I've ever met."
"I'm falling apart. Look at me. I'm trembling."
She held her shaking hand parallel to the counterpane. "Hardly a pillar of strength and stability."
"Something like this would be nerve-racking to the best of us. In any case, I'm not going to argue with you about it tonight. You need to go to sleep. I don't think you've slept since I left."
"Not much," she admitted.
"Here, take this." He extended her a capsule and a glass of water to wash it down with.
"What is it?"
"One of the sedatives they gave me when my ribs were cracked. I was supposed to take two at a time to help me rest. Surely taking one won't hurt you."
"No, thanks. I'd better not."
"It'll help you sleep."
She shook her head no. "I'll sleep without it."
"Sure?"
"Sure."
With a small conceding motion of his shoulders he set the tablet and glass on the night-stand.
"Good night."
He had almost reached the door before she blurted out, "I bought it for you."
Chase stopped, turned. "What?"
"The house."
"This isn't a good time to go into that,
Marcie. You're exhausted."
"But I won't rest until I've made you understand why I did it."
"I understand perfectly. You tricked me into living with you in Tanya's house."
"It's my house!"
"Only because you paid for it. In spirit it belonged to Tanya."
"I discovered this house. I saw it before
Tanya ever did." She sat up. The covers slid to her lap. "Tanya wouldn't have even known about it if I hadn't brought her to see it."
"Which brings up a pertinent question. If you wanted it, why did you show it to Tanya?
Why not just buy it for yourself then?"
"Because I wanted you to live here."
He gaped at her incredulously and lifted his hands away from his sides. "Why?"
Because she had loved the house so much, and because Chase had needed a house then, she had wanted to give it to him. The only way she could do that at the time was through his wife.
After the fatal accident she had wanted him to have it more than ever, as recompense for what he'd lost.
When it became apparent that he wasn't going to occupy the house he had bought only days after Tanya's demise, a germ of an idea had begun to form in Marcie's mind.
She had purposefully let Lucky believe that the buyer of the house was someone other than herself.
From the day she became the owner, she had moved toward one goal—making this a home for Chase and living here with him. She wanted to give it to him like a gift, but without his ever knowing about it.
She had selected furniture and decor she thought he would like. She had planned everything, except attending the rodeo that night in Fort Worth. That had been a coincidence, one that she viewed as a sanction.
Fate approved of her intentions. The gods smiled upon her plan. Her years of unrequited love were finally going to be rewarded. She had been granted permission to do this. She was being allowed to make up for the accident that had robbed him of his wife.
He, however, didn't see it that way.
Now, while he stood searching her face for a plausible explanation, she considered telling him the simple truth—that everything she'd done, she'd done because she loved him, always had, always would. But it was difficult, if not impossible, to declare undying and unconditional love to someone who looked so patently angry.
"I guess I was trying to make up for your other loss, Chase," she said, her voice faltering.
"I wanted to give you back a part of it.
Obviously I badly bungled it."
Some of the tension ebbed from him. He bent his head down and rubbed the back of his neck. "I don't believe you did it maliciously."
"Thank you for that." She toyed with the hem of the bedsheets, unable to look at him without nakedly revealing her love. The last thing she wanted to be to him was an object of pity. Garnering all her courage, she asked,
"Where do we go from here?"
"Damned if I know, Marcie. The only thing
I'm sure of right now is that we're both too tired and upset to think beyond tonight." He went to the door and pulled it open. "I'll be in the next room if you need me." need you, her heart cried out. "You won't disturb me if you want to sleep here."
He looked at the empty pillow beside hers, but shook his head. "I think we should sort out the rest of this first, don't you?"
"I suppose," she said, trying valiantly to keep her disappointment from showing. "Good night."
"Good night."
After he left her, Marcie rolled to her side and drew her knees up to her chest. Tears streamed from her eyes, down her cheeks, and into her pillowcase. He would never trust her again. He felt she had duped him, and if she were being painfully honest with herself, she would admit that's exactly what she had done.
But only because she loved him so much.
He had denied believing in Pat Bush's speculations that her obscene calls were only a ploy to get attention, an old maid's last, desperate attempt to keep her man. But could she really blame Chase if he had his doubts?
The calls were real. The threats were real.
She could sense that they were. And as soon as the man called back and Chase heard a replay of his voice, he would know she was telling him the truth. This time, she wasn't trying to trick him.
"Hello?"
"Hello, Marcie."
At last! It was he! Her heart began to pound.
"You've got to stop calling me," she said, trying to keep the elation out of her voice.
Finally he had called. Chase would believe her now.
"I won't stop calling till I get what I want.
You know what I want," he said in the raspy
tone of voice that sent chills up her spine. "I
want you under me. Wet and wiggling."
"You're disgusting."
"Are your nipples hard? Touch them for me, Marcie. Hmm, Marcie, that's good. That's good." He moaned.
"They ought to lock you up and throw away the key. You're sick. You're a menace to society."
He laughed, sounding superior and condescending.
"I know the sheriff has tapped your phone, but I know how to get around that."
Was he bluffing? How could he know the sheriffs office was now apprised of her calls?
He couldn't. It was only a lucky guess.
"I know just how long to talk before hanging up so they can't trace the call."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"They don't believe you, do they, Marcie?
Not the sheriff. And not your husband. They think you're making me up, a figment of your imagination."
"No." Her mouth had gone dry. She gripped the receiver harder, until her knuckles turned white. She tried to swallow, but had no saliva.
"Chase believes me."
Again that nasty laugh. "I'm coming for you, Marcie. Soon."
"Leave me alone. I'm warning you—"
"You'll like me, Marcie. I'm a better man than your husband." He cackled. "And he doesn't even believe you. He won't be there to save you when I've got you naked and spread open."
"Stop." She whimpered.
"Good-bye, Marcie. Be seeing you."
"No," she said, suddenly panicked. "Wait!
Don't hang up. Please, not yet."
"Goodbye."
His voice was singsong. He was playing with her. She knew better than to cry. Her intellect told her that was what he wanted, but she couldn't stop her tears or hiccupping sobs.
"My husband will kill you when they catch you."
He laughed, with more malice than before.
"He doesn't love you."
"He does. He will."
"Never, Marcie. You tricked him," he taunted.
"Good-bye. See you soon. Soon, Marcie. Marcie.
Marcie… Marcie…"
The voice changed; it became Chase's voice.
Her eyes flew open and she sprang erect. Chase was there, sitting on the edge of the bed, rubbing her shoulders gently and speaking her name, drawing her out of her nightmare.
With a harsh cry she flung herself against
his bare chest, despising the feminine weak ness that caused her to clutch at him. She had always been contemptuous of women who weakly clung to men and used tears to get attention. But when Chase's strong, warm arms enfolded her, she forgot to be resentful of her own frailty. She nuzzled her face in his chest hair.
"You were having a nightmare," he whispered.
"I could hear you crying all the way into the other room. But you're awake now and I'm here."
"Hold me, Chase. Please."
He lay down with her, drawing her even closer against him and pulling the covers over them. He stroked her back, cupped her head, and tucked it beneath his chin.
"He was on the phone."
"Shh. He's not there now."
"But I want him to be," she cried frantically.
"It's been two weeks since we went to the sheriff. I want you to hear him. I want you to know. Then you'll believe me."
"I believe you."
"He reads my mind, Chase. It's like he knows that I want him to call. He's not calling on purpose."
"Shh. Just relax. Go back to sleep."
"When he calls, you'll know I'm telling the truth." She was babbling, but she couldn't help it. She was desperate to regain his trust.