Wisconsin Wedding (Welcome To Tyler, No. 3)

by Carla Neggers

  He poured her a cup of coffee and set it on the table, although she’d yet to sit down. “Never.”

  “Ha.”

  “You take your coffee black, right?”

  “I’m surprised you remember.”

  He looked at her. “You shouldn’t be.”

  At that, it was either sit or get out of there so she could collapse in private. She couldn’t stand around feeling out of place in her own kitchen. She tried the coffee. It was strong enough to pave a driveway, probably exactly what she needed. Byron got out the oatmeal, measuring cups, a pan. He studied the carton, frowning.

  “Recipe’s on the inside of the top now,” she said.

  “Ahh. Haven’t made oatmeal in a while.”

  “You eat eggs every morning?” Then she remembered his background. “Oh. I suppose you have a housekeeper.”

  “No housekeeper, and I don’t eat eggs every morning. I’ll often grab a bagel or a muffin or just make toast.”

  In his tent, the morning after they’d first made love, they’d shared little boxes of cereal. They’d cut the boxes open with his jackknife and poured the milk inside and eaten with plastic spoons. It had been the most romantic breakfast Nora had ever had. Sometimes she wished she could forget it.

  “What’re you doing today?” he asked.

  “I’ll stop by the store. Then I have some errands to run. You?”

  “I need to see Cliff—he’s got to be rattled with all that’s going on.”

  “This business with the body can’t have helped matters. I wish the Tyler police department would tell us something. The rumors…well, they’re unpleasant.”

  Byron’s pot of water had come to a boil. He dumped in a couple handfuls of oatmeal, stirred, contemplated the pot, then dumped in a bit more. Nora had made oatmeal hundreds of times, and although she did have the recipe for a single serving memorized, she measured every time.

  “Would you tell me what the rumors are?” he asked.

  “I hate to repeat gossip.”

  “That’s why everyone tells you everything.”

  “Not everyone. Those who expect some little tidbit in return tell me nothing. Gossip is a currency for some people.” But that wasn’t anything Byron didn’t know, or cared about. She was just babbling because it was morning, she’d dreamed about him, and he was making oatmeal for her in her own kitchen. “You want to know because of Cliff?”

  Byron nodded, and while he kept an eye on the cooking oatmeal, stirring it occasionally, Nora told him what she knew people were saying around town about the Body at the Lake. That it could be Margaret Ingalls. That Judson might have known more than he was letting on. That she’d been murdered. That she’d never run away.

  “If nothing else, people say she wouldn’t have abandoned Alyssa the way she supposedly did,” Nora said.

  “That’s Margaret’s daughter?”

  “And Liza’s mother.”

  “Considering what Cliff’s been through,” Byron said, dumping scoops of oatmeal into two pottery bowls, “this all could cause him to have a relapse. It could stir up nightmarish memories for him.”

  “Nightmarish memories of what?”

  He stared at her. “You don’t know?”

  She shook her head. “Byron, nobody in Tyler knows anything about Cliff. Lots of people thought he was certifiable until Liza came back. Not a few wonder if—” She stopped herself.

  “If Liza’s making a mistake?”

  “It’s just talk.”

  Byron nodded. “With the added strain of a big wedding and my being here, our mother planning to show up…”

  His voice trailed off, but Nora, abandoning thought of getting him to tell her what exactly Cliff Forrester had endured, finished for him. “You’re afraid Cliff could throw in the towel—find another Tyler in which to hide.”

  “I think he’s afraid of it, too. Yesterday he started to give me a tour of the lodge, but he couldn’t finish. He…he just walked away and started chopping wood. Posttraumatic stress disorder isn’t always predictable.”

  “But he loves Liza.”

  Byron looked at her. “Exactly.”

  Nora frowned. “I don’t get it.”

  “I know you don’t.” He plopped a bowl of oatmeal in front of her. “Come on, let’s change the subject and eat breakfast.”

  He sat across from her with his box of brown sugar. She fetched the raisins. Then, sitting back down, she suddenly couldn’t stand it anymore. “Byron…your shirt. It’s buttoned crooked.”

