by Robyn Carr
Martin DeMarco was in the kitchen brewing coffee. That meant it was Joe who’d left earlier. It must have been his turn to open the station. Simon had heard someone tramp down the stairs and head out. The noise had awakened him from a deep sleep, but he felt rested despite the early hour and the hours they’d been up in the middle of the night. No doubt it helped that he was no longer dealing with a perpetual hangover.
“We got a little surprise,” he said.
Martin’s caterpillar-like eyebrows drew together. “A skunk?”
Simon laughed. “In a manner of speaking.” He explained about the photographer as Martin handed him a cup of coffee.
“Who do you think told the paparazzi where you were?”
Chances were they’d never know for sure. Simon had his guess, but he didn’t want to say it was most likely his own father. He could hear the protective note in Martin’s voice, knew he was a different kind of man. Martin would do anything to shield his children. Just being married to Gail put Simon under that same protection.
The stark contrast between Martin and Tex embarrassed Simon. But Simon had been ashamed of his father for a long time. Maybe he’d always been ashamed of him. The story of his own conception wasn’t exactly something he could be proud of. The humiliation caused by his personal history had been excruciating. It was so salacious that it was brought up again and again and again in the media.
“We don’t know,” he said instead of admitting his suspicions.
Martin took out a frying pan and turned on the gas stove. “I can’t imagine anyone around here would give you away. The only person who could provide your exact address would be the Realtor. And Kathy’s good as gold. Or—” he seemed to realize she wasn’t the only one who knew where they were “—maybe it was one of Gail’s friends.”
“I don’t think so.” Simon tried to recall the conversation they’d had with Callie and Matt at dinner last night. They’d mentioned the house, certainly. But when they parted, Matt had clapped him on the back and told him how great it was to have dinner with him. Simon didn’t think Matt would turn around and call the press. And Callie would never do anything to make Gail unhappy. She was as protective as Gail’s own family. Maybe more so.
“You’re right. Those kids and Gail go way back,” Martin said. “You can trust every last one of ’em.”
“Even Sophia?”
“Maybe not Sophia. Gail’s never been too fond of her.”
Smiling at Martin’s blatant honesty, Simon added a splash of cream to his coffee. “She’s been quite friendly. She brought us an apple pie the other night.”
“Really?” He sounded more interested than Simon would’ve expected. “Did you bring the leftovers?”
Martin was probably joking, but with him it wasn’t easy to tell. “No, but we will,” Simon promised.
Gail’s father dropped bread in the toaster and cracked some eggs in the pan. Then he motioned to a chair halfway around the table. “The Gold Country Gazette’s right there if you want to read the paper.”
Now that he wasn’t likely to see some terrible picture of himself doing Lord knew what, Simon thought he might. “This is local?” he asked as he retrieved it.
“It is. A weekly. They’d probably love to interview you. Maybe you’ll be interested now the news is out that you’re here. They always do a big spread on Matt Stinson.”
“Well, I have to outdo Matt.”
Gail’s father actually grinned at this. “What do you have planned for today?”
Simon replied over the sizzle of eggs. “I thought I’d head over to the hardware store, see if they have the tools I’m going to need to do some remodeling. Then I’ve got to be at the house. Our furniture is due to arrive sometime after ten but before noon.”
“What’s Gail going to do?”
The comforting smells of a home-cooked breakfast rose to Simon’s nostrils as he leafed through the paper. Sure enough, there was a big picture of Matt, along with an update on his knee. “When I got out of bed, she mumbled something about needing time on the computer to take care of a few details at Big Hit. It’ll be easier for her to do that here, so she’ll drive me and then come back.”
“I can take you if you like.”
Simon lowered the paper. “You don’t mind stopping by the hardware store?”
“Not at all. I’ve got a few things I should pick up myself.”
“Okay. Then I’ll call her when the furniture arrives. She’ll want some input on how we arrange it.”
“Input?” Martin said dryly.
Simon was starting to like Gail’s father. “Euphemistically speaking.”
“If that means she’ll need to tell you exactly where to put every single piece, then you’ve got the right idea.”
Simon chuckled. “As far as I’m concerned, that’s her prerogative. I’m not feeling any burning need to place the sofa.” He trusted Gail enough to let her make much more important decisions, and he liked that.
Martin flipped the eggs. “I’m glad you two are staying here in town for a while, but I’m surprised she’s willing to take so much time off work.”
Simon set the small paper aside. “We were just married. Some people would call that a honeymoon.”
“A three-month honeymoon? Maybe in your world, but not in Gail’s. She loves the PR business. And she’s done a damn fine job with that company of hers.”
Setting his coffee on its saucer, Simon leaned back. Martin was so proud of his daughter. And he had every reason to be. “That’s true.”
When the toast popped up, Simon got to his feet. He was planning to put some in for himself, but Martin waved for him to sit down again. “I’ve got it.”
A couple of minutes later, Gail’s father sat a plate of three eggs, over easy, and two pieces of toast in front of him.
“Probably not as good as you’re used to eating,” he said, “but at least you won’t go hungry.”
