Playing Dirty

by Jamie Ann Denton

  At a loss of what to do next, he shook his head and dug through the tool box, looking for the right size wrench. Despite the awkward silence between them, they’d still somehow managed to continue with the familiar roles they’d slipped into since his return. Old habits and new routines were becoming as natural to him as breathing. Granted, he couldn’t completely shake the horrors that had been ingrained on his soul during his years held prisoner, but he was determined to conquer that particular beast. Still, too many nights to count, he’d been jolted awake by a nightmare he struggled to recall, lingering on the fringes of his mind, leaving his body coated in a cold sweat. Those were the worst, for the simple fact he’d spend hours tossing and turning afterward, unable to quiet his mind. Desperate to recall the nightmare, he’d lie awake and relive the variations of hell he’d endured.

  He hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d told Mattie there was so much more he could tell her. He bore scars, physical and emotional, but he had no desire to relive them—at least with her. Chauvinistic or not, he wanted to shield her from the ugliness of what he’d endured, not share his experiences like some loser attempting to relive his glory days. Wasn’t it enough that he had survived? That he had made it home?

  He plucked the wrench he wanted from the tool box and walked back into the sticky evening air where Phoebe waited for him in the driveway. “You sure about this, sugar pea?”

  She let out a dramatic sigh. “I’m sure, Daddy. Krista said baby wheels are for babies.”

  Krista, he knew, was the little girl down the street Phoebe played with from time to time. “You’ll always be my baby,” he said as he crouched down beside her. He started loosening the bolt to remove the first training wheel from Phoebe’s bike.

  “It’s not the same thing,” she said. “Krista says I’m gonna be a first grader. I’m too big for baby wheels now.”

  She was too big for a lot of things, mostly the little moments he’d missed. He’d never rock his newborn daughter to sleep, never see her take her first steps. He’d forever lost the opportunity to hear her speak her first words, or sing her first song, and it infuriated him. But what really bothered him was that Phoebe had noticed her parents had rarely spoken at all this week. The way she’d kept looking at them both during dinner tonight had him deciding enough was enough. Keeping his distance and engaging in polite conversation was not the kind of marriage he wanted.

  He removed the first training wheel and set it aside, then went to work on the second wheel. At first, it wouldn’t budge, but after putting some muscle behind it, the bolt finally gave. “Are you sure Mommy put your bike together?” Ford asked. “Granddaddy didn’t help?”

  Phoebe crouched beside him, her little hand resting on his knee to maintain her balance. “Nope,” she said. “Mommy did it. I helped, too.” She gave a forlorn expression at the discarded training wheel. “Are you sure this is going to work?”

  “I’m sure.” He removed the last training wheel and set it aside. “Are you absolutely certain you’re ready?”

  She drummed her fingers against her cheek and frowned. “I don’t know, Daddy. Maybe we should put them back.” She looked at him, her gaze filled with worry. “What if I fall?”

  “Then you fall,” he told her. “And it’s okay to fall. Falling tells you you’re trying. And you’ll never know if you can do something if you don’t at least try.”

  Phoebe let out a very grown up sounding sigh. “That’s what Mommy always says.”

  That made him smile. “Your mommy is very smart.”

  “That’s what she says, too.”

  He chuckled and stood, before flipping the bike back onto its wheels. “Why don’t you go get Mommy?"

  “Can’t we practice first?”

  He thought again of everything he’d missed out on in Phoebe’s life, then shook his head. “She won’t want to miss you riding your bike without training wheels for the first time.”

  “I s’pose. But I bet she won’t want to see me fall,” she said, then walked slowly toward the house, dread evident in every step.

  He chuckled again as he picked up the discarded training wheels and carried them into the garage. Initially, he considered chucking them into the garbage can, but instead tossed them into a storage bin under his work bench. Not because he thought Phoebe might need them again, but for the next little kid bike. At least he hoped so. He knew Mattie wanted more children, she’d said as much. As far as he knew, she hadn’t gone back on birth control. Of course, they weren’t exactly on intimate speaking terms, so who knew?

