Stand-In Wife (11 page)

“That’s a great idea.”

“I do have them occasionally.”

“Don’t get prickly. I’m surprised I didn’t think of it, that’s all.”

“Because you’re the sensible one.” Old wounds, reflex reactions. She’d had therapy for this, damn it. “Forget it, I’m
tired…you are, too.” She tried to smile. “So Linda actually had a couple of Kodak moments with the kids?”

“Believe it or not, she was a different person with them.”

“Is that why she was still getting playdates after your separation?”

Merry shrugged. “With Charlie living there, the children were going to see her anyway. And frankly, I needed a break sometimes…it’s hard being a single parent.”

“Tell me about it.”

Her sister gave her a strange little smile—tight, almost pained. “You know what’s funny about this situation? How many times did I beg you to swap places when we were kids? I was so hooked by those books,
The Tricksy Twins
— Tess and Terri. I always wanted to try your life but you never wanted to try mine…and now you’re stuck with it.”

C
ELL TO HIS EAR
, Ross filled his water bottle from the U-shaped faucet in Linda’s designer kitchen in preparation for soccer training, and listened to Tilly’s other uncle wax lyrical about his new Ford truck.

“Three liter, four-cylinder,” said Dan. “Turbo.”

“Farming’s paying then?”

“The Ute’s an investment.”

Ross snorted. “Is that how you sold it to your bride?” He packed the water bottle into the sports bag on the gleaming white marble counter.

“What do you mean?” Dan was all hurt innocence. “Jo helped choose it.”

“That explains the reinforced steel cage and bull bars.” Ross teased Jo mercilessly about her driving.

His buddy laughed. “Torque peaks at 1800 rpm which gives it great lugging power. Hauls up to 3000 kg.”

“If the suspension’s tuned for load-carrying, how’s the road ride affected?” Ross pulled out his rain jacket, glanced at the overcast sky through the kitchen window and replaced it in the bag again.

“Pretty good. Wishbones and coil springs up-front…solid axle and leaf springs rear.”

“Shame the model’s got a hood like a storm trooper’s helmet.”

“You’re just jealous.”

God it was good to relax his guard. Talk about stuff that
wasn’t loaded with moral dilemmas. Ross carried his bag out to the SUV. All day he’d kept Viv’s secret from Charlie and all day he’d felt dirty.

Briefly he considered telling Dan—Shep to his former troop mates, short for Good Shepherd. The twins’ level-headed sibling would soon toss a nice bucket of ice-cold reality over their harebrained scheme, and Ross would be off the hook. Except he’d given Viv his word. She might have elastic ethics, he didn’t.

“So, you get hold of Viv last night?”

“No,” lied Ross, hating the woman who’d forced him to it. Dumping the sports bag in the trunk, he slammed it shut. “Guess my friends holidaying in New York will have to pay full price for Broadway tickets like everyone else.” He opened the driver’s door. “Shep, I have to go but I need you to do me a favor. The boss wants to sign me up for advanced instructors courses.”

“Congratulations. Obviously, the old man considers you leadership material.”

Ross paused with his hand on the ignition. “Have you been inhaling too much methane on that farm of yours?” he demanded. “I’m a combatant, always have been. You know that. Put a word in for me will you? You were always one of the CO’s favorites, he’ll listen to you.” He turned the key and the engine roared into life.

“Ice,” Dan said slowly. One word to hold so much emotion. Regret, apology, defiance.

Ross turned off the engine, forcing himself to articulate the unthinkable. “Except he already has listened,” he rasped. “Hasn’t he?”

Dan cleared his throat. “Jo and I were in Auckland for a checkup.” His bride was a cancer survivor. “I called in to see everybody and the CO requested a word. He asked me if I shared his concerns for you. Did you want me to lie?”

Why the hell not? Your sisters have no trouble doing it!
His lungs felt constricted, he had to struggle to breathe. “If I was frickin’ one-legged, Dan, I’d still be more use on patrol than any recruit I train to take my place!”

“His concerns aren’t about your physical fitness. You think I’m the only person who’s noticed this is about reprisal?”

“And if it is?
You
of all people should understand it.” Dan hadn’t been with his patrol during the ambush and his survivor’s guilt had nearly derailed his wedding.

“The best revenge is not letting tragedy destroy your life.”

“You needed some kind of emotional catharsis to get you through, but I don’t. Let me make peace with it my way.”

“Peace?” There was a snort from the other end of the line. “Mate, you’ve been slow-burning with rage from the moment you regained consciousness in a German military hospital. Would you arm an angry man and send him back to a war-torn region where there’s already too many angry men bent on thoughtless, reflexive violence? Is that what the SAS stands for?”

