by Mary Campisi
So, why was the woman here now, combing Tess’s hair, rifling through drawers to find a fresh T-shirt, suggesting toast and tea? Fussing over her? Ramona was not a fusser, not in anyone’s imagination. What did she want? “You don’t have to take care of me,” Tess said, her voice hoarse from a dry throat and two bouts of vomiting. “I’ll be fine.”
“You will?” She set the T-shirt on the towel bar. “Your eyes are sunken, your face pale, your lips cracked. At the very least, I’m guessing you’re dehydrated.” Her dark gaze slid over her. “How long have you been throwing up? A day? Two?”
Tess shrugged. “On and off for a week, I think.”
“And you have no idea why this would be happening?” she asked, her voice soft, persuasive.
There was no getting out of an answer. The woman might sound serene, but Tess had heard stories about her explosive outbursts and she did not want them aimed at her. “It’s Stephanie. She called.”
“She called you? Why in the devil would she do that?”
Tess shrugged, tried to hide the pain in her voice. “I know what I think, but it’s not very nice and probably way off base.”
“What do you think?” When Tess didn’t answer right away, Ramona thrust both hands on her ample hips and said, “Well? Why do you think she’d do that? You must have a reason if it’s upsetting you enough to throw up.”
“I think the woman’s taunting me.”
“Taunting?” Tess didn’t miss the sliver of anger. “How so?”
“She’s made a few offhanded comments that implied she and Cash were head-over-heels-can’t-breathe in love.” Tess tried to block out images of Stephanie and Cash in bed and in love. “And this last time she said they’d talked about how things used to be, how they could have been…”
“How they could have been when? After he got over you, which was never going to happen? After he stopped loving you? Again, never.” She let out a cold laugh, shook her head. “That woman is delusional. I say she’s making it all up. Women do desperate things when they’re fighting for something they want, especially if a man is the prize. You ignore her, and you get on that phone and tell my nephew to get his behind home. Now.” She let out a string of curses filled with anger and enough visuals to fuel a fireworks display. “I don’t care if that woman is dying, she has no right to try and disrupt your life and ruin your happiness. That’s what people like that do. They can’t find a second of happiness in their own lives, so they make it their mission to ruin everyone else’s. Tell him to get out, now.” She paused, her words fierce. “Tell him about the baby.”
“What baby?”
Ramona pointed to Tess’s belly. “Yours and Cash’s.”
“I’m not pregnant. I’m just upset.”
The woman raised a brow. “Keep telling yourself that. Do it until I get back here in the morning with a pregnancy test to prove you wrong.”
Hope had fluttered in Tess’s heart for years, but it had never found a home there, never taken hold or been able to secure a place to flourish. There was too much at risk, too much uncertainty and improbability to form a foundation. While she did experience random moments of almost believing the impossible, its absence remained elusive, agonizing, and painful.
Ramona returned the next morning as promised, thrust a scowl and a pregnancy test at her, and shooed her into the bathroom. Minutes later, the test confirmed what Cash’s aunt suspected.
Tess was pregnant.
Could she dare to hope the child would live? The doctor had warned that if she ever became pregnant again, she could have another ectopic pregnancy. Would God be so cruel as to give her another child and then take it away? No, she could not believe He would do that. Ramona insisted she call Cash at once and give him the news, but Tess refused. What was the point of letting him hope until she knew this wasn’t an ectopic pregnancy? Ramona didn’t like that response, said Tess wasn’t strong enough to handle bad news alone, to which Tess agreed and asked Ramona to accompany her to the doctor’s. The frown on the woman’s face flipped into an almost smile, but she merely nodded and replied with a simple yes.
Two days later, they sat in the doctor’s office and for the first time in years, there was reason to hope. The blood test and ultrasound revealed no signs of an ectopic pregnancy. This is good news, Tess. Too bad Cash isn’t here to learn about it firsthand. The doctor’s words swirled through her as her gaze drifted to his hands; strong, capable, blunt-cut nails. Hands that had delivered hundreds of children. Would they deliver their baby, too?
