Peggy Dulle - Liza Wilcox 04 - Saddle Up

by Peggy Dulle

  She looked back at Tom, took a hesitant step backwards, then slowly turned to trot over and sat down by my feet.

  Tom set his duffle bag on the floor and took a cautious step toward me.

  Shelby wagged her tail, ran to him, and licked his hand.

  “I think your dog has psychological problems.” He frowned, glancing between me and Shelby.

  “Maybe you woke her up from a sound sleep and just scared her.”

  Tom raised his eyebrows at me. “It was more than that. She knows me but wouldn’t let me past her. I actually thought she’d bite me if I tried to get by her.”

  Shelby licked his hand again.

  “Well, she’s okay now. What are you doing here?” I asked.

  “You invited me, remember?” he said, a hint of irritation in his voice.

  “Of course I did, but it’s only Monday night. You said you wouldn’t be here until Wednesday.”

  “What’s the matter, have you got a guy hidden under your bed?” he joked.

  “Oh, please.” I blew out air between my lips.

  “I went to court today, sat through a day of testimony and the guy took a plea, so the judge sent us all home. I thought I would come early, but if you want me to go back home and come again on Wednesday, I will.” He turned toward the door.

  I grabbed his arm, got up on my tiptoes and kissed him.

  He looped his arms around me and brought me close. The kiss was long and luscious. The kind that makes your heart pound, your head dizzy, and your toes curl in delight. In a minute we would end up in the bedroom. Then I remembered that my dad was still here. He would need time to gather his stuff and get out.

  I stiffened.

  Tom released me and glanced around the room wildly. His typical “cop” reaction. “What’s the matter?”

  “Actually, I was on my way to the kitchen to make a cup of tea. Would you like something to drink?”

  “Sure,” he shrugged. “I just sat in my truck for four hours. They were working on the freeway through Tracy and only had one lane open. What have you got?”

  “Coke, root beer, Dr. Pepper, fresh squeezed orange juice, and Diet Coke.”

  Tom took a step back. “You’re kidding me?”

  “Nope. I went to the store since I knew you were coming.”

  “Wow, thanks. You make your tea and I’ll get my soda.”

  Tom opened the refrigerator and whistled.

  “What?” I said as I put a cup of water into the microwave.

  “You’ve got a full refrigerator. I’ve never seen anything but Diet Coke and take-out boxes here before.”

  I looked over his shoulder. He was right. It was full of fruits, vegetables, left over spaetzle, sauce, and the makings for waffles for tomorrow.

  “I told you I went to the store,” I said.

  “You made waffle batter?” he asked in amazement.

  “It’s left over. Jordan and I made waffles this morning before she left.” I stopped keeping track of the lies.

  “You have a waffle iron?” he asked.

  I had no idea, but if Dad was supposed to fix them in the morning, I must.

  “Of course.”

  “This is a whole new side of you, Liza Wilcox. Your sister is a great influence.”

  Had I just been insulted?

  Tom put his arms around me, pulled me close and kissed me again. Then he said, “Of course, I didn’t think there was anything wrong with the old Liza Wilcox.”

  “Nice save,” I told him.

  “I saw the look in your eye.”

  Tom pulled a Coke from the refrigerator and sat down at the kitchen table. I put a tea bag into my hot water, dunked it a few times and took it out. I normally like my tea very weak, but at close to midnight, I really didn’t need the caffeine.

  Tom glanced toward the cards on the table. “You and your sister played cards?”

  I nodded.

  “I didn’t know you liked to play cards,” he said.

  “We’ve only known each other for eight months. There are bound to be things about me you don’t know. I just learned on the cruise that you are obsessed with Karaoke, have a wonderful voice, and play golf.

  Tom smiled and said, “I can’t wait to learn all your little secrets.”

  I coughed, spitting tea on his shirt.

  He wiped the tea with his hand.

  “Sorry.” I jumped up, got a napkin, and handed it to him.

  “This has been some greeting. Your dog about took my head off and you’re spitting tea at me.”

