Once in a Blue Moon (33 page)

Lindsay slowly lowered the magazine and stared out the window, lost in thought. She remained that way for several long moments until Darla began to prattle. “Amazing, isn’t it? Just the boost we needed. Keep reading; it gets better. I swear it almost seems like the man knows you. I don’t mean just to interview you, but like you two were really close. But that’s the mark of a good writer, I suppose, making it all seem so . . . well,
personal
.”

Lindsay brought her gaze back to Darla. “May I borrow this? I’d like to take it home with me. I’m sure Miss Honi and my sister would love to read it, too.”

“Keep it if you like. I can always get another copy,” Darla replied, waving a plump arm expansively.

Lindsay took note of the faintly disappointed look she wore—clearly Darla had expected a more enthusiastic response—and gave Darla’s hand a squeeze. “Thanks. What matters most, though, is that I have your support. I hope you know how much that means to me.”

Darla flushed to the roots of her dyed blond hair. “Oh, well. . . I’m sure I only did what anyone would have,” she replied, clearly flustered by the praise. “We’re all rooting for you. Where would we be without you? Without this place?” She glanced around her, misty-eyed. “Stores like this are a dying breed.” Oblivious to the look of discomfort elicited by her words, she gave Lindsay’s arm a reassuring pat before heading back to the horror section.

Lindsay retreated to her office, where she could finish reading the article in private. Tears were rolling down her cheeks by the time she turned the last page. She didn’t see how the man who’d written this piece could possibly be the same one who’d knifed her in the back. Struggling to make sense of it, she dropped her head into her hands. When she looked up, Kerrie Ann was standing at the desk.

“I brought you your mail.” Her sister paused as she dropped the batch of letters on the desk, her eyes on Lindsay. “Hey, are you okay? You look like you’ve been crying.”

“I’m fine.” Lindsay spoke more brusquely than she’d intended.

“What? I’m the only one around here who gets to be a train wreck?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.” Kerrie Ann gave a sanguine shrug and scooted her backside onto the desk, where she sat perched as if at a tailgate party. “But hey, at least I know my life’s a mess.”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you’re not such a mess anymore,” Lindsay observed with a wry glance at the relatively conservative outfit her sister had on—long skirt, knee-high black boots (a pair of Lindsay’s), and a jeans jacket over a plain light blue camisole. “You don’t even look like the same person. Four months ago, you wouldn’t have been caught dead in that outfit.”

“That’s supposed to be a compliment?”

“Yes. Proof that you don’t need tight clothes and gobs of makeup to show how pretty you are.”

Kerrie Ann gave a snort, but she looked pleased. “Tell that to Miss Honi.”

“That’s different. Miss Honi’s an entity unto herself.”

“There you go again, throwing big words around. Oh, don’t look at me like that; I know what it means. I read, too, you know.” Kerrie Ann was only teasing, but Lindsay didn’t miss the pride in her voice.

“All I meant was, you look great,” she said.

Kerrie Ann flashed her a smile that quickly gave way to a more sober expression. “Yeah, well, looks aren’t everything. I still have to prove to the judge that I’m not as hopeless as everyone thinks.”

“I don’t think you’re hopeless.”

“That’s different. You’re family.”

Lindsay warmed at her use of the word “family.” “Why not ask Ollie’s opinion, then?” she suggested, hoping to feel her out a bit on the subject of Ollie, about which Kerrie Ann had been uncharacteristically closemouthed.

“I don’t have to. You know Ollie; he never shuts up.” Kerrie Ann’s tone was light, but there was no mistaking the blush that crept into her cheeks. As if seeking a distraction, she seized upon the magazine folded open on the desk. “Hey, this must be the article Mrs. Humphrey was telling me about. Cool. I can’t believe your boyfriend wrote it.”

Lindsay was quick to correct her. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Whatever.” Kerrie Ann eyed her thoughtfully before continuing, “Doesn’t it make you wonder if maybe you were a little hard on him?” She brandished the article bearing Randall’s byline. “I mean, he’s obviously knocking himself out to get back into your good graces. How can you ignore that?”