Ramona clasped her hand, squeezed, didn’t try to hide the tears in her eyes when she spoke to the doctor. “Thank you. You’ve given us something we haven’t had in a long time: hope.”
CASH FOLDED the pillow in half, rolled onto his side and tried to ignore the spring from the tweed couch digging into his hip. No wonder Mason was obsessed with Harry Blacksworth’s house. In fact, the boy had been intrigued with Cash and Tess’s place, too. And hadn’t he gone on and on about walking the land and roasting marshmallows on an open fire? Yeah, he had, and considering the place he’d been living, it was no wonder. Clunker cars with rusted-out fenders in the parking lot, chipped and faded paint on the windows, damaged siding, bicycles, skateboards, balls and bats strewn on the grass and sidewalks. Barking dogs, crying kids, yelling adults. Stephanie had excused it all away with a wave of her hand and a casual comment about doing the best she could under the circumstances. She meant her lack of money due to her illness. Since he’d agreed to head to Ohio with her, she’d begun to drop hints about money or lack thereof. I just bought Mason a new pair of tennis shoes a month ago, and he’s already outgrowing them. Or, I told Mason he had to wait for the football jersey he wanted. That’s just how it is…
Had Mason grown up like this? Did he have enough food to eat or had he gone hungry? What about a winter coat and gloves? Winter boots? The boxes in the corner of the living room meant this place was a short stay and they hadn’t unpacked yet, or they were already packing for a move. But a move where? Stephanie couldn’t have known he’d agree to let Mason move to Magdalena. What then? When he asked, she didn’t quite look him in the eye when she said they’d run out of money at their last place and the landlord refused to give her extra time to come up with the rent. Why had Mason gone all pale and pasty when his mother made that comment? Something wasn’t right. There was more to this story than unpacked boxes and unpaid rent and Cash would find out what.
But not tonight. He yawned, slipped into a pre-slumber state, his thoughts on his wife and their last good-bye.
“Go and do what you have to do.” Her eyes had filled with tears as she’d clasped his face between her hands, and whispered in a fierce voice, “Come back to me, Daniel Casherdon.”
He’d traced the line of her jaw, placed a finger on her lips. “Always.”
“Always,” she’d repeated before she leaned on tiptoe, kissed him long and slow and deep. Then she broke the kiss and stepped away, shoulders back, mouth trembling. “Be safe. I love you.”
Tess’s words lulled him to sleep. Soon, they’d be together again… He dreamed of his wife, longed for her, needed to touch her, fill her…soon. When the hands cupped his crotch, he thrust into them, desperate, greedy. And when the breasts rubbed over his bare chest, he reached for them, stroked them, took a nipple into his mouth and sucked. Tess. Tess.
“Oh, Cash.”
Stephanie? Cash pulled away and jumped off the couch so fast he almost landed on the ground. “Stephanie? What the hell?” He could just make out her face in the dimness of the nightlight. His gaze traveled to her neck, her breasts. Damn, what was she wearing? She flipped on the light switch and hell if she wasn’t wearing a skimpy pink nightgown, practically see-through, and not one bit shy about it. Cash adjusted his athletic shorts, snagged his T-shirt from the chair, and tossed it at her. “Put this on.”
She ignored the request, instead offered a slow smile. “Come sit with me.”
He planted his hand
s on his hips, glared at her. “What the hell’s wrong with you? Why are you doing this?”
“Can’t you give me this one last thing to remember you by? A parting gift?”
“Stop.” Dying or not, Stephanie was miles past crossing the line.
Her eyes grew bright, her cheeks flushed. “I knew you were special the first time you walked into the kitchen with Lewis. So handsome, so confident. So wounded. I wanted to save you, wrap you in my arms that very instant and share your pain. Oh, but I wanted to.” A soft laugh spilled from her. “You were something else, Daniel Casherdon, and every woman who met you wanted a piece of that something. Me, too.” She folded her hands, placed them in her lap like she wasn’t wearing a see-through nightie. “And it didn’t matter that I was married to a decent man who loved me; none of that mattered but the way you made me weak when I saw you. I know you felt the energy between us; strong, pulsing, needy. We were going to end up together whether Lewis died or not. I knew it and you knew it, too.”
