The Season Of Love: Beloved. Diana Palmer

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      She was sitting on the side of the bed. She gave him a long, wise look. “I wasn’t lying,” she said. “Suicide was the very last thing on my mind.”

      “With a loaded pistol, which had been fired.”

      She pursed her lips. “Didn’t anyone notice where the shot landed? At a round hole in the baseboard?”

      He frowned.

      “The mouse!” she said. “I’ve been after him for weeks! Don’t you watch old John Wayne movies? It was in True Grit!”

      All at once, realization dawned in his eyes. “The rat writ.”

      “Exactly!”

      He burst out laughing. “You were going to shoot the mouse?”

      “I’m a good shot,” she protested. “Well, when I’m sober. I won’t miss him next time!”

      “Get a trap.”

      “He’s too wily,” she protested. “I’ve tried traps and baits.”

      “Buy a cat.”

      “I’m allergic to fur,” she confessed miserably.

      “How about those electronic things you plug into the wall?”

      She shook her head. “Tried it. He bit the electrical cord in half.”

      “Didn’t it kill him?”

      Her eyebrows arched. “No. Actually he seemed even healthier afterward. I’ll bet he’d enjoy arsenic. Nope, I have to shoot him.”

      The doctor and Charles looked at each other. Then they both chuckled.

      The doctor did see her alone later, for a few minutes while Charles was bringing the car around to the hospital entrance. “Just one more thing,” he said gently. “Regardless of what Simon said, you didn’t kill John. Nobody, no woman, could have stopped what happened. He should never have married you in the first place.”

      “Simon kept throwing us together,” she said. “He thought we made the perfect couple,” she added bitterly.

      “Simon never knew,” he said. “I’m sure John didn’t tell him, and you kept your own silence.”

      She averted her eyes. “John was the best friend Simon had in the world. If he’d wanted Simon to know, he’d have told him. That being the case, I never felt that I had the right.” She looked at him. “I still don’t. And you’re not to tell him, either. He deserves to have a few unshattered illusions. His life hasn’t been a bed of roses so far. He’s missing an arm, and he’s still mourning Melia.”

      “God knows why,” Dr. Gaines added, because he’d known all about the elegant Mrs. Hart, things that even Tira didn’t know.

      “He loved her,” she said simply. “There’s no accounting for taste, is there?”

      He smiled gently. “I guess not.”

      “You know, you really are a nice man, Dr. Gaines,” she added.

      He chuckled. “That’s what my wife says all the time.”

      “She’s right,” she agreed.

      “Don’t you have family?”

      She shook her head. “My father died of a heart attack, and my mother died even before he did. She had cancer. It was hard to watch, especially for Dad. He loved her too much.”

      “You can’t love people too much.”

      She looked up at him with such sadness that her face seemed to radiate it. “Yes, you can,” she said solemnly. “But I’m going to learn how to stop.”

      Charles pulled up at the curb and Dr. Gaines waved them off.

      “Look at him,” Charles said with a grin. “He’s drooling! He wants my car.” He stepped down on the accelerator. “Everybody wants my car. But it’s mine. Mine!”

      “Charles, you’re getting obsessed with this automobile,” she cautioned.

      “I am not!” He glanced at her. “Careful, you’ll get fingerprints on the window. And I do hope you wiped your shoes before you got in.”

      She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

      “I’m kidding!” he exclaimed.

      She let out a sigh of relief. “And Dr. Gaines wanted me to have therapy,” she murmured.

      He threw her a glare. “I do not need therapy. Men love their cars. One guy even wrote a song about how much he loved his truck.”

      She glanced around the luxurious interior of the pretty car, leather coated with a wood-grained dash, and nodded. “Well, I could love Big Red,” she had to confess. She leaned back against the padded headrest and closed her eyes.

      He patted the dash. “Hear that, guy? You’re getting to her!”

      She opened one eye. “I’m calling the therapist the minute we get to my house.”

      He lifted both blond eyebrows. “Does he like cars?”

      “I give up!”

      When she arrived home, she was met at the door by a hovering, worried Mrs. Lester.

      “It was an old, empty prescription bottle!” Tira told the kindly older woman. “And the pistol wasn’t for me, it was for that mouse we can’t catch in the kitchen!”

      “The mouse?”

      “Well, we can’t trap him or drive him out, can we?” she queried.

      The housekeeper blushed all the way to her white hairline and wrung her hands in the apron. “It was the way it looked…”

      Tira went forward and hugged her. “You’re a doll and I love you. But I was only drunk.”

      “You never drink,” Mrs. Lester stated.

      “I was driven to it,” she replied.

      Mrs. Lester looked at Charles. “By him?” she asked with a twinkle in her dark eyes. “You shouldn’t let him hang around here so much, if he’s driving you to drink.”

      “See?” he murmured, leaning down. “She wants my car, that’s why she wants me to leave. She can’t stand having to look at it day after day. She’s obsessed with jealousy, eaten up with envy…”

      “What’s he talking about?” Mrs. Lester asked curiously.

      “He thinks you want his car.”

      Mrs. Lester scoffed. “That long red fast flashy thing?” She sniffed. “Imagine me, riding around in something СКАЧАТЬ