  He smiled and reached across the table. “Your robe,” he said a little hoarsely, touching its frayed neckline, “is coming undone.”

  At first she assumed he meant the fabric was getting frayed and worn, but then she realized he meant the tie. It had sagged into her lap, her robe falling open, exposing the filmy pale mauve lacy nightie she’d secreted from the lingerie department after a Valentine Day sale. Her salesclerk had speculated that it hadn’t been sold because it was just too racy for Tyler women.

  “I think I will try a little brown sugar on my oatmeal,” she said.

  And Byron Sanders Forrester had the gall to laugh.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  WITH ITS SAGGING SHUTTERS and peeling paint, Timberlake Lodge looked downright spooky under the gathering clouds. The wind had picked up. Gusts kicked up dust and fallen leaves. Even for October it was cold. Cliff’s truck was parked outside, but not Liza’s T-bird. Byron could smell the lake in the fresh country air. He knocked on the front door and waited, the cold penetrating his jacket and navy mock turtleneck. Lunch on the veranda today would be out of the question.

  There was no answer. Given the size of the place, Byron wondered whether anyone inside would hear his knock. He tried the door, which was unlocked, and pushed it open. Such liberties were getting to be a bad habit.

  No cookbooks or Beethoven sonatas came flying out at him, but that wouldn’t be Cliff’s style.

  “You don’t understand, Byron. I could hurt someone.”

  “Who?”

  “You. Mother. I just don’t know. I don’t…I can’t trust myself anymore.”

  Byron had tried to reassure him. “I know you, Cliff. You’d never lay a hand on Mother. As for me—I can hold my own with you, big brother. You don’t have to worry.”

  His brother’s eyes had never seemed so impenetrable. “How can you know me? I don’t know myself. That’s the whole point, Byron. I just don’t know anymore what I would or wouldn’t do. That’s why you can’t trust me. It’s why I have to leave.”

  “Let me visit.”

  “No.”

  “Cliff, don’t shut us out.”

  “I have no choice.”

  For two years, Byron had kept out of his brother’s life. Then, three years ago, he’d come to Tyler, just to see him, and he’d known Cliff had made the right decision, at least for himself. His only hope was time. Yet, even now, with him on the verge of marrying, Byron wasn’t sure his brother wanted him back in his life.

  When no one answered his call, he shut the door and walked back down the porch, ignoring the blustery wind, the sprinkle of rain, the wrenching in his gut. Being back in Tyler reminded him all too vividly of how close he’d come three years ago, of how much he’d lost. He’d had so much in his grasp—his brother, a woman he’d loved, stability. And he’d let them go. Cliff, Nora, Tyler itself. He’d left thinking they were gone forever. He’d missed his chance, even if he’d had no choice but to leave.

  “Hey, Brother.”

  He spun around, and there was Cliff, leaning on an ax handle. Sweat poured off him despite the cold, and there were wood chips in his hair. Byron noticed the holes in his jeans, the bald spots in his chamois shirt. His brother the recluse. But even as kids, Cliff had worn whatever was handy.

  “I was just giving up on you,” Byron said.

  His brother’s dark eyes flickered. “Not you, Byron. You’d never give up on me.” He pulled out a folded black bandanna and wiped the sweat off his f
orehead. “Liza’s off to town. She’s got some woman sewing a wedding dress for her. You know, she makes a show of hating all these wedding traditions, but I think deep down she’s having a ball.”

  “You?”

  Cliff shrugged. “Seeing her happy is important to me. I’ll do what I need to do.” He swung the ax onto his shoulder. “Come on, let’s take a walk.”

  The prospect of an imminent rainstorm didn’t seem to bother him. For all Byron knew, his brother hadn’t started sleeping in the lodge until Liza arrived. They headed out across the driveway toward the lake. The occasional sprinkles had increased to a fine mist.

  “How’re you and Nora getting on?” Cliff asked, leading the way.

  “I lived through the night.”

