Future Perfect (21 page)

Juliana moved toward the door, her head held high. She turned back, her face coolly, emotionlessly composed. “I’ll expect you to stop in my office and settle your bill before you leave.”

Webster finished packing, the silence of the room pressing down on him.

Outside, the rain was still coming down. And the temperature was plummeting, too. The driveway was a sheet of ice, so Juliana spread rock salt all the way down to the road. As she stood there in the rain, a snowplow drove slowly past. The plow was raised, but the big truck spread sand and salt across the road.

How could Webster have believed such terrible things about her? Even if he had thought those things, how could he have possibly said them out loud?

Why didn’t he trust her? Why didn’t he wait to talk to her before jumping to conclusions? If he had come to her and asked, she would have explained.

But it was too late. He’d ruined everything with his nasty, hurtful accusations. She’d never tell him now. Never.

Slowly she turned and went back to the house, grateful that the rain hid the tears on her face.

Webster finished loading his car, then went into the kitchen, stamping his boots on the mat. He swung open the door to the hallway and went into the office.

Juliana had laid all the paperwork out on Alicia’s desk.

“I’ve totaled up your phone calls and added that amount in,” she said, her voice cool. “I’ve also totaled your meals separately from the room charge, in case you need that information for your expense account. Please feel free to check the math.”

Her hair was swept up in a french braid, and she wore a black turtleneck shirt that contrasted her soft, pale skin. She kept her eyes carefully away from him, as if she couldn’t bear to see him, even this one last time. Her eyelashes looked long and dark against her cheeks. God, she was so beautiful.

She felt him staring and glanced up. Her green eyes looked almost flat. All of the sparkle was gone as she looked at him coldly.

No, she didn’t love him, Webster realized. That much was very clear. If she loved him, even just a little, he would’ve been able to see something in her eyes—maybe a little remorse.

Anger, deep burning anger flared inside him. He signed the credit-card slip, tucking his copy into his wallet, willing his hands not to shake. Taking out a crisp hundred-dollar bill, he dropped it on the desk in front of Juliana.

“Here’s a little something extra,” he said, his voice harsh, “since you obviously gave me VIP treatment.”

If Webster wanted to see emotion in her eyes, he got it. He also got a stinging slap across the face. And he
knew from the anger that suddenly seemed to radiate from her that if there hadn’t been a desk between them, she would have used her knee and aimed a whole lot lower.

“Get out,” she said, and he turned and left.

Juliana hadn’t felt this bad since the judge sentenced her to reform school, back when she was sixteen years old. As she was led out of the courtroom, she’d felt lost, doomed, and so desperate she could barely breathe.

She had that same feeling now.

If, if, if.

Her mind kept coming up with hindsight solutions, things she should have told him—hell—things
he
should have told
her
.

She wondered sadly if he would have been as quick to mistrust her if she had never been in trouble with the law.

Don’t beat yourself up
, she told herself sternly. Because that man was gone. And he wasn’t coming back.

The doorbell rang.

Juliana glanced out of the window, wondering who on earth was out in this weather. The heavy rain had turned to thick snow about an hour ago, and four very solid looking inches had already fallen.

The Sheriff’s four-wheel-drive Jeep sat out in front, chains on its wheels. Someone was in the passenger seat, but it was starting to get dark, and she couldn’t see who it was.

She opened the front door and was hit by a blast of freezing air.

“Hey, Jule.” Kurt grinned at her. He was wearing his Arctic tundra gear, including a hat with earflaps that made him look about twelve years old. “How’s it goin’?”

She opened the door wide so he could step into the entry hall. “What’s the matter?” she asked, ignoring his question. “Is something wrong? Is it Liz?”

“Liz? Nah, she’s fine,” Kurt said. “I got a friend of yours out in my truck, though. He’s got a temporary housing problem on account of this storm. See, we had to shut down the Pike, ’cause an eighteen-wheeler jackknifed. The driver’s okay, and nobody else was hurt, thank the Lord, but there was an entire furniture showroom scattered for about a half a mile down the turnpike. Then reports started coming in that we had black ice on the pavement, so we decided to just keep the road closed.

“Local streets are fine,” he continued, pulling off his hat and smoothing back his brown hair. “Provided you’ve got ice skates on your car instead of tires.”

