He did the same thing at each gas station he passed. Since he knew the license plate number and even had a recent receipt for his car registration in his wallet, he had no trouble questioning the gas station attendants. The problem was that each time he described Cherie, the angrier he got. Describing her was a humiliating reminder of how much truth she’d withheld from him.
“Red hair—well, usually. I’m not sure of her actual hair color because she always dyes it. The younger girl has light brown hair, except that right now it’s dyed blond.”
Since both sisters changed hair color on a whim, who knew what color it was now?
“One red, one blond?” The Pakistani clerk couldn’t have sounded more bored.
“I guess they could have changed hair color, so never mind their hair. They both wear . . . I don’t know. Dresses.” This was why he was a firefighter, not a detective. You didn’t have to take note of people’s outfits while you were saving their houses. “Pretty ones. No jeans or anything like that. Unless they were traveling, you know, incognito.”
The guy frowned. “Are these girls celebrities?”
“No.” Unless you counted the Arkansas country fair circuit. “The Southern accent is a definite, but sometimes it’s stronger than others. Mostly when Cherie—the redhead—is tired or upset.”
Which she might be, if Mackintosh really was on their tail. The more he heard about the man, the more worried he got.
“So you’re asking about two girls, who may or may not be red-haired and blond, who might or might not be wearing dresses, and who might be upset or tired?”
“They have names. Cherie and Trixie. No, hang on. Their real names are Chastisement and Humility.”
It occurred to him that each could use a little dose of her own first name. Maybe he should change his name to “Futility.”
The Pakistani clerk had nothing for him, nor did the attendants at the nine other gas stations he stopped at.
He stopped for lunch about halfway between San Gabriel and Las Vegas and wolfed down a turkey sub and a giant Red Bull. After all his years in the fire department, he knew how to operate on not much sleep. He also knew that he tended to get crabby in such situations.
Crabby was definitely on the menu today, sandwiched between anger at Cherie and worry about Mackintosh.
But the farther down the highway he got, the more the worry about Mackintosh dominated. He tried Cherie’s cell phone several times, and even called Trixie’s. But neither one of them answered. What if Mackintosh had caught up with them and they couldn’t reach their phones? What if he was using them to lure Jacob into some kind of trap?
Toward evening, at a gas station just over the Nevada border, he finally got a tip. A Suburban had driven into the rest stop earlier in the day. The young attendant had seen a redhead and a blonde in the car, though he hadn’t heard them speak or gotten a look at their clothes. Both were hot chicks.
Bingo. Though he himself wouldn’t put Trixie in the “hot” category, unless “hot” included “radioactive.”
The attendant didn’t think the girls had left yet. Logic told him to check the hotel, since they were very likely as exhausted as he was. He drove slowly around the Best Western, scanning the parking lot. And there, all the way in the back, snuggled in a corner, he spotted his Suburban. The sight brought his simmering rage to a boil.
What if his mother had needed the van?
Many things he could forgive—had forgiven—but interfering with his ability to take care of his mother wasn’t one of them. Cherie had better have a really, really good reason for what she’d done. He couldn’t wait to hear it.
After knocking on all the nearby ground floor rooms and coming up empty, he bounded upstairs to the second floor. At the third knock, he heard scampering feet inside. His whole body went on alert, like a hunter who has finally spotted a deer.
He heard whispers, and something that sounded like a giggle. It was Trixie and Cherie. It had to be.
And that giggle was the last straw.
The two Harper sisters were laughing at him. At what a fool they’d made of him. At how they’d jerked him around like a lovesick puppet on a string. At how he’d thought he was rescuing them from Mackintosh, when they were perfectly safe the whole time. He thudded his fist on the door with one sharp blow.
The door swung open. Two pale, alarmed faces stared up at him, but all he saw was Cherie. Cherie with her voluptuous body and eyes full of secrets. Cherie with the generous nature but the barricaded soul. The woman who had snagged his heart from the very beginning, and who’d never taken him seriously.