“Easily.” Lindsay moved to snatch the magazine from her sister’s hand, but Kerrie Ann, grinning, held it out of reach. After several more attempts, Lindsay surrendered with good grace and plopped into the chair at her desk. “Look,” she said, “I appreciate that he’s trying to help, but it’s too late—as far as he’s concerned, anyway. I don’t see how I could ever trust him again.”

“It’s not like he cheated on you,” Kerrie Ann reasoned.

“In some ways, it’s worse. He kept something from me that would’ve changed everything if I’d known.”

“Maybe that’s why he didn’t tell you.” Kerrie Ann slid off the desk, dropping the magazine into Lindsay’s lap. “Honestly, Linds, for a smart person you can be really dense sometimes. The guy’s obviously crazy about you, and people in love do all kinds of dumb things. It kinda goes with the territory, you know? Don’t tell me you’ve never done anything stupid in the name of love.”

“I haven’t, actually,” said Lindsay. The stupidest thing that came to mind was sending a Valentine’s Day card to Billy Jarvis in the fourth grade, knowing he’d tease her mercilessly—which he had.

Kerrie Ann stood, hands on hips, regarding her the way a teacher might a particularly slow-witted pupil. “Maybe that’s ’cause you were never in love before this. Anyway, speaking of stupid, what do you call blowing off the perfect guy just ’cause he turned out to be not so perfect?”

“I don’t know. What?” Lindsay replied glumly.

“Hello! I call it insanity after all the shit I’ve had pulled on me by guys not half as decent as Randall. Like, oh, I don’t know, my ex-boyfriend, for instance.” She refused to even speak Jeremiah’s name. “But hey, suit yourself. It’s your life . . . or should I say funeral.”

Kerrie Ann left her with that thought as she sashayed out the door.

Lindsay somehow managed to make it through the rest of the day. By closing time, she was exhausted, not so much from work as from the effort to appear calm and collected on the surface with her mind in a muddle and her emotions all over the map. Ollie must have noticed she wasn’t herself because he came over to her as she was closing out the register, handing her a cup of espresso. “Here,” he said. “You look like you could use a shot.”

“More like a shot of whiskey. But thanks,” she said, downing it in a single gulp.

“
De nada
.” He lingered as if something were on his mind. Finally he said, “Listen, we were wondering—Kerrie Ann and me, that is. Would it be okay if we took some time off tomorrow?”

She banged the register shut. “Tomorrow’s not a good day. I have to be in court, so we’ll be shorthanded as it is.”

“Yeah, I know. That’s why I’m asking. We thought you could use a little support from the home team.”

Lindsay was quick to apologize. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you. That’s a really sweet thought, Ollie.”

He leveled his gaze at Lindsay. “You don’t always have to handle everything yourself, you know. In case you haven’t noticed, we’ve got your back.” As if to prove it, he took the empty espresso cup from her hand, saying, “One more for the road?”

Lindsay recognized the truth in his words. She
was
used to doing everything herself—a holdover from childhood—and thus she tended to forget at times that she wasn’t alone. “I don’t need any more coffee,” she told him, “but I gratefully accept your offer to be my cheering section.”

She was on her way back to fetch her jacket and purse when she heard a last-minute customer come in through the door, a man who greeted Miss Honi in a deep, familiar voice. Randall! Before he could spot her, Lindsay quickly ducked out of sight behind one of the tall bookshelves. Seconds later she was holed up in her office with the door shut, plotting an escape out the back, when Miss Honi rapped sharply on the door.

“Open up, sugar. You got company!”

Lindsay felt a flash of irritation. The woman would have rolled out the red carpet for Saddam Hussein! But it left Lindsay with no choice but to show her face. To hide from Randall would appear childish—or, worse, as if she were afraid she’d weaken at the sight of him. The fact that she was guilty on both counts only made her angrier. Why was he doing this to her? Why couldn’t he just leave her alone and let the piece he’d written—admittedly a nice gesture—speak for itself: a last, eloquent
mea culpa?

“I just wanted to drop this off,” he said, handing her a bulky manila envelope. “It’s the article I did for the
Chronicle
. I thought you’d want to see it before it comes out in Sunday’s paper.” She needn’t have worried that he would throw himself at her and beg for forgiveness. His expression was pleasant, almost neutral, and far from the face of abject misery. Instead here was the Randall Craig whom she’d fallen for: those blue eyes crinkling at her in faint amusement, the mouth hovering on the verge of a smile. As the envelope exchanged hands, his fingertips brushed hers in a way that electrified her.

