Rachel Lee (12 page)

Lying. She was lying. She was never going to see Witt again.

Then she hurried out of the emergency room into the frigid, dark mountain night.

Hardy towed Joni's car out of the snowbank. He considered taking it to the hospital and returning her keys, then decided against it. He didn't know how Hannah Matlock felt about him, but on the off chance she shared Wilt's opinion, he didn't want to add to her upset in the midst of her other worries.

So he towed the car back to Joni's house and parked it in her driveway.

Then, having no other choice, he went back to the hospital to wait the night out.

It was cold, and he didn't want to keep his engine running for fear fumes might overcome him, so he sat in the main lobby, keeping an eye on the emergency-room entrance.

It was just after midnight when he saw Joni come hurrying out, heading for the road. Jumping up, he hurried outside and called her name. At the same instant, Sam Canfield came out of the emergency room and called her.

"I'll take her home, Sam," Hardy said, waving to the deputy. "You look after Hannah."

Sam nodded and went back inside.

Joni never missed a stride. Hardy had to run to catch up with her.

When he did, he had to stop her by seizing her hand.

"Joni, wait up. I'll drive you home."

It was a dark night, star shine gleaming off snow and without a moon, and by rights when she looked up at him, her face should have been a pale blur with dark holes for eyes. Instead, he felt the full force of her anguish like a gut punch. It was like Karen had died all over again. "Witt?" he said instinctively.

"He's going to be okay."

"Thank God."

She tried to tug her hand from his, but he wouldn't let her. "I'll take you home, Joni."

"I'm not going home. Not ever." The words were forceful, but full of pain.

"No?" He felt momentarily flummoxed. He couldn't exactly force her to go home, but he was damned if he was going to leave her wandering around out here all night in the cold. God, she would be dead in an hour. "Where are you going to go?"

"Anywhere."

"Right. That's a great plan. Are you going off half-cocked again?"

The look she gave him should have withered him. She tugged her hand again but he still wouldn't let go' "Think about this, Joni. Just stop feeling sorry for yourself and think about this." "Feeling sorry for myself? What makes you think I'm feeling sorry for myself? I nearly killed Witt! The best thing I can do for him is stay away."

"Maybe. Maybe." He sighed, feeling his earlobes turning numb. "Look, let's have this conversation in my truck. At least we'll be out of the wind before one of us gets frostbite. We'll talk it over, and you can make some kind of plan."

Apparently, either because of the cold or because her upset had cleared enough that her brain was kicking into gear again, she didn't feel like arguing anymore. She went with him to his pickup and climbed in. The leather seats were like sitting on ice cubes. He turned on the ignition, the Chevy coughed to life, and he hoped like hell the heater would start blasting soon.

"Let's be practical about this, Joni," he said. "You can't hike down the mountain tonight, and I don't think you're in any shape to drive."

That gave him another pang. Suddenly he didn't want to take her home, where she would have access to her car. He didn't know if she was feeling suicidal, but she sure wasn't being rational.

She still didn't say anything. Hardy found himself thinking a stupid thought: that he was once again in the unenviable position of having the life of someone Witt loved in his hands. He hadn't been able to save Karen, but maybe he could save Joni. Witt could disown her all he wanted, but he wouldn't stop loving her. Witt didn't stop loving easily. There had been enough proof of that in the last twelve years.

"Okay," said Hardy, not knowing what else to do. "You can come stay with my mother and me until you get this all sorted out."

The heater had finally begun to blow air that was perceptibly warmer, and almost as if it were thawing Joni, she gave a huge shudder and nodded. "Barbara won't mind?"

"Hell no. She'll be glad of someone to talk to besides me. You want to stop and get some clothes?"

"I guess I better. Where's my car?"

He had been afraid she was going to get around to that. He was suddenly wishing he'd left it in the snowbank. "In your driveway."

"I'll drive myself to your place, then."

He shook his head, his heart inexplicably thudding. "Not tonight.

You're too upset, okay? You can get the car in the morning."

He feared she would argue, but she didn't. She merely nodded. And that was so unlike Joni that a deeper fear began to gnaw at him.

