Mating Game

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Mating Game Page 25

by Maynard, Janice


  He stopped, his eyes anguished as he raked his hands through his hair. “I was appalled and so ashamed. Clearly, I had done or said something to you to make you believe I might be a threat . . . enough that you had communicated that apprehension to Tanner, and that he in turn was concerned that I had hurt you.” He bit his lip. “I made you afraid, didn’t I?”

  Nola sat up straighter, surprised at his words. She searched for diplomacy. “You had reason to hate me and my family, Billy,” she said carefully. “But I told Tanner all along, and everyone else involved as well, that I didn’t think you were capable of violence.” Better not to mention that the police had checked out Billy’s vehicle. Then he really would be spooked.

  He came to stand beside her. “I am so sorry, Nola. I let myself hang on to that grievance, that bitterness far too long. Whatever happened in the past is over and forgotten, I promise. It was foolish and immature of me to cling to my hurt feelings, and I swear to you, I’m done with it.” He took one of her hands in his. “You were and still are very special to me, Nola. If you can find it in your heart to forgive me, I hope we can still be friends.”

  She squeezed his hands as she felt a gentle rush of relief. Being at odds with Billy had bothered her more than she realized. “I would like that,” she said softly.

  He bent awkwardly to kiss her, and she accepted the brief brush of his mouth over hers in the spirit in which it was intended.

  The kiss had barely ended when she heard the door open behind Billy, and Marc’s familiar voice intruded. “Well, hell. Does a man have to take a number around here?”

  Billy straightened, scowling.

  Nola hastily made introductions. “Marc . . . this is Billy . . . I mean Bill Inman, an old high school friend. Billy, this is Marc Overmyer, a dear friend of mine from Chicago.”

  The two men sized each other up. Billy, still frowning, turned back to Nola. “I’ll take off now. But I’ll be checking on you.”

  She smiled up at him, feeling nostalgic and both happy and sad. “Thanks for coming by.”

  Marc waited for the door to close, and his lip curled dramatically. “Tractor boy would never have made you happy.”

  Nola grinned with the first genuine amusement she had felt since her ordeal began. “I do love you, Marc.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Like a brother . . . yeah, yeah . . . I know.”

  She patted the bed, laughing softly. Her relationship with Marc was complicated. But she didn’t think of him as a sibling, far from it. More like a sexual mentor, or a fondly remembered lover. “Come sit with me and tell me the scoop on what happened. Tanner seems to think I need to be protected from all the gory details. But since I was the one smack in the middle of it, I’d like some answers. What happened when you came out of the house and found me gone?”

  He perched a hip on the mattress, but he paled at the memories. “It took me a few seconds to process what was happening. He had parked just down the drive, while we were in the house, I guess. You were facing the opposite direction, so you wouldn’t have seen him sneaking up on you from behind. When I first came out of the house, he was dragging you toward his car. I started running, and thank God, I looked at the license plate. But the car was gone so fast, I got only the first four digits of the tag number. So it took them a lot longer to track down the plate than it should have.”

  “Which is why Tanner went to Billy to start with.”

  “Yeah. But it was clear your old beau was in the dark. Which was good and bad. We were relieved your boyfriend hadn’t hurt you, but we were back to square one.”

  “So then what?” It was easier to hear this side of things than to relive her own memories.

  “The sheriff’s department had a positive ID on the tag by midday. But no one could find Harold or the car. There was an all-out countywide search. Tanner was frantic . . . hell, we all were. Harold’s house was under surveillance the entire time, but he didn’t show up until almost two a.m. By then, I thought Tanner was going to go in there and kill the guy.”

  “But they didn’t confront him?” She’d been hanging in the dark miserable and alone about then.

  Marc shook his head. “It took three guys to restrain your hulking handyman. The sheriff pointed out that if Harold refused to talk, we’d likely never find you.”

  She winced. “So you waited.”

