Night Moves: Dream Man/After the Night (25 page)

“Honey?” Michael said now, hesitation creeping into his voice. “I’m sorry, I guess I thought—”

Fiercely she put her hand against his mouth. “Don’t you dare put yourself down to me,” she said, low and violent, aching inside that he would think for a minute that she would consider herself too good for him. The reverse was true; Michael was too good for her. Only two days ago she had lain on the leather sofa in Alex’s office and let him screw her. Ugly word. Ugly process. It had nothing in common with Michael’s lovemaking. She had felt nothing, except pity, and relief when it was over.

If Michael knew about Alex, he wouldn’t want her any longer. How could he? For the past year he had thought she was his alone, and all the while she had been letting an old family friend screw her, just as she had for the six years before.

She hadn’t felt any guilt at all, on Alex’s behalf, when Michael had become her lover. She didn’t feel any connection with Alex; how could she? It wasn’t even her he was doing it to, but her mother. But she was eaten alive with guilt when she went to Alex, because it was such a betrayal of Michael. She would have to tell Alex that it had to stop, but the old terror was still there, buried deep. If she stopped letting him do it, would he leave? Would it matter if he did? She wasn’t a hurt, confused girl any longer; she didn’t need Daddy—or his stand-in.

But what would happen to Mama if Alex stopped coming to the house? He loved Mama, but could he bear to see her, so lost to him, if he didn’t have the release of pretending that he was making love to her?

“I love you,” she said now to Michael, and tears trickled
from her eyes. “I just—I never thought you’d want to marry me.”

“Silly.” He wiped the wetness from her cheeks, and a crooked smile lit his grown-up Opie face. “It took me a year to work up the nerve, is all.”

She managed a smile of her own. “I hope it doesn’t take me that long to work up the nerve to say yes.”

“That scary, huh?” he asked, and laughed.

“Any . . . any change is hard for me.” She swallowed, terrified at the prospect, and of telling Mama about Michael. Gray knew about him, of course; it was no secret that they were seeing each other, but no one suspected they’d been sleeping together for a year. But since Mama never went to town anymore, and didn’t have any friends over to visit, she knew nothing about what went on these days. She wouldn’t like it on two counts. One, she wouldn’t like the idea of Monica marrying anyone, because that would mean her pristine daughter would be subjected to a man’s disgusting touch. Two, she especially wouldn’t like it if that man were Michael McFane. The McFanes had never been anything but poor farmers, certainly not in the same social stratum as the Graysons and the Rouillards. The fact that Michael was the sheriff wouldn’t raise him any in her estimation; he was just a public servant earning a nice but unspectacular salary.

And she would have to tell Alex.

“It’ll be all right,” Michael said comfortingly. “I’ll get started on fixing up the house. It should be finished in, say, six months. That’ll give you enough time to get used to the idea, won’t it?”

She looked up into his beloved face and said, “Yes.” Yes to it all. Her heart was pounding wildly. She would manage. She would tell Mama, and face that chilly disapproval. She would tell Alex that she couldn’t meet him again. It would hurt him, but he would understand. He wouldn’t abandon Mama; it was silly of her even to think it. She had to look at things as an adult, not a scared girl. Alex hadn’t remained a friend because she’d allowed him to stick his thing in her; he was Gray’s legal representative, and a friend even before
she’d been born. Probably he had just gotten into the habit of using her. Maybe he’d be glad of an excuse to stop, maybe he felt as guilty about it as she did.

She had to make things as right as possible. Not even one little thing could be wrong, or it would all unravel. A normal, happy life loomed before her like the golden ring on a carousel, and she could grab it if she could just manage to do everything right. The last time, Renee Devlin had wrecked her dream—

Her thoughts jolted. Even as Michael was hugging her exuberantly, a face swam before her eyes: sleepy green eyes, a sensuous mouth that drove men wild. Renee was still there, in the form of her daughter.

Faith had to go. Mama would be much happier if Faith left town. She might even approve of Monica, if she were the one to make Faith leave. And if Michael were involved, too . . .

Her hands pushed at his bare shoulders. “There’s a problem.”

He released her, sighing with disappointment. The reason for his disappointment twitched in his lap. “What?”

“It’s Mama.”

He sighed again. “You don’t think she’ll like the idea of you marryin’ me?”

“She won’t like the idea of me marrying anyone,” Monica said bluntly. “You don’t know—she’ll be so upset.”

He looked startled. “For God’s sake, why?”

Monica bit her lip, uncomfortable with airing their family laundry. “Because that means I’d be sleeping with you.”

“Of course you’d—oh.” Now he looked uncomfortable. He was probably recalling all the old gossip about the arrangement Mama and Daddy had had. “I guess she doesn’t like things like that.”

“She hates the very idea. And with Faith Devlin back in town, she’s already upset.” Cautiously Monica nudged him in the direction she wanted him to go. “If Faith left again, it would put Mama in a lot better mood, but I don’t know how to manage that. Gray is trying to make her leave, but he says there isn’t much he can do, not like before.”

To her surprise, Michael went still, and a grim look darkened his face.

“I know how he feels. I wouldn’t want to do anything to put that girl out of another home, either.”

Monica drew back, uneasy that he had responded directly opposite to the way she had wanted. She had expected him to understand immediately. “She’s a Devlin! I can’t look at her without feeling sick—”

“She
didn’t do anything,” Michael pointed out in a reasonable tone that set her teeth on edge. “We had trouble with all the other Devlins, but not her.”

