Mating Game

by Maynard, Janice

  She seemed to deflate suddenly, worn down by reciting her tale of venom. “After his marriage broke up,” she said, her voice dull, “I made him go to counseling . . . to get rid of the anger. I don’t know that it ever worked. How do you get over something like that? I think it damaged him inside.”

  Mrs. Inman stood slowly, hobbled to the front door and opened it. “I’d like you to go now. I don’t want Billy to know you’ve been here. He’s hated you for years, and he’d as soon spit on you as look at you.”

  Ten

  Nola had thought things couldn’t get any worse. When she left the Inmans’ home she had planned to go to the store and beg Billy to talk to her again. But that was before she knew the truth. Her stomach cramped and sweat beaded her forehead. Oh, shit.

  She pulled to the side of the road so she could rip the car door open, lean out, and throw up. Then she put her arms on the steering wheel, bowed her head, and cried. For years she had carried the sweet memories of Billy Inman in her head and in her heart. And all this time he had hated her. Her sobs hurt her chest, made her stomach burn.

  It was so unfair. And it was all her grandmother’s fault. The old woman had ruled with an iron fist, and she went to her grave knowing, or at least believing, that she was right about everything. Nola wished, violently, that she could have known this information before her grandmother was gone. Because there would have been hell to pay.

  When the wild rush of anger and grief passed, Nola was wiped out . . . exhausted. She flipped down the visor and faced herself in the mirror. Her brown eyes were dull, her cheeks blotchy red. She was a mess. She opened her purse and took out her cosmetic case. A little dusting of powder, some judicious eye makeup, and a dash of lip gloss repaired the outward damage. But nothing could clean up the mess inside.

  Her brain whirled in a million directions. She wanted to talk to Marc. She wanted to talk to Tanner. She wanted to call Tally and Krystal. But she was a grown woman, and this was something she had to fix herself. Assuming it could be fixed.

  The Billy situation would have to be dealt with, but not yet. First the lawyer. Information was power, and right now Nola needed all the help she could get. If she had to resort, in the end, to buying a husband, she might as well hear what the price tag would be.

  She drove to the parking lot of the small, unexceptional building where her grandmother’s lawyer kept his office.

  He was as cordial and friendly as he had been in Chicago, but his eyes moved automatically to the calendar on the wall when they were seated. He tapped a pen on his desk. “You’re at the halfway point. Any possibilities?”

  She forgave him his curiosity. He was, after all, entitled to the information, because if Nola couldn’t meet the terms of the will, the lawyer would be responsible for passing the money on to the next beneficiary. Should Nola tell him she’d just found out that the man at the top of her list had to be eliminated? If Billy Inman hated her guts, there was no way in hell he would marry her to save her inheritance.

  She shook her head slowly. “I had a plan of sorts. It’s not really working out so far. But I’m not giving up.”

  The lawyer nodded. “Very well. I’ve spent the last two weeks going over all of your grandmother’s bank records. She had spread her money in a lot of places . . . mutual funds, stocks, CDs, regular savings accounts. She was damned smart when it came to finances, and she rarely spent money on anything she considered frivolous.”

  Nola wondered bleakly why she wasn’t more excited. It wasn’t every day a girl inherited a hefty nest egg. “So you’re telling me I’ll be comfortable for a while, at least?”

  He shook his head, his eyes dancing. “Oh, no, Nola. You’re not comfortable. You’re stinking rich.”

  He sat back in his chair, watching her with a smile as she tried to digest the news. Her heart pounded. “But how?”

  “Years ago, your grandmother owned eighty percent of this town. As time went by, she sold it off bit by bit. And she invested . . . wisely. As far as I can tell, even after all outstanding bills are paid, you’ll have a fortune . . . and that’s not even counting the land value of what you still own. If you ever decided to sell the house and the property, you’d stand to gain almost as much as you have in cash.”

  Her lips were numb. “How much cash?”

