by Diana Palmer
He frowned as the thoughts ran through his mind. She was independently wealthy. Why would she even need to sell herself?
He glanced toward her set features with undue curiosity. There was one other possibility. Maybe she just liked men.
His broad shoulders shrugged. It was a modern world. If men could do it, so could women; he supposed that was what passed for equality. The days were long gone when a woman was sanctified for her impeccable reputation. But he wondered about the effect it had on children. His little mother had been sweet and kind and faithful to her husband. There had been no cheating. On her part, at least. He didn’t like thinking about his father.
His mother had been vocal about modern women and their lack of morality. Her life had been free of scandal. Jake’s had been, also.
He recalled the conversation he’d had with Cindy in the café. He’d been in high school when the community had turned against a woman whose little girl was in the fifth grade locally. Bess Grady’s mother slept with every man she could get. Bess, a shy little thing, went to school with some of the children of men her mother had seduced. Jake’s best friend had a brother in Bess’s class. He said she’d been punished day after day by those other children. Jake wondered if the girl’s parent even cared about making her part of the sordid mess she’d brought about.
When the scandal broke, because one of Bess’s mother’s lovers had been a well-known local politician and the affair cost him a state senate seat, the publicity had been terrible. Bess was shy and quiet and introverted. Being made a scapegoat for her mother had broken something inside her, done it very quickly.
A few days after the publicity became red-hot, Bess had taken several of her mother’s sleeping pills, and when they started to take effect, she’d slashed the artery in her neck with a butcher knife. Her mother came home the next morning, very early, after a night out on the town in Denver with one of her rich Catelow lovers, to find her daughter on the bathroom floor in a pool of blood.
For once, the mother was the source not only of scandal, but also of hatred from the community. It came out in gossip that the poor little girl had been tormented by the children of her mother’s lovers, for the breakup of their families. The funeral had been well attended, but not one local person except the minister would even speak to the mother. Her grief had been visible, along with her guilt, but small communities had their own manner of dealing with people who flaunted the rules and hurt the innocent.
One powerful family had gone after the scandal-ridden mother with everything they possessed. The errant mother, deserted by her local lovers in the face of so much bad publicity, had lost her home and her job, had been frozen out by people in every business she frequented. In the end, she’d given up and moved to Denver, apparently to live with one of her lovers.
Jake had heard that she died of an apparent drug overdose. He didn’t mourn. His best friend’s brother had a crush on Bess, who had suffered so much because of the hateful woman. It had been a hard blow for the boy.
He was also remembering Mina Michaels’s mother. Mina had endured her promiscuous mother’s lovers, some of whom had brutalized her. That had been years after Bess killed herself, however, and had no connection with Mina’s family. What a life it must have been for Mina. Poor little thing. He still missed her. He was happy because she was happy, living with Cort Grier and their son, Jeremiah, in Texas. But her loss still wounded him. He’d had great hopes when he’d started dating her. Sadly, her heart had belonged to Cort almost from the day they met.
Cort had been going around with the merry divorcée sitting beside him, which spoke volumes about her. Cort Grier had been a notorious rounder before his marriage, and he’d spent plenty of time with Ida Merridan while he was in Catelow visiting his cousin.
Jake wondered why he was bothering with this woman in the first place when he didn’t even like her. His pale silver eyes narrowed on the road ahead.
Ida, with no idea of what was going through her companion’s mind, noted the dark scowl on his handsome face.
“Listen, I can come back later and go to the pharmacy...” she began uneasily.
He took a sharp breath and glanced at her. “I don’t mind. Sorry. I was remembering the Grady girl.”
She winced. “Oh, that poor little thing,” she said quietly. “I remember her, too. She was in my grade at school, here in Catelow.”
He glanced at her. “I thought you grew up in Denver,” he prevaricated, because he didn’t want to admit he’d been talking about her to Cindy at the café.
“I did, but we lived here until I was in fifth grade. Bess was one of my friends.” She turned her eyes out the window. “We all hated her mother. Bess was shy and sweet and never hurt anybody. We did what we could to protect her, to shield her from the angry kids. But children can be so cruel. It was a shock, what she did. I mean, how many fifth graders do you know who commit suicide with pills and a knife?”
“There was an article in the local paper, a wire service article, that mentioned the death of a prominent man back East,” he remarked. “It was very detailed about how he killed himself. My best friend’s little brother was sweet on the Grady girl. He carried guilt for years because he told her about the story. He always figured she remembered it when she decided to end her life.”
“He shouldn’t have felt guilty,” she replied softly. “We all have a certain time on earth, things we’re supposed to do, purposes we fill. God decides when lives end and how. People may facilitate that, but in the end, we don’t really choose how we die.”
He was taken aback. He’d never pegged her as a religious person. “You don’t strike me as a religious fanatic,” he said abruptly.