“So, what are you suggesting?” Ross challenged. “We walk away with our tails between our legs?” He clenched his jaw. “Let Steve’s and Lee’s deaths signify nothing?”

“Going Rambo isn’t going to serve you or the future unit you’re assigned to. We don’t make war personal.”

“What about our friendship…isn’t that personal?” He could barely speak. One of his best friends had stabbed him in the back.

“Yeah, which is why I can’t stand by and—”

“
Screw you,
Dan.” Ross cut the connection, slammed the steering wheel with the flat of his hand. For a long time he sat staring through the windscreen at the garage door.

At last he stirred.

Lying in a hospital bed, working through rehab, Ross had kept his sanity by setting goals. To stand, to walk. To run. Fight it, fight the futility, the sense of powerlessness. Hopelessness. Find solace in action. In purpose. With a mighty effort he distanced himself again now. What did Dan know?

He needed to do damage control, undermine his former buddy’s credibility. Ross glanced at his watch. The CO was still at HQ. He’d go there now. Quickly, he phoned Meredith’s cell. Busy. He left a brief message for her impersonator.

“I can’t make soccer but I’ll come by later to sort things out for tomorrow.” He stopped himself from adding, “sorry.”

S
HE WAS NEVER
ever going to rely on Ross again.

The school field was still soft from winter rain and green with spring growth. Mud splattered the kids’ trainers as Viv warmed them up with jumping jacks, so she sent her fourteen-strong team on a jog around the field, while she stood in the middle under an overcast sky with the sports kit of balls and marker cones and racked her brain for appropriate drills.

Tilly hadn’t seemed surprised when Viv told her Uncle Ross wasn’t coming. “He always backs out of stuff now. That’s why Mum had to take over coaching. Uncle Ross used to do it.”

The kids came back too soon, eager to begin the real stuff and Viv bought more time with yoga stretches. In team shirts obviously meant to be grown into, they were puppy-dog keen and exuberant from being cooped up in class all day.

“Can we get the balls out soon, Mrs. Coltrane?”

“Mrs. Coltrane, do I have to be goalie on Sunday, I wanna be the striker.”

“I can only stay for the first half of practice, Mrs. Coltrane, so can we do the practice passes first?”

Viv surrendered to the inevitable and got a soccer ball out of the bag. “Sure, Karl—”

“Kyle.”

“Kyle,” she amended. “Everyone get in a circle and we’ll pass the ball to each other.” She hadn’t bothered to learn the rules of soccer because Ross was going to be here. Only he wasn’t here. One cryptic message as she was leaving the house. And no time to go back to Plan A.

The circle formed and she threw the ball to Kyle, who caught it with a look of surprise. “Pass it on,” she encouraged him.

“With our hands?”

Viv looked at Tilly who scowled.

“Only the goalie can touch the ball, remember, Mum?”

“Just seeing if everyone’s paying attention,” Viv said, and added jokingly, “You’re all on the ball today.”

They looked at her blankly. Damn Ross.

“We need a few balls for this drill,” Tilly prompted.

“Sure.” Viv grabbed another couple.

“Meredith.”

She straightened to see Charlie crossing the field with Harry. The baby looked like the Michelin man in a padded rain jacket and gum boots with a Bob the Builder logo.

The last thing she needed was a witness to training. “Hey, I wasn’t expecting you until later.”
Please don’t be here to watch.

“How’s the game going, kids?”

Viv said quickly, “Tilly, take over for a couple of minutes while I talk to your dad.” Tossing the balls into the circle, she steered Charlie out of earshot. “Anything wrong?”

Harry held out his arms to her. “Iv.”

“What’s that,” said his dad, “a new word?”

“Wind.” Grabbing the baby she put him down and pointed to the sports kit. “Go get the balls out of the bag, sweetie.” Harry didn’t need any more invitation.

“Look, I’m sorry but something’s come up at the Sycamore Street job,” said Charlie. “The owner’s requested an emergency site meeting.” In team shirt and track pants, Viv shivered in the wind, wishing she’d remembered a rain jacket. “I can’t take Harry to a construction site,” Charlie reasoned, “and Ross isn’t answering his cell. You’ll have to take him.”

She stared at him. “I’m training the kids for an hour.”

“Thank God you’re superwoman then, huh?” Charlie looked at his watch. “While I remember, I told Mum’s bridge club there was an open invitation back to the house after the funeral. You might have to order a few more club sandwiches from the caterer…I’d do it but—”

“But it’s easier to palm it off on me.” Viv curbed her temper. “Look, I understand it’s a terrible time for you but stop treating me like I’m still your wife. You left, remember? And frankly, Charlie, you shouldn’t have treated me like your personal assistant when we were married, either!”