Actually, the food tasted better than any Simon had eaten in a long time. But he knew the difference wasn’t in the cooking. This meal told him that Martin was willing to give him a chance. All Simon had to do was prove he deserved it.
* * *
Gail paused on the landing near Simon’s father’s room. She knew Simon wouldn’t approve of her coming to the B and B. In fact, he’d be angry if he learned. But she wasn’t about to let anyone get in the way of what they were hoping to accomplish. Even his father.
Especially his father.
Taking a deep breath, she stepped up to number six, the room number Sally at the front desk had given her, and knocked.
There was no response. Had Tex left town? She doubted they’d be that lucky. More likely he’d gotten up early and gone to the coffee shop or Just Like Mom’s.
She knocked again—and this time she heard movement.
“Later, for God’s sake!” he yelled, and something—a pillow?—hit the door, making it rattle. “What kind of place is this?”
Tex thought she was one of the maids. Briefly, she was tempted to leave it that way and scoot. Clearly, he was in no mood to be bothered. She didn’t want to tangle with him, and she didn’t want him to disturb the other guests, but she had something to say and she doubted she’d get another opportunity to say it—not without Simon around.
Calling on all her nerve, she rapped at the door again. “Mr. O’Neal? Could I talk to you, please?”
Silence met her request. Then he said, “Who is it?”
His voice had lost its gruff edge. The question held curiosity instead.
“Gail DeMarco, er, O’Neal.” She wasn’t sure whether or not to use Simon’s name. It would bring her quite a bit of clout, especially where her business was concerned. But knowing it was only borrowed for a couple of years made her feel like a cheat. And there didn’t se
em to be much point here in Whiskey Creek. “Your daughter-in-law.”
“You don’t say.” A creak suggested he was getting up. She heard the bolt slide back, then the door opened and Tex peered out at her with red-rimmed eyes. “You’re here alone? Where’s Simon?”
“He had some things to do this morning. I came without him.”
He smelled of booze. Those eyes and the sallow look of his face also told her he’d spent the previous night drinking.
“The question is why,” he said.
“If you invite me in I’ll explain.”
The rasp of whiskers sounded as he rubbed a hand over his jaw. “I’m not exactly dressed for company, but if you want—”
“I’ll wait.” She had no desire to see Simon’s father in his boxers.
He chuckled softly. “I heard you were a real prude.”
“Ian tell you that?”
“Among other things.”
He kept laughing, but the door closed and didn’t open again until he was dressed. “Madame...” he said, his voice filled with sarcasm as he waved her inside.
He hadn’t combed his hair. It stood up in front, gray but still thick despite his age. She could see why some women would find him appealing. He had a devil-may-care attitude that probably attracted the type of women who liked that sort of challenge. And he still had a good physique. “What can I do for you?”
“I’m here to see if you care about your son at all,” she said.
Her statement took him off guard. Obviously he hadn’t expected her to be so direct. He straightened for a second—and then his eyes narrowed. “What the hell has that got to do with anything?”
“It’s the only thing that matters.”
“Not when it comes to business.”
His room now smelled like cologne. Too much of it. “When it comes to everything.”
He finished buttoning his shirt. He wore that and a pair of jeans but not his belt or boots. “What are you hoping to achieve, Ms. DeMarco?”
She noted that he didn’t do her the courtesy of using her married name. It was probably his way of letting her know he didn’t think she’d be with Simon very long. He was right. But she didn’t care what he was trying to intimate.
“Simon is doing better than he has in at least two years. I want that to continue. So I’m asking you to leave Whiskey Creek without further contact and find someone else to take his part in the movie.”
A thunderous expression appeared on his face. “Who the hell do you think you are?”
“I’m his wife.” For now...
“I don’t give a shit. Do you realize how much—”
“That will cost?” she broke in. “I know it’ll be a lot. I also know that Simon will compensate you.”
“It’s not just me. It’s the people I convinced to invest in this. I have a responsibility to them.”
“If they’re like you, they have plenty of money. Fortunately, so does he. He’ll repay you, and you can return what you’d like to your investors. But I’m asking you to let him out of the contract gracefully and not retaliate by dragging him into court.”
“My friends won’t be happy. Hardly any other actor has the same pull.”
She couldn’t help it; she raised her voice. She’d told herself this was a business meeting. She was here to protect the campaign she’d developed, to ensure its ultimate success. But it had become personal, too, because she cared about Simon. “Your friends don’t matter as much as your son! Could you do what’s best for him for a change? Just once?”
He threw up his hands. “Why should I? Simon’s never given a shit about me!”
That was an excuse. He had to know it, at least in some part of his brain. “I’m afraid you have that reversed, Mr. O’Neal. It’s you who should give a shit about him.”
