Chapter 27
Robbins shook tobacco from the cloth pouch onto the strip of paper and carefully passed it to Wick, who tapped the tobacco into a straight line down the center of the paper, moistened the edge of it with his tongue, then tightly rolled it into a cigarette.
Robbins watched him with interest. Wick figured that by knowing how to roll his own he had elevated the cattleman's opinion of him. In the older man's eyes he had adequately performed a rite of passage.
Wick silently thanked the high school friend who'd taught him the skill by rolling joints-until Joe found out. After the beating he'd taken from Joe, he had decided that smoking anything was bad for his health.
Robbins rolled his own smoke. He struck a match and lit Wick's first, then his own. Their eyes met above the glare of the match. "This another of your cardiologist's recommendations?"
Robbins inhaled deeply. "Don't tell my wife."
It was damn strong tobacco. It stung Wick's lips, tongue, and throat, but he smoked it anyway, pretending to be a pro at it. "You weren't surprised to see me here."
"The game warden told me Rennie had company. I figured it was you."
"Why?"
Robbins shrugged and concentrated on his smoking.
"You came here this morning to check on Rennie, didn't you? See if she was okay."
"Something like that."
"Why would you think I'd harm her?"
The older man looked off into the distance for a moment before his unnerving gaze resettled on Wick. "You might not mean to."
Wick still resented the man's implication.
"Rennie's a grown woman. She doesn't need a guardian. She can take care of herself."
"She's fragile."
Wick laughed, which caused him to choke on the strong smoke. To hell with this. He ground out the cigarette against a fence post. "Fragile isn't a word I would free-associate with Rennie Newton."
"Goes to show how ignorant you are then, doesn't it?"
"Look, Robbins, you don't know me from shit.
You don't know anything about me. So don't go making snap judgments about me, okay? Not that I give a flying--"
"I knew her daddy."
The curt interruption silenced Wick.
Robbins was giving him a look that said Shut up and listen. He backed down.
Robbins said, "Before I inherited this place from my folks, I lived in Dalton and did some work for T. Dan. He was a mean cuss."
"That seems to be the general consensus."
"He could be a charmer. He had a smile that didn't stop. Came on to you like he was your best friend. A glad-hander and backslapper. But make no mistake, he was always looking out for number one."
"We've all known people like that."
Robbins shook his head. "Not like T. Dan.
He was in a class by himself." He took a last greedy drag on his cigarette, then dropped it on the ground and crushed it out with the toe of his shoe.
The cross-trainers looked incongruous with his cowboy attire, with him. John Wayne in Nikes.
He turned to face the corral and propped his forearms on the top rail of the fence. Wick, hoping to have some light shed on Rennie's secrets, moved to stand beside him and assumed a similar pose. Robbins didn't acknowledge him except to continue talking.
"Rennie was a happy little kid, which is a wonder. T. Dan being her daddy and all."
"What about her mother?"
"Mrs. Newton was a nice lady. She did a lot of charity work, was active in the church. Hosted a big party every Christmas and did the house up real pretty. A Santa Claus handing out candy to the kids. Stuff like that. She kept T. Dan's house running smooth, but she knew her place. She didn't interfere with his life."
Wick got the picture. "But you said Rennie was happy."
Robbins gave one of his rare smiles. "Me and Corinne always felt a little sorry for her.
She tried so hard to please everybody. Skinny as a rail. Towheaded. Eyes bigger than the rest of her face."
They still are, Wick thought.
"Smart as a whip. Polite and knew her manners. Mrs. Newton had seen to that. And she could ride like a pro before she got to grade school." Robbins paused for several moments before saying, "The hell of it was, she thought her daddy hung the moon. She wanted so bad for him to pay attention to her. Everything she did, she did to win T. Dan's notice and approval."
He clasped his hands together and in the faint morning light studied the callused, rough skin on the knuckles of his thumbs. Wick saw that one of his thumbnails was completely dark from a recent bruise. He would likely lose the nail.
"Everybody in Dalton knew T. Dan messed around. It wasn't even a secret from Mrs. Newton. I figure she made her peace with his womanizing early in the marriage.
