Texas! Chase #2 (23 page)

"He would hang up, wouldn't he?"

"That ever happen?"

"No. Why?"

Sidestepping that question, Pat posed another.

"When did Marcie first tell you about him?"

"Let's see." He thought back. "I believe it was the night I went to her place to repay her for bailing me out of the hospital."

"How soon after that did y'all talk about getting married?"

"What the hell difference does that make?"

Chase's eyes sharpened. "What are you leading up to, Pat? These aren't random questions, are they?

What are you getting at?"

"How are you and Marcie getting along?"

"None of your damn business."

"When you walked through that door and

laid a loaded pistol on my desk, you made it my business."

"Okay, then, get to your point," Chase said crisply. "What does our marital situation have to do with an obscene phone caller?"

"Maybe nothing. Maybe everything." Pat leaned forward and placed his forearms on the edge of his desk. "Doesn't it strike you funny that he's never called when you're there?"

Suddenly, Chase had the complete picture, as though Pat had colored in the last numbered space.

Angrily, he threw himself out of his chair and made several pacing tours of the office before glaring down at the sheriff.

"You think she's making him up?"

"Is it possible?"

"No! Hell, no! That's laughable."

"But possible?"

"Wait!" Chase exclaimed. "I was there once when he called."

"You heard him?"

"No. He hung up before I could get to the phone."

"He hung up? Or did Marcie?"

"Look, Pat, what you're suggesting is way off base. It's nuts. Why would she play out such an elaborate act?"

"To win your sympathy. Get attention, affection."

"Some women have PMS and some have obscene phone calls, is that your theory?"

"It's happened before."

Chase barked a laugh. "Don't ever let my

sister-in-law, Devon, hear you say something like that. Not if you value your life."

"All I'm saying is that some women—"

"Some women, maybe. But not Marcie."

Chase said with an adamant shake of his head.

"Not her. She's the most self-sufficient, well-adjusted, both-feet-on-the-ground, pragmatic person I know."

"Now," Pat said, emphasizing the word. "But

I remember her when she was that carrot-topped, skinny kid in braces who the rest of you made fun of.

Maybe Marcie remembers those times too."

Pat stood up and rounded his desk. He sat down on a corner of it and pointed Chase back into his chair. Reluctantly he returned to his seat.

"I haven't said much about this hasty marriage of yours," Pat said. "Figured it was none of my business."

"You figured right."

Pat ignored the interruption. "Figured a grown man like you could make his own decisions and be held accountable if he screwed up. But Laurie's filled me in on the facts."

"She told you about the money?"

"Uh-huh." His expression softened. "Chase, everybody knows how you felt about Tanya.

Marcie is no exception. And even well-adjusted, pragmatic women want to be loved. They want to be loved exclusively. A woman wants to be the only one her man can see."

"Since when have you, a bachelor, become such an expert on women?"

Pat chuckled, conceding the point. "Maybe

I'm not an expert on women per se, but on cases like this I know what I'm talking about I'm not saying it's a foregone conclusion. All

I'm saying is that it's a possibility we've got to consider."

Chase met him eye to eye and firmly stated,

"You're wrong, Pat. You're dead wrong."

"I hope so. But if I'm not, why did Marcie refuse to come see me sooner?"

"She's self-reliant. She likes to take care of things on her own. And she's good at it."

"Maybe that self-reliance comes across so strongly, she needs something that makes her look feminine and vulnerable in your eyes."

"Don't quit your day job to become a psychiatrist,

Pat."

"I'm only playing devil's advocate. It's my job"

"Well, it's a pain in the backside."

"To me too." Undaunted, he proceeded.

"Why hasn't she changed her phone number?"

"That's easy. Clients might make a sudden decision on a house and need to get in touch with her. For that same reason she can't have an unlisted number."

Pat glanced beyond Chase's shoulder. "How's

Devon?"

