The Carson Springs Trilogy: Stranger in Paradise, Taste of Honey, and Wish Come True (66 page)

Ian wouldn’t have left if it hadn’t been an emergency, Gerry knew. A ceiling had collapsed on one of his murals, and he’d gone off to salvage what he could.

She shook her head in amazement even so. “Who’d have thunk it?” Even Gerry, who’d championed them from the beginning, hadn’t pegged him as father material. For one thing, Ian was fifteen years Sam’s junior … and for another, he was an artist—a roving one, at that. But he’d proved himself to Gerry’s satisfaction. As far as she knew, this was the first Lamaze class he’d missed.

“The day we bought the crib, he was up half the night assembling it.”

“A far cry from before.” Gerry was thinking of Sam’s late husband, who could charm the birds from the trees but had scarcely lifted a finger around the house.

The delicate lines around Sam’s eyes and mouth were creased in irony. “Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about what my mother used to say: There’s a lid for every pot. If that’s true, I spent a lot of years rattling around with one that didn’t fit.”

Gerry sighed. “I can relate to that.”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong—I loved Martin. You know that. But …” Sam’s voice trailed off, and she gazed sightlessly toward the bar, where a football game was in progress on the TV and a man in overalls sat propped on a stool nursing a beer. “I guess we only get what we think we’re owed, and I didn’t put a very high value on myself in those days.”

What am I owed?
Gerry wondered.

She sipped her scotch. At the pool table in back, Jimmy DeSoto was having words with Luis Martinez, while a short distance away Melodie and her friend had gone from slow-dancing to barely swaying to the music. They were so closely entwined you couldn’t have fit a playing card between them.

Gerry’s mind drifted once more to Aubrey, and she felt warmth spread through her that wasn’t entirely due to the scotch. She thought of last night, how he’d undressed her inch by inch, taking it so slowly that by the time she was down to her panties, she’d been begging for it. Even then, he’d taken his time, holding back until she was nearly ready to come. Oh, what that man could do to her! If she didn’t get a grip—

She became aware of Sam eyeing her intently. Did it show? But her friend only asked, “Any word from Claire?”

Gerry shook her head, feeling the warmth recede. “I think I might have scared her off for good.”

“How so?” Sam smiled, clearly not believing it.

“I’m not the ogre her parents painted me to be.” Gerry remembered how defensive she’d gotten whenever the subject came up.

“I can’t imagine why they’d think that.”

If her friend had one fault, Gerry thought, it was that she had a hard time finding fault in others. “I suppose they see me as a threat.” She sipped her drink, frowning.

“It’s not like you’re out to steal her away. She’s a grown woman, for heaven’s sake.”

“My point exactly.”

Sam pondered this for a moment. “People usually see in others what they don’t want to look at in themselves. If her parents feel threatened, it’s probably because deep down they’re afraid they didn’t do the best job raising her.”

“A comforting thought,” Gerry said darkly.

“Oh, don’t get me wrong—they loved her, that much is obvious.”

Gerry looked down at her glass, which she was surprised to see was nearly empty. She felt only a mild buzz. “I can see that. I just don’t know how happy she is.”

Sam sighed. “She seems … I think unhappy is too strong a word. More like lost.”

“God, what I wouldn’t give to turn the clock back!” Gerry gripped her glass with such force, it was a wonder it didn’t shatter. “Tonight it was all I could do not to march over to poor Christina and tell her what a huge mistake she’s making.”

“It might not be for her,” Sam said softly, her eyes large with sympathy.

“She should know, that’s all,” Gerry went on in the same low, clenched voice, “what it’s like waking up night after night to a baby you heard crying that isn’t there. And all the time, wondering how she’s doing and if she’s happy. If only—” Her throat closed.

“You’re raising two beautiful children.” Sam spoke firmly, her face seeming to shimmer amid the haze of cigarette smoke that hung in the air. “You have nothing to beat yourself up about.”

Gerry drained her glass and set it down with a hard clunk. “Can we talk about something else? This is in danger of turning into a country-western song.”

She glanced over at Melodie. On the jukebox Shania Twain was crooning about a broken heart as Melodie and her friend stood entwined in the shallow amber glow cast by the lights over the pool table. Her head was tipped back and he was kissing her. Gerry felt a tingle of remembered pleasure, imagining it was Aubrey’s lips on hers.