  He bowed his head. “Harold didn’t head out again until seven the next morning . . . and we followed him then. The night was a million years long.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  Her humor fell flat, and Marc looked as if he were about to cry. “Shit, Nola. I put my foot in my mouth, didn’t I? I can’t imagine what you went through. You’re a strong woman, baby. I don’t know that I could have done what you did and lived to tell the tale.”

  She shrugged. “I didn’t have much choice.” She shifted in the bed and winced. It must be time for more medicine, because her aches and pains were intensifying.

  Tanner returned about then, and Marc wasted no time making his goodbyes. Nola had a suspicion that Marc was a bit afraid of Tanner, because he scuttled out pretty quickly.

  Tanner shoved his hands in his back pockets and stared at her. “You okay?” The question was gruff.

  She nodded slowly. “Billy came to apologize and to put the past behind us.”

  “Does that mean he’s back on the short list for groom?” The words were flat, emotionless.

  At first, she thought he was kidding. But then she read his face, saw past the deliberate absence of expression to the turmoil in his eyes. “Tanner, no,” she cried. “Don’t be an ass. I love you. And nothing is going to change that. Not my grandmother’s insane will, or your insane business partner, or even my reconciliation with an old flame from the past. You’re my future, Tanner. Don’t you know that?”

  Little by little, the tension in his body relaxed, and at long last, she saw him smile. “I’m mighty glad to hear that, Red. I’m not sure that dress and ring are returnable.”

  She clenched her left hand and covered it with her right one. “Stay away from my ring, buster. You’ll have to pry it out of my cold, dead hands.” As soon as the words left her mouth, she realized what she had said. Tanner reacted visibly, his gaze naked with suffering. Her eyes filled and a single tear rolled down her cheek. “Oh, God, Tanner. I’m sorry. It’s over,” she said firmly, as much for her benefit as for his. “I’m fine.”

  He groaned and came down beside her, pulling her into a bear hug and holding on tight. She could feel his heart thundering in his chest, and his mighty arms trembled. He mumbled something against her neck, and she pulled back. “What did you say?”

  He kissed her nose. “He may not have intended to kill you. Harold swore to the sheriff that all the dumb-ass stunts he pulled were simply to scare you into selling. He even claims the gunshot wound was exactly what he intended. He’s taken classes and is a good marksman, to hear him tell it. Said he wasn’t shooting to kill, and that the car incident was never actually dangerous. Pointed out that you were never in any real peril in the well.”

  She said a word she had never used in her life. Anger boiled up, hot and cleansing. “Maybe I’ll shove good old Harold down a nasty well and see how he likes it.”

  Tanner hugged her tightly. “He’ll be going away for fifteen or twenty years, hopefully. But if you’re still in that mood when he gets out, I promise to hold the rope, Red.”

  Tuesday afternoon, the twentieth of May at two thirty, Nola stood in her bedroom at Lochhaven and looked at herself in the mirror on the back of her closet door. The dress was even better than she remembered. She felt like a princess.

  She’d used her tripod and taken a picture of herself against the antique wallpaper with the tiny fleur-de-lis print. She wanted to remember everything about this day.

  Her wounds, big and small, were painful but bearable. After being released from the hospital yesterday afternoon, she had been adamant that the wedding take place today, only three days s
hy of the will’s deadline. It scared her to realize how close she had come to losing the house.

  She tried not to think about how close she had come to losing her life.

  Though it went against the grain, she’d entrusted Marc with one of her best cameras and given him a quick course in how to use it. This wedding might not be traditional, but like most brides, she wanted photographic evidence to pore over in years to come.

  She adjusted the bodice of her gown and poked at a recalcitrant wave at her ear. She had no veil, but Tanner had sent up a delicate spray of miniature orchids to pin in her hair.

  When she was completely ready, she called for Marc. He and the lawyer would be the only guests, the only witnesses other than a single musician. It amused her that during the car ride over to the church, Marc was as nervous as if he were the one getting married. He was dressed to the nines, of course, without a hair out of place. He looked like he’d stepped out of an ad in GQ.

