Lies of the Heart (13 page)

Just then the veterinarian popped his head in the door. The tall, gray-haired bespectacled doctor said, “Just as we thought. Just a sprain. He’ll heal fast.” He patted the dog’s head. “Isn’t that right, little fella? I’ll get an assistant to help me finish up. Be back in a jiffy.” He walked back out again, leaving the echoing silence behind.

Chance blew out a heavy sigh. “All right, you can keep the dog.” The grudging acceptance throbbed in his roughened voice.

Softly, but with an underlying firmness, she said, “I wasn’t asking for your permission, Chance.”

He dragged a hand through his hair, and then chuckled hoarsely. “Yeah, I guess you weren’t. No one ever does.”

An ache shot through her. She didn’t want to be lumped among the others, nor did she want to heap on anymore hurt. But, there had to be a time for her to stand her ground and get what she wanted.

A heavy blanket of silence descended once again.

When the assistant and doctor bustled in a few seconds later, Tessa barely listened to their cheery exchange. She focused on Chance, reading the subtle nuisances in him. He held her gaze for moments, then, when she’d found what she was looking for, he shifted his stare away, his discomfort palpable.

Her middle clenched. He’d known that with the boundaries of the will, he could summon the courage to go through with a marriage to her. The time limit was his saving grace; he’d be the one to walk away this time, unhurt, unscathed.
But will I?

Chance shifted through the piles of papers strewn across the small desk in what passed for the pub’s office. “Bills,” he muttered, “nothing but bills.”

Sighing heavily, his gaze rested on the three-foot high iron safe sitting in the corner. He’d have to clean that out of all the old papers, too, eventually. After a cursory look through it the first day back, he knew old business records littered the interior. He groaned inwardly at the thought of spending hours going through all of it.

He wasn’t a pencil pusher by any means. Hated it, in fact. Right at this moment he’d much rather be taking apart a car engine, elbows deep in grease with the pungent odor filling his nostrils. Now that’s what he was good at, he thought, imagining the well-known details of how to fix a head gasket.

Shaking his head, he turned his attention back to his desk. But he’d already forgotten where he’d left off and what he’d been assigning to each of the different piles.

If only he could concentrate on the task of sorting through the backlog of paperwork, he’d be just fine. The cramped, musty area didn’t help one bit. But it was the pulsating music coming from overhead that distracted him most of all. “Tessa.”

He shoved the invoices away and leaned back. The old metal chair squeaked in protest. It brought a wry smile to his lips as he thought of his granddad doing the same. He’d hated paperwork just as much as Chance did.

Sorrow shot through Chance at the thought of his grandfather. It had been only a little over a week since his death and there was never a day that went by he didn’t think of the funny old man. “If only I could have proved myself to you when you were alive. Made you proud of me,” he whispered under his breath. A well of regret flooded him.

The tempo of the music changed and pulled him out of his misery. Looking up at the water-stained ceiling, he pictured Tessa leading her class of little ones around. A soft smile played around his lips. He’d spied them on more than one occasion in the last few days. “God, she’s great with them.”
Playful, funny, loving…
“Yeah, she’d make a wonderful mother.”

Something low and deep tugged inside of him. Closing his eyes, he breathed in sharply and swore he smelled her sweet scent. They slept side by side each night, not touching, not moving. But in the mornings, when she got up for work, he’d roll over and grab her pillow to him, inhaling her wonderful fragrance that lingered in the folds of the linens. Now he could summon it up at will and that frightened him.

His thoughts centered on her more than he dared admit to. While they lived together day after day, he was still starved for her. He wanted her, longed for her, in fact. Now the dog she named Max occupied her spare time, almost to the exclusion of him. She showered Max with attention and affection while barely speaking to him. “No, I can’t be jealous of a damn dog,” he muttered, disgusted at the thought and himself.

“Hey, who you talking to, boy?” Walter’s gruff voice yanked Chance back to the moment.

He sat up quickly. The loud screech of the chair grated along his nerves. “No one,” he said abruptly. Guilty for daydreaming about his own wife, he jerked his head in the direction of the bar. “Anything wrong out there?”

