Marry Me (38 page)

"It's not a crime to be forty-two," he said, "but it
is
a crime to lie to me. And it's an absolute crime to have a couple of kids you don't claim, to have been married over and over, but to pretend that you haven't been."

"I've never been married"—she was prepared to deny to the bitter end—"and I don't understand why you're acting like this." She motioned to the sofa by the hearth. A cozy fire burned in the grate. "Let's sit down, and you can tell me about your trip."

She moved as if to herd him over to the sofa, but he pushed by her and went to the bedroom. She followed, glumly watching as he riffled through the drawers and closets to be sure he hadn't forgotten any items.

"What are you doing?" She felt sick and alone.

"I can't get Merriweather to make any decisions, so we won't start construction for months. I don't need to stay."

"Where are we going?" she cheerily inquired. "Can we fly to Mexico as we planned? It's been so cold and snowy. It would be fun to lounge on the beach."

"
We
aren't going anywhere, Pamela.
I
am going to visit my mother, then I'll be in Denver—where you most definitely are not welcome to join me." As he zipped his suitcase, he actually shuddered. "Thank God, I didn't take you to meet her."

Her temper flared, and she couldn't tamp down a sneer of her own. "I'm glad I didn't have to meet the sainted woman, either."

He yanked the bag from the bed and stomped off. If she hadn't scooted out of the way, he'd have knocked her over.

She staggered after him, wondering who had tattled on her. It couldn't have been Amy. She didn't like Chad enough to speak to him about Pamela, and Chad wasn't curious enough to have searched himself. So who might it have been? Pamela couldn't imagine, but she hated the internet.

How was a person supposed to keep her mistakes private if they were on display for the whole world to see?

"The lease is up on Thursday," he informed her. It was three days away. "You can stay here until then, but don't you dare take anything when you go. I refuse to lose my security deposit over you."

She flinched as if he'd slapped her. "There's no need to insult me."

"I'm not insulting you. I'm just being honest. Don't take anything that's not yours."

He opened the door and marched out, and the entire scene was so surreal that she couldn't process what was happening. She had to physically shake herself out of a stupor to chase him into the driveway.

"Chad!" she snapped as he hurried to his car. "Let's talk about this."

"No."

"But…but…we've been living together for almost seven months."

"Yes, and it's been about six months too long for me."

He tossed his suitcase in the trunk, then slammed it with a resounding crack. For a moment, he calmly studied her, and she thought he might offer a kind farewell, that there might be an opportunity for discussion or debate.

But he said, "Tell your bitch-of-a-daughter to get out of her apartment."

"She's not a bitch," Pam fumed.

"When I come back in the spring, I better not find her still in there." He gestured to the house. "The landlord will be by on Thursday morning for the keys."

"Who told you?" she forced herself to ask.

"Told me what?"

"Who told you about my past? About Amy?"

"Chantal."

It was the last name she'd expected, and it took her a few seconds to realize he meant Dustin Merriweather's mistress.

"Chantal? Why would she?"

"She really, really doesn't like you—or Amy. Goodbye."

He got in the car and drove off without another word.

She lingered until her fingers and toes turned to ice, then she stumbled inside.

Her head was spinning with regret, confusion, and fury.

A week earlier, before they'd attended that dratted Merriweather party, they'd talked about a trip to Mexico, how they'd travel to Aspen and Vail after that. He had projects all over the Rockies, and he journeyed from place to place to check on his work crews.

He'd been happy; he'd been including her in all his plans.

She sat down in the chair by the front window, pulled back the corner of the drape and stared out at the dark, deserted street. The clock ticked over on the mantle. A log cracked in the grate.

She was all alone, and it was dreadfully quiet. Her heart was breaking. Not because Chad had left, but because she couldn't stand to be by herself. There wasn't a soul in the world she could call. There wasn't a soul in the world who would care about what had occurred.

Amy was the only person who might be the least bit interested. But if Pamela confided to Amy about Chad, Amy would say,
good riddance,
and Pamela couldn't bear to hear it.

She continued to stare, considering what she should do next, where she should go. To Vegas to start over again? The prospect exhausted her, and she lurched over to the sofa and drew a knitted afghan over her shoulders.

She was on her own—as she'd always been—and it was the saddest, scariest notion ever.

* * *

"I thought you might bring Amy Dane with you."

"Amy? Why would I bring her?"

Dustin struggled to maintain a bland expression, which was difficult. His new sister-in-law, Faith, was shrewd as a viper. She could sense the slightest lie, and when he was with her, he was constantly on guard.

She was in her wedding dress, the ceremony over, the toasts and dancing about to begin. She looked so sweet and innocent, but it was all a charade. She was smart as a whip and sly as a fox.

He'd never liked astute women, and he had no intention of letting her see how conflicted he was over Amy. It had been a month since their quarrel in Denver, and even though she'd insisted he shouldn't, he kept wondering if he should call her.

He'd actually picked up the phone one night, when he was rattling around his big, empty house and feeling out-of-sorts in a way he hated.

  She was like a thorn that jabbed at him so he couldn't get her out of his mind.

When he'd dialed her number, he'd received an auto-reply that it had been disconnected. He didn't know if he'd made a mistake in punching the buttons, or if she'd really done as she'd threatened and turned off her phone—idiotic female!—but he hadn't tried again.

Instead, he'd called the newspaper office, but no one answered there either.