And in that moment, he knew that he was done. Really, truly done. Once and for all.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Cherie nearly fainted in relief at the sight of Vader. When the banging on the door had woken them up, both she and Trixie had been sure that Mackintosh had tracked them down. She’d scrambled out of bed, a current of panic running through her as she collided with Trixie, who’d started giggling hysterically. After the terror came a rush of fury that one man could still make her feel so vulnerable—that she’d let one nasty man control her life for so long.
At that point, she’d let go of Trixie and marched to the door. Trixie had scurried after her, either for protection or support, she wasn’t sure. She peered in the peephole, but instead of Mackintosh’s thick-jowled, squinty-eyed face, there was strong, handsome, good Vader silhouetted with the setting sun behind him.
She threw open the door, but before she could throw herself into his arms, he started talking. He didn’t sound at all like the playful, ardent Vader she was used to. This Vader spoke with implacable coldness.
“I’m here for one reason only,” he said. “Mackintosh. My mother thinks he might have followed you. Have you seen him?”
Numb, Cherie shook her head.
“Good. I’m going to be keeping watch in my truck. I would consider it a real favor if you wouldn’t run off again behind my back.”
“Behind your back? But you said—”
He threw up a hand to stop her. “There’s no point. I’m done, Cherie. Even I have my limit, and you finally crossed it. I kept thinking I couldn’t feel so much for someone who didn’t feel anything for me, but I guess I don’t know much about love.”
Cherie tried to protest, but he kept going.
“I was so stupid, I thought loving you with all my heart would be enough. I was a big, goofy-ass fool. But I’m done now. As soon as we deal with Mackintosh, my mom and I are moving out. And you can go on with your life. In the meantime, I’ll be out in the truck. And you might want to turn your freaking cell phones on.”
He swung away from the door and disappeared down the outer balcony that wrapped around the back of the Best Western. Cherie stood frozen as the door clicked shut on its own.
“He looks pretty mad,” Trixie said. “Are you all right, sis?”
She didn’t answer. Whatever she was, the word “okay” did not apply. She wanted to check her body for broken bones, pierced organs, actual injuries that might explain why she felt mortally wounded.
Brushing past Trixie, she dug in her purse for her cell phone. She hadn’t intended to sleep so long. Most of the day had disappeared. Maybe her cell phone had died. But no, it still had three percent battery left. It also displayed an array of missed calls and messages from Vader.
“I didn’t hear any calls,” she said, puzzled. Then she turned the phone over, and saw the little button had been pushed, the one that kept calls from coming through. She frowned at it, thinking it must have gotten clicked by accident. Then, just to torture herself, she listened to Vader’s last message. “I got your text. Call me, Cherie. This is not cool. Not cool at all.”
She looked up at Trixie. “You said he offered us the van.”
Trixie stuck out her chin. She was still in her underwear, little panties and a ribbed baby T that made her look like an underage model in a Calvin Klein ad. “He loves you. He would have offered it.”
Cherie drew in a deep breath. “I told you to tell him to join us.” Even as she said it, she scrolled through her text messages until she found Vader’s answer. “Call me right this second,” she read aloud.
Trixie dropped her head in shame.
“And then, what’d you do, turn the ringer off so I wouldn’t hear his calls?”
A microscopic nod.
“What about the note I left for Mrs. Brown?”
“Fish tank,” whispered Trixie.
“What in blue blazes are you trying to achieve, Trixie? You’re trying to make Vader hate me? What evil little plan are you working on?”
Trixie’s head swung up, eyes spitting fire. “I don’t have an evil little plan. I have a good plan. Anyway, what do you care? You don’t want Vader anyway!”
“Why, you little— Let me get this straight. You lied about getting Vader’s permission to use his van, then ignored his texts? He must have been frantic. He’s been nothing but good to you and that’s how you treat him? That’s how you treat me?”
