The Comeback Girl (16 page)

“Are you sorry we did it?”

His head moved from side to side, never taking his eyes off her. “Then what?”

He took a breath. “I love you, Kris. Always have. Probably always will, but you were right last night.”

Kristin bit her lip, tasting lipstick.

“I couldn’t admit the truth to myself until this morning,” he continued. “I love this town and I don’t want to see it destroyed by greed and corruption. I can’t wait four years. Even if it means I wind up broke and unemployed, I have to try now. Are you absolutely certain you want to go down that road with me?”

His smile was so real and honest she wanted to kiss him, but she knew better than to start something that might lead to more than they intended.

She sat up straight and took a deep breath. “I’m through traveling, Donnie, but I think Andi’s right. Given the choice between business as usual and a fresh, honest voice in government, people will pick you. You’re going to win and I’m going to be the sheriff’s wife. How cool is that?”

He rose and held out his hand. “Pretty cool.”

She studied his face—the face she’d loved since childhood. In his eyes was a gratifying look—full of hunger and desire. She smiled and tapped his nose and said, “Sorry, Charlie, we have business to take care of today.”

She slipped off the bed and smoothed the wrinkles from her dress.

“We’ve still got some time before the ceremony,” he said, his voice deep and sexy.

She shook her head, then ran her tongue across her bottom lip for good measure and walked away.

Stifling a giggle, she bumped into her sisters in the hall. “Are you ready? People are getting antsy,” Jenny said.

“Yeah, the beer’s getting warm,” Andi added with a wink. “Where’s the groom?”

Kris looked over one shoulder. “Oh, he’ll be along in a minute. Last-minute jitters.”

Her sisters looked at her, then each other. But they had no time to say anything because a second later the groom-to-be walked out of Ida’s bedroom.

Jenny swooped down on him. “Places, everyone. It’s show time.”

D
ONNIE EMPLOYED
what he called his game face as he circulated among the many guests and party crashers who milled about the bordello’s garden. The smokers were clustered just outside the fence in the parking lot—a sort of wedding tailgate party. So far, an hour and a half after the ceremony, he was still nursing the same glass of sparkling cider. He didn’t want a drink—he wanted his wife.

My wife.
No matter how many times he said the words, they didn’t seem real. He’d been married once and knew what it was to have a person who shared your name, your bank account, your bed. But he couldn’t imagine what it would be like to share those things with Kristin.

And no matter how many times he reminded himself of the practical reasons for this marriage, his heart still swelled with pride when he looked at her. So lovely, so bright and full of joy. Her body language spoke to people, he decided, watching the way she bent over to hug Lillian Carswell. And a minute later, she was laughing, head thrown back,
when Pascal Fournier plopped her down on his knee and wouldn’t let her go. His brother, Waldo—a giant of a man at six-five, three hundred ninety pounds—shook with laugher when Kris bussed Pascal’s cheek.

Kris’s playful flirting was never a come-on. Men loved her, but so did their wives. And her hidden assets would soon be in his bed, he thought, recalling their night of passion.

“You’ve got a dreamy look in your eyes,” a soft voice said, taking him by surprise a minute later. “Bored to tears or thinking about all those boxes of mine to move?”

Too embarrassed to admit where his fantasies had led him, he lied. “I was thinking that it was too bad your cousins couldn’t make the wedding. Then I was thinking about Ireland, which led me to think about Italy. Remember when we planned to hunt down my father’s ancestors?”

“I do,” she exclaimed. “Wasn’t there a Grimaldo who worked for Ghirardelli when he opened his first store in Hornitos?” When he nodded, she added, “Imagine where your family might have been if he’d moved to San Francisco instead of marrying your great-grandmother—a miner’s daughter from Scotland.”

It left him speechless that she could recall that kind of detail about his life.

“Look,” she said, lifting a basket of party favors—clusters of pastel-colored Jordan almonds
wrapped in white netting and tied with white ribbon.

Kris reached into the basket and offered him one. Donnie shook his head with a barely suppressed shudder. Pastel almonds reminded him of his first wedding. He’d munched down a couple of handfuls before some undercooked pork got the best of him. He’d been ill for two days. For some reason, he could eat pork again, but the taste of Jordan almonds still haunted him.