He blinked. “But you offered to help with the funeral.”

“And I am helping. I’ll take Harry, if there’s no other option, but
you
phone the caterer with your extra requests.”

Charlie looked hurt. “It isn’t like you to get het up over a simple request.”

“Well, maybe you walking out on the family changed me,” she snapped.

“I wasn’t the one who—”

“Save it, Charlie, I’ve heard it all before.”

“Mrs. Coltrane?” Kyle, Karl, whatever the heck his name
was, ran over panting. “Tilly says I have to drop and give her twenty…do I?”

“No, Kyle, you don’t…I really must go back to using my maiden name,” Viv added.

Charlie’s lips tightened. “I’ll leave you to it,” he said crisply. “And I’ll go write my mother’s eulogy.”

She refused to feel guilty. “Like I said, I’m happy to help out in this difficult time, but there are limits, Charlie. You set them, not me. The name of the catering company is Bite Delight,” she added. “They’re in the phone book.”

Without another word Charlie turned on his heel. Viv stared after him, then took a deep breath and glanced toward her charges.

It looked like a hostile game of British Bulldog—the team was lined up on one side facing Tilly who’d found a whistle and was blowing it so hard, her face was red with the effort. The little girl opened her mouth and the whistle fell. “You have to do what I say. V—Mum left me in charge.”

Oh, great.

And where was Harry? For a moment Viv couldn’t see him and her heart stopped with terror, and then she caught sight of a bald head among the soccer balls—he’d climbed into the bag. Viv ran over and scooped him up, resisting the urge to yell at him for giving her such a fright. If anything happened…

He gave her a gummy smile. “Iv,” he said.

R
OSS CAUGHT A DRIFT
of choir music as he opened the gate to Meredith’s house at five-thirty. It swelled to a hymn as he approached the front door, a blending of angelic voices. He made out the words, “To save a wretch like meeee.”

He hoped God was feeling benevolent, because after his afternoon, Ross wasn’t in the mood to forgive anyone.

Supporting Charlie through Linda’s death was already sucking time away from his rehab schedule. Dan’s betrayal meant it would take everything he had to convince the CO he was combat ready. Except the boss was out of town, pressing the flesh in government circles in a bid to avert cuts to the defense budget. Unavailable until next week. Ross didn’t need this farce on top of everything else, but Viv had left him no choice.

He was a dangerous man with his back to the wall.

His profession had taught him that preparation was everything so he figured he’d assess Viv’s strengths and weaknesses and compensate accordingly. However erratic her behavior, even the chaos theory had some predictability, if not of outcome, then of pattern. That didn’t mean he had to like it.

Feeling manipulated, frustrated and aggrieved, he pushed the doorbell.

No one answered. The music was probably too loud. He tried the handle; it turned. The house was a bomb site and as a demolitions expert, Ross knew bomb sites. His sense of grievance grew. In the living room, he found Tilly curled on the couch in her pajamas, her hair wet, reading
1001 Pictures of Adorable Cats.
Harry sat beside her with a bottle.

At least the kids looked cared for. “How was soccer practice?” Ross called above the hymn.

Without looking up from her book, Tilly shrugged.

Harry dropped the bottle and held out his arms, gurgling something indecipherable.

Ross picked him up. “At least someone’s pleased to see me.”

Tilly didn’t respond. This kid could reverse global warming when she had a frost on.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t make practice.”

She turned the page.

“When I’m redeployed, I’ll go back to the way I was, I promise.”

She looked at him with a seer’s eyes. “No, you won’t,” she said.

Ross gave up. “Where is she?”

Tilly pointed and, carrying Harry, he followed the music to the bathroom.

“Iv,” the baby said proudly.

Ross stopped dead. “No, buddy, now is not the time to learn new words.”

“Dog,” Harry offered.

“Better.”

The door was ajar, he saw a flailing arm and hesitated, but Harry, no respecter of privacy, had already planted his tiny palms against the door and pushed. It swung open. Viv stood in front of the mirror, her right arm swinging like a maniacal metronome.

“Through many dangers, toils, and snares, I have already come.”

His heart sank.

“No thanks to you,” she said tightly, still marking time. “Down…across, up.” She still wore her soccer training gear, and had obviously been caught in a rain shower because both the navy shorts and T-shirt clung damply to her body and her ponytail dripped down her spine. Mud splatters dotted her shapely calves. Through the semitransparent white T, Ross got an eyeful of the leopard-print demibra he’d last seen wrapped around Salsa’s paw and made a mental note to lecture Viv about deep cover. At least there was one positive to this mess—he could stop feeling like a pervert.