Rachel Dahlrumple. Shea McMaster

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СКАЧАТЬ desperate to not think about the night before–seriously, fainting with no underwear on under a very short night shirt? I knew I’d never be able to look the deputy in the eye again as long as I lived–I rose after only two hours sleep, showered, dressed all the way, took care of my morning med doses and went downstairs for breakfast that might as well have been sawdust for all I noticed. While I drank my coffee on the back porch and did a visual inspection of the backyard–the coolers remained untouched–John brought over his secret weapon, his six-year-old steel magnolia, Mindy. Knowing I couldn’t hold out against the sweetest little girl ever born, they coerced me into meeting them in town for the parade. Over the years, John had learned to shamefully use his adorable child against me, and I’d yet to find a way to counterstrike. Okay, so she was my child of the heart and I would have stolen her from them in a heartbeat, and he very smugly knew it.

      Because their car barely held the family of five, I had a choice; a five-mile drive and hassle with parking, or walk a few hundred yards across the seasonally low river and risk wet feet. In my present mood, a mixture of mystification, humiliation, denial and simmering anger, I did my best to focus on my surroundings rather than my anguish. In truth, I should have stayed home because I just couldn’t find it in me to put on my normal happy face. I’d completely fried my mind trying to figure out who’d sent the weeds. Since she–whoever she was–had made the delivery, did it mean Burt really was at a convention? And playing golf? The fact he hadn’t answered his cellphone in no way reassured me. Never mind he almost never answered his cell when I called, but he usually called back within an hour. Hadn’t happened yet.

      I slung a tiny purse with keys, phone and cash over my shoulder, made a barely dignified slide down the river bank, and picked my way from sand bar to sand bar across the extremely low waterway that separated our neighborhood from town. I loved my Crocs and had made it a point to wear them specifically for crossing the river. They dried fast, and standing around in a wet pair of shoes and socks all day didn’t appeal. Besides, they were cute and matched my outfit. A tough combo to beat.

      The walk gave me a chance to study our small town from an angle I rarely got the chance to savor. Typical of the stereotype, we weren’t much more than a wide spot around a county highway about twenty miles off I-5 running down California’s San Joaquin Valley. A farming community settled in the last half of the nineteenth century, most of its homes had started out Victorian, and then morphed with twentieth century modification.

      The moment I scrambled up the far bank and crossed the sports fields where the fireworks would be set off later, I met people streaming from the houses, and heading toward downtown. Beneath the large trees, mostly oaks and sycamores, standing in the wide yards, natural shade covered the broad streets. The trees didn’t cool much as the ambient temperature soared, but I appreciated their protection from the direct sun. I strolled down the middle of the street–the sidewalks were all full–and exchanged greetings while looking away from curious stares. Burt’s absence was noted but generally ignored in the way that small town gossip always made the rounds but stopped short of the object, which saved me from a lot of poor dear comments. Looks, I could deal with. Pity? I could do without. I slowed my steps and let the people flow past, giving my attention to the little ones who knew me from the library.

      At one point I had three of the little critters hanging off me, not normally something I considered a problem. Right then I couldn’t pretend they were mine. Instead, the hole inside felt bigger than ever. I’d always wanted kids, but they’d never happened. I extracted myself from the hugs and sent them off with their parents.

      “Miss Rachel!” A masculine voice overrode the chatter going on around me and I considered ignoring it, but then he repeated my name much closer. I turned and saw a blast from the past flagging me down.

      Jim Santos. Now there was a memory. As he strode my way, looking much the same wearing worn denim and a dark tan cowboy hat, I flew back in time to a few stolen afternoons hidden under the drooping branches of a weeping willow. My God, did everything have to be thrown at me at once? That was all the time I had to think before he caught me up in a hug.

      “Wow, stranger,” I said. Completely lame, but I honestly had no small talk in me.

      “Is that all the greeting I get, querida?” He lifted me just enough to spin me around and kiss my cheek, forcing me to cling to him. “Has it been so long you no longer think of me with kindness?”

      “It’s been more than twenty years, you oaf. Put me down.” I slapped at his shoulder and noted how much he’d changed since that Homecoming week so very long ago. Twenty-four years, but the memory still had the power to make me blush. He was broader and stronger, yet still lean in the hips. And hard. Oh boy, was he hard all over as he held me close. I prodded his muscled-in-iron-shoulder with a finger and almost broke the nail. “What are you doing here, and where’s your family?”

      He set me down and brushed a strand of hair from my cheek. “Mom and Dad went on ahead an hour ago. Mom won’t be happy if someone takes her spot.”

      Jim had always been a touchy-feely one, and since we’d shared a certain–ahem–rite of passage, just the two of us in a well hidden spot beneath a tree, well, I guessed he felt a certain right to touch me. I didn’t see it that way. I was married, and as such I’d put old boyfriends and lovers behind me. I stepped away, imagining the gossip from the many witnesses around us getting back to Burt. I secretly bet he’d find a way to turn it around on me and make it look like I’d been the cheater.

      Funny how gossip about Burt had never reached me. The reminder of his alleged betrayal hit me afresh, flipping my stomach over once more, and I turned toward town.

      “Ah yes, in front of the diner. No local would dare take her spot, or let a tourist move in, for that matter.” Mrs. Santos had her territory, and that was that.

      Jim kept pace with me and when his hand brushed mine, I shoved both hands in the pockets of my sundress.

      “You’re alone, Rachel. Why is that? Where’s your big handsome husband?”

      Whether it was the question or the tone–had it really been a sneer?–I didn’t know, but the probing turned up the heat on my anger a notch.

      “Out of town on business. Due home in a few hours,” I answered shortly, ignoring the sideways glance he gave me.

      “Why did you come from the river? Ever revisit our spot?”

      What was he trying to do? Did he know about the delivery last night? Had he made it for someone else?

      Whatever the reason, he’d stepped on my last nerve. “Jim, if you want to talk to me, catch up, or hang out, drop the subject of our past. I’m a married woman and last I heard you were married. Twice. Where’re your wife and kids?”

      “Okay, okay.” Jim backed off and shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “My second divorce was final last week. No kids from either marriage, except a couple step-kids I’m helping put through college. Mom heard a rumor of you getting a divorce, so I was just testing the waters. I’m home for the holiday and Monday I’ll be back at work.”

      The word divorce in conjunction with my name knocked the breath from me and stopped my forward motion completely. “Wh-what did you say?”

      Jim managed to stop with me. “I’m just in town–”

      I turned on him and stabbed a finger into the middle of his chest. “No, the part about me getting a divorce. Where did you hear that?”

      Jim shrugged uncomfortably and adjusted his cowboy hat. “Mom heard it СКАЧАТЬ