Stand By Your Man (9 page)

Saturday morning, Karen went to the detachment at dawn. Sadly, Jamal wasn't there to keep her in bed for some early morning lovemaking. Though he'd originally planned to ride his bike up on Friday evening, the way he'd done last week, he had phoned on Thursday saying something had come up and he wasn't sure when he could come. Then yesterday he'd phoned again, saying he'd ride up in the morning. Atypically, he'd been gruff and she couldn't draw him into chatting or sexy banter.

She hoped there wasn't a problem. And if there was, she was selfish enough to hope it was work related, not him having second thoughts about their relationship.

Late in the morning, Dave Cousins phoned to say that a Wild Rose Inn guest had not only given a fake credit card but skipped out with a couple of pieces of original art. She went over to take a report and dust for prints. After finishing, she poked her head into Dave's office. “I'll keep you posted on the investigation.”

He lifted his hands from the keyboard and flexed his fingers. “Any chance you're free for lunch? I'm buying.”

“Sounds good.” Jamal wouldn't arrive for another two or three hours.

After notifying the detachment, she joined Dave in a booth in the inn's dining room. Whereas the pub was Western casual, this room was decorated like a saloon in an upscale gold-rush hotel. The décor featured glossy dark wood, leather, and gleaming brass. A waiter in 1860s garb came to greet them. “Hi, boss, Sergeant. Can I get you a drink?”

Karen ordered a Coke, Dave went for Sprite, and they both chose one of the daily specials, a field greens salad with grilled chicken and dried cranberries.

“Jamal's not in town?” Dave asked.

“He's riding up now. ETA midafternoon.”

He gave a rueful half smile. “You two are getting serious. Looks like I may lose my gal pal.”

The sadness in his eyes jolted her. She'd been so sure he didn't have feelings for her. “Uh, Dave, you didn't think, uh . . .”

He held up a hand, humor now warming his eyes. “No. God no, Karen. I mean, you're terrific, but . . .” He paused, and now the sadness was back, a double shot of it. “Anita's the only woman in my heart. I don't see that changing.”

That was exactly what she'd thought, and it broke her heart. He'd barely found the love of his life when Anita had been diagnosed with terminal brain cancer. When she died, she took Dave's heart with her. He was still kind, generous, and hardworking, but his vibrancy, his joy in life was gone.

Hmm, Karen mused as the waiter served their salads. She knew another Caribou Crossing resident who was a lot like Dave.

She took a bite of salad and mmmed approval. “Of course I still want to be your friend. But there's someone else who could use a friend. You know Sally Ryland, who owns Ryland Riding?”

“I've met her once or twice.”

“She's having trouble keeping up with the place since her husband died.”

“Folks would help her. She just needs to ask.”

“I know. But she's proud. Shy, I think. Isolated. Her only social contact is with the people who board horses, the riders who take lessons, and kids' parents. She's never become part of the community.”

“No, she hasn't. Any idea why?”

“When she and her husband bought the place and moved here, it was their own little world. Now he's gone and she's just . . . sad. I figure it's like you and Anita and he was the love of her life. She's alone out there, lonely, busting her butt to keep the place going.”

Dave eyed her skeptically. “You're not matchmaking?”

Was she? Two lonely souls who didn't believe they'd ever have another chance at love? Now that she'd found Jamal, she wanted everyone she cared about to be happy. With her and Jamal, things had moved fast. Not as fast as with her mom and dad, but really fast. It was partly due to the strength of their attraction but also because they were both ready to move to the next stage in their lives, even if Jamal hadn't initially recognized it.

If Dave and Sally ever fell for each other, it would happen with baby steps. Pressure from outside wouldn't help. “I'm not matchmaking. She could use some help and you could find a tactful way of getting it for her. And I think the two of you might enjoy each other's company.” And then she changed the subject.

 

 

When Jamal climbed off his bike and walked to her front door, his expression was grim and each step looked forced, as if he'd rather be anywhere other than there.

Karen's heart clunked in her chest. Oh God, what had gone wrong? Had he found out that he couldn't get the job in Williams Lake? Or had he changed his mind about her? About them? About that basketball hoop?

She squared her shoulders and firmed her jaw as she stepped back from the door so he could enter. Needing to know, and know now, she said, “Are you breaking up with me?”

His lips pressed tight together, his Adam's apple rippled, but he didn't answer.

He was, and he couldn't bring himself to tell her. What had she done? What had gone wrong? And why, why had she let herself hope, let herself care?

When he did speak, his voice wasn't rich molasses this time; it sounded rusty and painful. “More likely you're going to break up with me.”

She frowned. “What are you talking about?” On legs that had gone rubbery, she led the way into the living room and sat down, not on the couch but in one of the two chairs.

He paced over to the window. Facing it rather than her, he said, “I'm an alcoholic.”

Slowly, those words sank in. Oh shit. Karen's lungs burned and she realized she'd forgotten to breathe. She sucked in air, shallow breaths through her mouth. Finally able to speak, though it was to his back rather than to his face, she said accusingly, “You said you had alcohol intolerance.”

“Yeah.” He turned slowly but didn't come toward her. “I've been sober for two years. I'm not gonna drink again.”

“And I'm supposed to believe that?” If that was true, why had he lied to her?

“Yeah, you are.” He dragged a hand through his hair with fingers that shook. “I have a really good reason for staying sober.” He swallowed. Swallowed again.

Her? Did he mean their relationship was the good reason? “What reason?” she asked, wanting to trust him but feeling betrayed

Slowly, with obvious pain, he said, “The drinking got out of hand. When I was undercover a couple of years ago, I screwed up.”

