Here With Me (7 page)

The man took his time chewing while he looked
George up and down. Finally, he swallowed. “My wife tells me
congratulations are in order.”

The man had said it nice enough. “Thank you,
sir,” George replied. Uncle Louis looked like he could use the
extra pounds that his wife was carrying. And with his bald head and
fair skin, George bet the thin man took red in the sun. He turned
to Pearl. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to wash up before we
eat.”

She nodded toward the side door. “Through
there and then down the hall. It’s the second door on the
right.”

George found the way easily enough and
slipped quietly into the small room. He’d seen the flush toilets at
the store so that didn’t surprise him but the gold handles on the
sink took him back a peg. He pulled one forward, then the other,
and when the water was warm, he squirted some fancy-smelling soap
out of a bottle that sat on the edge of what had to be a marble
sink.

Damn, these folks were rich.

He scrubbed his hands. Melody Song’s baby
would want for nothing. That is, nothing except a father. He rinsed
the soap off and then shut off the water.

He eyed the green towel hanging on the hook
and almost hated to get such a fine thing wet. However, since the
alternative was his trousers, he reached for the fancy cloth. Once
his hands were dry, he reached out and flipped the switch on the
wall, the way he’d seen Melody’s grandmother do when they’d entered
the dining room.

The small room went completely dark.

He flipped it again. Light.

Back off, then on, and back off again. It was
magic and it made him feel like a little child. For the hell of it,
he flipped it twice more before he opened the door.

Melody, her arms crossed, her head cocked to
the side, stood three feet away, her back against the wall. “Having
trouble with the light?” she asked. She pointed to the quarter-inch
of space between the floor and the heavy door. “From this angle, it
looked like it was flickering.”

“It’s fine,” he said, feeling like a fool. “I
wanted to wash up before the meal,” he added, praying that she’d
let it go.

“Grandmother and Aunt Genevieve spirited you
away before I could introduce you to Bernard.” She stepped a foot
closer and lowered her voice. “He’s anxious to meet the man who
stole my heart.” She didn’t look happy. “This is harder than I
thought,” she whispered. “Are you sure we can pull this off?”

He wanted to tell her that he’d spent the
last six months acting, that this was just one more performance,
one more lie.

After all, he’d successfully posed as the
town drunk while he’d searched for the three men who had raped and
killed Hannah. He’d found the first one, already on his deathbed
from consumption. That man had led him to Mitchell Dority, the
second man, and ultimately to Sarah and John Beckett. Within weeks
of arriving in Cedarbrook, he’d watched Dority get shot by an angry
father, half-crazy with rage after Dority had raped his
seventeen-year-old daughter. The bastard had bled to death before
George could question him about the third man.

At least pretending to be Melody Song’s
husband gave him something new to lie about.

“Your grandmother seems like a fine woman,”
he said.

Tears filled her pretty dark blue eyes and it
made his stomach lurch. He hadn’t meant to make her cry.

“I hate it that she’s sick,” Melody
whispered.

“I suspect she hates it, too,” he said. “But
she’s dealing with it. I think the rest of the family can only do
the same.”

“Bernard said that she’s been like her old
self these last couple days, every since she heard that we were
coming.” She reached out and touched his arm and he felt the jolt
clear to his toes. “We can’t let her know that this is a lie. We
just can’t.”

She had nice hands. Her nails were painted
with a lighter pink than had been on her toes. Even in her
trousers, she was so feminine, so delicately built. “It’ll be all
right,” he said. “Go and dry your tears,” he said. “It won’t do for
her to think that you’ve been talking to your husband and that he
made you cry.”

She took a step toward the privy but then
stopped, her face serious. “I don’t know what I would have done if
you hadn’t volunteered to come with me.”

“You’d have figured something out,” he
said.

She shook her head. “I don’t think so. If I
haven’t said it yet, thank you. I really appreciate everything that
you’re doing.”

“It’s my pleasure,” he said and meant it. It
was
nice to think that she’d been the reason that he’d been
pulled forward to this time. That maybe helping her was a chance to
make up for the despair and hatred that had consumed him after
Hannah’s death. “I’m glad I could—”

“What are you two doing back here?”

