The Other Woman

by Brenda Novak

  He pursed his lips. “You didn’t go over to the shop, did you?”

  The shop? She dropped her keys onto the counter, where she typically left them, and poured herself a cup of coffee. On the ride home, she’d decided that she wouldn’t offer him any excuses. She was thirty-two years old. As much as she wanted to gain what she’d lost so many years ago, she no longer had to account for her actions. At least not to him. But she now realized that the vandal had given her the perfect explanation for her absence. “I stopped by the Honky Tonk and had a drink with some friends, then spent the night at The Chocolaterie.”

  “Why didn’t you come back here?”

  She told him about the person who’d torn her sink from the wall, embellishing the story at the end with her own imaginary attempt to catch whomever it was by staying at the store.

  “If Keith’s the one who left the back door unlocked, he should pay to fix the sink,” her father said.

  “He offered. But—”

  “You won’t let him?”

  “He’s pretty broke,” she said. “Even with the jobs he takes on the side—”

  “Doing what?”

  “Developing small business software. Anyway, child support takes almost everything he makes. And when we divorced, he let me keep the equity from the house we owned in California. That’s what’s financing The Chocolaterie in the first place, so I don’t feel I can be too hard on him.”

  “You should’ve made him stay at the shop last night. Or told me about it. I would’ve gone.”

  The protectiveness inherent in those words raised all the questions Liz had wanted to ask her father for so long. And she was just tired and emotionally ragged enough to be incapable of holding them back. “What happened to us, Dad?” she whispered.

  His scowl deepened. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Stop pretending,” she said. “I have to know.”

  “What?”

  “What I did wrong! How I lost your affection. I was fourteen years old, for crying out loud. What could a fourteen-year-old do to suddenly destroy her father’s love?”

  He stared down at his eggs. They were beginning to burn, but he didn’t remove them from the stove and Liz didn’t offer to help. She couldn’t. She stayed rooted to the spot, awaiting an answer that would finally explain everything. But he said nothing.

  “Dad?” she murmured. She hated the beseeching quality in her voice, but the desperation she’d felt for so long filtered through in spite of her efforts to squelch it. “We were close, once. Do you remember?”

  “I remember,” he said, but he was hanging his head and it was difficult for Liz to make out his expression.

  “Was it your grief over losing Mom that separated us?”

  Nothing.

  “Was it the fact that Luanna and I didn’t get along?”

  Still no response.

  “A combination of both?” she offered.

  He made no reply, but Liz refused to fill the gaping silence. He owed her the truth. If, all of a sudden, he was going to be a part of her life and her children’s lives, she had a right to know.

  “It was grief,” he said at last. Dumping his fried eggs into the sink, he set down the pan and went to his room.

  Liz stared at the blackened remains of her father’s breakfast, then covered her face. Even now he couldn’t give her what she needed.

  CHAPTER TEN

  CARTER’S CELL PHONE RANG as he sat at Jerry’s Diner, having a quick breakfast before heading over to The Chocolaterie. When he’d left New York, he’d almost cancelled his service. He didn’t want anyone from his former life contacting him. But he moved around so much these days that it didn’t make any sense to rely on land lines. Besides, his mother needed a dependable way to reach him. There were times when she grew frustrated with his sister and needed to vent.

  This caller had a blocked number. Because of that, he was tempted to let the call go to voice mail. Anyone who wanted to reach him could damn well identify himself. But then he accidentally hit the talk button while trying to silence the ringer.

  Biting back an irritated curse, he held the phone to his ear. “Hello?”

  “Carter Hudson?”

  “Yes?”

  “It’s Johnson.”

  Carter had already recognized the deep, raspy voice of the supervisory special agent who’d run the field office from which he’d worked. “What do you need?” he asked. His relationship with Johnson hadn’t ended on the best of terms. Johnson wouldn’t be calling him without a reason.

  “We could use your help.”

  Carter glanced around to make sure no one could overhear his conversation. The diner was starting to fill up, but he’d taken a booth in the far corner and no one was in the immediate vicinity. “You don’t need anything from me,” he said.

