Back in the Soldier's Arms (31 page)

“Yes.”

“Any other provisos?”

Jo covered her bases. “And both have to be serious when they make it. It should be witnessed. And preferably on paper … a legal document.” That left out the beer mat.

Dan looked thoughtful. “Dad never signed anything promising Mom he’d travel. Theirs was only a verbal agreement.”

She frowned. “Is that how he’s trying to weasel out of it? No wonder Pat’s had enough.”

He sat back in his chair. “You really think he’s bound by this, don’t you?”

“Yes, I do,” she said hotly. “Your mom trusted him and he’s betraying that—”

Jo stopped, suddenly seeing the trap he’d laid for her. She put down her fork. “This isn’t about your parents … or us, is it?”

Dan shook his head.

Jo pushed to her feet. The chair toppled to the floor. Throat tight, she flung open the back door. “Out … get out. If you really knew me you’d understand how I feel about Nan.”

He stood. “I do understand. You want to fix this and it’s driving you crazy that you can’t. Which leaves you torn between respecting her wishes and hanging on to heentñ€†r for all you’re worth.”

She couldn’t speak or she’d burst into tears. Holding the door open she blinked hard at the old-fashioned clock hanging on the opposite wall.

“Jo, you don’t have to do this alone.”

The second hand jerked around the clock face. “If you really want to help then cancel the wedding.”

“I … can’t. If I start letting you use delaying tactics we’ll be eighty before we sort this out.”

Still she wouldn’t look at him. “Don’t lecture me on accepting reality until you can.”

He stopped in front of her, narrowing her view down to one muscular shoulder and a cord of bicep under the sleeve of his T-shirt.

“Sooner or later you’re going to have to deal with the fact I’m serious about getting married. It would be nice if that happened before the wedding.”

Back in the Soldier’s Arms/Here Comes the Groom

CR!93BHZ3MAHS4NVAVVWQG1QCZMZ0ZB

CHAPTER NINE

DAN QUASHED A FEELING of futility as he waited in the coffee shop for Delwyn later that day. He should have kept his mouth shut this morning instead of wading in on Rosemary’s side but he couldn’t stand by when he could plainly see that the status quo wasn’t working. So he’d given his opinion and alienated the woman he wanted to marry in two and a half weeks.

He glanced at his watch. Five-thirty. Now even his wedding planner was standing him up. Lesser—or more intelligent—men would have taken that as a sign.

He’d give Delwyn five more minutes. An incurable romantic, she’d reassured him that she wasn’t going to let Jo’s threat of reprisal prevent her from furthering the cause of true love. And she was a mine of useful information. Thanks to Delwyn, Dan knew what needed to be organized, when, and with whom.

His cell beeped. To his relief it was a text from Jo. U were right. Book on dementia was good. Before he’d left, he’d told her she needed to read it. Nice to know she still gave him the benefit of the doubt in some areas. She’d got to it quickly, which only showed how desperate she was.

He texted back. I’ll always be your friend, Jo. It took a few minutes to get a reply. Ditto.

Dan couldn’t help pushing his luck. Picking wedding rings tomorrow. Want to come?

Her reply was instantaneous. &*%#@

Smiling, he snapped the cell shut. Jo wanted a family. And she was a pragmatist, she had to see the advantage of what he was proposing, particularly since he’d proved they had a sexual attraction. He could help her care for Rosemary.

He pocketed his phone wier t‡th the nagging feeling that he’d missed something in this puzzle. And time was running out.

Across the street, Delwyn hurried out of Tim’s Auto Mechanics, her head down. Her fiancé worked there … what was his name? Skinny guy, hairy knuckles and a genius with diesel engines. Wayne.

“About time,” Dan muttered, but instead of crossing the road, the plump sales rep turned left. She must have forgotten their meeting. As Dan went to the door to hail her, Wayne appeared at the garage doors in grease-stained overalls. Catching sight of Dan, he scowled and retreated into the gloom. What the hell was that about?

“Delwyn!” She spun around and Dan saw her puffy eyes, her red-tipped nose and quivering, blubbering mouth.

Uh-oh.

Delwyn crossed the road, her face crumbling, and he experienced a manly impulse to run. Ten yards away, she started to sob. Dan folded his arms. “What’s wrong?”

“Wayne j-j-jilted meeee!”

It was a good ten minutes before Delwyn pulled herself together and by then everyone in the coffee shop was glaring at Dan as though he were an ax murderer. Ignoring them, he poured her a glass of water and slid it across the table.

“Okay, what happened?”

