Crooked Hearts (43 page)

“Definitely.” She closed her eyes as he began to stroke her up and down her spine, up and over her shoulders and down her arms. Her hands came unclasped and dropped in her lap, useless. “Do you like my wedding dress?” she breathed, letting him nibble on her jaw while he squeezed her knee with one hand and caressed the side of her breast with the other.

“Mmm.” His breath on her skin was another caress. “Virginal white—a piquant touch.”

“The groom didn’t seem to care for it. Are you still looking?”

“Looking? Oh, yeah.” He dipped his head.

She smiled, letting her lips tickle his hairline. A cloudy thought drifted across her lighthearted mood— that this lovely, funny moment would be perfect if they both weren’t in disguise, if by some miracle their wedding finery were the real thing … But this was no time for wistfulness. She held her breath when he flattened his palm across her chest, an inch above the low shirred bodice of her gown. “You’re getting warmer … warmer …” He dipped a long middle finger inside her dress and slewed it between her breasts. Her feet flexed; she drew her breath in through her teeth. “You’re getting very warm.”

“You’re telling me.”

“And I’m burning up. Oh, God, Reuben.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “I think you should find it soon!”

“But you’ve hidden it so well.”

The finger was sliding back and forth across the swell of her bosom, coming closer to her nipples with each slow pass. She couldn’t help kissing his temple, his intent eyebrow. She hoped he never found the money.

He turned his head, and she pushed her hands into his dark hair, pressing a long, ardent kiss to his lips. Their tongues met. Her soft sigh changed to a groan when she felt the cool, slow, papery slide between her breasts.
Damn.
He’d found it.

The sight of all that virgin money, crisp green bill after crisp green bill, went a long way toward restoring her composure. “Look at it,” they took turns saying, voices pitched to identical marveling tones. They passed the thick wad back and forth, riffling it like playing cards, smelling it, reveling in the heaviness of it. “Have you ever? I mean,
look
at it.”

But finally they put it all back in its sedate brown envelope, more because they feared somebody would come in than because the charm of handling it had worn off. Reuben started to slide the envelope into his inside coat pocket.

“Oh, no, you don’t.” She caught his wrist, amazed at his brazenness.

“Honey,” he exclaimed, all wide-eyed innocence, “I just didn’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

“Oh, Reuben, how
thoughtful.
But I’m not the least bit uncomfortable.”

He could do hurt and reproach better than anyone she knew. “Does this mean you don’t trust me?” He even put his hand over his heart.

She had to laugh at him. But then a sober, practical thought occurred to her. “I suppose we could divvy it up now,” she said dully. “Your share and ours—mine and Henry’s.” And then what? Would he leave her? She couldn’t bear the thought, literally couldn’t stand it.

He didn’t look any more enthusiastic than she felt. “Okay, but not here,” he decided. “Let’s wait till we get home.”

“Home” on his lips sounded so sweet, she had to kiss him again. She wasn’t so addled as to give him the money back, though. “We’ll put it right here in my little white pocketbook,” she suggested. “That way we can both keep an eye on it.”

“Good idea.” But his eyes were on her mouth, and a second later his thumb was too, brushing her lips softly, opening them. “God, Gus, I missed the hell out of you. Do you know how long it’s been since we’ve been alone together?”

“Three nights,” she answered with alacrity, “and two and a half days.”

That made a lovely smile curve his lips. “Yeah. Three long, lonely nights.”

“Was Wing mean to you? Did anybody hurt you?”

“Nah. They just made sure I had plenty of time alone to think about you.”

“I thought about you, too.” She felt shy, and couldn’t go on. She wasn’t any good at this sort of thing. The
talking
part of lovemaking.

He lifted her chin with his fingers so she had to look at him. She suspected his eyes mirrored hers, cloudy with the same hard-to-say feelings and confusions. Luckily they thought of the solution at the same moment, and came together with a soft, almost bashful tenderness that set up a sweet aching in her heart. “Reuben.” She could say that, so she said it over and over, while his mouth pressed against hers and his fingertips caressed her face.