  He dropped the wrench back into the tool box just as Phoebe came tearing out of the house. Mattie followed at a more sedate pace. She spied Phoebe’s bike, sans training wheels, in the driveway and shot him a concerned look.

  “It’s okay,” he said as he joined her in the driveway. “She said she’s ready.”

  She started to shake her head as their daughter swung her leg over the seat and straddled the bike. “Phoebe, wait for me.”

  He settled his hand on Mattie’s arm as she took a step. “I got this,” he said. No way was he letting her take this moment from him. He’d lost too many, and he had no intention of standing down now.

  She looked at him, her gaze filled with a lingering hurt. Slowly, she removed her arm from his grasp, then gave him a slight nod before she stepped away.

  He nearly reached for her again, but held back. Now wasn’t about them. Now was about Phoebe’s first training-wheel-free ride.

  “All right.” He secured Phoebe’s bicycle helmet, then grabbed hold of the back of the seat. “This is it. No matter what, just keep pedaling and you’ll be fine.”

  “I might fall,” she said solemnly.

  “You might. But I’ll be with you. Okay?”

  Trust edged the worry from her gaze. His heart gave a sharp tug.

  “If you say so,” she finally answered, but didn’t sound convinced.

  “I’ll hold on until you tell me to let go, okay?”

  “Okay,” she said with a firm nod.

  He looked back at Mattie, saw the worry in her eyes along with another emotion which took him by surprise. Resentment. She’d been there for Phoebe her entire life, and she was begrudging him this one first?

  Everything Phoebe had, everything she was, was because of Mattie. Alone, she’d raised their daughter. Alone, she’d guided her through her young life, taught her right from wrong. Loved her. Other than biologically, he had absolutely no claim, could take no credit, where his daughter was concerned.

  Then realization hit him hard. He wasn’t the only one who’d suffered. He’d known that, but the truth had been more of a concept in the back of his mind, not the reality of the hell he’d put his wife through. He’d been more focused on himself, of trying to shut out the past five years. Not once had he considered how Mattie might feel about him taking over duties that had been hers to solely control.

  Fuck, he was a selfish bastard.

  A low rumble of thunder sounded. Phoebe wiggled the handle bars. “Let’s do this, Daddy,” she demanded impatiently.

  “Okay,” he said. “Here we go.”

  He gave a push, but held the bike steady as Phoebe pedaled down the driveway and easily made the turn onto the sidewalk without any additional assistance from him. He chanced a quick glance over his shoulder to find Mattie standing on the sidewalk at the base of the driveway, watching Phoebe pedal away from her.

  “Let go, Daddy,” Phoebe yelled. “Let go.”

  With a quick prayer, he did. Phoebe wobbled precariously for a moment.

  “Keep pedaling,” Mattie called.

  Phoebe quickly steadied and continued to pedal down the street, all on her own. Overly protective or not, he still trotted close behind in case she lost her balance or needed assistance. Mattie remained by the driveway, watching and waiting. Roughly six houses down, Phoebe reached the end of the block, braked, did a little more wobbling, but he caught hold of the bike seat in time to keep her from toppling
over.

  She looked at him, excitement shining in her eyes. “I did it, Daddy. I did it,” she squealed with so much pride, his heart swelled. “No more baby wheels.”

  He grinned at her. “Nope,” he said, his voice suspiciously rough. “No more baby wheels.”

  After he helped her turn around, she took off toward Mattie. By the time he reached them, Phoebe was off her bike and Mattie was making a huge fuss.

  Phoebe made two more trips up and down the block, the last one, he waited with Mattie at the base of the driveway. More thunder rumbled now, and the sky had started to darken as thick heavy clouds closed in across the horizon. Mattie signaled for Phoebe to hurry as lightening viciously crackled across the sky, followed by a clap of thunder so hard, he swore the ground shook.

  Phoebe turned into the driveway and pedaled right into the garage as the first fat raindrops pelted the ground. Less than half of a heartbeat later, the skies opened and they were caught in a deluge of hard, pounding rain.

