Colorado 01 The Gamble (31 page)

I watched them go then, in an effort not to
think about what happened in the Cherokee (my habit of late, not
thinking when I knew it would be far healthier, not to mention the
whole bloody reason I took this adventure in the first place, to
sort myself out), I walked to the floor to cathedral ceiling
windows and looked at the view.

It was different than Max’s view considering
it was on the opposite side of town and also on an opposite facing
mountain. It was also somehow a little less spectacular, seeing as
it wasn’t as far up the mountain which limited the vista.

There was something else about it that
struck me as strange, so strange it made me slightly uncomfortable.
In an effort to understand this bizarre feeling, I settled in and
took in the view.

I could see the whole town, its short Main
Street which I knew since I’d traversed it was only five blocks
long, roads leading off it, more businesses on them a few doors in
but houses after that.

To the left, just out of town, there was a
plain covered in two baseball fields, their outfields butting
against each other. I could see small stands on either side of the
dugouts. Next to this two football fields running alongside each
other separated by more bleachers. Small, white, concession stands
at either side of the complex. Probably where little league was
held in summer and Pop Warner football in the fall.

To the right, again partially out of town,
the high school, not large but not small. Another football field,
far more bleachers available for onlookers, lined lanes of a
running track around its perimeter. A baseball field on the
opposite side of the school. Both of these had lots of lights,
bigger concession stands and looked more impressive.

It was clear the town liked its sport and
supported its kids.

I thought about it and I knew, because I
saw it on the little plastic displays on the tables, that The Dog
had live music on Friday and Saturday nights. Drake’s, the bar Max
took me to in town the night of Shauna, Harry and buffalo burgers,
had acoustic music every Tuesday. I’d seen posters informing
townsfolk of what was playing at the cinema that Becca told me was
one town over. There were fliers on bulletin boards on the sides of
buildings in town telling people that
Oklahoma!
was being performed at a dinner theatre which had
to be close. Since I’d driven by it, I knew there was a mall about
thirty miles out which also had a multi-screen cinema. On the
website where I found Max’s house, it advertised that the town held
two festivals, one a small music and arts festival in early summer,
the other a larger Halloween-cum-harvest festival in the fall.
There were also a number of other festivals littered throughout the
region.

Restaurants, shops, cinemas, dinner theatre,
sport, festivals, Denver only a two hour drive away, small and
large ski resorts very close, hiking and biking trails
criss-crossing the mountains, it certainly wasn’t like there was
nothing to do in Gnaw Bone. In fact, it seemed a tranquil, pretty
hub in the middle of it all.

I was thinking how I’d like to experience
what a Halloween-cum-harvest festival was like, not to mention a
music and arts festival, when it hit me what was wrong about the
view.

I realized that not only could I see all of
town, if I was anywhere in town, I could see this huge, grand house
on its rise.

I hadn’t exactly taken a tour of the entire
town but from what I’d seen the houses were smallish, some of them
older, established, having been around for quite awhile. Others
much newer but not that new, looking like they’d been built the
last few decades, not the last few years. They could all be
described as comfortable but none of them could be described as
luxurious. There were a couple of small apartment and condominium
complexes like Mindy’s and Becca’s which seemed much newer, but
mostly the town was settled and its income bracket was clearly
identifiable.

This house and where it was positioned
screamed “Look at me!” in a weird way. It demanded attention, I was
guessing in order to rub people’s nose in its obvious expense,
constantly lord over the entire populace. You couldn’t forget it
was here because you couldn’t escape it.

It wasn’t an old house and I figured Curtis
Dodd built it where it was for the reasons I deduced.

I felt a chill glide over my skin at what I
suspected was not a popular decision on Dodd’s part, not to mention
what it said about him, and I turned away from the window and took
in the enormous room. Even the furniture, decoration and fittings
were obvious in their lavishness. One could buy ten of my purses
and five of Max’s couches for one of Bitsy’s.

