The Good Provider (14 page)

Daria looked skyward for help. “You agreed that Miranda and Hailey could accompany me to my grandfather’s if Cal needed me. My lawyer has it in writing. What is the problem, Bruce?”

“The problem, Daria, is your witch of a lawyer dropping the divorce bomb in my lap the minute you leave. Plus, there’s the whole manner of how you left. On the sly. Without telling anyone your grandfather was sick or even that you were leaving. Which leads me to believe that Cal is healthy as a horse and you’re not planning on coming back. So, I’m here to make sure that you do. Where are the girls?”

Daria’s mind was racing. She knew without a doubt William was right about keeping her pregnancy fears a secret for the time being. The last thing she wanted to do was add fuel to this contentious fire.

“They’re with Cal. He’s feeling a bit better.”

Bruce’s scowl made it clear that their absence had ruined his plan for a big, emotional reunion. “And just who the hell are you?” he asked, giving William the once-over.

Daria tried to step in front of William to shield him, but he wouldn’t let her.

“William Hughes,” he answered, smoothly slipping one arm through Daria’s so they presented a united front.

Bruce did a double take. “Oh, my, an accent. How bloody civilized,” he said snidely. He took a step closer—well within swinging distance. “Listen,
William,
that’s my wife you’re acting so chummy with. Here in America we take it kinda personal when someone tries to steal something that doesn’t belong to him. We usually call the cops, and when there’s a foreigner involved that means the INS starts asking for green cards. You got one?”

Daria’s nausea returned. William, deported? His business, his friends, his home was here. Could that happen? Did Bruce possess the clout? If not, he probably knew the right people who could pull the right strings. “Bruce. Leave him alone. This is about us, not William. He’s a friend. There’s nothing going on between us.”

Bruce glanced at William’s rental van. “That your ride? You’re what? A delivery boy? Fine, then beat it. My wife and I have things to discuss.”

Daria stomped her foot, realizing suddenly that her toes were nearly frozen. A violent shiver passed through her body. “You and I are separated, Bruce, soon to be divorced. I am not your wife.”

“You’re shivering,” William said, touching her cheek. “Hypothermia is a dangerous thing. You need to go inside. Now.”

“F— Yes,” Bruce said, shuffling a bit. “Why the hell would anybody want to live in this climate? I hate snow.”

“Then go home,” Daria pleaded. Her toes were starting to sting. The thought of warming her hands in front of her grandfather’s fire took over her brain, making it difficult to focus on what the two men were saying.

Bruce was posturing like one of those showy male birds on the science network the girls liked to watch. “Who do you think you’re dealing with, Daria? Some pussy-whipped slob who’s gonna sit on his thumbs while you do exactly what you want with our daughters? Hell, no. Get in the house and pack. There’s a return flight out of this crappy ass hellhole in five hours, and we’re going to be on it. All of us.”

“Forcing a person to go somewhere they don’t want to go is called kidnapping,” William said, pulling his phone from his pocket. “Do I need to call the police?”

“Does this Podunk town even
have
police?” Bruce replied sarcastically.

“Stop it, you two. I’m freezing. I need to go inside. I’d like you both to leave.”

Bruce laughed outright, and William looked concerned—and a little hurt. She was suddenly completely fed up with the drama, with her choices, her mistakes and her options. She marched past William to Bruce. “I never thought I’d need a restraining order, but maybe I was wrong.”

His face crumpled, his bluster vanished. “I didn’t come here to hurt you, Daria. Yes, okay, maybe I wanted to do that—at first. I got drunk and said some things I shouldn’t have, but I was just blowing off steam. You know that, don’t you? We don’t need outsiders to figure this out. We need to do what’s right for our girls. Together.” He nodded toward William. “Alone.”

William took a step closer. “With bullies, plan A is always divide and conquer. Don’t listen to him, Daria.”

Her head was throbbing, her feet hurt and her teeth were chattering. “There’s a coffee shop called The Tidbiscuit on Main Street. I’ll meet you there in ten minutes, Bruce. That’s the best offer you’re going to get today. I strongly suggest you take it.”

“Will he be there?”

She shook her head. “No. William has a plane to catch.”

Bruce checked his watch. “Ten minutes. Doesn’t leave you much time for a quickie, English Boy.” He gave William a blistering look then started toward his rental car. “Don’t be late, Daria. You know how much I hate waiting.”

Once he was gone, Daria grabbed William’s hand and headed toward the house. “I’m so sorry you had to witness that. God, what you must think of me. Drama queen. Hopeless basket case.”

He opened the door and pulled her inside, then wrapped his arms around her and hugged her tight. He kissed her, too—not as passionately as the night before, but fast and hard, befitting their frozen skin. “We’re like a pair of ice pops.”

