Zoey Phillips

by Judith Bowen

  CHAPTER TEN

  DINNER THE NEXT DAY was probably going to be a lot like the Sunday before, although Zoey felt that at least she and Lissy had the beginnings of some kind of relationship since the fair.

  She arrived at about ten minutes to six and Marty answered the door, waving a spatula. She shooed Zoey into the family room, muttering that she was just about to finish the sauce for the green beans and if the men didn’t get here soon, they’d start without ’em.

  Lissy and her kitten were playing in front of the fireplace. Zoey noticed the Barbie dolls had been dressed and set to one side, propped up as if they were spectators at a circus. The kitten, puffy and orange and certainly larger than it had been a few days before—to Zoey’s eyes—wrestled with a soft ball Lissy rolled on the floor, growling and sinking tiny fangs into the fabric and shaking it wildly, which caused the hidden bell to rattle. “Hi, Lissy! How’s the kitten? Change his name yet?”

  “No, ’cause we still don’t know for sure if he’s a boy or a girl,” the little girl returned seriously. “I’m going to keep calling him Kitty. I think he’s a he, but Aunt Marty says nobody but the Lord knows yet, she’s never seen a smaller—”

  “Lissy!” Marty shouted from the kitchen. “That’s enough! We got company. And I never said that, your Uncle Ry did.”

  Zoey stifled a giggle.

  “You want to hold him?” The little girl, looking perfectly angelic in a blue velvet dress with a big white collar, held up the animal. “My dad says he likes ladies.”

  Like all the Donnellys. Or Ryan, anyway. Zoey took the kitten. He sniffed her hand and wrist and his soft pink nose tickled her skin. He was orange all over, except for one white paw, and he had big blue-green eyes. The kitten started to purr loudly, a surprisingly big sound coming from such a small creature.

  “He does like you!” Lissy announced happily.

  Zoey handed him back. “I hope so. He’s gorgeous, no matter what. Does he sleep on your bed?”

  Lissy absently brushed cat hairs from the fabric of her skirt. “I wish he could. Aunt Marty says he has to stay in his basket in the kitchen until he learns to use his litterbox.” Lissy giggled behind her hand, then whispered, “He goes to the bathroom on the floor sometimes.”

  Zoey heard the sound of a door opening in the back entry area, and a minute later both Cameron and Ryan stepped into the room, dressed in work clothes. Ryan blew her a kiss and winked. Then he disappeared down the hallway, toward the bedrooms and bathroom.

  Cameron looked tired. He made a slight gesture to catch her attention.

  “Can you tell Marty we’ll be right in?” he asked her. “Just give us a chance to wash up and change.”

  “Problems?”

  “A few.” He shrugged, then disappeared in the same direction his brother had gone.

  Zoey passed on the message and helped Lissy set the table and by the time they’d finished, the two men were back, cleaned up and wearing fresh shirts and jeans. Cameron went to the door, although Zoey hadn’t heard anyone knock, and Gabe, the hired man, entered, his eyes darting everywhere but at her. Maybe he didn’t like women. Maybe he was shy.

  His routine was exactly the same as it had been the previous Sunday. He sat down, dished up and ate, repeating the last two actions several times. Then he muttered something to Marty, presumably thanks, and bolted from the table, pulling his hat down over his ears as he rose, while the rest were still finishing their blueberry cobbler. Marty might not be much of a pastry chef, according to Cameron, but she sure hadn’t missed out on any other culinary skills.

  No one seemed to find Gabe’s behavior at all odd. The routine was probably repeated at the Donnelly Sunday table fifty-two times a year.

  “Corky gonna be okay?” Marty asked when she’d said grace. Zoey raised her eyebrows and Marty added, in an aside to her, “Corky’s a horse.”

  “I think so,” Cameron said. He frowned and reached for the bowl of green beans that Ryan passed him. “He’s tough.”

  “What happened to Corky?” Zoey asked, ladling gravy onto her mashed potatoes. Much more of Marty’s home cooking and she’d be busting out of her jeans.

  “Run-in with barbed wire.” Cameron shook his head. “Some damn fool left a gate down and Corky got tore up in it.”

  “Torn up in a gate?”