“I didn’t tell you the latest.” Sam tactfully changed the subject. “It turns out Hector’s family is coming to the wedding after all. Aunts, uncles, nieces, nephews, cousins—not one of whom speaks a word of English. Laura has no idea where she’s going to put them all.”

“I could take one or two,” Gerry offered.

“Thanks, I’m sure she’ll appreciate it.” Sam’s gaze strayed to Melodie; then she quickly looked away—as if remembering when she’d been fodder for wagging tongues.

“By the way, did I mention Aubrey was coming?” Gerry had told Laura, but hadn’t gotten around to letting Sam know. Probably because she’d feared the response she was getting now.

Sam wore a knowing smile as she tipped her mug back. “Well, it’s about time.”

“Don’t get any ideas,” Gerry warned. Just because he was going to be her date at the wedding, it didn’t mean they were closing in on the altar themselves. “Things are perfect as they are.”

Sam arched a brow. “For now, maybe.”

Gerry didn’t like where this was heading. “Even if I wanted more—which I assure you I
don’t
—Aubrey Roellinger is the last man on earth I’d marry.”

Sam sat back with a puzzled look. “I don’t get it. You seem so perfect for each other.”

Gerry gave her a sage wink, realizing that perhaps she
was
a little drunk. “I make it a habit never to share my bed with more than one person at a time.”

“I take it you’re referring to his wife.” Sam could be naive at times, but she wasn’t blind.

“To say he’s not over her is putting it mildly. He can’t even talk about her.”

She thought about the way his eyes would go dark at times, as profoundly and completely as lights being switched off in a shuttered room. The few times he’d spoken of Isabelle, Gerry had gotten the impression he was only pretending, for the sake of those who wouldn’t have left him alone otherwise, to be getting on with his life. Unlike Sam, who deep down must have been relieved when Martin died, Aubrey guarded his grief like buried treasure.

“It takes time.” The sorrowful note in Sam’s voice reminded her that, despite everything, she
had
loved Martin.

“Believe me, a lifetime wouldn’t be enough.” She felt envious. Not of Isabelle herself, but of his devotion. To have been loved so deeply …

Sam’s hands were folded primly on the table in front of her. Her expression made it plain she wasn’t buying it. “It wouldn’t kill you, you know.”

“What?”

“If you
were
in love.”

“Love? What’s that?” Gerry gave a cynical laugh.

“Funny. You did such a good job of selling
me
on the idea.” Sam was reminding her of how relentlessly she’d campaigned on Ian’s behalf. “Now that the shoe’s on the other foot …”

“It’s different with me. I’m only sleeping with the guy.” Gerry spoke lightly, but she knew it wasn’t that simple—she
could
fall in love with Aubrey given half a push. “Besides, if what happened to you is anything to go by, I should be running for the hills. Face it, Sam, as much as you’re going to love this baby, your days of peace and quiet are over. Me? I plan on fading gracefully into middle age.”

“What are you talking about? We’re middle-aged now.”

Gerry tossed her head. “Speak for yourself.”

The two women shared a laugh.

Across the room, Melodie and her current beau were sitting quietly at their table sipping drinks and smoking cigarettes. Jimmy and Luis had quit arguing and gone back to playing pool, and the man at the bar was on his second beer. The jukebox clicked and another song was loaded: an oldie but goodie, Herb Alpert’s “A Taste of Honey.”

Gerry signaled for the check.

The morning of the wedding was cool and overcast. Gerry had had her doubts about an outdoor ceremony this time of year, but by the time she and the other guests had been ferried by four-wheel drive up the dusty track behind Laura’s ranch to the hilltop where the ceremony was to take place, the skies had magically cleared.

She looked about, marveling at the unobstructed view. Nothing but grass and trees rising and falling in gentle waves, and the green heart of the valley stretched out below. Several miles away, atop the neighboring hill, stood the convent, which from this distance resembled nothing so much as a medieval walled fortress. She watched an acorn-size cloud of dust inching its way up the narrow ribbon of road—Sister Josepha, no doubt, back from her weekly expedition into town for groceries.

The mountains beyond seemed almost close enough to touch: Sleeping Indian Chief and Toyon Ridge, sugared with snow, and to the south and west Two Sisters’ Peaks and the anvil-shaped Moon’s Nest. The shadows of the few remaining clouds glided like silent gray barges over the sun-drenched foothills below.