  “Charles Hooper wants to talk.”

  Just the mention of Hooper’s name was enough to contaminate the life Carter was now living, like a toxic chemical leaking into a pure lake. Bar fights and rodeos were about the most violent events that took place in this quiet town. Certainly folks in these parts had never seen the things he’d seen; they’d probably never imagined the half of it. “Answer me one question,” he said.

  “What’s that?”

  “Is he still in prison?”

  “Of course. He’ll be there for the rest of his life. You know that.”

  “Exactly. And that’s all that matters to me.”

  “He claims there are more, Hudson.”

  Carter knew what “more” meant. But he refused to let Johnson draw him in. He was through with trying to save the world. There were too many sick bastards out there. And even once they were caught, there was no way to neutralize what they’d done.

  “I don’t care what he claims,” he said. “It’ll be a cold day in hell when he gets me to jump at his command.”

  “I don’t blame you for feeling the way you do,” Johnson replied. “No one does. He’s not worth the money it takes to feed him.”

  Carter couldn’t help noticing how carefully Johnson avoided any mention of Laurel.

  “But you wouldn’t be doing it for him,” he went on. “You know that, don’t you, Hudson?”

  “I’m not doing it for anyone,” he said.

  “We think there are three.”

  Three. Carter scrubbed a hand over his face, struggling to contain the rage building inside him. Why did Johnson have to call him on the first morning he’d felt human in twenty-four months? “He can tell you anything he can tell me,” he said.

  “But he won’t. He’s made that very clear. He says you’re the only one he’ll sit down with.”

  “I don’t give a rat’s ass what he says!”

  The waitress who’d delivered his steak and eggs turned to gape at him. So did the two cowboys sitting at the table nearby, where she was pouring coffee.

  Bowing his head over his plate, Carter lowered his voice. Hooper must’ve heard what had happened to Laurel and wanted the opportunity to gloat. Why else would he ask for him?

  “He’s a psychopath, Johnson. He manipulates people. I won’t let him manipulate me. As far as I’m concerned, he doesn’t exist.”

  “What about the families of his victims, Hudson? They deserve some closure. You know what it’s like for them, and for us. How hard we work. Can’t you help us out here?”

  No, he couldn’t. Hooper had cost him too much. His whole philosophy of life. His love of police work. His belief that he could make a difference. And, most of all, his wife.

  A vision of Laurel lying as pale as a ghost on the bed flashed before his mind’s eye, making his heart pound as if he’d just found her. He opened his mouth to tell Johnson to go to hell, but Johnson cut him off before he could say anything.

  “Don’t give me an answer right now. Think about it and we’ll talk more later, okay?” he said and disconnected, leaving Carter in a cold sweat.

  “YOU NEW IN TOWN?”

  Gordon Russell glanc
ed up to see a man on the other side of the gas pump. Wearing a straw cowboy hat with the edges rolled up, he was leaning against a dusty old pickup. The sleeves were torn out of his wool shirt, revealing beefy arms folded across his chest as he waited for the rolling numbers to indicate that his tank was full.

  Gordon was standing next to his own vehicle, engaged in the same activity. But he wasn’t interested in conversation. “No, not really,” he mumbled. “Just passing through.”

  The man shoved off the flare of his wheel well. At full height, he stood at least three inches taller than Gordon, and he was probably seventy pounds heavier. After depositing a pinch of snuff inside his cheek, he pocketed the can and made himself comfortable again. “Where you headin’?”

  Gordon didn’t know. After Liz had left for the shop, he’d simply packed his bags and loaded his car. He’d made a mistake coming to Dundee. He couldn’t close the gap between himself and his children. He’d devoted his life to other pursuits for too long. One year had stretched into another and another, leaving him no way to reclaim what he’d lost. He was crazy to have thought he could reverse the process in one trip.

  But with Luanna and her new boyfriend living in his house, he didn’t want to go back to L.A.

