CAPTURED INNOCENCE (8 page)

             
Rising from the bed, she took two steps toward the hotel room door. She had no money-- no mode of transportation. She walked back to the bed and flopped belly first across it. She was stuck marrying a man she didn’t know, following his lead, and taking his protection. It galled her.  

             
She rolled over to her back and pounded the bed with both hands. She needed to keep moving. Get to Prestige--and to Alex. Tears escaped her eyes and rolled down her cheek. She swiped them away. No more crying.

             
The bathroom door opened, and she leaped from the bed. She gasped as Conley exited the bathroom clad only in a towel.

             
“For crying out loud, couldn’t you get dressed first?” Didn’t he have any idea what walking around like that would do to a woman? She peered into the bathroom. “And couldn’t you have picked up your clothes? I’m not your maid.”

             
He took a step back. “I’ll pick them up, and my clean clothes are out here.”

             
She stormed over to their satchel bag and yanked the zipper down. “See how difficult it is to get your clothes first? What are you an exhibitionist?” She reached in and pulled out a light blue dress. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

             
“O-kay.” Conley drew out the word, clearly mystified at her behavior.

             
She slammed the door behind her, leaned against it, and then rested her head back. Again the tears threatened to flow, making her angrier at her weakness.

             
She kicked the pile of Conley’s clothing on her way to the tub and spotted his razor on the edge of the tub. She smiled. After all, it’s her wedding day. Couldn’t have stubble, could she?

             
Turning on the faucet, she poured a liberal amount of the supplied shampoo under the running water. She let her clothes fall to the floor to join Conley’s and stepped into the tub full of white shampoo bubbles. Taking up the razor and sliver of soap, she set to work shaving her legs.

             
The clean smell of the soap, and the rhythmic movements of her hand, lulled her into a sense of peace. The overwhelming feelings of anxiousness slid away with the rinsing of the suds.

             
The tub drain gurgled as the last of the water drained out. She toweled off briskly, tousling the curls on her head. She thought of tying them back then decided against it, leaving them instead to brush against her shoulders. She slipped the dress over her head, took a deep breath, and opened the door.

             
Conley was dressed in a clean pair of jeans and navy button up shirt when she exited the bathroom. He looked up to meet her gaze and gave a whistle of appreciation. “Wow.”

             
She could second his reaction. The man looked good enough to eat. She smoothed the skirt of the flowing gauzy dress and twisted. It swirled around her knees. “I’ve always loved this dress. It makes me feel pretty.” She locked gazes with him. “I’m sorry for my attitude. I’m nervous and scared, but that’s no reason to take it out on you.”

             
He patted her shoulder as he squeezed past her to the sink to squirt a handful of shaving cream into his hand and spread it across his face. He picked up his razor from the side of the tub and made a long swipe down his cheek. He drew in a sharp breath. A small bead of blood rose on his chin.

             
Jo laughed and clamped a hand across her mouth.

             
Conley frowned at her through the mirror. His eyes traveled to her bare legs. “Did you shave with my razor?”

             
She nodded and laughed. “I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t have. It was just a small way to get back at you for leaving your clothes on the floor.”

             
“I told you I would pick them up.” He held up the razor. “What am I suppose to shave with?”

             
“Don’t shave. You look cute with a shadow.”

             
He threw the razor into the trash and wiped the cream from his face. “Great. Fine. A shadow with a clean line down one side.” He scooped up the pile of dirty clothes and shoved them into a plastic bag someone had left in the room. He then stuffed them into their satchel. “There. Happy?”

             
Jo plopped on the bed. The bed springs squeaked. “I have to tell you something.”

             
“Okay.”

             
“My real name is Jocelyn Nielson.”

             
“I know that. Why are telling me now?”

             
“I don’t want the justice of the peace to call me by the wrong name.”

             
“I wouldn’t have let that happen.” He shook his head. “What do you take me for?”

             
“I don’t take you for anything. I don’t even know you.”

             
“Okay,” Conley sucked in his cheeks. “My favorite color is, don’t laugh, pink. Not a very manly color, but…there you go. I don’t have a favorite food. I like it all. My parents were named Horace and Alice. Thank God, they didn’t name me after my father.”

             
He sat in the chair across from Jo. “They’re dead now. A car accident two years ago. I’m an only child and somewhat of a disappointment to them. My middle name is Joseph. I’m thirty-one years old and my Christian faith is very important to me. Anything else you want to know?” He crossed his arms across his chest.

             
Jo shook her head, eyes wide. She lowered her gaze to the floor as heat spread across her face.

             
“Your favorite color is blue. Royal blue to be precise. You love Italian food, according to your mother, and your middle name is Edna. Named after an aunt. You’re twenty-six years old. Your husband…”

             
“Ex-husband,” she interrupted.

              “Is quite a bit older than you. He’s thirty-nine.” He laughed when Jo wrinkled her nose. He lowered his voice. “And, although you believe in God, the most important thing to you is your son.”

