Optical Delusions in Deadwood (44 page)

      I blinked. Had I heard that right? I shot a look at Ray. His shit-eating grin wasn’t so big or bright anymore. His brow furrowed, funneling into the center of his forehead.

      Jane opened her desk drawer. “Violet, I have something to give you.” She pulled out a manila envelope that rattled when she handed it to me. “Congratulations. You sold your first house.”

      Jaw gaping, I opened the envelope. Inside was a set of keys and a check. Relief rushed from my head to my toes, leaving me feeling loose-jointed. “Thanks, Jane.”

      “No. Thank you.” She looked over at Ray, whose unhappiness at my success had settled into his jowls. “Now, do you think you and Ray can get along well enough to work together, or will I have to fire one of you to settle your differences?”

      “I can get along with him.” Or beat him with my boot until he behaves.

      Ray grunted. “I’ll leave her alone.”

      “Excellent, Ray,” Jane said. “Because I’ve recently overheard some of your comments to Violet, and you’re way over the line when it comes to sexual harassment—even for a small town like Deadwood. I’m assuming this has been going on for some time, but I was too distracted by my damned divorce to notice—until now.” Her gaze narrowed as she spoke those last two words. “I still have your nephew’s résumé. Violet isn’t the only employee who can be replaced. Understand?”

      I heard the whisper of a growl under his breath before he answered, “Got it.”

      “Now, go sell something,” Jane said, dismissing us. I followed Ray to the door. “Oh, Violet, hold up a second. Close the door behind Ray.”

      I obeyed and leaned against the closed door.

      “It has been brought to my attention that you may be involved with your client.”

      Ray! That son of a bitch.

      “I don’t want to know if this is true or not. But I trust it will not become the norm for you, because believe me when I say that mixing business with pleasure only leads to misery. I know that from experience. Husbands number one and two were both clients.”

      “I understand.”

      Jane smiled. “Congratulations, again. I’d like to take you to lunch to celebrate and discuss what your options are with the Carhart house. The Britton couple stopped in yesterday on their way out of town. I briefly disclosed the events that occurred this weekend at the house.” She paused, her smile slipping. “Are you okay? I can see the bruises under your makeup.”

      “I’m fine, thanks.”

      “Anyway, they went outside and talked for a few minutes and came back in saying they’re still interested in buying it if the seller is going to keep it on the market. They’ll be in touch with you.”

      No freaking way. “Okay.” I’d have to check with Wanda when the dust settled. If the Brittons bought the place, maybe I’d finally find out the reason behind the mystery of the always-missing ice trays.

      I exited Jane’s office before another of my skeletons could be dragged out of the closet and held under a spotlight.

      Back at my desk, I stuffed the envelope with my check and Doc’s keys into my purse and grabbed the Picklemobile’s smiley-face key chain. “Mona, I’m going to run home for a bit and take a quick shower.” More like hold my head under the water with hopes of washing away the insanity of the last few weeks. “If Doc calls again, tell him I’ll be in touch very soon.”

      Mona held up her half of the commission check from the sale of Doc’s house, her eyes radiant. “We need to have some celebratory drinks soon.”

      “Yes, we do.”

      I paused by Ray’s desk.

      He glared at me. “What do you want?”

      “I warned you.”

      “So what.”

      “I meant what I said, Mr. King of the Mountain.” 

      “Bring it on, Blondie.”

      “I plan to.” After blowing him a kiss, I strode out the back door.

     
Chapter Twenty-Five

      Forty-five minutes later, Aunt Zoe caught me staring out her kitchen window at the empty swing set in the backyard. Lila was no longer around to threaten me and mine, but the kids were enjoying splashing around in my parents’ pool so much that I’d left them there for the week as originally planned.

      “You have a big problem,” Aunt Zoe told me.

      Hysterical laughter erupted in my head, threatening to spill out my throat. “I have multiple big problems. To which are you referring?”

      She leaned back against the counter next to me. “The one involving a fancy Camaro.”

      Ah, yes. Doc. That particular problem. I kept my gaze glued on the swings and said nothing.

      “Doc stopped by yesterday, looking for you. Said he’d been calling your cell but you weren’t answering.”

