Chapter Twelve
Having trouble making ends meet with her paycheck from Photoplay and only Tater’s board, Nicky talked with Doreen about photographing events—such as weddings—during off-hours.
She framed a series of photographs and took them to Margo along with news of the proposed venture. Margo looked slimmer, healthier, and Nicky commented on her appearance.
“I’m happy. Being divorced agrees with me,” Margo said cheerfully. Smiling, she studied Nicky’s latest work. “I’ve missed you, Nicky. Don’t ever stop taking pictures. These are wonderful.”
Nicky basked in praise from someone qualified to give it. Had Meg said the photographs were wonderful, she would have been pleased but the compliment would have lacked impact.
“Look, I can book appointments for you,” Margo offered. “It’s the least I can do.”
Doreen and Nicky ran an ad in the Gazette. Promising photography without intrusiveness, they named their fledgling enterprise Photo Perfect. A week went by with no response to the ad. Then one evening Janet Larson called on behalf of the State Quarter Horse Association, asking Nicky to film the Quarter Horse banquet in December.
“I remember you from the shows. Did Meg Klein ever find Skippy’s Peanut Brittle?”
“Nope. We’re still hoping he’ll show up.”
“I heard someone saw a horse that looked like him at the youth camp near Plainfield.”
Meg had received many such calls—all of which she had followed up only to be disappointed. In her heart Nicky held little hope for Brittle’s return. “Thanks, we’ll check it out. And thanks for asking us to do the banquet.”
“Will Meg be there? She was so high in the state points she’s sure to get an award.”
But not as All-Around Amateur. Nicky knew she had lost that chance when Brittle disappeared. “I’ll get her there,” she promised, thinking she might have to plead a need for Meg’s help.
She started to call Doreen, then realized she didn’t want to talk to her. Sitting in the darkened living room with a hand on Scrappy’s head, she thought perhaps it was best when she worried about her finances to the exclusion of everything else. She had talked to Meg but hadn’t seen her since that argument in the yard. Nor had she seen or talked to Beth. There had been several messages on the answering machine, with promises to call again, but she never asked Nicky to phone her.
Calling Meg at work the next day, she passed on Janet Larson’s tip about Brittle.
“Tomorrow’s Saturday. Let’s go,” Meg suggested.
“What about Denise?”
“She hates Brittle. It’s been a nightmare, Nicky. All we do is fight. She wants to know where I’ve been, who I talked to, what I did every minute that I’m gone.”
“Then why haven’t you left?”
“When I say I’m leaving, she goes into rages, or she cries, or threatens suicide. I don’t know what to do.” She sighed and quietly said, “Someone just came into the lab. Got to go.”
Nicky had to get back to work, too. As she sat on the stool next to Doreen, she thought maybe she shouldn’t be so angry with Beth and just accept things as they were. Wasn’t that better than being caught in a web like Meg was? And she missed Beth no less with the passing weeks. She longed just to see her, was desperate to talk with her.
Scrappy let out a soft woof as Natalie came into the house the next morning and headed for the stairs. In the still-dark room, Nicky glanced at the bedside clock. It was only six-thirty. Natalie spent several nights a week at Dan’s now, sometimes leaving for school or work from there, sometimes returning to Nicky’s for a change of clothes. Her mother would not like this, she thought. Wet with desire, she attempted to return to a quickly fading erotic dream but couldn’t recapture it.
She got up, made coffee and let the dog out into the cold November morning. Shivering, she leaned against the counter in her robe, waiting for the liquid to seep through the ground beans.
“Did I wake you?” Natalie asked, coming into the kitchen fresh from the shower. She poured herself a bowl of Raisin Bran and sat at the table.
“That’s okay. I needed to get up anyway. Meg’s coming over early.” She ran a hand through her tangled hair, then wiped the sleep from the corners of her eyes.
“How is she?” Natalie asked. “I still can’t believe that scene in the yard.”
“She’s sorry it happened. So am I.” Nicky poured them each a cup of coffee. “Your hair’s still wet. You’ll catch cold.”