“That’s enough. Lewis was my friend and you were his wife. There was no thing between us.” Lewis had invited him to eat chili and watch Sunday afternoon football. He did not invite him over to steal his wife.
“There’s no reason to be shy or feel guilty about it. I knew we’d be good together.” Her voice turned sultry. “And we were.” Pause. “Remember?”
He cleared his throat. No, he didn’t remember. Whatever had happened with Stephanie or any other woman was in a past he’d erased from his brain—and his crotch. Tess was the woman he thought about, the woman he loved, the one who owned his heart and his body. “That was a long time ago.” He dragged a hand through his hair, looked away. Nate had told him he was a fool to come here with Stephanie because a woman from a man’s past didn’t always want to stay in his past. It sure as hell looked like he might have been right.
“It feels like yesterday.” She eased off the couch, made her way toward him, and stopped when she was an arm’s length away. “I tried to forget, but that was like saying forget how to breathe. It lived just under the surface all these years and I compared every man I was with to you. Do you know how frustrating that is?”
“I really don’t want to hear this.” Where was the dying woman with the big tears and the sad story? Her he wanted to help. But this one? No way. She was dangerous.
She let out a small laugh, took a step toward him, and touched his arm. “Nobody was good enough. Some were too immature, or too arrogant, or too needy. None of them were you, Cash, and that was the real problem.” He opened his mouth to speak, but she stopped him. “Let me have my say. Please? I have to get this out before it’s too late. There’s never been anyone like you, Daniel Casherdon, not before or after. Yes, I should have told you I was pregnant with your child, but what would you have done? Married me? You weren’t the marrying kind, not back then.” She stroked his arm, smiled. “You were like a wild stallion who did not want to be tamed. There was a reckless passion about you that was irresistible. Any woman who’s ever been with you can attest to that, I’m sure.”
“The past is called that for a reason.” He met her gaze, held it. “People move on, forge new paths…change.”
“Oh, you’d like me to think you’ve changed?” Her dark eyes sparkled when she laughed. “I can see you’ve bought into the whole commitment thing and you don’t do a bad husband imitation—” her gaze slid to his ring finger and the gold band “—but nobody’s ever going to tame you, and nobody’s ever going to make you a one-woman man.”
He shook off her hand and spat out, “That’s where you’re wrong. I love Tess and she’s all the woman I need. She’s the only woman I need.”
“You made me tingle and ache for your touch, made me feel things I didn’t know existed.” She spoke as though she hadn’t just heard him profess love and devotion to his wife. Another laugh, this one more seductive than the last. “Three glorious days in bed. What I wouldn’t give to feel like that one more time.” She licked her lips. “Would you give me this one final gift?”
Why was she talking like this? A very real possibility hit him, one that might explain the clinginess and the words that implied she wanted to have sex with him. “Are you taking drugs?” Didn’t doctors sometimes prescribe drugs to terminally ill patients to help with the pain? Stephanie didn’t look like she was in a lot of pain right now, but maybe she’d needed something to deal with coming home for her final days.
“Is it so impossible to imagine us together one last time?”
“I am not even going to answer that.” He thought again about the possibility of drugs. Right now he wished she was on something, anything so it would explain the irrational, off-the-wall behavior.
“I’d never tell. I’d take my last breath and never whisper a word to your wife.” She lifted a shoulder, shrugged. “Besides, she probably already thinks we’re sleeping together.”
“Why would you say that?” Tess knew he would never do that to her. Never. Didn’t she?
Another shrug. “Because we share a child together, because I used to see her watching us, trying to figure out if we still shared a connection. She’s not a fool. Your wife is a very intelligent woman. She wanted me gone as soon as possible but I don’t think she really believed you’d come, too.”
He dragged a hand over his face, wished he’d not let guilt force him to make this trip. If she thought their shared past could ever become a shared present, she could think again. Never happening. As for Mason, maybe she’d had her reasons for not telling him about her illness, and maybe they had to do with getting Cash back to Ohio. “I’m done with this conversation. I’ll be back in the morning. Ten o’clock.”
