Her Fifth Husband?

by Dixie Browning

  Jake shook his head admiringly and Sasha preened. Flirtation was a game she always won, even though the prize was rarely worth the effort.

  “Coffee with the pie, Miss?” Plopping the plate down in front of her, the waitress addressed Sasha while she looked ready to melt all over Jake. Sasha found it irritating in the extreme. With all the bronzed, sun-bleached surfers running around with their trunks at half-mast, what was so hot about a fully dressed guy with laugh lines, squint lines, and a sparkling of gray?

  Sasha sighed. Jake nodded. “Bring her a decaf.”

  She waited until the girl left and then said, “I never drink decaf.”

  “You need to decompress. About your car—it’s a little soon, so if you’re not up to driving yet, we could—”

  “I’m perfectly capable of driving.” She was a big girl now; she could stand a little pain.

  “Do you have an alarm?”

  “A car alarm? I had one, but it got to be such an annoyance I had it disabled.”

  “An annoyance how?”

  “It went off every time I forgot to click the little whoosie.”

  Jake sighed. And then he grinned. “Lady, you need a keeper.”

  “Thanks, but I already tried that. Four times, in fact.”

  He choked on a swallow of ice water. “Four times you did what?”

  “Four times I thought I’d found a keeper, only I ended up having to throw him back.”

  He took a few seconds to process her claim. “You mean you had four, uh—relationships? That’s not too surprising, I guess. Be more surprising if you hadn’t.” All the same, he looked as if he’d bitten into a particularly sour pickle.

  “Not relationships. Husbands.”

  He shook his head slowly, but said nothing. The waitress brought Jake’s oysters and looked questioningly at Sasha, who was only half finished with her pie. “I should have ordered it à la mode. Anything this sweet needs to be diluted with ice cream.” When the girl continued to hover uncertainly, she said, “Oh, I guess you can bring me a salad. Any kind—just something disgustingly healthy.”

  She should have known Jake wasn’t going to let her off the hook that easily. Once the waitress left, he leaned forward, forcing Sasha to look at him. “Now repeat what you just said. You’ve had four husbands?”

  She did the eyelash thing again, trying for a look of innocence, but he was on to her now. “You make me sound like Lizzie Borden, or that Borgia woman. I didn’t kill anybody, I just divorced them.” She tilted her head to one side. “Why are you looking at me like that? I made four mistakes, okay? What’s wrong, haven’t you ever made a mistake?”

  “More than my share, I just never married ’em.”

  “Then you’re not married?”

  “I was once, but it was no mistake. Rosemary was the best thing that ever happened to me. If it weren’t for her, I wouldn’t have my son.”

  She looked at him wistfully. “You have a son. You’re incredibly lucky, but I guess you know that. I’ve always wanted one.”

  Jake accepted the remark with a nod. Then he started to ask her why she’d never had kids with any of her four husbands, but decided it was none of his business. Besides, it was hardly the sort of question a man asked of a woman he’d known casually for only a few days. A woman he had no intention of getting to know any better.

  “Tell me about him—your son.” She touched her lips with the napkin and crumpled it beside her plate.

  Why not? Jake thought. It was safer than talking about what really interested him, such as why none of the men she’d married had been able to hang on to her. “I could start by saying he’s everything any man could want in a son.” His gaze moved past her shoulder to a wide, salt-filmed window, where a glimpse of the ocean could be seen between the dunes. “I just wish he weren’t heading overseas.”

  Knowing she was staring at him, he tried to erase any hint of what he was thinking, but it was probably already too late.

  “I told you about my brother,” she reminded him quietly.

  Jake nodded. For some crazy reason he found himself wanting to confide in her. To share not only his pride, but his very real worries. He’d never been the kind of guy who opened up to every stranger who came along. Besides, they weren’t even friends. His mother would probably have labeled her fast, any woman who’d been married and divorced four times.

  His grandmother would have called her a hussy, a painted lady—maybe even a scarlet woman.