      “I had it turned off,” I lied.

      “You need to talk to him. He deserves at least a phone call.”

      Biting my lip, I breathed through the anxiety that squeezed my lungs. Just the thought of Doc sent my satellites spinning off into outer space. How could I possibly face him and say what I needed to say?

      “You should have seen him on Friday,” Aunt Zoe said, scratching some dried food off the countertop. “He stopped by here around one, telling me you didn’t show up for some lunch meeting with him.”

      Lunch dates with Doc appeared to be hazardous to my health. That was another reason to tell him the lines I’d been repeating in my head since yesterday morning, when Natalie told me how her love for Doc has made her want to try to be a better, smarter woman. It was a corny line that reminded me of something Tammy Wynette would have crooned, but it had pierced my guilt-filled heart nonetheless.

      “He insisted I call 911,” Aunt Zoe continued, “but I explained the police probably wouldn’t do anything until you’d been gone a bit longer. That wasn’t good enough for him.”

      I lowered my gaze to where I gripped the edge of the sink, the ache in my chest spreading down to my gut.

      “I rode with Doc down to the police station, since you had my truck. He demanded to see Detective Cooper, who surprised me by accepting the gravity of the situation immediately. By suppertime, most of Lead’s and Deadwood’s finest were on the lookout for you, asking questions. Doc never stopped searching. He checked in with me throughout the evening. I tried to get him to stay, to eat something, but he refused, muttering something about a tattoo, blaming himself. It didn’t make sense to me.”

      The ache bubbled north now, up into my throat.

      “Doc even went to the Carhart’s—twice. I was with him the second time. I’ll tell you, that Millie Carhart is one cool cucumber. She could have won an Oscar for her Norman Bates-style innocence. I hope they lock her up and throw away the key.”

      “Millie is insane.” There was no other explanation for a woman of such extremes.

      Aunt Zoe squeezed my shoulder. “Doc was there when Cooper led you out of the Carharts’ place, you know. He tried to get to you, but the police restrained him. At the hospital, they allowed only family through. Natalie sneaked in—she used to date one of the policemen guarding your door.”

      I raised my eyes to the ceiling and sighed. God, this was going to hurt like hell.

      “Sweetie,” Aunt Zoe waited for me to meet her gaze before carrying on. “I don’t know what’s going on between you and Doc, but that man went through his own personal hell Friday until you were safe in the hospital. At the least, you need to call him back and thank him.”

      Stiff as Wild Bill’s bronzed bust, I whispered, “Natalie thinks she’s in love with him.”

      Aunt Zoe’s eyebrows drew together. “When you were a little girl, time and again I’d watch you give up whatever toy you were playing with to avoid a fight with your sister or brother.” Her voice soothing, she combed my hair back from my face. “Don’t you think it’s time to start fighting?”

      “At what cost, though? Natalie’s been my best friend since Barbie and Ken ruled our world.”

      “Only you can decide that, Violet.” She kissed my temple. “Call him.”

      * * *

      I pulled up in front of Doc’s new house, parking behind his Camaro, and killed the Picklemobile’s engine. A loud shotgun-blast boomed from her tailpipe. I cringed. Crows scattered from the trees, squawking at me as they flew away.

      A glance in the rearview mirror confirmed that my hair remained firmly wrapped in a chignon, my lip gloss was still shiny, my bruises still mostly covered. Grabbing the keys, I stepped out onto the sidewalk and faced the task in front of me. There was no avoiding this, especially since Doc was sitting on the front porch steps, waiting, watching, glowering.

      He was probably still pissed about earlier, on the phone, when I’d cut him short. I’d called to set up a time to hand off the keys this afternoon and hadn’t wanted to carry on over the phone, especially with Jane sitting across from me at the table, drinking her way through my celebratory lunch. Divorce was a bitch. All the more reason not to let this thing between Doc and me go any farther.

      I avoided his glare, skirting him, literally. My lavender sundress swished against his shoulder as I climbed the steps. “Ready?”

      “You’re late.”

