Can't Stop Believing (HARMONY) (22 page)

“I thought I’d die when I saw that snake; then when you were bit I swear my heart completely stopped.” She gulped for air. “I think I finally found something more frightening than snakes. It’s thinking about you hurt and knowing that it’s somehow all my fault.” She pulled his face close to hers. “This is my fault, Cord. I know it.”

“No. It’s not. Whoever’s doing this may want to hurt you, but it’s not your fault. We’re going to get through this. Me and you, Babe.” Any doubt that they were in this fight together was gone, and they both knew it.

She leaned into him and kissed him softly on the mouth. A thank-you kiss. A promise. A bonding of their own special kind of loving.

Cord forced the words. “As soon as my heart slows down a few hundred beats a minute, how about we go back to those blankets in the barn?” He could think of one place where they had no trouble communicating. “Or, I think it looks like rain. We might want to take a nap over at my farm.”

“I don’t want to sleep.” She smiled.

“Me either,” he answered.

She tortured him by wiggling against him again. “Are you saying you want my body?”

“I want all of you.”
Including your heart
, he thought as his hand moved over her hip. “It’d take more than a snakebite to slow me down.” He needed to be alone with her more than he needed air right now. “How about we go back and send Ora Mae home? We could tell her the doctor ordered bed rest.”

Nevada kissed him tenderly, but her body seemed to be begging to be handled with passionate touches. They’d made love enough to know what the other liked, and right now Cord was thinking he liked everything about her. Something about being scared half to death made him feel totally alive. He could read every move she made, and he had no doubt he could give her just what she wanted.

Cord was almost lost in pleasure when he heard boots stomping their way down the hall and knew their time together was about to end.

He managed to push her away a few inches before the room filled with half a dozen of his men. They were all talking and cussing at once. Most had been out working cattle when they heard about the snakebite. Cord swore the smell of cows followed them into the hospital room.

Jackson slapped his hat against his leg. “Someone’s trying to kill you, Boss, and we’re not going to stand around and let that happen.”

“No, not me,” he answered. “They weren’t trying to kill me.”

He looked at Nevada, who paled seeing the truth in his words. “No one drives the old Jeep but me,” she whispered as her hand gripped his shoulder. “The snakes were meant for me.”

If she’d taken the Jeep by herself, it would have been midmorning and no one would be around to help. Two or three bites and she might not have gotten to help in time. Before, everything had seemed like accidents, but no longer.

“The snakes had to be brought in from somewhere else,” one of the men volunteered. “We haven’t seen a rattler that big around the ranch in years. And four of them together. It wouldn’t make sense. Someone took the time to catch them and put them in there.”

Everyone started talking at once about what needed to be done. Cord listened as he thought. They were right, of course; the snakes had been planted, but by whom? Again the same facts came back that he’d faced yesterday after the horse had been poisoned. Whoever did this knew the ranch, knew that Nevada drove the Jeep, maybe even knew she was afraid of snakes. If she hadn’t noticed the rattlers for a few minutes, she might have been driving; fast, of course. Then the Jeep would flip on the narrow road and kill her. The snakes might even crawl away before anyone reached her.

He made his mind go through all the men who’d been fired the first day he came. They’d been mad at him, not at her. A few had cussed when he’d fired them, but none looked like he wanted a fight. What would be the point? Cord wasn’t likely to hire them back.

That left only one person: Bryce Galloway, or maybe someone he’d paid to plant the snakes. Galem had mentioned once that Bryce said once that he’d never let her go. Maybe he’d always thought they’d get back together eventually. When Cord married her, that option vanished.

Cord thought about how Nevada had asked him to marry her. She hadn’t wanted a husband; she said she wanted his last name. Could she have been that afraid of Galloway? Was that the real reason she’d married him? The reason she said she wouldn’t explain?

Only Bryce came from a wealthy family. He had relatives in the state senate and an uncle who was a judge. Everyone in the state thought she married up on her third try, and half the people in town still thought that Nevada and her wild ways drove Bryce away. Maybe she thought Cord was the only man who’d be on her side if a fight came. Remembering the way the cowhands had ignored her when she’d walked into the bunkhouse that first Monday after they married, Cord decided maybe Nevada had guessed right.

But why him? She could have hired bodyguards and lawyers. Even though the ranch was losing money, she still had resources. Why marry the dirt-poor farmer next door? What had made her take a chance and believe that an ex-con would stand with her when trouble came?