  The trouble was, Jake had a feeling that under all that paint and polish there lurked a very different kind of woman. A woman with weaknesses and vulnerabilities she tried a little too hard to conceal. One his mother and even his grandmother would probably like if they ever got to know her.

  “You want more coffee?” he asked, reaching for any safe topic.

  “Did I mention that I have twin sisters, too? Annette and Jeanette. They’re almost ten years younger than I am and both happily married, with children.” She waited a beat and added, “One husband apiece, in case you were wondering. We don’t all run to multiple unions. Mama remarried after Daddy died, but then, she was barely fifty at the time. Her new husband raises llamas out in Colorado. He’s gentle as a lamb.”

  All of which was far more than he needed to know, Jake mused, but judging from the way it had come out, like a faucet turned on full-blast, she’d needed to tell him. Odd comment, though—that part about her stepfather being gentle as a lamb.

  “The only trouble is, they all live so far away,” she said with a sigh. “Anne lives in Birmingham, Jeanie in Tampa. I haven’t seen either of them in more than a year.” She toyed with her fork, making tiny squares in the sticky stuff on her pie plate. “And you know what’s so funny? Now that I’m finally in a position to help, they don’t need me anymore.” She rolled her eyes, a look of disgust on her face. “That sounded so awful. Can I please take back my whine?”

  Jake started to laugh, but didn’t. He started to say something—God knows what—when his cell phone vibrated at his waist. One glance at the number and he swallowed hard. Timmy was probably calling to say goodbye. His unit had been day-to-day ever since their orders came down.

  “Excuse me, will you?” he murmured.

  Meaning to go the ladies’ room and allow him some privacy, Sasha started to stand, grabbed the chair back when her ankle protested, and plopped down again. Instead, she reached for her half-eaten pie, pretending a fascination with the too-sweet confection while she tried not to listen.

  A long pause and then, “Jesus, son, this is—”

  Son? This was Timmy, then, not a business call. And Jake was frowning. Sasha’s mind immediately manufactured a dozen possibilities, all of them tragic. At least the boy was able to call—that was a good sign. But if Jake’s brows lowered any more, he wouldn’t be able to see.

  Her pie was suddenly tasteless, the crust leathery. She took a sip of her tasteless coffee only to find it was barely warm. Murmuring an excuse, she started to rise again just as he said, “What if I talk to your commanding officer?”

  Oh, God, this was serious! Could the boy have been arrested? Had he deserted? Going AWOL—that was a court-martial offense, wasn’t it?

  “All right, give me her name and tell me how to get in touch with her. I’ll call you back as soon as I know something positive. Within the hour if I’m lucky—I’m on the beach, not too far away.”

  His commanding officer was a woman. Did that help or hurt? Sasha was undecided whether to disappear, ignore the call or ask if there was anything she could do to help. She knew two county commissioners personally, but they probably didn’t have a whole lot of clout with the military.

  “Don’t worry, son, I’ll handle it. You just keep your head down and your mind on what you’re supposed to be doing. Leave everything else to me.”

  He shut off the cell phone, laid it on the table and stared blindly at a salt shaker for a full minute—a minute during which Sasha ran through every possible way in which a te
enage boy, even if he was a soldier, could get in trouble. “Can I help?” she finally asked.

  “I should have given him a refresher course, like maybe about nine months ago.” Rising, he pulled out his wallet and tossed several bills on the table.

  Sasha wasn’t about to mention her car, which happened to be in the opposite direction, nor was she about to ask any questions. From the look on his face, he had enough on his mind without adding her tiny problems.

  Not until they turned off the bypass and headed toward one of the older soundside villages did Jake break the silence. Dropping back to the slower speed limit, he drove past several small houses, a few of which looked as if they hadn’t been repaired since Hurricane Isabel. “She says she needs the money because she hasn’t been able to work for the past few months.”

  She? Who was she? And what did she have to do with Jake’s son? More to the point, what did she have to do with Jake?

  Questions swarmed like a school of minnows, but as much as she wanted to help, she hesitated to pry into his personal business.

