A Marriage Between Friends (11 page)

When had he lost sight of his goals? How could he have kissed Jill twice when so much was on the line?

Maybe I love her.

Vince halted, his feet firmly on the ground. He didn’t do love. This was about lust. Fascination. Jill was just some girl he’d felt sorry for in school, someone who didn’t avoid his company or ignore him if he sat down next to her. If Vince loved her, he would have gone after her all those years ago.

But it would be nice to have what Sam and his wife, Annie, had…

As if anyone could love him.

Spinning on his heel, Vince shook off the romantic notion and barreled past the well-lit garage on his way to the shadowy driveway. He craved darkness, was nearly consumed with the need to disappear. Anything would be better than having to face Jill’s continued rejection. He got enough of that from his grandfather.

As Vince passed into the gloom, someone bumped into his shoulder, sending his heart into overdrive. Vince reached out and grabbed hold. A pipe clattered onto the gravel drive, smoke rising from it in a big angry puff. Something small and white nipped and yapped at his ankles.

“Holy mackerel,” Edda Mae said as Vince set her away from him. She was once more in her pink robe and slippers. “You grabbed me like a bear in heat.”

“Looney!” Vince warned, bending to retrieve Edda Mae’s pipe, his nostrils filling with tobacco smoke.

Moonbeam danced out of reach with a reproachful growl.

“Did you and Jill fight again?” Edda Mae took the pipe and knocked it against the garage wall. The smoldering tobacco fell to the ground.

Instead of answering, Vince ground the tobacco into the earth with his boot.

“I thought so. Come along then, boy.” Edda Mae led the way back to her cottage.

Moonbeam followed, prancing sideways to keep one eye on Vince, who had no intention of tagging along. He needed to be alone. He drew one deep breath and then another, listening to the delicate click-click of the little dog’s progress and the slower crunch of gravel beneath Edda Mae’s feet.

“On a night like tonight with no moon you’ll most likely twist your ankle heading down that hill.” Edda Mae stood framed in the doorway to her cottage, welcoming light spilling out toward him. “Of course, it’s your choice. Won’t hurt my feelings none if you decline my offer.”

The cold mountain wind taunted the branches above him. It really was too dark to go traipsing about. But if Vince went inside he’d have to act civilized.

“Well? Are you going to make me stand here all night?” she huffed.

“No,” Vince grumbled. “But I’m not having any of your whiskey.”

“Your loss. It’s good medicine against bad dreams.” She eyed him once before stepping into the cottage. “Not that you’d ever be plagued by those.”

Vince wasn’t in the mood to give anything away.

“Was it Teddy or the casino or both?” Edda Mae asked once she’d placed his steaming mug of coffee next to him and taken her seat with her mug of whiskey, Moonbeam on guard at her feet. “Won’t hurt you none to tell me.”

Vince took a sip of coffee, knowing it would burn his tongue. “Milch?” he choked out, his tongue rough against the roof of his mouth. It wasn’t how he preferred his coffee, but it beat spilling his guts to Edda Mae.

She took his mug and disappeared into the kitchen. Moonbeam watched him with those beady little eyes of hers, lips twitching as if she was barely keeping herself from growling at him.

“I fixed it up real nice,” Edda Mae said, trundling back out. “With milk and sugar. It’s obvious you can’t take the hard stuff. Must be the way they raise them in Nevada. Jill’s the same.”

Vince couldn’t believe Jill liked her coffee diluted and sweet as candy. Vince dutifully took a sip of the tan concoction. Ugh. “This is perfect.”

Edda Mae made a disappointed noise. “You’re usually a better liar than that.”

“Nobody lies about coffee.” And to prove it Vince took another sip. But all the thick liquid did was coat his mouth and injure tongue. He set the mug down.

Edda Mae sat silently watching him. Moonbeam was still as a statue. A tree branch rubbed against the house. There was nothing to do but reach for the coffee again. Vince took another sip of the too-sweet brew, and then another when Edda Mae still stayed quiet. At a loss, Vince cradled the mug and returned her stare.