  I leaned down, kissed him gently on the neck and said, “Come to bed and I’ll give you a proper welcome.”

  “Best idea you’ve had since I got here.”

  Tom picked up his duffle bag and we walked down the hall together. When we were passing Dad’s door, I said, “Let’s shut the door to keep Shelby out. I’m trying to train her to sleep on the living room couch and not on my bed.”

  “Why?” he asked.

  “She’s a bed hog,” I told him. It was the truth. Shelby tended to spread her entire body out when she slept. And training her to sleep on the living room couch, once in a while, was a good idea, even if I did just think of it. Dad would understand my intention and get out.

  I got in bed. Tom put his bag next to my dresser, removed his gun and went to set it on the dresser.

  “The lockbox is still under my bed.” I wanted his gun out of reach if he happened to hear Dad leave the house.

  He took out the box and put in both his guns. How did the daughter of an eco-terrorist end up being the fiancée of a cop? I wondered.

  Tom took off his shirt, exposing his firm muscles, rich lather of chest hair and several scars which I had never asked about. I preferred to speculate. The four inch abrasion on his shoulder – a shootout with a bank robber? The pockmark on his lower back – saving a child from a burning car? He folded the shirt and laid it on top of the dresser. I glanced over at the chair where I had thrown my clothes. Nobody said we were alike. Then he slid off his pants. I closed my eyes and sighed.

  “What’s the matter?” Tom looked around for some possible threat.

  “Nothing,” I laughed. “I just like to look at your naked body.”

  He rolled his eyes, but I saw his cheeks blush. He slid into bed and in one motion pulled off my nightgown. “I like looking too, but prefer touching yours.”

  He stroked his fingertips up my arm and worked his way to other parts of my body. We took it slow and easy, enjoying each other to show how much we missed being together. Tom was never in a hurry, he would rather play for hours. When I heard the front door creak and Tom’s chest tighten, I crawled on top of him to distract him. It wasn’t hard.

  Afterwards, I lay tucked into his arms and Tom whispered, “I love you, Liza.”

  “I love you, too,” I told him and meant it with my entire heart and soul, but there was a little twinge in my mind that wondered if it was enough.

  “I can’t wait to have you cook me waffles in the morning,” he said as he slipped off to sleep.

  Thank goodness he couldn’t see my eyes pop open wide. Oh no! I had no idea how to make waffles. But how hard could it be? It took forever to go into a deep sleep. I dreamt about waffle batter taking over the entire kitchen, like a scene from a bad horror movie or Strega Nona’s magic pot.

  In the morning, I sent Tom off to shower and went into the kitchen. Now what? I opened the refrigerator and pulled out the bowl filled with waffle batter. Under the bowl was a note:

  “The waffle iron is in the bottom cabinet next to the dishwasher. Turn it on and let it heat up (ten minutes). Stir the batter but don’t overdo it. Put a ladle full into the center of the waffle iron and close the lid. You will see steam coming from the sides. When the steam stops, open the iron. The waffle should be nice and brown. If he wants the recipe, it’s on your computer in a file I started on the desktop.

  Enjoy! I love you, Dad.

  God bless my dad! I found the waffle iron easi
ly, plugged it in and while I waited for it to heat up, I slowly stirred the batter. I followed Dad’s directions exactly and produced a beautiful golden brown waffle.

  Tom came into the kitchen, “Wow that smells wonderful, Liza.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “You want jelly or syrup?”

  “I’ll take both. These smell so good, I might have two.”

  They were the best waffles I ever made in my life. Okay, they were the only waffles I ever made, but I was really proud of myself. Sure, my dad had made the batter and left specific instructions, but I cooked them myself.

  “Where did you get the recipe for the batter?” Tom asked as he took his third waffle.

  “From a cooking site on the Internet. I put the recipe in a file on my desktop if you want it.”

  “Great. Michael is a big waffle eater.”

  “How is your son?” I asked, taking a second waffle for myself, smothering it with real butter and hot maple syrup.

  “He’s doing great. I talked to him Saturday. It was his birthday.”

