When Lightning Strikes (8 page)

“When will we get to meet him?” Callie asked.

“Maybe I’ll bring him home for Christmas,” she said, but just
talking to Callie had convinced her that she’d never contest his decision not to
visit her hometown.

“Okay, but…I wish you were coming next month. Everyone was
looking forward to it.” Callie’s voice reflected her disappointment. No doubt
she thought a few days with the old gang would set Gail straight.

“I’ll reschedule soon.” The buzzer that indicated someone was
at her front gate sounded, so Gail got back on her feet. She wasn’t expecting
anyone. Would the paparazzi be bold enough to come to her house and ring the
doorbell?

Some would. Her gate faced the narrow street leading down to
the beach, which meant it was accessible to anyone passing by. And the value of
taking the right photographs made the paparazzi unbelievably intrusive.

“I’ve got company,” she said. “I have to go. Don’t tell anyone
about Simon, okay? Not yet. First, I need to break the news to my dad.”

“I won’t say a word, but…good luck with Martin.” Callie knew he
wouldn’t take the news well.

“Thanks. I’ll call you in a few days.” Gail disconnected as the
buzzer went off again.

Setting the phone aside, she hurried out of her small cottage
and down the flagstone path dividing the abundance of plants in her front yard.
There was a man at her gate. Despite the foliage that provided her with a
modicum of privacy, she could see part of his dark head above the tall stone
fence and arch of the gate. He appeared to be wearing a uniform, one typical of
a courier service, but that could be a trick.

“Who is it?” she called.

He tried to look over at her, so she flattened herself against
the gate and peered through the crack.

Unfortunately, he was standing too close for her to see more
than a four-inch square of his chest.

“Courier,” he said. “I have a package for you.”

“Go ahead and leave it.”

“Can’t. Requires a signature.”

Really?
She opened the gate by a
wary inch, just enough to see a little more of the guy.

He seemed legit. He wasn’t holding a camera, he seemed to be
alone and an ID badge hung from the collar of his shirt.

“Are you going to sign for this or not?” he asked impatiently.
“I’ve got other deliveries to make.”

When she spotted a small truck with his company logo
double-parked on the street, she finally released her death grip on the gate and
swung it wide. “Yes. Sorry.”

He handed her his clipboard. “Right here.”

She scribbled her name, and he gave her the small box he’d been
holding.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

He walked off without responding; a moment later, she heard the
rumble of his delivery truck. No doubt he thought she was some kind of paranoid
hermit. But she didn’t care. She had reason to be skittish.

After shutting and locking the gate, she examined what the
courier had given her. The return address indicated it had come from O’Neal
Productions—Simon’s company.

Ian had said he’d mail her a copy of the contract once Simon
had signed it, but this wasn’t flat. The size and shape resembled a jeweler’s
box.

Most likely the wedding ring, she supposed. But that wasn’t it
at all. Once she opened the package, she saw that Ian—she assumed it was Ian—had
sent her a pendant, one with a giant ruby and two diamond baguettes. Classy,
solid and probably expensive, it was exactly what she might’ve chosen herself if
she’d had a cool ten or twenty grand to drop on a necklace.

“Nice,” she breathed. But…why the unexpected gift?

She guessed it was Ian’s way of keeping her moving in the right
direction—a sample of the finer things she’d enjoy while married to someone so
rich. But when she read the accompanying handwritten note, she realized the
pendant hadn’t come from Ian at all. It was more personal than that.

“I’ll make it up to you where I can. Simon.”

9

I
t was late evening by the time Gail
summoned the nerve to call her father. She would’ve called him a little earlier,
but she’d been on the phone with the police. They wanted to get a statement from
her, make sure that no crime—no assault, sexual or otherwise—had been
committed.

Taking responsibility for a lie she hadn’t uttered was
embarrassing, but she’d managed to assure them that it was just a lovers’
quarrel and they took the news pretty well. They’d probably heard crazier
stories. The officer on the phone was very professional, and because there was
no evidence to support any charges, none were going to be filed.