  Mattie’s eyes rounded in surprise as they were instantly drenched. She burst out laughing as she grabbed hold of his hand and together they ran up the driveway to the shelter of the garage. The bright red tank top she wore was soaked through, outlining her full breasts. Her denim capris hugged her curves. The urge to pull her to him, to slide his hands along her jaw and angle her mouth beneath his and taste her rain kissed lips, overpowered him.

  She pushed her hair from her face with her free hand. “There are some clean towels in the laundry room.”

  He gave a gentle tug and pulled her to him before she could escape into the house. He let go of her hand to circle his arms around her waist. “I’m sorry,” he said, understanding he risked irritating her again, but he didn’t know what else to do but apologize. “I was out of line the other night, and said some pretty crappy things. I’m sorry.”

  She looked down at Phoebe who was watching them intently. When she looked back at him, the wariness in her gaze concerned him. Eventually, she let out a gentle sigh. “I’m sorry, too.”

  Relieved, he placed a quick kiss on her lips. She gave him a brief smile before she pulled away and took Phoebe with her into the house. As he watched her walk away, a part of him couldn’t help wondering—was her apology sincere, or merely for the sake of their watchful daughter?

  * * *

  When Griffen had invited Mattie to attend an estate sale with her, she hadn’t realized her sister had meant the actual estate of a deceased Texas oil tycoon. She’d been to a few estate sales with Griffen over the past couple of years, especially when she’d been wrapped up in remodeling the house on Maple Street, but nothing quite as unique as the Murdock Estate. Yet, here she stood, in the opulent ballroom of a fifteen thousand square foot mansion that had once belonged to Samuel Houston Murdock, admiring several matching, imported crystal chandeliers priced higher than her Discover Card limit.

  According to what Griffen had told her on the drive to the elite Dallas neighborhood of Preston Hollow, Murdock had apparently died from a massive coronary after bedding his twenty-four-year old cocktail waitress wife. Rumor had it, wily old Sam had married Beckie Jo Hinkle just to piss off his three ex-wives and spite his uptight, entitled children. Sam had provided quite well for his children, bequeathing them more money than his grandchildren’s grandchildren could spend in their lifetime. He’d even left a modest fortune to each of his exes. But he’d left control of the remainder of his massive estate to the young widow.

  The will had been a hotly contested, public court battle with mud being slung from all parties. Leading the charge, the Murdock children, who went after step-mommy dearest with an arsenal of legal guns blazing, carried by an army of high-powered lawyers charging upwards of eight-hundred dollars an hour.

  In the end, the probate judge had called the Murdock progeny greedy since they hadn’t been left out of the will, and had ruled in Beckie Jo’s favor. And just to piss off the ex-wives and spite the uptight children, Beckie Jo decided to hold a very public sale of the ancestral home and all its furnishings.

  Many of the pieces were priced for a quick sale, which pleased Mattie since she was looking for a suitable chest of drawers, or an armoire, so she could move Ford’s things into her bedroom. Their bedroom.

  Griffen was currently busy, haggling over the price of a French Country bedroom suite she wanted for the guest room of her new home, so Mattie wandered quietly through the rooms on the first floor on her own. Sadly, Beckie Jo had obviously failed remedial decorating, because a fair number of the pieces were just cheap and plain tacky. In all honestly, they looked to Mattie as if they belonged in a Bourbon Street brothel rather than in the ancestral home of six generations of one of Dallas’ most prominent families. Case in point, a series of stripper gnome statuettes gracing the mantle of the fireplace, in a small, otherwise tastefully decorated, sitting room off the grand foyer with its marble pillars and sweeping twin staircase.