             
Tears welled in her eyes. “How do you know all this?”

             
. “Lucky guess.” He stood and held out his hand. “Do you want to get something to eat before we get married?”

              Married. There was that word again. What was Jo thinking? “I could eat. Maybe.” And she might just choke on the food
.

             
“I know a great restaurant,” Conley told her. “It’s not far from here or from the chapel. We can walk so you won’t get messed up on the bike.”

             
“Okay.”

             
“You all right?” His blue eyes were full of concern when he looked at her.

             
Jo nodded again. “As well as can be expected.”

             
With his hand grasping her arm, Conley led her to the lobby of the hotel. Soft rock music issued from speakers mounted in the ceiling. Plastic ferns sat in cheap pots around the room. Stained Mexican tile spread under their feet.

A newspaper lying on a coffee table caught her attention. “Alex,” she whispered.

She snatched the paper. On the front page was a picture of a smiling Blake, his arm around her son. The headline read “National Millionaire Overjoyed to Bring Missing Son Home. Wife Still Gone.” A sob caught in her throat as Jo handed the paper to Conley.

             
“This is good news,” he said after reading it.

             
“How?” She silently begged him to calm her, to reassure her.

             
“He’s openly told people Alex is home. If anything happens to your son now, there will be questions.” He set the paper back on the table. “I don’t know what he plans to do, but I think Alex is safe.”

             
“Thank God.” Her legs gave way beneath her.

Conley helped her sit on the worn hotel sofa
, then knelt in front of her. “Jo, this will—”

             
“I need a phone.”

             
“Jo?”

             
“I need to use a phone. Right now, Conley.”

             
“Okay.” He rose and went to the desk clerk. He returned moments later with a cordless phone.

             
Jo grabbed it from his hands and punched in the numbers. “Blake. Let me talk to Blake.”

             
“Jocelyn. It’s good to hear your voice, Sweetheart. Are you ready to come home?”

             
“Don’t patronize me. What do you think you’re doing? Give me back my son. How dare you steal him?” Her voice rose.

             
“Come home where you belong, and you can have your son.” Blake’s voice was soft, matter-of-fact.

             
“He’s
my
son, Blake. Not yours.” Against her will, Jo’s voice trembled.

             
“And you’re
my
wife.”

             
“Not anymore,” her voice quaked.

             
Blake sighed. “That was a mistake, Sweetheart. You’re confused. Misled. You hurt me.”

             
“Like you’ve hurt me?”

             
“Let me help you. Come home, and I will shower you with everything your little heart desires.” His voice seeped like syrup and threatened to drown her in its stickiness.

             
“You’re crazy. You just want to control me.”

             
“Don’t call me that!”

             
Click.

             
Jo stared at the receiver in her hand.

             
“He hung up on me.”

             
Conley sat on the sofa next to her and placed his arm along the back of the sofa. “What did he say?”

             
“That it was a mistake to divorce. He wants me back.” She leaned forward and placed her face in her hands. “He’s using Alex to get me back.”

             
“Why does he want you back?”

             
She stared at him, her body rigid. “Excuse me? Why wouldn’t he want me back?”

             
Conley moved his arm around her shoulder and changed tactics. “What do you want to do?”

             
“I want to get married.” She stood in front of him. “ Let’s go through you’re your plan. Don’t you see, Conley? If I’m married to you, he won’t be able to force me to remarry him.”

             
“He can’t force you to do anything, Jo.”

             
“I thought you wanted to marry me.”

             
“I do.”

             
“Then let’s go eat.” She marched out the door and waited on the sidewalk.

             
It was several minutes before Conley joined her.

             
“Ready?” She turned.

             
He nodded and placed a hand on her lower back. Her nerves quivered under his touch. They walked the two blocks to the restaurant without speaking.

             
Conley opened the double glass doors and waved her in before him. A young girl wearing a white blouse and tie with black slacks greeted them with a smile.

“A table for two,” Conley told the hostess. He smiled down at Jo as the young girl led them to a booth in the back of the restaurant and handed them their menus with a promise to return in a few minutes.

Classical music serenaded them. The strains rose above the muted sounds of the other patron’s conversation. Occasionally, soft laughter rang forth, or a glass would clink. A utensil clattered against a porcelain plate. Tantalizing smells of beef and chicken wafted across the room.

             
Jo transferred her attention to the menu, pleased to discover they had a large variety of meal selections. When the waitress returned, Conley ordered steak, medium-rare, and she ordered a large chicken salad.

             
The cardboard coaster beneath her glass of water soon lay in tattered shreds as she dug at it with her fingernails. Once she’d finished with that, she fiddled with her eating utensils, rearranging them on the table. She glanced up to catch Conley watching her.

             
“What?”

             
“Nothing.” Conley lifted his glass of soda to his mouth.

             
“What?”