  “It’s a wire fence,” Cameron explained. “Barbed wire tacked onto posts. Horses don’t handle junk on the ground very well—brush, wire, that kind of thing. Gets tangled up with their legs.”

  “I figure it’s gotta be four-wheelers, don’t you, Cam?” Ryan glanced up at his brother. “Huh? All-terrain vehicles,” he explained, looking at Zoey. “We got a lot of recreational users around here. They can be careless with gates.”

  Cameron didn’t say anything. Zoey could tell he was preoccupied. Poor horse! She wondered how badly injured it was.

  Ryan changed the subject and managed to get in a few digs about Sara Rundle before dessert was served, which made Zoey wonder how long this ragging of Cameron had gone on. Maybe it was a regular Sunday topic. Another routine. Just how long had the teacher been in the picture?

  Was Cameron serious about her? He acted as though he wasn’t. Did it matter? If a relationship between Zoey and Ryan took root, it mattered. If Cameron married Sara, she’d be Lissy’s stepmother. If she married Ryan, then she and Sara would be related. Sort of. If Cameron had romance on his own mind, that could account for some of his interest in getting his brother married off and moved out.

  She decided to do a little prying of her own an hour later, when Cameron accompanied her back to the garage apartment. Fair was fair. He’d stuck his nose in her business when he’d come over to her place specifically to ask if she was getting anywhere with his brother.

  It was pitch dark at nine o’clock, with only the cold unnatural glow from the yard lights. Ryan had asked her to stay and watch a video with him and Lissy after supper, and she’d agreed. At least Ryan clearly enjoyed the child’s company, which was more than could be said for Cameron, who always seemed stiff around her. Careful. As though she’d break if he bounced her on his knee.

  Zoey had helped Marty with the dishes while Ryan gave Lissy a ride on his back in the living room, complete with “gee-haws” and “yahoos,” to the girl’s delight. Then she half dozed through Lady and the Tramp. Zoey had always regarded Lady as such a wussy little dog, not nearly good enough for the exuberant Tramp. Cameron had disappeared shortly after the meal and reappeared just as the credits were rolling on the small screen, wearing a canvas winter jacket and gloves.

  “Ry, you go ahead and run Lissy’s bath and I’ll walk Zoey down the hill, seeing as I’m dressed for it.”

  Zoey had protested that she was perfectly capable of going back to the apartment herself, but neither man would hear of it. In a way, she was surprised Ryan didn’t offer to escort her. But it did seem silly when Cameron already had his coat and boots on.

  “How’s Corky?” she asked when they got outside. She presumed he’d been with the horse since supper, although there must be all kinds of chores to do on a ranch like this. Brrr! She thrust her hands deep in her pockets. The forecast she’d heard on the radio before leaving the apartment had mentioned snow flurries.

  “Holding his own. The vet’s coming out to check him again later.”

  “Pretty bad, huh?”

  “Couple dozen stitches. Maybe a tendon damaged, we don’t know yet.”

  “Oh.” They walked another few steps and then Zoey decided to broach the subject she’d had on her mind all evening. “I was just wondering. Are you really serious about this Sara Rundle or is Ryan teasing you?”

  He stopped and stared at her for a full three or four seconds, then started walking again. “Why?”

  “Oh, no reason. I was just curious.” She was glad the dark masked her expression somewhat. She hoped he recalled that he’d grilled her about Ryan not a week before.

  He stopped again and Zoey nearly bumped into him
. “I’m not serious, okay? But I might be interested. That satisfy you?” He turned and kept walking, not waiting for an answer.

  “She’s a teacher, right?”

  He made an impatient sound. “You met her—she’s the one who talked to me at the craft fair, in the aisle.”

  Well, she knew that. “The blonde.”

  “That’s her.”

  “She seems like a very nice person,” Zoey rattled on. How would she know? She hadn’t even met her.

  He didn’t say anything. Zoey trudged on, taking three steps to his two. “Listen. I thought I should tell you, I’ve made up my mind about Ryan. I think you’re right. I think he likes me. There was definitely something between us ten years ago, at least from my point of view, so I’ve decided, why not go for it now?” She felt embarrassed to have to put it into words like that. It sounded so…so naive. So afternoon TV-ish. And who was she trying to convince with her definitely-something-between-us argument?

