Two Wrongs Make a Right

by Ann Everett

  Later that day, she made sandwiches, and they watched a baseball game on TV, then made love on the sofa. She usually kept her eyes open during sex, but pinched them tight, because today, beautiful creatures glared down at her as if condemning her for taking advantage of the guy who’d killed them. At one point, she pictured her head next to Bambi’s daddy. Not a good thing when you’re in the throes of passion. But crazy notions were easier than looking at Dak because of what she was about to do. Tomorrow, he’d find plenty of things wrong with her.

  The next morning at four-thirty, Quinn woke Dak to have sex again, knowing when they finished, he’d go sound asleep, and she’d be able to leave without saying goodbye. It was a terrible thing to do, but no more awful than what she’d already done.

  The night before, using an excuse of writing reports to get some alone time, she tried to compose a farewell letter. No confession. But he at least deserved an explanation why she’d leave without waking him. It seemed easy enough to tell him long-distance relationships rarely worked, and she’d started over a dozen times, but there was nothing to say. If she promised to call or give him false hope of another visit, it only added to her list of lies. A clean break was best. No note. No goodbye.

  This weekend would remain the greatest three days of her life. She’d go back to her grim apartment, decrepit car, and lack-luster job. Molly would be gone along with Dak Savage, world’s best kisser, sweetest man on Earth, killer of innocent animals.

  Taking three deep cleansing breaths for strength, she slithered out of bed, lifted her suitcase and tiptoed down the hallway. Once in the kitchen, she opened the bag, grabbed jeans and shirt, put them on, and slipped her feet into a pair of flip-flops. Breath strangled in her throat from a mixture of fear and remorse. She removed a glass from the cabinet and filled it with water, then gulped. She set the glass on the counter and took one last look around the beautiful room. Luggage and purse in hand, she eased the door open, then stepped into the morning air.

  The moon sank and her heart hitched a ride. She stared back at the place. A chorus of crickets and frogs sang from the lake, and the now familiar squeak of the porch swing accompanied the melody. She took it all in wanting to remember everything. Every sound. Every moment.

  Once in her car, her fingers froze on the keys, half of her wished Dak would rush out and drag her back inside, the other half, petrified he would. She turned the engine, backed around and headed down the drive. When she reached the road, she stomped the gas pedal and got as far away as fast as possible.

  She swung by the rental place, dropped the car off, and headed home. If she turned around, drove through Mickey D’s again, she’d be back at Dak’s house by seven with coffee and Egg McMuffins. Tell him the truth. Beg for mercy. Explain how the early menopause curse had clouded her judgment and made her go crazy, then offer to furnish character references as to her sanity.

  But she remembered the scar on his chest. No. He’d never forgive her. He’d lump her into the same category as the lying bitch who’d gotten him shot. Quinn couldn’t blame him. She wasn’t any better. A lie was a lie regardless of the reason.

  She parked on the street and made her way back inside her apartment. The cats were nowhere to be seen. They probably thought she’d deserted them. She set her luggage down, plopped her purse onto the counter, then went to check their automatic dispenser bowls.

  Not empty, but the shake of the Kibble bag caused the girls to come running. “Hey ladies. Did you miss me?”

  Quinn gave them fresh water, emptied their litter box, and took the sack to the dumpster.

  After a quick shower, she climbed into bed and pulled the covers over her head. Drifting to sleep, she brought Dak’s face into view. Every little wrinkle. Freckle. Line.

  ~~*~~

  Dak rolled over, reached for Molly and found the bed empty. He opened his eyes and listened. No light under the bathroom door. No sounds from the kitchen. He smiled, and pictured her on the back deck watching the sun rise. She loved the view from there, and he loved the view of her.

  He imagined her leaned back, sunshine reflecting off her raven hair, bare toes running up and down Homer’s spine, while he half-closed his eyes in pure ecstasy.

  Funny. After two days, Dak already liked having her there. Then reality hit him. This was their last day together, and it made his chest hurt.

