“It doesn’t matter. Johnny took advantage of a situation he didn’t want to be part of from the beginning. He escaped. I got recaptured. While he was out and I was still locked up, the woman I loved killed herself. Her death was his fault. If I’d been there with her, it would have been different on all sides. He has no right to be happy. It’s time for luck paid.”
“His bad becomes your good long after his good became your bad?” Mockerie’s smile widened. “I like how you think, my friend. Tell Chloe to meet me in one of the private rooms in thirty minutes. I want to go a round or two with your smug 1960s slot machine. Word of warning, though. You might want to clear the area and turn up the music. My guess is Dean Martin’s not the only one that’s going to get a kick in the head tonight.”
Satyr nodded, then gave up. Let the destruction begin.
…
There was virtually nothing left of her clinic. A few charred instruments, burned chairs and tables, mangled fixtures, and the soggy skeleton that had been her medical bag.
She had a second kit in the car, but little in the way of meds. Those were easily replenished—she had insurance, after all. However, she wasn’t even sure if what remained of the building would be structurally sound at that point.
While Johnny dealt with the cover-up angle of the explosion and fire, Melia tackled the personal side of things. That being her patients, who she agreed to see at her house, and shocked townspeople who wanted her take on what could possibly have happened to destroy not only the town’s clinic, but also the pottery shop next to it and the shoe store on the other side.
And then there was Ethan. The moment she’d uttered the word “husband,” he’d deflated. His shoulders had slumped, his breath had rushed out, and he’d bowed his head.
“I see.” Hope had sparked briefly as he’d raised his eyes. “Estranged or ex?”
What could she say? “Ex.”
“Bad weasel!” Cas had determined, punching a fist into his open palm.
“He’s not bad. He’s just… We divorced three years ago. I haven’t— It’s not— I don’t know where we’ll go now.” Why was there never a convenient bank robbery when you needed one? “It’s complicated,” she’d finished finally.
“I suppose he’s here looking for a reconciliation.” Ethan had stopped Cas from throwing punches into the air. “You don’t have to answer. Cas is getting worked up. I’ll take him to the diner, let Ma watch over him. When I get back, we can survey the damage, see what’s to be done.”
“Thank you, Ethan. I’ll see you later, Cas.”
Guilt haunted her for the rest of the day. So did the residual anger she simply could not get past. They followed her into sleep, as did Johnny’s kiss after the explosion. Needless to say, it was the kiss and her reaction to it that turned her dreams into an emotion-filled roller coaster ride.
She woke late, feeling bruised and conflicted. A shower helped. Sunshine helped. Ninety degrees of heat and humidity didn’t.
Gert had coffee and oatmeal waiting for her when she stumbled downstairs. The hot cereal told her Bette was in control at that moment.
“Your incredibly sexy ex-husband said to tell you he was on it and not to leave the house until he got back. And if you do leave, not to try and lose your tail.” Gert as Bette winked at her. “I love the subterfuge of it all, darling. My question to you is why? You told me Johnny was an old flame. Why not tell everyone else the same tale?”
“Confusion. Irritation. A desire to keep him at arm’s length. I don’t know, Gert. Maybe it just seemed easier somehow. I didn’t want to answer a lot of personal questions.”
“Which you’ll have to answer now in any case.” Mabel Travers gave the doorframe a cursory knock before she strode in. She had a coffee cake in one hand and a container of huckleberries in the other. “My boys are crushed,” she announced, plopping her ample butt down in a chair. “Coffee smells wonderful, Gert, if you’re pouring.”
Gert did, albeit with tight lips and no hint of a greeting.
“Ethan’s hopeful—it’s how he’s made—but Cas has been dragging himself around like an ailing dog ever since he heard the news.”
Melia regarded Gomer, asleep by the panty door with Pepper curled up on his back. The dog gave a soft bark, opened one eye, and growled a little.
Shaking her head, Mabel arched a questioning brow at Melia. “Any chance Ethan’s right to hope? Are you and your ex-husband getting back together?”
Melia sipped her coffee. “I don’t have an answer for you, Mabel.”
“Do you have an answer for Steve Saxon?”
“Steve? No. I mean…no.” She set her cup down. “Steve’s not interested in me. Not any more than he’s interested in half a dozen other women in town. He’s not looking to get involved.”
“And neither are you.”
“No.”
“Glad to hear it.” Leaning forward, she sandwiched Melia’s hand between her larger ones. “Life’s too short to be indecisive, don’t you think, or to hanker after what’s been and gone. My Ethan’s a good, solid man. Young, hardy, and strong. Cas adores you. And you must know I’ve been hoping for more between all of you ever since you came to town.”
Had she known that? Probably, Melia admitted. Had she ignored it? Absolutely.
Mabel patted her arm. “Let’s leave it there, shall we? No firm decision’s been made one way or the other, so I’ll be big and say may the best man win. Now, I brought you a cake, some berries, and a piece of news to go with your morning coffee. Ethan talked to the foremen at both construction sites, and they’re willing to loan you some men to help rebuild the clinic and restore the shops on either side of it. Assuming the walls are still intact, it shouldn’t be too big a job to get you up and running again.”
“That is excellent news, darling,” Gert said to Melia. “Should we celebrate the rebuild somehow?”
“I have an idea on that score.” Mabel beamed. “Ethan’s birthday is next week. I’m fixing to throw him a surprise party at my place. An early one, so he really will be surprised. I’m thinking Friday, but I’ll let you know. I want you to come. You, too, Gert, and a passel of other folks. We’ll dance and sing and let our hair down all the way. What do you say?”
What could she say? “That’s very nice of you, Mabel. Does the invitation include Johnny?”
Mabel’s expression soured, then quickly cleared. “I— Of course. Yes, of course it does.”
Melia knew that couldn’t have been easy for her, so she smiled. “Thanks, Mabel. We’ll be there.”
Gert shrugged. “And me, I suppose. I’ll bring brownies and mai tai mix.”
“You do that.” Mabel released Melia’s hand. “It’ll be fun. You just bring yourself, doc, and…” She pointed in the direction of the upstairs guest room. “Leave the rest of the party preparations to me. Now you skedaddle over to your phone and have Ethan set you up with the site managers. And remember.” Her eyes glittered in the morning light. “You left your husband for a reason. You need to keep that reason in mind before you go jumping back into a relationship with him. I hate to say it, but he strikes me as a rather dangerous man.”
Melia summoned a placid smile. “Oh, he’s dangerous, all right. Very much so. Ask any of the people he’s worked with over the years. Any that are still alive, that is.”
…
Johnny talked to several people between eight a.m. and noon. First up was Steve Saxon. It was a lousy way to start the day, but it had to be done. They talked in Saxon’s kitchen, where no fewer than six pictures of the man adorned his walls and fridge. In the end, Johnny concluded that Steve wanted a trophy relationship rather than a real one. No idea where that left the guy’s late lover.
“Tell Mel I’d be happy to help with the rebuild of her clinic,” the newborn farmer said. “I’m only sorry I wasn’t there to fight the fire yesterday.”
“I imagine farm life keeps you pretty busy.” Johnny watched a chicken peck at something on the porch outside the door. “How often do you get into town?”
“Two, three times a week.”
“Yeah? Was yesterday one of those times?”
Steve’s muscles tightened visibly. “I might have driven in to buy some feed. Can’t say what time that would have been.”