Say You'll Never Love Me (4 page)

Very few of us are what we seem.

~~Agatha Christie

RAYNIE STOOD IN
Silbie’s room and read the quotes stenciled around the top.
You are my Sunshine. You are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think.

No surprise there would be encouragement plastered everywhere. As a life coach, it was Celeste’s job to boost morale. Help people make good decisions and keep a positive outlook. Her life had been so perfect. Great kid. Wonderful husband. Fabulous career. And from the crowd at the funeral, tons of friends. A storybook existence where the girl from the wrong side of the tracks gets the prince and lives happily-ever-after. If only she’d lived . . .

Shaking the thought away, Raynie made the bed, piled brightly colored pillows on top, and stacked a mass of stuffed animals against them. Once done, she brought in packing supplies from the garage. Silbie would never know how box by box, all traces of her mom and dad were disappearing. Goodwill came at noon each day to haul them away.

Once Raynie finished with Evan’s things, she’d tackle Celeste’s closet. That would be more difficult. She and her sister had similar taste. Bohemian style bordering hard-core hippie. A residual effect from childhood. Flower children of parents who had no TV, practiced free love, and smoked a little weed now and again. It’s a wonder she and Celeste turned out stable. Well, Celeste had. The jury was still out for Raynie.

First things first. Morning caffeine. She scooped the fresh grounds into the filter, then added water to the reservoir. As if in sync, she flipped the switch, and someone knocked. Maybe a wrong address, because other than a few people at Celeste’s service, and her next door neighbor, Raynie knew no one in Lubbock. Peering through the peephole, she recognized the person.

She pulled the knob and eased the door open. “Hello.”

“Hi, I’m Greta Elkins. We met at the memorial.”

“Yes, I remember. Please, come in.”

Greta eyed the boxes. “I won’t stay but a minute. I see you’re busy. Celeste and I, and two other mothers took turns carpooling the kids to school. We were wondering if you wanted to continue. Strictly up to you. If you do, next week would be yours.”

The coffeemaker hissed, and Raynie regarded her visitor. “Would you like a cup of coffee?”

“Oh, I don’t want you to go to any trouble.”

Raynie doubted that. She sized her up. Perfectly manicured nails. Tanned. Definite boob job. Gucci handbag. And the Donna Karan black pant suit Raynie recognized from a recent Neiman Marcus catalog with a price tag of almost three grand.
Holy crap. How did Celeste keep up with this kind of friend?
 She didn’t. Not according to the clothes in her closet. “No trouble. I was about to have some.”

“In that case, I’ll join you.”

Greta followed Raynie into the kitchen and eased onto a bar stool with such fluid movement, the pant suit didn’t even wrinkle. “I love this cute little house. Such a simple design. Morning light comes through the windows and cheers the whole area.” She fingered the diamond cross resting against her windpipe. “How are you making it?”

The question didn’t sound sincere. Nothing about Greta Elkins did. Raynie poured the drinks and slid a mug across the bar, then claimed a stool for herself with a lot less grace. “All right, I guess. This much responsibility is new. For most of my life, it’s been me, myself, and I. My sister left some big shoes to fill.”

Greta sipped, then held her drink in mid-air. “I know this is hard. You’ve lost a loved one and relocated. Frankly, I couldn’t do it. Silbie is lucky to have you.”

“Thanks, but I think I’m the lucky one. She’s a sweet child. Celeste and Evan were good parents. I’m terrified I won’t measure up to their standards.”

“All new mothers are scared. I didn’t sleep for a month after I came home with my first one, and I had a full-time nanny. Be thankful you don’t have a newborn.”

She’d not thought of that. An infant would be a nightmare. But since her sister’s death, Raynie’d had plenty of sleepless nights. Most of the time, she cried herself into exhaustion, but sometimes, even tears didn’t work. “That’s a good point.”

Greta ran a finger around the rim of the cup, her frosted nail polish glinting in the sunlight, and Raynie suddenly felt inadequate. Like she was the visitor. Just another reason she wanted to leave this place. She belonged in Austin, not some dusty-cowboy-farming-flat-land where she didn’t have a single friend.