She felt her resolve weaken, in spite of herself.

“Thanks, but I’ve already seen it,” she told him. “One of my customers got a copy from someone who works at the paper.”

He cocked a brow. “So what did you think?”

Lindsay, struggling to strike a balance between cool remove and genuine appreciation, answered, “It’s exactly what I would’ve written if I could write as well as you.” To answer otherwise would have been dishonest, and she didn’t intend to stoop to his level. Nor did she intend to pander to him in any way. Briskly she added, “But really, you shouldn’t have gone to the trouble of dropping it off. I could’ve waited until the paper came out.”

“Yes, but then you wouldn’t have had it for your court date tomorrow.”

“How did you know it was tomorrow?” Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. When he only shrugged in response, she knew: his father. Obviously he and Lloyd were in regular contact, if not cahoots. Not that it made a difference at this point. She’d had her fill of both men.

He glanced past her. “Mind if I come in?”

“Actually, I was just on my way out.”

He grinned. “In that case, I’m glad I caught you.”

She cursed inwardly as she stepped aside to let him in. “All right. But only for a minute.” Why couldn’t she tell him to take a hike? And why was her traitorous heart beating like that of a silly schoolgirl with a crush? If only turning her back on him were as easy as ignoring his calls and e-mails! She struggled to stay strong, maintaining a good distance and crossing her arms over her chest.

“I won’t keep you,” he said. “I just wanted to wish you luck.”

Ignoring his attempt to butter her up, she replied coolly, “Because I’m the one who needs it? Well, you’re right about that. Your dad hasn’t left anything to chance, has he?”

“No; that’s not his style.” She could see how unhappy he was beneath his facade. His eyes searched her face, as if for some small sign of forgiveness. “Look, I know what you think of me, but I need to set the record straight about one thing: I wasn’t part of any conspiracy. The only thing my father and I share is the same DNA.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me you were his son?” She met his gaze squarely, her chin lifting.

“I tried. . . at least a dozen times.”

“What stopped you?”

“I didn’t want to screw it up with you. Ironic, isn’t it?” Randall’s mouth twisted in a pained smile.

Lindsay felt another chunk break away from the polar ice cap around her heart. Looking into his eyes, she saw nothing to suggest that he was a monster like his father. She saw only the face of a man who’d made a catastrophic error, one he deeply regretted. She wanted to forgive him—everything in her yearned to—but she couldn’t forget that, whether or not he had purposely set out to deceive her, the end result had been the same. “The bottom line is,” she said, “you
didn’t
tell me. I had to find out from your father. Do you know how humiliating that was? Did you see the smug look on his face?”

Randall grimaced. “I know. I wish there was some way I could make it up to you.”

“You already have. Consider us even.” She dropped the manila envelope onto her desk.

He gestured toward it dismissively. “I would have written it no matter what.” Despite herself, she couldn’t help admiring the fact that he wasn’t taking any more than his fair share of credit for what many would consider an act of contrition grand enough to wipe out any sins.

“Look, there’s nothing you, or anyone, can do at this point,” she said. “Thanks to your father, I’m looking at losing not just my home but my business. Whatever happens tomorrow, I know he won’t quit until he’s either run me off or bled me dry, whichever comes first.”

“Even if he wins, it’s just one step in a long process,” Randall reminded her. “There’s still hope.”

“Is there? Really?” An appeal could take years to wind its way through the courts, and in the unlikely event that she prevailed, it would most likely be a Pyrrhic victory. The best she could hope for under those circumstances was that she’d have enough money left to make a down payment on another house. “Don’t forget, your father has friends in high places. In fact, I’m told there’s someone in Sacramento who’s all set to rubber-stamp this if it goes through.”

Randall all at once grew alert. “Where did you hear that?”

“I have my sources.”

“What makes you think this person is connected to my father?”

“I don’t know anything for certain, but I smell a rat. The timing is awfully suspicious, don’t you think? This Curtis Brooks fellow gets appointed the new head of the Lands Commission right around the time we go to trial; then I hear he’s poised to give your father’s project the green light. Presumably he owes your dad a favor. Either that or he was bribed.”

Randall fell silent, wearing a pensive look.