Somebody's Lady

by Marilyn Pappano

  Beth had smiled, but her temples had begun to throb. "Thank you, Mother, for telling me that," she'd said politely before escaping. Thanks for nothing, she thought now as she slid into the seat her escort held for her.

  There were twenty guests at the mahogany table and half that many servants on hand. What a shame that they couldn't spend the day with their families, she thought as she laid the linen napkin across her lap. But what did servants' families matter when Walter and Francine Gibson wanted to throw a party?

  There weren't any servants at Zachary's parents' house, she was sure. She had experienced a bit of the Adams family hospitality at the reception following Sarah and Daniel's wedding. Mrs. Adams had probably been up since dawn cooking, baking and cleaning. The tables and counters would be filled with food, and everyone would help themselves, and they would all have a good time laughing and talking and eating.

  While she sat there in physical pain, wishing she were somewhere else. Home alone. In her office—yes, even on Thanksgiving. Or maybe in Sweetwater.

  "So … you're a lawyer," remarked the executive at her side.

  She reached for her water goblet, sipping slowly from it to control her annoyance at both the comment and the man. When she trusted herself to be polite, she smiled coolly at him and replied, "Yes, I am."

  "What's your specialty? Corporate law? Tax law?"

  Her smile slowly began slipping. "Trial law. I defend murderers."

  He laughed as if she'd made a joke, and Beth rigidly focused her attention inward. She let the conversation continue, making the appropriate responses and showing the appropriate interest, but none of it registered with her.

  She had asked Zachary to return to the city on Monday. The trial was scheduled to start two weeks later, and they had set aside several hours each morning for an in-depth interview with Carrie. Beth didn't like surprises in the court room and went to great lengths to avoid them. When they went into court for the jury selection, she wanted to know every detail of Carrie's life as well as she knew her own.

  She made a mental note to get in touch with Darla Newman and make sure she could join them in court for the jury selection. Beth considered herself a good judge of character, but she'd found the psychologist's help invaluable in determining which jurors were more likely to be sympathetic to her presentation. The one time she'd disregarded Dr. Newman's recommendation, she had seated a juror who'd wound up casting the deciding vote against her client.

  She also had to find time to put together her opening statement, to review all the research and interviews Zachary had done, to interview all the witnesses they would put on the stand, to say nothing of keeping up with her regular workload.

  Briefly she closed her eyes and rubbed the bridge of her nose. She always felt she'd taken on too much just before a trial started, and this time was no exception. Even though she had Zachary's assistance, that provided a problem in itself. He was as much a distraction as a help.

  "Have a headache?" the executive beside her asked.

  Beth glanced at him, then around the table. Everyone was laying napkins aside, sliding chairs back, standing up—everyone but her. She had just eaten a dinner prepared by some of the best cooks in Nashville, and she couldn't remember even one bite of it.

  She looked back at the man. For the life of her she couldn't remember his name or his title or exactly which company it was he worked for. She suspected that, as nice-looking as he was, she would forget his face and the time spent in his presence as soon as she walked out the door.

  And yet she remembered every moment—every pleasant, easy, serious, uncomfortable, awkward, intimate moment—spent with Zachary.

  There was no sense lying to herself. Her parents, dishonest and phony even with themselves, had taught her to value the truth.

  She was in serious trouble. In spite of her rules, in spite of her self-control, in spite of her determination to never let another man into her life, she had done just that. She had told herself that her relationship with Zachary was strictly business, but when was the last time she'd let a business associate kiss her? When was the last time she'd fantasized about making love with one of her co-workers? When was the last time she'd wanted to run away with one of them and never come back?

  "Yes," she answered the question her companion seemed to have forgotten asking. "I have a headache." One that aspirin could do nothing for.

  One that could only lead to heartache.

  * * *

  After the cold and rain of the past week, Saturday dawned still and sunny and relatively warm. Zachary stepped out onto the front porch in jeans and nothing else and judged the temperature to be at least forty degrees. That meant he could forgo the thermal underwear and heavy socks and gloves while he worked at his new house.

