I’d been there, I would have killed Todd, you know. He isn’t any older than my own son, but for what he did to you in the alley, what he did to you tonight, I would have killed him.”

“He thought he was protecting his grandfather, Gabe. People sometimes do crazy things in the name of protecting people they love.”

We stood silently contemplating each other, waiting.

“I took the job,” he finally said.

“why?”

“You know why.”

“I want to hear you say it.”

“I won’t ever leave you, Benni.”

“That’s not a promise that you ... that anyone can make.”

“I love you.”

I smiled. “That’s one you can.” I walked over to him, and his arms closed around me and for the first time all day, I felt warm.

“So, Mr. Official Chief of Police,” I said, my words muffled against his chest. “What do we do now?”

His embrace tightened, and though my ribs ached, I didn’t tell him to stop. “Well,
querida,
in my opinion, it appears there’s only one thing we can do.”

22

Three Days Later

“YOU’RE WHERE?” DOVE made a sound similar to one of her geese when someone walked too close to its pen. “You did what? Oh, my lord, is it legal?”

“The last time I checked, Las Vegas was still a legitimate part of the United States,” I replied calmly. I leaned back against the padded chintz headboard of the king-sized bed. Through some connection with a police buddy from his L.A. days who was now head of hotel security, Gabe had managed to land us a suite at the Tropicana. I tightened the belt of the thick white terry cloth robe that came with the room and sank down into the rumpled sheets next to my drowsing, soap-scented husband. “Hey, just be thankful I called you.”

“Hmph,” Dove said, apparently speechless for once. I guess it took me eloping to pull off that miracle. She clicked her tongue irritably.

“I’m just taking your advice and deciding what to do with my life and getting on with it.” I reached over and gently traced the grayish-green tattoo on Gabe’s smooth olive back, a permanent souvenir from Vietnam. A snarling bulldog wearing an oversized helmet and the words “USMC—First in, Last out.” I wondered what other things I didn’t know about this man.

“Since when did you start listening to me?” she complained. “And I meant in its proper time. With an engagement and a real wedding. In a church. By a man of God.”

“We were engaged for three days, even if no one knew about it. And the place where we got married sort of looked like a church. It had a steeple. Well, a pointy roof anyway. The minister was very nice, though a bit tipsy, I think.”

Dove groaned. “You didn’t get married by one of them Elvis impersonators, did you? Garnet is never going to let me live this down after I ragged on her about your cousin Rita running away with that cowboy.”

I couldn’t help giggling. “Actually, he bore a remarkable resemblance to Wayne Newton.”

“Well, missy, I suppose you think this is real funny. I’m telling you, you’re putting your boots on before your socks. Your daddy is going to have a fit.”

“I guess you two will have to speak to each other now just so you can complain about me.”

“I’m going to call Mac.”

“Why? There’s nothing he can do about it.”

“You’re getting married in a proper church, young lady, by a
real
minister. Next Saturday. We’ll have the reception at the ranch. Maybe we’ll have Gormeh Sabzi and maybe some Ghemeii Bademjan. Or, I know, Albalo Polo, since Gabe doesn’t eat beef.”

“What’s all that?”

“A few of Ahmad’s specialties. I’ll just need to go down to the Persian market in Santa Barbara and get—”

“I think we’d be better off just having a good old-fashioned barbecue,” I interrupted.

“We’ll talk,” she replied.

“Dove ...”

“Hold on, I’m making a list. First, call Mac ...”

“Speaking of Mac, what happened at the church meeting last night?”

“Oh, that. Not much. He’s staying.” Her voice had that sneaky sound I knew as well as my own name.

“Dove, what happened?”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t give me that. What did the church do? Were people really mean?” My heart went out to Mac. He was such a good minister, but people could be cruel and judgmental.

“We had a vote, like I told you we would, and even though we said it would be majority ruled, Mac said if there was even one person who didn’t think he should stay, he would leave. Then he left the room and we took a vote.”

“And?”

“Most everyone voted he should stay, of course.”

“Most?”

“We all had to admit that in the same circumstances we probably would have done the same thing. People aren’t as unforgiving as you’d think.” She sniffed. “At least,
some
people.”

“I know that tone. Tell me the rest of the story.”

“Sissy Brownmiller.”

I groaned. “I should have known. What did she do?”

“Well, she voted he should be fired. I was so mad at that pointy nose of hers twitching like a cranky old possum that I just couldn’t help myself.”

“Dove,
what
did you do?” I briefly wondered if relatives of the police chief were given cut rates on bail bonds.

“I threw a rock at her.”

“You did what?”

“Well,” Dove said, her voice calm. “I was just doing what Jesus said to do. Cast the first stone.”

“I think you got that story twisted, Dove. It’s supposed to be those who are
without
sin cast the first stone. I’m pretty sure you don’t qualify. I can’t believe you threw a rock at Sissy Brownmiller. In church, yet.”

“Well, it was actually a roll of Life Savers,” she admitted. “And we were in the fellowship hall, not the sanctuary. But, I made my point.”

“Then what happened?”

“Well, what do you think happened? She changed her vote, of course. By the way, I stopped by and saw Oralee today.”

“You did? How is she?”

“Right as rain. Guess what’s going on at Oak Terrace.”

“I haven’t the foggiest.”

“Auditors. A whole mess of them. Apparently the home office got some kind of anonymous phone call. I think Oralee knows more about that than she’s saying. Anyway, old Edwin is about ready to pee his pants. Guess he won’t be playing the ponies for a while.”

“I guess not.” Thinking about Edwin made me think of Mr. O’Hara and Miss Violet and Todd and Mr. Morita. Todd was still in Intensive Care, but the Japanese community as well as his college friends had started a fund to pay for his medical expenses and any legal help he was going to need. Between his injuries and doing what he did for his grandfather, he was going to have a tough row to hoe.

“Now, don’t you be worrying about any of that sad stuff right now,” Dove scolded. It’s uncanny how sometimes she knows just what I’m thinking. “You got plenty of time for that. Now’s the time to be happy. What’s my new grandson-in-law up to?”

“He’s lying here asleep. I think I exhausted him, poor old guy.”

A hand snaked out and grabbed me around the waist causing me to squeal. He turned his head and grinned at me. “Ask Dove if I can call her
Abuelita
now.”