  He told himself he should see the world. He had nothing better to do. These were his golden years, right? But the world was feeling like a damn lonely place at the moment, making travel seem a bit overrated. “Here and there,” he answered vaguely.

  “What brings you out this way?” the man persisted.

  An error in judgment… “My son and daughter live here,” he explained.

  “Who are they? Maybe I know ’em.”

  “Isaac and Liz Russell.”

  “Of course. I see the resemblance.” The man spat on the ground. “They haven’t been around that long, but I remember when they first got here. Your girl caused quite a stir, thanks to Keith. Terrible what he did to her, ain’t it?”

  Terrible? Gordon peered at the man a little closer. “These days, divorces happen all the time. It’s not always easy to place blame.”

  His new friend gave him a funny look. “It was pretty damn easy in this case. If you ask me,” he added.

  “And you are…”

  “Tim. Tim Downey.” He motioned to the sign on the side of his truck. “I’m a cement contractor. Been living here my whole life.”

  Mr. Downey pulled the nozzle away from his tank. “Have a good one,” he said and climbed into his truck.

  Gordon watched him drive off, staring after him until the racket of the truck’s large engine faded to silence. What had happened between Keith and Liz? She’d cited personality differences.

  His pump gave a final chug and shut itself off, but Gordon wasn’t in a hurry to get out of town anymore. Mr. Downey, a cement contractor in Dundee, Idaho, knew more about Liz—and probably about Isaac, too—than he did.

  As difficult as it might be to stay, if Gordon left, that situation would never change.

  LIZ FOUND HERSELF WATCHING Carter whenever she thought he was too preoccupied to notice her doing so. Memories of the night before were still so fresh in her mind, it was difficult not to dwell on them. And she couldn’t believe how much her opinion of him had changed. At the steak house, she’d been absolutely ambivalent about his appearance and she’d hated his accent. Now, only two days later, she thought he was one of the handsomest men she’d ever seen, and she strained to hear him when he talked on his cell phone simply because she liked his accent so much.

  This was a crush, she realized with sudden clarity, recognizing all the typical signs. She now had a crush on the man she’d gone home with last night. Which was exactly why people like Liz shouldn’t do what she had done, she told herself fiercely. She just wasn’t a woman who could separate sex from love. In the past, they’d been one and the same to her.

  But that was when her relationships had begun with attraction and progressed toward commitment. Whereas her involvement with Carter certainly hadn’t started with attraction, nor was it going to develop into commitment.

  “You’re frowning,” Carter said.

  Liz blinked. She’d stopped painting. “I was wondering how much longer it might take to finish,” she lied.

  He rested a hand on the counter he’d just installed and assessed their progress. “We should be done by Monday evening.”

  “With everything?”

  “With everything.”

  “So I can have the cooler and confectioner’s stove installed on Tuesday?”

  “They won’t be on the concrete floor, but in case someone inadvertently steps where we don’t want them to I’d wait until Wednesday. The cement will take time to harden.”

  The smile she’d forced a moment earlier was suddenly effortless. She was about to say how fabulous that would be when the bell jingled over the front door.

  “Sounds like we have a visitor,” she said, setting aside her paintbrush.

  “Mary Thornton?” he asked, with little enthusiasm.

  “Probably,” she grumbled.

  But it wasn’t Mary Thornton. It was her mother-in-law. Liz still didn’t feel entirely comfortable around Georgia O’Connell. When she’d married Keith, he told her his parents were both dead as the result of a tragic automobile accident. So Georgia and Frank had been a surprise—one of the less than pleasant surprises waiting for Liz in Dundee, along with Keith’s other wife and other children. Despite the fact that they’d now known each other for eighteen months, Liz could sense Georgia’s resentment. It was almost as if she blamed Liz for ruining Keith’s life.

  “Hello, Georgia,” she said, reminding herself to be nice.

  Georgia had once requested that Liz call her Mother, for Mica and Christopher’s sake. She was their only grandmother, after all. But most of the time Liz avoided calling Georgia anything, at least in front of the children. And when the kids weren’t around, the two women interacted on a more formal basis.