If she knew it was coming at all?

He looked at Nevada, knowing that sometime soon he was going to have to ask the one question she’d told him never to ask. Why’d she marry him?

Dr. Spencer came into the examining room and demanded that all the cowhands leave. They were polite, even respectful, but reluctant to move. When she finally promised she’d let Cord go as soon as she was through examining him, they wandered off. Two offered to take his place if she’d examine them, and one asked her for a date before Cord reminded him that the doc was engaged to Tinch Turner.

All the town knew of Tinch’s ability with his fists. The hospital had seen its share of his sparring partners after a bar fight. Only Tinch had settled down once he met the doctor. The cowboy and the city-girl doctor were an odd couple. Almost as odd as Cord and Nevada, Cord thought.

Finally only Cord, the doc, and Nevada were in the room.

“He’ll need to take it easy for a few hours,” Dr. Spencer said. “If his arm starts to swell or he experiences chills or sweats, I want him back in here.”

“You treat a lot of snakebites, Doc?” Cord asked, just so she’d stop reading from a printout he felt sure she’d hand him when he walked out.

“You’re my first. Most people who see snakes walk around them.”

Cord reached for his hat. “I’m fine, Doc. You did a great job and I’ll take your advice from now on, but I got to get back to work.”

She looked like she might argue with him, but then she smiled as if she’d dealt with stubborn fools before. “Get some rest, Cord.”

He put his arm around his wife and said, “I’ll do that, Doc. My wife is taking me straight home to bed, aren’t you, Babe?”

A
PRIL
11

M
ARTHA
Q
DIDN
’
T
LIKE
THE
IDEA
OF
LEAVING
R
ONNY
IN
her grief, but the girl was in good hands with Mr. Carleon watching over her. They were busy notifying all of Marty’s friends and relatives that the graveside service would be at dawn tomorrow. After his accident and long stays in the hospital, most of those he knew had drifted away. Except for three men, all others made excuses as to why they couldn’t come. But the three friends who’d carried him off the mountain after his fall said they were on their way. Mr. Carleon called them Marty’s knights.

Ronny looked like she was moving through water. Her face was pale and her hand shook now and then. Only she kept busy, as though if she were to stop and take a deep breath the sorrow would catch up to her and smother her completely. Nothing anyone said or did would take the pain away. Mr. Carleon was doing what he could. He walked with her through the hardest day of her life.

Martha Q had never known great love like that, and as she watched Ronny, she felt both thankful and cheated. She’d known passion and lust, but
love
was mostly just a word she used. She hadn’t cried when her father died until she found out her sister inherited everything. Her mother passed on after ten years of swearing she was “about to.” Martha Q felt like she’d been holding her breath for years waiting for death to show up, so when her mother stopped breathing it came as no surprise. Two of her husbands had died after long illnesses, leaving her more relieved than heartbroken. She had no children or pets she liked. So grief was something usually a few pounds of sweets could cure.

And there was certainly no time for a great love in her life now, Martha Q decided. She needed to get back to her place and have a talk with the three little widows. The sheriff had told her about Bryce’s complaint, and it was only a matter of time before one of the widows broke and spilled the beans that Martha Q had come up with the idea to follow Bryce Galloway.

Martha Q’s part in the plot would be exposed. Bryce would probably sue her, or worse, kill her. After all, he had to start somewhere, and she was always around. She still had the feeling he was secretly a serial killer in training. He might act all sweet and polite, but she wasn’t fooled. She’d played that part herself now and then and knew all the lines.

It would be an even greater crime if he killed her right at a point in her life when she’d found a man who might be interested in her. It had been years since her last real flirtation. Her pen pal in prison really didn’t count, since half of his love letters were blacked out. She thought about asking if they could send the deleted half to her anonymously so she could at least dream, but she doubted the correctional system had much interest in her longings.

Martha Q knew she was getting ahead of herself thinking that Mr. Carleon might be interested. After all, all he’d ever touched of her was her hand and, at her size, that didn’t amount to even five percent if she measured interest by the pound. The kiss he’d hinted at after their almost-date in the kitchen was no more than a peck on her cheek.

She knew she shouldn’t, but she just had to drive over to the funeral home and talk to Tyler. He was busy planning all the details for Marty’s graveside funeral, but surely he’d have a few minutes to visit with her. First, he was the only man who would listen to her problems, and second, she wanted to check on Kate. The woman must be insane to get pregnant in her forties. Didn’t Kate realize that Martha Q was too old to have a friend who was having a baby? Hell, as her best friend, Martha Q should probably give her a shower.