Sensing the reason for Pat's sudden shift in topic, Chase picked up his cue. "The last time I spoke with Lucky from Houston, he said she was giving him fits. Nothing he does or says pleases her."

The door opened behind him. He turned his head. Marcie was alone. "We're finished."

"I know that was tough, Marcie," Pat said.

"Thanks for being such a trooper. I'll get that file off to Dallas first thing in the morning.

There'll be a man out to install a tap on your phone, too." He grinned at them, but Chase had known him long enough to realize that it was forced. "Be careful what you say into the telephone from now on.

Others will be listening."

"He didn't believe me, did he? He thinks I'm making it up."

In her peripheral vision Marcie saw Chase glance at her before returning his attention to the road.

Since leaving the courthouse they'd driven in silence and were now almost home.

Treetops merged over the two-lane highway, forming a tunnel lit only by their headlights.

It gave her a claustrophobic sensation, like being caught in a grotesque chamber in a fun house.

"Sure Pat believed you."

"Give me some credit, Chase." Wearily she rested her head on the back of the seat. "You're always saying how smart I am. I'm smart enough to see through your friend, the sheriff."

"He's your friend, too."

"Until tonight. Tonight he thinks I'm a hysterical female who invents boogers in the vain hope of holding a husband who married her for money and not for love." She rolled her head to one side so she could see his profile.

"Doesn't he?"

Chase fidgeted in his seat. "It's Pat's job to look at every angle. It's uncomfortable for him sometimes, especially if the role of sheriff interferes with the role of friend. He didn't like arresting Lucky for arson, but he did it because it was his sworn duty."

"Then while I was with the deputy, he did express some doubts about my mysterious caller."

"Not doubts exactly."

"Doubts," she countered. "Exactly."

They were silent for the remainder of the trip. When they reached the house, Chase went in ahead of her, switching on lights.

"You look ready to drop," he said.

"I am. As soon as I bathe, I'm going to bed." She was halfway up the staircase when she turned around and said, "Your mail is there on the bar."

"Thanks."

She hadn't known what to expect from Chase when he got home. She'd had no guarantee that he would return at all. When he did, she

wouldn't have been surprised if he had told her he was moving out permanently and seeking a divorce.

She couldn't allow herself to feel relieved that he hadn't mentioned a separation. It might be that he simply hadn't had the time or opportunity to discuss it with her yet.

She took a long bath. The hot water helped relax her tight muscles. Just knowing that Chase was in the house soothed her nerves like a balm.

But when the phone rang as she was drying off, the living nightmare began again. On the one hand she resented her caller's ability to shatter her peace of mind every time the telephone rang. On the other, she prayed it was he.

Hastily she finished drying off and pulled on a nightgown. She rushed into the bedroom to find Chase turning down the bed. "Who called?"

"Mother. Pat had called her."

"About me?"

"No. He's more professional than that. He just mentioned to her in passing that I was home. She called to say hello."

"Oh." Her disappointment was keen. "I

thought it might be… him."

"No. Come on. Get in." Chase was holding back the covers for her. She slid between them and laid her head on the pillow. The night-stand lamp was bright on her face. She reached up and switched it off.

She didn't want Chase to see her looking so

unattractive. Without makeup, her hair a mess, pale and fatigued from nights of sleeplessness, she looked a wreck. These days she resembled a redheaded scarecrow.

"It would make sense, wouldn't it?" she asked musingly.

"What?"

"For me to dream up a mystery man. You're too chivalrous to desert a woman when she's in trouble."

"Look, Marcie, if Pat wants to entertain some off-the-wall theories, that's fine. That's his job. But don't foist them on me."

"For all you know, I could be lying."

"You're not."

"We had a fight last week. You walked out without a word about where you would be or when you were coming back. And while you were away, the caller got more aggressive and threatening." She laughed, but its foundation was desperation. "No wonder Pat thinks I'm making him up. It's almost a classic case.

Pathetically classic."

"You're about the least pathetic individual

I've ever met."