Her mouth opened. But he was a
good
cop. He wouldn't drink on the job. Would he?

“Jake took a bullet because of it.” He swallowed again and stared at her, his usual larger-than-life vibe vanquished.

“Oh my God,” she breathed.

“After that, I got sober. And I'll stay sober.”

Heart racing so fast she could barely breathe, she managed to say, “I'm supposed to trust you? After you lied to me?”

“I didn't exactly lie. I just didn't tell you everything.”

A quick surge of anger brought her to her feet. Hands on her hips, she glared at him. “You deceived me. It was a lie by omission. And now you won't even acknowledge it. Alcoholics are deceptive, Jamal. You say you're sober, yet you're still being deceptive.”

“I won't do it again.”

“Do what? Drink? Lie? Deceive me?” He wasn't the man she'd believed him to be. She took a breath and tried to think. Maybe he was strong enough to become sober and stay sober, which earned her respect, but she needed a man she could trust. “Why didn't you tell me before?”

He rolled his shoulders in an awkward shrug. “I hate that part of myself. Hate how I let alcohol get the best of me, how I endangered Jake's life. I didn't want you to know about that part of me.”

Okay, she could kind of understand all of that, but . . . “What were you thinking? Did you never intend to tell me?”

“Uh . . .”

He hadn't. “Why did you change your mind?”

“Jake. He made me see that you can't base a relationship on a—” He broke off.

“Lie,” she finished.

This time, he didn't protest that he hadn't really lied.

Now it was her turn to pace across the room as she worked this through. “You told the RCMP, right?” Deceiving her was bad enough; concealing something so crucial from his employer would be unconscionable.

He shook his head. “Jake's the only person who knows. Well, and Brooke knows I'm an alcoholic, because she figured it out.”

“No, Jamal.” She shook her head, long hair flying every which way. “That's not acceptable. The RCMP has progressive policies. You're not going to be fired or demoted as long as you stay sober, go to your A.A. meetings, and—” Something in his face brought her to a stop. “You don't go to meetings?”

“I've gone to some. Lots in the beginning. But I don't need to. Do you know those Twelve Steps? It's all preachy stuff about God.”

“If you're not religious, you don't have to take it literally.”

He groaned. “Shit, Karen, alcoholics can stay sober without A.A.”

“I know that.” She went to stand in front of him, staring up into his face. “But did you
get
sober without A.A.?”

“Uh, well, no, but I could have. I was just in a bad place back then and—”

Interrupting what sounded like rationalizing, she asked, “How about now? When you hold a beer, is it easy to put it down or do you feel a strong craving to drink?”

His guilty expression told her the answer.

“It's only been two years, Jamal. Is it getting easier or is it still really hard? Do you have any kind of support? Your sponsor?”

“I don't need a sponsor.” He sounded angry now. “I don't need anyone. I can do this on my own.”

“Listen to yourself. Most recovering alcoholics realize they need help and are grateful for it. But not Jamal. Oh no, he still has to be the independent tough guy.” She raised her hands to cover her face. How could she have so misjudged him? How could she have trusted him? She almost never cried, but now tears threatened. Forcing them back, she struggled for control.

When she found it, she lowered her hands and again gazed into his face. “You could be a man to admire. A man who conquered alcoholism and won that battle every day.”

“I
am
that man,” he protested.

“Today. But maybe you're going to slip because you're too arrogant to understand that you need help staying sober. If you don't relate to A.A., then find some other kind of support group or person. Jamal, if you really are a man to admire, then stop hiding and be proud. Acknowledge who you are.”

His mouth was a grim line.

“Look at Brooke,” Karen said. “She's a recovering alcoholic, she has bipolar disorder, and she did some awful things in her past. Things that hurt her son, that made him leave town, leave her, for ten whole years. Now, every day, she faces the community where she was once the town drunk. She shows other people that it's possible to overcome your problems and redeem yourself.”

Again, tears burned behind her eyes. She battled her emotions until she could speak without a quaver in her voice. “I respect and admire Brooke. As for you, Jamal . . .” She shook her head, sad and confused. “I don't know what I think. What I feel. I don't even know you.”

His face was stony. His eyes closed for a long moment. When he opened them, they were as black and cold as death. “You once told me that people say you can be too judgmental. Maybe you ought to listen to them.”

When he strode toward the door, her body ached with the desire to run after him. Her throat burned with the need to call out. But what could she say?

She'd been well on her way to falling in love with the man she'd believed Jamal to be. But he wasn't that man, and the dreams they'd shared would never come true.

The only reason Karen answered the phone later that afternoon was because she was acting commander. It wasn't the detachment, though. Thank God, because she'd have hated to go out on a call with her face red and swollen from crying.

Brooke's voice said cautiously, “Hi, Karen. How are you?”

That tone told her something was up. “Why do you ask?” Her voice was hoarse and croaky.

A sigh, then, “Jake had a fight with Jamal this week. I wondered if Jamal came to see you this weekend.”

“Came this afternoon and left shortly thereafter,” she said bitterly.

“Oh, Karen, I'm so sorry. Do you want to talk?”

That sounded awfully appealing. But . . . “Jake's there, isn't he?”

“No. He had to work this weekend. Want to come over? Or I could come to you.”

This impersonal half-duplex, the place where she and Jamal had broken up, versus Brooke's cozy home? “I'll be right over.”

Karen splashed cold water on her face until she looked semipresentable, yanked her hair into a ponytail, and made the fifteen-minute drive to her friend's.