She was thinking about having a stay-at-home shower when she pulled up to Wright Funeral Home. She’d invite women over forty and tell them if they didn’t want to come, they could send two gifts and stay at home. Kate would get a ton of gifts and Martha Q wouldn’t have to waste time thinking of dumb games to play.

She climbed out, already making her list of who wouldn’t come to the shower. Of course, she would leave Dallas Logan off the list, even if they did go to high school together. There was no excuse for Dallas disowning her only child, Ronny. The woman had always had rocks for brains, and now they were mold-covered.

Not feeling like the climb up the front steps, Martha Q went around to the kitchen door and tapped. Autumn, the housekeeper and cook, answered the door, a fat little baby in her arms.

Martha Q grunted. The world was exploding. If people didn’t stop having kids, Harmony would have to change the population sign again.

“Morning, Mrs. Patterson. How can I help you?”

The girl was just too cheery for Martha Q’s liking. People in funeral homes should at least look respectfully sad, not like they’d just been laughing.

“I need to see Mr. Wright.” Martha Q pushed her way in. The smell of warm gingerbread made her offer a quick smile to the cook.

“He’s not here, but you could talk to Kate. I was just about to make her lunch, and I know she’d be happy if you joined her. It’s no trouble to make an extra plate.”

Martha Q decided she always did like Autumn. Even if she did have a baby, at least she had the good sense to be able to cook. “What are you having for lunch?”

“Chicken salad, made with walnuts and grapes, on homemade wheat bread with a slice of red velvet cake I made this morning for dessert. It’s still too warm to cut, but by the time lunch is over, it should be ready.”

“I thought I smelled ginger?” Martha Q examined the organized kitchen. They’d added a baby cage in the corner. She knew people called them playpens, but she’d never seen a child actually playing in one.

“Oh, you did. I’m making cookies for the fire department meeting tonight. You’re welcome to have a few as an appetizer with lunch.”

Martha Q reevaluated her opinion of the girl. Perhaps Autumn should breed; after all, she was obviously brilliant as well as talented.

Martha Q plopped her purse down on one of the stools. If the designer purse got any bigger or heavier, it would need rollers on the bottom; but fashion was fashion and the shopping network claimed orange went with everything this year. “Well, I guess I could keep Kate company for a while.” She’d decided years ago that food she hadn’t made or paid for was calorie free. “I might even have lunch just to make sure she eats. She needs to keep up her strength for the birthing due next week.”

Five minutes later she sat in the breakfast area of the warm kitchen eating with Kate and told her of the problem with a full house at the bed-and-breakfast.

Unfortunately, unlike Tyler, Kate wasn’t one to just listen. She talked, asked questions, made suggestions. Martha Q liked the woman, but she often found her exhausting. Tyler listened to her problems, but Kate tried to solve them.

Finally, as if she were no match for interrogation, Martha Q told Kate of her worries about Bryce Galloway and, to her surprise, Kate said that if a woman who knows men as well as Martha Q did thought there was something wrong with the man, it was worth investigating.

Then Martha Q told her about the widows getting caught trailing the man. It seemed he wasn’t willing to believe they just happened to eat at the same place he did for lunch and walk in the park at the same time of day. He not only noticed them, but he’d tattled on them to the sheriff. Everyone in town knew the sheriff had more important things to do than haul in three widows for interrogation.

When her water broke, Kate lost interest in Martha Q’s story. All at once Martha Q’s problem was pushed aside, and everyone rallied around Kate like there hadn’t been a few billion babies already born in the world. Tyler was called and told to meet them at the hospital. Autumn ran out with two baby bags and said she had to drop off her little girl with Willie at the fire station, and then she’d meet Kate at the hospital. The secretary, two guys from the basement, and Kate all piled into one of the vans and disappeared without even waving good-bye.

To Martha Q’s surprise, she was left in charge of the funeral home. She felt like she hadn’t been invited to the party. No one needed to go except for Kate, and she’d looked plenty calm enough to drive herself the few blocks. The two guys from the basement didn’t need to go, or the secretary. And Autumn probably had snacks in the second baby bag. Everyone was over in the waiting room laughing it up, while Martha Q was alone in a building full of rooms where dead people normally hung out.

