Roped (Gail McCarthy Mysteries) (12 page)

I took all this in in a long second of staring through the four-inch crack between the door and the jamb, all my senses on ultra-alert. I was certain I could smell her perfume, light and lemony. I still hadn't said a word.

Recognition dawned slowly on her face. For whatever reason, however it had come about, she knew who I was. Maybe she had seen me with Lonny. She spoke slowly. "You're Gail, aren't you?"

I nodded mutely.

"Lonny's girlfriend." Her tone had gone from confused to unfriendly.

I still didn't know what to say. I felt like some dumb, begging animal, here at her door, expecting something, I wasn't sure what. She wasn't going to pat me on the head and say I was welcome to her husband.

"I wanted to meet you," I got out.

She didn't take the chain off the door, just continued regarding me through the crack. She looked annoyed, doubtful, and a little nervous, all at once. Suddenly, I didn't blame her. She probably thought I was here to shoot her.

I stretched my hands out at my sides, so she could see they were empty. "Really. I just wanted to meet you. That's all."

"Lonny's my husband," she said at last. "I want you to leave him alone."

"You left him," I protested. "Years ago. You only want him back because your boyfriend left you." Now I sounded spiteful.

It made her mad. "Get out of here," she said harshly. "You've got no business coming between a man and his wife. I'm calling the police if you don't leave right now." And she slammed the door. I could hear the dead bolt shooting home.

For a second I stared at the shiny gray-painted surface. Damn. That was Sara. The woman Lonny had been married to. Was still married to. I couldn't quite take it in. She looked so different from what I'd expected, though I wasn't really sure what my expectations had added up to. Someone older-looking, less put-together and poised.

Still, I found her distinctly unappealing. Not just because she was Lonny's wife, I told myself. She was too clean, too precise, every hair in place. I supposed the shrinks called it anal retentive. Whatever it was, it was a demeanor I'd run into before, and it was never associated with an easygoing personality. With a slight sense of shock, I realized that Sara reminded me of Joyce Bennett.

Well, Lonny and Glen had a certain number of similarities. They were near the same age, though Lonny was a good five years younger than Glen, I reassured myself. But still, it made me feel odd. The man who had chosen this woman had later chosen me. I hoped I didn't have too much in common with Sara and Joyce.

Belatedly I realized I'd better get the hell out of here if I didn't want Lonny's wife calling the cops on me. I started down the steps, my heart growing lighter with every stride. It had worked, I thought. I was no longer so afraid of Sara.

She was just another human being, with unexpected faults and strengths; she wasn't some omnipotent, mythical, all-powerful wife figure. I could see her as a person, recognize that to her I was her husband's slutty younger girlfriend. I almost laughed out loud at the thought of her wondering to herself what he saw in me.

Climbing back in my truck, I drove off, relieved, for the moment, of the heavy weight I'd been carrying for months now. I could practically find it in me to feel sorry for Sara.

Almost but not quite. As I pointed the truck toward Lonny's, I took rapid stock of the situation. Despite the relief I felt, the question remained the same. Sara had made it clear what she wanted. Was Lonny going to let her move back in with him or not?

At the thought, my high spirits died a sudden death. I made the rest of the trip out to Lonny's in somber contemplation of my options. That is, if I had any. Maybe Lonny and Sara had come to an agreement last night.

When I turned in Lonny's driveway, I parked my truck at the barn, rather than driving up the hill to the house. I need to visit my horses, I told myself. But I was aware that I was reluctant to face Lonny.

Gunner and Plumber lifted their heads and nickered at me as I walked toward their pen. It was obvious Lonny had just fed them dinner; everybody was eating. Burt and Pistol nickered softly, too, and I stopped to look at Pistol. He was putting some weight on his right front leg, at least.

I leaned on the fence for a while, rubbing my two geldings on their foreheads, watching them eat. Putting off the inevitable. Gunner stretched his nose out to my face, and I blew into his nostrils, greeting him the way horses greet each other. Plumber was shyer; I stroked his cocoa-colored shoulder, telling him what a good horse he was and that I'd be riding him soon. Eventually, though, I gave each of them a final pat and turned away.

No point in standing here until they entirely ruined my silk blouse. I had to face the music sometime. Might as well be now.

I pulled up to Lonny's house in a regular froth of anxiety; I felt almost as nervous as when I'd gone to Sara's. This is stupid, I told myself firmly. After four years, almost, you shouldn't have to feel like this.

But I did. I was afraid. Afraid Lonny was going back to Sara. Afraid we were over. Afraid that this house, once so familiar, was open to me no longer.

The house looked as welcoming as ever on this warm spring evening. It was a round house, a decagon, surrounded by oak trees, with a cupola on top. Off to one side was a bricked-in kitchen garden, and on the other side tall windows were open to the breezes that drifted through the oak grove. I walked slowly to the front door, which was standing ajar.

Lonny was in the kitchen, pouring some kind of marinade over what looked like chicken. My favorite sauvignon blanc was in a bottle of ice on the counter next to him. He continued fussing with the meat, unaware of my presence.

He's getting deaf, I thought vaguely. He was fifty. No longer young. What do you want with an old man? I asked myself.

Lonny looked up, saw me, and smiled. Instantly his somewhat homely face was transformed, the vitality of his enthusiasm and warmth making him appear much younger.

"Hi," I said.

"Hello, love," he said. "Care for a glass of wine?"

"I guess so." I took the glass he offered me and sat down at the kitchen table. The top half of the Dutch door that led out into the little garden was open, and I could see onto the brick patio, with salmon-colored climbing roses draping the low walls, rows of neat young vegetable plants in a plot off to the side.