She just smiled sadly. “My first husband was very religious,” she said. “We went to church every Sunday, when we first married. He kept lists of members of the congregation who were poor, who had bills they couldn’t pay. He made anonymous gifts to so many people who never knew who their benefactor was. He was the kindest man I’ve ever known.”
“He was gay,” he began.
“Yes,” she replied. “That isn’t a choice, you know,” she said and glanced at him. “People don’t wake up one morning and decide to be gay. It’s something about the way their brains are wired. Cort Grier is married to Willow Shane, the author,” she added, surprising him. She must have heard that he’d dated Willow, whose real name was Mina Michaels.
“I know her,” he said.
“She told a mutual friend that writers don’t think like normal people do. Their brains are connected differently. They see the world in ways that most people don’t, and it affects the way they write. It got me to thinking,” she continued. “Maybe our brains are constructed in such a way that it predisposes us to certain professions, certain personal ways of life.” She laughed. “I used to think that everybody had thought patterns like mine. When I think, I picture things in vivid color. I see people and things in my mind. But I learned that not everybody does.”
He glanced at her. He’d never considered that.
“Engineers think in terms of diagrams. Mathematicians think in terms of mathematical equations. Some people see abstract images. The point is,” she said, “that when we think, it’s an individual way of interpreting data.” She smiled shyly. “It really fascinates me.”
He cocked his head. “Did you go to college?”
She nodded.
“What was your major?”
She flushed and averted her eyes.
Now he was really curious. “What?” he persisted.
She swallowed. “Physics.”
He almost ran the car off the road. “Excuse me?”
“I absolutely revered Albert Einstein,” she said. “I loved math. I was very good at it. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to study, but I wasn’t really interested in the arts. I spoke to a faculty adviser, and he put me in a schedule that incl
uded higher math and chemistry and physics. I made straight As. My husband encouraged me,” she added. “My first husband, that is. He was very educated. He inherited his wealth, but he graduated from Yale with an honors degree in business. He encouraged me to go to MIT. I came home for the summers and on holidays.” She sighed. “Now that I look back, it was probably more to keep me from seeing too closely into his privacy than to educate me. But I felt obliged to make good grades, to justify the expense.”
“And you’re living in Catelow, Wyoming, instead of teaching at MIT.”
She laughed softly. “Well, I can’t really relate to most people. I had this incredible degree but I didn’t really want to go into theoretical physics or quantum mechanics, so it’s sort of occupying a drawer in my bedroom.” She shrugged. “I love art and opera and I can write with either hand, so I guess I’m a conundrum.”
What she was would fill a book. He was intrigued. “Art and opera,” he mused.
“In between, I think about a unified field theorem,” she murmured dryly.
He actually laughed.
“You have a degree in business, haven’t you?” she asked.
He nodded. It was fairly well-known locally. “That, and I minored in finance. I wanted to know how to manage what I had. Too many businessmen go under because they trust the wrong people to manage their holdings.”
“I have Edward Jones for my first husband’s investments,” she said. “And a team of super lawyers in Denver who keep up with the properties.”
“How long were you married, the first time?”
“Five years,” she said. She smiled. “They were good years. Charles Merridan was a kind, gentle man, and he loved to help other people. He taught me about art. And opera.”
He pulled into the parking lot at the strip mall where Catelow’s pharmacy was located. “What did your second husband teach you?” he asked idly.
“How to duck.”
He parked the car and turned to her, scowling at the sudden paleness of her pretty face. His eyes narrowed. “Would he have anything to do with that broken bone you’re taking high-powered meds for?” he asked abruptly.
She cleared her throat. “Proprietary information, Mr. McGuire,” she said, but managed a smile. “I won’t be long,” she added as she unfastened her seat belt.
He was out of the car and around it before she retrieved her purse from the floorboard, holding the door open for her.
“Nice manners,” she said absently.
“My mother was a stickler for them,” he replied. “She was a sweet, unselfish little woman who always put her family first.”
“So was mine,” she replied quietly. “I miss my parents.”
“I miss my mother.”
She turned toward the pharmacy. “I’ll be as quick as I can.”
“No rush,” he replied.
* * *
SHE DIDN’T HAVE to wait. The clerk had it ready when she got to the counter.
“Don’t forget to put food in your stomach before you take those,” the pharmacist said as the clerk took her credit card and ran it.
“I won’t. Five days on, ten days off,” she repeated.
He gave her a thumbs-up and a smile, and went back to work.
“High-powered stuff,” Carol remarked as she handed the prescription and the credit card back to Ida.
“I usually only need them in the winter,” Ida replied. “I guess this isn’t going to be my best year. It’s just October.”
Carol just smiled. Unlike most local people, she knew Ida very well. She knew that the divorcée’s wild image was just a mask that she wore to protect herself. They had a mutual in-law who was kin to Ida’s first husband.
“Thanks,” Ida said.
“If you need me, you know my number,” Carol said softly.