  The lawyer was waiting for them when they pulled up in front of the small country church. Tanner, per Nola’s stern directions, had not arrived yet. She wanted him to see her for the first time as she came down the aisle.

  The lawyer greeted them and then turned to Marc. “Mr. Overmyer. Would you mind waiting in the car for a short while? I need to speak to Nola concerning some private matters.”

  Nola’s stomach churned as she allowed the older man to escort her inside. Was there a problem . . . after all she’d been through?

  He urged her to be seated, and watched as she arranged her dress to avoid wrinkling it. When she was settled, he reached into the pocket of his suit and extracted a plain white envelope. It was fat, as if it included several folded sheets of paper.

  The lawyer’s eyes were kind. “I have instructions to give this to you on your wedding day. It’s a letter from your grandmother.” He pulled a clean white cotton handkerchief from his pocket. “I have no clue as to the contents, but you’ve been through a lot this month. You might need this.” He handed her the folded square of cloth and walked toward the door. “The minister, the groom, and Marc and I will wait outside. Let us know when you’re ready. Take your time.”

  Nola’s hands shook as she opened the flap and pulled out the pages covered with her grandmother’s distinctive handwriting.

  Dear Nola,

  If you are reading this letter, it means I have kicked the bucket. I know the contents of my will no doubt made you angry, confused, and challenged. But I had my reasons, and now that you are about to be wed, I will share them with you, my beloved granddaughter.

  Though the tragedy of losing your parents hurt both you and me deeply, the day you came to live with me was the most wonderful day of my life. My house had been a silent tomb since your mother grew up and married. Having you to care for gave new meaning to my life.

  I never was much good with children. I guess you noticed that. Ha! But I loved you dearly, and I wanted the best for you . . . and still do, even if I am playing some damn fool harp up on a cloud.

  Sometimes I have regretted meddling in your puppy love affair with Billy Inman. Perhaps that might have amounted to something, but it is too late now to undo past wrongs . . . at least in this instance.

  All I have dreamed of for you is to have a husband who loves you and a family who will run and laugh and play and give new life to Lochhaven’s empty rooms and shadowed hallways. I do believe that you are too picky, or perhaps you are simply afraid to be hurt. Losing your parents and Billy may have made you shun relationships, and although I can’t claim credit for the first, the second is definitely my fault.

  But no matter . . .

  I don’t think a woman has to have a man to be happy . . . I managed all right. But I do believe that a loving spouse makes a woman’s path easier and more fulfilled.

  My life was not an easy road, and because I want only the best for you, I arranged my will to nudge you into finding a mate. I trust your judgment and know you won’t wed for the money alone. I know you love Lochhaven as I do. And I am confident that a woman with your talent and beauty and charm has plenty of prospects for Mr. Right.

  All I am doing is giving you a bit of a push to commit to that one man who will make you happy and will stay by your side as you turn Lochhaven into the happy home it was a century ago.

  You’ve wondered, I’m sure, about my past. Your mother couldn’t have told you, because she didn’t know. And I surely didn’t tell you. But perhaps if I explain now, you’ll see why I have done what I have done.

  My parents were very strict, but they let me go off to nursing school. I graduated with honors in June of 1942, and I and five of my friends were all set to enroll in the armed services and at the end of the summer to go off and serve our lads on foreign shores.

  My friends and I celebrated our graduation in New York City. We danced and partied and drank and flirted with men in uniform. One of those boys caught my eye and I his. Thaddeus and I spent a magical weekend together before he shipped out. I lost my heart irrevocably, and I like to believe that he did as well. Two weeks later, I received word that he had died when a faulty grenade blew up in his hand. Two weeks after that, I discovered that I was pregnant with his child, your mother.