  El Paso was too far to drive for a weekend. Almost six hundred miles. She might as well live in another state. Southwest Airlines probably had direct flights with reasonable fares. He’d share the travel. Then another idea occurred. Fort Stockton, his hunting ground, was that direction. A good meeting location, halving the driving distance for both of them.

  He sat up on the edge of the bed. He felt—happy. Which was odd because he was always happy. But this was a different variety. This wasn’t about beer with the guys or football Sundays. It didn’t involve high-fives to celebrate landing a big account. This happiness occupied a part of his heart he’d paid no attention to until Molly. She filled it with her laughter, nervous rants, and the crazy button thing. How could that be? He didn’t want her to disappear from his life. Not today. Maybe never.

  Sonovabitch. What was wrong with him? He was acting like a love sick high school boy. But then he remembered how good she felt in his arms, and excitement ignited within him. He pulled on his pajama pants and tee-shirt, then went to find her.

  Through the wall of windows, he had a clear view of the back deck. No sign of her. He walked to the doorway expecting to see her at the water’s edge, but she wasn’t there either. A strange feeling passed over him. He rushed to the front door and peered outside. Breath froze in his chest. Her car—gone.

  He ran his fingers through his hair and tried to make sense of it. Why leave without saying goodbye? Sneak away as if avoiding being caught by a jealous wife. She knew there was no such person.

  She’d claimed to like him and he believed her. Why else extend her trip? He scanned the bar for a note. Checked the refrigerator door. The bathroom mirror. The coffee table. Her pillow. He hugged it to his chest and breathed in her scent.

  His good mood from earlier evaporated, replaced with sadness he’d not felt since his grandfather’s funeral, six years ago. An emptiness that only time could remedy, but he didn’t want time or memories. He wanted her. Two days wasn’t enough to plan a lifetime together, but plenty to realize it might be possible.

  He rose, and returned to the kitchen to make a cup of coffee. Caffeine helped him think. The early morning sex must have been her goodbye. A damn good one for sure, but some dialogue would have been nice.

  He picked up a glass from the counter, and ran his fingers around the rim where her lips had been. Such a kissable mouth. The one in the parking lot—the best first kiss of his life.

  After popping a pod into the Keurig, dark Columbian brew streamed into his cup. Once it finished, he brought it to his mouth, blew across the surface, watched the vapor rise and disappear into thin air. He took a slow sip and picked up his cell. Shit. He didn’t have her number.

  He’d asked, but she’d never given it to him, and he could kick himself for the oversight. She didn’t have his number either but he was in the book, so she could call on the land line. Then his phone chimed, and his heart jumped, but when he saw the name, it fell back into place. Sim.

  “Hey, Sis. What’s up?”

  “Is your house guest still there?” she whispered.

  “It’s unnecessary to speak in a low voice. No one can hear you but me.”

  “Your crabby attitude tells me she’s left already. I want to hear all about her. Ben said he couldn’t tell much from where he was. Just that she had dark hair and a nice figure. So give me the important details. Are you going to see her again? I mean, you’re interested because you brought her there. To the cabin. No woman’s land. Do I hear wedding bells?”

  “Doubtful.”

  “Oh, come on. Give me something.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it
.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Yes. Something. So what it is?”

  “There was nothing wrong with her.”

  “Oh. My. God. You fell for her. I’m so happy.”

  “Pretty sure she doesn’t feel the same.”

  “She doesn’t want to see you again?”

  “Guess not. She left this morning before I got up. I’d say the message is clear.”

  “I’m coming over.”

  Dak started to protest, but the phone went dead. In a way he didn’t want her to come, but she might explain why Molly acted as if she couldn’t get enough of him, and then vanished without a word.

  By the time Sim arrived, he had searched every place for a note. Molly had a playful personality, so she might write it in lipstick across a mirror, or pin it to the chaise, or tape it to a fishing pole. But he’d checked all those places and found nothing. It was time to face the truth. From the beginning, she indicated it was revenge sex against her ex, but Dak had hoped it meant more. He shouldn’t be pissed. She’d warned him. Even discouraged him. Tried to talk him out of it with that crazy sermon. Nope. He couldn’t blame her. He’d pressed. Invited her to stay. Brought her to the one place he’d never brought a woman before. Dammit to hell. His sister was right. Over the last three days, he had fallen for Molly.