Juliana was giving him her overly patient look, which meant she wanted him to get to the point. So he said, “Turns out your buddy, Webster—”

“He’s
not
my buddy,” Juliana said threateningly.

“Fine.” Kurt threw up his hands, backing up slightly. “But whatever you want to call him, the fact remains he drove his little red sports car off the road. I helped him pull it out of a ditch, but he then proceeded to travel in a sideways sort of manner down Route Seventy-three. I told Donovan that was definitely
not
the way Mr. Mazda intended that little car be driven, and I informed him that there was no way I was going to let him continue
driving that vehicle with the current road conditions. Thanks to my incredibly persuasive debating techniques and my threat to fine him five hundred bucks if he continued to protest, I got him out of his car and into mine. And then—” Kurt laughed, shaking his head in disbelief. “This is what I really couldn’t believe.…”

Juliana stood silently, arms crossed, waiting for him to continue.

“When I offered to drive him over here, Donovan told me that he wouldn’t be welcome,” Kurt said. “Can you believe that? He wouldn’t be welcome here at Benton’s finest bed and breakfast?”

“He’s not,” Juliana said shortly.

Kurt studied her in mock amazement. “Not welcome? I can’t believe what I’m hearing,” he said. “I’d love to find out all the gory details, Jule, but I don’t have time. I’m supposed to be out saving stranded motorists, not playing marriage counselor.”

“Watch it, Sheriff,” Juliana said sharply. “You’re out of line.”

Kurt looked down at the floor. His wet boots were making puddles. “Come on, Jule,” he said quietly, all teasing set aside. “Help me out, here. If Donovan can’t stay with you, he’s going to end up having to bunk down at the jail. And I don’t know about you, but I wouldn’t wish
that
on my worst enemy.”

Juliana swore a long string of very unladylike curses, as Kurt politely didn’t react. “Tell him he can stay here,” she finally said, “as long as he doesn’t talk to me.”

Kurt leaned forward and gave her a kiss.

Through the snow-splattered windshield of the Jeep and the storm door of the house, Webster watched the handsome little sheriff wrap his arms around Juliana
and kiss her not once, but twice. He wasn’t prepared for the savage rush of jealousy that surged through him.

And he’d barely gotten it under control when the sheriff made his way back to the Jeep, slipping and sliding on the driveway. He came around to Webster’s door and opened it.

“All clear,” Kurt said cheerfully. “She’s promised not to murder you in your sleep on the condition that you don’t speak. At all.”

“What if I refuse to get out of this car?” Webster asked. He was clutching his plastic carrying case of computer diskettes as if they were a life ring.

Kurt thought about that. “Well, then I’d have to lock you in jail until the weather got good enough to haul you over to the state psychiatric hospital, because obviously you’d be insane.”

“You’re the crazy one,” Webster muttered, swinging his long legs out of the Jeep. “It’s not normal for someone to be so goddamned happy all the time. I mean, doesn’t it bother you that I’ve slept with your girlfriend?”

Kurt stopped midstride and stared back at Webster, surprise on his face. But then he laughed, one great big explosion of air and sound, and kept on walking up to the porch. He opened the door for Webster, gesturing grandly for him to enter the house.

He
was
nuts, thought Webster sourly. The man who was the county sheriff was absolutely bonkers.

The house was still and quiet, the only sound, the big grandfather clock ticking. Webster put his diskettes on a table, then sat on a claw-footed chair and began pulling off his boots.

“Well,” Kurt said blithely. “Looks like Juliana has
gone into hiding. Tell her I’ll give her a call as soon as the turnpike’s open. Try not to kill each other—Oh, damn, I almost forgot. Wait a sec, I’ll be right back.”

He vanished out the door, but was back in only a few moments, carrying a bundle of letters in his hands.

“Got Juliana’s mail,” he said, stomping the snow off his boots before stepping inside. He handed the pile to Webster.

“Don’t tell me,” Webster said sourly. “You moonlight as the postman.”

Kurt grinned. “Only when old Bob McFurley is on vacation,” he said. “When’s Alicia coming back? Soon?”

Webster shook his head. “No, not ’til Friday, I think.”