After waiting by the phone for fifteen minutes, during which no dead people called needing business, Martha Q locked up the front and let herself out the back door. She’d go to the hospital when all the screaming and blood was over.

She headed home, needing a nap after all the excitement.

When she pulled into her drive at the bed-and-breakfast, Beau Yates sat on the steps to her porch looking like the ghost of a young Johnny Cash in his black clothes and hat.

Martha Q swore. Lobbies in this town got less wear than her front porch. Every time she left, someone seemed to be waiting for her to return. It was downright nerve-racking.

Rolling down her window, she yelled, “Can you drive?”

Beau stood. “Of course.”

“Well, get in. I need a cherry lime from Sonic to wash down all the ginger cookies I ate at the funeral home.” After everyone left, Martha Q had been nervous about being in charge and munched the firehouse cookies down from three dozen to two.

Beau took off his cowboy hat and climbed into the driver’s side like he was saddling up for a wild ride while she tried to slide across the bench seat. All her body parts didn’t seem to follow willingly. Once on the passenger side, she had to take a few moments to regroup her layers of fat.

Beau put the car in reverse and pulled out of the drive. “You should get you a new car, Mrs. Q. This one rattles worse than Leon’s old ice cream truck.”

She ignored his insult. “My name is not Mrs. Q and you know it. I swear it’s hard to believe you’re the brighter of that nest of bums living in my duplex. If I didn’t happen to talk to Border now and then, I’d find it impossible to believe. His bulb’s not only dim, someone forgot to flip the switch on. I have a feeling his reading list consists of only his tattoos.”

Beau smiled. “Having a good day, are you, Mrs. Q?”

She glared at him. “No, I’m not.” She glanced up and noticed Dallas Logan, Ronny’s mother, coming out of the bank. “Run that woman over, would you, Beau? It’ll cheer me up.”

Beau gunned the engine. “All right, if you say so.”

Dallas Logan saw him coming, squealed like a pig before jumping to the curb, and then started yelling like she’d been robbed, raped, and run over all at the same time.

“You nitwit,” Martha Q swore. “You missed her by a mile. Turn around and try again.”

Beau looked at her as if he thought she might have finally lost her mind. “Come on, Mrs. Q, you can’t be serious. Who was that woman anyway?”

“That was Ronny’s mother.”

“Oh, why didn’t you say so?” He turned the car around in the middle of Main Street.

By the time they got back to the spot, Dallas Logan was gone. Martha Q laughed so hard she cried, and Beau seemed to catch the disease from her.

As soon as she could draw a breath, she yelled, “Damn if that wasn’t the most fun I’ve ever had with my clothes on. It was worth risking prison to see her mouth open so wide her whole face turned into wrinkles.”

“You’re not thinking of taking your clothes off, are you?” Beau paled.

“No, I think you’ll have to settle for a float at Sonic. I’m not putting on any show. Those days are over.”

When he looked relieved, she thought of hitting him, but since he was the one driving that might not be a good idea.

They sat at the drive-in and had their drinks with Tater Tots and mustard. Then she asked him to drive her out to the cemetery so she could see where Marty was going to be buried.

The drive cheered her up. Martha Q liked the Harmony Cemetery. The very air seemed peaceful and most of her enemies rested there below ground.

Beau held her arm as they walked through the grass to the empty grave along the north side where tall cedars grew. Tyler Wright and his crew had everything ready. The fake grass over the mound of dirt. The folding chairs beneath a flapping green tent. The empty racks for flowers.

She sat in one of the chairs while Beau stared into the hole and frowned like he thought he might see right into hell.

Martha Q guessed Beau was lost in a song that played in his head. Much as she teased him, she knew talent dripped off him like sweat. She wanted to tell him to go for the dream he always talked about. Don’t let anything stop him. Don’t back down. Don’t make promises or fall in love or be dishonest even with himself. Head straight for his dream and don’t let any roadblock get in his way.

Only, maybe it was the things that got in the way that mattered. Maybe it was the turns in life that made it worth the living, not the goals or the dreams.

She pulled a tissue from her pocket and blew her nose. She was getting way too deep. Maybe it was this creative energy running through her. If she’d given up sex ten years earlier, she could have had the energy to outrun Nora Roberts on the charts. She would have a limo driving her around, not some kid who couldn’t remember her name. She’d have so many servants she’d have to call them by number because, after all, a great writer couldn’t be expected to remember real people’s names.