Maddening as she'd always been at times, he didn't want to see her act like a whipped puppy.

But he didn't say anything about it. Instead, he put the truck in gear and headed for her house. And he found himself a little amazed that he was once again all tangled up with the Matlocks.

Life could be such a bitch sometimes.

Oarbara Wingate welcomed Joni warmly, even though she had been sleeping. Once a strong woman, illness and the years had taken a toll on her. She appeared frail, almost tiny, and her hair had turned snow-white. Only her lively dark eyes were the same. She came down the stairs, leaning heavily on the railing, and urged Joni into the kitchen for something warm to drink.

Hardy filled her in on the night's events, sparing Joni the effort.

Barbara shook her head. "That Witt Matlock. He always had a tendency to go overboard."

As did Joni. Hardy looked at her, thinking she was an awful lot like her uncle. Which wasn't surprising.

"Well," said Barbara as she brought out a box of instant cocoa and put the kettle on to boil, "he'll come round. He always does."

Hardy wasn't inclined to agree with her, having been the object of Witt's wrath for more than a decade. And he didn't know that he was all that concerned about it, anyway. But Joni was, and it was Joni he worried about.

"He disowned me," Joni said, her voice trembling. "He said he never wanted to see me again."

"I'm sure he did," Barbara answered. "What were you thinking, child?

You had to know he was going to be furious."

Joni bowed her head. "I don't know, Mrs. Wingate. I don't know anymore. He's gotten mad at me before, but not like this."

"Hmm." Barbara tore open three packets of cocoa mix and poured one into each mug. "Sounds to me like you were counting on his love for you. Not a wise thing to do, Joni."

Hardy wanted to silence his mother, to tell her to lay off Joni, who'd been through quite enough tonight. But Barbara was a mother, and for mothers silence was rarely golden. And Hardy had never figured out a way to get her to keep quiet about anything.

"Maybe," Joni admitted. "Maybe I was."

Barbara nodded and paused to touch the younger woman's shoulder before she poured boiling water into the mugs and passed them around. The three of them sat there for a few minutes, stirring cocoa, waiting for it to cool enough to drink.

"You know," said Barbara, "this is almost like deja vu."

Joni looked up, and Hardy asked, "What?"

"Well, Karen used to sit right there and drink cocoa with me," Barbara said. She smiled at Joni. "You two are very different in appearance, but I can still see a resemblance."

"Karen used to do this?" Joni prompted.

"Well, yes. When she was in high school, sometimes she'd slip out of the house and come over here. You remember Hardy had that job at the movie theater? He was out late some nights, and I guess she was pining for him a little. She'd come over here, and we'd sit and talk for hours."

Joni was amazed. "I never knew."

"Me neither," Hardy said.

"Well, we talked about private things. At least, things she wanted to keep private. She wasn't very happy with her dad. Too strict, she said. Now, I didn't put much stock in that. I think all children that age think their parents are too strict. But she especially didn't like the way he talked about Hardy. " He doesn't know Hardy," she'd tell me. I had to agree." Barbara smiled fondly at her son. "Witt never did see Hardy clearly. I think he was always seeing Hardy's dad, in his mind's eye."

Joni nodded. "I think so, too."

"Anyway, we'd sit here and talk, and she'd tell me all the things that upset her, and then she'd go home. She was a nice girl. I liked her."

She nodded at Joni. "I think I'd like you, too, if we had a chance to talk."

"Thank you."

cade. And he didn't know that he was all that concerned about it, anyway. But Joni was, and it was Joni he worried about.

"He disowned me," Joni said, her voice trembling. "He said he never wanted to see me again."

"I'm sure he did," Barbara answered. "What were you thinking, child?

You had to know he was going to be furious."

Joni bowed her head. "I don't know, Mrs. Wingate. I don't know anymore. He's gotten mad at me before, but not like this."

"Hmm." Barbara tore open three packets of cocoa mix and poured one into each mug. "Sounds to me like you were counting on his love for you. Not a wise thing to do, Joni."

