Dark Paradise (49 page)

Falling in love. It seemed impossible, a bad joke, a bizarre dream. He

was arrogant, bad-tempered, hard to the point of cruelty. What was to

love?

The vulnerability in those world-weary gray eyes when he looked out

across the land that had been his family's home for a hundred years,

land that was being taken away piece by piece. The gentleness of his

big, rough hands when he touched an animal. The gentleness of those

hands when he touched her. The fierce tenderness of his lovemaking. The

loyalty to an uncle most people would have shipped out of sight and out

of mind. His determination to carry the weight of the world on his broad

shoulders and never utter a word of complaint.

He was a complex man, not some cardboard cowboy.

He was all sharp angles and hard edges protecting an inner core most

people would never try to reach. He wasn't just pride and bravado. He

was a man whose way of life was being threatened. He was a man used to

controlling his own destiny, and now that control was being wrested from

him by strangers. He was a man who had been raised to show no weakness,

but she knew he was afraid - for his home, for his livelihood.

For his heart?

It was dangerous to hope so. Dangerous and foolhardy. She hadn't come

here looking for love, just acceptance. She didn't want to love a man

who made it a chore and a challenge. Every step would be a fight and she

was so weary of fighting. Fighting her parents, fighting her own nature,

fighting to fit in where she didn't belong. She just didn't want to

fight anymore. She wanted life to be simple and sunny.

But life was neither of those things. Life was as complex as Rafferty,

full of hard edges and shadows, and she couldn't sit back and let it

pass. She had come to Montana as a first step of being true to herself.

Part of that truth was Rafferty. Part of that truth was loyalty to her

friends. She had a friend who was dead, and if she didn't find out why,

no one else would. No one else cared.

Anger shimmered through her all over again as she thought of J.D.'s

attitude. He'd never made his feelings for Lucy a secret, but she hadn't

expected him to be so callous. He wanted to pretend a woman he had been

intimate with had never existed, to bury her memory and ignore the

circumstances of her death.

Because he was that cold, that unfeeling?
 
Or because he didn't want

anyone to know what had really happened?

Del. Was J.D. protecting his uncle?
 
Could Del have shot Lucy in cold

blood?
 
Would he even have known what he was doing?
 
His world was

peopled by ghosts.

His days were nightmares and he clung to the ragged edge of sanity by

callused fingertips.

Head pounding, Marilee wandered to the doors of the deck. She pulled

them open and leaned a shoulder against the frame and looked out over

the valley as the first light of dawn pinked the sky. Fog blanketed the

low ground in thin, gauzy strips and ribboned among the dark trunks of

the trees. The scene was like a photograph, sepia-toned and faded, like

a memory. The coolness kissed her face with the scent of pine and cedar

and damp grass. Down along the creek an elk raised its head from the

water and its high, eerie call carried up the hillside.

Tears leaked from the corners of Marilee's eyes and trickled down her

face. She loved it here so much. Why couldn't it simply be the haven she

wanted?

"Why does it have to be so hard?" she whispered aloud, the words laced

and strained with pain, with confusion.

No one answered her. Not God. Not inner wisdom.

The valley was silent. The elk moved on. She was alone.

Her guitar stood next to the door, tucked into the small corner where

the wall met the kitchen cabinets. She reached for it like a child

reaching for a security blanket.

She pulled it into her arms and hugged it tight as she wandered out onto

the deck.

"It's just you and me, old pal," she whispered, lovingly caressing the

strings.

She climbed up onto the table and sat with her legs crossed, oblivious

of the dew that had gathered thick on the glass, the oversize green robe

tucked around her like a blanket. Closing her eyes, she lay her head

down close to the body of the guitar and began to play. The piece was

poignantly sweet, achingly tender, full of longing, brimming with need.

It asked no questions, voiced no opinions. It was feeling, pure and

simple, raw and painful. Everything her heart felt. Every bruise upon

her soul.

And when it was over, she just sat there in the quiet and hurt.

"That was damn pretty, Marilee."

Bolting from her meditation, she jerked around, eyes wide. Will stood

leaning against the corner of the house.

Propped up by it was more like it. His shirt was torn, his face was

bloody, his right eye was ringed with purple swollen flesh, and there

was a gash in his forehead. He tried to give her a crooked smile, but

winced halfway into it.

"Oh, my God!" Marilee gasped, scrambling down from the table. "What

happened?"

"Had a little accident," Will said, grimacing as he straightened away

from the wall.

He didn't add that he was lucky to be alive. At the moment he didn't

feel lucky. He felt as if the entire batting rotation of a major league

baseball team had gone after him, swinging for homers. His head hurt,

his ribs hurt, he had a wrenched knee, and had popped his old bum

shoulder out of joint. A good hard slam up against a tree trunk had

remedied the latter problem, but it still hurt like holy hell.

"A little accident?" Marilee cried, anxiously looking him up and down.

"You look like you took on a Mack truck!"

"It was a Ford," he said, rubbing his tongue over the edges of the three

teeth he had chipped. "It looks worse than I do. Lucky for me I've got

nine lives."