“Some of those letters look important,” Kurt said, zipping up his parka, and adjusting the earflaps on his hat. “You might want to check with Juliana, see if she wants you to read any of ’em to her.”

“Read any of them to her?” Webster repeated, somewhat stupidly.

“Yeah.” Kurt waved. “See ya later.”

He pushed open the door, and went outside.

“Wait a minute!” Webster leapt up, following the sheriff out onto the porch in his stockinged feet. “Wait a minute. What do you mean, read them to her?”

Kurt turned and looked at the taller man, who was shivering in the freezing air. He laughed. “I don’t believe she didn’t tell you this,” he said. “She didn’t, did she?”

“Tell me what?”

“Never mind,” Kurt said. “If she doesn’t want you to know,
I
sure as hell don’t want to be the one to tell you.”

“Damn it, Pottersfield,” Webster took a threatening step toward him. “If you don’t tell me—”

But the sheriff didn’t retreat. “My height’s an illusion,
pal,” he said, a dangerous, almost crazy light in his hazel eyes. “You may think you can kick my ass, but I was a New York City cop for seven years, and I know all kinds of dirty tricks that will put you in the hospital, regardless of how tall you are. I’ll also have the self-righteous pleasure of knowing that whether I win or lose, you’ll end up in jail.”

Webster stared at him. The smaller man was smiling very slightly, looking as if he actually
wanted
Webster to try something stupid. And Webster was a pro at acting stupid. He had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach that told him he may well have already acted stupidly enough for an entire lifetime.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Please. Just tell me. Why can’t Juliana read her own mail?”

But Kurt shook his head. The dangerous look vanished quickly from his face, replaced by his carefree smile. “Sorry,” he said, sounding not at all sorry. “You wanna know? Ask Jule. Oh, but that’s a tough one, isn’t it? She doesn’t want you to talk.”

Kurt started down the steps, then turned back. “Oh, yeah, I almost forgot. Tell Juliana that Amy said to say hi. Oops. But if you tell her, you’ll be talking—”

“Amy?” Why couldn’t Juliana read her own mail? “Who’s Amy?”

Kurt grinned. “Amy. My wife. She’s been working in Paris for the past two months.”

Webster’s toes were so numb he could barely feel them. The handsome little sheriff had a
wife
. He
wasn’t
involved with Juliana … who couldn’t read her own mail.…

“Well, if Juliana lets you do any talking, try to remember to mention that Amy’ll be home a week from Friday.
Tell Jule that she said she picked up a couple of really out-on-the-edge novels in London, and she’s planning to put ’em on tape for her.” Kurt grinned guilelessly. “Oops, I’ve given you another clue, haven’t I?”

“You’re a little bastard,” Webster said, thoroughly frustrated. “Just tell me, goddamn it!”

“See ya,” Kurt tossed the words over his shoulder as he slid back down to his Jeep.

“Juliana can’t read, is that what you’re trying to tell me?” Webster called after him.

But Kurt only waved merrily, the chains on his tires clanking as he pulled away.

Juliana didn’t come out of her apartment until several hours after the power went off.

Webster had lit a fire in the bedroom that he’d used for so many weeks. He’d taken most of the wood that was in the shed to get it started, then sat there, hour after hour, staring into the flames.

Why couldn’t Juliana read her own mail?

He’d had plenty of time to come up with theories, plenty of time to hypothesize, but he wouldn’t find out the truth until he asked her.

But when Juliana appeared in the doorway, holding a candlestick in her hand, his mouth went dry and his mind blank.

Her hair was loose around her face, cascading down her back in a mass of red-gold curls that shimmered in the candlelight. Her eyes were distant, and she looked everywhere in the room but directly at him. She was wearing at least two sweaters under an overcoat. There were mittens on her hands and a scarf around her neck.
The tip of her nose was pink, as if she was either very cold or had been crying.

“I’d appreciate it if you could help me carry some wood up to my apartment,” she said stiffly.

It must have galled her to have to ask for help, Web realized. But with her broken ribs, she wouldn’t be able to cart the heavy wood all the way up to the third floor.

“All right,” he said quietly as he got to his feet.

He followed her down the stairs, her candle throwing out a small circle of light that seemed to surround them.

“Jule—” he started to say, but she cut him off.