Seems Like Old Times (6 page)

"I'm not expecting anyone," Tony said.

"You better go see who it is, then."

 Tony strode down the long hallway to the front door,
Vic following. Trish Hollingsworth stood at the door, holding a pizza box. She
was young and short, with a knockout body. Her auburn hair was styled with
thick, brightly shining bangs that met her eyelashes. The sides fell from a
center part to just below her ears where they were bluntly cut all the way
around and formed a wedge in back. A low cut, tight white dress with a straight
skirt that stopped about ten inches above her knees revealed as much as
possible without fear of arrest.

"Hi, Tony, Vic," she said as she breezed past
them into the house. "I hope I'm not too late. I figured you wouldn't want
to cook after your game today."

"Actually, Trish..." Tony still held the
doorknob.

She glanced over her shoulder once,
then
continued toward the kitchen, her back motor in high gear.

Vic watched her go, raised one eyebrow,
then
looked at Tony, "Now that's a woman easy to understand.
Time
for me to leave.
I’ll take Ben down to my place."

"There's no need for that, Pa."

Vic shrugged. "You can always come and get him
later." He went outside and called Ben. Tony glanced at the door he was
still holding open, then shut it and headed for the kitchen.

Trish had opened the box, plucked a piece of stringy
mozzarella off the top of the pizza and was holding it high in the air. With
her tongue, she found the end of the cheese string,
then
slowly lowered it into her mouth. She kept her eyes on Tony as she licked the
oily cheese and pizza sauce off her fingertips, one by one.

His stomach clenched. "Thanks for bringing it, Trish.
If I’d have known...We already ate, though."

"No problem." She smiled jauntily, and put the
box top back in place, opened the refrigerator and tossed it inside. Then she
spun toward him, hands on hips. "Cold pizza's great.
Especially
for breakfast."
She lifted her eyebrows suggestively.

The house was silent.

"No. You can take it home."

She stepped close to him and leaned forward until her
breasts touched his chest. "But I bought it for you." She pressed
closer. "I wanted to give it to you.
To fill you."
She placed one hand against his stomach,
then
began to
slide it lower.

He stepped back. "No need Trish."

She wrapped her arms around his neck, rocking her pelvis
from side to side against him as she spoke. "You're just angry that I
missed your ball game. I'm sorry, Tony."

Trish had a manicure shop in town. Tony found it hard to
believe anyone could make a living off the vanity of women about their nails,
but she did.
A good living, too.
She was too young for
him--about twenty-three--and outside of bed, they had nothing in common. The
sex was good, though.

Against his will he could feel his body reacting to her
slow, seductive movements. He put his hands on her waist and tried to push her
away, but her tongue tickled his ear, sending shivers down him. "God,
Trish!" As he let go of her waist to rub his ear, she licked his neck,
then his chin, and finally his lips. She kept one arm still around his neck,
but the other drifted downward until she touched the fly of his jeans.
"We'll have our own ball game, Tony," she whispered then giggled. It
was an old joke, one he had grown tired of long ago. "You know you like
it," she insisted. "You always do." He grabbed her arms, wanting
to push her away, but as she continued to stroke him, he felt himself grow
hard. He shut his eyes. Why was he fighting her?
Just because
an old girlfriend was in town?
Who did he think he was kidding? Trish
wanted him. Lisa never did. Once, Lisa could have had him on a silver platter,
but she kicked it aside and left. Her dreams for a career always came first
with her, and, he was sure, they still did.
The hell with
her.

He looked at Trish. He didn't love her, but he never had
pretended to either. She knew exactly where she stood. Raising hands to the
spaghetti straps of her dress, he slid them from her shoulders and down her
arms. She wore nothing underneath. Pushing her back against the refrigerator as
his mouth came down hard on hers. She wanted him, but he needed her--needed her
to help him forget.

Cheryl telephoned Lee early the next morning and suggested
going to lunch that very day in the Old Town section of Miwok. Lee had planned to
go to a shopping mall with Miriam to look for new carpeting and drapery, but
was glad for an excuse to put it off a bit longer. Although the place needed to
be spruced up before it went on the market, the thought of so brazenly
redecorating her mother's house bothered her. She could all but see Judith's
furious reaction.