She bore it with dignity, you might say.
Ignored the gossip as best she could.
Put up a good front.
"But Rennie was just a kid. She didn't understand the way it was supposed to be between a loving man and wife. She didn't know any different, because her parents' marriage had always been the way it was. They were pleasant to one another. Rennie wasn't old enough to realize that the intimacy was missing."
He glanced over at Wick, and Wick knew it was to make sure he was still paying attention. He was getting to the crux of the story.
"Rennie was about twelve, I think. A rough time for a girl, if my wife is any authority on the subject, and she seems to be. Anyhow, Rennie surprised T. Dan in his office one afternoon. Only she was the one who got the surprise."
"There was a woman with him."
"Under him, on the sofa in his office.
Rennie's piano teacher." He paused and stared straight into the new sun. "That was the end of the happy childhood. Rennie wasn't a kid anymore."
Crystal, the waitress in Dalton, had told Wick that Rennie went hog wild about the time her female parts took form. But her emerging sexuality hadn't been the cause of her personality change at puberty. It had been the discovery of her father's adultery.
The rebellion made sense. Probably Mrs. Newton had been having mother-daughter talks with Rennie about sex and morality.
Rennie had caught her father violating the principles her mother was trying to instill. The experience would have been disillusioning, especially since she worshiped her dad.
It was also a catalytic event. Her promiscuity as a teen had been a fitting punishment for her philandering father and for her mother who turned a blind eye to it. The innocent girl had discovered her father in flagrante delicto with her piano teacher, and, as a consequence, became the town slut.
As though following Wick's train of thought, Robbins said, "These days they call it "acting out." So Corinne tells me. I think she heard the term on TV. Whatever they call it, Rennie changed overnight. Became a holy terror. Grades went to the cellar. For the next several years she was out of control.
Nothing in the way of punishment seemed to take.
She defied teachers, anyone with the least bit of authority. T. Dan and Mrs. Newton revoked privileges, but it didn't do any good."
"Her father gave her a red Mustang convertible," Wick said. "I call that sending a child mixed signals."
"She probably blackmailed him into getting her that automobile. Rennie knew she had the upper hand and she exercised it. T. Dan lost his parental authority when she saw him humping her piano teacher. She was on a fast track to hell."
"Until she was sixteen."
Robbins turned his head and looked at him.
"You know about Collier?"
"Some. I know Rennie fatally shot him. She was never charged with a crime. It was never even investigated as a crime. The whole thing was swept under the rug."
"T. Dan." Robbins said it as if the name alone summarized the explanation.
"I can't say my heart bleeds for Raymond Collier," Wick said. "What kind of scumbag has an affair with a sixteen-year-old girl who obviously needed good parenting, strict discipline, and counseling?"
"Don't be too quick to judge him. If Rennie set her cap for a man, she was hard to resist."
Wick's eyes sharpened on Robbins, who shook his head wryly. "No, not me. I was a Dutch uncle to her. I wanted to scold her, knock some sense into her, not bed her. But it was another story with Raymond Collier."
"What was he like?"
"I didn't know him well, but most folks seemed to like him okay. Had a good head for business. That's why T. Dan was partnering with him on a big commercial real estate deal. But he had a weakness."
"Women."
"Not women. Only one. Rennie," the older man said grimly. "He was obsessed with her. Like that James Mason movie."
"Lolita."
"Right. I guess she knew how Collier felt about her. Sensed it, you know, the way women can. She--"
"Why didn't I get the memo for this meeting?"
Wick and Robbins turned in unison.
Rennie was crossing the yard toward them. Her hair was still damp from her shower, indicating that she had rushed to dress and join them. "I saw you from the bedroom window. You've had your heads together for a long time." Her eyes dropped to the pistol tucked into his waistband.
"I nearly shot him." Wick tried to smile convincingly, but his mind was still on everything Robbins had told him.
Robbins gave her one of his typically laconic explanations for why he was there. "Heard you got that cat with one shot straight through the heart.
Folks around here who've lost livestock will be thanking you."