She was relieved to have that out of the way, but now she had
another hurdle to clear. The photographs of her and Simon were already posted
online. She’d checked. That meant the fervor was starting and she risked having
her father find out before she could tell him. Fortunately, Martin DeMarco
wasn’t fond of the internet. He didn’t watch a lot of TV, either.

Still, sooner or later—and probably sooner—someone in Whiskey
Creek would see the pictures of her “kissing” Simon. Then her father would hear
about it from everyone in town. Back home, in “the heart of the Gold Country” as
the town slogan went, it only took one person to start a social epidemic.

As she sat in the dark of her living room, blinds drawn and
clock ticking closer and closer to ten, she imagined how it would go when the
news did get out.
Have you heard? Gail is dating that
no-good bastard, Simon O’Neal. Yes,
that
Gail—and
that
Simon!

She almost felt sorry for her soon-to-be husband. If he thought
his name had been maligned before, he hadn’t seen what they could do in her
conservative hometown. The people who lived there had deep roots and strong
values. They prided themselves on living circumspect lives. In Whiskey Creek,
his celebrity could not outweigh his notoriety. Not anymore. He’d passed that
point six months ago.

As Gail pictured the Old West boardwalk and historic
architecture of Sutter’s Antiquities, Black Gold Coffee and Whiskey Creek Five
and Dime, she realized that she would, for once, supplant Matt Stinson in the
gossip arena—even with all the speculation about his knee injury and the
possibility of early retirement. She was Whiskey Creek’s hometown girl made
good: valedictorian of her high school, a Stanford grad and, to all appearances,
a successful entrepreneur. They’d see Simon as using her, and them by extension,
and it wouldn’t go over well.

Too bad she’d helped shape their hard feelings when she visited
last month. Their prejudice would only make things more difficult. But back
then, she and Simon had been in the heat of battle. She’d had no clue she’d wind
up
marrying
him.

Steeling herself against her family’s reaction, she picked up
the phone. All things considered, the evening had been a quiet one. But it felt
rather ominous, like the calm before a storm.

She had a feeling that storm was about to break.

“’Lo?” Her brother, Joe, had answered. Not only did he and her
father own the gas station and towing service at the edge of town, they shared
the same house, at least since Joe’s divorce four years ago.

Gail attempted to put a smile in her voice. “Hey, big brother.
How are you?”

“Hangin’ in. You?” Although he was more connected to the world
outside Whiskey Creek than her father was, he didn’t seem to have heard anything
that upset him. He was treating her like he always did.

She breathed a sigh of relief. She’d called in time. “Fine.
Busy, as usual.”

“How’s the biz?”

“Getting better all the time.” Or it would soon....

“So it didn’t hurt you to cut Simon O’Neal from your list? I
know you were worried about that.”

She’d been far too vocal about
everything.
“Um, not so much. It’s going to work out in the end. Dad
around?”

“Right here.”

“Who’s at the station tonight?”

“Sandra Morton.”

“I thought she only worked days during the weekend.”

“She’s asked for some extra hours. Robbie’s getting married.
You might’ve heard about that.”

“No.” When she’d spoken with Callie earlier, that detail
must’ve gotten lost in the news of Matt’s return. “Robbie’s just…what,
seventeen?”

“Yep. A senior in high school. Knocked up his girlfriend.”

Maybe she wasn’t the
only
one
Whiskey Creek would be gossiping about. Matt’s return and Robbie’s shotgun
wedding would also be hot topics. She would’ve been relieved to have competition
for the best scandal in town, except this wasn’t good news for Robbie or his
mother, whom she liked. “I’m sorry to hear that, for everyone concerned.”

“They claim they’re in love, want to get married and keep the
baby.”

“What does Sandra say?”

“She’s determined to let them.” He didn’t sound like he thought
the marriage had a snowball’s chance in hell, but that was probably because he
blamed the failure of his own marriage on settling down too early.

