by Robyn Carr
“You once told me there’s a kernel of truth behind most of those stories.”
She’d been so transparent about everything that she had no wiggle room left. “It’s more complicated than it seems. He had a horrible childhood.”
“So...you feel sorry for him? For a rich, spoiled, self-indulgent movie star?”
“You don’t even know him. How can you judge?”
“His mistakes are public knowledge!”
“I see a different side, okay? He’s a good man.” She cringed because she had no confidence in that statement. She’d fantasized about him as much as anyone, but she’d known in her heart that the real Simon couldn’t live up to the man in her dreams. “Can you give him a break? Please? For me?”
“I’m just saying...before you get too committed to Simon, maybe you should come home and see if there’s anything between you and Matt. Matt’s a great guy.”
Callie would know. He’d been her neighbor growing up. But Gail had too much on the line to risk it all on the hope that Matt Stinson would finally return her interest. Dropping onto the bed, she watched the fan rotate overhead. “My relationship with Matt has been completely one-sided.”
“You kissed last summer.”
“He hasn’t called since.”
“Because he’s too focused on his career. He doesn’t want to risk getting involved with someone like you, someone who’s marriage material. He’s not ready for that kind of commitment. He’s said as much.”
“He has?”
“Not in so many words,” she hedged. “But I know he thinks you’re amazing.”
Torn, Gail rubbed her face. “He could’ve followed up, come to see me.”
“At the moment football is his whole life. But at least he’s not some hotheaded philanderer who’s using his power and money to destroy everyone around him. Where can you expect your relationship with Simon to go? If even one-tenth of what I’ve read about him is true—”
“Have some faith in me, Callie. I don’t fall in love easily. There’s...something inside him that’s worth fighting for.” She believed that much. Occasionally she caught a glimpse of Simon’s good side, saw how warm and generous he could be. If she could figure out a way to avoid his rougher edges, they might be able to establish an equilibrium of sorts—build a friendship over the course of their marriage. “Besides, people can change.”
That was the classic line used by every woman who’d ever dated the wrong guy, but it couldn’t be refuted so she had to go with it. People could change. But they seldom did, and Callie latched on to that immediately.
“And if he doesn’t? Why take the risk? His last wife was heartbroken and publicly humiliated—”
“You don’t know what caused the breakup of his marriage.”
“I think six affairs would do it, don’t you?” Obviously Callie thought being with Simon was a huge mistake. The other people who cared about Gail would, too. But they didn’t know she already understood how the whole thing would play out, that she wasn’t in love with Simon and never would be, because she knew too much about him.
“You’re being really hard on him. You’d like him if you gave him half a chance.” Simon had to be the most charismatic person on the planet—but only if he cared enough to bother pouring on the charm.
“When will we get to meet him?” Callie asked.
“Maybe I’ll bring him home for Christmas,” she said, but just talking to Callie had convinced her that she’d never contest his decision not to visit her hometown.
“Okay, but... I wish you were coming next month. Everyone was looking forward to it.” Callie’s voice reflected her disappointment. No doubt she thought a few days with the old gang would set Gail straight.
“I’ll reschedule soon.” The buzzer that indicated someone was at her front gate sounded, so Gail got back on her feet. She wasn’t expecting anyone. Would the paparazzi be bold enough to come to her house and ring the doorbell?
Some would. Her gate faced the narrow street leading down to the beach, which meant it was accessible to anyone passing by. And the value of taking the right photographs made the paparazzi unbelievably intrusive.
“I’ve got company,” she said. “I have to go. Don’t tell anyone about Simon, okay? Not yet. First, I need to break the news to my dad.”
“I won’t say a word, but...good luck with Martin.” Callie knew he wouldn’t take the news well.
“Thanks. I’ll call you in a few days.” Gail disconnected as the buzzer went off again.
Setting the phone aside, she hurried out of her small cottage and down the flagstone path dividing the abundance of plants in her front yard. There was a man at her gate. Despite the foliage that provided her with a modicum of privacy, she could see part of his dark head above the tall stone fence and arch of the gate. He appeared to be wearing a uniform, one typical of a courier service, but that could be a trick.
“Who is it?” she called.
He tried to look over at her, so she flattened herself against the gate and peered through the crack.
Unfortunately, he was standing too close for her to see more than a four-inch square of his chest.
“Courier,” he said. “I have a package for you.”
“Go ahead and leave it.”
“Can’t. Requires a signature.”
Really? She opened the gate by a wary inch, just enough to see a little more of the guy.
He seemed legit. He wasn’t holding a camera, he seemed to be alone and an ID badge hung from the collar of his shirt.
“Are you going to sign for this or not?” he asked impatiently. “I’ve got other deliveries to make.”
When she spotted a small truck with his company logo double-parked on the street, she finally released her death grip on the gate and swung it wide. “Yes. Sorry.”
He handed her his clipboard. “Right here.”