"Do you think I should have called the vet to look at Spats?"
"No," Robbins replied. "You were right. The wound isn't deep, and it's clean. Should be closed up in no time."
Her eyes cut to Wick, then back to Robbins. "I'm going to be away for a couple of days. Would you mind looking after things until I get back?"
The old man hesitated long enough for it to be noticeable. Finally he said, "Happy to. Can I reach you at the Fort Worth number if something comes up?"
"Galveston," Wick said. "I have a place down there. I'll leave you the number." Rennie didn't seem too pleased with him for sharing that.
"I'm going to check on Spats," she said.
"I think she should probably stay in her stall one more day, but I'll let the others out into the corral."
"I'll be over this evening to put them up,"
Robbins told her.
She headed toward the open door of the barn, then glanced back as though expecting Robbins to follow her. "Be right there," he told her. "I need to get that phone number."
"You can always reach me on my cell."
"Doesn't hurt to have two numbers. Just to be on the safe side."
She seemed reluctant to leave them alone again, but she turned and went into the barn. Wick looked at Robbins, but he wasn't sure he wanted to hear any more about Rennie's fatal seduction of Raymond Collier.
"You've got something to add?"
"Yeah, I do," Robbins said. "There's something maybe you should know. It may not matter to you, but I hope it will."
When he hesitated, Wick gave an inquisitive shrug.
Robbins glanced over his shoulder toward the barn, then said in a low voice, "After that business with Collier, Rennie didn't pick up where she left off. She didn't go back to being the way she was before."
Wick didn't comment and waited him out.
"You're right, Threadgill, I don't know you from shit, but I know you're trouble. I read the newspapers. I watch TV. I don't much like you hanging around Rennie."
"Too bad. You don't get a vote."
"Especially with this character Lozada being involved."
"It's because of him that I'm hanging around."
"That the only reason?" His eyes bored into Wick's. "Me and Corinne have been looking after Rennie for a long time. We don't plan to stop now." He inclined his head, moving in closer. "You've got a big gun and a big mouth, but you're dumber than this fence post here if you don't get what I'm telling you."
"I'd get it if you'd say it straight out."
"All right. Rennie's worked hard to get where she's at in her career. I've seen her take chances on horseback that seasoned cowboys and stunt riders wouldn't take. She flies off to the other side of the world, goes to places where there's fighting and God knows what kind of pestilence, and she never shows an ounce of fear.
"But," he said, taking a step closer,
"I've never seen her in the company of a man.
She's certainly never let one spend the night."
He took in Wick's bare chest and made a point of looking down at the fly he had hurriedly buttoned. "I hope you're decent enough, man enough, to handle that responsibility."
WHEN RENNIE CAME IN FROM THE CORRAL, Wick was watching coffee drip from the filter basket into the carafe. Bare-chested and barefoot, he was wearing only blue jeans. His handgun was lying on the counter next to the Mr. Coffee. None of this was compatible with her safe, familiar kitchen, and all of it was disconcerting.
"Is there something wrong with the coffeemaker?"
He shook his head with chagrin. "I'm just so anxious for it I've been counting the drips."
"Sounds good to me, too." She took two mugs from the cabinet.
"Spats okay?" he asked.
"Just as Toby said."
"He hates my guts."
She passed him a mug. "Don't be silly."
"I'm not. And my feelings aren't hurt.
I'm just stating a fact. Did he go home?"
"He just left."
The last of the coffee gurgled into the carafe.
Wick filled her mug, warning "It's cops' coffee. Strong."
"Doctors have the same kind." She sipped and gave him a thumbs-up.
"Robbins makes a very serious business out of looking after you. He warned me to keep my grubby paws off you."
"He said no such thing. I know he didn't."
"Not in so many words."
She took another few sips of her coffee, then set her mug on the counter. "Turn around and let me check your incision."
He turned, set the heels of his hands on the edge of the counter, and leaned forward. "Can't fool me. You just want to look at my ass."
"I've seen it."
"And?"
"I've seen better."
"Now that hurts my feelings."