“I always thought Denise looked like a time bomb. I don’t know what Meg sees in her.” Natalie eyed her. “She guessed right about you two, though.” Finishing her cereal, she pushed her chair back and bolted down her coffee. “Got to go. Say hello to Meg for me. Maybe you two ought to be together.” Grabbing a jacket, she let Scrappy in as she went out the door.
Surprised because Natalie had never before offered an unsolicited opinion on her personal life, Nicky watched her go without comment.
A brisk wind accompanied Meg inside. She leaned against the door to force it shut. “Is it nasty out there! Looks like snow, feels like it, smells like it.”
“You’re an expert on the weather now?” Nicky asked, pleased to see her, realizing that she had missed her these past two weeks.
“I’m a meteorologist of the senses.” Bending to pat Scrappy, she sat at the kitchen table. “I’d kill for a cup of coffee.”
“No words of violence, please.” Nicky poured them both a cup and began cleaning up the breakfast dishes. “Want something to eat?”
“I won’t refuse a couple pieces of toast.”
“So, how did you get away?” Nicky put bread in the toaster.
“I told her last night I was going with you to look for Brittle today,” Meg said, her eyes surrounded by dark shadows, her cheeks hollowed.
“You look like shit, Meg, like you never sleep.”
“Thanks. I love compliments.”
“You want me to lie and say you look wonderful? What’s going on?”
“She talks to me all night, asks me questions, wakes me up if I happen to fall asleep.”
“What kinds of questions?”
“She asks about you and me. Were we sexual, do I love you, do I love her. If I find Brittle, am I going to sell him. When are we going to start looking for a house. Did I see you that day. Why do I like you. What do we do when we’re together. Stuff like that.”
Nicky frowned. “Are you going to move?”
“You sound like her. I don’t know. She begs me to stay.” Meg looked despondent.
“What about you? What do you want?”
Shrugging helplessly, she said, “I want to leave. You know that.”
“Then you should.” Nicky sat down and tried to meet her eyes. They were the color of storm clouds.
“I don’t have a good enough reason, I guess. She makes me feel like such a creep.” She slouched in the chair, spreading her long legs out in front of her.
After reflection, Nicky said, “Well, who am I to tell you what to do? What do I know?” Her own love life lay in ruins.
“I’m not giving you any more advice, either. I should have kept my mouth shut about you and Beth. You’d still be seeing each other.”
“We’d still be spinning our wheels, too.”
“That’s better than not having any to spin,” Meg remarked.
An hour later, as they were silently watching the countryside roll past the Rabbit’s windows, Nicky had a sudden thought. “If this is Brittle, how are you going to claim him?”
“I have his papers and some pictures that you took.”
Nicky had seen his registration. It only showed his color and markings, his sex and age, not how many hands he was or any scars. She wondered how willing anyone would be to give him up on the strength of Meg’s word.
The long driveway into the camp cut through sand-grown Norway pines, tall and stately. A small lake began where the road ended, a blue jewel whipped into white froth and surrounded by tree-blanketed hi
lls. Meg drove to the log building marked “Office,” and she and Nicky got out and knocked on the locked door. A cold wind swept grains of snow and sand around them, and they hunched into their winter jackets.
When no one opened up, they wandered through the deserted camp looking for some sign of life. Needle-strewn paths led them to the horse barn, where Meg explained their errand to a balding man in a heavy jacket and jeans. He looked at her doubtfully. “We moved the horses out of here a week ago. We farm them out during the winter months. When did he disappear?”
Meg told him and showed him Brittle’s registration and the pictures of him.
“We did buy one horse a few weeks ago, a nice sorrel with some white on his face and legs like this one.” He gestured at the photographs.
Nicky began to feel some of the excitement showing on Meg’s face. They rode with the man, who introduced himself as Bill, in his Ford Explorer to look at the sorrel horse. Brief glimpses of sun shot through glowering clouds. Dirt from plowed fields mixed with snow and blew across the blacktop. Trees bent to the force of wind.
Bumping down a dirt driveway toward an old farmhouse and barn, she thought Brittle must feel right at home if he was here. It looked like her place with rundown fences and paint-starved buildings. She knew you had to have time and money to make improvements. Perhaps these people were like her, with a shortage of both.