“She looks just like her mother. Mama nearly went to pieces when she found out one of the Devlins had come back here to live.”

“There’s no law that says she can’t live where she wants.”

Because he seemed to have trouble grasping the point, Monica decided to be blunt. “You could do something about it, though, couldn’t you? Gray isn’t doing much, but you could think of some way to make her leave.”

But Michael shook his head, and disappointment knotted her stomach. “I was there the last time,” he said soberly, a distant and somber look darkening the blue of his eyes. “When we ran them out of that shack they lived in. For the rest of the Devlins, I didn’t care, it was nice to get rid of them, but Faith and that little boy—well, they suffered. I’ll never forget the look that was on her face, and I bet Gray still thinks about it, too. That’s probably why he’s taking it easy on her this time. God knows I couldn’t do something like that to her again.”

“But if Mama—” Monica stopped herself. He wasn’t going to do it. He couldn’t understand, not really, because he didn’t live with Mama, didn’t know how that cold disapproval could slice to the bone. She controlled her dismay, and smiled at him. “Never mind. I’ll handle Mama, somehow.”

But how? She had never yet managed to handle Mama, to shrug off those hurtful things she said the way Gray did. Gray loved Mama, she knew, but he ignored her a lot of the time. Monica still felt like an anxious little girl, trying so
desperately to live up to the standards Mama set, and always falling short.

She would have to do it. She couldn’t lose Michael. She would tell Alex she couldn’t meet him anymore, and somehow—somehow—she would get rid of Faith Devlin, and make Mama so happy, she wouldn’t mind if Monica got married.

Eleven

F
aith hung up the phone, a puzzled frown on her face. That was the sixth time she’d called Mr. Pleasant and not gotten an answer. He didn’t have a secretary; Mrs. Pleasant had filled that role, and he hadn’t had the heart to replace her when she had died. Mr. Pleasant had checked out of the motel; rather, the key had been left on the nightstand in the room, and his things were gone. The room had been paid for in advance, so there was nothing unusual in that. She had done it herself, more than once.

What was unusual was that he hadn’t called her, and he’d said that he would. She couldn’t believe he had forgotten. He would have called if something wasn’t wrong. Given the state of his health, she was afraid he was in a hospital somewhere and was too ill to call. He could even be dying, and she wouldn’t know about it. The thought of dying alone made her chest hurt. Someone should at least be there to hold his hand, as she had held Scottie’s.

Other than being worried about him, she didn’t know what, if anything, he had found or whom he had questioned. She would have to continue on her own, without the benefit of whatever answers he had gotten.

She didn’t have a clear idea of how to go about it, what
clues to look for, even what questions to ask—assuming anyone would talk to her. The only ones who were likely to answer her questions would be any newcomers, and they wouldn’t be in a position to know anything. The old-timers would know, but they would heed Gray’s edict against having anything to do with her.

A thought came to her, and she grinned with anticipation. There was one person, at least, who would talk to her—unwillingly, but he would talk.

She dragged a brush through her hair and twisted the heavy mass into a top-knot, securing it with a few pins and leaving tendrils loose around her face and at the nape of her neck. That was the limit of her grooming; a few minutes after having made up her mind, she was on her way to Prescott, to Morgan’s Grocery.

As she had expected, Mrs. Morgan spotted her the moment she entered the door. Faith ignored her and wandered toward the dairy section, which was at the back of the store, safely away from Mrs. Morgan’s sharp ears. It wasn’t long before Ed came hot-footing it down the aisles, his beefy face florid with both indignation and exertion. “Maybe you didn’t understand too good,” he said, huffing to a stop in front of her. “Get on out of my store. You can’t buy your groceries here.”

Faith stood her ground and gave him a cool smile. “I didn’t come here to buy anything. I want to ask you a few questions.”

“If you don’t leave, I’m goin’ to call the sheriff,” he said, but an uneasy expression crossed his face.

His mention of the sheriff made her stomach clench, probably the reaction he had hoped to get. Her spine stiffened, and she forced herself to ignore the threat. “If you answer my questions,” she said quietly, “I’ll be gone in a few minutes. If you don’t, your wife may learn more than you want her to know.” When it came to threats, she could make a few of her own.

He paled, and cast an anxious look toward the front of the store. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Fine. My questions don’t concern my mother. I want to know about Guy Rouillard.”

He blinked, surprised by the turn. “About Guy?” he repeated.

“Who else was he seeing that summer?” she asked. “I know my mother wasn’t the only one. Do you remember any of the gossip?”

“Why do you want to know about all that? It don’t matter who else he was seeing, because it was Renee he ran away with, not any of the others.”

She glanced at her watch. “I figure you have about two minutes before your wife comes back here to see what’s going on.”

He glared at her, but said reluctantly, “I heard he was seeing Andrea Wallice, Alex Chelette’s secretary. Alex was Guy’s best friend. Don’t know that it’s true, though, because she didn’t seem tore up when Guy left. There was a waitress out at Jimmy Jo’s, I can’t remember her name, but Guy saw her a few times. She’s not there anymore. Heard tell he had a thing going with Yolanda Foster, too. Guy got around. I can’t remember who all he was messin’ around with, or when, exactly.”

Yolanda Foster. That must be the ex-mayor’s wife. Their son, Lane, had been one of that group of boys who hung around Jodie when they wanted a good time, but wouldn’t speak to her if they met her in public.