  “I’m glad to hear it,” he said. He didn’t sound that glad.

  He strode on. Zoey shivered, thankful she’d worn her down jacket. Okay, just one more question. Why not get everything out at once? “I, uh, actually, I do have something else I’d like to ask you.”

  “Now, why doesn’t that surprise me?” he murmured ironically, with a quick glance her way. She slipped on the icy ground and his hand shot out to grab her elbow briefly. “Steady.”

  “Why doesn’t anyone at your place ever talk about your ex? Marty even shushed Lissy last week, and it’s her own mother.”

  She held her breath for a few seconds, certain she’d gone too far this time. They were at the foot of the stairs that led to her apartment before he answered. And when he did, his voice held a note that gave her shivers.

  “Why, exactly, do you want to know?”

  He didn’t mean it. He wasn’t really asking her a question, she realized. He was saying: none of your damn business. She had gone too far. Zoey Phillips, have you ever heard of privacy? Of a person’s right to his own secrets? She was a stranger here; she had no right to pry into this man’s life.

  She took a deep, shaky, breath. “I’m sorry. Forget I asked. None of my business anyway. Well!” she said brightly, as though the set of stairs was a brand-new structure she’d never noticed before. “Here we are! Thanks for walking me home.”

  He stood in front of her at the bottom of the steps, the light on the landing above and behind him, so that his face was in shadow. He kept looking at her. She couldn’t quite make out his expression and managed to resist the urge to hum nervously as she fished in her pocket for her key. Big-city habits—and she was a big-city girl, like Sara Rundle—died hard.

  “My ex is never discussed in this house, on my orders. Lissy’s mother abandoned her two years ago,” he said flatly, ignoring her suggestion to forget it. “Now she’s dead and—”

  Zoey gasped and put her gloved hand to her mouth. Elizabeth hadn’t told her! “Oh, I’m so sorry—”

  “—there’s no rewriting history. The faster Lissy forgets about her, the better, in my view.”

  She was shocked at the harshness of his tone, aghast that she’d touched such a raw nerve in this difficult, contradictory man. “I’m so sorry for bringing it up. That’s so awful—you must have loved her very much,” she whispered. What else could account for the household silence? The pain in his voice now?

  “I never loved her. She never loved me. She was a drunk. A sad, pathetic woman I happened to marry one day. But that is none of your concern, either. Our mutual interest is my brother’s love life, not mine. Right?”

  “Yes—yes, of course.” She’d found her key and began to climb the stairs.

  “Careful,” he said stonily, as she grabbed the banister. “Watch the ice.”

  “I will.” She didn’t see any ice on the steps. She didn’t see anything. Her vision was blurry with tears, tears of embarrassment.

  She jammed the key into the Yale lock and pushed open the door. Omigod! She closed the door, leaned against it and dug through her pocket for a clean tissue. She blew her nose.

  Why, oh, why had she said anything? She’d upset him badly, regardless of what he said. She could tell. His marriage, his love life, his past—all totally none of her business!

  And she still had no idea what this Sara Rundle’s role was—not that it mattered now, in view of the revelation about Cameron’s ex, which was vastly more interesting. He’d never loved his wife! She’d never loved him!

  THE NEXT MORNING Zoey awoke to an unusual brightness in her bedroom. She’d worked until well after midnight on the Chinchilla manuscript, jotting down a detailed list of questions to ask the author next time she spoke to her. Anything to take her mind off Cameron Donnelly.

  I never loved her. He pretended it didn’t matter, but Zoey knew it did, knew it mattered terribly. He’d said his wife was a drunk, a sad, pathetic creature, but Zoey wanted to believe that he had loved her. Of course he’d loved her! Cameron Donnelly wasn’t a man to take that sort of thing lightly. Marriage. Children.

  The Fullerton Valley was in the Pacific time zone, and Chinchilla was on the other side of the continent, which meant telephone calls had to be carefully scheduled. Zoey planned to call her author at noon. She yawned, stretched and got up. It was already nearly ten o’clock. She pulled on a robe and yanked open the curtains.