The human body held few mysteries for Rennie. She had studied it, learned it, seen it in every condition, size, color, and shape. But yesterday when she saw all of Wick's body stretched out on her bed, it had made an impression. And not from a medical standpoint. His torso was long and lean, his limbs well proportioned. No body she had ever seen had the appeal of his, and she had struggled for professional detachment when she touched it.
She removed the old bandage and gently probed his incision. "Tender?"
"Only when you poke it. It's starting to itch."
"A sign of healing. A medical miracle considering your shortage of bed rest."
"When will you remove the stitches?"
"A few more days. Stay put and finish your coffee. I might just as well clean it during one of your rare periods of immobility."
"No more shots," he called to her as she left the room.
She retrieved the supplies from upstairs and was actually surprised to find him still in place when she returned. She told him so.
"Doctor's orders."
"Yes, but I can't believe you followed them.
You're not exactly an ideal patient, Mr.Threadgill."
"Why are Toby and Corinne Robbins so protective of you?"
"They've known me since I was a little girl."
"So have a lot of other people in Dalton. I don't see anyone else hovering around you and warding off satyrs like me."
"I doubt Toby Robbins knows what a satyr is."
"But you do, don't you, Rennie?"
"You're not a satyr."
"Was Raymond Collier?"
He was baiting her, trying to get her to talk about it. She wasn't ready to talk about it. She doubted she would ever be ready to talk about it with Wick. Where would she even begin? With the day she had discovered her father's adultery? Could she make Wick understand how shattering it had been to realize the hypocrisy she'd been living with and stupidly accepting?
Or would she begin with Raymond? How he used to follow her. How his longing gaze had never strayed from her if they were in the same gathering of people, including his wife. How she had loathed his calf eyes and moist hands before she realized that she could use his obsession to punish her father. No, she couldn't talk about that with Wick.
"There," she said as she placed a new bandage over the incision. "All done, and actually you were fairly cooperative this time."
Before she could move away, he took one of her hands in each of his and pulled them around him, to the front of his body, so that she was hugging him from behind.
"What are you doing, Wick?"
"Who was your ideal patient?"
She dismissed the question with a light laugh, something not easily accomplished with her breasts flattened against his back, her hands splayed over the crisp hair on his chest, and her center growing warm from the contact with his rump.
He had covered her hands with his, holding them captive against him. His skin--not his epidermis, but his skin--felt warm and vital against her palms. Beneath her left hand she could feel the strong beating of his heart. For someone accustomed to listening to hearts beat every day, the rhythm of his had a strange effect on her. It was making her own beat faster against the strong muscles of his back.
"Shouldn't we be preparing to leave, Wick? I thought you were in a hurry to get away."
"Your ideal patient. I want to hear about him or her, or we'll stand here until I do, and you know that I'm just stubborn enough to mean it." For emphasis he pressed down on her arms at his sides, forcing a tighter hug.
In surrender, she rested her forehead in the shallow depression between his shoulder blades. But it was far too comfortable, far too nice, so it lasted for only a few brief seconds before she raised her head.
"It was a she. A thirty-four-year-old woman. She was a victim of the World Trade Center attack. I was in Philadelphia on September the eleventh, attending a conference. I drove straight to New York and arrived late that evening.
"She was one of the few who'd been pulled from the rubble still alive, but her injuries were severe and numerous. I worked on her internal injuries.
A specialist amputated her leg. For twenty-four hours we didn't even know her name.
She had no identification on her and wasn't lucid enough to tell us who she was. But subconsciously she knew she was being helped.
Every time I took her hand, trying to let her know that she was safe, that someone was taking care of her, she would squeeze my hand.
"Finally, she regained consciousness enough to give us her name, which we matched with a family, one of thousands desperately seeking information. She was from Ohio and had been on a business trip. Her husband and three children had an emotional reunion with her in the hospital. In the midst of it, she looked at me. Her eyes spoke with such eloquence she didn't have to say anything."
At some point during the telling, she had rested her cheek against Wick's back. He was stroking the backs of her hands where they still rested on his chest. "You saved her life, Rennie."