“I still can’t believe Celeste is gone. And Evan too.” Greta’s eyes fluttered. “It’s such a tragedy. Fortunately, Silbie’s young enough she’ll rebound faster than an older child since she’s in a stable environment.”

“She’s getting better. Still cries at night and gets in bed with me before morning, but during the day, she doesn’t talk about them as much. I never know what to say and worry it’ll be the wrong thing.”

Greta patted Raynie’s arm. Another fake gesture. More to show off the big rock on her finger. Must be difficult for Miss Fancy Pants to lift her hand. Damn thing was at least five carats.

Greta smiled. “Silbie and Katie are best friends. We’ll schedule some play dates. Give you some time to yourself. I know how important that is. I do so much charity work, it’s hard to find quiet moments.”

Says the socialite with a nanny.
“I appreciate that. I’ll be happy to do the carpool. From now until the end of school, I want to keep Silbie’s schedule.”

Greta pulled a monogrammed linen notecard from her purse. “Here are the times and addresses of where you’ll pick up and drop off the kids, with a chart of who drives each week. I talked until I was blue in the face to get Charles, my husband, to send Katie to private school, but he wouldn’t agree. He insists I do some of the same things his mom did with him, which carpooling is one of them.” She sipped again. “May I have a napkin?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Where are my manners?” Raynie ripped a paper towel from the roll and passed it to Greta. She grimaced like she’d been insulted, dabbed the corners of her mouth, and nodded toward the list again. “I also included the sitters we use, so if you’d like a night out, you can relax and not worry about leaving her.”

That’s exactly what Raynie needed. That, a few drinks and a one night stand with an inked bad boy. If Silbie was in the hands of a good sitter, what would it matter? “That’s great.”

Greta lifted her pencil thin frame to full height. “I’d better get going. Along with mine, I listed the other mom’s phone numbers.” She walked to the front door with Raynie on her heels. “As sad as it is to be without Celeste and Evan, I guess the good Lord took them so they’d always be together. We should find comfort in that, I suppose.”

“Thank you for coming by.”

After Greta left, Raynie wondered if all Celeste’s friends were as shallow. The remarks she’d made about the cute house and simple design pissed Raynie off. The woman was uppity. So unlike Celeste.

She rinsed the cups and put them in the dishwasher, then got to work. Finished with Evan’s clothes, she concentrated on his shoes. And he had a lot for a man. She tossed the final pair into the box and ambled into the bathroom.

Picking up a bottle of cologne, she unscrewed the lid and held it to her nose. Mmm. Rico came to mind. His defined muscles, tatted arms, and how they felt around her. When he’d opened his tattoo parlor in the storefront next to hers, he’d become an instant convenience. Bad boy deluxe. Just her type. Sex on demand and no strings. Okay, so he wasn’t a terrific lover, but he was handy. An orgasm was an orgasm even without foreplay. Giving herself a mental slap, her eyes popped wide, and she set the fragrance back on the counter. Yep, she needed an evening out all right. Either that or a cold shower.

She turned to stare at the couple’s bed. She’d not slept in it. Didn’t seem right. She wondered how it’d be to sleep with the same man—forever. The longest she’d lasted was a few months. But if Bronson hadn’t asked for a divorce, would she still be with him? And second husband, Rory? If he’d kept it in his pants, could she have stayed with him?

Tears spilled onto her cheeks. What brought that on? Her marriages ended a lifetime ago, and she wasn’t proud of how she’d handled either break-up. At least Celeste had found happiness.

Going through her things, Raynie expected memories, but the recollection of her exes surprised her. She’d gotten over them. Or had she? Did a woman ever get over heartbreak?

She abandoned the bathroom and walked to the antique desk. Paperwork should be easier to deal with. In the first drawer, she found pens, pencils, paperclips, and all the other generic office supplies. From the closet, she retrieved an empty shoe box, then dumped all the items into it. No need to get rid of this stuff. It would come in handy, if not for her, Silbie’s schoolwork.