Edda Mae sighed and rubbed her wrist beneath the sleeve of her chenille robe. “I used to lie to myself when my husband was alive. And I kept things from him—little things, such as letting him think I had baked a cake when I had bought it. And big things, too. I kept myself from him, not opening my full heart, keeping secrets inside. I thought we’d have forever, but that wasn’t to be, so I am left with…”

“Looney?” Vince supplied, trying to lighten the moment.

Edda Mae gave him her squinty-eyed gaze. “Part of knowing who you are is knowing what you want, and to do that you must be honest with yourself and others. A choice must be made. Since you don’t like dogs, you could end up old and alone with just money for company. Is that what you want?”

Edda Mae’s observations were a little too close to the mark. If Vince didn’t negotiate a deal and his grandmother passed away, his grandfather would be on his own, surrounded only by people he paid to be there. Living by himself and denying his feelings was fine when Vince was twenty-eight, but he suddenly didn’t want to be so much like his grandfather when he reached eighty. Perhaps it was the effect of the brief time he’d spent with Jill and Teddy, or perhaps this feeling had been there all along, lying dormant. Vince didn’t know.

“You’re in love with Jill,” Edda Mae proclaimed.

“I’m not what she needs,” Vince said, setting down the mug and standing, ignoring Moonbeam’s warning woof. They had history, but he didn’t love her. Jill was too fragile. If she couldn’t face her own past, how could she possibly be strong enough to face his? Much less forgive him—for dishonoring their wedding vows, for being a coward on so many levels.

“You say this after one day spent arguing—”

“No.” Restless from too much self-awareness, Vince headed for the door.

“Then you will continue down different paths,” Edda Mae said sadly.

“You’ve got that right. We’re getting a divorce.” Vince left. He had to take care of Number One.

From this point forward, Jill is off-limits.

Jill’s apartment was quiet and dark. She’d left a lamp on in the living room for him. His back spasmed at the thought of another night on Jill’s short, lumpy couch. Vince paced the floor, avoiding the kitchen. No one else knew Jill the way Vince did, no other man could get her to open up the way Vince could. But Jill wanted a divorce. Vince knew she’d find the right guy someday.

Keep your eye on the casino.

Only, the thought of another man possessing Jill angered him, caused him to wheel about aimlessly.

One thing was certain—he wasn’t taking Teddy on that rafting trip. Jill wanted him out of her life and Teddy’s. It was time he respected that and moved on, went to stay somewhere else. Maybe then he’d get his head straight.

What would he say to Teddy in the morning? He’d become fond of the little guy. Maybe Jill would let Teddy come visit him in Vegas.

On Vince’s third lap around the room he noticed the permission form for the father-son rafting trip on the dining-room table. He grabbed the sheet and half crumpled it before he realized that Jill’s signature graced the bottom.

Vince could have walked away from Jill in the morning, but he couldn’t disappoint Teddy.

W
ITH HER HIGH SCHOOL
yearbook in her lap, Jill listened to Vince prowl around her home. She sat nestled in her dormer window, angling the book toward the citrus candle that lit the room on the small table to her left. The glossy pages held few memories for Jill. She hadn’t been much of a joiner and neither had Vince. In his senior picture—with his tux, classic good looks and reserved smile—you couldn’t tell much about him.

Photos of Craig were everywhere. He’d lettered in football, basketball and baseball. He’d been on the student council and had been crowned Homecoming King. Although Jill remembered him as an example of all-American wholesomeness, looking at Craig’s pictures now, she saw something almost sad in his smile, as if he was just pretending to be happy for the camera.

Jill had always feared confronting Craig someday, knowing she’d be an emotional wreck. She’d played the scenario a thousand times in her mind. She’d stutter, her eyes would fill with tears and she’d have to run away before breaking down completely in front of the man who’d stolen her virginity. But tonight, gazing at Craig’s young face and thinking about what Vince had told her, Jill felt none of the bitterness, none of the helplessness. She supposed she had Vince to thank for that. That was why she’d signed the form for Teddy, as a token of her appreciation, even as she hoped Teddy wouldn’t be more enamored of Vince than ever after the rafting trip.

