Unravel Me (23 page)

Then the man groaned, soft and low, and she recognized the couple. Oh, my God. She knew who the two sucking face were now.

Her mind reeled. She stumbled outside, her knees going soft, just as her mind honed to a razor’s edge. Juliet and Noah. Her father’s wife and her father’s aide.
Juliet and Noah.

She must have said it out loud, because they broke apart as if cleaved in two. Sickness filled her, making her mouth dry and causing her stomach to pitch and heave like an un-moored boat.

“You . . . you . . .” There were a dozen accusations she wanted to hurl at them, but her throat was too tight to release a single one.

“Marlys . . .” Juliet started.

“You whore!” She found the words and flung them toward the beautiful blonde, the perfect lady her father had adored beyond reason. Beyond Marlys. “You bitch.”

Noah stepped forward. “That’s enough, Marlys.”

“Don’t say a word to me, Private. You’re no better.”

“Neither of us has done anything to apologize for or be ashamed of,” Noah said, his voice steely. “And now I think it’s time you leave.”

“I can’t stand the sight of either one of you anyway,” Marlys replied, striding past them to the side gate exit. There were hot tears in her eyes and she was glad the darkness hid them. Seeing her cry would make them think she was weak, but she was strong in her righteousness, in her sense of outrage on her father’s behalf.

She whirled to glare at her father’s wife. “How could you? You’re still holding tight to my father’s ashes and yet you’re out here holding tight another man. Kissing him.”

Juliet stayed cool as she delivered the sharpest blow of all. “The ashes are gone now, Marlys. As your father wanted, I released them into the ocean.”

Marlys backed away, her hand creeping into her pocket to feel her silver pendant. Still there.

Dean emerged from the house. “Marlys?” His voice was puzzled. “What’s going on? Are you leaving without me?”

Just the silhouetted shape of him made her ache. She didn’t want to leave without him. She wanted what she’d wanted when she’d come to him that evening after work. She wanted him in her bed, wrapped around her. Worse, she wanted to run to him now, damn it. She wanted to fling herself into his arms and beg him to help her find her way clear of this tangle of treachery and grief. But that smacked of emotional dependence, and Marlys Marie Weston would never be so weak.

 

Later that night, Marlys’s doorbell rang. She would have liked to ignore it, but Blackie was going nuts, jumping around just like her stomach and barking with fierce intent, communicating exactly what she wanted to:
I’m ruthless and strong and you should beware of bad, scary me.

It was Dean outside, of course, she was as certain of that as she was certain he wouldn’t easily give up if she pretended deafness and didn’t answer the door. So she kneed Blackie aside and promised herself to get rid of him quickly.

When Dean stepped in, he greeted the dog with a brisk body rub. The caresses didn’t quell the canine’s excitement and he continued his sharp barks and excited leaps. “Blackie,” the man said, his voice hard. “Take it easy.” The animal halted for a moment, then hopped about again, his yaps more demanding.

“Blackie.” Dean eyed him with stern disappointment. “
No.
” Then he shifted his gaze from the dog and ignored him altogether. Blackie bounced his front paws off Dean’s thighs, barked again, but then seemed to realize his antics were doomed to failure. His doggie eyes still trained on the man’s face, he sat back on his haunches in sudden silence.

Dean immediately leaned down to rub Blackie’s ears. “Good dog. Good boy.” Then he straightened, and glanced around the shadowy, spacious foyer. “Big digs,” he said to Marlys.

“Ancestral home.” She was staring at her animal, who was cuddled up to Dean and doing his best—and first—imitation of man’s best friend. “Blackie likes tunneling for the treasures that former Weston canines left behind.”

With that, she turned to stroll through the dark house, toward the large kitchen that was the only room with lights blazing. Dean was behind her; she sensed his presence, but for such a large man he moved with an assured quiet.

She was halfway across the black-and-white tile floor when she turned to find that he’d halted in the kitchen doorway. Wearing a strange expression, he was staring at her.

“What?”

“That isn’t . . . Good God, it is . . . It’s the band Hanson on your robe.”