  He hadn’t slept much, however. He’d lain amid the lace and fluff thinking about how sexy and beautiful Nora had looked standing on the study threshold. Freshly showered with her almond-scented soap, he’d stared wide-eyed at the ceiling and let himself remember every detail of the first time they’d made love, in his tent too long ago. He’d let himself remember how much he’d loved her. How painful it had been to leave. Yet how could he have stayed? Even Aunt Ellie had understood his dilemma. And for the first time, Byron thought he himself truly understood if not what his brother had been through, at least the suffering he’d endured when he’d come home that one time and known he couldn’t stay.

  “Cliff—she has good reason to hate me.”

  They’d come to the lake, its waters gray and choppy, a warning of the impending storm. Cliff started along a narrow, rocky path that wound along the shoreline. “I figured as much.”

  “I promised never to tell anyone what happened between us three years ago.”

  “Then don’t.”

  Byron sighed. “Thanks. I thought you might insist.”

  “Nope. I might be something of a hermit, Brother, but I’m not a fool.”

  Cliff turned off the path and walked out onto a decrepit boat dock, one with more boards missing or rotting than intact and solid. Byron followed, stepping where his brother had stepped. Fat drops of rain struck him on the head and hand. Cliff didn’t seem to notice. He squinted, looking out at the lake.

  “If you hurt her…break her heart again…” His jaw set and he glanced over at Byron. “That wouldn’t sit too well with me.”

  Byron wondered where his brother got his ideas about Nora Gates, considering he’d never even spoken to her until the night before last. Other than Aunt Ellie, Byron bet he knew Tyler’s would-be spinster better than anyone. And if he’d broken her heart three years ago, he’d also made it more tolerable for her by giving her reason to hate him.

  “Hell, Cliff,” he said, avoiding articulating his true mixed-up feelings, “Nora isn’t about to let herself fall for anyone. She’s got her heart under lock and key. So far as I can see, I did her a favor by leaving Tyler when I did. Ask her yourself. I’ll bet she’ll tell you the same thing.”

  Cliff shook his head. “Then you’re both deluding yourselves.”

  “Everyone in town knows she doesn’t want anything to do with romance—”

  “Doesn’t matter. Until a few years ago—” Cliff looked again at his brother “—presumably when you came to town, Nora Gates was sure of herself, knew where she was going, what she wanted out of life. The past few years, she hasn’t been the same and I don’t care what anybody says. You could look at her and tell she’d lost some of her spark, some of her sense of purpose. Not a lot. She’s a survivor. But you could tell she’d had a look at the dark side of life.”

  Meaning me, Byron thought. “Nah, Cliff, I don’t buy it. She’s been grieving for her aunt. She’d lost the last close relative who really cared about her. Of course she’s been floundering a little. If Aunt Ellie were still alive and I’d hit the road—hell, Nora would have set off fireworks in her front yard.”

  Cliff looked unconvinced. “Did you leave before or after Aunt Ellie died?”

  “Before.”

  His brother was silent.

  “It’s what Nora wanted.”

  “So she’d say.”

  “Don’t underestimate her, Cliff. She knows her own mind. Besides, I thought you didn’t want to know the details. If she finds out you’ve guessed we…that we had something going…”

  “She’ll have your head.”

  “And more,” Byron added.

  Cliff smiled his almost-smile. “She forgets you’re my brother. I know you. You were bound to fall for a woman who’d scare the hell out of you.” He gave Byron a pointed look. “And naturally you wouldn’t notice until it was too late.”

  Meaning, Byron thought, that Cliff knew he and Nora had made love because Byron was too damned stupid to not have made love to her. A change of subject was in order. “Rain’s picking up.”

  “We need it,” Cliff said. He swung his ax down off his shoulder, standing it on its head and leaning on the handle, his toes hanging over the edge of the dilapidated dock. “You left three years ago on account of me?”

  Byron almost lost his balance at the guilt in his brother’s voice, the deeper meaning of his question. He shook his head, being as frank and truthful as he possibly could. “I know what you’re saying and no, Cliff—God, no. I don’t know how the hell I can explain this, but when I came to Tyler, I saw you only a couple of times and—”

  “You spied on me.”

  “Yeah, sort of.”

  Cliff squinted out at the lake. “You used to do that when we were little kids. I’d go off with a friend, and next thing I knew, we’d find you up some tree with your binoculars.”

  “Spies were big in those days. When you caught me, there was hell to pay.”

