by Sandra Brown
His reaction was irritated, as was evident in his voice. “Did you follow me out here?”
“Actually I’ve been waiting for you.”
“I’m touched. How’d you know where to find me?”
“I’ve seen you driving around town in this car. It’s distinctive, to say the very least.”
“It was my daddy’s.”
The Lincoln was a mile-long gas-guzzler almost two decades old, but Key had left instructions at Bo’s Garage and Body Shop that it always was to be kept in showroom condition. He drove it whenever he was home and by doing so felt connected to the father he had lost.
The car had mirrored Clark Junior’s flamboyant personality. Yellow inside and out, it sported gaudy gold accents on the grille and hubcaps. Key affectionately referred to it as the “pimp-mobile.” Jody frowned on the car’s nickname, possibly because she knew it to be fairly accurate.
“You’re still limping,” Lara said. “You should be using your crutches.”
“Screw that. They’re a pain in the ass.”
“You could do your ankle irreparable damage.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
“How’s your side? You didn’t come back to the clinic.”
“No shit.”
“That drain should be removed.”
“I pulled it out myself.”
“Oh, I see. A tough guy. Well, at least you’ve shaved… with a butter knife, I suppose.”
He said nothing because he had the uncomfortable impression that she was mocking him.
“Are you changing the dressing regularly? If not, it could still become infected. Is the wound healing properly?”
“It’s fine. Look,” he said, propping his elbow on the roof of the car, “should I consider this a house call? Are you going to bill me for a consultation?”
“Not this time.”
“Gee, Doc, thanks. Good night.”
“Actually,” she said, taking a step toward him, “I have something else to speak to you about and thought you would rather I do it here where we can’t be overheard.”
“Guess again. Whatever you want to talk about, I’m in no mood to hear. In fact, my mood tonight is what you might call fractious. Do yourself a favor and make yourself scarce.”
He was about to duck into the driver’s seat when she surprised him further by grabbing his arm. “You’ve got gall, Mr. Tackett. I give you credit for that. Or was it Mrs. Winston’s idea to fake a break-in rather than get caught in adultery?”
Key was taken aback, but only momentarily. She was gazing at him solemnly, so solemnly that he smiled. “Well I’ll be damned. The Whiz Kid thinks she’s got it all figured out.”
“Mr. Winston interrupted you while you were in bed with his wife, didn’t he?”
“Why ask me? You’ve got all the answers.”
“While escaping you sprained your ankle. To cover your tracks, Mrs. Winston shot at you. It’s a scene straight out of a bad movie. Did you know she was going to shoot at you?”
“What the hell do you care?”
“That means you didn’t.”
“Don’t put words in my mouth,” he said crossly. “My question stands. What do you care? Or do you just have an unnatural curiosity about the love lives of other people?”
“The only reason I care,” she said heatedly, “is because you barged into my clinic and called me a whore for doing the same thing you did.”
“It’s not quite the same thing, is it?”
“Oh really? How is it different?”
“Because Darcy and I weren’t hurting anybody.”
“Not hurting anybody!” she cried. “She’s married. You claimed that was my most grievous sin.”
“No, your most grievous sin was getting caught.”
“So as long as her husband remains in the dark, it’s okay for you to have an affair with her?”
“Not okay, maybe. But not catastrophic. The only ones suffering any consequences are the sinners.”
“Hardly, Mr. Tackett. You’ve whipped an entire town into a panic over a ‘crime wave’ that doesn’t even exist.”
“That wasn’t any of my doing. Fergus freaked out when he heard Darcy screaming and firing that pistol. He got a little carried away.”
“Or maybe he used the mythical intruder to conveniently allay his own suspicions.”
That possibility also had occurred to Key, but he wasn’t going to admit it. “I’m not responsible for what went on inside his head.”
“Doesn’t it bother you that you’ve instilled fear into a whole town?”
“Fear?” he scoffed. “Hell. Folks are loving the scare. Eating it up. They have something to keep their minds off the heat during these last dull weeks before Labor Day. Sheriff Baxter told me that attempted break-ins and window-peepers have been reported all over town.”
He chuckled. “Take Miss Winnie Fern Lewis for example. She lives in a spooky old three-story house over on Cannon Street. We used to tear down her clothesline every Halloween because she was mean and stingy and handed out only penny candy.
“Anyway, just yesterday Elmo told me that Miss Winnie Fern’s reported a man standing outside her bedroom window watching her undress for six nights straight. She claims she can’t describe or identify him because he always hides behind her rose o’ sharons where he ‘manipulates himself to sexual climax,’ is the way she put it to Elmo. If he kept a straight face it’s better than I could do.
“There’s no window-peeper jacking off behind Miss Winnie Fern’s rose o’ sharons any more than there’s a man in the moon, but she hasn’t had a thrill like that in years, so what’s the harm?”
“In other words, you feel that you’ve provided a community service?”
“Could be. People in a small town like Eden Pass need something to generate excitement.” He moved closer, close enough to catch the scent of her perfume. “What about you, Doc?” he asked in a low pitch. “What are you doing to generate some excitement, seeing as how Eden Pass doesn’t have any legislators to seduce?”