I walked to a long set of interconnecting
bookshelves that ran the length of the outside wall of the room,
wishing to take my mind off my thoughts by perusing the many photos
displayed in frames there.

From what I saw in the photos, the house and
all its contents were not Bitsy’s idea. Bitsy, it appeared as I
studied the photos, decorated like me. There were tons of pictures
of happy, smiling people who clearly cared about each other and who
Bitsy clearly cared about. In some of them she was healthy,
standing, smiling, laughing and surrounded by loved ones. Others, I
was heartened to see, she was in her chair, doing the same.

I decided then that I admired her. Charlie
never got to that point. Charlie would smile after he lost his legs
but it was never the same. Bitsy seemed to have come to terms with
her life in her chair and continued to enjoy living it.
Furthermore, it was apparent she didn’t mind reminders of the life
she had before she was put in it.

I stopped when I saw a photo of Bitsy with a
man taken a long time ago for they both looked young and they were
both standing.

It had to be her husband, the now very dead
Curtis Dodd.

I was surprised at the sight of him. Somehow
I expected him to be short, maybe balding, looking squirrely, his
eyes mean. But he looked kind of like Max, except not nearly as
handsome or tall. But he was a Mountain Man, slightly rough, his
hair fair to almost gold, his face tanned. He was smiling at the
camera in a weird way, though, almost self-conscious, as if he
wasn’t comfortable being photographed and wanted to put his best
foot forward. Bitsy, on the other hand, was smiling with abandon,
clearly happy, both her arms around his neck and her cheek pressed
to his. She didn’t care what anyone thought and the only thing
anyone could think was she was in love with the man in her
arms.

I glanced through the other pictures, trying
to find him in the faces, but that was the only photo of the two of
them together and the only photo of him at all.

I moved to the last shelf looking for signs
of Curtis, my eyes grazing the limited books and knick knacks
displayed between the photos when I stopped dead.

Three photos had their own shelf, a lower
one, Bitsy’s height, and they were arranged like it was a place of
honor. Unlike the others, these pictures weren’t shoved in, a
jumble to exhibit as many as possible to surround Bitsy with
constant reminders that she was loved and of the ones she loved.
These were just those three, three different sizes in frames that
clearly showed the photos were important.

I leaned down and it took everything I had
not to reach out and grab one, bringing it in for closer
inspection. But I couldn’t touch them, couldn’t let my fingers give
the signal to my brain that they were real.

Max. Max and Anna.

In all that happened I’d forgotten what
Arlene had said the other night at The Dog, it totally escaped
me.

Max had a wife, her name was Anna and she
was beautiful. Unbelievably beautiful. She matched him in her utter
perfection.

Blonde to his dark, her hair long and wild,
her complexion without flaw, her eyes gorgeous and dancing.

There was a photo, smaller, a snapshot of
Max, Anna, Curtis and Bitsy, all in a row, all with their arms
around each other’s waists, all smiling into the camera. Even
Curtis looked relaxed and at ease. Good friends, out of doors doing
something together, a picnic, a barbeque, enjoying good times.

There was another photo, much larger, more
official, sitting in the center, Max and Anna’s wedding day. He
wore a tux; she had on a simple white dress that she made stunning,
daisies mingled in her long, wild hair that she made look
sophisticated. They were depicted full-length, standing outside,
the river behind them. They were front to front, arms around each
other, Max’s head tipped down, Anna’s head tipped back, broad
smiles on both of their faces that you could see even in profile.
Happy. Exceptionally so. They both looked young, maybe early
twenties, their life spread out before them filled with love and
wonder.

But it was the last that caught my heart,
that claw coming back to slash at my insides. It was a close-up,
Max’s arm around Anna’s shoulders, her head against one of his,
both of them looking in the camera, both of them clearly laughing,
both of them deliriously happy and obviously in love.

Max’s bluff was behind them.

