The Babbling Brook Naked Poker Club - Book One (32 page)

As I lay there after Devi and I said good
night to each other, both my head and my heart ached. But although
it had been difficult and painful to talk about Daniel, I wasn’t
sorry I’d told Devi the story. Now, all I could do was hope it
would do some good.

Devi

The day Mac drove me home from the hospital, I’d had five days to
think about Josephine’s story, and I’d decided to take her advice
and end the stupid (Josephine’s word) impasse between Mac and me.
I’d just been shown how tenuous life could be, and I didn’t intend
to waste another minute.

Mac still looked tired, although he’d had a
few days to catch up on the sleep he missed while he held on to me.
I remember a feeling during that time, like sliding into space and
then floating. There was no bright light, but I wasn’t afraid, and
I quite liked the floaty sensation. Then I heard Mac’s voice and
there was a jerk, and I was no longer airborne but solidly back
inside myself. And there was pain. Blotting out everything until it
all went mercifully black.

When I finally came to, my hand was in
Mac’s, and I knew. Knew he’d been there all along. That I’d been
aware of his touch, although I hadn’t known what it was.

In some cultures, if you save a life, you
become responsible for that life. I didn’t want to lay a burden
like that on Mac, but I did want him to share the life he’d
saved.

A life I was now free to live without fear
of my past. While I was still in the hospital, word came that the
Chicago police had completed their inquiries a month ago, and
William’s death had been labeled accidental. In his plea deal,
Harry admitted that was what pushed him to come after me. Up to
then, he’d expected me to pay for his brother’s death by being
charged with at least manslaughter.

Mac brought me the news, and I’d known,
without him saying it, that he was expecting me to return to
Chicago to pick up the life I had there. But the past can’t be
picked up like a piece of knitting. And even if it could, I can’t
ignore the stitches added in the past year.

The truth is, I don’t want to go back. If I
did that, I might end up like Josephine, living with regrets.
That’s why Josephine told me the story, of course. And I know that
if I don’t let Mac know how I feel about him, it will be my biggest
regret.

Mac won’t ask me to stay, just like Daniel
never asked Josephine. But there’s nothing preventing me from
saying something. This is the twenty-first century, after all.

Mac pulled into the parking lot of my
apartment building and came to open my door. I was still moving
carefully, although everything is healing well. Sometimes, instead
of hurting, I itch so badly it makes me gasp. The doctor told me
that’s a sign my nerves are reconnecting. I’ll be very glad once
they’ve managed it.

I stepped out of the vehicle and then nearly
doubled over as one of those not-quite-reconnected nerves sent a
bolt of pain through my midsection.

“Devi. Are you okay?” Mac grabbed me,
sounding panicked, and as far as I know, Mac never panics.

I took a breath and straightened, but
instead of stepping away from him, I stepped closer and leaned into
him with a sigh of relief.

“It’s just a cramp. If I can stand here for
a moment . . .”

Mac encircled me with his arms and continued
to support me, and I laid my head on his shoulder and put my arms
around him. I caught my breath, although this time, it wasn’t
because of a pain.

“Devi?” he said.

“Shut up, Mac, and kiss me.”

He did.

There was a wolf whistle from some where.
And a voice yelled, “Get a room.”

I rarely see my neighbors, so I had no idea
where they’d suddenly popped up from. I ignored them and so did
Mac, but I could feel that we were both smiling.

“Devi,” he said, his lips still touching
mine. “What are we doing?”

“Getting better acquainted, and I must say,
it’s about time.”

“Could we do that inside? It’s freezing out
here.”

“You do know my parents are waiting for us,
along with Josephine and Lillian?”

He pulled his head back, looked at me, and
sighed.

“So,” I said. “It will take some ingenuity
to continue this . . . umm . . .
conversation.”

Shaking his head, he pulled me closer, but
he did it carefully. “I believe when a situation calls for it, I
can be ingenious.” His breath tickled my ear.

Smiling, I kissed his cheek, then took his
hand, and together we walked inside to face the people who loved
us.

Josephine

I left the hospital several days ahead of Devi, but Lill and I
visited her every day. Often, Mac was there. I didn’t know if he
was taking leave, or whether he simply stopped at the hospital
whenever he could take a break from apprehending shoplifters and
the like.

On one visit, Mac told us Harry Garrison had
been released from University Hospital into the custody of the
Hamilton County sheriff, and since he was considered a flight risk,
was denied bail. Mac also told us Dillingham had traced Harry’s
movements and found he’d been scoping out the area for two days,
waiting for an opportunity to attack Devi.

When Devi went to the bakery, apparently
Harry decided the early hour and nearly empty parking lot presented
the perfect opportunity to shoot her and then get away, since the
bakery is less than a mile from the interstate.

If Mac hadn’t been there that morning, very
likely Harry would have succeeded—a thought that still makes me
shudder.

