Dark Paradise (40 page)

Marilee didn't blink. "A gentleman wouldn't ask a question like that."

Will squinted and craned his neck, looking all around the bar. "Not a

gentleman in the place. Not a gentleman for miles. No one here but us

shit-kicking losers looking to get lucky or pass out."

He was feeling sorry for himself. He'd been feeling sorry for himself

since - hell, forever. At least two days.

Wasn't it two days since he'd seen Samantha?
 
His ex-wife, ex-wife,

ex-wife. It seemed like two days that he'd been working on alternately

tormenting himself and trying to wash her out of his memory.

"I met your wife last night," Marilee said, baptizing her burger in a

puddle of ketchup.

She kept an eye on Will while she chewed, trying to read his reaction,

wondering what was at the heart of his trouble - his drinking?
 
his wife?

J.D.?
 
Maybe he was just a jerk, but she didn't want to believe it.

There was a sweetness to Will's charm, a genuine sense of innocence to

his clowning, even though she imagined he was guilty of many things. He

cheated on his wife, which should have made him despicable, but Marilee

couldn't get past thinking there was some deeper reason than a

testosterone imbalance.

Lucy would have laughed at her.

His grin tightened and soured. He put the onion ring back on the plate.

"Oh, yeah?
 
Was she having a high old time dancing with the rich boys?"

He could picture it too easily now that he'd had a picture to torture

himself with the possibilities. Sam with her hair down, all that long

black silk swinging around her shoulders. He saw her in high heels and a

skimpy dress with a glass of champagne in her hand, laughing, smiling,

dazzling the city boys.

"Actually, she didn't look very comfortable there," Marilee said. "She

seems too sweet to be hanging out with that crowd."

"Yeah, well, you don't see her hanging out with me."

"That might have something to do with the fact that you're too busy

coming on to anything with two X chromosomes. I'll give you a clue here,

Will: infidelity is not a trait most women find desirable in a husband."

Will tried to find a snappy comeback, but his brain stalled out. He

started picking at the label on his empty beer bottle instead. He was a

jerk. He was a heel. He was a loser, a screw-up. He had told himself he

wanted out of his marriage, and he'd even managed to fuck that up. He

felt as though he had thrown himself into a pond and now his feet were

caught up in the weeds and he was getting sucked under, drowning in

confusion. He didn't know how to get out.

He had pushed Sam away; now she was getting drawn into the swift current

of the good life. How could he even hope to get her back?
 
Why would she

want to come back?
 
What was there to come back to?
 
Hell, he would have

taken the diamond life in a flash and never thought twice about what he

was leaving behind.

What does that say about you, Willie-boy?

He peeled a strip down the center of the label, lifting it out of the

Coors.

"Look," Marilee said. "It's none of my business. God knows I've got

enough to think about without butting into your life. She just seems

like a nice girl, that's all."

"She is," he murmured. Looking up, he flashed her a grin that was as

phony as a three-dollar bill. "So why do you suppose she got hooked up

with a jerk like me?"

"Maybe you should ask her that."

"Maybe she thought she could redeem me, huh?" He held up the beer bottle

beside his face as if he were posing for a commercial. "Sorry, ladies,

not redeemable. No deposit, no return."

A waitress came by with a tray of drinks for another table. Will

snatched a bottle of Coors and set his empty in its place, flashing the

woman a wink and a devilish smile when she would have chewed him out.

Marilee shook her head in amazement. He gave the impression that life

was just a game of three-card monte and he was the wheeler-dealer with

all the charm and all the luck, but she had the distinct feeling he

wasn't at all sure which card was the queen. The smile was a front.

The charm was a smoke screen to hide the secret fear.

She couldn't find it in her to dislike him.

"Marilee," he said, waxing philosophical. "Did you ever feel like a pair

of left-handed scissors in a world of north paws?"

"Yeah," she murmured, "I have."

Nora returned from the dance floor, flushed and euphoric. Will tugged on

her frizzy ponytail and teased her about her choice of dance partners,

trying to goad her into going back out on the floor with him. When she

refused on account of exhaustion, he turned to Marilee.

"Come on," he coaxed. "Work off that burger, chow hound."

"I don't think you're sober enough to stand up."

"Hell no, but I can dance. It's sorta like people who stutter being able

to sing. I am the Mel Tillis of the Texas two-step."

She went with him against her better judgment. He proved to be a better

dancer drunk than any man she knew sober. He was athletic, graceful,

with a natural feel for the rhythm of a song. They danced until her

calves felt as though they might explode, and then they danced some

more. Marilee reasoned that if he was dancing, he wasn't drinking - though

he still managed to empty a couple more bottles - and if he was dancing

with her he was dancing with someone who wasn't about to invite him to

bed after the bar closed down.

At midnight Nora declared the evening over. She had to get her beauty

sleep before the breakfast shift. Will followed them out the side door,

trying to cajole them into staying another hour.

"Come on, Marilee,," he begged. He caught hold of her hand and tried to

reel her in. "One more dance."