“Please,” she begged in a hushed tone, “Lillian made them. She must have spent hours putting them together and tying them—and she has really bad arthritis. I spend half of each massage working on her hands.” Stepping close to him, she added in a whisper, “Personally, they’re too sweet for me, but it was very thoughtful. We need to pass them out to all the guests.”

With a secret wink she added, “Or we get to
keep
them.”

Donnie put down his glass and took the handle of the basket from her. “Your slightest wish is my command, Mrs. Grimaldo. By the way, in case you didn’t hear me earlier, you are amazingly beautiful. Every man in the place is jealous of me.”

Her blush made him smile.

After the last of the almonds were distributed, Donnie looked around for his son. Sandy had planned to leave with Lucas after the wedding, but Donnie had put his foot down. “He’s in school, Sandy. He can’t afford to miss any more days. I’ve
already heard from one of his teachers that he’s falling behind. He might even need a tutor.”

She’d argued, but finally agreed to postpone her flight to L.A. another day so she could spend it with their son. She was going to take Lucas to her cabin as soon as the wedding reception ended.

Lucas was sitting near the serving table, and by the number of empty cola cans in front of him, hadn’t moved since he’d been released from duty in the greeting line. Donnie had asked him to serve as his best man. And while Lucas had complied, he obviously hadn’t enjoyed the experience.

Zach had walked his mother to the flower-festooned arch with conspicuous pride, his head held high. He wore black trousers and a long-sleeved white shirt. His skinny tie had
Star Trek
images on it. Almost as tall as his mother, he looked older than his years. Donnie had overheard a number of comments about what a handsome boy he was becoming.

Handsome, but prickly. So far, he’d kept to himself, just like Lucas.

Donnie spotted Bethany in a severe black dress. She separated from a group of sheriff’s employees and approached him. “You clean up pretty good for an old man,” she said, her eyes alight with laughter.

“You look nice, too—for being in mourning.”

“Yadda, yadda, I get the same crap from my folks, you know.”

“Sorry,” he said, glancing to the left when he
saw Kristin join Ida Jane on the park bench. Something Ida said must have made Kris cry because she suddenly put her arms around the older woman’s shoulders and stayed there, her back quivering.

Does she need me?
The thought made him frown. He would be so busy with the campaign, he might not be around much to help Kris with Ida Jane.

“She’s nice,” Beth said. “I can see why you love her.”

Donnie felt himself blush. He hadn’t realized his feelings were quite so obvious. “She’s an amazing person. She’ll make a good sheriff’s wife.”

Beth froze. “What do you mean?”

He hadn’t meant to blurt it out like that, but there was no sense putting off the inevitable. “Sam’s going to announce my candidacy in about five minutes.”

“Are you out of your mind? Magnus will kill you.”

Donnie took her arm and moved her to a less congested area. “I’m going to give it my best shot, Beth,” he said with more confidence than he felt. “You know what it’s like in the department. I know I might not make it, but I have to try.”

She thought a minute then said, “What happens if you lose? Magnus will never let you work here. Would you move away?”

“Maybe. Or I’ll get a job in the Valley and commute. Like every other Californian.”

Beth frowned. “My dad used to commute two hours one way to work. He said it was hell. It got
so bad he and my mom almost broke up. That’s why we moved here. So we could be more of a family. I hardly even knew him when he worked in Santa Clara. He was this moody, unhappy guy who yelled at us on weekends then disappeared.”

Donnie felt an odd twist in his belly. He looked at the table where his son was eating a piece of cake.
Was that his second piece? Or his third?

Sandy had suggested that Lucas’s eating habits were a direct result of Donnie’s questionable parenting skills. “You’re never there, and even when you are, you aren’t,” she’d accused. “He needs to spend time with someone who wants to be with him, Donnie. Not someone who’s doing the right thing because it’s expected of him.”

Donnie cleared his throat. “Well, I haven’t lost yet.”

Beth grinned. “That’s true. Besides, aren’t you the guy who told me you’re only a loser if you don’t try?”