  The entire world was white. Snow still drifted lazily from a gunsmoke sky. At least three inches of fresh snow covered the ground, the fence posts, the trees, the corrals and barns, the vehicles, the ranch house roof with its homey-looking tendril of wood smoke from one chimney.

  Winter! She dressed quickly, and headed outside, wearing her good leather gloves when she couldn’t locate any mittens.

  “Whee!” She scooped up some snow and lobbed it at Ryan, who’d just come out of the house and was about to get into his pickup.

  “Hey!” She missed, but he saw her, of course, and tore in her direction, yelling. Zoey turned and ran, glancing once over her shoulder. Two farm dogs barked at Ryan’s heels, chasing them both. Zoey shrieked as her foot slipped and before she knew it, she’d fallen and Ryan had jumped on her. He rolled her over and rubbed a handful of snow in her face. She screamed.

  The dogs went frantic, barking and wagging their plumed tails, at a distance of about ten feet from where the two of them lay, half-buried in soft, granular snow.

  “No!” Zoey twisted her head, grabbed up a handful and tried desperately to stuff it down his shirt collar, with little success. She was laughing and panting at the same time.

  “Aha! Oh, no, you don’t,” he growled, pinning her right hand to the ground. His eyes were brilliant and blue and his cheeks were ruddy from the cold.

  “Sez you and whose army?” she taunted, with a long-forgotten childish refrain that had popped instantly into her head.

  “Oh, baby,” he said, and then he lowered his head and kissed her. Zoey kissed him back, with every ounce of feeling she had, but it didn’t last. She was winded from the snow fight and had to break contact to breathe. His arms felt so good, so tight around her. She waited for some kind of feeling to grab at her, but other than a pleasant, friendly warmth, there wasn’t much. Maybe she was out of practice. It’d been months since she’d been with a guy—a guy she knew well enough to kiss, at any rate.

  “’Mornin’, Zoe,” he said with a smile. His eyes were twinkling. “Remember smooching in the old Rialto?”

  She nodded. “You taught me how. I don’t think I’d really kissed anyone before.”

  “I did?” He kissed her again briefly. “Remember that time we dropped water balloons on the grad parade from the top of Lowry’s store?”

  Zoey remembered. One of the balloons had knocked the town cop’s hat off his bald head and he’d been furious. Ryan’s shot, she recalled. They’d both run like weasels, down the fire escape at the back of the old store and up the alley. “Seems like a long time ago, doesn’t it?” Grade eight.

&
nbsp; “A million years,” he replied, then rubbed noses with her before standing up and offering a hand to help her to her feet. He bent to brush the snow off her jacket and jeans. “I gotta go pronto, before the boss catches me fooling around. Cam wants me to pick up some stuff in town. Hold this thought—” He tweaked her nose and she squealed. “I’ll be back after lunch and when Lissy gets home from school, we’ll make a snowman.”

  What a sweet idea. Zoey watched as he got into his pickup, revved the engine and then slammed out of the yard, the back end of his truck yawing dangerously on the snowy road, clearly for her benefit. He waved cheerfully out the open window.

  What a kid. Zoey’s blood was still hammering in her ears and her nose felt pleasantly tingly in the cold air. She was a bit disappointed. She wanted to play in the snow, anything to put off having to go in, get some breakfast and phone her author.

  A movement near the barns caught her eye and she turned to see Cameron standing in the distance, by one of the corrals. Oops. Did the boss approve of Ryan’s driving? Had he seen the two of them wrestling in the snow? Kissing?

  She hoped so. She lifted her gloved hand and he waved back after a second or two. Had last night been forgiven? His plan to settle his brother down with a good woman—as he’d put it—might be crazy, but she did believe she was really, truly onto something with Ryan—if his actions since she’d arrived were anything to go by.

  He seemed willing, even eager, to take up where they’d left off ten years ago. Well, not exactly “left off”—Zoey never forgot for a second that all his attentions back then had been designed to make another girl jealous. But that was then and this was now. If today’s kisses didn’t inflame her the way they once had, well, she was nearly twenty-eight. A woman of some experience, not a girl of seventeen who’d never been kissed.