Meg jumped out of the front seat. Nicky followed more slowly, not eager to feel the biting wind again.
Bill hollered, “Anyone around?”
A tall, lean figure appeared in the low door of the barn. “Hey, Bill. Come on in out of that wind. Bitter, ain’t it?”
The three of them walked to the barn. The building offered shelter from the wind but no real warmth. Bill introduced them. “George, these ladies are looking for a stolen horse. Sounds like it could be that sorrel we farmed out with you.”
Nicky stamped her feet on the cracked concrete floor to warm them. Cows mooed from a double row of stanchions behind George, who looked at Meg and Nicky with narrowed, flint-colored eyes. The farmer was so weathered his skin looked like grainy leather.
“I hate to see him go. The grandkids are safe on him,” George grumbled as he examined Brittle’s registration and studied the photographs. “Let’s go look.”
The horse stood in a large, barred stall at the far end of the barn. Chewing sweet-smelling hay, he looked up at them and nickered. Meg grasped the bars and peered into the dark stall, then shoved open the sliding door and stepped inside.
Nicky stood in the open doorway and watched. Although the horse appeared rough with a belly and a heavy coat of winter hair, she recognized him as Brittle. She sniffed back tears as Meg, sobbing, wrapped her arms around the animal’s long neck and pressed her face to him.
“Guess it’s him, huh?” the farmer said gruffly. “Never could understand why women get so emotional about an animal. Couldn’t farm that way. Can’t be crying when it’s time to sell the stock.”
Nicky thought he was addressing Bill, who looked uncomfortable and turned away from the tearful reunion. She waited to hear what Bill had to say, whether he would demand money for Brittle. “Do you have a bill of sale from the people who sold you the horse?” she asked.
He stuffed his hands in his back pockets and nodded. “But there’s no identification on it, if I remember right, and they didn’t want a check.” He snorted a laugh. “We were stupid enough to give them cash. We paid five hundred dollars for that horse.”
Nicky bit her tongue to keep from telling him what kind of money had been offered for Brittle. The horse continued munching hay, ignoring the drama of his discovery.
Kicking through straw bedding to stand next to Nicky, Meg said, “I’ll give you two hundred and fifty as a reward. I can’t afford any more than that.”
Bill sighed deeply as he conceded, “That’s better than nothing. I’ll have to talk to the board members, but that’s only a formality. I’m the director.”
“When you gonna pick him up?” George asked dolefully.
Meg glanced at Nicky. “Tomorrow?”
She nodded.
With Brittle back in the field to keep Tater company, Nicky felt a certain contentment, as if some things were as they should be. Tater’s welcome caused them to laugh. Dan and Natalie joined Meg and Nicky at the fence to watch the horse and pony squeal, kick, buck, then race across the pasture together.
Natalie said, “If horses have strokes, I’d worry about Tater.”
The two animals seemed immune to the cold. They could have sheltered themselves from the wind in the barn, but instead they grazed side by side on dead grass. When Nattie left with Dan in his truck, Meg and Nicky went into the house.
“Will you tell Denise?” Nicky asked, putting the morning’s leftover coffee in the microwave. The kitchen windows steamed in the contrasting heat and cold.
While Meg paced the room, Scrappy sat under the table and turned his head from one to the other as they talked. “I wish I knew who took him. It could happen again, and next time they’d for sure sell him for meat.”
“Well, Bill did give us a description of the people who sold him the horse.” One of them had been a woman. A chill climbed Nicky’s spine. “I can’t hide him from Denise.” She stood with a hand on her hip.
Stopping in mid-stride, Meg said, “You’re a sexy woman, you know.”
Nicky didn’t know, and she was so taken aback by Meg’s sudden reversion to sexual behavior that she couldn’t make the transition immediately.
“I want you, Nicky. Let’s go to bed.” Meg’s voice became soft, almost pleading. She took a step toward her.
Startled, she said, “No.” But as soon as she said it, she realized she wanted Meg too. “How come you’re acting this way all of a sudden?”