She scribbled her name, and he gave her the small box he’d been holding.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
He walked off without responding; a moment later, she heard the rumble of his delivery truck. No doubt he thought she was some kind of paranoid hermit. But she didn’t care. She had reason to be skittish.
After shutting and locking the gate, she examined what the courier had given her. The return address indicated it had come from O’Neal Productions—Simon’s company.
Ian had said he’d mail her a copy of the contract once Simon had signed it, but this wasn’t flat. The size and shape resembled a jeweler’s box.
Most likely the wedding ring, she supposed. But that wasn’t it at all. Once she opened the package, she saw that Ian—she assumed it was Ian—had sent her a pendant, one with a giant ruby and two diamond baguettes. Classy, solid and probably expensive, it was exactly what she might’ve chosen herself if she’d had a cool ten or twenty grand to drop on a necklace.
“Nice,” she breathed. But...why the unexpected gift?
She guessed it was Ian’s way of keeping her moving in the right direction—a sample of the finer things she’d enjoy while married to someone so rich. But when she read the accompanying handwritten note, she realized the pendant hadn’t come from Ian at all. It was more personal than that.
“I’ll make it up to you where I can. Simon.”
Nine
It was late evening by the time Gail summoned the nerve to call her father. She would’ve called him a little earlier, but she’d been on the phone with the police. They wanted to get a statement from her, make sure that no crime—no assault, sexual or otherwise—had been committed.
Taking responsibility for a lie she hadn’t uttered was embarrassing, but she’d managed to assure them that it was just a lovers’ quarrel and they took the news pretty well. They’d probably heard crazier stories. The officer on the ph
one was very professional, and because there was no evidence to support any charges, none were going to be filed.
She was relieved to have that out of the way, but now she had another hurdle to clear. The photographs of her and Simon were already posted online. She’d checked. That meant the fervor was starting and she risked having her father find out before she could tell him. Fortunately, Martin DeMarco wasn’t fond of the internet. He didn’t watch a lot of TV, either.
Still, sooner or later—and probably sooner—someone in Whiskey Creek would see the pictures of her “kissing” Simon. Then her father would hear about it from everyone in town. Back home, in “the heart of the Gold Country” as the town slogan went, it only took one person to start a social epidemic.
As she sat in the dark of her living room, blinds drawn and clock ticking closer and closer to ten, she imagined how it would go when the news did get out. Have you heard? Gail is dating that no-good bastard, Simon O’Neal. Yes, that Gail—and that Simon!
She almost felt sorry for her soon-to-be husband. If he thought his name had been maligned before, he hadn’t seen what they could do in her conservative hometown. The people who lived there had deep roots and strong values. They prided themselves on living circumspect lives. In Whiskey Creek, his celebrity could not outweigh his notoriety. Not anymore. He’d passed that point six months ago.
As Gail pictured the Old West boardwalk and historic architecture of Sutter’s Antiquities, Black Gold Coffee and Whiskey Creek Five and Dime, she realized that she would, for once, supplant Matt Stinson in the gossip arena—even with all the speculation about his knee injury and the possibility of early retirement. She was Whiskey Creek’s hometown girl made good: valedictorian of her high school, a Stanford grad and, to all appearances, a successful entrepreneur. They’d see Simon as using her, and them by extension, and it wouldn’t go over well.
Too bad she’d helped shape their hard feelings when she visited last month. Their prejudice would only make things more difficult. But back then, she and Simon had been in the heat of battle. She’d had no clue she’d wind up marrying him.
Steeling herself against her family’s reaction, she picked up the phone. All things considered, the evening had been a quiet one. But it felt rather ominous, like the calm before a storm.
She had a feeling that storm was about to break.
“’Lo?” Her brother, Joe, had answered. Not only did he and her father own the gas station and towing service at the edge of town, they shared the same house, at least since Joe’s divorce four years ago.
Gail attempted to put a smile in her voice. “Hey, big brother. How are you?”
“Hangin’ in. You?” Although he was more connected to the world outside Whiskey Creek than her father was, he didn’t seem to have heard anything that upset him. He was treating her like he always did.
She breathed a sigh of relief. She’d called in time. “Fine. Busy, as usual.”
“How’s the biz?”
“Getting better all the time.” Or it would soon....
“So it didn’t hurt you to cut Simon O’Neal from your list? I know you were worried about that.”
She’d been far too vocal about everything. “Um, not so much. It’s going to work out in the end. Dad around?”
“Right here.”
“Who’s at the station tonight?”
“Sandra Morton.”
“I thought she only worked days during the weekend.”
“She’s asked for some extra hours. Robbie’s getting married. You might’ve heard about that.”
“No.” When she’d spoken with Callie earlier, that detail must’ve gotten lost in the news of Matt’s return. “Robbie’s just...what, seventeen?”
“Yep. A senior in high school. Knocked up his girlfriend.”