  He slid a piece of paper in her direction. The figures were in pencil, but the line at the bottom was crisp and clear. Her breath caught in her throat when the lawyer said with great relish, “Sixty million, give or take a few. I’m very happy for you, Nola.”

  They talked for another hour after that, but Nola barely comprehended any of it. The lawyer was trying to explain inheritance taxes and what they would need to do to shelter the money, but Nola was oblivious. Her head was still reeling. Sixty million dollars. It was inconceivable. She could renovate Lochhaven from top to bottom and still have change left over.

  The knowledge should have made her ecstatic, but all she could think about was what Billy believed. What her grandmother had done. Nola grieved again, this time for the end of a relationship that might have blossomed into something long-lasting without outside interference. She had genuinely loved Billy Inman. Perhaps it had been puppy love. Perhaps in time, their romance would have died on its own.

  But its demise had been helped along by sheer malice.

  Nola had to set things right. After all this time, she owed it to herself and to Billy. It would probably make no difference in the long run, but at least there would be no more lies.

  Marc called her on her cell as she was leaving the lawyer’s office. He begged her to come by the motel. She declined. He asked her how she was; she didn’t elaborate. With dry, rusty amusement, it occurred to her that she might now have more money than Marc himself.

  But she kept the information under wraps. She trusted the lawyer’s discretion completely. And no one was going to find out from her . . . at least, not yet. If this got out, she would indeed be a target for every crazy in a three-state area.

  Though she had never felt less like a confrontation in her life, she drove with dogged determination to Billy’s store. Like her earlier visit, she had to wait. When he saw her, his face went blank, and he ignored her pointedly until, when a lull occurred, that was no longer possible.

  He stayed behind the counter, his hands clenched on the edge of it, and his chin jutting forward. He fired the first volley. “What do you want, Nola? I thought we were done with this.”

  “Not quite,” she whispered, more to herself than to him. “I need to talk to you. I’d like us to go out to that place by the lake we used to enjoy. We have to clear the air. It’s important.”

  For a brief moment, his mask slipped. But where she had anticipated seeing the hatred his mother swore he bore toward Nola, Nola saw nothing but bleak sorrow. He bit his lip, and his hands shuffled a pile of papers. “I’d rather not. I have more important things to do with my time.”

  She let that direct hit pass. “I saw your mother today,” she said quietly. “Your parents are so proud of you and so grateful for your support all these years. You’ve been a wonderful son to them.”

  He shrugged. “I did what I had to do. Don’t be painting me as heroic. We all play the hand life deals us.”

  “Some guys would have walked away.” It was nothing more than the truth. Not everyone had Billy’s loyalty.

  He became agitated. “Will you please leave?”

  “Come with me,” she said urgently, “and after that, if you still hate my guts, I’ll walk away and never bother you again.” She sounded desperate, even to her own ears, but this was too important to give up on without a fight. Marriage or no marriage, she owed Billy—and herself—some healing . . . some closure.

  He cursed, a rude, emphatic word the younger Billy would never have uttered. “Why?” He ground the single syllable from between clenched teeth, his gaze filled with suffering and pain.

  Her own eyes stung, but she kept her control—barely. “Because,” she s
aid slowly, “I didn’t know about the money and my grandmother. I didn’t know. I swear.”

  Billy had insisted he couldn’t leave for an hour, so in the meantime Nola picked up the makings of an impromptu picnic: ham sandwiches, chicken legs, potato salad—all of Billy’s favorites. At the last minute she grabbed fudge brownies and a gallon of tea to go with the rest of the meal.

  Billy had flat-out refused to ride with her. So she went in her own car to the quiet spot by the lake, setting out their meal in silence, wondering if Billy would even show up. In his shoes, she might not have.

  He was thirty minutes late, but he came. It occurred to Nola that his tardiness might be intentional . . . to show her that she meant nothing to him anymore.

  They greeted each other with brief, low-pitched hellos, settling on opposite sides of the concrete picnic table to eat. Nola had brought one of her grandmother’s cheery square cotton tablecloths from the 1950s and spread it kitty-corner on the hard surface.