  Sim opened the door without knocking, and threw her arms around him. “Oh, my big brother in love for the first time. I’m so sorry you have a broken heart.”

  He backed away. “I’m not sure I’d classify it as heartbreak. I’ll be fine.” It wouldn’t be as easy as he made it sound, but he didn’t want Sim to know.

  She dipped her head down and rolled her eyes up. “You invited her here. That tells me more than anything you can say. You’ve nev-ver let a female set foot on these premises. You can call her.”

  “Didn’t get her number. Besides, she told me she’d recently broken up with a guy. I figure this was a way for her to get back at him. It is what it is.”

  After his sister left, Dak switched from coffee to whiskey, and considered what he knew about Molly Harper. She lived in El Paso and worked for a medical supply company. There couldn’t be that many.

  He grabbed his laptop, and searched for companies large enough to have sales reps, and found two. He clicked on the first one and checked the employee roster. No Molly. He moved to the next one. Again, no luck. Strange. He remembered her saying she’d been with the company for three years. She should be listed.

  He stared at the screen and wished he’d gotten the business name. There were other companies, but smaller. He doubted they had traveling representatives, but no harm in checking.

  For the next hour, he investigated every possible company in or near El Paso. Nobody named Molly or Harper appeared on any site. He closed the computer, leaned back in the chair, and stared at the ceiling. There was one other place he could check.

  He waited in the parking lot until Rowdy’s neon sign came on, then got out of his truck and made his way inside. Standing behind the counter, the same bartender from the other night was hanging wine glasses in an overhead rack. Dak walked over to him and got right to the point. “You remember me?”

  Dave cocked his head. “Hooked up with the pearls chick. Right?”

  “Yeah. I’m trying to get in touch with her and lost her number. Do you know any of the girls she was with that night?”

  “Wasn’t with any. Came alone.”

  “No, she was with that group sitting over there.” He pointed to the vacant table.

  Dave picked up a cloth and swirled it over the countertop. “Nope. They asked her to join their party because she was by herself. I thought you knew her.”

  “Why?”

  “Because she was waiting for you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He stopped wiping and slung the rag over his shoulder. “Said she was waiting for someone and would give me a sign when you got here. Paid for the drink up front.”

  None of it made sense. Why pick him, spend the weekend, then disappear like a ghost? If Dave hadn’t confirmed her existence, Dak would think he’d dreamed the whole thing.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Quinn stretched, and opened her eyes, stopping the most delicious Dak dream. She whispered a laugh at the alliteration. He was a delicious dream. Yeah…too bad…that’s all he’d ever be. Glancing at the time, she sat up straight. Three p.m.? Good Lord. She’d slept the day away and still didn’t feel rested. Flopping back down on the mattress, she stared at the ceiling. By now, he knew she’d left.

  No reason to waste any more time on shoulda, woulda, coulda. Forcing herself out of bed, she stumbled into the bathroom.

  An hour later, trapped in a web of deceit, she pulled her car to the curb in front of Dixie’s Diner. It was nearby, and had a homey atmosphere, plus, the coffee wasn’t five bucks. Yellow and white striped awnings framed the windows and struck a sharp contrast to the box planters overflowing with red geraniums and ivy.

  From a corner booth, Raynie and Megan waved as Quinn entered. She stopped at the counter to order, then slid in next to her blonde friend, who bounced on the bench seat. “We can’t wait to hear all about it. Why wouldn’t you let us text you? How good is he in the sack?”

  Megan nudged Raynie. “Hush, and let her start at the beginning.”

  The waitress appeared and set a mug on the table. Apparently, she understood they were in the middle of something because she didn’t say anything. Quinn nodded her thanks, and the server walked away.

  “Well, things didn’t go exactly as planned.”

