by Sharon Sala
Now here she was, waiting for a judge to change the rest of her life—and so sorry Marsha wasn’t here to stand beside her. But as saddened as she was by the loss of her best friend, she was ready to move on.
Before sunset today, she would no longer be Catherine Dupree. Tomorrow morning she would wake up and for the rest of her life be known as Catherine McKay. It wasn’t the loss of her last name that was sad as much as the fact that her father’s bloodline ended with her. Yes, her children would share his DNA, but there would never be another of her people with the same last name.
As a child, her father had told her how special she was—that she was the first daughter to ever be born to a Dupree. He’d told her often how Antoine Dupree had been the first of her ancestors to set foot in this land. That he’d come from France to the New World during the early seventeen hundreds, landing in the area now known as New Orleans.
From there, he’d told her, Antoine’s heirs had ridden west into territory known only as part of the Louisiana Purchase. One had fought in the Revolutionary War, and later, two others had fought on opposite sides in the War Between the States.
He’d had one great-great-great-grandson who’d fought in the Great War, the war that was supposed to have been the last—World War I—and he’d had a grandson who had flown Spitfires during World War II.
Three of his sons went to Vietnam, too young to be parents, but not too young to die. Only one of the three had come home—whole in body, but not in mind. He’d fathered just one son before he’d hanged himself from the rafters in his garage with a length of clothesline. That son was Justin Dupree, Cat’s father, whose untimely death ended what had been a remarkable—and long—line of courageous, adventurous men.
In the entire line—from Antoine to Justin—Cat was the only female to have been born a Dupree. It explained her valiance, as well as her sense of duty and determination, but it didn’t change the truth.
Antoine had been the alpha. Cat was the omega.
But while Cat was giving up a name today, she was also gaining something she thought she’d lost forever: a family. Marrying Wilson and belonging to that wonderful, noisy clan of McKays was, for Cat, life altering. Knowing the child she carried would become one of them and be loved without question meant everything to her.
While waiting for the tardy judge, she glanced out the window, and as she did, she saw her reflection. For a moment it was like looking at a stranger; then she recognized herself and smoothed her hand down the front of her dress, lingering a little longer on her belly.
I know you’re in there, my baby. I promise, if I never do another thing in my life, I will keep you safe.
LaQueen touched her shoulder.
“Honey, you have a visitor.”
Cat frowned. “But you said Wilson wasn’t allowed—”
“It’s not Wilson. Someone has to give you away. I figured Art Ball would stand up for you just fine.”
Cat felt as if she’d been sucker punched. Her eyes widened as she looked toward the old man standing in the doorway. He was wearing a grin and a royal-blue polyester suit straight out of the seventies. His sparse gray hair was slicked back from his face with hair oil as old-fashioned as the suit.
“Hey, missy. You didn’t think you were gonna sneak out and do this without me, did you?”
Cat was too moved to speak. She just shook her head and walked into his arms.
A little embarrassed by her show of affection, he patted her awkwardly on the back, then handed her a handkerchief.
“Wipe your eyes and blow your nose. If Wilson McKay sees you with me and you look like you’ve been crying, he’s likely to whip my ass before he finds out why.”
Cat laughed through tears as she did what he said.
“Thank you for doing this…and if you don’t mind, this will be my something borrowed.”
“Absolutely,” Art said, as she tucked the handkerchief into her bra. “You got the rest of that hoopla?” Art asked.
“She sure does,” LaQueen said with a smile. “The something old is that necklace with the little cat charm. Said her father gave it to her years ago. Something new is her dress and shoes. You gave her something borrowed, and I gave her something blue.”
“What’s that?” Art asked.
“Undies.”
Art blushed. “Oh…well…I didn’t mean to…”
Cat laughed. “I know exactly how you feel. This is all weird for me, too.”
“It don’t matter,” Art said. “You look real pretty.”
Cat laid a hand on his forearm. “And you look very handsome.”
Art preened. “I cut a fine figure in this suit in my day.”
“You still do,” Cat said. “And I will be forever grateful that you wanted to do this for me.”
“Can’t think of anywhere I’d rather be right now,” he said.
There was a knock at the door. LaQueen answered it, then came back.
“That was John. He said the judge is in his chambers now. It’s time to get this party started.” She looked at Cat. “Are you ready?”
A calm washed over Cat. Was she ready? She’d been waiting for this day her whole life. She just hadn’t known it.
“Yes.”
“Then off we go. Art, you’re escorting the bride.”
“What are you doing?” Art asked.
LaQueen grinned. “Running the show.”
Wilson was in over his head. What had started out being a simple trip to the courthouse to get married was turning into a three-ring circus with LaQueen as the ring-mistress. She’d sent John home with him to wait while he dressed. Then John had asked him twice on the way to the jewelry store if he knew Cat’s ring size.
“I will know it when I see it” had been Wilson’s answer both times.
He knew everything that mattered about the woman who held his heart. Whatever else there was to learn would come through the years.