Elbows planted in a growing mound of crumpled tissues, Delwyn took a noisy gulp of water and wiped her eyes. “Last night I told Wayne I’d organized a makeover magic package.” When he looked blank she waved an impatient hand. “That’s a manicure, pedicure, waxing and bronzing treatment.”

“Maybe he’s worried about escalating costs … your coach and horses weren’t cheap.” Dan repeated his diplomatic reason for turning her down when she’d suggested they negotiate a two-for-one deal.

“Yeah, but I got a discount on the turtledoves,” she argued. “And anyway, you can’t cut corners on your appearance on your wedding day.” Delwyn sniffed. “The photos will be forever.”

“I’m sure Wayne considers you beautiful as you are.”

“It’s not for me, it’s for him!”

“You want to wax and manicure Wayne?”

“Don’t sound so judgmental. It’s only to get the grease out from under his fingernails, tidy his eyebrows and defuzz his back.” She reached for another tissue and blew her nose. “It’s not like I’m suggesting a Brazilian for heaven’s sake. Well, okay, I did suggest it, but Bridal magazine said they’re getting popular with guys. Of course they don’t do it the same for men as for women. It’s more like putting shapes in the hair.” Delwyn’s mouth drooped. “And a heart would have been nice.”

Dan shook his head to dislodge the mental pictures. “C’mon, the guy’s got a point.”

“He didn’t have to be so mean about it.” she glowered. “Wayne said I’m a bridezilla who cares more about the wedding than about him. And that I’m no longer the carefree girl he fell in love with. But I am, Dan, I am!” She kicked the back of the booth.

“Okay,” he said carefully. If he kept his mouth shut thispop�€† time he wouldn’t get into trouble.

Tears welled in her red eyes. “And Wayne said since he’s not good enough as he is, I should find someone who m-matches my perfect day.”

The poor bastard. Dan forgot his resolution. “Look, you can fix this. Go over and apologize for trying to change him.”

Her mouth fell open. “Excuse me, I’m the victim here.” Angrily, she wiped away her tears. “I’m the one who’s spent the past six months weighing everything I eat. And all for a guy so selfish that he won’t even try and improve. You know what? I’m glad I’m not marrying him.” Her lower lip quivered. “But my wedding, Dan,” she bawled, “my beautiful wedding.”

Disgusted, he handed over another paper napkin and thanked God he wasn’t marrying for love.

“I CAN’T BELIEVE Dan was so insensitive,” Delwyn complained over the phone. “He ended up taking Wayne’s side, can you believe it? You’ll be pleased to know I’m not helping him marry you anymore.”

You were still helping him? “I’m glad to hear it,” Jo said mildly. By the light of the full moon, she was clearing the weeds around the gone-to-seed parsley. “Anyway, I’m sure you two will work something out.”

Once the parsley was weed-free, she moved on to the mint. It was nice to be outside for a change, to feel the chill on her bare legs under her dressing gown, to smell the wet grass and admire the stars.

Nan had settled early tonight.

Aided by techniques suggested in Contented Dementia, it had taken Jo only thirty minutes to put her grandmother to bed, instead of the usual hour. She could see herself managing again.

“No,” said Delwyn, “Wayne doesn’t deserve me. You and I will be spinsters together.” Jo heard a gulp.

She made a mental note to call in to the garage on her way to work and talk to Wayne.

Someone somewhere had a fire burning, she could smell it faintly on the breeze. Winter was coming with its late dawns and early dusks, with cold feet and a slap-you-awake chill when you stepped outside the house. Jo shivered. I’m alive, alert, awake, she reminded herself silently. And stopped before enthusiastic. Sighed. “Go to bed, Delwyn,” she said. “Things won’t seem so bad in the morning.” One day at a time, don’t look too far ahead and you’ll be okay. They exchanged good-nights, Jo took in the stars one last time and turned back to the house. For a few seconds her brain couldn’t process what she was seeing.

Through the downstairs window flames illuminated one corner of the dark kitchen. She started to run.

Inside, light flickered on the hall walls and smoke hung in the kitchen doorway like a gauze curtain. “Nan!” Bursting through it, Jo took in the room in one frantic glance.

The frying pan blazed with burning oil. Flames licked up the tiles behind the stove and around the edges of the range-hood. Three feet away from the fire, Rosemary was a wraith-like figure in her nightgown, poised to throw a jug of water.

“No! th�€†1D; Diving forward, Jo tackled her grandmother’s legs. The plastic jug flew into the air, splattering water as they both fell heavily to the floor. A few drops hit the fire and it roared and shot higher.