The next one held medical insurance forms, copies of filed claims, and two boxes of business cards. She shuffled through them and found a surprise. Evan had a vasectomy. Odd. Celeste wanted another child. Apparently, he didn’t.

She took a business card out and stared at the stagecoach logo. Evan M. Collins. Vice President. Wells Fargo Bank and Trust. She dropped them into the trash can, then pulled open the last drawer.

A manila envelope. No markings. Unsealed. Slowly, she raised the flap and slid the contents onto the desk. In the past two weeks, each time she’d tackled a new area, she worried she’d discover a deep, dark secret. Whips. Chains. Porno movies. Ridiculous as it sounded, all couples shared hush-hush things.

A vision of Celeste with a whip and Evan constrained caused Raynie to giggle. The throaty sound brought her back to reality. She focused on the document. All humor gone, she staggered to the bed and sat on the edge. A chill scraped down her spine and Greta’s earlier remark rang in her ears.
I guess the good Lord took them both, so they’d always be together.
The statement sounded like an attempt to console. But now meant something different. Raynie’s hands trembled as she gazed at
divorce papers.

Revenge is a confession of pain.

~~Latin Proverb

THE CURVE OF HER
hip, slant of her cheek, taste of her lips. All familiar, but they didn’t elicit the same reaction as in the past. If Julie had returned after a year, Jared would have welcomed her with open arms. But now, nothing. Well, the touch and smell of her caused him to get hard as any attractive, willing female rubbing against him would, but there was no love. Lust was another subject. If she wanted sex, he’d oblige.

He slid his palms to her ass, pulled her in nice and slow. She moved her fingers to the button on his jeans and made short work of undoing it, then the zipper.

No need for a trip to the bedroom. He’d take her right there. She had the same idea, because she reached under her skirt and shimmed out of her panties. He took protection from his wallet, dropped his pants and boxers to his knees, then heaved her onto the back of the chair. Wrapping her legs around his waist, she braced her hands on his shoulders.

He clutched her hips and drove into her hard, thrusting in and out, over and over, each plunge stronger. She locked her legs, and he gave her more. No foreplay. No kissing. Just a good old-fashioned-fuck-me-now. He didn’t care if she got pleasure out it. Sure as hell didn’t deserve any.

Her nails dug into the flesh of his biceps. An orgasm ripped through him and he growled with the release. He couldn’t remember his last fast and furious sex. Now came decision time. Send her away or keep her on the hook for a while? He’d never been
that guy.
He’d always taken pride in satisfying his lovers, but he’d erased her name from that list long ago.

She released her grip and fluttered her lashes. “Wow, baby. That was like you’d not had sex in a while. What’s the matter? Ex-girlfriend a little frigid? Is that why you broke up with her?”

Jared ignored her question, backed away, and dropped the condom in the trash. Hell, he should have double-bagged. No telling where she’d been.

He wasn’t a fool. She’d gone to the Big Apple with starry-eyed dreams of becoming famous and failed. She might be successful in Lubbock, Texas, but New York City was a different story. Artists from all over the world struggled to be featured in galleries there. If she planned to claim him as a consolation prize, she was as nutty as Beth.

At six the next morning, his phone chimed. Who the hell would call this early? Palming his cell, he focused on the screen, and eased out of bed. “Hey Jace, hold on a minute.” He pulled on his pajama pants and glanced at Julie, still asleep. After last night, she probably thought he was in her life again. She was in for a shock because she’d been double-fucked and didn’t know it. Screwed and screwed over. Wonder how she liked it? He stomped into the living room and put the cellphone back to his ear. “Something wrong?”

“Damn straight something’s wrong. I can tell by your low tone you’re not alone, and I’ll bet Julie’s there. Have you lost your friggin’ mind?”

“How do you know about her?”

“Beth Ann came by crying on Maggie’s shoulder. So what’s going on?”