But she couldn’t stay married to Vince. Oh, she’d like to stay married to him if she could go back to having an absentee husband and forget about the casino.

But she couldn’t. She’d miss Vince when he was gone. She enjoyed sparring with him, relished his dimpled smile, cherished the warmth that crept into his eyes when he looked at her (and they weren’t arguing).

Jill turned her attention back to Vince’s senior picture. He had beautiful eyes—deep brown when he laughed, black when they kissed. Perhaps if they weren’t pitted against each other on this casino, they could have enjoyed the friendship he seemed so intent on having with her.

Friends with benefits.

Jill’s body tingled anew as she recalled Vince’s chest pressed against hers, his mouth claiming hers. She’d be in control and they wouldn’t even have to complete the deed. There were other ways to guarantee pleasure—hers and his. If only she could believe that Vince wouldn’t go back on his word when things got too heated; if only he wasn’t a shrewd businessman who couldn’t be trusted.

After years of celibacy, years without looking at a guy with more than a fleeting moment of interest, Jill burned with longing for one man. The one man she shouldn’t desire.

Her soon-to-be ex-husband.

“R
EMEMBER WHAT
we practiced this morning,” Vince coached Teddy as he adjusted the boy’s life vest straps.

Dappled sunlight covered the narrow bank where pairs of dads and sons gathered. Most sported life vests over short-sleeved T-shirts. Vince wore a long-sleeved shirt beneath the vest he’d borrowed from Jill. Jimmy, Arnie’s nephew, caught sight of Vince and gave him a tight nod, his scar defiantly on display.

Teddy grinned. “Pokémon is for babies. Spiderman may not be as strong as the others, but he’s smarter than the rest.”

“Good. And?”

Behind them several father-son pairs dragged their yellow inflatable rafts into the water with startled shouts at the mountain river’s cold temperature.

“The Oakland Raiders rule football. Shaq kicks butt in the NBA, and…and the Yankees buy baseball championships from…China?”

“Japan. But that’s close enough. High five, buddy. You’re ready.” Vince waved to Arnie when the other man caught his eye.

“Have you ever played cards?” Vince gestured for Teddy to pick up the other end of the raft.

“Go Fish?”

“Blackjack? Poker?” Teddy was such a quick study he’d be a natural.

“Nope.” Teddy shrieked as one foot tested the frigid river. He backed up several steps, tugging the raft with him. “That’s too cold.”

“Yeah, well, you wanted to go.” Vince glanced around at the other boys braving the water.

Teddy saw them, too, but he wasn’t quite ready to try again. “My grandma and grandpa own casinos. Mom says gambling makes money seem more important than it really is.”

“Does she?”

Teddy shielded his eyes from the sun and looked at the first few rafts as they disappeared around the bend. “Don’t say anything about gambling to Mom, okay?”

“Okay.” He’d limit their arguments to casinos. “Now get your butt in that river.”

J
ILL STOOD
in front of the dining hall with Edda Mae after having buzzed the first of their guests through the gate. She missed Teddy by her side.

He’d been a live wire at the news that he was going rafting with Vince. It made Jill smile to remember the way he threw his skinny arms around her and yelled thank-you about a dozen times. On the other hand, she and Vince had hardly spoken.

“Where’s Moonbeam?” Jill asked. Shady Oak seemed unnaturally quiet without Vince and Teddy.

“In my cottage.”

Jill could see Moonbeam’s little nose pressed against the front window. The dog liked to climb onto the top of Edda Mae’s wing chair and look out. Thankfully, Moonbeam would only growl if someone came too close to her roost.