Scrambling to her feet, Jo half dragged, half carried her grandmother into the hall. “You’re hurting me,” Rosemary whimpered.

“I’m sorry,” Jo gasped, but didn’t loosen her grip until she’d hauled the old woman to safety.

Propping Nan against the banisters, she wrenched open the fuse box and cut the power then raced back into the kitchen, raising her hand against the blast of heat. Jerking the fire extinguisher away from the wall she thrust it at the blaze and pulled the nozzle.

Nothing.

Jo shook the canister, then frantically pulled again. “Do something, do something!” Still nothing. On a sob she remembered the pin, fumbled to remove it and tried again. A shot of foam hit the fry pan. Smoke billowed.

Coughing and shaking, Jo swept the nozzle left to right, keeping it low. The fire died, but she kept spraying until nothing came out, then flung the canister away. Her legs gave way.

On hands and knees she crawled back to her grandmother.

Rosemary lay curled on her side, cradling her left arm. “It’s an air raid … get me into the shelter.”

Jo smoothed her grandmother’s tangled hair. “It’s over,” she rasped. “The all-clear’s sounded. You’re safe.”

“My arm hurts.”

“I’ll get h-h-help.” Teeth chattering—from the shock, she imagined—Jo went outside, found her cell where she’d dropped it and rang the emergency line as she raced inside. “I n-n-need … an ambulance.”

As she gave the operator the address she pulled coats out of the closet and covered Nan, then sat beside her and stroked her frail back while her grandmother moaned and cried.

“It’s okay, I’m here. Everything’s going to be fine.” Repeating the words over and over in a smoke-dry rasp until her voice cracked and faded.

Out of the dark, came a thin accusatory voice. “You broke my arm.”

JO LET HIM HOLD HER; that’s how devastated she was.

Dan kept his embrace gentle though he wanted to crush her into his very bones with the enormity of his relief.

Her head on his shoulder, they sat on the hospital sofa waiting while the doctors x-rayed and set Rosemary’s arm, which Jo had broken during the tackle that saved the old lady’s life. Oil and water didn’t mix but Nan had forgotten that. Thank God Jo hadn’t or they’d both be in the burns unit right now—or worse. His hold tightened.

Dan had coaxed Jo into showering and changing into the clothes he’d picked up at her request. His gut swooped remembering the kitchen—the charred wall behind the stove, the floor swimming in foam and black ash.

He’d opened all the windows before he left. Despite the shampoo, her damp hair still reeked of smoke. Dan resisted the urge to bury his face in it only by leaning his head against the wall so hard he could feel a bruise forming.

Jo stood un d�€†p. Hands jammed in the pockets of her jacket, she walked up to the glass partition separating the small waiting room from the bustle of reception and scanned the corridor in both directions. “What’s taking so long?” Her face was pale, the circles under her eyes smudged bruises.

“They want to do a good job.”

“Yes, of course.” She sat down again, taking the chair opposite. Withdrawing from comfort she felt she didn’t deserve.

She had no reason to blame herself but she did. For relaxing her guard after settling Rosemary for the night. For being outside when her grandmother got up. For forgetting to turn off the master switch on the stove. “I’m being punished for not keeping my promise to Nan,” she’d said when she phoned for his help.

She hadn’t raised the subject since and neither had Dan. He understood Jo couldn’t talk about this right now if she was going to hold herself together. Understood that was why she’d called him and not Polly.

“Are you staying overnight with her?” He kept his tone matter-of-fact.

She nodded. “And then at Pinehill until she settles in.” Jo dropped her gaze. “She can’t go home with the house the way it is.” “Stay at the farm.”

“No. You and Polly were right. It’s time, Dan. I was selfish—I put my feelings before her personal safety…. Please don’t disagree. It’s true.”

She wasn’t going to listen, so he went and sat beside her, not touching her, just being there. After a few minutes, she lifted her head and forced a smile. “So, what’s the latest on your folks?”

“Herman’s still at the farmhouse.” Casually he took her hand and warmed it between his. “Mom’s saying she should have asked for a divorce years ago.”

She entwined their fingers. “Do you think they’re better off apart?”

“If they are, then I’m in trouble. Herman and I work fine together on a temporary basis but I’d run the place differently … no question.” Hearing footsteps hurrying down the corridor, he paused. Jo’s grip tightened. An orderly walked by without glancing in. “There is one good thing come out of their separation,” Dan continued. “Dad’s so grumpy that the dogs are finally changing loyalties.”