She shuddered with indignation, and immediately Key realized he had lied when he told her he didn’t see what had attracted his brother. Anger flattered Lara Mallory. With her head thrown back in that haughty angle, she could have been the proud bust on the prow of a sailing ship.
Except that she was softer. Much softer. He thought of softness each time the south breeze flattened her clothes against her body or lifted strands of hair away from her cheeks. She also had a very soft-looking mouth.
Not liking his train of thought, he asked, “Picked out your next victim yet?”
“Clark wasn’t my victim!”
“You’re the only married woman he ever got mixed up with.”
“Which indicates that he was more discriminating than you.”
“Or less.”
Furious, she turned on her heel and would have stalked away if his hand hadn’t shot out and brought her back around. “Since you started this, you’re damned well going to hear me out.”
She shook back her hair. “Well?”
“You said that my accusations were unfair.”
“That’s right. They’re grossly unfair. You don’t know anything about my relationship with Clark, only what you’ve read in the tabloids or deduced in your own dirty mind.”
He grinned. She had just placed her slender foot into the snare. “Well, you don’t know doodle-dee-squat about my relationship with Darcy, or with anyone else for that matter. Yet you ambush me out here and start preaching sin like a fire-breathing Bible thumper. If it was wrong for me to jump to conclusions about you, shouldn’t it be just as wrong for you to hang me without a trial?”
Before she had time to reply, he released her, slid into the front seat of the yellow Lincoln, and started the motor. Through the open window he added, “You’re not only a whoring wife, you’re a goddamn hypocrite.”
Chapter Seven
Lara drove aimlessly. The night was clear and warm. The breez
e served only as a conveyer of the heat that emanated from the earth of this vast, hard place.
Texas.
“Texas isn’t just a place,” she had heard Clark say many times. “It’s a state of mind. Xanadu with cowboy boots.”
Lara had never set foot on Texas soil until six months ago, when she claimed the gift he had bequeathed her. She had brought with her preconceptions influenced by Hollywood—the barren, windswept landscapes interrupted only by rolling tumbleweeds like in Giant, and Hud, and The Last Picture Show. Those movies had accurately depicted Texas, but only the western portion of it.
East Texas was green. The verdant forests were comprised of some hardwoods but mostly pines, their trunks dark and straight and aligned so perfectly that Nature could have used a ruler to space them. In the springtime these forests were dappled with patches of pastel color from blooming dogwood and wild fruit trees. Herds of beef and dairy cattle grazed in lush pastures. Lakes brimming with fish were fed by rivers and creeks that had a history of overflowing their banks.
And everywhere there was space, large tracts of land that Texans took for granted if they had never traveled to the crowded Northeast, which most of them scorned as a breeding ground for perverts, pinkos, and pansies.
They had no use whatsoever for Yankees.
Their children pledged allegiance to the flag of the United States of America, but the native-born considered themselves Texans first, Americans second. The blood of the heroes of the Alamo flowed in their veins. Their heritage was rich with larger-than-life characters, and although their state carved a prominent notch in the Bible Belt, they were conversely boastful of bandits and ne’er-do-wells who had become folk heroes. The more notorious the character, the more popular the legends.
If Lara was having a difficult time understanding the people, she had instantly admired their land. County roads radiated from Eden Pass like the spokes of a wheel. Upon leaving the high school, she had selected one at random and had been driving without a destination for about an hour. She was well outside the city limits, and although she couldn’t pinpoint exactly where she was, she didn’t feel lost.
Steering her car onto the gravel shoulder, she cut the engine. As the motor noise died, she was engulfed by the sound of a discordant choir of cicadas, crickets, and bullfrogs. The wind rustled the leaves of the cottonwood saplings growing on the banks of the shallow ditches that lined the road.
She folded her hands over the steering wheel and rested her forehead on them, berating herself for letting Key Tackett get the best of her.
She had done exactly as he’d said: She’d cast stones without knowing all the facts. There were a thousand extenuating circumstances that could put a different complexion on what appeared a shabby affair. She realized that circumstances were not always what they seemed. Unknown factors often made the difference between right and wrong, good and evil, innocence and guilt. Shouldn’t she know that better than anyone?
Her thoughts made her claustrophobic, so she left the car. An open meadow extended as far as she could see on either side of the road. In the near distance, beneath a sprawling pecan tree, a small herd of cattle was settled for the night. Several oil wells, pumping rhythmically, were eerily silhouetted as dark, moving shadows against the night. Rhythmically, they dipped their horse-shaped heads toward the earth, paying it homage like faithful disciples at prayer.
She supposed they were Tackett wells.
It hadn’t rained in over a week, so the ditch was dry. She crossed it easily and moved to the wire fence that surrounded the pasture. Being careful of the sharp barbs, she leaned against a rough cedar post and, tilting her head back, gazed at the panoply of stars and a bright half-moon.
“What are you doing here, Lara?”
It was a question she frequently asked herself. Even before Clark’s death, she had grappled with the idea of coming here and confronting him with her terms for settling their account. She’d planned to present him with a bill for repayment for all that she’d lost.
