A Marriage Between Friends. Melinda Curtis
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as the idea appealed to Vince, he was sure Jill would think differently. “Why don’t you put me in one of those guest cottages?”
Edda Mae pulled on a neon-pink hooded slicker over her curlers and robe. “We had the exterminator in this afternoon. Ain’t nobody staying in those rooms until they’ve been aired out and wiped clean. And we can’t start that until tomorrow.”
Frowning, Edda Mae looked Vince up and down, then handed him a small purple umbrella with pink polka dots. “Which is why you’ll be sleeping with your wife tonight.”
CHAPTER FOUR
“I THOUGHT married people lived together.”
“Most of them do.” Jill had finished reading Teddy a chapter of his book, raising her voice to be heard above the rain beating on their roof. Now her throat felt scratchy.
Eyes averted, Teddy plucked at his comforter. It was lime green and matched one of the walls she and Teddy had painted. “Are you going to live together?”
“No.” She’d been surprised to see that Vince still wore his wedding ring. Because of Craig, Jill used hers like a shield. Vince had no reason to wear his. “We don’t have a marriage like other people. In fact, I don’t know how long we’re going to stay married. I doubt Vince will come back.”
More plucking by Teddy.
“What’s bothering you?”
“Can’t we keep him? As my dad?”
“No! He’s a person, not a pet.”
“Everybody else has a dad but me.” Teddy gave Jill his best puppy-dog eyes.
“You know that’s not true.”
Teddy tugged at the comforter some more. “I think I’ll go to sleep now.”
“Teddy?”
“I’m really tired.” He rolled over to face the wall, leaving Jill no choice but to turn off the light and wish him good-night.
As soon as she closed Teddy’s door someone knocked on the front one, followed by a muffled, “It’s me. Edda Mae.”
“What’s wrong? Did the power go out in your cottage?” It was really storming now and there was no reason for Edda Mae to be up. As quickly as she could, Jill undid the old chain, flipped back the dead bolt and turned the lock on the handle.
“Surprise,” Vince said, looking windblown and more handsome than he had a right to, hugging the rail as Edda Mae traipsed past him down the stairs.
“Edda Mae?” Jill’s cheeks heated. She should have made sure Vince left thirty minutes ago.
“Storm’s here. Remember your manners,” Edda Mae called.
The wind rushed up the stairwell, past Vince and his duffel, dancing around Jill’s bare feet.
“Should I walk her back?” Vince glanced after Jill’s meddling surrogate mother, a small purple umbrella clutched in his hand.
“Did she pull that frail-old-woman act on you? She’s steadier on her feet than a mountain goat and just as stubborn. She’ll be fine.” At least until the morning when Jill gave her a piece of her mind.
Vince nodded absently. Neither of them spoke. The rain continued to pour.
“I should go,” Vince said eventually. Yet he stood there staring. At Jill.
For about two seconds, Jill considered making Vince drive in the storm. Water gushed out of the rain gutter below. The route down the mountain was treacherous; and anything could happen on a night like this—mud slides, hidden potholes, unexpected pools of water. It wouldn’t take much for someone unfamiliar with the road driving a sexy little sports car a bit too fast to end up stuck in a ditch. Or worse.
“I suppose Edda Mae told you about our cottages. All I’ve got to offer you is the couch.” A lumpy, short couch.
“That’ll do.” Without setting eyes on it, Vince flashed Jill his dimple.
It was such a rare sight—that dimple—that it took her back to their wedding day. Jill was frozen, spellbound.
“Jill?” Vince gestured toward the living room. “Can I come in?”
Jill stumbled to the side to let Vince pass and escaped to collect a clean sheet and blanket. She took a pillow from her own bed. When she returned Vince was examining the wall where her framed photos were arranged. He’d removed his tie and unbuttoned his dress shirt. The T-shirt beneath fit him snugly and Jill paused in the hallway, struck with the urge to run her hands over the soft cotton, something she’d done many times to her shadow husband. But never to the real thing. She wouldn’t have the courage.
“Where was this one taken?” Vince straightened a picture of Teddy. With a grin as wide as Texas, Teddy stood on the bank of a river holding a golf-ball-size piece of fool’s gold, looking like he was trying to convince Jill he’d struck it rich.
Clutching the bedding tighter, Jill propelled herself past Vince. “The Mokelumne River. It’s not far from here.”
“Looks like you had a great time that day. My family doesn’t have pictures like this. I’m not sure why…” He wandered farther down the wall of photos.
Jill experienced a pang of guilt. Vince had mentioned earlier he’d wanted to be a part of Teddy’s life. He’d said as much before they’d gotten married, too. Why was he so attached to a child he hadn’t fathered when she…?
Jill began folding and tucking the bedding into the creases of the couch. Now she was feeling guilty about the couch, too. “This wasn’t designed for someone to sleep on. It’s short.”
“And narrow,” he added, staring at it.
She’d finished with the linens, but she couldn’t look at Vince and her mobility problem had returned. Her feet were leaden, weighted down by myriad emotions—desire, shame, confusion—all of them unwelcome. “But at least you’ll be safe and dry tomorrow morning.”
Vince sighed. “So I can be on my way.”
“Yes.” So that her life could return to normal.
“And you can try to derail the tribe’s plan for a casino.” There was no hint of recrimination in his voice. “Is Shady Oak that successful on its own?”
“I’m just breaking even.” It was painful to admit.
Jill couldn’t quite bring herself to look at Vince. “The key to Shady Oak’s success is in our luxurious accommodations and isolation. Wireless service doesn’t work here. Without the daily distractions of e-mail and cell-phone calls, my clients can focus and be more productive.” Her parents had alternately complained and praised that aspect of Shady Oak on one of their rare visits. “Edda Mae is a wonderful storyteller. She has a Native American story with a moral to fit every situation. We promise at least one story each booking.”
Vince was frowning at his BlackBerry. “And the vacation homes?”
“The plan I support for growth is to build a gated community of luxury vacation homes on a first-class golf course. The casino doesn’t benefit Railroad Stop residents equally—the profits will go to the tribe.”
His head shot up with the oddest expression, a mixture of wariness and disbelief. “It’s an Indian casino. What about taxes? Jobs? Which will provide you with more?”
“Long-term, jobs would be a wash, I think. A successful casino might bring in more in tax revenue in the long run. But you’d have to gamble on it being special enough to be a destination, and ‘special’ costs money. There are other casinos closer to civilization in the valley that are an easier drive.”
Vince peered at her intently, then laughed. “Nice try. I think I’ll wait for Arnie’s projections.”