“They’ll be living with her?”

“Until they finish high school, anyway.”

Sandra was a widow, mostly dependent on social security. “How
will she afford to feed them?”

“He’s working at the station now, too. He does nights. She’s
training him.”

For all his exacting ways, her father had a soft heart. He just
didn’t want anyone to know it—and could be darn good at hiding his secret. “Do
you and Dad really need that much help?”

“Can’t hurt, I guess. Dad’s grabbing the phone,” he said, and
passed it off.

“’Bout time you checked in.” Her father’s voice was as
commanding as ever.

She stayed in close touch, but he was never satisfied. He
wanted her back in Whiskey Creek, like Joe. “Sorry, Dad, my life’s been
crazy.”

“What’s going on?”

Hesitant to launch into what she had to say about Simon, she
searched for other things they could talk about. “Just…work. You know how it
is.”

She asked about the station and Sandra and Robbie. He confirmed
what Joe had told her. Then he mentioned that Matt Stinson was coming back to
town and assured her Matt’s knee would heal. How he knew anything about it
wasn’t clear. Matt and her father spoke only if they bumped into each other on
the street. But her father was the last word on everything, regardless of his
lack of firsthand knowledge. Ironic though it was, he was usually right,
too.

“That boy’s not done playing football,” he said.

“I hope not. He loves it.”

“And we love watching him. You know what it’s like around here
when the Packers have a game.” She did. Forget the San Francisco 49ers. As long
as Matt played for the Packers, Whiskey Creek would be wearing green and
gold.

Eventually her father said it was getting late and he had to be
up early. At that point, Gail knew she’d waited too long to broach the subject
of Simon. With Martin about to hang up, it would be even more awkward to give
him her news. But she had no choice.

She cleared her throat. “Before you go I, uh, there’s something
I want to tell you.”

This met with silence. No doubt he’d heard the nervousness in
her voice.

“Everything okay, Gabby?”

Where he’d gotten that nickname, she had no idea, but he’d used
it like an endearment ever since she was a child. “Yeah, of course. I’m fine.
It’s just—”

“What the hell?” Joe spoke so loudly in the background that he
interrupted their conversation. “Give me the phone.”

“What’s the matter with you?” her father responded, but the
phone changed hands, and Joe’s voice came back on the line.

“Tell me it’s not true, Gail! Tell me Simon O’Neal didn’t rape
you.”

She bit back a groan. “No, he didn’t. That was… Well, it
doesn’t matter. The important thing is that it didn’t happen and I never said it
did.”

“You’re sure? You’d tell us if you’d been hurt....”

And have them attempt to punish Simon? Probably not. She’d let
the police handle something like that so her father and brother wouldn’t end up
in jail. But she didn’t say so. “Of course. I’d speak up if I had anything to
tell. That claim is one hundred percent false.”

He wasn’t completely mollified. “That’s what it says on AOL.
But you wouldn’t lie about something like that. If you said it, it’s true.”

“I
didn’t
say it. One of my
employees got drunk and started that rumor.”

There was a slight pause while Joe considered what she’d told
him. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“No.”

“Which employee?”

“It’s been taken care of.”

“Whoever it is should be fired.”

“It’s been handled, like I said.”

“Is the same person responsible for the rest of it, too?
Because Dad’s reading the article right now, and it says you and Simon have been
secretly seeing each other for several weeks.”

Saying a silent prayer that this would go better than she
feared, Gail changed her phone to the other ear. “My employee has nothing to do
with that part of it.”

“Which means…what? It can’t be true! I can’t believe you’d go
out with a man like Simon O’Neal. Any woman who got involved with him after all
his bad press would be asking for trouble.”

“I… He… We’re not… I mean, I’ve been out with him a few times,
but it’s not serious.” She told herself to calm down so she could at least speak
coherently. “The media is making more of our relationship than it is.”