"No dice, cowboy. I've had enough, and so have you."

Marilee pulled her hand from his, pulling Will off balance.

He staggered sideways a step. "Maybe you'd better find someone to drive

you home."

He tucked his chin back, offended. "I can drive."

"Yeah, right into a tree."

"Marilee's right," Nora said, holding out a hand palm-up. "Hand over the

keys, Romeo."

Will shuffled back a step. "Jeez, what is this? Thelma and Louise?
 
I

don't need a couple of women bossing me around."

"You need a goddamn keeper, that's what you need."

Will's heart started pumping at his brother's words.

"Oh, shit, it's the voice of doom!" he pronounced, cringing

dramatically. He shot J.D. a look. "What you gonna do, J.D., ground me?"

J.D. ignored him, turning instead toward the women.

"You slumming tonight, Marilee?"

"I'm a social egalitarian," she declared, refusing to be baited. "What's

your excuse?"

"Thirst."

"Why don't you go on over to the Moose?" Will said irritably. "You can

run into Bryce and chew his ass instead of mine for a change."

"Yeah," J.D. sneered, taking a step toward his little brother, "the

taste of yours is getting pretty old."

"So why don't you back off?"

"So why don't you straighten up?"

Marilee put a hand on his arm, trying to draw his attention away from

Will. He shot her a ferocious look. "Ease up, J.D.," she said softly.

"He's had a little too much to drink."

"Will's always just had a little too much to drink. It's the one thing

he does really well. That and fucking up. You're just a regular wonder

at that, aren't you, Willieboy?"

"Shut up." Inside his head Will felt ten years old, sick of looking up

at his big brother and always falling short of J.D.'s standards. His

temper swelled and he reached out and shoved J.D.'s shoulder. "Shut up,

John Dickhead. I'm sick of you."

"Then you finally know how I feel," J.D. growled. He was tired and his

temper was run ragged. The stock was grower's meeting had netted him

nothing but sympathy and a headache. He needed a fight with Will like he

needed dysentery, and the absolutely last thing he needed was Marilee

sticking her pretty little nose into the fray.

That was too reminiscent of Sondra coming between them as boys, always

taking Will's side, protecting him no matter what he'd done.

"You been down in Little Purgatory again?" he said to Will. his gut

knotting at the possibility. "What'd you lose tonight, hotshot?
 
The

shirt off my back?"

Marilee tugged on his arm, trying to pull him back a step.

"J.D., maybe you should just-"

"Maybe you should just butt out, Marilee!" he roared, wheeling on her.

"You don't know a damn thing about this."

Marilee backed away with her hands raised in surrender.

"Fine," she said tightly. "Knock each other out. Nora, I think we missed

our cue to leave."

Nora gave J.D. a look that had reduced lesser men to squirming pulp.

"Yeah, I get enough senseless violence on TV. Let's go, honey."

It was nearly one when Marilee stepped out of the elevator on the

seventh floor of the lodge. She felt beaten, exhausted, hurt. Being hurt

was pointless. If she had an ounce of sense, she wouldn't let J.D.

Rafferty hurt her.

Trouble was, she wasn't sure she had an ounce of sense left. She was

running on empty in too many respects.

"Tomorrow is another day, Marilee," she muttered, digging her key out of

her purse. "Isn't that a pleasant prospect?"

She flipped the switch for the entry light and got nothing. "Swell."

Sighing heavily, she took off her sneakers and left them in the doorway

to keep the door open and let a sliver of light into the gloom so she

could navigate her way to a lamp.

She sensed trouble a second before she saw it. The hair on the back of

her neck went electric. She turned instinctively toward the bed and

started to scream.

The large, dark shape hurtled into her with all the force of a

linebacker, driving her back against a side table, knocking the

telephone off onto the floor with a clatter. Her heart racing out of

control, Marilee grappled with her assailant, struggling to stay on her

feet, fighting to draw in a breath. Their arms and legs tangled and they

tumbled sideways. She landed on her back, the last of the air from her

lungs whooshing out. Colors burst and swirled before her eyes as she

wheezed and gasped.

Fight!
 
Fight!

Her brain screamed the message. She thought her arms and legs were

flailing madly, trying to fend off the attack, but the fall seemed to

have severed her mind's connection to sensation. She wondered wildly if

she would feel anything while she was being raped and killed.

Suddenly her lungs reinflated and adrenaline surged through her in a

powerful rush. The smell of sweat and fear burned her nostrils. She

swatted the attacker with one hand and groped for a weapon with the

other, her fingers stumbling over the body of the telephone. Grasping it

frantically, she swung it as hard as she could. The bell jingled as the

phone smashed against the man's shoulder and he grunted in pain.

Fight!
 
Fight!

Her feet working frantically to gain purchase on the carpet, she tried

to scoot out from under the attacker as she hit him again and again with

the telephone. He blocked the blows with his arms, leaning back, taking

his weight off her. Sensing a chance at escape, Marilee twisted onto her