Shaking his head, he laughed without mirth. “He’s sure got you snowed, doesn’t he? Don’t you realize it’s just a question of time before he acts out again regardless of what I do? Regardless of what you do? What’s it been—two or three months since he stumbled into a bar, got drunk and started a fight? I may as well look after my friends and my money because Simon will go to hell in a handbasket no matter how hard you try to save him. He’s the most stubborn son of a bitch I’ve ever met. And here you are, sticking up for him. He wouldn’t thank you for it. You know that, right? Trust me on this—he’s going to leave you with a broken heart, just like he did Bella.”
“The divorce wasn’t entirely his fault, and you, of all people, know it.” In spite of Simon’s past sins, Gail was clinging to the loyalty she felt to him. She was also relying on what Ian had intimated to her earlier, that Bella had done more to cause the divorce than anyone knew. She hoped to hell Ian was right, because she was determined to make some headway with Simon’s father.
She expected Tex to continue arguing with her. But he didn’t. He stepped back as if she’d slapped him, and a strange look came over his face. “He told you?”
Gail’s heart began to pound. Simon hadn’t told her anything particularly revealing. But she wasn’t willing to admit it, wasn’t about to let the power swing back to Tex. There was something at play here, something that affected everyone involved. What? “Of course he did,” she bluffed. “He tells me everything.”
“Then you should also know that she came on to me.” Tex brought a hand to his chest for emphasis. “She was the one who wanted me in her bed.”
Gail gaped at him. Had she heard correctly? She was sure of it, and yet she couldn’t believe what had just come out of his mouth. “You had sex with Bella?”
He winced at the disgust in her voice but rallied. “It was a one-time thing. It didn’t mean squat to either of us. She’d gotten in the habit of coming to me whenever she was upset. I helped her, gave her a shoulder to cry on. Simon’s not easy to live with. If you don’t know that yet, you’ll—”
“When?” She was so shocked her voice had dropped to a whisper. “When did you do this?”
He cursed under his breath. “Two and a half years ago.”
That was about the time Simon had started behaving badly. It was the reason he’d been unable to cope. His wife had had an affair with his own father, a sad echo of what had happened with his mother, and just as reprehensible. What was wrong with Tex? Did he have to be admired by every woman he met?
She swallowed hard. “How did Simon find out?”
Tex stared at her so long she thought he wasn’t going to answer. Then his shoulders slumped and he sighed. “He came home unexpectedly.”
“The one time you were together he caught you in bed? What are the chances of that?”
“Okay, we were together a few times. But it hadn’t been going on for more than a few weeks.” He jammed a hand through his hair. “I just blew it, didn’t I? He didn’t tell you a thing.”
“No. If I had my bet he hasn’t told a soul.” He could’ve used it to excuse his own bad behavior. To get his son back. To make his ex-wife look a lot worse than he did. But he hadn’t. He’d kept it inside. “You want to know why?”
Tex didn’t answer.
“Because he cares too much about his son. He would never want Ty to grow up knowing such a terrible thing about Bella, the way he had to grow up knowing what his mother did with you.”
“Our affair wasn’t all that broke up their marriage,” Tex said. “They were having trouble before. That’s why she came to me in the first place.”
“And you helped her out by seducing her.”
“She wanted it.”
“And that made you feel like a big man, didn’t it? That Simon’s wife could want you?”
He stepped back, nearly stumbled and knocked the lamp off the nightstand while he was trying to catch his balance. His hangover had put him at a disadvantage. “I don’t have to toler
ate your judgmental bullshit.”
“And I don’t care if you think I’m judgmental. What you did makes me sick. The fact that you’re trying to justify it makes me even sicker.”
“It’s not like Simon and I have ever been close!”
“You were close when you did that, probably closer than you’ve ever been.”
He winced. “Something would’ve ruined it.”
“Is that what lets you sleep at night? He’s your son, for God’s sake! You know what I think?”
“Get out of here!” he snapped, but she wasn’t finished yet.
“I think you’re jealous of Simon,” she said. “He’s younger, stronger, better-looking, a superior actor and by far a better man. And you hate all that. You hate that he’s replaced you in Hollywood, outdone you so easily. So you’ve been doing everything you can to destroy him—at the same time you’ve been trying to capitalize on his success.”
Squeezing his eyes closed, he pressed a palm to his forehead as if he had too much of a headache to be having this conversation. “You shouldn’t have tricked me.”
She started to leave but turned back. “It was your guilty conscience that set you up, Dad. I only helped a little. Now get out of town before I tell Simon what you told me. It’s a miracle that he’s put up with you so far.”
He wasn’t willing to let her have the parting shot. “He won’t stay with you. You’re not even that pretty.”
“Maybe not. But I wouldn’t cheat on him in a million years. Especially with a morally bankrupt old fart like you. That’s got to be worth something,” she said, and slammed the door behind her.
Twenty-Six
Classic rock blasted from the old-fashioned boom box Simon had purchased at the hardware store as he tore out the sink, counters and cupboards in the kitchen. The furniture they’d purchased in Sacramento hadn’t arrived—almost two and still no delivery—but that didn’t affect him much. He’d been happily engaged in demolition since he got here more than three hours ago. It was a relief to be able to use his hand again. He knew he should get the stitches taken out because there was no more pain when he moved it.