Melody jerked back so fast it was a wonder
she didn’t knock her head against the wall. George turned and saw
Tilly at the end of the hallway, her hands on her ample hips.

“I. . .uh. . .we. . .” Melody stammered.

He turned back toward Melody. Well, she was
no good at pretending. No wonder she’d been worried.

She ran a hand through her hair. “I. . .mean,
we were just—”

George did the only thing he could think of
to shut her up. He kissed her.

It was a brief brush of his lips across hers.
It should have meant nothing but when he heard the catch of her
breath and felt the warmth of her skin, it made him think about
things that he hadn’t thought about in many months. And when she
put her hands on his shoulders and pulled him even closer yet, he
felt his own skin heat up.

“How sweet.”

Melody jerked away from him.

He looked over his shoulder at Tilly. She
didn’t look like she thought there was anything sweet about the
situation. In fact, she looked like she’d eaten a sour pickle, and
he realized that she didn’t take the trouble to guard her feelings
so carefully when Pearl wasn’t around.

“I’m sorry to delay the meal,” he said,
embarrassed that his own voice was a little shaky, “but I couldn’t
miss the opportunity to spend a couple minutes with my wife.”

“Oh, please. Can we just get this meal over
with?”

“We’ll be along shortly,” he said. He stared
at the woman until she turned and walked away. Then he turned back
toward Melody. She looked pale and she had her hands clasped so
tight in front of her that her fingers were white.

“I apologize,” he said. He’d had no right to
take such liberties.

“Oh, no,” she said, shaking her head. “You
saved me from myself. I never have been able to handle Tilly. She
always seems to know how to push my buttons.”

Push her buttons
? He didn’t understand
the words but the meaning was clear enough. It made him want to
shake the woman for giving Melody even one moment of grief. “Worry
can’t be good for your child,” he said. “Just forget about your
aunt. I’ll take care of handling her.”

She studied him. “Others have tried.”

“Trust me,” he said.

“I do,” she said. “Maybe more than I should.
There’s something different about you, George. Something I can’t
quite get my arms around.”

Her arms had felt just about right when
they’d been wrapped around his neck. “Nothing much here, Melody.
I’m just a man about to enjoy a meal with his wife and her
family.”

She didn’t look convinced but nor did she
press the issue. She put her hand on his arm and pulled him toward
the dining room. “Well, then, we better hurry. It’d be a good idea
to get to the chicken before Tilly does.”

***

She had been kissed before
. Melody
tried to remember that as she passed first the chicken, then the
potatoes and the green beans, and finally the fresh-baked bread.
With her plate full to the edges, she focused on her food and tried
to ignore that her heart was beating too fast and that the tips of
her fingers tingled.

Thankfully Grandmother had put George
directly to her left. If he’d have been across the table, if she’d
had to for even one minute look up and see those eyes and that
mouth, she might make a fool out of herself.

It had to be hormones. In the last few
months, she’d read just about every book ever published on the
topic of pregnancy. All of them said it. Pregnancy caused normally
well-behaved hormones to pitch a fit. Well, when she finished
eating, she was going to bring her stuff in, unpack her books, and
find the one that explained exactly how to get the little renegades
back in line.

She maybe could have understood her reaction
if it had been a
push-you-up-against-the-wall-and-stick-my-hand-under-your-shirt
kind of kiss. But it had been sweet. Nice. Gentle.

“Melody!”

She dropped her fork. It clattered when it
hit the thick edge of her plate. She looked across the table at
Bernard. The man was frowning at her.

Oh, boy. Had he seen that she was practically
squirming on her chair? “Yes,” she said.

“Honey, I said your name three times. Where
were you?”

Half-way there. And with just a kiss.
Amazing. “Just enjoying Bessie’s cooking,” she lied. “What did you
say?”

“I was asking whether or not you might be
able to help with some data entry—we’re way behind on our computer
work. Gino had a girl from town helping but she broke her hand.
He’s maybe too proud to ask for help but I know I could use
it.”