“I do. You know mine, also,” came the smiling reply.
“We look out for each other.”
“Harry looked out for me, when I really needed it,” Ida said. “I do miss him so.”
“Me, too,” Carol replied. “He was so different from what people thought he was.”
“Isn’t that the truth?”
“You be careful driving.”
“Oh, I’m not. Jake McGuire took me to the doctor and brought me by here.” She flushed and looked around, to make sure nobody had overheard.
“We’re almost empty today. Jake, hmm?” Carol teased.
“It’s not like that. He doesn’t like me at all.” She sighed. “Which is just as well, with my history.”
“We heard that your second husband got early release,” Carol said, lowering her voice. “You keep your door locked and put Cody Banks on speed dial. Just in case.”
“I thought they’d keep him forever,” Ida said heavily. She shook her head. “He killed a man and hardly served any time for it. Now he gambles away everything he can steal. He’s made threats...”
“I meant it, about putting our sheriff on speed dial. You live out in the sticks.”
“I like my privacy.”
“Maybe you should invest in some protection. A big mean dog?”
“My attorneys in Denver suggested a bodyguard.”
“A constructive suggestion,” came the quiet reply. “You should take it.”
Ida nodded. “I guess so. I just don’t like the idea of having somebody watching me all the time.”
“If the bodyguard doesn’t, your ex will be,” Carol said. “You be careful.”
“I’ll be careful.”
* * *
JAKE SAW HER coming and had the door open when she reached the car.
“Thanks,” she said. “For everything.”
“We all have these odd impulses from time to time,” he replied.
She fastened her seat belt while he got under the wheel and cranked the car.
“Anyplace else you need to go while we’re out?” he asked.
She shook her head. “I’ve inconvenienced you enough for one day.”
“I didn’t mind,” he said and surprised himself by realizing it was the truth, not just a polite rejoinder.
“I can drive,” she said, leaning her head back. “But it’s my right hip that’s most affected, and that’s the one that gets used most, on the gas pedal and the brake. But these—” she indicated the medicine sack “—will get me back to normal.”
“Do you take other pain medicine, as well?”
She laughed. “I’m allergic to most of it. I had a very mild prescription pain medicine that contained just a trace of codeine. I broke out in hives and almost ended up in the emergency room.” The memory was painful. She glanced out the window. “My ex-husband thought it was hilarious. I had to drive myself to the allergist. He was watching a movie and couldn’t be bothered...” She flushed scarlet. “Sorry.”
“People have died from allergic reactions like that,” he remarked, angered out of proportion by what her former husband had done.
She drew in a long breath. “He wouldn’t have minded. All my money came from my first husband. My second didn’t work. He said I had plenty of money for both of us. As long as I gave him what he wanted, things were just fine.”
“And if he didn’t get what he wanted?”
Her hand went absently to her hip. “It was a long time ago,” she lied.
He reserved judgment. She had a scarlet reputation, but she was a beautiful woman. He wondered what sort of man would hurt her physically.
“How long have you been divorced?” he asked.
“Three years.” She didn’t add that he’d been in prison that long.
He glanced at her. Close-up, she was older than he’d first thought. “How old are you?” he asked abruptly.
She glanced down at her purse. “Twenty-six.”
“Twenty-six.” He was doing math in hi
s head. “You married at eighteen?”
She sighed. “I’d just lost my mother. She went on one of those cruises in the Mediterranean and left me with friends—Dr. Menzer and his wife. He’s my orthopedic surgeon. He and his wife moved here shortly before I came back here.” She drew in a breath and looked out the window. “They said my mother fell overboard. She was out on the deck when it was storming and she was swept over the side.” She looked down into her lap. It was a painful memory. “They never found her.”
“That would be hard.”
She nodded. “I grieved and grieved. I never even had a place to put flowers. So I went and bought one of those ornate urns that they put cremains in, and I put some of her favorite things in it and sealed it. It sits on my mantel.” She smiled sadly. “So I put flowers next to it on holidays and her birthday. Next best thing to a grave.”
“Not a bad solution.”
“Not the best, either.” Her eyes had a faraway look. “I kept thinking, maybe she washed ashore somewhere and lost her memory. Maybe she was still alive and didn’t know who she was.” She smiled. “There was this movie I always loved, about a female CIA agent who was shot and lost her memory. She ended up in a small town with a baby, and years later, her memory came back.”
He chuckled. “The Long Kiss Goodnight,” he quoted.
She gasped. “Yes!”
He grinned. “I have it on Prime video,” he mused. “Samuel L. Jackson’s finest performance, until Captain Marvel,” he amended. “He’s one of my favorite actors.”
“Mine, too,” she said. “And I loved Geena Davis in the role of the schoolteacher mother who turned out to be an assassin.”
He glanced at her. “You have an adventurous nature.”
“I can’t do adventurous things, so I’m an armchair pirate and superheroine and explorer and mercenary.”