      “Sorry, I had to take care of something before coming over.” Jeff Wymonds’ house was officially for sale now, Calamity Jane Realty sign in the yard and all. Lucky for me, the jerky-loving oaf wasn’t there to talk any more about sowing his stupid oats when I went to plant the sign in his grass. Next on the docket was Cooper’s place, but first I had to say goodbye to Doc and his house keys.

      The floorboards creaked as he came up behind me while I unlocked the door. I pushed the door open and held out my arm for him to go ahead. “Welcome to your new home,” I said, trying to really mean it, banana-wide smile and all.

      “Shut up, Violet.” Doc grabbed my arm and dragged me inside, slamming the door behind us. The dining-room windows rattled in their frames for a moment, then silence cocooned us.

      The scent of fresh-baked cookies and floor wax met us in the foyer. I glanced into the living room, noting the carpet weave crisscrossed with steam cleaner tracks. A vase of fresh daisies sat on the mantel. Damn, Mona was good.

      “Well?” Doc asked, still holding onto my arm.

      I met his glare and gulped at the fury there. Ugh, I wasn’t ready for this. “I wonder if they left the bird bath behind.” I pulled my arm from his grasp and headed through the dining room toward the kitchen and patio doors.

      Doc followed on my heels. “Why haven’t you answered my goddamned phone calls for the last three days?”

      “It’s only been two days.”

      “Almost three,” he said, grinding the words between his teeth.

      I padded into the kitchen and stopped. The polished hardwood floor shone like glass under the bright can lights. The appliances gleamed, the counters were crumb-free. My kids would scuff, scratch, and fingerprint this room within a day.

      “Violet?”

      I could feel his warm breath on the back of my neck. There was no avoiding this. I turned and met his dark gaze. “I needed some time to think about how to handle things—like you.”

      “Have you made a decision?”

      “I think so.”

      He leaned back against the pantry door, crossing his arms over his chest. His jeans hung low on his hips. His brown T-shirt pulled snug across his shoulders and biceps, tempting me with what lay beneath.

      “Let me guess,” he said. “You think we should stop seeing each other.”

      Was that what we were doing? Seeing each other? Officially? “Yes.”

      “Is this about Natalie?”

      I nodded. “And the kids.”

      He stared at me, his face a hard, brooding mask. “Any other reasons?”

      “My job. My boss thinks mixing clients and sex is bad business.”

      “Right, your boss.” He cocked his head to the side. “Isn’t she in the midst of her second divorce right now?”

      “Third.”

      “Exactly. What else do you have?”

      “Well, there’s you.”

      “What about me?”

      “You believe in ghosts.”

      “And you still don’t?”

      “I don’t know.” Prudence really rocked my world. How could Doc and Wanda both know her name? “How well do you know Wanda Carhart?”

      “I met her that one time at her house with you.” He pushed away from the pantry door and took a step toward me. “Why? Does she think you getting involved with me is a bad idea, too?”

      “Listen, smartass,” I started.

      He closed the gap between us. “No, you listen.”

      I waited, listening, hands on my hips. The Doc-smitten parts of my body tingled, darn it. “What?” When he continued to drill me with a fierce stare, I added, “I’m listening.”

      “Never mind,” he said and grabbed my shoulders. His lips swooped in, stealing a kiss, and then another, and then a third. I tried to fight the flood of hunger and lust and need, but he tasted like sweet forbidden fruit, and I was a sucker for strawberry wine and peach schnapps.

      My arms snaked around his neck, drawing him closer. He groaned. His hands smoothed down my ribs, spanning my hips. His tongue toyed with mine, teasing, tasting. My head spun as a dust devil of want and longing destroyed everything in its path.

      When he pulled back we were both huffing.

      “What about that?” he asked.

      “What about what?” My husky voice matched his. Within seconds, he’d knocked down almost three days of wall building. I was hopeless. I couldn’t fight it. Fuck.

      “You know exactly what. There’s no controlling that. Believe me, I’ve tried. It’s not going to go away.”

      “That’s another reason this has to end.”

      “Jesus, Violet. Aren’t you just a little bit curious to see where this could go?”

      “I know exactly where it goes, Doc. I’ve taken this road before. It always ends up with me alone.” I poked his chest with my index finger. “If things don’t work out for us, what do you lose?”