  He went back inside and finished dressing, pausing only briefly to call the Morris farm. Their place was on the lower slopes of Laurel Mountain. He wanted to stop by and talk to Ruth and Dutch about getting help for the kids. Ruth answered on the second ring, said they would be glad to see him and why didn't he plan on having breakfast with them?

  It beat cooking his own, he thought with a grin, or spending money he couldn't afford to buy it at the diner. He accepted and hung up, then shrugged into his coat. He'd chopped wood all day yesterday at the farm, and the muscles in his shoulders were tender, making him wince with the movement.

  He sang along with the radio all the way to the Morrises' house. He was in a good mood this morning. On a bright winter morning like this, nothing seemed impossible.

  Not even winning Carrie's case.

  Not even winning Beth.

  The farmhouse was small and shabby, but clean and in good repair. Unlike Carrie's neighbors in the city, no matter how tough things got out here, Dutch and Ruth never quit caring. They never gave up hope, and they wouldn't let their grandkids quit, either. For the girl, Becky, and the two little boys, there was still hope. But Zachary wasn't sure about Tyler.

  Ruth greeted him at the door, an apron around her waist and the baby on her hip. Breakfast was already on the table, and they ate and talked about everything in the world but Carrie's trial. Afterward, Ruth sent Tyler to help the younger kids get dressed, and Zachary told her and Dutch what he'd come to say. He'd expected some resistance, particularly from Dutch, but the old man simply nodded.

  "We'll find a way," he said quietly.

  "Start by seeing Miss Agnes in town," Zachary suggested. "She's a social worker, and she should be able to steer you in the right direction." He gazed through the open door as Tyler entered the next room. The boy went straight to a chair by the window, where he sat down and stared out the glass. "If he'll come with me," he began thoughtfully, "do you mind if I take Tyler up to the farm for a few hours?"

  When they both agreed, he thanked Ruth for the breakfast, then went into the living room, pulling on his jacket as he went. "Tyler, I'm building a house up the mountain a few miles. Want to go up there with me to do a little work this morning?"

  At first the boy gave no sign of hearing him. Then, when Zachary was about to walk out, he stood up, took a threadbare jacket from a hook behind the door and pulled it on. As Zachary followed him to the truck, he wasn't sure what he'd hoped to accomplish by convincing Tyler to come along, but whatever it was, he'd succeeded at the first step.

  Now, he wondered ruefully, what was the next one?

  * * *

  Beth slowed her car to a stop and shut off the engine just as Sarah Ryan came out of her house onto the broad porch. Her friend looked surprised, she thought as she reached for her suede jacket and climbed out. Of course, why shouldn't Sarah be surprised? Beth rarely dropped in unannounced to visit anyone, even her best friend.

  "What are you doing here?" Sarah asked, coming down the steps with a small cooler in her arms. She set it down long enough to hug Beth, then picked it up again and put it in the back of her Blazer. "Not that I'm unhappy to see you—I wish we could spend more time together—but this is a bit unexpect
ed."

  "Would you believe I was in the neighborhood?"

  Sarah looked at her, then laughed. It was such a pleasant, happy sound. Beth envied that laugh, that pleasure, that happiness. She envied Sarah's home and her husband and daughter. She envied Sarah's life.

  "In the neighborhood?" Sarah echoed. "Three hours away? Well, you've got good timing. Daniel's working today, and I was just on my way to take him some lunch. Ride along with us."

  Beth hesitated, then agreed. This wasn't exactly what she'd planned when she'd gotten up this morning. She'd dressed for the office, then decided that what she really wanted was to see Sarah. To spend time with her friend. To chat. To take advantage of her gentle heart and her woman's understanding and her shoulder to cry on.

  Not that Beth ever cried, of course. Not since she was eight years old.