She wanted to collapse, cry and throw up, but she refused to do any of those things. She was a big girl and she was finally taking charge of her life. That meant making tough choices and doing difficult things on her own.

She stepped out of his arms, shed her coat and walked to the wood-burning stove at the opposite side of the room. As she warmed her icy hands, she told him, “Thank you for your support today. I mean it. I don’t want to think what might have happened if Bruce had shown up first.” She shook her head. “I definitely over-reacted this morning.”

He remained near the door but never took his gaze off her. “Does that mean you’re not going back to him?”

“Definitely not. Baby or no baby, there’s no way the girls and I will be on that plane this afternoon. I plan to call my lawyer from the café and ask her to talk some sense into him. I didn’t break any law by coming here and neither did you.”

“I wasn’t worried about me, but from what you’ve told me, he’s a master manipulator. He might convince you to change your mind.”

She turned to face him. “You’re disappointed in me, aren’t you?”

He blinked in surprise. “Why do you say that? You stood up to him magnificently. You even tried to protect me. I was touched. But, for your information, that INS threat was completely empty. I have dual citizenship.”

Oh.
“I meant because I slept with him.”

He looked at his watch. “You were right about me needing to leave. My plane is ready and I’m not even loaded.” He scratched the side of his nose and shifted his feet. She’d never seen him appear so awkward and uncomfortable. Finally, he said, “Relationships are complicated, I know that. I’m in no position to judge you. I only hope whatever hold he has over you is gone now. For your sake.”

Daria sensed a chill between them that had nothing to do with the ambient temperature of the room. Despite his supportive words, she knew she’d let him down. He didn’t understand how she could have slept with Bruce. Neither did she, but it had happened. Once. And she vowed it would never happen again.

“You’ll be safe in a public place,” he told her, reaching for the doorknob. “You have your cell phone—call 911 if he loses it. The girls are with Cal.”

She nodded. “You’re free to go.”

In fact, she wanted him to leave. She needed to prove to herself she could stand up to Bruce without a safety net. “Oh, wait. Here’s that copy of the message tape we talked about,” she said, walking to the desk where she’d left it right before she’d gotten sick.

She quickly dropped it in a manila envelope and scribbled her name across the front. “I’m reasonably confident you’ll never have to use this, but you know what to do if…” She couldn’t complete the thought.

He took it from her without letting their fingers touch. “Ruin him. I can do that.”

There was a fierceness in his tone that made Bruce’s bluster sound hollow and pompous. It reminded her that she actually knew very little about this handsome, compassionate stranger…and she needed to keep things that way. At least until the ink was dry on her divorce papers.

She looked at the wall clock and let out a small peep. “Ten minutes. Bruce will be starting to fume. Could I beg one more small favor? Give me a lift to the café?”

The idea turned his stomach. Even seeing the guy in person didn’t help him understand why she’d do such a thing. Granted, Bruce was no ogre—full head of black, wavy hair, Brooks Brothers suit, three-hundred dollar tie. The start of a midbelly paunch, but nothing outwardly repulsive.

Maybe she is a drama queen. Maybe her assertion about abuse is bogus.
He glanced at the business-type envelope sitting on the passenger seat.

Spotting a familiar landmark—a giant teepee—he pulled into Native Art’s parking lot and popped the tape into the van’s player. Daria’s voice filled the cab.

“Ahem. To whom it may concern, this is Daria Fontina.” She gave the date and explained the circumstances behind the recording she was about to share. William leaned forward, rested his arms on the steering wheel and cocked his head to listen.

His blood pressure began to climb the moment Bruce’s voice came across the tape. The messages he directed toward Cal started off fairly sanitized. Bruce confirmed Daria’s allegation that he’d known about and approved her travel plans, but when she didn’t call him back right away, his tone changed. By the time he thought Daria should have been at Cal’s he didn’t mince words—mostly swear words—as he told her exactly what he thought of her and what he planned to do her the next time he saw her.

William hit eject and dropped the tape back into the envelope. The man might not be a psychopath, but he was a major control freak. Living with someone like that would surely be a special kind of hell.

His first impulse was to swing the van around and go back. She couldn’t face this ass alone. She’d cave. She’d do something stupid—like sleep with the cretin. But as he watched the traffic pass, the thinking part of his brain kicked in. She’d asked him to leave for a reason. His presence would only antagonize her ex, who obviously had jealousy issues.

Was Bruce astute enough to guess that William was extremely attracted to Daria? William didn’t think so, but why take the chance?

Attracted?
How about infatuated? At least, he had been until she told him she might be pregnant with her ex-husband’s baby.

He took a deep breath, recalling what his uncle had said about William’s tendency to categorize things as either black or white.