“There’s a picture with the caption Simon O’Neal’s Love Life
Heats Up Again—with PR Maven Who Cried Rape.”

“Like I said, we went on a few dates, that’s all.”

Her father took over again. “Gail? What’s this all about?”

“I mentioned to Joe that Simon and I have gone out a couple of
times, Dad. But it’s no big deal.”

“There’s no truth to the rape stuff?”

“None. I didn’t say it, and it didn’t happen. The rumors about
Simon are crazy. He can’t do anything without the press making an issue of
it.”

He didn’t let her comment about media exposure distract him.
“Your brother’s right. Getting involved with someone like Simon is asking for
trouble. You don’t want to screw up your life, do you?”

Imagining what he’d have to say when he learned about the
marriage, she wrung her hands. “No, of course not. But…he—he’s not as bad as I
thought.”

“Don’t you believe it, Gabby,” he warned. “If you have any
doubts, all you have to do is ask his ex-wife.”

“It’s not like Bella and I are friends, Dad. Besides, I don’t
get the impression that the divorce was entirely his fault.” In reality, she had
no idea, but she had to use what she could.

“She’s got a restraining order against him, doesn’t she? That
tells you all you need to know right there.”

It looked pretty cut-and-dried from the outside. Simon had been
convicted in the court of public opinion. At one time—not long ago—she’d
convicted him in her own mind, too. But Ian had suggested there was more to the
story, and that made her a bit defensive. America only knew so much—Bella’s
side. Not only that but Gail was
Simon’s
publicist.
She was wearing his ruby necklace. And she’d agreed to become his wife. If she
didn’t stand up for him, who would? “Does that mean he’s not worth helping
through a rough time? That he should never get another chance to straighten out
his life?”

“He’s had plenty of chances. You’ve told me that yourself. You
don’t want to risk your heart on someone who’s sure to break it.”

She’d expected that response, and yet it bothered her. “I’m
thirty-one, Dad. I’m quite capable of deciding who I want to date.”

“Not if you’re talking about a guy who can’t keep his pants
zipped, Gail.”

The endearments were gone; she was Gail now. “He’s trying to
change his life. Have I not communicated that part?”

Her father snorted. “If he wants to change, more power to him,
but keep your distance or you’ll be sorry.”

“He’s fighting to gain custody of his son. That means he
cares.”

“If he cared he never would’ve lost custody to begin with. A
court doesn’t take your children away unless you deserve it.” The way her mother
had deserved it. But Simon wasn’t her mother.

“You’re coming on really strong, Dad. Could you just…back off a
little?”

The sudden chill told her she’d offended him. And he didn’t
forgive easily, even small slights. He’d probably withhold his love and approval
for weeks over this call. But she didn’t have the opportunity to apologize or
try to make amends.

“You’re making a mistake, Gail,” he said, and hung up.

Gail stared at the phone in her hand. Part of her was inclined
to call her father back. She’d always fallen in with his wishes before, and she
certainly couldn’t deny the wisdom of his words. But firemen couldn’t avoid a
burning building just because it was dangerous.
Someone
had to rush in and look for survivors.

Simon was standing in a burning building and, as belligerent,
sarcastic and aloof as he could be, he didn’t know how to get himself out. He
had too much anger and self-loathing working against him. Did she try to help?
Risk getting burned herself? Or did she turn a blind eye, walk on and leave the
job to someone else?

Who would do it if she didn’t? He had everyone he trusted
cowed. And he wouldn’t cooperate with anyone he didn’t trust.

Why was it always someone else’s responsibility, anyway?

It wasn’t. This time she was holding the fire hose and she was
going to use it whether her father approved or not. She might live to regret her
actions—whenever she crossed her father she usually did—but if she were Simon,
she’d want someone to brave the flames.

Taking a deep breath, she redialed.

Her father didn’t answer. He had to teach her a lesson for
disrespecting him. But she wasn’t going to succumb to his emotional blackmail.
Not today. She had a date with a burning building.