Miriam didn't mind the revised plans at all, and sounded
pleased that Lee and Cheryl had enjoyed each other's company so much.

Lee changed into an ivory and navy Louis Vuitton dress and
Rossetti navy
pumps,
drove over to Cheryl's, and
together the two of them went the short distance to Old Town. There, the town
of Miwok had been established one hundred fifty years ago as little more than a
junction along the railroad line. Many of the original buildings had been
restored and were still in use.

The number of new boutiques in the area astonished Lee,
but her heart warmed at the sight of Porky's Chili Bar, the
Do
Drop Inn, the Old Ball and Chain Pool Hall, Amazing Grace Religious Artifacts,
Kettleman's
Jewelers, and the rickety old Miwok Cinema with
gum on every seat and sticky, spilled coke in every aisle.

Each place had been a part of her youth, even though they
now stood side-by-side with a modernistic sculpture and jewelry maker, an art
gallery, and a French restaurant.

"Let’s take a couple of minutes before we go
eat." Cheryl grabbed Lee's arm as she turned into the
Cantelli
Saddle Company. "Gene
Cantelli's
a friend. I'd
like you to meet him."

The small store, filled with tack, and smelling of
leather, hay and saddle soap, had the comfortable, rustic feel of an old time
livery stable’s tack room.

A man stood in the back of the store oiling a beautiful,
hand-tooled Western saddle. He appeared to be in his fifties, with curly, steel
gray hair, a gray mustache under a generous nose, and sparkling amber eyes.

"Cheryl, hello," he called out as they entered.
"This must be the famous friend you told me about." Wiping his hands
on a clean cloth, he stepped around the counter and held out his calloused hand
as Cheryl made the introductions.

"Hello, Mr.
Cantelli
,"
Lee said, returning his sharp-eyed scrutiny with quiet poise. The twinkle in
his eye, she decided, had less to do with her fame than with a masculine
appreciation.

"The name's Gene. Welcome to the shop."

"Hey, Gene, that's a drop-dead gorgeous saddle,"
Cheryl said.

"Yeah.
Tony bought it. He
should be in here any time to pick it up."

Lee's gaze snapped from the saddle to Gene, then quickly
to Cheryl who had discovered an intense fascination with mink oil and saddle
soap.

"You probably remember Tony Santos," Gene said
to Lee. "
Him
and his old man are good buddies of
mine."

"I remember him," she murmured coolly, her
suspicions aroused by this turn of conversation. Were these two up to something
here?

"I’ll bet Lisa, I mean Lee, has never seen the
pictures you’ve got of Tony and Vic," Cheryl said, avoiding Lee's gaze.

"Right there."
Gene
pointed to a wall filled with framed photographs. "Take your time. Look
around." Gene was effusive.

Lee glanced from one to the other. She walked over to the
photos and immediately recognized Vic Santos. Lots of photos showed Vic
standing beside a horse, holding an award, and several showed him on the ranch,
working with the animals. There were pictures of Tony as well at the Circle Z.
Lee stepped closer to get a better look. Why had Cheryl wanted her to see
these? Soon, though, she found herself smiling at pictures of Tony and his dad
together--Tony as usual wearing a baseball cap, and his dad in a big Stetson.
That was so like the two of them, ever at odds, but together, nonetheless.
Quite the opposite were her and her mother, who had never openly fought, except
once.

Interspersed among them were pictures of a young Gene
Cantelli
at rodeo shows, holding trophies, a few of him
hanging tight onto a bronco or a
bull.

"My goodness," Lee said. "You look great in
these rodeo shots."

"I was great," Gene said with a smile,
"until my back went out."

She winced. "I’m sorry." She was impressed,
though, and it showed. She went back to the photos.

It seemed odd to think of Tony making a purchase in a
store like this. She remembered how much he used to complain about having to
spend his summers working at the Circle Z with his father. Judging from the
pictures, it looked like his father still worked there.