"I'd say you just used one of them up, tomcat. What are you doing here?

You should be in a hospital!"

"Well," he started to sigh, but his lungs stiffened up at the pain. "Do you

think I could sit down while I explain this?
 
I just walked the better

part of a mile to get here."

"Jesus! You can sit in my car while I take you to the hospital."

"No. No hospital. I'm suffering enough. Trust me, Marilee, if I didn't

die during the night, I'm not going to. No hospital. All I want is a

ride home, if you'd be so kind."

She rolled her eyes and muttered something wholly unflattering about

cowboys as she took him into the house and seated him at the pine

harvest table in the great room. Will watched through a haze of pain as

she ran off in search of first-aid supplies. She came back with a towel

and washcloth, a bowl of warm soapy water, a bottle of alcohol and a box

of Band-Aids. She scowled at him as she set about cleaning the gore from

his face.

"Spill it, Rafferty." She wrinkled her little nose. "God, I guess maybe

you already did. You smell like a brewery."

"Beer tends to slosh a bit when the truck is rolling."

"If someone lit a match, we could use you for a torch. What the hell

is the matter with you, driving drunk?
 
Do you have a death wish, or

were you just out to kill and maim some innocent victims?"

"I don't need a lecture, Marilee," he growled. "Ouch! Damn, that hurts!"

"Sit still and stop whining. If you weren't already so beat up, I'd beat

you up myself."

"Don't bother. J.D. is gonna kick my ass good." He spread his hands and

bared his teeth in a parody of his infamous grin. "See the Amazing Will

Rafferty fuck up again! He dazzles! He mystifies. He takes a lickin' and

keeps on tickin'!"

Marilee gave him a look. "I fail to see the humor in nearly getting

yourself killed."

"It's subtle. More like irony, really. Pull your robe together, Marilee.

I'm getting a free show here. Not that I mind, but I'm in no condition

at the moment."

She stepped back and tightened the belt around her small waist. "If

you're not in danger of death, I guess I can go get dressed. Make

yourself a cup of coffee if you can stand up. I'll be right back."

"You got any aspirin?" he called as she started up the stairs.

"In my purse."

He dragged the handbag across the table and rummaged through it,

fumbling through a mind-boggling array of junk until he came up with a

little travel tin of Bayer aspirin and a brown prescription bottle of

Tylenol with codeine. He tossed the aspirin back in and went for the

good stuff, washing the pills down with half a can of Pepsi from the

fridge. On his way back to the table he caught a glimpse of himself in a

cracked mirror with a willow twig frame.

"Whoa, you look like the butt end of ugly, son," he grumbled, frowning

at the discoloration around his eye and the angry-looking cut on his

forehead.

Of course, he could have looked like the dead side of alive. That was

what his truck looked like. All that pretty, shiny metal, crunched and

ruined. It broke his heart. He remembered crying over it some as he had

lain half conscious among the wreckage. Mostly he remembered thinking

about Sam and how this wreck was symbolic. He remembered wondering if

she would ever know he had died while trying to smash into the man who

was taking her away from him. Now he wondered how long it would be

before she found out their insurance rates were taking another jump

toward the moon.

She wouldn't have to help pay for it after she divorced him.

Ex-wife. Ex-wife. Ex-wife.

Groaning, he sank back down on his chair and sat with his elbows on his

thighs and his hands hanging down between his knees.

Marilee came trotting down the steps in tight jeans and an oversize

lavender sweatshirt with the Mystic Moose logo across the front in

tasteful white print. If she had run a comb through her hair, it didn't

show.

"Look, Will," she said, caught somewhere between contrition and

resignation. "I'm sorry I jumped all over you. I'm sure you feel bad

enough as it is. It's just that I like you and I hate to see people I

like doing things that can get them killed. I just lost one friend. I

don't want to lose another."

"That's okay." He watched as she went into the kitchen and dug through a

grocery bag on the counter.

She came up with a box of doughnuts and a packet of paper napkins.

"Nobody knows more than I do how stupid this was. 'Course, J.D. will

claim he knows more and he will proceed to tell me all about it until I

wish the truck had blown up with me inside it."

He sounded so glum, Marilee couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy

for him. And empathy. She may not have been as self-destructive as Will,

but she certainly knew what it was to incur the disapproval of her

family.

She opened a Pepsi for herself and joined him at the table, setting the

doughnut box between them.

He lifted a cinnamon doughnut and saluted her with his soda can.

"Breakfast of champions."

"Meets all the daily requirements for chemical additives and

preservatives." She chose powdered sugar for herself and nibbled at it,

shaking down a miniature blizzard on her napkin. "You really ought to

see a doctor."

Will made a face. "I've been hurt worse falling out of bed."

"You must be a fun date."

"Wanna find out?" He tried to waggle his brows as the codeine kicked in.

The pain was suddenly bearable, the numbness pleasant. He laughed a

little at the look Marilee gave him. "Oh, yeah, that's right. You're

dancing with the boss boss. So is this serious?
 
Do I get to call you