"No," she said thickly. "I couldn't. She died two days later. She knew she was going to die. We had told her it was doubtful she could survive such massive damage. She was thanking me for extending her life long enough for her to see her family. She wanted to tell them good-bye. It took an act of will and tremendous courage for her to live even that long. Her love for them was stronger than her pain. So when you asked who my ideal patient was, she immediately came to mind."
Several moments elapsed before he said, "I think you're incredible, Dr. Newton. No wonder the Robbinses think so highly of you."
She recognized the statement as a transition.
He wanted to know about her relationship with Toby and Corinne, and this was his roundabout way of asking.
What would be the harm in telling him that much? He probably knew anyway. It was possible that Toby had told him during their extended conversation at the corral fence and Wick wanted to hear her version of it.
This time when her forehead came to rest between his shoulder blades, she kept it there. "After Raymond Collier, my parents enrolled me in a boarding school in Dallas. The first Christmas I was there, they went to Europe. Mother didn't want to go, or so she claimed. But there was no arguing with T. Dan. As part of my punishment for the trouble I'd caused, I was left at school to spend the holiday alone.
"Somehow, Toby and Corinne found out. They showed up on Christmas morning. They brought their children, goodies, presents, and tried to make me happy. They've been seeing to my happiness ever since. If he comes across as overly protective, I think it's because he still sees me as a lonely abandoned girl on Christmas."
"What happened in your father's study that day, Rennie?"
She raised her head and withdrew her hands from beneath his. "If we're going to Galveston, we should be going."
He came around and took her by the shoulders.
"What happened, Rennie?"
"Wesley will blame me for any delay," was her only answer.
"Did he rape you? Try?"
Angered by his tenacity, she flung off his hands. "God, you never give up!"
"Did he?"
"Isn't that what my father told the police?"
"Yes. And from what little I know of T. Dan Newton, lying would be the least of his sins. He'd lie to the police and smile while doing it. Now, what caused you to shoot Raymond Collier?"
"What does it matter?"
"It matters because I want to know, dammit!
It matters because you're so damned and determined to keep the secret your daddy's money got buried. And it matters because I'm working on a two-day hard-on that I can't do anything about. Not without you accusing me of mauling you and getting death threats from your neighbor Toby."
He had backed her into a corner, literally-she was wedged into the right angle formed by intersecting cabinetry--and he had backed her into a corner emotionally. She came out fighting.
"Raymond never forced me to do anything. Not that afternoon. Not ever. If you want to invent a myth about attempted rape because that somehow sanitizes it in your mind and makes you feel better about me, then fine. But that's not the way it was.
"Raymond and T. Dan became partners on a land deal when I was fourteen. He started coming around a lot, spending time with us. I knew the impact I had on him. I teased him unmercifully. Under the guise of an affectionate older man, he seized every opportunity to touch me. I encouraged it and laughed about it later.
He had this ... this naked yearning that I thought was hilarious." She paused to take a breath. "Still think I'm "incredible," Wick? Just wait.
There's more."
"Stop it, Rennie."
"Oh no, you wanted to know. You wanted relief for your hard-on. Well this ought to cure it. For two years I tormented that poor man.
Then, about a week before that wretched day, I had a quarrel with my father. I don't even remember what I'd done, but he took away the keys to my car and grounded me for a month.
"So I got back at him by sleeping with his business partner. That's right, Wick. I called Raymond from a motel and told him that if he wanted me he could have me, but that he had to come right then. I was waiting for him."
She brushed tears of shame off her hot cheeks, but it was too late to stop now. The words continued to bubble out of her. "Raymond came to the motel and I went to bed with him. Just like I went to bed with all of them. Everything you've heard about Rennie Newton is true. You probably haven't heard a fraction of what there is to tell. Sometime when I haven't got a killer breathing down my neck, we'll get together and split a bottle of wine, and I'll detail for you all my sexual escapades. It'll be like telling ghost stories, only better.
"But this is the one story that seems to have you itching for the lowdown. And rightly so, because it was the worst thing I ever did. Daddy punished me, but I showed him, didn't I? I showed him but good."