And now he stood beside the judge’s desk, waiting for Cat to come through the door. He thought he was ready, but then the door opened. Not once in the time he’d known her had he ever seen her in a dress. He exhaled as if he’d been punched in the gut.
She was stunning.
The moment Cat stepped into the room, she looked for him. When their gazes met, he saw her blink back tears and lift that stubborn, beautiful chin, and he thought he might die from the joy of this moment as she moved to stand beside him.
“Are we all here?” the judge asked.
“We are, your honor,” LaQueen stated.
“Then we begin,” he said.
In the back of his mind, Wilson could hear the judge speaking, then Art stating he was standing in for her father. But it was the look on Cat’s face and the fierce grip she had on his fingers that told him she was as moved as he was by what was happening.
Sometime during the service, he thought he heard Cat say “I do,” but his heart was hammering so loudly, he might have imagined it. When John Tiger elbowed him, he jumped, confused as to what he’d missed.
The judge repeated the question.
“Do you, Wilson, take Catherine to be your lawfully wedded wife? And do you promise to love her and honor her, in sickness and in health and forsaking all others…until death do you part?”
“Yes.”
“Please place the ring on her finger.”
He felt Cat shiver as he took her hand, then slid the ring down the length of her finger.
The judge was still talking, but Wilson didn’t focus in on it until he heard him say, “Wilson and Catherine, it is my honor to pronounce you husband and wife. What God has brought together, let no man put asunder. Wilson, I suggest you seal the deal and kiss your bride.”
Cat’s lips were trembling. Wilson was shaking all the way to the bone. Then their lips met and the world settled.
Someone was taking pictures, because Cat heard the clicks and saw the flashes from the corner of her eye. She suspected LaQueen, but before she could confirm her suspicions, Wils
on wrapped his arms around her and very softly whispered close to her ear, so that only she could hear, “You will never be alone on this earth again.”
Cat swallowed back tears as she looked up into his face. Leave it to Wilson to know and assuage her greatest fear.
Then everyone started talking.
Art and John congratulated Wilson and kissed Cat. LaQueen continued to snap pictures. She didn’t quit until the camera did.
By the time it was over, Cat was thoroughly rattled by the rush of emotions. When Wilson took her by the hand and started toward the elevator, she was grateful.
“Art, thank you for coming, and LaQueen and John, thank you for being our witnesses,” Cat said, as they all piled into the elevator.
“Oh, believe me, honey, the pleasure was all ours. So…what’s next?” LaQueen asked.
“The honeymoon, to which you are not invited,” Wilson said.
“I could get another camera,” LaQueen offered.
“You might find yourself arrested when you try getting the pictures developed,” John teased.
Laughter followed, and when they got to the parking lot, they all parted company, leaving Cat and Wilson alone beside their vehicle.
The sun was warm against his face—the breeze just strong enough to shift the curls on Cat’s head and set the flounce of fabric around her neck aflutter. He was so moved by the moment that he struggled to find the right words to speak. Finally he just cupped her face with his hands and said what mattered most.
“Wife.”
Cat’s hands were on his chest, feeling the rhythm of his heartbeat against her palms. At that moment the staggering losses she’d endured during her lifetime had just been rendered null and void.
“Wilson…I love you more than I know how to express…and I love the baby that we made. Thank you for not giving up on me.”
He brushed his mouth across her lips, then gave her hand a soft squeeze.
“Sweetheart, you were always worth the wait. You just didn’t know it. However, that’s all in the past. Today is a new beginning for the both of us…and our baby. We’ll call Mom and Dad so they won’t worry that we’re not coming back tonight, and then get something to eat before we go back to your apartment. I’m not telling them about the ceremony over the phone. Are you okay with that?”
She nodded, suddenly weary.
Wilson saw it. “Are you okay?”
“Just a little tired.”
“What sounds good to you?” he asked.
Cat looked up at him. “You.”
Wilson’s heart stuttered before it settled back into a regular rhythm.
“We can always order in.”
“Great,” Cat said.
They made the phone call to Austin on the way home, and less than thirty minutes later, were inside her apartment and naked as the day they’d been born.
Cat was lying with her hand on his heart and her head pillowed on his shoulder. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat was a poignant reminder of the day she’d watched it stop. She’d been afraid plenty of times in her life, but that moment was the first time that she’d felt helpless to change what was happening. The fact that he’d been given back to her was something she would never take for granted.
“Love you, Cat,” he whispered.
“Show me.”
So he did.
Jimmy Franks woke up in the alley behind Lowry’s Gas and Guzzle, only to realize another day had come and gone while he’d been unaware. He’d been stoned for days, and he’d been dog bit and rained on. Every stitch of his clothing was wet and reeked with filth. Now, with the rising sun, it was also steaming. Figuring that he was about as low as he’d ever been in his life, he relieved himself behind a Dumpster, then checked his pockets to see if he had any change left for a cup of the coffee he could smell emanating from beneath the back door of the convenience store. When he came up empty, he wandered around to the front of the store.
The parking lot was empty.
He looked inside.