Frowning, Marlys tugged the fleece lapels closer around her throat. She wasn’t going to apologize for being in a pair of flannel pajama pants, a T-shirt, and one of her old robes. She hadn’t invited him over. “Hanson memorabilia goes for a mint on eBay. This looks nearly brand-new and it’s over ten years old. I’m thinking of putting it up for auction.”

Dean looked beyond her to the dozens of cardboard boxes piled on the round kitchen table and the others stacked in a Jenga-like pile in a corner of the room. “Is that what you’re searching for, angel? Items to sell on eBay?”

Marlys shoved her hand in the pocket of her robe and rubbed her thumb over the silver pendant. “I’m gathering together mementoes of my father’s life. A friend of the family is putting on a big party to celebrate the publication of his autobiography. I said I’d provide his special keep-sakes for exhibit.”

“Juliet must have some, too.”

Marlys knew the name would come up. She willed her expression to remain unchanged. “She’s not invited to the event.”

It was Dean who looked unruffled. “Family friend puts on a big do for the general’s book and his widow’s not invited?”

Beneath the fleece decorated with photos of Isaac, Taylor, and Zac, Marlys’s spine steeled. “I asked Helen to keep her off the guest list.”

“Christ, Marlys—”

“I have my reasons!” To her own ears, her voice sounded shrill. She swallowed, and tried smoothing out her tone, though obviously she had even better reasons to keep Juliet off the list now. “And Helen agreed with me.”

He shook his head. “Marlys.”

For a moment she felt like Blackie, not just chastised, but chagrined she’d disappointed him.

Fine! Let him be disappointed or disgusted or whatever that frown on his face meant. She hadn’t invited him over. She wanted to be alone, anyway.

“I’m going to bed,” she said. “You can see yourself out.” The back staircase was just a few feet away, but his voice halted her at the bottom step.

“There was nothing between them while your father was alive, Marlys.”

Again, betrayal bubbled and roiled in her stomach like bile. “Did they send you here to tell me that?”

“They didn’t, nor did they have to.” Dean’s voice was nearer now and she knew he was closing in on her. “Noah would never do that.”

“Yeah? And you know this how?”

“I know
him
. Time in Iraq is often numbing boredom only broken up by mortar rounds and bloody battles. The soldiers standing with you are your saviors from death as well as from tedium. You get pretty damn close. So I’m certain Noah would never have shown such disrespect to your father.”

“Maybe not while he was alive . . .”

Dean put his hands on her shoulders. “And now he’s dead, Marlys.”

Her body jerked away from his touch. “Thank you for that startling piece of information. Good night.” She marched up the stairs, slapping her hand against her thigh. “C’mon, Blackie.”

After a moment, the jingle of her dog’s collar followed. She breathed a sigh of relief. Unless Dean was on his way out, she didn’t think her fair-weather pet would have obeyed her command.

Her room was dim, lit only by the forty-watt bulb in the Sleeping Beauty lamp on her bedside table. It was another of her attic finds and she remembered it being in her room at Fort Bliss. She kneed her way across the mattress to pull at the spread covering the pillows. At the doorway, Blackie’s collar jingled again.

Without glancing back, she pointed to his bed on the floor. “There you go, boy. Right there.”

“I don’t think I’ll fit.”

Marlys stiffened. Unless Blackie had suddenly done a reverse Dr. Dolittle on her, Dean hadn’t left after all.

“I didn’t invite you in here.” Glancing back, she noted he was leaning his shoulder against the doorjamb and that Blackie’s shoulder was leaning against his leg. She glared at them both.
Dogs.

“I brought Blackie up. He didn’t seem to be responding when you called him.”

Like she’d thought before.
Dogs.

“Thanks. You can go now.” She snapped her fingers, and the dog pranced into the room, then he looked back at his new BFF, as if to say,
Hey, aren’t you coming, too?

“No, Blackie,” she answered for him. “And don’t even try begging for his company, either. Dean thinks we’re spoiled enough as it is.”