Mac’s partner, Detective Dillingham, was the
one who clarified Devi’s status with the Chicago police. Yes, they
had wanted to interview her again. But even without that, they’d
determined that the presence of a gun registered to William proved
Devi had acted in self-defense. Mac did pass on a reprimand to Devi
for her precipitate departure from Chicago, but he also said the
investigating officer had admitted that her leaving was a
reasonable reaction to Harry’s threat.

When the director of the Winterford Art
Institute learned about all the circumstances leading to Devi’s
abrupt departure, he called and offered to reinstate her. But she
told me she can’t go back. Too many bad memories there; too many
good ones here. And let me be the first to admit, that was a huge
relief.

I’m also relieved I don’t have to worry that
Devi is going to make the same mistake with Mac that I made with
Daniel. The two of them are forging a solid friendship. If it
hasn’t already blossomed into love, it soon will. I see how they
look at each other when they think the other one isn’t looking.

As for me, I’ve decided to stay at
Brookside, at least for the time being. For one thing, Lill is
here. For another, Mr. Souter is gone, and the new manager is a
lovely woman we’ve all warmed to immediately.

One of the first things the manager did was
bring in a new chef, and the food is vastly improved. That might be
the deciding factor in my staying here, since I’ve never enjoyed
cooking for myself.

There was only one loose end dangling when I
was released from the hospital, but it was a biggie. My son,
Jeff.

He and I met, and he finally gave me the
details of what happened to the estate. He’d made a risky
investment that left him desperate and ashamed. He apologized for
his actions in admitting me to Hopesprings, but like Eddie, I don’t
know if he’s sorry enough to attempt to improve his character. I
can only hope so.

But while I question his true contrition, I
don’t question that at least some of what he did was an attempt to
follow what he thought were his father’s wishes. I don’t condone
that, but I do understand it, and I forgive him, or I will
eventually. Because, you see, I am not without fault in the
fracturing of our relationship. Besides, I find that I owe him an
enormous debt of gratitude.

If he hadn’t moved me into Brookside, I
would never have met Lill and Devi and Mac, and my life would not
be nearly as rich as it has now become.

<<<>>>

I hope you enjoyed the novel. I’m also hoping you’ll be willing to
take a few minutes to share your opinion with others. Having a
minimum number of reviews is a requirement for me to be able to
publicize the book on book discovery sites. Reviews need not be
elaborate. Although longer reviews are preferred, even a brief
statement of your opinion helps prospective readers find the
book.

Thank you so much!

The books Ann loved most as a child were those about horses. After
reading Mary O’Hara’s Wyoming ranch stories, she decided she would
one day marry a rancher and own a racehorse—although not
necessarily in that order.

Since it was clear to Ann, after reading
My Friend Flicka
and
Green Grass of Wyoming
, that money could be a sore point
between ranchers and their wives, not to mention racehorses don’t
come cheap, she decided appropriate planning was needed. Thus she
appended a “rich” to the rancher requirement.

But when she started dating, there were no ranchers in the offing,
rich or otherwise. Instead, Ann fell in love with a fellow graduate
student at the University of Kansas. Not only does her husband not
share her love of horses, he doesn’t even particularly like them,
given that one stepped on him with deliberate intent when he was
ten.

After years in academia, Ann took a turn down another road and
began writing fiction. Her first novel,
Dreams for Stones
,
was published by Samhain Publishing on Christmas Day 2007, and has
now been re-released in electronic and print formats. The
protagonist is both a university professor and part-time
rancher—proof perhaps that dreams never truly go away, but continue
to exert their influence in unexpected ways.

Those unexpected influences have continued to play a role in Ann’s
succeeding books, including this one.

Although writing a novel requires solitude, no book gets published
in isolation. Of the many people who have contributed to the
process for this novel, I’m especially thankful to the
following:

Delores Warner, who provided invaluable expertise to ensure the
Graphoanalysis details in this novel are correct. Any errors in
interpretation are mine. Thank you so much, Delores.

Pam Berehulke, who ensures that my grammar, punctuation, and
timelines are perfect, although since I have a tendency to tinker,
errors may have tiptoed their way in after Pam gave the book her
imprimatur. If you should find an error in this novel, be assured I
introduced it. Mea culpa, Pam.

All my early readers/ reviewers, who have helped in the final
polishing of this novel: Christopher Foreman, Juli Townsend,
Margaret Johnson, Judy Carpenter, and the members of the Women’s
Fiction Critique Group on Writeon.com: Gail Cleare, Poppy
Gillespie, Katie O'Rourke, DJ Dalasio, Kate Murdoch, Jennie Ensor,
Caroline Fraser, Muriel Canfield, and Karin Davies.

And to all those who have written to comment on my stories,
especially those of you who have told me my novels have been a
source of comfort or distraction during tough times, thank you!

My gratitude as well to all those who have posted reviews. Your
kindness helps me to make others aware of my novels.

And above all, thanks to my husband who lights up my life and makes
it possible for me to be a full-time writer.

I hope you enjoyed
The Babbling Brook Naked Poker Club – Book
One
and will want to keep in touch with me. I can assure you
it’s a lot easier than this!