  “Oh, Tom, you missed going to his birthday party.”

  “His mom took him to Cancun for his birthday.”

  “What does an eight-year-old child do in Cancun?” I asked.

  “Let’s see,” Tom held up his hand, using his fingers to tick off the activities. “So far he’s been mountain biking, driven through the jungle in an open top Jeep, and swam with whale sharks and dolphins. Today they’re horseback riding to visit the Mayan pyramids and then the aquarium.”

  “Wow, I want to have my birthday there, too,” I said.

  “His mother and her new husband spoil the boy rotten.”

  “You think they’d adopt me?” I teased.

  Tom laughed. “I’m in line first.”

  The next several days flew by; Tom cooked an entire traditional turkey dinner for us on Thanksgiving, fixed the leak in my bathroom faucet, and mowed my front and back lawns. And it was very nice to go to sleep and wake up every day in his arms.

  Saturday afternoon I went out to the back porch and made the call again. Nothing new.

  Tom came out as I hung up the phone.

  “Who were you calling?” He sat down in the other Adirondack chair.

  I had a decision to make and I needed to make it quickly. I had shared the phone call with my sister and dad. Was I going to keep it a secret from Tom? I couldn’t stand another damn secret.

  I dialed the phone, set it on speaker phone and let him hear it.

  “Play it again,” he said when it finished, sitting forward in the chair and closer to the phone.

  After it played through the second time, Tom said, “Have you had Justin check out this library research division and the phone number associated with the place?”

  “No.”

  “I’d start with that,” he said and sat back to recline in the chair.

  “Wait a minute,” I put my hand up. “You’re not going to tell me to forget it, not to investigate, that I might get hurt or worse?”

  He turned his body and used his index finger to bring my chin up so our eyes met. “If I told you that, would you not investigate it?”

  I glared at him. Of course I would.

  “I rest my case.” He nodded his head decisively and sat back in his chair. “After three of these, I’ve learned it’s better to help and be included than to be excluded and get a phone call that you’ve been hurt, arrested, or fallen into an abandoned mine.”

  I felt my temper flare, but then tapped it down. He was right after all. It was time to change the subject. “Well, my dad thinks …,” I started, then realized what I said and gasped.

  “I already know he was here, Liza.”

  “How?”

  “First off, the toilet seat in the spare bathroom was up and unless you’ve had other men guests that I don’t know about, I figured it was your dad. And Shelby’s welcome was more than a bit out of the ordinary. And as much as I enjoyed the waffles, when I looked at the recipe, I knew that you hadn’t made the batter.”

  “I could have made it.”

  He leaned over and kissed me on the nose. “I love you, dear, but you don’t know how to sift ingredients.”

  “What is sift?”

  “I rest my case, again.”

  “Okay, fine.”

  “That also explains your strange behavior on the phone.”

  “What strange behavior?”

  He got off the chair and sat on the ottoman facing me. He took my hands and said, “I could have sworn you were crying when I talked to you earlier in the week. I didn’t understand what was going on. That’s why I came early.”

  “The guy didn’t take a plea?”

  “He did, but I had enough paperwork on my desk to keep me busy until Wednesday. But I knew you were struggling with something and I came to make sure it wasn’t the way you felt about me.”

  “I love you, that won’t ever change,” I told him.

  “I’m glad,” Tom leaned in and kissed me, then continued, “and I’ve decided that we can talk about your dad anytime you’d like. As long as I don’t see him, I don’t have to arrest him.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, so did you have a nice visit with your dad and Jordan?” Tom went back and sat on the other chair.

  “Yes, I did.” And I told Tom everything we had done together, from playing games to cooking. I felt like most of the weight had been lifted off my chest. As long as Tom and my dad stayed apart, things would be great.

  When I was finished, Tom said, “What did your dad think about the phone call?”

  After I told him what Dad had said, I asked, “Didn’t you say that you had been to a few rodeos?”

  “Yes, some during my high school years and quite a few when I was in college.”

  “Pam liked rodeos?”