  Raynie exchanged a mutual expression of confusion with Megan, then focused on Quinn. “What do you mean?”

  “Justin showed up right on time, and I’ve got to say he’s even hotter in person than in that company photo.”

  “Cut to the chase,” Raynie said. “How does he look naked?”

  “I never got a chance to find out.”

  “What? But, you spent the weekend with him. Are you saying you didn’t—you know, do it?”

  “Oh, I did it plenty.” Quinn smiled, getting a warm sensation from the memory. “But not with Justin.”

  Both women leaned forward, and Megan said, “Then who?”

  “Oh my God. The suspense is killing me.” Raynie leaned in a bit more. “Did you choose some random guy? That is so not you.”

  Quinn splayed her hands, palms up for emphasis, and moved them up and down as she explained. “I didn’t choose. I had everything arranged. All the bartender had to do was tell Justin his drink was paid for, but barkeep Dave, misunderstood my signal, and gave the free drink to the wrong man.”

  Raynie bounced again and clapped her hands. “Holy shit! That was fate stepping in. You stayed three days with him, so he must have been good—and by good, I mean bad—and by bad, I mean goo-ood.”

  Megan drew her face tight. “Who got the drink?”

  Closing her eyes, Quinn leaned her head back and sighed. “The most romantic, sweetest, kindest, sexiest, man I’ve ever met.” She placed a hand to her chest. “I felt things with him I’ve never experienced before. We went fishing. Made love outside during a storm. Danced in the moonlight.” She snapped out of it and looked at Raynie. “Tall, green eyes, and gorgeous naked.”

  Megan covered her face and spoke into her hands. “Oh God, please tell me you did not spend the weekend with Dak Savage.”

  Quinn cocked her head. “Yes, I did, and why didn’t you include him for consideration?”

  “Crap, crap, crap,” Megan said, and laid her head on the table.

  Raynie leaned down. “What’s wrong with him?”

  “Nothing—and everything.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Hush. I’m praying Quinn had sense enough to use good condoms and there’s no chance of being pregnant.” She rolled her head to look at Quinn. “Please tell me I’m right.”

  “You are.”

  Megan
smiled, her eyes now full of sparkle and relief. “Thank the Lord.”

  “Seventy-five percent.”

  The twinkle in her eyes faded. “Seventy-five percent what?”

  “Chance that I’m not pregnant.”

  “Holy moly guacamole!” Raynie jerked her head back and forth, focusing on one friend and then the other.

  Megan went quiet, and Quinn knew a detailed account was warranted, so she called on Molly for help. “Okay, Dak got the drink, and I tried to get out of there, but he followed me into the parking lot, and then he kissed me, and the next thing I know, I’m back inside and we’re dancing.” She took a quick breath. “I liked him. Really liked him. And when we got to my hotel room, I decided not to go through with the plan.”

  “Then where does the seventy-five percent come in?”

  Quinn’s shoulders slumped. “Just my luck I’d pick the one man in the universe who doesn’t carry a condom because of some stupid rule about picking women up in bars.”

  “Oh no,” Megan groaned.

  “I still thought I was okay, because my three bad condoms were first in the box, so all I had to do was take one from the bottom, but then he said he’d get it, and he poured them all out, and chose one, and it turned out to be one with holes. After that, I got rid of the other two, so we only had unprotected sex once.”

  Megan ran her hands through her hair pulling it tight against her head. “I’m still not getting the percentage thing.”

  “I researched, and a woman my age can’t get pregnant that easily. Only a twenty-five percent chance on the first try. Then there are other factors. He was drinking. That lowers sperm count. He carried his cell phone in his jeans pocket. Again, decreases the number. He takes hot showers, so that affects his swimmers. Add to that the stress he’s feeling concerning that possible takeover of your company, and that should really make it difficult.”

  Megan released her hair, picked up her water and gulped. She set the glass next to her cup and scooted the saucer around. “Let me get this straight. There is a twenty-five percent chance you’ve got Dak’s baby in your oven right now.”