  But, she thought philosophically, if you showed up unexpectedly on someone's doorstep a hundred and fifty miles from home, you had to be satisfied with what you got.

  The screen door closed with a thump, and Katie came to the top of the steps. Clutching a teddy bear, she stared down at Beth, showing no hint of curiosity, pleasure or even recognition, not even when Beth offered her a stiff smile and a stiffer greeting.

  Sarah followed her daughter down the steps, a large brown bag in her arms. Beth placed the bag in back with the cooler, while Sarah lifted Katie and fastened her securely in her safety seat.

  "How was Thanksgiving?" Sarah asked as they settled in the front seat.

  Beth gave her a dry look. "I'm considering making plans to be out of town for Christmas."

  "That bad, huh? We had a nice day."

  She didn't elaborate, and Beth didn't question her. She knew the Ryans spent a great deal of time with Zachary's family. She knew they'd shared in a real holiday celebration—a real family celebration. The less she heard about it, the less she would envy them.

  "So what brings you out here?" Sarah asked as they started down the mountain.

  Beth sighed softly. She turned her gaze out the window, to the woods full of trees that had lost their leaves for the winter, their bare black limbs a stark contrast against the evergreens here and there. This was a pretty place when the meadows were filled with spring wildflowers, or when the changing leaves were a hundred different shades of red, orange and gold. She imagined it would be pretty, too, when snow covered the ground.

  The city was never pretty—really pretty. Not even when the azaleas were in full delicate-hued bloom. Not even when the crepe myrtles and redbuds and dogwoods blossomed.

  Then she glanced at her friend, who was waiting patiently for a response to her question. Sarah had always been incredibly patient. It had made her an outstanding teacher and an extraordinary mother. It had helped her become Beth's best friend. Her only friend.

  "I just needed to get away," she finally replied, sighing softly as she did. "Between work and Thanksgiving, I haven't had much time for myself. With Carrie's trial starting in two weeks, this is probably the last chance I'll have to do anything for myself."

  "How is the case going?"

  "I don't know. There's no way the jury could not be sympathetic to Carrie, but there's still the minor fact that Del was asleep when she killed him. That weakens our claim of self-defense."

  "At least she's got a good lawyer," Sarah said with a smile as they reached the highway. When the road was clear, she pulled away from the stop sign, but not toward town. Instead, she crossed the highway and continued on the same narrow dirt road. Her forehead wrinkled into a frown, Beth considered what her friend had said earlier: Daniel was working, and she was taking him lunch. But Daniel's only work was his furniture business, and his workshop was only a few yards from their house.

  As the road began to climb, she felt a sinking sensation deep in her stomach. They were climbing steadily. Up a mountain. And the new house Zachary was building was on a mountain.

  Maybe she was jumping to conclusions. Just because Daniel had chosen to work away from the house today didn't mean that he had to be working at Zachary's. Since Sarah had come to Sweetwater, since she'd helped Daniel to become more comfortable with people, he had gotten involved in all sorts of short-term projects. He had helped with the town's annual Harvest Festival and the county fair. He had volunteered his services in the construction of a new classroom at the elementary school and worked on the renovation of the old Baptist church in town.

  And he was helping to build Zachary's house. She had something suspiciously close to butterflies in her stomach.

  "Sarah," she began as the road snaked around a jutting rock wall, then wound across a rapidly flowing brook, "where exactly is Daniel working today?"

  Her friend glanced at her, then directed her attention back to the road. "On Laurel Mountain." Then she clarified that. "At Zachary's new house."

  * * *

  Chapter 8

  « ^ »

  Twenty yards before the road ended in a grown-over clearing, Sarah turned into a driveway, slowing almost to a crawl as she drove through the gate. Beth entertained a brief, silly notion about stopping her friend and jumping out there. She could swear Sarah to secrecy, then wait until she and Katie were ready to return home. She could count the different varieties of trees that grew on both sides of the road. She could watch the birds flying overhead. She could sit on that tree stump and wonder why in the world she'd left Nashville this morning.