It was one of the things I liked about Lonny-the way he tended this house and garden. Everything, from the color of the mounded lavender-blue cranesbill geraniums that clustered at the feet of the roses to the finish on the terra-cotta tile floor in the living room, was carefully and lovingly detailed. Lonny took good care of what he valued, and he valued this property-a big reason, I knew, that a divorce would be terribly hard for him.

"How was your dinner with Sara?" I asked, wanting to get it over with.

"Tense. She wants me to go to counseling with her. Wants to try and save our marriage." Lonny's voice was very steady and even-deliberately so, I guessed.

I laughed. "Let me get this straight. You're trying to find out if I'll marry you, if you get divorced. Sort of a bird-in-the-hand-is-worth-two-in-the-bush approach. You don't want to be left in the lurch."

"More or less."

I took a swallow of wine. "I don't think that's the best way to do this, Lonny. I don't want you to marry me because you don't want to be alone."

Lonny stared down at the wine in his glass. "Gail, I'm fifty. I'm too old to want to start over from scratch. If I divorce Sara, I'll end up selling almost everything I own. This place will go for sure. I know you're in the process of selling your house. I thought if we got married we could buy a place together, have a life, if you see what I mean. "

I saw. It did have some appeal. Before I could speak, Lonny went on, "I've been thinking that I'd like to move up to the Sierra foothills, maybe around Mariposa. Land's a lot cheaper up there. We could afford to buy a ranch, not just a few acres."

I looked at him in disbelief. "You want me to marry you, quit my job, and leave my hometown, all at once? That's a lot to ask."

"Not really. Lots of women did it in the old days."

"Well, it's not the old days."

Despite the fact that I was touched and reassured by Lonny's offer, I wasn't entirely pleased. I could not picture throwing away the independent life I'd built so carefully. Not for anybody.

Striving to turn the subject, I said, "I think you need to make up your mind about getting the divorce, first."

Lonny sighed. "I suppose you're right." He got up and carried the marinated chicken out on the patio, where a curl of smoke rose from the coals in the barbecue pit. I followed him and sat down at the table by the flower bed. Bees buzzed on a clump of geraniums; a hummingbird swooped down to sip from a blue spike of larkspur.

"How do you feel about Sara?" I asked after a while.

"Mixed up." Lonny was watching the meat sputter. "Sorry for her some, like I'm partly to blame for the state she's in; pissed off at her a little, for being so difficult."

"Do you want to be with her again?"

Lonny looked at me in surprise. "Hell no. I want to be with you. I just don't want to deal with all this strife and financial havoc."

I couldn't really blame him. "If you did get the divorce," I said carefully, "is there any reason we couldn't go back to the way we were?"

I reached for his free hand and held it. "Lonny, I can be a pain. You know that. I'm prickly as hell a lot of the time. I need my space."

Lonny squeezed my hand and let it go. He started taking the meat off the grill.

"I was afraid you'd say that," he said quietly. "Come on. Let's have dinner."

We ate salad and chicken and garlic bread, washed down by the excellent white wine. Lonny's two cats, Sam and Gandalf, sat on the table and watched every bite that moved from the plate to our mouths. I did not allow Bonner to do this at my house. But this was Lonny's house and these were his cats. I was used to them begging. One more reason, I thought idly, to have my own place. It was a lot easier to be tolerant.

When dinner was over, Lonny made coffee and we sat down on the Navajo-patterned couch in his living room. Mostly to keep the conversation away from "us," I told him about the problems at the Bennett Ranch. Lonny had known Glen for many years. Maybe he could provide an insight.

Lonny twitched one shoulder. "Glen's first wife, those kids' mother, was a real nice woman. Marie, her name was. When she died, it tore Glen up something terrible. He was in a daze for months. Joyce got her hooks into him then. She was as sweet as sugar to him. It was 'Oh, Glen' this, and 'Oh, Glen' that. She wanted his money, or so we all thought. He couldn't see it. He was trying to raise those two tiny kids by himself, and I think he was as miserable as a man ever gets. To make a long story short, he married her within a year."

"I take it you didn't approve."

"Gail, Joyce has made Glen's life hell for years. She spends his money like it was water, nags him day and night, and runs around like the dirty whore she is."

I nodded. None of this was entirely news. I had seen a few of Joyce's tantrums, and I'd heard rumors circulating about her before.

"Of course, Glen's got Pat," I said.

"I wouldn't know about that." Lonny was curt. Talking about Joyce was one thing, it seemed, but talking about Glen's indiscretions was another. I wondered if it was just good-old-boys loyalty or if Lonny actually did know something about Glen and Pat.

"There's been talk about them forever," I prodded.

"Talk's cheap." Lonny was done gossiping. He got up off the couch and looked down at me. "Speaking of which, I've about had enough of it for one night. Are you ready to go to bed?"

I stared up at him, meeting the intensity of his green eyes. Lying with him would feel wonderful, but then what? Everything seemed to be in turmoil.

I stood. "Lonny," I said cautiously, "I don't think I'd better. I think I need to know what you decide about Sara. If you're going to work on your marriage, it would be easier if I had some distance from you. I don't want to feel too vulnerable."

I put my arms around him and hugged him. With my own face buried in his chest, I said, "I can't. I just can't. I've spent my whole life building this career. It's all I've got. Except you. And at this point, I don't even know if I've got you. You might go back to Sara. How can I make a commitment to you on those terms? If you get a divorce, I'll think about us getting married. Or at least living together. It's the best I can say."