Donnie gave her a light tap on the shoulder. “Come on, I want to introduce you to Kristin.”

Beth shook her head. “Maybe later. She looks busy.”

Donnie turned to find his wife in the crowd. He spotted her amidst a group of older women—friends of Ida Jane’s. Beulah Jensen was showing Kristin’s ring for the group to see. Donnie was glad he’d gone against Kris’s wishes and bought a gold band with four small diamonds.

“Our instant family,” he’d told her when he slipped it on her finger.

She’d appeared ready to cry, but then Judge Miller gave him permission to kiss the bride, and Donnie had distracted her from her sadness.

He looked down at his hand. Kris hadn’t pressed for a double-ring ceremony. “Save the money for your campaign,” she’d said.

Was that it? Or did she not expect the marriage to last?

“You know,” Beth said with a sigh, “I really wanted to hate her.”

Me, too. At one time.
Instead, he said, “Why?”

“Because she’s gorgeous. But then I realized she doesn’t see herself that way. She’s not a show-off. You know, like some of the popular girls, who are only nice to geeks if they think other people are watching.”

Donnie touched her shoulder. “You’re not a geek.”

She made a skeptical sound. “Sure I am. I wear black, I get good grades and my only friends are cops. Are you so old you’ve forgotten what that means in high school?”

No, he knew. “High school is a brief, but sometimes painful, ritual we subject our children to so they won’t blame everything that goes wrong in their lives on their parents.”

She laughed and said, “I’ll tell that to my folks.”

She started to leave but Donnie stopped her. “Wait. Would you do me a favor?”

“Maybe.”

“Drag those two—” he nodded toward Zach and Lucas “—together and get them talking. Maybe if you mention music.”

She looked less than enthused but agreed to try. “Thanks, kiddo. You’re a pal.”

Donnie didn’t get a chance to see if she was successful because his new brothers-in-law waylaid him.

Sam clapped a big solid arm around Donnie’s shoulders and marched him to a table. “Sit, my friend. Man talk.”

Jonathan appeared a moment later with three sweating amber bottles—two beers and a cream soda.

“A toast,” he said, dropping down on the bench across from Donnie and Sam. Each clinked his bottle with the others. “To our new brotherhood. Friends, husbands and fathers. May we always be there for each other.”

Donnie was surprisingly touched by the sentiment. “Thank you, gentlemen. It’s an honor to be in such esteemed company.”

The carbonated beverage was refreshing, until Donnie noticed Sam and Jonathan exchange a look. He mentally braced himself. “Is this where you tell me to go easy on her on our honeymoon?”

Jonathan frowned. “Hell no. You’re on your own in the bedroom. This is where we get serious about your future—in politics. You haven’t forgotten about that, have you?”

“I handed in my notice, Jon. I haven’t forgotten.”

Sam hunched forward and linked his hands. “It’s going to be an uphill battle, Donnie. I won’t kid you, but Magnus has to go, and you’re the only one who can get Gold Creek back on track.”

Jonathan lifted his bottle. “Hey, there’s our first sound bite.” The two men toasted.

“I couldn’t do this without your support—both of you. But I’ve watched the political game in this county for years, and I know it can get ugly,” Donnie said.

Sam nodded. “I agree, but at least you have Kristin in your corner.”

Jonathan nodded. “Yeah. Free massages, too.”

Donnie looked across the yard where his wife was talking to her sisters. Kris glanced his way, and her spontaneous smile produced a response in his heart he couldn’t begin to describe.

A moment later, Sam stood up and stepped to the seat of the picnic table. His piercing whistle made conversation stop. Everyone turned to listen.

“You’re in luck, folks. It’s two-for-one day. Not only do you get a wedding—” He paused for effect. “You get to meet the future sheriff of Gold Creek, Donnie Grimaldo.”

I
N THE TWO WEEKS
since his mother’s wedding, Zach had settled in better than he’d expected. It helped that he’d found his spot. For as long as he could remember, his mother had promoted this idea. “And where in this amazingly tiny apartment will we find a spot that is all Zach’s?” she would say moments after opening the door to their newest home.