“Where is Gino?” she asked. Generally, at
mealtime, both Bernard and Gino joined the family.

Louis leaned forward in his chair, gave
Bernard a deliberate look, and then focused his attention on
Melody. “Hopefully making sure those field hands of his don’t wreck
anything else.”

She looked at her grandmother but the woman’s
face was carefully neutral, as if what she cared most about in the
world was spreading butter on her roll. Melody felt, more than saw,
George shift in his chair, and knew that he’d picked up on the
hostile undertone.

“What do you mean, Louis?”

“A couple of them ruined one of our trucks
last week. Evidently there’s no word for oil in Spanish,” he added
sarcastically.

“They’re migrant workers, Louis,” Tilly said
as she dumped another big scoop of potatoes onto her plate. “What
do you expect?”

Aunt Genevieve made a choking sound.
Grandmother gave her sister a warning look and then carefully laid
down her fork. “Tilly,” she said, “they are not migrant workers.
Most of them have been with this family for more than ten
years.”

“Well, you’d think they’d have learned a
little of the English language by now. Live in America, speak
American.”

Melody looked at both her grandmother and
Bernard, who was shaking his head in disgust. “I’d be happy to
help.”

“I knew I could count on you,” Bernard said.
He pointed across the table. “Pass me that chicken, George.”

He dutifully picked up the plate and passed
it. Melody couldn’t help but notice the nice shape of his hands,
his broad fingers with nails trimmed short. When he’d shaken her
hand the night before at the beach, she’d felt the rough texture of
calluses on his palm.

This morning, she’d woken up with the feel of
his hand against her cheek. Her bed had been empty but it was as if
his warmth, his gentle strength, had lingered about her. That’s
what had driven her to almost jump out of bed, rush through her
shower, and literally throw her things in the trunk of her car. The
only thing she’d been really careful with had been the photograph,
the one that had hung in the office that she and Sarah had shared.
It had been found in the trunk of Sarah’s car when the vehicle had
been discovered parked at the beach more than a year ago.

It was a simple-enough scene. A cowboy in a
long leather coat, his foot perched on a stump stood watching a
woman who warmed herself in front of an open fire. The woman’s back
was to the camera but the cool evening sun, half-set behind the
mountains, had offered the photographer just enough light to
capture the man’s profile.

The picture had a haunting sense of longing
about it. Sarah had loved it, though, and Melody had not wanted to
leave it behind in her empty apartment.

“If there’s work for me to do,” George said
unexpectedly, “I’d be glad to help, too.”

Melody started to assure him that it wasn’t
necessary but stopped herself. The man would be bored silly sitting
in the house with Grandmother and Aunt Genevieve. She watched as
Grandmother looked to Bernard for instruction.

The older man, the man who’d been as kind to
her as any father or grandfather could have been, cupped his
weathered chin with the palm of his hand and considered George.
“I’ll speak to Gino,” he said after a minute.

Louis took a sip of water. “Maybe he could
help you, Bernard. You’re always complaining that you’ve got enough
work for two people.”

Bernard didn’t even answer and an
uncomfortable silence fell over the table. Out of the corner of her
eye, Melody looked at George. No doubt he was regretting his offer
to play husband. She had tried to warn him.

Grandmother smiled at George. “It’s kind of
you to offer, George. I’m sure we’ve plenty to keep you busy. I
know I could use some help with one of my chores. You don’t happen
to have any experience with animals?”

George nodded. “Some.”

“I’ve always kept a few riding horses but. .
.well, lately it’s been a struggle to give them the kind of
attention that they’re used to. Do you ride?”

George sat up straighter in his chair. “I
have,” he said.

Tilly, who’d been wiping her plate clean with
a piece of bread, paused. “I thought horses were finicky. That it
takes them a long time to warm up to anybody new. Exactly how long
are the two of you planning on staying?”

With a loud scrape, Aunt Genevieve scooted
her chair back from the table. She stood up and whistled, and the
cat, which must have been under the table, jumped from the floor to
the woman’s skinny shoulder.