  The picnic table sat in the shade of a massive oak. There was a stiff breeze, and the edges of the cloth fluttered in the wind. Nola had anchored it all with a jar of pickles and the brownies.

  Billy ate, but Nola couldn’t. She cut right to the chase. “Thank you for coming today.”

  He shrugged, his expression inscrutable. “I didn’t think you would leave me alone if I didn’t.”

  She felt her face heat. “Did you hear what I said before I left?”

  He nodded slowly. “I heard.”

  “But you don’t believe me.” He wore his skepticism like a cloak.

  He looked away from her, out toward the lake where fish jumped and a single faraway sailboat skittered across the surface. “It’s difficult to. She said you were tired of me.”

  The tiny break in the last word, especially coming from an adult male, was painful to hear.

  Nola leaned forward, her arms resting on the table. “She lied. I was in love with you. Did you know that I thought we would end up married, with two-point-five kids, living here in Resnick . . . in a house we built ourselves? Maybe it was a fantasy, but at the time, I believed it.”

  He was silent, so she kept going, determined to make him see the truth. “You were my first love, Billy, my first lover. You were the most wonderful thing in my life. Do you remember my sixteenth birthday? My grandmother refused to throw me a party, and you took me to this very spot and brought a cake you had baked yourself. It was lopsided and flat, and you were embarrassed to give it to me. But I thought it was amazing. And I knew you were the one person who cared about me more than anyone else in the world.” Remembering that afternoon made a huge lump clog her throat. And she wanted to weep for all they had lost. She swallowed hard. “I was so hurt when you turned your back on me.”

  For the first time, she saw it dawn on him that Nola had been a victim as much as she had. And she could tell from his face that it was a struggle to rearrange his thinking.

  She stood up. “I have a quilt in the trunk. Would you like to get some sun?” They had done that so often in the old days, rubbing each other’s backs with baby oil—with all the disregard of youth for the inherent dangers—and later, when they started having sex, this had become one of their favorite places, especially after dusk.

  Billy didn’t reply, but he followed her to the edge of the water. The grass was soft and sweet, newly green, lush and plentiful. He helped her spread the quilt, and they both sat down awkwardly . . . with a good three feet of distance separating them.

  Billy spoke first. “You never married?”

  She shook her head, her arms linked around her knees tucked at her chest. “No. There were two guys who might have asked, but I ended it before we got that far. I knew I wasn’t ready to get married, and I didn’t think either of them was really a good match for me.” She waited a half second. “And you? Your mother mentioned something along those lines. . . .”

  He was leaning back on his hands, his legs crossed at the ankles. His profile was as familiar to her as her own. His expression was hidden from her at the moment, but he answered readily enough. “I married for all the wrong reasons. I was tired of being alone, tired of struggling with Mom and Dad on my own. Cheryl got fed up with it all pretty quickly.”

  “It must have been difficult for both of you,” she said. Cheryl Poeller. Nola remembered being shocked the first time she had heard the identity of Billy’s bride. Cheryl had always had a crush on Billy, even when Nola was dating him.

  He nodded. “Yeah. After we divorced, she moved to Columbus. Too much gossip in a small town, I guess.”

  She touched his arm. “Do you believe me, Billy?”

  He half turned, staring at her, his face troubled. “I want to. I’m trying to. But it’s been a long time.”

  True. A lot of water had passed under the bridge. She sighed and stretched out on her back with her eyes closed. The sun warmed her skin, but inside, her heart was still shriveled from knowing Billy hated her.

  She sneaked one eye open. He was looking at her breasts. She held out her hand in invitation. Slowly, as if he couldn’t quite help himself, Billy came down beside her.

  She touched his hair. “Do you remember our first time?” He had been clumsy and overeager. She had been naive and half-scared. But hormones and teenage lust had carried them through. She cried afterward. He held her tenderly and told her he loved her.