His privacy zone, they had called it when he got older. The places had varied from an empty cupboard with the door removed to a tepee made from a bedsheet.

This time, Zach had chosen a protected area adjacent to Sarge’s doghouse. The evergreen shrubs shielded him from the breeze, and the location gave him a clear view of the patio. What made it perfect was that no one could sneak up on him. Zach was damn tired of surprises.

“Here, boy,” Zach said, dropping to his butt on Sarge’s old mat. He kicked out his legs and settled back against the small but sturdy structure. Sarge, who seemed to love his new home, joined him with a slobbery sigh.

Today was Wednesday. For the first time since he’d moved to California, the weather felt like it might be changing. Zach was sick of summer.

He was waiting for Lucas’s friends to arrive. Since the teachers were having something called an in-service day, classes had been released early. His mother had picked up both boys so they could prepare for their first practice.

Zach’s gut was in knots and his palms felt sweaty. He told himself it was no big deal, but what if he sucked as bad as he thought he did?

Donnie was the one who’d pushed Lucas to set up this meeting. Zach had protested that he wasn’t good enough, but his mother had pleaded with him to at least talk to Lucas’s friends.

Talk.
Talk he could handle. It was the playing that had him so nervous he could barely sit still. Although Zach had taken guitar lessons off and on for a couple of years—depending on when his mom could afford it—he knew he had a lot to learn.

And while the guitar Donnie had given him was a step-up from the one he had been using, the instrument was different enough that Zach was having trouble getting used to it. Donnie’s promise of lessons had taken a back seat to his campaign, but he had squeezed in half an hour with Zach on Monday night.

Instead of rushing off to his next meeting, he’d taken time to sit down and show Zach some chords, which Zach had diligently practiced every spare minute since.

Donnie had called him a “natural.”

“You’ve got a gift, Zach,” he’d said.

He knew Donnie’s praise was bull, but it still felt good to hear.

Sarge lifted his head, turning toward a noise that Zach had missed. Rising to his knees, Zach spotted Lucas slip out the back door of the garage and disappear in the direction of the creek.

“Stupid kid,” Zach muttered, stroking the dog’s head. “Talk about screwed up.”

Sarge blew out a sigh that made his jowls flap.

It baffled Zach that someone as savvy as Donnie could totally miss the fact that his son was doing drugs. Zach had had his suspicions confirmed that afternoon by the creek. But he hadn’t realized how bad things were until he and Lucas rode their bikes home from school together on Monday.

Both Donnie and Zach’s mom were away from the house. Zach had gone to his room to do his homework. A few minutes later, Lucas had appeared in the doorway. “Where’s the cop?”

“Your dad?”

Lucas had sloughed off his backpack on the stack of boxes that Zach was still going through. The top caved in slightly, and Zach had given him a dirty look, hoping he’d take the hint and leave.

“Nah, I meant your mom. I know where my dad is. Putting up Grimaldo For Sheriff signs.”

Before Zach could answer, Lucas had unzipped a side compartment in his backpack and removed
something small enough to fit in the palm of his hand. “Want some of this?”

Zach had been six the first time he’d been offered drugs. A fifth-grade boy had tried to get first-grade students to buy little blue pills that he said would make them smarter. “No. And you’d better get that out of the house. My mom’s last appointment was at four. She’ll be here any minute and she’s not as busy as your dad is. If she thinks you’re messing around with pot, she’ll be all over your ass about it.”

“Yeah, right,” Lucas had said, obviously unimpressed by the threat. He’d grabbed the backpack and left, exiting the house through the patio door.

Suddenly, a light appeared in the low-roofed building sitting about thirty feet behind the garage. The music shed.

Zach looked at his watch.
He’s home early.

Through the two windows, Zach could see Donnie moving around. The shed wasn’t huge—about the size of his and Lucas’s bedrooms put together. The little building would make an excellent studio.

Acoustically, it beat the garage all to heck.

Once Donnie was done, there would be sound-proofing in the walls, special electrical plugs and a heating panel so they could practice during the winter. Donnie claimed it was his gift to the music world, but Zach had a hunch it was more about making sure his new wife’s car wouldn’t have to sit outside in the cold.