“Who are you to talk?” Trixie stamped her foot in a passion. “If I had someone like Vader who loved me, I’d never let him go!”
Cherie waved the phone toward the door. “You just took care of that for me, didn’t you?”
“Oh, you’re always going hot and cold on him. If you’re so worried about Vader, what are you doing standing here talking to me?”
Cherie stared at her little sister, who could drive you crazy one moment, and hit on the most important thing in the world the very next. She checked her phone, which still had only three percent battery, and decided to leave it on the charger. “We’re not done here. I’m so upset with you I could scream. You lied right and left! What were you thinking?”
“I didn’t mean any harm! I didn’t want to wait. I wanted to leave right away. Then you made us stay in this stupid hotel and—”
Cherie threw up her hands and turned toward the door. “Don’t go anywhere.”
“You’re leaving me here alone?” Trixie asked anxiously.
“Lock the door. Don’t open it unless it’s me. Then again, I might strangle you.”
Cherie ran out the door, onto the second floor landing, and leaned over the railing. She didn’t see Vader, but his baby-blue truck was parked conspicuously on the other side of the parking lot. It was empty. “Vader,” she called, but he didn’t answer. She wouldn’t blame him if he never answered her again. If he thought they’d run off to Vegas in such a screw-you way, no wonder he despised her. She would have deserved it. But she hadn’t, and she at least deserved a chance to explain.
“Vader,” she called again, louder, feeling like Juliet calling down to Romeo from her balcony. When she still got no answer, she headed for the stairs that would take her to the ground floor. Maybe he hadn’t gotten to his truck yet. Maybe he had put the seat back to take a nap.
Twilight was descending onto the anonymous stretch of highway that soared overhead. The steady roar of the nearby 5 sounded like an especially noisy ocean. It reminded her of the time Vader had taken her to the beach in Santa Barbara, and how much fun they’d had playing in the waves. He’d let her ride on his shoulders and helped her swan dive into the water. Vader had been as excited as a kid, showing her how to float on her back and dog paddle. All Vader ever wanted to do was enjoy life and lavish love on her. And she’d been too afraid to let him.
The parking lot lights blinked to life as she hurried across the asphalt to his truck. Peering in the passenger side window, she saw that the driver’s seat and spacious crew cab were both empty. The sight of the Ford’s interior sparked another little surge of emotion. She spotted Vader’s beloved ram horn necklace hanging from the rearview mirror. It had been gifted to him by the so-called Goddesses he’d helped out in Loveless, Nevada after the wildfire. They’d informed Vader that the ram was his totem animal, which made sense to Cherie. The cup holder still held a Red Bull. His car charger was still plugged in.
Everything Vader, except Vader.
She pulled back from the truck and scanned the lot. Maybe he’d gone to the Sizzler for some food. He probably hadn’t eaten much, what with pursuing two thoughtless girls across the California border. “Sorry, Vader,” she whispered to his totem necklace. “Sorry for everything.”
She decided to just call him, then remembered she’d left her cell phone charging in the hotel room. No problem; she’d dash over to the Sizzler and check for him there. She squinted toward the restaurant, where red neon lights shone through the blue twilight. If Vader wasn’t at the Sizzler, she’d just wait by his vehicle. He had to come back sometime. He’d said he was spending the night in his truck, and he always did what he said.
A bit nervously—it was getting dark, and she supposed it was possible that Mackintosh had followed them, though unlikely—she crossed the parking lot and headed down the sidewalk that hugged the wall of the Best Western. She’d feel a lot safer once she reached the busier thoroughfare between the restaurant and the hotel.
But she didn’t even make it that far. As she rounded the corner, she slammed into a large, male body that stank of nervous sweat, old car, and tobacco juice.
Mackintosh.
Numbly, she looked up at the familiar, squinty-eyed face. Six years hadn’t changed him much. They’d added a bit of extra flesh to his jowls, sunk his eyes deeper into the ruddy elephant folds of his leathery face. He was sweating like an old hog and breathing heavily, as if he’d just expended a tremendous amount of energy.