When he tensed and pulled away, she knew they’d been discovered. She wasn’t sure if she was relieved or appalled that it was Henry who stood swaying in the open doorway, holding a bottle of champagne in one hand and three empty glasses in the other. “I see you had a different kind of celebration in mind,” he remarked dryly, taking the seat opposite. Grace unwound her arms from Reuben’s neck, her heart pounding; he helped set her on her feet, and she hurriedly sat down next to him. “Where did you get that bottle?” she asked, going on the offensive to cover her embarrassment. “You’re not allowed to have booze in here.”

“What kind is it?” Reuben asked—typically. “Let’s see the label.”

“I tipped the dining-car waiter to let me take it with me. Then I tipped the porter to look the other way.” The cork hit the ceiling with a celebratory pop.

“You’re a regular tipping fool,” Grace mumbled. “Reuben just lit a cigar with a dollar bill.”

“Say, I like your style.” Henry grinned, passing him a glass, and one to her. “To ostentatious display.”

“Ostentatious display,” Reuben seconded, clinking glasses.

Grace shook her head at them. “The only good thing about that toast is that if you can still say it, you know you’re not drunk yet.” She took a sip of her wine. “Mmm. Youthful, but not callow. Fun-loving; a hint of mischievousness that intrigues but never overwhelms. A certain—”

“Oh, knock it off,” Reuben grumbled. “Champagne is the wine of the future,” he said seriously, holding his glass up to the window and peering at it. “The country’s on a roll. As the economy prospers, more and more Americans are going to celebrate with champagne. Mark my words.”

Henry held up his glass and offered another toast. “To the future.”

“To the future,” they echoed solemnly, and drank.

Ah You, who had gone home on an earlier train, greeted them in the yard with open arms and an anxious face. “It worked?” he demanded before they could get out, dancing around their hired carriage like a sprite. “Nobody get hurt?”

Grace stepped down to the ground and gave him an impulsive hug. Hugging Ah You always felt like hugging a child. “It worked! We’re rich!” she ex-claimed—softly, so the driver couldn’t hear. “It’s all here—” she patted her purse—”and we got away clean. Everything went perfectly.”

“Ho, excellent!” he cried, clapping his tiny hands. “Come in, we celebrate. I make special dinner already.”

The men carried the luggage into the house while Grace paid the coachman. Extravagant tipping must be contagious, she thought, surprising him with an extra dollar. In the house, she decided to change out of her wedding gown before joining the party that had already started in the parlor. She put on a pretty pink-and-green-flowered frock Reuben had never seen before, and tied her hair up with a ribbon.

The sun was sinking behind the western hills, throwing long shadows and shafts of golden light across the polished living-room floor. She stood in the doorway for a moment, unobserved, watching the three men in her life as they talked and laughed and congratulated themselves on their nerve and intelligence. Reuben looked up and saw her before the others; the private pleasure in his eyes warmed her to her bones. She smiled, and for a second everything else blurred and receded; they might have been alone in the universe for all she knew, or cared. There was no one but him, and he was everything to her. If he left her now, what would she do?

“Grace!” exclaimed Henry, breaking the little spell. “Come in and drink more champagne! We’ve decided to get drunk.”

“Drunker, you mean.” She took the glass he handed her. The bubbles tickled her nose. “I do love this stuff,” she told Reuben, and he toasted her approvingly.

Henry plopped down in a chair. “Well, where’s the money? Show me the money, I want to look at it.”

“It’s in the hall, in my purse. I’ll get it.” She set her drink on the mantel, but Ah You said, “I get,” and danced out ahead of her. Reuben leaned in the doorway to the terrace, watching her. She wanted to celebrate with her family, but right now, even more, she wanted Reuben all to herself. Not being able to touch him, to go to him and put her arms around his waist and her lips on his throat … it was a hardship. The sadness that had tried to waylay her on the train nudged at her battered heart again; once more she shunted it aside—but it was harder this time.
Buck up,
she commanded. If this was going to be a bittersweet moment, she meant to focus on the sweetness, and save the bitterness for later.

Ah You came back. “Here, Missy,” he said, handing her the pocketbook.

Even before she opened it, she knew something was wrong; it felt too light, it wasn’t thick enough. “It’s not in here.” Handkerchief, comb, change purse, fountain pen, scraps of paper, ticket stubs—she sifted through it all twice, three times, unable to believe her eyes. “It’s not here.”

Henry laughed; he was used to her jokes. She raised her head, and when he saw her face he stopped laughing. “What,” he said slowly, “are you talking about?”