He died before she had implemented her plan. Although, tragic as his death was, it had little bearing on her achieving her goal. Clark wasn’t essential to her plan. Key was.
Key. He despised her. Because of that, her task wasn’t going to be easy. However, the difficulty didn’t dampen her determination. Medical training had taught her that in order for things to get better, they often had to get worse. Before wounds could heal, they had to be lanced and the poison excised. She was willing to endure anything, no matter how painful, in order to lay to rest the ghosts that haunted her.
Only then would she finally have the peace that had escaped her since her daughter’s death. Only then would she be able to put the tragedies of the past behind her and get on with the remainder of her life, either in Eden Pass or somewhere else.
The years following her return from Montesangre after the deaths of Randall and Ashley had been a wasteland of time. She hadn’t lived; she’d existed. Full of despair and heartache and loneliness, she had moved through the days without connecting with anything around her. Work might have salved her heartache, but she’d been denied the opportunity. She was a pariah, an object of curiosity and ridicule, Clark Tackett’s whore.
That’s what Key had called her. A whore. Jody thought of her that way, too. Lara had seen the unmitigated contempt in her eyes. She’d expected nothing else, really.
Even her own parents had condemned her. They never had shared a warm relationship with their only child, but it had been especially strained since the scandal. They certainly couldn’t understand why she would want to set up her medical practice in an out-of-the-way place like Eden Pass, Texas, particularly since that was Tackett territory.
“They need a doctor there,” Lara had told them when they voiced their incredulity over her decision.
“Doctors are needed everywhere,” her father had argued. “Why go there?”
“Because she always places herself in the worst possible situation, dear.” Her mother spoke softly but coldly. “It’s a habit she’s acquired strictly to annoy us.”
Her father added, “Taking the path of least resistance isn’t a crime, Lara. After all that’s happened, I would think you’d have learned that.”
They would have been aghast if she’d told them the real purpose behind her move to Texas, so she didn’t confide it. Making a futile attempt at self-defense, she’d said, “I know it won’t be easy to establish a practice there, but it’s the best opportunity I’ve been offered.”
“And you have only yourself to blame for that, and for all your other misfortunes. If you had listened to your mother and me in the first place, your life wouldn’t be in shambles now.”
She could have reminded them that they had encouraged her to marry Randall Porter. Even before meeting him, they’d been impressed by his credentials. He was charming and urbane and cosmopolitan. He was fluent in three languages and held a promising position in the State Department, an attribute they liked to throw up to their society friends.
They still regarded Randall as a saint for remaining married to her after the spectacle she’d made of herself with Senator Tackett. Would it make any difference to them, she wondered, if they knew how unhappy she’d been with Randall long before he introduced her to Clark?
Uncomfortable with her memories, Lara retraced her steps to her car and was about to get in when she became aware of a sound coming from overhead. Looking up, she spotted an airplane. It was nothing but a blinking dot of light on the horizon, but it came closer, flying low. In fact, it was cruising at a dangerously low altitude, barely clearing the treetops of the forest bordering the pasture. The aircraft was small—a single-engine plane, she guessed, with her limited knowledge of aviation.
It swooped in low over the pasture and crossed the road about a hundred yards from Lara’s parked car. She sucked in her breath as the plane approached the far woods. Only seconds before it reached the tree line, the plane’s nose reared back at a drastic angle as it went i
nto a steep climb, then banked to the left and gradually ascended to a safer altitude. Lara watched it until she could no longer see the lights.
Would someone be crop dusting at this time of night? Would chemicals be dusted over pastures where cattle were grazing? No, this had to be a stunt flyer.
“Fool,” she muttered as she got into her car and turned on the ignition.
Of course, most considered her a fool for coming to Eden Pass and effectively waving a red flag at the Tacketts. But when one has absolutely nothing to lose, one isn’t so shy of taking tremendous risks. What could the Tacketts say or do to her that hadn’t already been said and done?
Once they had met her demand, she would gladly leave them to their town. In the meantime, she didn’t care what they thought of her. She must, however, get them past their aversion even to talk to her. But how?
Jody was unapproachable.
Key was snide and abusive, and she didn’t welcome subjecting herself to more of him until absolutely necessary.
Janellen? She had sensed in Clark’s sister a spark of curiosity before Jody interceded. Could that curiosity be a chink she could use to pierce the Tackett armor?
It was worth a try.
Janellen was vexed with herself. She’d designated today to pay bills and had organized her desk accordingly. But when she reached for the folder in which she filed their accounts payable, she remembered having taken it to the shop the day before, wanting to compare the invoices with the equipment they had received to make certain that everything was in order. It wasn’t like her to be so absentminded, and she chastised herself for it as she drove the mile from the office to the shop, as the workers called it.
The shop was actually uglier than the headquarters. As the company grew, the original building had been added on to several times to accommodate an ever-increasing inventory of equipment, supplies, and vehicles. Since it was Saturday, the building was deserted. Janellen pulled her car around back and parked near a rear door that opened directly into a tiny cubicle of an office. Here the men had access to a telephone, refrigerator, microwave, coffeemaker, bulletin board, and individual pigeonholes labeled with their names into which Janellen placed their paychecks twice a month.