"I'm falling apart. Look at me. I'm trembling."

She held her shaking hand parallel to the counterpane. "Hardly a pillar of strength and stability."

"Something like this would be nerve-racking to the best of us. In any case, I'm not going to argue with you about it tonight. You need to go to sleep. I don't think you've slept since I left."

"Not much," she admitted.

"Here, take this." He extended her a capsule and a glass of water to wash it down with.

"What is it?"

"One of the sedatives they gave me when my ribs were cracked. I was supposed to take two at a time to help me rest. Surely taking one won't hurt you."

"No, thanks. I'd better not."

"It'll help you sleep."

She shook her head no. "I'll sleep without it."

"Sure?"

"Sure."

With a small conceding motion of his shoulders he set the tablet and glass on the night-stand.

"Good night."

He had almost reached the door before she blurted out, "I bought it for you."

Chase stopped, turned. "What?"

"The house."

"This isn't a good time to go into that,

Marcie. You're exhausted."

"But I won't rest until I've made you understand why I did it."

"I understand perfectly. You tricked me into living with you in Tanya's house."

"It's my house!"

"Only because you paid for it. In spirit it belonged to Tanya."

"I discovered this house. I saw it before

Tanya ever did." She sat up. The covers slid to her lap. "Tanya wouldn't have even known about it if I hadn't brought her to see it."

"Which brings up a pertinent question. If you wanted it, why did you show it to Tanya?

Why not just buy it for yourself then?"

"Because I wanted you to live here."

He gaped at her incredulously and lifted his hands away from his sides. "Why?"

Because she had loved the house so much, and because Chase had needed a house then, she had wanted to give it to him. The only way she could do that at the time was through his wife.

After the fatal accident she had wanted him to have it more than ever, as recompense for what he'd lost.

When it became apparent that he wasn't going to occupy the house he had bought only days after Tanya's demise, a germ of an idea had begun to form in Marcie's mind.

She had purposefully let Lucky believe that the buyer of the house was someone other than herself.

From the day she became the owner, she had moved toward one goal—making this a home for Chase and living here with him. She wanted to give it to him like a gift, but without his ever knowing about it.

She had selected furniture and decor she thought he would like. She had planned everything, except attending the rodeo that night in Fort Worth. That had been a coincidence, one that she viewed as a sanction.

Fate approved of her intentions. The gods smiled upon her plan. Her years of unrequited love were finally going to be rewarded. She had been granted permission to do this. She was being allowed to make up for the accident that had robbed him of his wife.

He, however, didn't see it that way.

Now, while he stood searching her face for a plausible explanation, she considered telling him the simple truth—that everything she'd done, she'd done because she loved him, always had, always would. But it was difficult, if not impossible, to declare undying and unconditional love to someone who looked so patently angry.

"I guess I was trying to make up for your other loss, Chase," she said, her voice faltering.

"I wanted to give you back a part of it.

Obviously I badly bungled it."

Some of the tension ebbed from him. He bent his head down and rubbed the back of his neck. "I don't believe you did it maliciously."

"Thank you for that." She toyed with the hem of the bedsheets, unable to look at him without nakedly revealing her love. The last thing she wanted to be to him was an object of pity. Garnering all her courage, she asked,

"Where do we go from here?"

"Damned if I know, Marcie. The only thing

I'm sure of right now is that we're both too tired and upset to think beyond tonight." He went to the door and pulled it open. "I'll be in the next room if you need me." need you, her heart cried out. "You won't disturb me if you want to sleep here."

He looked at the empty pillow beside hers, but shook his head. "I think we should sort out the rest of this first, don't you?"

"I suppose," she said, trying valiantly to keep her disappointment from showing. "Good night."

"Good night."

After he left her, Marcie rolled to her side and drew her knees up to her chest. Tears streamed from her eyes, down her cheeks, and into her pillowcase. He would never trust her again. He felt she had duped him, and if she were being painfully honest with herself, she would admit that's exactly what she had done.