They both wore Shady Oak–emblazoned navy polo shirts and jeans that had seen better days as they watched a caravan of cars and SUVs fill the parking lot. They’d spent a hectic morning baking, rolling cutlery in napkins and going over the schedule—anything to help Jill prepare for a week without Edda Mae. With the temperature in the midseventies and the sun only occasionally hiding behind the clouds, it was the perfect day for a drive in the mountains. Their guests should arrive in a good mood.

The credit-union managers stepped out onto the gravel in new blue jeans, twisting and stretching after their long drive. They hefted computer bags as they approached Jill and Edda Mae. Heaven forbid they should leave their equipment in the car. Out of habit, Jill counted twelve men. She squared her shoulders, feeling a newfound confidence.

“Welcome to Shady Oak. I’m Jill and this is Edda Mae.” For once, Jill’s smile didn’t feel guarded. “We’ve got your room keys here and the dining hall set up for your afternoon meetings, complete with homemade cookies, coffee and soda.”

“Fantastic. I’m Spencer Silva.” A burly man with a shaved head stepped forward and shook Jill’s hand. His belly hung over the waistband of his crisp jeans and his sneakers glowed with a brightness only new shoes could boast. He glanced at his watch and then turned back to the group. “We’re right on schedule. We’ll start in an hour.”

“I have no signal.”

“Me, neither.”

Jill clung to her smile. The absence of a wireless signal sent some people into withdrawal. “You’ll find your cell phones and PDAs won’t work here. We’re fifty miles away from the nearest transmission tower.”

“I told you,” Spencer said. “We’re here to work—without interruption.”

There was a definite restlessness in the crowd. Jill promised every client that isolation was a team builder, not a cause for mutiny, but there was always this first moment of doubt.

“We’re not completely in the Stone Age. We have DSL cables available in each of your rooms for computer hookup, as well as in the dining hall. There are phones in your room and there’s a pay phone beneath the stairs to your left.” Jill’s cheeks were starting to hurt. “If you need to use your cell phone or PDA, you can drive into town and park at Railroad Stop’s Museum and Pizza Parlor. That parking lot has been found to be the best location for receiving a signal.” By her parents.

“Fantastic. I’m sure we won’t need to take a drive just to check our messages.” Spencer’s tone made this more than a suggestion.

“Is there an Indian casino close by?” asked a blond man too young to be in a management position. He had startling blue eyes and a grin that had probably gotten him more than a job.

“No.” Jill’s smile slipped a notch. She almost expected to turn around and see Vince clapping because someone was supporting his agenda.

The sun slid behind a cloud.

“We have a full schedule,” Spencer said. “No time for excursions.”

“But if we wanted to go in the evening, how far would we need to drive?” A few more years in the corporate world and the blond probably wouldn’t be so persistent.

“Henderson.” Spencer frowned in warning.

Or maybe young Henderson was just a pain in the ass who’d never learn, never change and never be promoted. Jill sent up a silent apology to Henderson’s mother and then gathered all her patience as she prepared to deal with the issue.

“The nearest casino is down in Jackson. Fifty miles of winding road there and another fifty back,” Edda Mae piped up before Jill could speak. “The Highway Patrol like to sit on the outskirts of Jackson and ticket drinkers, and the ones they don’t get sometimes end up in the ditch at Dead Man’s Curve.”

Henderson smiled at Edda Mae. “You’re pulling my leg.”

“
Pah.
Wouldn’t disrespect you like that. We’ve only just met. But you look barely old enough to vote, much less gamble.”

The group laughed, including Henderson, and the tension dissipated, but Jill couldn’t help but recall Vince saying that her business would benefit from a casino.

“C
OME ON
, T
EDDY
,” Pete, a roly-poly boy with a freckle-faced grin, shouted over his shoulder as he ran back toward the water. “Let’s skip rocks.”

“Can I?” Teddy bit his lip and turned to Vince as if he needed his permission.

“Of course,” Vince said, an odd feeling blossoming in his chest as he watched Teddy race after his new friend.
So this was what it felt like to be a dad. A good dad.
He couldn’t wait to tell somebody about it. Vince felt important, as if he’d somehow managed entry into an exclusive club he’d been banned from for a long time. It made his soggy clothing and aching muscles much easier to bear.