“That’s not what I think,” Dean corrected, crossing the rug toward the bed. “I don’t think you’re acting spoiled right now, Marlys. Like I told you earlier today, I think you’re acting sad.”

“And like
I
told
you
earlier today, I don’t need cheering up.” She jerked the covers back to expose her flower-sprigged sheets. As if he wasn’t there, she yanked at the tie of her robe and tossed it away. Her toes slid down the icy cotton as she lay on her side and gathered the blankets around her.

“And now you’re sad because of what Juliet told you.” The mattress shifted as he sat in the space made by the C-curve of her body. “You’re upset about the ashes.”

“I don’t give a shit about those ashes!” Blackie’s head jerked up at the sharp edge of her voice. He whined.

Dean’s big hand reached out to brush her bangs off her forehead. “Angel—”

“I have my own ashes.” She snagged a piece of her robe and drew it across the bed toward her. From the pocket, she pulled the silver chain. “See? I carry around my own piece of my father.”

The pendant swung from the chain clutched in her fingers. Dean caught it, held it against his palm for inspection. “A tear. Interesting choice. You wear it?”

“I don’t wear it.”

“You feel it?”

She’d had it with him. She wanted him out of her bedroom, out of her house, out of her mind, just out, before he could worm himself any further into her head. “Feel what?”

“Grief, angel. Anger and bitterness and sadness come off you in waves, Marlys, but I’m not getting grief.”

She snorted. “I’m not giving you a single one of my emotions. Ever.”

“Not even desire?”

“Believe me, the last thing I want to do with you right now is have sex.”

“How about sleep?” He crawled over to curl around her on the mattress.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she asked, rising on her elbow.

“Holding you, Marlys. Holding you while you sleep.” He pushed her against the pillows.

When she tried jerking up again, he stroked his hand down her arm. “Take it easy.”

“You said that to the dog!”

“And look how he settled to my touch.” Dean bunched the pillow beside hers and then pulled her more snugly against his body. He stroked her again. “Isn’t this nice?”

On the floor beside her, Blackie dropped his head between his paws, sighed. “Are you a dog whisperer?” she asked.

He laughed, his breath warm against her neck. “If I said yes, you might take offense at the way that plays out.”

“Bitch whisperer.” Her head settled more deeply on the pillow. “You’re right, I might take offense.”

“So just take my touch, angel.” His soothing hand had a soporific effect on her. So did his warmth. It stole through the covers that separated them. Her heart shuddered, but she squeezed shut her eyes and let her mind and her mood shut down for the night.

 

In the morning, she woke, panicked. She jerked upright, but found she was alone. Thank God. He’d only left behind an indentation on the pillow beside hers.

But her pulse wouldn’t settle. She could still feel the impression of his heat at her back and if she couldn’t shake that, she was doomed. Somehow she had to push him away, because she couldn’t risk wanting—no,
needing
—to belong to someone ever again.

Panic rising a second time, she jerked her gaze around the sheets and ran her hands over the cover. There. There. Her fingers found the silver tear. Holding the cold metal against her cheek to remind herself of her resolve, she spied a piece of paper half buried beneath the pillow he’d used. Pulling it free, she took in three sentences in masculine block letters.

It was relief she felt. Yeah. Disappointment was for other women.

Did she have any other choice?

Not on her life.

Fourteen

The supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting.

—SUN TZU

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

She hadn’t anticipated this was how or where she’d next confront Noah, Juliet thought, pacing the floor of the room designated as her home office. After Marlys had caught that impulsive moment of comfort on the patio, they’d separated without further discussion. Juliet had gone to her house and he’d returned to his place across the pool.

It wasn’t clear who had avoided who in the thirty-six or so hours since, but it was fact that they hadn’t caught sight of each other after that. By the next time they came face-to-face, she’d been hoping to have found some smooth and easy way of acknowledging what had happened between them in her bedroom—and then maybe moving on to those questions that had plagued her ever since.

Why had he treated her like she might break? Did he worry she couldn’t stand up to a man’s passion?