The smells in the saddle shop awakened her memories of the
times Tony invited her out to the ranch to "help" him. She fingered
some leather reins, remembering. What might have been work for the ranch
hands,
was pure fun for the two teenagers. At one point in
her life--Lee guessed she was thirteen or fourteen--she loved horses more than
anything else in the world. Now, she sometimes wondered if she loved anything
at all.
Other than Miriam.
And
Bruce, of course.

Since Tony was buying a saddle, could that mean that he,
too, now worked on a horse ranch?
Maybe on the Circle Z with
his father?
Lee's heart sank for him. He had such dreams at one time.
Dreams of baseball...

She didn’t follow baseball.
Not at all.
Once, she thought she’d heard his name mentioned by a sports announcer on a
news show, but it was probably someone else. So many Latin players were in the
game, and Santos was a fairly common name.

She faced Gene. "I see you've known the Santos family
for years," she said with forced cheerfulness.

Gene grinned. "I met Vic Santos when I was busting
my a
, um, backside, on some mustangs in Montana. We became
good friends. One day, after I had to give up the rodeo and was on my way to becoming
one of those guys who gets drunk and bores everyone with stories about the good
ol’ days, Vic called me up and said they could use me at the Circle Z and would
I come? Would I! I started working with Vic and that scrappy son of his. Tony
was off playing baseball most of the year, but then he got a little more horse
sense, I guess, since he finally came back to us."

"I see," Lee whispered. Gene's words confirmed
her fears about Tony's job. It had probably been too difficult for him to try
to make it in baseball and support a family, besides. Minor leaguers, she’d
always heard, made a pittance of a salary, and traveled constantly. For those
who didn’t have the talent or luck to make it to the top, it was a difficult,
stress-filled life.

"Tony helped me get this place going," Gene
added. "It's doing real well, too."

"I can see why." Lee touched a saddle, feeling
the smooth, warm leather. "Your stock is exquisite."

Gene beamed. "That's 'cause I know where to get the
best of everything."

Lee smiled. "It's been nice talking to you, Gene, but
I guess we should get going. Are you hungry, Cheryl?"

"Well..." Cheryl looked at her watch, then at
Gene.

He shrugged.

"I guess so. Will you join us, Gene?"

"No, thanks.
About the only
thing more boring than to talk about my old school days, is to listen to
someone else talk about theirs."

"We promise not one word if you'll come along,"
Lee said.

Gene's steady gaze seemed to be taking in her measure.
"Thanks, but I'd better wait for Tony to pick up his saddle.
Seems he's late, as always."

"We'll see you around, Gene," Cheryl said
quickly. "Thanks, anyway."

"Nice to meet you," Lee said, shaking Gene's
hand. It was all she could do not to let on to these two the transparency of
their plan, although they'd surely deny it. But why would they want her and
Tony to meet here? He was happily married, wasn't he? And anyway, she was
happily engaged.

o0o

Lee leaned back against the family room sofa watching a
Bonanza rerun with Miriam. Lee had never watched the show before, but it had
been a big favorite of Miriam’s. Apparently, the most dangerous thing in the
Old West was to have been a woman and have a Cartwright fall in love with you.
Fifty minutes later, you'd be dead.

Falling in love was dangerous, all right. When had she
first learned that lesson? Watching her mother's years of regret or, later,
with Tony?

Although she'd forgotten, over the years, how she used to
feel around Tony, she did know she'd never been in love like that again with
anyone. Maybe that’s what people meant when they said there was nothing quite
so wonderful, or so miserable, as first love. That summed it up for her. She
tried to stop thinking about him. Dwelling on the past caused nothing but
misery. She had to think about the future.

At least she'd found a realtor she liked and could work
with. After talking with her on the phone, Lee had checked her references.
Earlier that evening, Janet
Lettice
had come by, and
after interviewing her for almost an hour, Lee signed a contract. Now all she
had to do was take care of her mother’s personal items, pick out paint, new
drapes and carpets, and turn everything to the waiting, capable hands of Ms.
Lettice
. God bless her.