  “Lesson didn’t take.”

  Byron grinned. “You didn’t always catch me.”

  His brother didn’t look at him. “So you came to Tyler, spied on me and decided I was a brick short of a load.”

  “No,” Byron said, serious now. “What I decided, Cliff, was to respect your wishes and leave you alone. I didn’t count on the rest.”

  “Nora.”

  “And Aunt Ellie.”

  “The pictures,” Cliff said, understanding. “Nora showed them to me the other night. They’re good, Byron. More than good. Not that you need me to tell you.”

  “It’s always nice to hear.” Byron, too, found himself staring out at the lake, part of it lost now in the mist and increasing rain. So far, his jacket wasn’t soaked through, but his jeans were damp, his hair starting to drip. “Taking those pictures…knowing Aunt Ellie, knowing she was dying—and Nora, seeing how much she was grieving… Then you, living alone up here…” Byron looked up at the sky as the rain came harder now, pelting his face. “It was too much. I had nothing to give to anyone. I was empty, Cliff. Just empty.”

  “Not empty,” Cliff said hoarsely. “Hurting too much yourself.”

  “I wanted to whisk her off and live happily ever after, but…hell, I couldn’t make Aunt Ellie young again, I couldn’t undo what you’d seen and done in Cambodia, I couldn’t bring Dad home. I’ve never felt so damned helpless. Maybe that’s what I needed, to really feel that emptiness, acknowledge that I had my own demons to confront. I don’t know. I was so damned afraid of doing the wrong thing—making Aunt Ellie’s last days worse, sending you over the edge, making Nora incapable of carrying on alone. It was hell.”

  Cliff nodded. “I know. It’s a lot easier to hurt people and see them hurting if you don’t care about them. Byron, you left because you needed to become whole again yourself.”

  “That’s what Aunt Ellie said.”

  “She was right.”

  Byron shook his head. “I should have been stronger. I hadn’t seen the things you’d seen, I wasn’t dying, I wasn’t losing the woman who’d taken me in after my parents were killed. God, Cliff, I failed you all.”

  “That’s what Dad said in the end,” Cliff said softly, rain streaming down his face, among his tears. “The villagers told me. He s
et high standards for himself, too. It was painful, knowing how much he’d done, how hard he’d tried, that he’d died thinking he should have done more. Byron, you did your best. Now let it go.”

  “I could have gone to Southeast Asia with you.”

  “No.”

  “If we’d gone together—”

  “It wouldn’t have made any difference to Dad or to me. And what would Mother have done? Let it go, Byron. For God’s sake, don’t torture yourself over what you didn’t do.”

  “Have you let go of what you saw, what you did?”

  Cliff hesitated, then answered, “It’s a part of me. It no longer controls me.”

  Byron moved shakily off the dock, choosing his steps carefully. He could hear Aunt Ellie, feel her gnarled, cold hand squeezing his. “You have to know who you are, Byron, before you can give yourself to anyone.”

  Slipping on the wet, soggy wood, he jumped onto a rock, then onto firm ground, Cliff right behind him. “You didn’t explain any of this to Nora?” his brother asked.

  “She had enough problems of her own without taking on mine, too.”

  “What if she wanted to?”

  “She didn’t. She’s leading the life she’s always wanted to lead.”

  “You’re sure about that, are you?”

  “She is. That’s what counts.”

  “What about you? Are you leading the life you want to lead?”

  Byron left the path. The rain was coming down hard now, and he opted for the shortest route between two points, one being where he was, the other being his car. Suddenly he wanted to be alone. “It seemed right to get off the road. I’ve done some things I’m proud of at P & R. Mostly, though, the job’s incredibly routine.”

  “And you don’t fit in.”

  “Hell, I don’t fit in anywhere,” he said without rancor.

  “Come on,” Cliff said, clapping one hand on his brother’s shoulder, “let’s go back up to the house, get a cup of hot coffee. I know right now you probably are itching to be alone, but that’s the last thing you need. Trust me on that one, Brother. Maybe Liza will be back. She’s guaranteed to cheer us up.”

  Byron smiled. “It’s good to see you happy.”