  I did the only thing I could do . . . I went home to Lochhaven. I was an only child, and I thought my parents would take me in. But I was wrong. My father, a rigid, judgmental man, was furious, and he threw me out of the house. I had nothing but my clothes and a hundred dollars I had been saving in my lingerie drawer.

  My mother pleaded with him, but he was adamant. And she was part of a generation of subservient women who kowtowed to the king of the manor, no matter what.

  I had nowhere to turn, until the mother of one of my friends, a compassionate angel, arranged for me to go to a home for unwed mothers in Macon. I lived there for eight months until my child was born.

  My mother wanted to come see her new granddaughter, but my father refused. Mother had been sending me little dribs and drabs of money that she could squirrel away. She tried to sneak out of the house and drive to where I was, but my father caught her and locked her in her room.

  She had a stroke and died without ever seeing me or my newborn daughter.

  I ended up staying at the home for three years. I had a talent for organization, and they hired me to be in charge of meals. They paid me a fair wage, and I was able to keep my baby with me.

  After three long years, I no longer felt like I belonged at Lochhaven. I assumed that part of my life was over for good. But one day I received a telegram demanding—not asking, mind you—that I come home. My father had suffered a terrible heart attack and was hanging on to life by a thread.

  At death’s door, he realized that it would be easier for him to accept me and my bastard daughter (his words, not mine) than it would be to see the family’s heritage fall into the hands of strangers.

  Our first meeting was not a tender reconciliation. He was still a mean, self-righteous man. And in another position, I might have walked out on him. But I had a small child depending on me, and I owed it to her to provide a good living and to save her inheritance.

  Despite the financial security, my life was not easy. I was shunned by many in the community both for my “lax morals” and because of jealousy, I suppose. I now owned the largest part of Resnick, and the town’s prosperity was dependent on me in many fashions.

  There were men who wanted to marry me, but it was always about the money. I could see past their pretty speeches to the avarice inside their cold hearts. Though it was not my choice, I never loved another man after Thad. So although I had your mother, at night in my cold, barren bed, I was a lonely woman.

  So you see why I want more for you. I’ve seen how hard you work, and I know you will work equally diligently to make your marriage happy and successful. I wish I could see the lucky man you have chosen, but I am content in the knowledge that he is someone of worth.

  Over the years, I gave regular financial support to the women�
�s home in Macon that saved my life and helped me start a new one. It would mean a lot to me if you would donate to them a substantial onetime gift, or even better—if you would continue to send them monthly or annual checks. I’m sure there are many naive girls like I was who have nowhere else to turn.

  I also trust you to restore Lochhaven to her glory days. The farmland is rich and fertile, the house simply waiting to be reborn. And if God is good, I’ll be able to look down on you and smile, knowing that my legacy lives on. Except for requiring this marriage, I have placed no restrictions on your inheritance. You may do with it as you see fit.

  Be happy, my dearest Nola. If I had been a different woman, I would have done a better job of expressing love. But I am what I am, and I am too old to change.

  God bless you on your wedding day, and know that my love reaches out beyond the grave to enfold you and support you. You are my beloved granddaughter, and as of this day, the new mistress of Lochhaven. All is right with the world. . . .

  Sincerely,

  Your cranky old grandmother

  Nola crumpled the pages in one hand and the handkerchief, still dry, in the other. She had exceeded her quota of tears for this month . . . perhaps for the year, who knew. Her chest was tight, but she wouldn’t cry again . . . not on her wedding day.

  She was sitting in the next-to-last pew. As she stared down the aisle, she imagined Tanner waiting there for her. He was everything she could ask for in a husband . . . strong, protective, tender when the situation called for gentleness. And in bed . . . he was her other half.

  Carefully, she arranged the pages in numerical order and tucked them neatly back into the envelope.

  Twenty minutes later, Marc took her arm, his eyes glassy and his foot tapping restlessly. She kissed his cheek. “Relax. You’ll do fine.”

 

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