Truly Madly Yours (4 page)

“Dream on.” She reached for Dolores again, and this time successfully clipped the leash on the dog’s collar. “Whips and chains aren’t my idea of a good time.”

“That’s a shame.” He folded his arms across his chest and leaned his butt against the tire well of the Jeep. “The closest thing Truly has to an experienced dominatrix is Wendy Weston, 1990 state champion calf roper and barrel racer.”

“Can you afford two women spanking your bum?”

“You could steal me away,” he said through a grin. “You’re better looking than Wendy, and you have the right shoes.”

“Gee thanks. Too bad I’m leaving tomorrow afternoon.”

He looked a little surprised by her answer. “Short trip.”

Delaney shrugged and pulled the dogs toward her. “I never intended to stay long.” She would probably never see him again, and she let her gaze roam the sensual line of his dark face. He was too handsome for his own good, but maybe he wasn’t as bad as she remembered. He would never pass for a
nice
guy, but at least he hadn’t reminded her of the night she’d sat on the hood of his Mustang. It had been ten years; maybe he’d mellowed. “Good-bye, Nick,” she said and took a step backward.

He touched two fingers to his brow in a mock salute, and she turned and headed back the way she’d come, dragging the dogs along with her.

At the top of the small hill, she glanced over her shoulder one last time. Nick stood just as she’d left him beside his Jeep, arms folded across his chest, watching her. As she stepped into the shifting forest shadows, she remembered the blond he’d picked up at Henry’s funeral. Maybe he’d mellowed, but she’d bet pure testosterone, not blood, ran through his veins.

Duke and Dolores tugged at their leashes and Delaney tightened her grasp. She thought about Henry and about Nick and wondered once again if Henry had included his son in his will. She wondered if they’d ever tried to reconcile, and she wondered what Henry had bequeathed her. For a few brief moments, she let herself imagine a gift of money. She let herself imagine what she could do with a chunk of cash. First, she’d pay off her car, then she’d buy a pair of shoes from some place like Bergdorf Goodman. She’d never owned an eight-hundred-dollar pair of shoes, but she wanted to.

And if Henry had left her a
huge
chunk a cash?

She’d open her own salon. Without a doubt. A modern salon with lots of mirrors, and marble, and stainless steel. She’d dreamed of her own business for quite a while now, but two things stood in her way. One, she hadn’t found a city where she wanted live for more than a couple of years. And two, she didn’t have the capital or the collateral to get the capital.

Delaney stopped in front of the fallen tree she’d climbed over earlier. When Duke and Dolores began to crawl beneath, she pulled on their leashes and took the long way around. Her wedgies teetered on rocks, and her toes were covered with dirt. As she trudged through a crop of buckbrush, she thought of bug bites and blood-sucking ticks. A shiver ran up her spine, and she pushed aside the thought of contracting Rocky Mountain spotted fever and replaced it with designing the perfect upscale salon in her head. She’d start out with five chairs, and stylists would lease space from
her
for a change. Since she didn’t like to give manicures and hated pedicures, she’d hire someone else to do it. She’d stick to what she loved: cutting hair, schmoozing, and serving her customers lattes. She’d start out charging her customers seventy-five dollars for a cut and blow-dry. A bargain for her services, and once she had a steady client base, she’d raise her prices on them gradually.

God bless America and a free market system where everyone had the right to charge whatever she wanted. That thought brought her full circle to Henry and his will. As much as she liked to dream about her own salon, she seriously doubted he’d left her money. Probably her gift was something he would know she didn’t want.

As Delaney carefully picked her way across Huckleberry Creek, the two dogs jumped in and splashed her with icy water. Henry had probably left her a gag gift. Something to torture her for a long time. Something like two unruly Weimaraners.

The old courthouse was located next to the police station and forestry service building. Three churches competed for souls, Mormon, Catholic, and born-again Christian. The new hospital had been built next to the combination elementary and middle school, but the most celebrated establishment in town, Mort’s Bar, was in the older section of Truly, on Main between Value Hardware and the Panda Restaurant.

Mort’s was more than a place to get tanked. It was an institution, famous for its cold Coors and array of antlers. Deer, elk, antelope, and moose decorated the wall above the bar, their magnificent racks adorned with bright panties. Bikinis. Briefs. Thongs. All colors, all signed and dated by the donor drunk. A few years back, the owner had nailed a jack-o-lope head next to the moose, but no respectable woman, drunk or sober, wanted her panties hanging from something as goofy-looking as a jack-o-lope. The head had been quickly moved to the back room to hang above the pinball machine.

Delaney had never been in Mort’s. She’d been too young ten years ago. Now as she sipped margaritas in a booth toward the back, she wondered at the attraction. Except for the wall above the bar, Mort’s was like a hundred other bars in a hundred other small towns. The lights were dim, the jukebox was constant, and the smell of tobacco and beer permeated everything. The dress was casual, and Delaney felt perfectly at home in a pair of jeans and a Mossimo T-shirt.