There was a middle-aged woman behind the counter nursing a cigarette and a cup of coffee. He wanted that coffee and some food. And he needed some cash and a way out of town. Time to go shopping.
Wilson woke up to the scent of fresh-brewed coffee. He opened his eyes just as Cat entered the bedroom with two steaming cups. But it wasn’t the coffee that got his attention. The only things she was wearing were her necklace with the cat charm and her pink butterfly tattoo.
“Lord have mercy,” he groaned, as he rolled over to the side of the bed and then sat up. “To think that I’ll be waking up to you and this for the rest of my life. Lord, if I just died and went to heaven, then no resurrections, please.”
Cat smiled like the proverbial feline with the dish of cream, handed him his coffee cup, then sat down beside him. She blew on her coffee, then took a slow sip.
“I’ve made all my calls,” Cat said. “I talked to the apartment manager. I have two months left on my lease, but I was such a good renter for so many years, he’s letting me out without issue. Plus, he saw the footage of me coming through the weeds in all my natural glory.”
Wilson frowned. “Did he make a pass?”
Cat laughed out loud. “I was on the phone with him, not in a bar.”
“Oh yeah, right,” Wilson said.
“And…just because I married you, that doesn’t mean I’ve gone all helpless on you. I’m still me, and don’t you forget it.”
He set his cup down, then set hers aside, too.
“Hey, I wasn’t through with that,” she said.
He wrapped his arms around her neck and pulled her backward onto the bed.
“Yeah…and I wasn’t through with you.”
It was an hour later and Wilson was still in the shower when Cat came out wrapped in a towel, picked up the remote and turned on the TV as she began to dress.
The news anchor was in the middle of a story regarding a robbery and murder that had taken place on the west side of Dallas. She sat on the foot of the bed, watching as they played a short clip from the store’s security camera.
It was grainy black-and-white footage of the robbery. Unfortunately, the robber never looked up, so the camera only caught a downward view of his face. It could have been anyone. But she knew that if he was in the system, the police would likely be making an ID soon. The perp was leaving his fingerprints all over the place.
As she watched, the man suddenly vaulted over the counter and hit the woman in the jaw with his fist. She went down hard and didn’t get up. The perp began rifling through the shelf beneath the counter. When he suddenly pulled out a gun and shot toward the floor, Cat jerked as if the bullets had hit her and not the victim.
Then the robber opened the register, pocketed the money in it and momentarily ducked out of camera range. When he came back up again, he was carrying something in his hand. As she tuned back in to the broadcast, she realized he must have been going through the woman’s pockets for her keys.
“…then stole her car. The clerk, a woman named Debi Moore, had been an employee of the station for eleven years, and during that time, it had been robbed five times. According to her grief-stricken husband, she’d turned in her resignation a month ago. This would have been her last night on the job.”
“Man. Talk about a bum deal,” Cat muttered.
“What’s happening?” Wilson asked.
Cat didn’t even know he’d come out of the bathroom, but when she looked up, he was already half-dressed.
“Some creep robbed Lowry’s Gas and Guzzle over on the west side. Killed the clerk in cold blood and stole her car. They’ve got footage from a security camera, but the quality was so poor, you couldn’t see his face. However, if he’s in the system, they’ll ID him soon. He left prints all over the place.”
Wilson frowned. “I’ve been in there before. It wasn’t Debi Moore, was it?”
“Me, too,” Cat said. “And, yes. Poor Debi. She was always so friendly. It was her last night on th
e job.”
Wilson shook his head as he put on his shirt. “The sorry bastard. I hope they get him off the streets, and soon.”
Cat nodded.
By noon, they were on their way home.
Louis Montoya woke up in his Nuevo Laredo hotel room, rolled over and looked at the time. It was already past noon. He pushed back the covers, then sat up on the side of the bed and reached for his cell phone. He didn’t know why, but he sensed something was terribly wrong at home.
He’d dreamed about Conchita last night, and it was still painfully fresh in his mind. In the dream, he’d been standing on the front steps of his house, but the door key no longer worked. He kept ringing the doorbell and calling out her name, but the person inside just kept saying, “She doesn’t live here anymore.”
In his head, he knew it was just a dream, but he needed to hear her voice, to make sure she was okay and that they were still on the same page.
He punched in the numbers, then counted the rings. When the answering machine clicked on, he left a brief message, stating that he would try her cell, and that he loved her.
But when he dialed her cell next, there was no answer there, either. This constituted three days straight during which he’d been unable to speak to her. He told himself it didn’t mean anything, but on the heels of the nightmare, it was unsettling.
He headed for the shower, hoping to wash away the memory of the dream along with the road grime he’d been too tired to deal with when he’d checked in last night.
The plan was to talk to the local authorities, visit the site where Presley had been caught and where Tutuola supposedly suffered the burns that had scarred him, and see what turned up. If nothing broke, then he would go to Dallas. He wanted to get the facts about Cat Dupree’s involvement in that fire firsthand—if in fact she’d had any involvement at all. What he did know was that in the business of crime, coincidence was as rare as honesty, and hers was the only name that kept turning up. Just like a bad penny.