She frowned. “You’re not staying here?”
Stephanie had been pushing that the whole trip, said he could stay in Mason’s room, but he’d opted for the couch. Tonight she’d taken that choice away. He wanted out of this place, out of this state, and he wanted to get back to Magdalena and Tess. “I’ll find something in town. Get some rest. Tomorrow you’re going to tell Mason the truth.”
13
The world was full of good and bad, right and wrong, love and hate. Pop knew all of this, had witnessed his share in his seven plus decades of walking this earth, but when a child was caught in the mix of it all, well, that’s when he had a hard time understanding and a harder time forgiving, no matter the reason.
He’d been waiting for Lester Conroy’s report, torn between hope the man wouldn’t find anything more treacherous than a few parking tickets or late taxes, and a gut feeling there was a lot more to Stephanie Richmond’s backstory than the one she’d shared in Magdalena. Tula Rae thought so, too. They’d taken to sipping Sal Ventori’s wine this past week, plotting out scenarios on the what and why of Cash’s ex’s appearance with a son in tow. Nine years of nothing and then a drop-in to say, I’m dying, meet your son? Tula Rae said it was fanciful mischief and maybe the boy wasn’t even Cash’s. Worse, maybe the woman wasn’t even dying and it was all a set-up to get money from him…or to get him! Pop scratched his jaw, thought about poor Tess. The girl had been looking mighty peaked lately, like she wasn’t eating or sleeping much, and with her husband caught up in guilt and sympathy for an ex, maybe she’d been suffering from neglect and disappointment. Hard to tell. He wished Will and Olivia Carrick weren’t still gallivanting an ocean away. London, Rome, Florence, Venice. Eight weeks of travel that couldn’t have come at a worse time. If Olivia knew about the predicament Cash and Tess found themselves in, she’d hop the first plane out of wherever she was, and she’d do it with or without her husband.
But she didn’t know and she wasn’t going to find out. Pop and the rest of the town would watch out for Tess and when that husband of hers got back from seeing to his dying ex, well, Pop might just have a talk with him about duty and loyalty above all to a man’s wife. Still, how could he fault the boy for trying to do the right thing? Unless what he thought was the right thing was the wrong thing. Pop was still contemplating
Tess and Cash’s situation when the man he’d been waiting to hear from called. “Hello?”
“Mr. Benito? This is Lester Conroy.”
No mistaking that Texas drawl. “I was just wondering when I might hear from you. Got any news?”
“Yes, sir.” The man cleared his throat, coughed. “I sure do. I was thinking we might meet in person.”
“Oh?” Pop scratched his head, narrowed his gaze on his wife’s portrait. “And why might you be thinking that?” Wonder what Nate Desantro would say about Lester Conroy waltzing into town. Not much, Pop could guarantee that.
“I got some information that’s best shared face to face.” More throat clearing. “It’s a bit of a twist and I want to make sure there’s no misunderstanding.”
“Huh. Just tell me straight up, is our boy being hoodwinked?”
“Well… How about I come see you? I’m about an hour from Magdalena if traffic cooperates.”
“You want to come to my house, fine, keep driving. You can give me the long version when you get here.” Pop clutched the phone, sucked in a breath. “Mr. Conroy, don’t sugar-coat it. I want a yes or a no. Did our boy get hoodwinked?”
“Yup.”
That one word kept Pop in his seat until the doorbell rang fifty-two minutes later. Lester Conroy reminded Pop of a cowboy from the late seventies: tall and rangy, black Stetson, jeans held up with a silver buckle the size of a pomegranate, and a smile that split open his leathery face and reached his sky-blue eyes. “Mr. Benito.” He thrust out a hand, his grip firm, confident.
“Call me Angelo.”
The smile spread. “I’m Lester.”
“Come on in. I know all about you.” Pop tsk-tsked and shook his head. “Hope you know you caused a lot of heartache in this town, especially to one of my favorite couples.”