“Did you ever donate your undies?” she asked Lisa, who sat across the blue vinyl booth. Within minutes of meeting her old friend, the two had fallen into easy conversation, as if they’d never been apart.

“Not that I recall,” she answered, her green eyes alight with humor. Lisa’s easy smile and laughter had been what had drawn the two together in the fourth grade. Lisa had been carefree, her brunette hair always in a scraggly ponytail. Delaney had been uptight, her blond hair perfectly curled. Lisa had been a free spirit. Delaney had been a spirit longing to be free. They’d loved the same music and movies, and they’d loved to argue like sisters for hours. The two had balanced each other out.

After Lisa had graduated from high school, she’d received her degree in interior design. She’d lived in Boise for eight years, employed at a design firm where she’d done all the work and received none of the credit. Two years ago she’d quit and moved back to Truly. Now, thanks to computers and modems, she operated a busy design business from her home.

Delaney’s gaze took in her friend’s pretty face and disheveled ponytail. Lisa was smart and attractive, but Delaney still had the better hair. If she were staying in town longer, she’d grab her friend and cut her hair to accent her eyes, then maybe brush a few light streaks around her face.

“Your mother tells me you’re a makeup artist down in Scottsdale. She said you have celebrity clients.”

Delaney wasn’t surprised by her mother’s embellishment and took a sip of her margarita. Gwen hated Delaney’s career, perhaps because it reminded her mother of their life before Henry—the life Delaney had never been allowed to talk about, when Gwen had styled hair for dancers on the Vegas strip. But Delaney was nothing like her mother. She loved working in a salon. It had taken years to finally discover her niche. She loved the tactile sensations, the smell of Paul Mitchell, and the gratification of a pleased client. And it didn’t hurt that she was extremely good. “I’m a hairstylist in a salon in Scottsdale, but I live in Phoenix,” she said and licked the salt from her top lip. “I love it, but my mother is embarrassed by what I do for a living. You’d think I was a hooker or something.” She shrugged. “I don’t do makeup because of the hours, but I did trim Ed McMahon’s hair once.”

“You’re a beautician?” Lisa laughed. “This is too good. Helen Markham has a salon over on Fireweed Lane.”

“You’re kidding? I saw Helen yesterday. Her hair looked like shit.”

“I didn’t say she was any good at it.”

“Well, I am,” Delaney said, having found something at last that she was a lot better at than her old rival.

A waitress approached and set two more margaritas on the table. “That gentleman over there,” the woman said, pointing toward the bar, “bought you two another round.”

Delaney glanced at the man she recognized as one of Henry’s friends. “Tell him thank you,” she said and watched as the waitress left. She hadn’t bought a drink since she’d stepped foot in Mort’s. Men she vaguely remembered from her youth kept a steady supply of booze coming to her table. She was on her third, and if she weren’t careful, she’d be drunk in no time.

“Remember when you caught Helen and Tommy doing it in the back of his mother’s Vista Cruiser?” Lisa asked, beginning to look a little glassy-eyed.

“Of course I remember. He’d told me he was going to the drive-in with some friends.” She drained one glass and reached for the third. “I decided to surprise him. And I did.”

Lisa laughed and downed her drink. “That was so funny.”

Delaney’s laughter joined her friend’s. “Not at the time though. Having Helen Schnupp, of all girls, steal my first boyfriend sucked.”

“Yeah, but she did you a favor. Tommy has turned into a real bum. He only works long enough to collect unemployment. He has two kids, and Helen supports them most of the time.”

“How does he look?” Delaney asked, cutting to the important stuff.

“Still good-lookin‘.”

“Damn.” She’d hoped for a report of a receding hairline at the very least. “Who was that friend of Tommy’s? Do you remember? He always wore that John Deere baseball cap, and you had a mad crush on him.”

A frown appeared between Lisa’s brows. “Jim Bushyhead.”

Delaney snapped her fingers. “That’s right. You dated him for a while, but he dumped you for that girl with the mustache and big boobs.”

“Tina Uberanga. She was Basque
and
Italian . . . poor thing.”

“I remember you were madly in love with him for a long time after he dumped you.”

“No, I wasn’t.”

“Yes, you were. We used to have to drive by his house at least five times a day.”

“No way.”

Two more drinks appeared, provided by another of Henry’s associates. Delaney waved her thanks and turned back to her friend. They resumed their gossip over a steady stream of free margaritas. At nine-thirty Delaney glanced at her watch. She’d lost count of her drinks, and her cheeks were beginning to feel a little numb. “I don’t suppose Truly has a taxi service these days.” If she cut herself off now, she’d have over three hours to sober up before the bar closed and she had to drive home.

“Nope. We finally got a gas station with a mini-mart. But it closes at eleven.” She pointed a finger at Delaney and said, “You don’t know how lucky you are to live in a city with a Circle K. You can’t just grab a box of Ding Dongs or a burrito at two in the morning around here.”