  Her grandmother had never said those three words out loud, even if they were true. So Billy’s adoration was balm to Nola’s tender young heart.

  Now, over a decade later, the tenderness remained, at least on her part. She sensed Billy’s ambivalence, knew he was struggling. She wouldn’t tempt him, but if they could find healing in one simple moment, so be it.

  Seconds ticked away as he gently touched her belly beneath her top. He seemed mesmerized by her quiet submission. Did she owe him this, or was she trying to heal her own wounds?

  When he kissed her at last, they both sighed.

  As his sexual hunger broke its bounds, Billy handled her with less care. His mouth was hard on hers, his tongue thrusting between her teeth, stealing her breath and forcing her to accept him.

  He anchored a leg between both of hers and shoved a hand down her shorts. He fondled her mechanically, going through the motions, but she sensed that his only real focus was his own need for release. They undressed each other and he moved on top of her.

  She shoved a hand against his chest. “Not like this, Billy. Look at me.” He went still and finally his gaze met hers. She let him see every bit of her heart, all the pieces that had been broken, and the sentimental longing that still remained for what they had lost.

  She had hoped for a tender reconciliation, but even a blind woman could have seen the residual darkness from his earlier beliefs. He might have listened to her words of explanation and reconciliation, but his heart and his body were still mired in the past.

  She reached up and kissed him softly. “Love me like you used to, Billy. Please. Give us one last chance.”

  He scanned her face, his eyes intent. She bore his scrutiny patiently and wanted to weep when he finally smiled faintly. “You’re still beautiful, Nola.” He bent his head and took her mouth in a gentle kiss.

  She didn’t have to fake her response. It might have been based more on the past than the present, but it was real. His lips were firm and sure. He had learned a thing or two about women in the last decade. There was no fumbling, no selfishness. He touched her body with the assurance of a man who knew how to please his lover.

  She felt her arousal build slowly, and she welcomed it. She wanted to want Billy. She needed to know that the connection was still intact. Seeing his erection was odd and exciting. She remembered taking him in her mouth before they had been brave enough to go all the way. Back then he had shivered and groaned as she made him come.

  Now they were experienced adults. Their passion was different, but no less urgent. He gave her a measured look but didn’t hesitate to deal with the con
dom package she produced from her pocket. Moments later they were ready.

  Billy’s breath was hot on her cheek. “God, Nola. It’s been so long, so bloody long.”

  He whispered her name, his hands careful and deft as he brought her pleasure. It was easy and sweet and, at the same time, hotly passionate. His touch on her sex was familiar. She spiraled upward quickly, her heart slamming in her chest. She was so close. . . .

  His body entered hers steadily. She gasped, feeling the moment he probed the mouth of her womb, remembering all this man had meant to her in the past.

  He kissed her hard. “Look at me, Nola.”

  She did. And she managed to keep that visual connection as he rode her slowly.

  She saw, when his eyes glazed over, the moment he fell over the edge. And she let herself go with him.

  He held her briefly and then rolled off her in silence.

  When they were dressed, she sat with her legs pretzel-style and faced him. “Well?”

  His grin was almost like the old Billy. “It was good, Nola, but admit it—we’re two different people now. I’m flattered that you thought we might have something, but pleasant sex doesn’t erase the fact that my life and yours are hellishly complicated. You agree with me, don’t you?”

  She gazed out at the lake. “Yes,” she said glumly. “And I haven’t even told you everything,” she said quietly. “I can’t inherit my grandmother’s house and the money unless I’m married by May twenty-third.”

  His eyes flared in shock. “Are you asking me?”

  She bit her lip. “I thought about it. In the beginning, it seemed like the right choice. Two people from a similar background . . . a man and a woman who already shared a past. But that was before I knew what my grandmother did to you.”

  “Now you have other men in mind.”

  She kept her jaw from trembling with an effort. “One or two, but I’m running out of time.”

  He slung an arm over his upraised knee. “What happens if you don’t get married?”