“What’d you do?” she asked, nonsensically. But a horrifying suspicion was dawning. No sign of Vader, and here was Mackintosh, looking like he’d just run up a mountain. “What’d you do?”
“Taught that boy a lesson. He needs to stay away from my rightful wife,” said Mackintosh, in his broad, backwoods cadence. He wiped his hands on his overalls. “You think I didn’t see the video the whole town’s talking about? I’m not buried in the last century like your father.”
“Where is he?” Strangely enough, after all these years of fearing Mackintosh, now that he was right here in front of her, all she could think about was Vader. “What did you do?”
“What had to be done.”
“You’re crazy as a sick rooster.”
He reached for her, but she wrenched her arm away before he could touch it.
“I’m not your wife. I checked with a lawyer and that so-called wedding was not legal.”
“I got signed papers.” He patted his jacket, the same sort of waist-length denim workingman’s jacket he’d worn ever since she could remember. Under it he wore a limp-collared once-white shirt. The sight of the frayed edges brought back the suffocating atmosphere of Pine Creek.
She nearly gagged. “It doesn’t matter. I was underage, you drugged me, and there was no official witness. You can’t get away with any of this, Mackintosh.”
He squinted at her, his mouth working. She knew he had a serious tobacco addiction, but wasn’t chewing any at the moment. Maybe he’d run out. That would do wonders for his mood.
“We’ll keep this real simple. Your daddy gave you to me. We signed the papers. I held up my end, but you didn’t. I told him the only way to make it right, since I had a missing bride, was if I could have Humility. Prophesize said it would have to be my son who got her. But then she run off too. So did Robbie. Now I want my damn son back. So you’re coming with me.”
Holy spit on a cracker, Mackintosh was even crazier than she remembered. He wasn’t even making sense. “I don’t know where Robbie is. Neither does Humility.”
Blotches of red mottled Mackintosh’s face. “No, but I’m betting your spawn of Satan brother does. If Jacob knows I have you, he’ll come running. I should have grabbed Humility at your house. But that wheelchair witch had her hand on her alert button.”
So he wanted to use her to lure in Jacob. Cherie had to admit his plan would work. If Jacob knew Mackintosh had her, he’d come running. She quickly ran through her options. Macki
ntosh was strong enough to easily overpower her. She could yell and hope that Trixie heard her—or someone else. But by the time anyone could do anything, she’d probably be unconscious in the trunk of his car. Besides, she didn’t want Trixie anywhere near the man.
Her best hope was to keep him talking until someone happened to walk by. And it was time to go on the attack.
“Mr. Mackintosh, if you leave here right now, without making any more trouble, I promise I won’t file charges against you.”
His eyebrows, so bushy that a few hairs wandered a good three inches from his face, pulled together. “What are you going on about?”
“I told you I saw a lawyer. What you did was illegal and I can prove it. You gave me drugs.”
“There’s no proof of that.”
“Jacob was there. He saw me right afterward. And whatever we did to get away from you was in self-defense, so don’t even waste your time talking about the charges against us. They’ll never stand up in court. The lawyer said so.” She couldn’t believe her voice was holding steady. She actually sounded legitimate.
Behind him, between their corner and the Sizzler, a steady trickle of customers drove into the restaurant parking lot and strolled toward the door. If only one of them would look in their direction! But what would they see? It probably looked as if she and Mackintosh were having a pleasant conversation. But if someone paused even for a second, she could scream or run or do something dramatic that would draw their attention.
And then she saw it. A police cruiser easing through the lot, heading right for the restaurant. The officers in the car were probably interested in a meal, not a rescue, but she’d take what she could get. She wished she could take a step back, out of Mackintosh’s reach, but if she did they wouldn’t be able to see her. If she darted forward, she’d run smack into him.
Four Weddings and a Fireman Page 26