“Are you drunk?”

Lisa leaned forward and confessed, “Yes, and guess what else? I’m getting married.”

“What?” Delaney sputtered. “You’re getting married and you waited all this time to tell me?”

“Well, we’re not telling anyone for a while. He wants to talk to his daughter first, before it’s common knowledge. But she’s in Washington with her mother until next week.”

“Who? Who’s the lucky guy?”

Lisa looked her straight in the eyes and said, “Louie Allegrezza.”

Delaney blinked several times then burst into laughter. “That’s a good one.”

“I’m serious.”

“Crazy Louie.” She continued to laugh as she shook her head. “You’ve got to be pulling my leg.”

“I’m not. We’ve been seeing each other for eight months. Last week he asked me to marry him, and of course I said yes. We’re getting married November fifteenth.”

“Nick’s brother?” Her laughter died. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

“Very, but we can’t tell anyone until he talks to Sophie.”

“Sophie?”

“His daughter from his first wife. Sophie’s thirteen and a real daddy’s girl. He thinks if he tells her when she gets back, she’ll have almost six months to get used to the idea.”

“Crazy Louie,” Delaney repeated, stunned. “Isn’t he doing time in prison?”

“No. He doesn’t do crazy things anymore.” She paused and shook her head. “Besides, he was never really
that
crazy.”

Delaney wondered if her friend had fallen on her head in the past ten years and suffered memory loss. “Lisa, he stole a car in the fifth grade.”

“No. We were in the fifth grade. He was in the ninth, and in all fairness, he was on his way to take it back when he hopped the curb and got high-centered on that bench in front of Value Drug.” Lisa shrugged. “He might not have even gotten caught if he hadn’t swerved to miss the Olsens’ dog, Buckey.”

Delaney blinked to clear her head. “Are you blaming Buckey?”

“That dog always did run loose.”

All dogs ran loose in Truly. “I can’t believe you’re blaming poor Buckey? You must be in love.”

Lisa smiled. “I am. Haven’t you ever felt so in love you wanted to crawl inside a man’s skin and stay there?”

“A few times,” Delaney confessed, feeling a little envious of her friend. “But I got over it after a while.”

“Too bad you live so far away, I’d ask you to be in my wedding. Remember how we were always going to be each other’s maid of honor?”

“Yeah.” Delaney sighed. “I was going to marry Jon Cryer and you were going to marry Andrew McCarthy.”

“
Pretty in Pink
.” Lisa sighed, too. “That was a great movie. How many times do you think we sat there and cried when Andrew McCarthy dumped Molly Ringwald because she was from the wrong side of the tracks?”

“At least a hundred. Remember when—” she began but the bartender’s voice interrupted her.

“Last call,” he bellowed.

Delaney checked her watch again. “Last call? It’s not even ten.”

“It’s Sunday,” Lisa reminded her. “Bars close at ten on Sunday.”

“We’re both too drunk to drive.” Delaney panicked. “How are we going to get home?”

“Louie’s picking me up ‘cause he knows I’m a cheap date and thinks he’s going to get lucky. I’m sure he’ll take you home, too.”

She pictured her mother’s horrified face peering out the front window, crazy Louie Allegrezza careening up the driveway. Delaney smiled at the thought, and she knew she was a few margaritas past sobriety. “If you don’t think he’ll mind.”

But it wasn’t Louie who blew into the bar five minutes later like he owned the place. It was Nick. He’d slipped a plaid flannel shirt over his T-shirt. He’d left the shirt unbuttoned, and the ends hung open at his hips. Delaney sank down in her seat. Drunk or sober, she wasn’t in the mood to face him. He hadn’t mentioned their past when she’d seen him earlier that day, but she still didn’t trust that he wouldn’t.

“Nick!” Lisa waved as she called across the bar. “Where’s Louie?”

He looked toward the booth at Lisa, then his gaze locked on Delaney as he moved toward her. “Sophie called upset about something,” he explained, coming to stand by the table. He paused, then switched his attention to his future sister-in-law. “He asked me to come and get you.”

Lisa scooted across the booth seat and stood. “Would you mind giving Delaney a ride home?”

“That’s okay,” Delaney quickly assured them. She grabbed her crocheted purse and rose to her feet. “I can find my own way.” The room tilted slightly, and she placed a hand on the wall beside her. “I don’t think I’m that drunk.”

The corners of Nick’s mouth pulled into a frown. “You’re wasted.”

“I just stood up a little too fast,” she said and stuck her hand in her peach-colored bag, searching for a quarter. She’d have to call her mother. She really wasn’t looking forward to it, but if she thought her mother would be horrified to see Louie, Nick would send her over the top.

“You can’t drive,” Lisa insisted.

“I wasn’t—heeey!” she called out to Nick’s retreating back as she watched him head across the bar with her purse in his hand. Any other man might have been in danger of looking a little swishy clutching a woman’s peach bag, but not Nick.