They were at a picnic area on a slow bend in the Mokelumne River. Arnie was working with some of the other dads to start a fire in the fire pit. Vince had been told they were going to cook all their food over an open flame. A meal of blackened hot dogs and melted marshmallows wasn’t gourmet, but it wasn’t something Vince had ever experienced, either.

He smiled as he surveyed the boisterous group. Several dads were comparing stories about going over the dwindling, rocky rapids so late in the season. Some of the older guys grimaced and moved stiffly, when they moved at all.

Some of the older boys were tossing a Frisbee near the water’s edge. And then Vince’s gaze fell on Jimmy, sitting by himself and drinking a soda at a picnic table not far from where Vince stood.

“If you want to look so bad, here.” Jimmy thrust his arm toward Vince.

“I’m not staring.”

Jimmy huffed, clearly not believing him. “What you see is scar tissue. What I see is my sister right before my father killed her.”

Oh, God.
It made Vince’s scar seem like a scratch in comparison. Without taking his eyes from Jimmy’s, Vince approached him. “How old?”

“She was seven.” The words came out on a hoarse whisper despite the I-don’t-care curl to Jimmy’s lip.

“No. How old were you?”

“Ten,” Jimmy admitted mulishly, running a hand over the puckered skin on his arm.

Vince stopped a few feet from Jimmy’s bench. “You must have been very brave.”

“She died,” he retorted.

“I was twenty-five, serving my first tour in Iraq, when a bullet tore through my arm.” Vince resisted the urge to roll up his sleeve, clamped down on the memory of gunfire and the way he’d frozen, becoming an easy target. This wasn’t a game of who had the more gruesome injury or the more brutal recollections. “I look at your arm—at
you
—because I admire your courage. The fact that you don’t hide your scar…” Or his painful past. “That makes you a man in my eyes.”

Jimmy studied Vince’s long sleeves with curiosity and a grudging respect Vince didn’t feel he deserved. And he knew his bare arm would never see the light of day again.

“Hey, Jimmy!”

“Jim-mee, come play Frisbee.”

With a curt nod, Jimmy rejoined his friends, looking back only once.

“D
ID YOU HAVE FUN
?” Jill asked when the apartment door opened around nine-thirty Sunday night. Her guests were safely tucked up in their cottages after several productive hours of meetings and an abundance of good food and wine. She’d heard no more grumbling about the absence of cell-phone service or nearby casinos.

Teddy rushed over and gave Jill a hit-and-run hug before falling onto the couch. “It was awesome.”

Vince came in, walking like John Wayne.

“Everybody loved Vince. He makes the best weenie on a stick—it’s mostly black and crispy. There’s a trick to it. He taught me so the next time our guests have a bonfire I can roast weenies for them.” Teddy paused for breath. “Only I need to get just the right stick. You’ll help me find one, won’t you, Vince?”

“Sure.” Vince stopped to lean over a chair as if he was in desperate need of support.

“What happened to you?” Jill would not feel sympathy for Vince.

“We went over the rapids,” Vince grumbled.

“That’s what you do when you go rafting,” Jill pointed out, trying not to smile.

“Teddy started to bounce a little too much and I—”

“I almost fell out of the raft. Vince saved me.” Teddy rolled over on the couch, still on a natural high. He stared at the ceiling, no doubt reliving some thrill from earlier in the day. “It was so cool.”

Jill swore her heart stopped beating. She never should have let Vince take Teddy. Vince didn’t have enough experience on the river. She was halfway to Teddy before she realized she’d moved.

“There’s not a scratch on
him.
I ended up on the bottom of the raft with Teddy in my lap,” Vince explained.

“And we hit a ton of rocks,” Teddy filled in. “Again and again and again. Water went everywhere.”

Jill took in the way Vince was standing, his stance too wide, a death grip on the chair back. “Do you need an ice pack?”