“Nope.” Walter’s frame still filled the doorway. His shrewd, dark eyes narrowed, drawing his thick gray brows down. “It’s her, isn’t it? She’s got you twisted up in knots, hasn’t she?” Without waiting for an answer, he went on, “Hell, what’s this world coming to anyway? You got the hots for a Warfield. As I live and breathe.”

He stomped off. Chance shoved back his chair and raced after him. “Now wait just a minute, Walter.” He caught up with him in the nearly empty pub. The few men sitting at the long, gleaming bar turned at his appearance. Several called out and he returned their greetings with a wave of his hand.

In the meantime, Walter was getting away as he moved to the far side behind the bar. Throwing over his shoulder, he said, “By the way, Father Tom left a message for you. Seems like he’s got some rowdy kids he wants you to help him with. Said he’d stop by later and talk to you about it.” With practiced ease, he picked up an empty tankard and filled it brimming with beer.

Chance’s heart jumped. “Help kids?” he muttered, excitement bubbling up. He’d never thought he could do anything without a bunch of money, but maybe with Father Tom’s assistance he could find a way around that for now.

Shaking off the temporary change of subject, Chance grimaced and stepped behind the bar. The sight and scent of the beer had his mouth watering.
God, what I’d do for a beer right now.
Bravely, he made his way to the bartender. He had to get this settled once and for all. “What was that crack about a Warfield all about?”

“You heard me,” Walter said, stepping around him in the small aisle to tend to another empty mug.

“Take it back.” Even to his own ears, he sounded like a little kid challenging someone bigger and older.

“No.”

“Damn it, Walter, look at me.”

The older man glanced over his shoulder and threw Chance a smirk. “You can’t deny it, can you?”

“You’re crazy.” Anxiety built inside him, bubbling up and ready to explode. He had to get control of the situation. Blowing out a breath, he said in a low voice, “It’s nothing, really.”

Walter shot him a knowing look. “Yeah, right.”

“You wanna bet.” He was fighting for his life here. He couldn’t, no, he wouldn’t, let anyone know just how much he was aching for his own wife.

“You’ll lose if you do.”

“Try me.” Sweat trickled down the back of his neck. He had everything he could do not to swipe it away. Maybe if he made the bet, he’d keep away from Tessa. Hell, he’d give anything a shot just to halt himself from taking what wasn’t his right to take. As the days passed, it was getting more and more difficult to find excuses not to. This might do the trick.

But a voice in the back of his head only laughed at his puny efforts.

“You’re on.” Walter held out his hand. Chance took it in his and shook. "What are we betting?”

***

“A week’s paid vacation,” Chance muttered in disgust as he used his key and let himself in the quiet house. “Gran, you here?” Her car was parked in the driveway, but she could have always gone off with a friend. “Gran?”

Still no answer. He walked in, closing the door behind him. A flood of memories rushed back as he went from one room to another. Every place in this house held some precious moment from growing up. “Granddad,” he whispered, recalling how the old man used to play hide and seek with him for hours on end. A smile tugged at his lips.

Peeking out the kitchen window, he saw his grandmother then, on her knees and stooping over her flower garden. Rushing outside, Chance called out, “Hey, you shouldn’t be doing that, it’s cold out here.”

She looked up at him, a tiny frown carved between her brows. “I couldn’t let the freeze kill these beauties, honey.” Tugging at the big roll of plastic, she covered her bulbs, placing heavy stones on the edges to keep the wind from whipping the covering off.

“Here, let me do that or at least help.” Side by side, he worked with her in silence for a long moment. Another memory whispered through his mind. “You used to call the flowers your babies. Man, you used to spend hours and hours out here.”

“Still do on my good days.” The warmth and affection coloring her words spoke of her deep passion for gardening. “They kept me sane all these years.”

“Granddad?”

She chuckled at that. “Him and you, both.”

Joining in her laughter, he figured she’d had her hands full. “So why’d you put up with us anyway?”

“Simple.” She heaved another stone, but Chance took it from her and set it down where she pointed.

“Simple?”

“Yep. Love. It keeps you bound even when sometimes you’d rather throw it all away during the tough times. It also gives you hope that things will get better.”

“Did they?”

“Yes, when you came he did. Oh, he had his setbacks in the early days, but for the most he succeeded.”