Maybe she wasn’t the only one Whiskey Creek would be gossiping about. Matt’s return and Robbie’s shotgun wedding would also be hot topics. She would’ve been relieved to have competition for the best scandal in town, except this wasn’t good news for Robbie or his mother, whom she liked. “I’m sorry to hear that, for everyone concerned.”
“They claim they’re in love, want to get married and keep the baby.”
“What does Sandra say?”
“She’s determined to let them.” He didn’t sound like he thought the marriage had a snowball’s chance in hell, but that was probably because he blamed the failure of his own marriage on settling down too early.
“They’ll be living with her?”
“Until they finish high school, anyway.”
Sandra was a widow, mostly dependent on social security. “How will she afford to feed them?”
“He’s working at the station now, too. He does nights. She’s training him.”
For all his exacting ways, her father had a soft heart. He just didn’t want anyone to know it—and could be darn good at hiding his secret. “Do you and Dad really need that much help?”
“Can’t hurt, I guess. Dad’s grabbing the phone,” he said, and passed it off.
“’Bout time you checked in.” Her father’s voice was as commanding as ever.
She stayed in close touch, but he was never satisfied. He wanted her back in Whiskey Creek, like Joe. “Sorry, Dad, my life’s been crazy.”
“What’s going on?”
Hesitant to launch into what she had to say about Simon, she searched for other things they could talk about. “Just...work. You know how it is.”
She asked about the station and Sandra and Robbie. He confirmed what Joe had told her. Then he mentioned that Matt Stinson was coming back to town and assured her Matt’s knee would heal. How he knew anything about it wasn’t clear. Matt and her father spoke only if they bumped into each other on the street. But her father was the last word on everything, regardless of his lack of firsthand knowledge. Ironic though it was, he was usually right, too.
“That boy’s not done playing football,” he said.
“I hope not. He loves it.”
“And we love watching him. You know what it’s like around here when the Packers have a game.” She did. Forget the San Francisco 49ers. As long as Matt played for the Packers, Whiskey Creek would be wearing green and gold.
Eventually her father said it was getting late and he had to be up early. At that point, Gail knew she’d waited too long to broach the subject of Simon. With Martin about to hang up, it would be even more awkward to give him her news. But she had no choice.
She cleared her throat. “Before you go I, uh, there’s something I want to tell you.”
This met with silence. No doubt he’d heard the nervousness in her voice.
“Everything okay, Gabby?”
Where he’d gotten that nickname, she had no idea, but he’d used it like an endearment ever since she was a child. “Yeah, of course. I’m fine. It’s just—”
“What the hell?” Joe spoke so loudly in the background that he interrupted their conversation. “Give me the phone.”
“What’s the matter with you?” her father responded, but the phone changed hands, and Joe’s voice came back on the line.
“Tell me it’s not true, Gail! Tell me Simon O’Neal didn’t rape you.”
She bit back a groan. “No, he didn’t. That was... Well, it doesn’t matter. The important thing is that it didn’t happen and I never said it did.”
“You’re sure? You’d tell us if you’d been hurt....”
And have them attempt to punish Simon? Probably not. She’d let the police handle something like that so her father and brother wouldn’t end up in jail. But she didn’t say so. “Of course. I’d speak up if I had anything to tell. That claim is one hundred percent false.”
He wasn’t completely mollified. “That’s what it says on AOL. But you wouldn’t lie about something like
that. If you said it, it’s true.”
“I didn’t say it. One of my employees got drunk and started that rumor.”
There was a slight pause while Joe considered what she’d told him. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“No.”
“Which employee?”
“It’s been taken care of.”
“Whoever it is should be fired.”
“It’s been handled, like I said.”
“Is the same person responsible for the rest of it, too? Because Dad’s reading the article right now, and it says you and Simon have been secretly seeing each other for several weeks.”
Saying a silent prayer that this would go better than she feared, Gail changed her phone to the other ear. “My employee has nothing to do with that part of it.”
“Which means...what? It can’t be true! I can’t believe you’d go out with a man like Simon O’Neal. Any woman who got involved with him after all his bad press would be asking for trouble.”
“I... He... We’re not... I mean, I’ve been out with him a few times, but it’s not serious.” She told herself to calm down so she could at least speak coherently. “The media is making more of our relationship than it is.”
“There’s a picture with the caption Simon O’Neal’s Love Life Heats Up Again—with PR Maven Who Cried Rape.”
“Like I said, we went on a few dates, that’s all.”
Her father took over again. “Gail? What’s this all about?”
“I mentioned to Joe that Simon and I have gone out a couple of times, Dad. But it’s no big deal.”
“There’s no truth to the rape stuff?”
“None. I didn’t say it, and it didn’t happen. The rumors about Simon are crazy. He can’t do anything without the press making an issue of it.”
He didn’t let her comment about media exposure distract him. “Your brother’s right. Getting involved with someone like Simon is asking for trouble. You don’t want to screw up your life, do you?”