  Jake slowed down to check a street marker. “Here’s what I don’t get,” he said as if they were in the middle of a conversation. “She didn’t ask him for money. Didn’t ask for a damn thing, she just said she wanted to let him know what happened and what she planned to do about it.” He turned right and cruised down a narrow blacktop street at about five miles an hour.

  Looking as pale as a perennially suntanned man could possibly look, he swore softly under his breath. “She waited five and a half weeks to call him—five and a half damned weeks! Tim said he told her that as long as she’d waited that long, to hold off until he talked to me. I just hope to God she did—that she’s still there.”

  He obviously didn’t expect a response. In fact, Sasha wasn’t certain he realized she was even here. If he was working things out in his own mind, the last thing he needed was questions—although sometimes a sounding board could help.

  “You know what?” he asked suddenly, still without looking at her. “I’m not buying it. Tim said they spent last Labor Day weekend together at Virginia Beach, but he claims he hasn’t seen her since then. I’ve never known him to lie, not even when a lie would have gotten him out of trouble.”

  “They’ve obviously been in touch,” Sasha ventured. “She knew where to find him.” She still wasn’t quite certain what the problem was, but she was beginning to think it had nothing to do with the military. Evidently, Timmy and an old girlfriend had a problem. And now Jake was involved.

  They passed a shoebox with weathered siding and tarpaper patches on the roof, and then Jake backed up, pulled off the pavement and opened the driver’s-side door. Near the wooden steps an enormous gardenia bush in full bloom layered the air with its fragrance.

  “You want to wait out here?”

  It was the first time he’d actually acknowledged her presence. “Can you give me a quick rundown on what’s going on? If this is a hostage situation, I’d just as soon wait outside, but I’ll keep the car running in case you need to make a quick getaway.”

  Still holding the door open, Jake leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. “Sorry. Communication’s obviously not one of my skills. In a nutshell, my son impregnated a girl last Labor Day weekend. They’ve talked a few times since, but Tim says he hasn’t seen her since then. Five and a half weeks ago she had a baby and she swears it’s his.”

  “Do you think she’s telling the truth?”

  Jake’s shoulders drooped. Suddenly he looked his age. It should have diminished his sex appeal, yet oddly enough, it didn’t. She wanted nothing more than to gather him into her arms and offer comfort. In whatever form he preferred.

  Girl, you just never learn, do you?

  “Short answer—yes, I think she’s probably telling the truth.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Like I said, she didn’t ask for anything—no money, no wedding ring. She was just reporting in, letting him know what she planned to do. According to Tim, she’s been talking with a woman in Norfolk who takes unwanted babies and places them in good homes.”

  “You mean an adoption agency?”

  He shrugged. “I guess. Probably a private one. Tim made her hold off until he could get in touch with me. He’s in no position to take care of a baby. Hell, neither am I, for that matter, but I’ll tell you this much—nobody is going to sell my granddaughter.”

  “How long do we have?”

  He turned to her then. “There’s no ‘we’ about it. There’s me and this woman and my granddaughter. Look, Sasha, I’m sorry about all this—the delay. I promise you, once I get things settled here, I’ll see that you get to your car.”

  “Oh, bull pucky!”

  For the first time since he’d received the call from his son, Jake looked almost amused. “Pucky? I haven’t heard that one, is it original?”

  “I doubt it. My daddy started out as a farmer. Once he switched to preaching, we all had to clean up our language.”

  “Yeah, well…while I go inside, how about making a list of everything I need to buy to take care of a baby. Diapers, bottles—a car seat.”

  He swung open his door, then turned and said, “Dammit, didn’t those kids ever hear of birth control? Tim says she was seventeen when he knew her. That’s barely legal.”

  As if knowing she wasn’t going to stay put, he came around just as she opened the door and started to slide to the ground. Catching her, he steadied her against his chest, holding her closely for a moment as if he needed the brief contact as much as she did.

  “Four-wheel-drive SUVs aren’t designed with the vertically challenged in mind,” she said breathlessly as she backed away. The man generated enough voltage to jump-start a battleship.