  She could avoid seeing Zachary.

  Then common sense reclaimed her. She would end up making a complete and utter fool of herself, and she wasn't about to do that, not even with her best friend.

  And so she sat stiffly as they followed the rutted trail that was apparently Zachary's driveway, and she gathered her self-control more closely. She would be calm, she decided. Polite and collected. She wouldn't let him know how frequently he'd been in her mind these last few days. She wouldn't let him guess how thoroughly he'd woven his way into her life.

  She wouldn't let him see how much she'd missed him.

  Then they topped a rise and she saw the house, and everything else was forgotten. It was simple, nothing fancy, nothing grand. It wasn't large—three, maybe four bedrooms, she estimated. But it was beautiful. It was perfect for Zachary. She could easily see him living there, surrounded by meadows and woods and a gorgeous view in every direction. She could imagine him sitting on that broad porch, watching the sun set, enjoying the quiet evening.

  The only thing she couldn't imagine was the woman sitting at his side. The woman who would live in this beautiful home with him. The woman who would share his sunsets and quiet evenings. The woman who would have his love and sleep in his bed and bear his children.

  The woman who wouldn't be her.

  Sarah parked beside Daniel's pickup and cut the engine. After freeing Katie from her seat, she picked up the cooler, Beth took the bag, and they both followed the little girl across the porch and inside the house.

  Beth fell behind, gazing down the wide hall, up the gracefully curved stairs, around the two rooms in front. The Sheetrock was up, the fireplaces completed, the wires for lighting hanging from the ceiling. She wondered what colors he would paint the smooth walls, whether he would opt for carpeting or wood flooring with cozy rugs.

  She wondered if she would ever see the house completed.

  Shaking away the thought, she followed the sounds of hammering down the hall to the back of the house. There she found Sarah and Daniel, Katie perched on his shoulders, in what was apparently the kitchen. The whine of a power saw outside indicated Zachary's whereabouts.

  She exchanged greetings with Daniel; then she and Sarah began spreading out lunch on a makeshift table. They had just finished when the noise of the saw stopped. Beth straightened, rubbed her damp palms on her slacks and took a deep breath just as Tyler Lewis and Zachary walked through the door.

  He was wearing jeans, a flannel shirt and those sturdy hiking boots she associated with him. There was sawdust on his jeans and in his hair, and h
is jeans bore an L-shaped tear in the knee. A streak of dirt was smudged across his jaw, and she thought for an instant that he had never looked more appealing.

  This was where he belonged—in his country home, in comfortable clothes, with good friends. This place where she felt awkward and overwhelmed. This place where she felt so out of place.

  He grinned when he saw her, said hello to Sarah and gave Katie a kiss, then crossed the room to the table where she still stood. He didn't ask what she was doing there, didn't express any surprise that she'd chosen to spend today with Sarah instead of shut up inside her office. He simply grinned and said, "So, you survived Thanksgiving."

  "Barely." She gestured to the house around her. "You have a lovely place."

  "It will be if we ever get it finished. We're building cabinets today." Then his grin turned sheepish, and he corrected himself. "Let me rephrase that. Daniel is building cabinets today. Tyler and I are helping and learning."

  She forced her gaze from him to the room. The lower cabinets, minus the countertops, were already in place. They were pine—Daniel's favorite wood—and they were beautiful.

  "Come on," Zachary invited, drawing her attention back to him. "I'll give you a tour."

  She didn't consider refusing. She didn't think about the hazards of being alone with him. She simply moved around the table and followed him out, greeting Tyler along the way.

  The first room he showed her was the living room, dominated by a huge window and a slightly smaller-scale fireplace. The smaller room at the front, connected to the kitchen, would be the dining room. He wasn't yet sure what the room across the hall would be, he told her with a grin. Maybe an office, since he and Daniel had already built bookcases along two walls.