Zach approved. He was still mad at his mother
on many levels, but he was willing to concede that Donnie was a good guy. So far, he’d been pretty cool.

That didn’t mean Zach was happy with him. It pissed him off that Donnie was on the run all the time, leaving Zach’s mom with this big house and two kids—especially a stoner like Lucas. Zach knew that was their bargain, but as far as he was concerned, his mother was getting gypped.

Not that she was complaining, but she looked like hell. The bags under her eyes told him she wasn’t sleeping at night. Which didn’t make sense. She should be exhausted. In addition to moving, she’d cleaned Jenny’s old place and given a bunch of massages.

He’d overheard her telling Andi that being married to Donnie was like an all-clear signal to people that it was okay to come to her for massages.

He hated that about this stupid town. People knew too much about your life; they all had opinions and you couldn’t make a move without somebody reporting it to your mother or your aunt or your grandmother.

Yesterday Gloria had called and asked him to stop by the newspaper office after school. She’d been busy with an interview so Zach had read copies of the
San Francisco Chronicle
and hung out with Jonathan until she was done. Which wasn’t so bad, really.

Then she’d taken him to dinner. She told him Tyler was back in Seattle for a few days, but that
Zach could call her anytime and she would gladly pick him up. For the first time she’d seemed kinda lonely.

The only awkward moment was on the way home when she put down guitar playing. “The time you spend playing music could better be used to prepare for college. You could go to Harvard, or any Ivy League school,” she’d told him. “Your father can afford it, you know.”

Zach wasn’t sure what his plans would be in five years. At the moment, he wanted to play music, write songs, survive high school and, maybe, get a girlfriend.

There was one who interested him. She was older than him and a little weird, but he liked her. And her younger sister was pretty cute, too.

Curious about how much progress Donnie had made since the last time he checked, Zach got up and started toward the building. Before he reached the edge of the yard, a horn sounded in the driveway. A second later, Lucas stumbled from the bushes at the far side of the yard.

He froze when he spotted Zach, but hurried off a second afterward. “Are you coming, Goody Two-shoes?” Lucas sneered. “They’re here.”

Zach petted Sarge again. “Stupid stoner,” he muttered. “This’ll probably suck big time.”

By the time he reached the garage, there were lots of people—mostly strangers. Donnie was talking to the parents who’d driven their son—the keyboardist, Zach guessed—to practice.

The drummer, a tall, rangy-looking guy with orange hair and a mouthful of metal, introduced himself. “Hey, I’m Kyle. We have P.E. together.”

That was all they had time for because Kyle’s older brother, a high-school student, and his two pals were in a hurry. They unloaded the drums in the far corner of the garage then got back in the truck and took off.

Mike, the keyboard player, was tall and skinny, with some serious acne that his dreadlocks helped cover. He provided not only the keyboard but a second amplifier and two microphones, as well.

It seemed to take forever to set up. Zach stood on the perimeter feeling nervous and out of it. The others chatted about mutual friends and teachers that he didn’t know.

He was about ready to split when Kyle said, “Hey, Sullivan, can you play?”

“I guess.”

Lucas closed the garage door and plugged his Fender into the amp.

He nodded to Mike, who counted, “One, two, three…”

Zach jumped in without a clue to what they were supposed to be playing. It didn’t seem to matter. Nobody else seemed to have a clear musical direction, either.

After about half an hour, the exterior door opened and Donnie walked in. He was dressed in paint coveralls and his hair was speckled with something white. “How’s it going?”

Before anyone could answer, Zach’s mother appeared. “Hi, boys. I hate to bother you when history is in the making,” she said, causing them to smile with her exaggerated wink, “but I’m worried what all those high-octane sound waves are doing to your ears. So, please, indulge me. I’m a mom.”

She gave each boy a set of musician’s earplugs—the kind that screened out bad decibels.

“And, you can’t be creative geniuses without proper nutrition.” She produced a plate of brownies.

By the time the other boys left, Zach actually felt as if they might be able to form a band.
If Lucas gets his act together.