  “Pam was a Rodeo Queen.”

  Pam was Tom’s ex-wife. I had never met her or even seen a picture of her, but I had this vision of a young woman with long flowing hair riding around an arena on a beautiful horse. Tom interrupted my vision.

  “I don’t think you will be able to do anything until you know what city the deaths occur in. There are hundreds of rodeos in the valley and you’ve already missed a few.”

  “Really?”

  “Sure, you got the note the first of August. There were several rodeos in August and September and the California finals were in October. They all start again around the first of March.”

  “Does that include the Henry Picket Rodeo and the Gay Rodeo?”

  Tom raised his eyebrows. “I see Justin’s been busy on this. I don’t know much about either of those circuits.”

  “Well, Justin has gathered up some information. Dad and Jordan offered to help, too.”

  “That’s great. The more people who help you – the less chance you’ll get into trouble.”

  I frowned and Tom kissed me on the nose, then said, “Get dressed up. I made dinner reservations for us.”

  “Really? Where?”

  “In San Francisco, so wear that lovely black dress that Dorian bought you on the cruise.”

  “And the matching lace black undergarments?”

  A smile slid across Tom’s face.

  I jumped up to change before dinner was cancelled and we would go to bed and re-heat leftovers from my refrigerator later.

  While I was in the shower, I heard Tom in the bedroom rummaging through his duffle bag. He must have brought a nice change of clothes, too. But anything less than a tux just wouldn’t do my long slinky black dress justice.

  After I dressed, I piled my long red hair up, letting a few curls fall down each side, then added some makeup. I pulled out the blue sapphire and diamond earrings and necklace that Dorian had purchased to complement the outfit. He bought it when he thought he could woo me away from Tom. It hadn’t worked, but I got to keep the outfit.

  When I walked out into the living room, Tom stood up. He wasn’t wearing a tux, but he had changed into black dress
slacks and a tailored sports coat that fit his muscular frame like he was poured into it and made my heart skip a few beats, too.

  At the same time, we both said, “You look wonderful!”

  We laughed. Tom extended his hand and said, “Let’s buy you the biggest piece of meat we can find.”

  “That works for me.”

  Traffic was horrible on the way to the city and several times I saw the look in Tom’s eyes that said, ‘Let’s go back and forget it.’ But we didn’t and an hour and a half later we pulled into the Hilton Hotel.

  “We’re going to a hotel?” I asked.

  “No, the restaurant is close and they don’t have their own parking.”

  The restaurant was tucked down an alley next to the hotel. My first thought, although I have no experience with such things, was that it was decorated like a bordello with its red-on-red décor.

  When we walked up to the entrance, Tom winked and said, “I know you like the color red.”

  “I do.” I said.

  “My favorite words,” Tom said, as a slow grin slid across his face.

  When I frowned, understanding the reference to marriage vows, he added, “They serve the best steak in the city.”

  That brightened my mood. The inside of the restaurant was filled with thick drapes, gilded chandeliers, plush leather booths, and starched white napery. They tucked us in a booth near the back of the restaurant where we had lots of privacy.

  Tom ordered for us, steak for me and salmon for him. According to our waiter, the steaks were from corn-fed Midwestern beef, aged four weeks and grilled over mesquite. When they served my dinner, the New York steak covered my entire plate and I cut it with my butter knife. It was fabulous!

  While we ate we talked of nothing and everything. I filled in more details from things that were happening at school and to my co-workers and he did the same. We didn’t talk of marriage, although he skirted around the issue a few times, making references to several obviously married couples who came into the restaurant. One older couple was celebrating their sixtieth wedding anniversary with their children and several grandchildren.

  On the drive home, we didn’t talk at all, which was okay. Tom hummed and sang along with the music and I enjoyed looking out the window at the stars and city lights. I thought about how nice being married to him would be, growing old together, having children and then grandchildren. Those wonderful thoughts were interrupted with visions of separate holidays, vacations, and celebrations and the nightmare if Tom and Dad every accidentally ended up at the same one.