“So my being dropped in your laps out of the blue had some good points?” A knot the size of his fist sat heavy in his middle. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to know that answer.

She stilled, turning to him. He couldn’t look at her, wouldn’t dare look into her eyes. “Oh, honey, of course it was good for us. You brought us back together, kept us from grieving for your daddy ’til we shriveled up and died. Caring for you helped us to move forward instead of being stuck in the past.”

The weight in his belly eased and he breathed a sigh of relief. “Speaking of the past, Gran. Tessa and I found some pictures, strange ones where all of them our torn.” He dug in his back pocket, pulling out the one he’d singled out to ask her about.

She seemed to have gone stark still as if she were made of stone. “Gran?” He held out the old black and white snapshot, but she only stared wide-eyed at it. Placing it into her hands, he said, “Here, take a closer look. Maybe you can remember why someone ripped this one and all the others, too.”

Her gloved hands shook as she gazed at the image before her. A soft moan escaped her parted lips, and then a cry of pain. “He said he’d gotten rid of these.” She shoved it back at him. “No. I don’t want to talk about it.” Hastily, she gathered her gardening tools, and then tried to stand, but her arthritic body wouldn’t cooperate.

Chance rose, helping his grandmother up. Once she was on her feet, she rushed away. “Gran, what could be so bad about the pictures? Tell me,” he called after her.

“No,” she tossed over her shoulder. He swore by the sound of her voice she was beginning to cry.

Puzzled and troubled by her reaction, he wondered aloud, “Now, what in God’s name was that all about?”

***

Hours later, Chance still couldn’t figure out what had gotten into this grandmother. She never was overly emotional. “It’s gotta be since granddad died, that’s all,” he muttered as he swiped down the bar, but he still frowned. Something nagged at his middle and wouldn’t let go.

The bell tinkled over the door, announcing another patron. Chance glanced up to see Father Tom strolling into the nearly empty pub. His heart jumped a little and sweat dotted the back of his neck. “Father Tom,” he said uneasily, knowing why he’d come. “Walter said you’d be stopping by.”

“Ah, so he did, did he?” The older man slid onto a stool with a wide smile on his face. Shaking his head, he heaved a sigh. “I’ve got some tough ones to crack this time.”

Silence stretched. Chance’s curiosity peaked. “Really?” he asked, then cleared his throat as he gripped the white towel a little tighter. “Can’t be half as bad as I was, can they?” He chuckled softly.

Father Tom smiled sadly, tapping his fingertips on the bar’s gleaming surface. “At least with you we had your grandparents. I’ve got four boys and a girl who’ve got no one but foster parents who don’t know what to do with them.”

“Orphans?” The word stuck in the back of his throat.

“Some are.”

“Tough break.” His heart ached for them.

“You would know, son.” The priest watched him closely. Chance nearly squirmed under the intensity of the blue eyes.

Shrugging uncomfortably, he went back to work as he grabbed a nearby mug. “Well, that was a long time ago.” He tugged the draft handle and poured a beer. Placing it in front of the older man, he said, “Here, it’s on the house.”

“Why thank you. But that’s not why I came and we both know it.” He went to push the mug aside and on second thought took a sip, and then smacked his lips in approval. Putting the glass down, he said, “I need your help.”

Chance held up his hands. “Look, Father Tom, I’m only going to be here for a short time and I’ve got the bar and everything else to contend with—”

“So, you’ll do it anyway,” Father Tom interrupted in a firm voice Chance had never heard before. He waved his hand in the air. “Oh, I’ve got Nick to keep them on the straight and narrow and Devon’s teaching them all about the horses, but it’s not the same really.”

Chance let the words sink in.
So he’d gotten Tessa’s friends’ husbands to help, too
.

“They need you, Chance. They need someone who’s been where they’ve been and come out the other side.” He pointed a stubby finger in Chance’s face. “And they need someone who knows what it’s like to be abandoned.”

A dagger sliced clear through him at that.
Lord, the truth hurt.
Wasn’t this what he wanted? To help others. But he’d tried once with a kid and failed miserably. He spoke his fears aloud, the words nearly a whisper, “What if I do more damage, Father?”