  “The work’s coming along,” Georgia said, adjusting the scarf tied around the crown of her wide-brimmed hat. She was one of the few women in Dundee who still wore such a fashion accessory, except for the cowboy hats favored by the cowgirls, of course.

  “Yes, it is,” Liz said.

  “Will you be able to open as planned?”

  “It’s possible.”

  Georgia seemed cheerful, but her eyes darted around as she talked, missing nothing. “You’ve had some help, then?”

  No doubt Keith had mentioned Carter. Keith wasn’t pleased to have another man take his place. He’d made that clear when Liz had dropped off the kids the night before.

  “Carter Hudson has been kind enough to put some elbow grease into this place.”

  “Nice of him,” Georgia said, but her tone was too flat to be sincere. “Maybe you’ll introduce us. I’ve been told he works for Senator Holbrook, but other than that he’s a mystery to me. And to Keith, evidently,” she added under her breath.

  Liz didn’t want to include Carter in her network of friends and family. He was temporary, unrelated to her long-term goals. And she was willing to bet he’d rather not be disturbed, especially by someone he’d probably describe as a nosy old lady. But she couldn’t see any polite way to avoid an introduction now that Georgia had asked to meet him. “Sure, come on back,” she said, waving her hand to indicate that the older woman should follow her.

  Georgia minced her way past the paint supplies, drop cloths, balled-up plastic and miscellaneous debris as if she was afraid she might run her panty hose. “The marbling effect of the paint is quite nice,” she mused, taking that in along the way.

  “Thank you. I like it, too. Carter’s done a great job.”

  “Keith could do as well,” she said. “He just hasn’t had the time. You know how hard he works.”

  “Yes,” Liz replied, but as far as she was concerned, Keith worked harder on maintaining his relationships with Jennifer, Angela and Isabella than he did on anything else. He didn’t have ma
le competition when it came to Mica and Christopher, so they received less attention.

  “What will you put in the front window?” Georgia asked.

  They entered the kitchen, where Carter was installing new cabinets.

  “I’m going to do my best to recreate the shop window from the movie.”

  “Right down to the window dressings?”

  Clearly, Georgia didn’t share Liz’s vision, but Liz wasn’t about to let that sway her. She knew what she wanted, and she was going to stick to it. “For the first month. It’ll change weekly. At some point, I’ll have a chocolate fountain right in the middle. I guess it’s inevitable that the shop will take on more and more of my own personality. But the overall feel should always remind you of Vianne’s shop.”

  “A chocolate fountain. Now I’ve heard everything,” Georgia said. “I don’t know how you manage to stay so thin.”

  Hoping to guide the conversation away from the recurrent theme, toward which it was drifting dangerously close (the added pounds Georgia couldn’t seem to shed despite dieting), Liz motioned to Carter, who set his hammer aside.

  “This is the man I have to thank for it all,” she said.

  Georgia looked mildly annoyed at such a flattering introduction but she managed a tight-lipped smile. “How do you do? I’m Georgia O’Connell, Keith’s mother.”

  Liz dug her fingernails into her palms as Carter’s eyes lit first on her, then shifted to her ex-mother-in-law. He had to know why Georgia had come—to determine the threat he posed to her son. So Liz didn’t know how much forbearance she could expect on Carter’s part. But he surprised her.

  “Nice to meet you,” he said, giving Georgia a polite nod.

  “Likewise,” she replied stiffly. “I’ve heard a great deal about you.”

  “Don’t tell me I’m developing a reputation already.” He found his feet, grinning devilishly.

  Liz couldn’t miss the captivating warmth of his response. She wasn’t sure why he’d go to the trouble of charming Keith’s mother—but she nearly laughed out loud when the full brunt of his smile seemed to make Georgia forget she wasn’t supposed to like him. Pressing a hand to her chest, Liz’s ex-mother-in-law smiled broadly.