  Mattie chuckled and wandered from the sitting room into a music room. The room was minimally furnished with rows of eight, dark pink-velvet, straight-back chairs lined up six deep, while a white, highly-polished grand piano took center stage. A few empty music stands were pushed up against the interior wall next to a display of guitars, which were roped off on a short dais, as if they were museum pieces. She peered closer and realized the guitars were autographed by rock royalty and country music legends. From Jimmy Page, Keith Richards and Eric Clapton to the George’s; Strait, Jones and Harrison, every guitar was graced with a million dollar signature. She stared in utter fascination at the framed album covers hanging on the wall, all autographed to “Sam” by county music queens Patsy Cline, Loretta Lynn and Tammy Wynette. But the real showstopper was a framed black and white photograph of a young, handsome Sam Murdock with none other than the legendary Kitty Wells, taken sometime in the sixties. The inscription read, “We’ll always have Memphis.”

  “Can you believe this place?” Griffen asked from the doorway.

  “It’s part museum, part...”

  “Trailer trash?”

  Mattie laughed. “Something like that.”

  Griffen motioned for her to follow. Her sister had a real talent for taking unusual pieces and turning them into treasures. She’d once owned an antique store in their hometown, which she had managed to keep afloat despite the tanking economy. That was, until her first husband had embraced a clichéd case of mid-life crisis, which had included running off with his secretary and wiping out Griffen financially, taking every last cent in her bank accounts and maxing out the credit cards. On the verge of bankruptcy, she’d been forced to sell her beloved Antiquities. Jed had made a valiant effort to save the shop, but in the end, Griffen’s stubbornness had prevailed. She’d given up the store and had taken a job as a financial consultant.

  The hours were hers to make, which was convenient, considering Jed was practically Texas royalty as the former star quarterback for the Texas Wranglers turned NFL commentator. His new job left Griffen time to occasionally travel with Jed. Plus, they had not one, but two, babies on the way, and a sports-minded, teenaged son. If Griffen needed to trim back on the consulting jobs, she could easily do so. Her sister definitely did not need to work, but she wanted to, even if only to maintain the appearance of financial independence. After what her bastard of an ex-husband had done to her, Mattie didn’t blame her.

  She followed Griffen into a room off a corridor to the left of the foyer. The large sitting room looked as if it belonged in an English castle, furnished with elegant late-nineteenth century antiques. The illusion was ruined by a garish display of mid-century modern that looked as if it’d been rescued from a thrift store.

  Mattie traced her fingers over the intricate carvings of a curio cabinet, one of six filled to the brim with inexpensive collectibles. The piece would be a perfect addition to her dining room, and would make a lovely display case for her collection of serving platters. Since she wasn’t much of a haggler, she’d leave it to her sister, but if
she could get her hands on the curio for an affordable price, she’d...

  She frowned suddenly and took a step back from the cabinet. Normally, she wouldn’t have hesitated in making the purchase. What she did with her home was her business. But now, Ford was home. She hesitated, unsure what she was supposed to do.

  “Oh good grief,” Griffen said. “Matt, you’ve gotta come see this.”

  Still frowning, Mattie crossed the room. “I have one word,” she said, looking down at a pair of the gaudiest display of pink, ceramic pig accent tables ever created. “Why?”

  “And for the bargain price of one hundred fifty bucks, they can be yours,” Griffen said with a disgusted shake of her head.

  “Proof that good taste is subjective.” Mattie pointed to the curio she’d been contemplating. “What do you think?”

  Griffen studied the cabinet. She looked at the price tag and her eyebrows shot skyward. “Seriously?”

  “Fake, right?” Mattie asked. “There are five more right over there, just like this one.”

  “Reproductions,” Griffen corrected. “And not very good ones. The back panel is flimsy and stapled onto the base.” She tapped on it for effect. “You can find this new in any discount store for around fifty dollars. If I can’t get it for less than five bucks, I need to turn in my antique dealer membership card.”

  Mattie chuckled. “I thought you quit the antique business.”

  “That doesn’t mean I don’t know what I’m talking about.” Griffen turned back to face her. “Why are you frowning? You really like this thing?”

  Mattie let out a breath. “I did, until you called it cheap and common.”

  “I’m sorry,” Griffen said, not looking the least contrite. “I didn’t mean to ruin it for you.”

  “You didn’t. Not really.” Mattie said. “I was just thinking that maybe I should ask Ford for his opinion before I buy anything.”