  Leading the way across the unkempt yard to the shoebox house, he said gruffly, “Come on, let’s get this show on the road.”

  They stepped up onto the porch where two pairs of sandy flip-flops straddled a potted tomato plant. Sasha caught his arm and said, “Look, this might be out of line, but just so you know, I have lots of money.”

  The look he gave her might have withered her on the spot if she didn’t know how concerned he was. Turning away, he jabbed the buzzer and then rattled the screen door. From inside the house came the sound of a radio playing loud rap music. Jake’s look darkened.

  Sasha said, “You were expecting what, lullabies? Mother or not, she’s still a teenager.”

  The girl who materialized on the other side of the mended screen looked as if she could do with a few pounds, a few hours in the sun and a few hours of sleep.

  “I’m Tim’s dad. He told you I’d be here. Where is she?”

  The young woman looked them over thoroughly before she opened the screen door. “I guess you might as well come in. Is this Tim’s mother?”

  “I’m a friend,” Sasha answered before Jake could explain that she was practically a stranger who just happened to come along for the ride. “Could we see her?”

  “She spit up and I’ve not had time to change her shirt.”

  She led the way to a room that was even more depressing than the one they were in, and there in the middle of an unmade bed was a banana box stuffed with a pillow. Tiny pink feet kicked at a confining yellow spread. A small pink fist waved in the air as a red-faced infant vented her displeasure.

  “That’s her. I named her Tuesday on account of that’s when she was born. Tuesday Smith,” she added defiantly.

  “And your name is?” said Jake, who looked tense enough to shatter at a touch.

  “Cheryl,” was the reluctant response. “Cheryl Moser.”

  Torn between reaching out to Jake and scooping up the fretful infant, Sasha chose the safest option. She leaned over and cupped a small foot in her hand. “Hello, sweetheart. You just fuss all you want to, I don’t much blame you.” She turned to the tired-looking blonde. “How old did you say she was?”

  “Five weeks. And a half.”

  Jake said tightly, “Y
ou could have called sooner.”

  “I didn’t think you’d be interested.”

  “What about your parents?”

  She shrugged. “Mama’s dead and Daddy said don’t come crying to him if I got myself in trouble.”

  Sasha opened her mouth and then shut it again. Nothing she could say would help out in this situation. This was between Jake and the thin, pale teenager and a baby whose name was the same as a movie star this poor girl had probably never heard of. So much for originality.

  Frowning, Jake said, “About this place in Norfolk—”

  Sasha broke in. “Whatever that woman offered, we’ll double it.” She hadn’t planned to say anything, the words just popped out.

  Jake shot her a look that clearly questioned her sanity. To Cheryl, he said, “Why don’t we go in the next room and talk this over?”

  Not to be left out, Sasha scooped the infant from her makeshift bassinet, making crooning sounds she hadn’t uttered in more than twenty years, and followed them into the living room, carrying the wet, fussing infant against her shoulder. Oh, how good it felt to cradle a baby again.

  Jake turned to glare at her. Cheryl sighed and shifted her weight from one bare foot to the other. “Look, I mean, I just need to get back to work full-time, okay? Starting when I got too big to work tables, they put me in the kitchen. The pay stinks. I been taking her with me, but my boss don’t like it. How much did you say you were willing to give for her?”

  On the verge of saying something she probably shouldn’t, Sasha felt a warm damp patch on the shoulder of her eighty-nine-dollar-on-sale, dry-cleanable blouse. It smelled like sour milk and probably was. “Judge not lest ye be judged” had been one of the favorite quotations of Addler Parrish, who had set himself up as judge and then proceeded to mete out whatever punishment he saw fit.

  She’d been nine and a half when the twins were born, eleven when her brother came along. Her mother had been sickly after Buck, whose real name had been Robert, so Sasha had done more than her share of baby-tending. The warmth of the slight bundle and the familiar smell brought back a mixture of bitterness and nostalgia.