“W
HAT IS WRONG
with my brain?” Kristin muttered, picking up each individual spice jar on the shelf to examine the label. Tomorrow was her three-week wedding anniversary, but she still didn’t know where anything was in Donnie’s house. “Basil. Cumin. Allspice,” she called out the names. “What
is
allspice? Maybe, since it’s
all-
spice, I could use it instead of oregano.”

“I wouldn’t if I were you,” a deep voice said.

Kris swung around in surprise. “Donnie, you’re early.”

He dropped his keys on the counter and headed her way. “My slave driver brother-in-law gave me the rest of the weekend off to work on my speech for Monday. What a guy!”

Kris set the allspice back on the shelf and moved
out of his way. She was barefoot, dressed in black leggings and a Crater Lake sweatshirt that hung on her like a shapeless grocery sack. She knew her ponytail was ratty and mostly out of its scrunchy. She’d planned to start dinner then take a nice relaxing bath, but she was running late. A client—the fourth of the day—had shown up unexpectedly an hour earlier, begging for a massage.

Donnie didn’t seem to notice her messy appearance. He plucked a green-topped glass jar out of the mess and said, “Here. It got squeezed behind the cinnamon.”

When he handed the container to her, their fingers touched and Kris felt the impact deep within. “My fault,” she admitted. “I came home between massages and baked an apple pie. I must have put the cinnamon back in the wrong place.”

“It’s your kitchen now, Kris. Put things wherever you want.”

He looked as if he might say more, but just then the exterior door opened and Zach walked in. As usual, his eyes revealed none of his inner thoughts.

He was carrying his guitar and a plastic binder.
His songs,
she thought. No matter what else came of this marriage, Donnie had given her son a wonderful gift—music.

“I could use your help setting the table,” she told him. “I set out the red-and-white checked tablecloth.”

Donnie rested one elbow against the counter and
shuffled through the day’s mail. “Where’s Lucas?” Donnie asked.

Kris sprinkled a few shakes of the herb into her bubbling pot of spaghetti sauce. “I don’t know. Zach, do you know where he is?”

“Nope.”

Monosyllabic-grunt-boy had returned. Kris would have been pulling out her hair except that Donnie constantly assured her that Zach was “a neat kid.”

“Maybe he’s in the music shed,” Kris suggested, holding the stirring spoon to her lips to sample the sauce.

With the liquid too hot to touch, she blew on the spoon. When Donnie didn’t answer, she glanced his way. The look in his eyes was every bit as heated as the mixture on the spoon.

Zach made a sound of pure disgust, and she hastily dropped the spoon back in the pot. “What did you say?”

His upper lip curled back in a sneer. “Nothin’.”

Before she could respond, the phone rang. Nobody moved to answer it. After the third ring, Kristin pounced on it. “Sullivan residence…I…I mean…hello.”

“It’s Sandy. Put Donnie on.”

The snappish tone made Kristin hold out the receiver. “It’s definitely for you.”

Donnie walked around the counter to sit down on a stool. He took the portable unit from her hand then turned his back to them. Kris could hear every
word he spoke, but she made a concerted effort not to listen. “So, Zach,” she said, “how’s the new song coming?”

“Okay,” he mumbled.

Normally, she wouldn’t let his prickly tone put her off, but Donnie’s fierce “Don’t even think it” distracted her.

Zach gave her a knowing look and walked into the dining room, leaving her with Donnie. And Sandy.

“For the last time, Sandy, let it go,” Donnie said. Kris heard exhaustion and frustration in his tone. “We can’t plan for Christmas until I know whether or not I have the job.”

Impulsively, Kris poured him a glass of juice. Since his back was to her and she didn’t want to walk around the island, she leaned across the counter, practically lying on her belly and tapped his shoulder.

When he turned to look, his eyes widened and his gaze dropped. Kris glanced down and discovered the bow neck of her sweatshirt was stretched about as low as it could go. She scooted backward, almost knocking over the glass. Donnie rescued it and mouthed “Thank you” as Sandy’s voice droned in the background. Kris wasn’t sure if he was grateful for the drink or the peepshow, but for some reason, she didn’t care. It was enough to see him smile.