After he'd bought the paper, he'd subscribed to it, and several belated issues had come in the mail. Like an imbecile, he'd read them over and over, thinking about Amy, thinking about Marge, about the two of them diligently writing the stories, drafting the ads, delivering it to customers. The past week, however, the paper hadn't arrived, and he couldn't decide what that indicated.

Had the exasperating pest quit her job? Had Marge quit, too? Wasn't the Gazette publishing anymore? He was such a pitiful owner that he didn't have another contact in the town who might check for him.  

He couldn't imagine her giving up her salary. She'd be jeopardizing the twins' security, and she wouldn't do that just to spite him.

Still…

Once the wedding festivities were over, he might drive up to Gold Creek. If he could be sure she was okay, he wouldn't be so disconcerted.

"I thought you liked her," Faith said, slipping her arm into his.

"I did. I do."

"I thought maybe you
more
than liked her."

"Let's not get crazy."

"Oh, that's right." She grinned up at him. "You're a Merriweather male. Heaven forbid that you fall for a mere woman."

"It's rare."

"It certainly is."

"How did you snag my brother?"

"Don't you know?"

"No, I never heard the story."

"I brought him to this hotel and seduced him."

They were at a small and exclusive hotel in the mountains up above Boulder. Lucas had rented the whole property for the wedding so they could have three days of private celebration.

Dustin was aware that the place had a special significance to the bride and groom, but he hadn't been told what it was.

"
You
seduced him?"

"Yes." She batted her lashes. "In Room Number 6. After I worked my feminine wiles on him, he couldn't resist me."

"And the rest—as they say—is history?"

"Pretty much." She rose on tiptoe and surprised him by kissing him on the cheek. "Thanks for coming to my wedding."

"You're welcome."

"It meant so much to Lucas to have you here."

He waved a hand, not wanting to have a maudlin discussion. "It was no deal, Faith. Of course, I'd come. Of course, I'd be here. Wild horses couldn't have kept me away."

As he voiced the lies, she didn't call him out on them, for which he was grateful. He and Lucas had never been close, but Dustin was trying, and lately, it seemed like any type of connection might be possible between them. Even friendship. Even a strong and enduring bond.

At least, he'd showed. His sister, Brittney, hadn't attended, although she'd been trapped in a snowstorm in Europe, so she'd had an excuse. His mother wasn't present, either, and she had no excuse—other than her behaving in her usual rude and condescending way.

Her loss…

Across the banquet hall, the band members were tuning their instruments, and Lucas was up at the head table gesturing for Faith to join him.

"Time to make your toasts, big boy," she said to Dustin. "Are you ready?"

"Yes, I'm ready."

He'd never been anyone's
best
man before, and he was absurdly happy and proud that Lucas had asked him.

"You better say nice things about me," she warned.

"I don't know anything but nice things."

"Ha! You liar." She squealed with laughter. "Lucas and I have no secrets."

"Uh-oh."

"He told me how hard you tried to keep him from marrying me."

"Crap."

His cheeks flushed bright red, and she winked.

"I like you anyway." She patted his chest. "Call Amy, would you?"

"Amy? Why would I call her? I haven't even thought of her in weeks."

"You're miserable without her, Dustin."

"I am not."

"Everybody's mentioned it. You're pathetic. So call her." She leaned nearer. "Maybe you can bring her to this hotel and rent Room 6. It might work wonders for your relationship."

She flashed a saucy smile and waltzed away.

* * *

Dustin turned off the motor of his rented SUV and stared at the darkened windows of the newspaper office of the Gold Creek Gazette. He climbed out and went over, cupping his hands over his eyes to peer inside.

The place was closed, the lights off, the computers off, and it was the middle of the afternoon. Where the hell was the blasted woman?

After Lucas's wedding, he'd had a perfectly good plane ticket in his pocket that would have whisked him to Los Angeles, but Faith had needled him about Amy to the point where he hadn't been able to focus during the entire celebration.

He had to see her and talk to her and…what? He'd been hoping he'd answer the question before he arrived, but now, here he was in town, and she appeared to have left. He'd figured Pamela would know where she was, so he'd stopped by Chad's house, but it was vacant, too.

Then, he'd had lunch at the diner, and he'd asked his waitress about Amy. She'd claimed Amy and Marge had moved away, but she had no idea where they'd gone.

He trudged to his SUV and sat in it for a few minutes as if waiting for something to happen, thinking their affair might end differently if he stayed there long enough.

Finally, he headed up the hill to the old mansion and clomped up the stairs to the attic.

He didn't have to knock. The door was wide open, and it was easy to see that the apartment was empty. He entered and walked around, moping, in a state of shock.

In the weeks he'd been in California, he'd received an odd bit of comfort from envisioning her puttering around, cooking supper, loafing in the window seat and gazing out across the canyon. He couldn't imagine that she wasn't here anymore. He felt as if she'd…
died
. The loss of her vibrant presence was that intense.

The refrigerator was in the kitchen. He peeked in it and was surprised to find a rude note. Someone had ripped a piece of paper out of a spiral notebook. With a marker, that person had written, SCREW YOU!!!, in big black letters, then put it on the top shelf where the milk used to be.

He was curious as to whom the message was directed. Himself—if he ever came looking for her? The landlord? The construction workers who would tear out the walls?

He grabbed the note, folded it, and stuck it in his pocket as he plodded down the stairs. Briefly, he flirted with the notion of tracking her down. It was a small town, and she and Marge had lived in it for decades. He could knock on doors until he found a neighbor with pertinent information.