Something blocked my throat as my eyes
seemed to swell against their sockets and, suddenly frantic, I
walked the length of the bookshelves examining the other photos
again.

No sign of Anna. No sign of Max.

Back to the shelf of honor, I looked at the
smallest photo. Bitsy, younger, standing, smiling, one arm around
Curtis who was to the outside, her other arm around Anna.

Then back through the shelves, Bitsy in her
chair, no Anna, no Max.

“Oh my God,” I breathed as it hit me.

Mindy telling me Max wouldn’t forget what a
visit from the police felt like. Max’s fierce vow about dying in an
effort to take care of someone you loved. Curtis, Bitsy, Anna and
Max, all standing linked and happy, friends once, good ones. Now,
Max was one of the earliest suspects questioned in Curtis’s
murder.

Something had happened, something that put
Bitsy in her chair and took Anna away altogether. And that
something, I was sure, had to do with Curtis Dodd.

My recent conversation with Max in the Jeep
came back at me, striking me, scorching, like a bolt of
lightning.

“
You had better?”
Max had asked.

“
No,”
I’d answered.

Then he’d murmured,
“Yeah.”

His “yeah” didn’t mean he felt the same.
He hadn’t agreed that
he
hadn’t had better. He just knew I hadn’t.

Because he
had
. He’d been
married
to her.
Funny, beautiful, forever young Anna with her blonde hair and her
knack for making daisies, of all things, look
sophisticated.

And he hadn’t said a word. Not one word.

All his pushing for me to share,
he
hadn’t shared. He’d mentioned
his father, his sister, his mother, his land, but not the fact that
he’d quite obviously been married to the love of his life and she’d
died.

Which was a bloody big piece of history to
keep to yourself.

I heard the murmur of voices approaching and
I quickly moved back across the room in order to appear as if I’d
been studying view. I turned my back to the entrance of the room
and looked out the window, my eyes not seeing, my heart tripping
over itself, that thing still lodged in my throat.

It would, of course, be me who would find an
amazingly handsome Mountain Man with great hair, an attractive
voice, an ability to show affection in a way that made you feel
cherished, a protective streak that made you feel safe and, lastly,
a dead wife who was the love of his life.

Meaning that was something I would never be.
The love of Holden Maxwell’s life would never be me.

However, if we
explored
this, as Max wished to do, it was becoming more
and more evident by the second, that he could be that for
me.

“Sorry, Nina,” Bitsy called and I swallowed
against the lump, forced a smile on my face and turned to her as
she finished, “that took longer than I expected.”

“That’s all right,” I said, trying to sound
cheerful but my voice seemed higher pitched and false. I kept
talking to hide it. “You have a beautiful view.”

Bitsy wheeled herself close and looked out
the window.

“Yeah,” she said as if she wasn’t entirely
convinced then she looked at me and smiled her small, somewhat sad
but still authentic smile. “Max’s is better.”

I nodded for what she said was true.

“Let’s get this done,” Max announced and I
started at his gravelly voice and my eyes went to him.

He was looking down at Bitsy and he asked,
“You want me to load up the motorized chair?”

“Nope, feel energetic today and not goin’
very far. This one’ll work,” Bitsy answered, wheeling herself back
into the hall. “I’ll just get my coat and we’ll be on our way.”

I licked my lips and kept my eyes pointed at
the floor as I headed to the front door.

“Duchess?” Max called when I was passing
him.

I stopped, trying to clear my expression and
I looked at him.

“Yes?” I asked.

His head tipped to the side, his eyes
scanning my face before he asked back, “You okay?”

“
Fine,” I lied, suddenly hating, no
detesting
, the
fact that, even knowing him only a week, he could read my mood so
easily.

“Honey,” he said softly, not believing
me.

“I’m fine,” I repeated and he got close,
hooking a finger in my side jeans belt loop, effectively, even
affectionately, halting my progress when I moved to head to the
door again.