She turned to Aubrey, who stood at her side, his hand resting lightly against the small of her back. “I can’t think of a nicer spot to get married.”

“My sentiments exactly.” In jeans and a navy sport jacket—Laura had specifically requested casual attire— he was the picture of casual elegance. Even his hair fell with just the right touch of louche over the jacket’s hand-stitched collar. He pointed to the mountain at the northernmost end of the valley. “What’s that one over there?”

“Sespe—Chumash for kneecaps.” she told him. “See how it looks like someone squatting?”

“Not very romantic.”

“Oh, I don’t know. He could be getting down on his knee to propose.” She could joke like this with Aubrey, knowing he wouldn’t get the wrong idea.

“In that case, we’ll never know what her answer was.” In the sunlight his eyes, creased with amusement, were the clear golden brown of the creek meandering in and out of the willows below.

It occurred to Gerry that they were suspended in the same way. Two people who’d found temporary shelter in each other’s arms and would never progress past that point. The thought made her sad. Maybe it was the occasion—or the image of those eternally frozen lovers. Either way, she found herself wishing for something more; maybe not what Laura and Hector had, but enough to bring comfort on nights when the joy of a bed all to herself paled in comparison to someone snuggled beside her.

“Don’t look now,” she leaned close to whisper, “but we’re being watched.”

Alice Carpenter was coolly observing them from the shade of a nearby live oak where she stood with her husband Wes—Ian’s father. A few feet from Alice and Wes, Anna Vincenzi sneaked surreptitious looks at them as well.

Aubrey didn’t appear the least bit ruffled. “You’d better get used to it. I have a feeling this is only the beginning.”

“It’s not like they’ve never seen me with a man,” she said.

He arched a brow. “Should I be jealous?”

“Wildly.” She never knew when Aubrey was kidding. He certainly wasn’t the jealous type.

“At least your private life isn’t grist for the tabloids.”

“I wonder what they’d say about
us
?” She smiled.

“Oh, they’d probably have us secretly married by now.” His brown eyes sparkled with humor. “Or at the very least engaged.”

Gerry allowed herself to imagine it: Aubrey and her. Then the image faded, and with it any silly romantic notions today’s occasion might have dredged up. She felt vaguely irritated. She hadn’t minded his teasing in the past, but suddenly wished he wouldn’t say such things.

She looked over at her children. Andie, in a blue knit dress with rows of sparkly studs in each ear, curving in moonlike crescents, appeared to be giving some kind of pep talk to Finch, who looked darkly exotic in a long-sleeved cotton dress that in the breeze billowed about her ankles. Justin stood kicking at a dirt clod a few yards away, looking uncomfortable in his new jacket and chinos and more than a little bent out of shape that there was no one his age.

What did they make of Aubrey? She’d had him over for dinner last week, and they’d both been so well behaved—almost to a fault—but she couldn’t tell if they’d liked him or not.

She wondered for the dozenth time if bringing him had been such a good idea. Wasn’t it making a statement of some kind? And come to think of it, what
about
the tabloids? Sooner or later they were sure to get wind of her.

Alice and Wes wandered over. In her pleated cream trousers and chocolate blazer, a scarf artfully knotted about her neck, Sam’s younger daughter might have stepped from a Ralph Lauren ad. She glanced from Gerry to Aubrey with a knowing look. No doubt she’d drawn her share of such looks with Wes, who was a good deal older.

Alice kissed her on the cheek before extending a hand to Aubrey. “Hi. I’m Alice Carpenter.”

“I recognize you from the photo.” Aubrey was quick to explain. “I came across one from your wedding that your mother had forgotten to take with her.”

Alice smiled up at Wes. “We were married last summer.”

“Now
that
was one hell of an occasion.” Wes chuckled, and Gerry knew he was referring to Finch, who’d crashed the reception and nearly ruined it.

“And here we all are again.” Alice sighed. “Frankly, I never thought I’d see the day.” She turned to Gerry. “Remember when we were kids, how my sister used to follow Hector around like a puppy? He always pretended not to notice, but he’d have to have been blind not to. Wonder what took him so long to pop the question.”

Gerry remembered years ago when Hector, a skinny eighteen-year-old speaking no English and without even a green card, had shown up on Sam’s doorstep. Sam had taken him on as a hired hand, and he’d been with the family ever since.