Hardy wanted to silence his mother, to tell her to lay off Joni, who'd been through quite enough tonight. But Barbara was a mother, and for mothers silence was rarely golden. And Hardy had never figured out a way to get her to keep quiet about anything.

"Maybe," Joni admitted. "Maybe I was."

Barbara nodded and paused to touch the younger woman's shoulder before she poured boiling water into the mugs and passed them around. The three of them sat there for a few minutes, stirring cocoa, waiting for it to cool enough to drink.

"You know," said Barbara, "this is almost like deja vu."

Joni looked up, and Hardy asked, "What?"

"Well, Karen used to sit right there and drink cocoa with me," Barbara said. She smiled at Joni. "You two are very different in appearance, but I can still see a resemblance."

"Karen used to do this?" Joni prompted.

"Well, yes. When she was in high school, sometimes she'd slip out of the house and come over here. You remember Hardy had that job at the movie theater? He was out late some nights, and I guess she was pining for him a little. She'd come over here, and we'd sit and talk for hours."

Joni was amazed. "I never knew."

"Me neither," Hardy said.

"Well, we talked about private things. At least, things she wanted to keep private. She wasn't very happy with her dad. Too strict, she said. Now, I didn't put much stock in that. I think all children that age think their parents are too strict. But she especially didn't like the way he talked about Hardy. " He doesn't know Hardy," she'd tell me. I had to agree." Barbara smiled fondly at her son. "Witt never did see Hardy clearly. I think he was always seeing Hardy's dad, in his mind's eye."

Joni nodded. "I think so, too."

"Anyway, we'd sit here and talk, and she'd tell me all the things that upset her, and then she'd go home. She was a nice girl. I liked her."

She nodded at Joni. "I think I'd like you, too, if we had a chance to talk."

"Thank you."

But none of the hurt in Joni's gaze eased, and Hardy wished he could think of something to say that would make her feel better. "Witt'll get over it," he said finally. "Mom's right. You're blood kin, Joni.

He won't stay mad at you forever."

"Maybe not. But for right now ... right now I'm going to stay away from him. I don't want to give him another heart attack."

Barbara clucked but finally said, "You might be right for a little while. He needs some recovery time. After that ... after that I somehow don't think he's going to be quite so angry."

But it was obvious Joni didn't believe that, and Hardy couldn't blame her. Witt had a track record of staying angry for a long, long time.

Barbara leaned over and covered her son's hand with hers. "Can you go up and check to be sure the heat registers are open in the guest room?

I can't remember, but I may have closed some of them."

Hardy went willingly, sensing that his mother wanted some private conversation with Joni. Maybe she could think of something to help.

But when he got to the guest room, he paused suddenly, unable to take another step. The anguish he had seen on Joni's face hit him again, a one-two punch. And he realized that not even twelve years had made him care any less about that woman. Not one bit less. He was still drawn to her as he had been back then. Still found furtive thoughts of drawing her close, of feeling her body pressed to his, lurking around the corners of his mind. He still wanted her.

And that was a damnable thing to be feeling at a time like this. An ugly thought gripped him, an almost atavistic pleasure that Witt had disowned her, because now Hardy didn't have to stay away from her. But the thought so appalled him that he trampled it into the mud at the back of his brain. God, maybe he was every bit as disgusting and terrible as Witt thought.

Feeling about as low as slime, he opened the registers to take the chill off the guest room. Then he took a moment to compose himself, well aware of how perceptive his mother's eyes could be. Well aware that Joni had more than enough on her plate right now and didn't need one more damn thing.

When he returned to the kitchen, he found Joni and Barbara still sitting at the table, still sipping cocoa. If they'd been talking about anything, he couldn't tell. He certainly didn't get the feeling they'd stopped talking on his account. So he took his seat again and waited to see what would unfold.

"Tell you what," said Barbara a few minutes later, as if completing some earlier thought, 'you can stay here with us for a while, Joni.

"

"Oh, no," Joni said hastily. "Mrs. Wingate, I couldn't do that. It would be such an imposition."

"No imposition at all," she said firmly. "I could use somebody to talk to in the evenings besides Hardy."