The simple facts were pretty straightforward. William wasn’t Daria’s boyfriend. He wasn’t even her friend, really. He felt a strong connection to her and wanted to explore where that might take them, but there was a good chance that all stemmed from his guilt over not having done more to help Bianca.

He put the car in gear and pulled onto the highway. As he drove, he noticed that a glum-looking cloud cover had pushed in over the Black Hills to obscure the sun. Notty was wrong. William had no fear of gray areas—he would be flying into one as soon as humanly possible, and he honestly couldn’t wait.

“I was expecting more since that TV show was filmed here. Nothing.” He took a gulp of coffee. “Not even a Starbucks.”

“Why did you come here, Bruce? And don’t tell me because my lawyer gave you my final settlement offer. You had to know that was coming. Did I time it to my not being in town? Yes. Because I knew you’d react poorly.”

His face contorted with rage, and his fists shook with the effort it took to control his temper. Daria was glad to see him try. Maybe, she told herself, he would change once they were apart. Maybe.

“After what happened between us at Christmas I thought things had changed. Yeah, yeah, we had that discussion, but you can’t tell me you don’t have feelings for me, Daria.”

The thought of her nausea that morning crossed her mind but she pushed it away. “I care about you, Bruce. You’re my daughters’ father and that will never change. But I can’t live with you ever again,” she said simply and firmly. “If you love me—if you ever loved me—you’ll make this divorce as painless as possible.”

He slammed the cup on the table. “When exactly did you grow a backbone? Does this have something to do with your Euro trash boyfriend? Did you play the simpering, abused wife card on him?”

She pushed her cup aside, untouched. “I mailed a copy of the voice messages you left on my grandfather’s machine to my lawyer. Between that and the phone conversation you had with her, she’s convinced I shouldn’t have any trouble whatsoever getting sole custody of the girls.”

His normally tanned skin paled.

“And if that’s the case,” she continued, “there’s no reason for me to remain in Fresno. I’ve already talked to Cal about moving here permanently. I plan to research what I need to do to get my teaching credential before we return home.”

She watched as he struggled with his rage, knowing he couldn’t say what he wanted to say to her in public. After a few seconds, he leaned across the table and whispered in a raspy hiss, “You will fry in hell for this. I’m a good father, and
nobody’s
taking my girls away from me. Nobody.”

Then he got up, tossed a ten on the table and left.

She sat for several minutes, waiting for the chaos in her mind to settle. She replayed everything that had happened that day. Her only true regret was telling William that she’d slept with Bruce. The look on his face when she’d admitted her mistake had reminded her of Hailey when Miranda had told her Santa wasn’t real. Miranda had apologized later and said she was kidding, but Daria knew Hailey’s glossy, pristine picture of old St. Nick would never be the same.

When the waitress came to refill her cup, Daria handed her the ten and said, “Keep it.” Then she stood up and pulled on her coat, noting that the sun, which had moved the thermometer up a few degrees, was now tucked behind a thick layer of clouds.

She walked fast to stay warm, but her pace slowed when she spotted two cars in her grandfather’s drive. Cal and her daughters were back early. And Bruce was there, too.

“Damn,” she muttered.

She picked up her pace, as too many emotions—anger, fear, regret and worry—vied for top place in her head. As she approached the house, a sharp piercing pain exploded in her side, making her bend over.
Not again,
she thought, her fingers pressing against the burning spot under her ribs. This felt very similar to what she’d experienced the previous summer.

That episode, too, had triggered nausea, she thought, suddenly seeing a connection she’d missed. Maybe she wasn’t pregnant. That was the good news—the bad was that she couldn’t show any kind of weakness in front of Bruce. He’d railroad her into going to the hospital, then ride roughshod over Cal and the girls until he ruined everything.

She paused a moment, trying to formulate a plan. If the side door was unlocked, she could slip into her grandfather’s room. As an ex-pharmacist, Cal kept a well-stocked medicine cabinet, with an excellent array of painkillers.

Once she had her side ache under control, she’d join the family and try to mitigate whatever damage Bruce had done.

The door opened for her, and she hurried inside. She could hear voices coming from the kitchen and living room, but she didn’t want to see anybody while she was doubled over. She scanned the various bottles in his medicine cabinet as quickly as possible, swallowing two pills from a bottle labeled: For Pain. Then she quickly tiptoed to her room to wait for the pain reliever to take effect.

She curled onto her side and closed her eyes, focusing on her deep breathing the way she’d learned in her birthing classes.

She was now positive she wasn’t pregnant. She’d over-reacted. Probably partly out of guilt. Talking about her mistake had been cathartic. Unfortunately, she’d chosen the wrong person to tell.

Poor William,
she thought.

She didn’t know why, exactly, but she had a feeling he was used to people disappointing him.

That was her last clear thought before sleep overcame her.