“Why not? You’re not seeing Beth. I’m not being sexual with Denise.” She grinned suddenly. “And I love you.”
Nicky felt herself blush. She still loved Beth, she was sure of it, but she had a strong emotional attachment to Meg too. Turning toward the microwave, which had beeped minutes ago, she hid her fluster by removing the coffee and pouring it.
“Look at me,” Meg said from right behind her.
Startled, Nicky turned and found herself face-to-face with Meg, who took her hands. Her heart leaped into a fast, erratic beat. “What if Denise shows up?”
“We’ll lock the doors.”
“We can’t. Nattie might come back.”
“I don’t care. I’ll take the risk.” She backed through the rooms with Nicky in tow, heading toward the bedroom. Meg gave a throaty laugh. “You’d think we’d never made love before. But this time we’re going to do it right. No hurrying, no inhibitions.”
Breathing in ragged, shallow gulps, Nicky felt as if her will had been taken from her. She stood stripped naked before she pulled the sweater over Meg’s head. Watching the waves of hair fall back in place, she dropped the garment and combed her fingers through the pale, silken strands, then grasped Meg’s face between her hands and kissed her.
Passion flowed between them, flaring when they touched. Nicky nibbled Meg’s lips and felt the gentle thrust of tongue. They were still standing, pressed together, and fell locked in an embrace onto the bed when Meg lost her balance.
“Whoa,” Meg said with a husky laugh. “You just swept me off my feet.”
Nicky rolled on top of her and began a slow undulating motion with her hips. As always, she was enthralled by the softness of breasts against breasts, the smoothness of skin sliding against skin. She became entranced when kissing—the feel of warm, pliant lips, the taste of searching tongues.
The world outside the double bed faded. Even the dog’s barking did not alert her immediately. Beth’s voice calling for her from the kitchen and the sound of footsteps leading toward the bedroom shot a painful jolt of adrenaline through her. She felt as if she had experienced an electric shock, and she leaped to her feet in an explosive rush of energy.
Meg muttered, “Déjà vu.”
Nicky thought she must be referring to Natalie’s earlier discovery of them in bed, but this was different, much worse. Nicky shoved an unprotesting Meg into the closet with her clothes, straightened the bed and threw herself upon it—just as Beth opened the door. Raising on an elbow, she attempted to look sleepy.
“So here you are,” Beth remarked as Scrappy sniffed her legs and wagged his tail, perhaps ashamed of his barking. She lifted a slender eyebrow. “Waiting for me?”
Nicky shook her head. Her heart beat wildly, as if trying to escape her chest. She told herself to cool it.
Attempting a slow, sensuous smile, she felt her lips quiver uncontrollably. “Why didn’t you call?” she croaked.
“I haven’t seen you in weeks. It seems like months. And that’s all you have to say to me?” She moved closer to the bed.
Scrappy lost interest in her and smelled the closet door. Helplessly, Nicky watched him and prayed for Meg to remain silent.
“I saw Meg’s car out there.” Beth sat on the edge of the bed and pulled back the bedspread which covered Nicky’s nakedness. “Mm, mm, mm. Look at you, sweetie.” She ran her hand over the length of Nicky’s body, which felt like a strung bow. “You don’t seem particularly glad to see me.”
Nicky stammered, “I’m just surprised is all.” She frantically searched for a good reason to leave the bedroom, but her brain—frozen with fear—refused to function.
“Move over,” Beth said, standing up.
Nicky, who had always loved watching her undress, stared with horror as Beth removed her clothes and slid under the spread. She asked, “Did you see Brittle?”
Beth turned on her side and wrapped Nicky in an embrace. “Did you find him?” She brushed Nicky’s face with kisses.
“Yesterday,” Nicky said, succumbing to the caressing lips in spite of herself. She realized that she was going to have to go through with this, because Beth would never forgive her if she found Meg in the closet. Equally disturbing was the way her body responded to Beth when only minutes ago she had been just as excited by Meg.
“You smell different,” Beth murmured in Nicky’s ear. “Using a new cologne?”
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