Reuben had gone still as a statue, the red sun behind him obscuring the expression on his face. She waited for him to explain it, or to break up and tell her the joke was on her. He didn’t move or speak, and when she couldn’t stand it any longer, she said, “What did you do with it?” and tossed the purse on the sofa.

“What did I do with it?” he repeated, and she thought that if his voice were shards of ice, she’d be impaled by a hundred slivered pieces. “That’s not very funny, Gus. Where’s the money?”

She watched him, stunned. “You stole it. Oh, Reuben, no.”

“Goddamn son of a bitch.” Henry got up slowly, trying to believe it. “I
knew
we shouldn’t’ve trusted him.” He couldn’t stop shaking his head. “Goddamn son of a bitch.”

“Thirty-three thousand isn’t enough for you?” Grace said wonderingly. “You had to take our share, too?”

“When did you grab it,” he snapped back, “when you went to change clothes? That means it’s still in your room.”

“How could you?” She was struggling against the need to burst into tears. “How could you betray us? How could you betray me?”

“Oh, that’s good, Grace, that’s really good. But I know you, don’t forget. I already know that the guiltier you are, the better you get.” He came toward her out of the shadows; she could see his face clearly now, and the anger in it made her blanch. When he threw his drink in the fireplace, she jolted. “But you won’t get away with it, because your luck just ran out.”

He got as far as the door to the hall when Henry yelled, “Hold it!” Reuben whirled, and Grace was as shocked as he was to see Henry beside the bookshelf, waving a pistol. “Where’d you put it, Jones? Just tell us where, and then you can get the hell out of here!”

Reuben looked back and forth between them in amazement, and just for a moment she thought he looked innocent—
really
innocent. Then she remembered how good he was, and her heart hardened. “Are you going to shoot me?” he asked, astonished. “Go ahead, then, do it! Keep the money, and to hell with both of you!”

Grace pressed her hands over her eyes. “Put it away, Henry,” she muttered hopelessly. “For God’s sake.” To Reuben she said, “It’s not even loaded.”

Henry cursed, dropped into his chair, and reached for the champagne.

Reuben pierced her with one last look, spun on his heel, and walked out.

Ah You had been cowering in the corner. “Maybe money get lost?” he suggested, wringing his hands. “Fall out on way home, get lost?”

She shook her head, listening intently. Reuben hadn’t walked out the front door, he’d turned right and started up the staircase. He was going to her room. Without answering, she hurried past Ah You and followed.

He’d opened her traveling case and emptied all her clothes out on the bed. “Stop it,” she said, fighting to get the words out past the lump in her throat. He glanced up briefly, then went back to ransacking her belongings. She came closer. She made a club with her two hands and smacked him on the back between the shoulder blades. “Stop it!”

He whirled. She didn’t flinch when he lifted his hands, but she was still surprised when he only took her by the upper arms and gave her a soft shake. The hurt in his beautiful eyes made her want to hold him—made her want to sock him in the jaw. “Why’d you do it, Gus?” His voice sounded raw and exhausted. “Want to hear something funny? I was going to give it to you anyway. Then I was going to ask you to let me stay and help you turn Willow Pond into a vineyard.”

How had her hands gotten spread out across his chest? “Stop lying,” she said miserably, “I can’t stand it. I was going to give you my share, Reuben, and beg you to stay. Damn you.” She locked her fingers at the back of his neck. “I wanted you to marry me. You could’ve had me
and
the money, you bastard.”

His arms came around her. He bent his head and pressed his lips to her temple. “What made you do it?” he asked tenderly. “Habit? It’s okay, don’t cry. It’s in your blood, you can’t help yourself. I forgive you.”

“You snake, you lying snake in the grass.” She found his mouth and kissed him passionately. “Stay with me,” she said in a broken voice. “Don’t go.”

He backed her up against the wall. “We’ll get separate bank accounts.”

“Strongboxes.”

“Safes with separate combinations.”

She shuddered, and let him slide his knee between her thighs. “We’ll hire lawyers,” she managed. “Accountants to audit each other every year.”

“Marry me, Gus. I can’t live without you, you damn thief.”

“Yes,” she sighed into his mouth. “I will. But stop lying. I love you, Reuben, I don’t care anymore.”