What Price Paradise (30 page)

“Yes, I saw.”

“Then what’s wrong?” He touched her cheek.

Abby took a long breath, eyes shut while she gathered her courage. “He made his choice, Joe. And he chose Diane.”

“What are you talking about?” He sounded alarmed.

Pulling the blanket tighter around her, she glanced at him. “You could have taken her to the hospital. There were ten other people there who could have done it. He wouldn’t let you. He had to do it himself. He didn’t even look around, didn’t say a word to me. He forgot I was there. The only thing he was thinking about was Diane. He still loves her.”

She looked out the window, watching as the truck turned into the long drive leading to the ranch. The rain had already slowed into a steady drizzle.

“You said it yourself. Tate is torn between his responsibilities. I’ve always wondered what would happen if he thought she needed him more than I did. Now I know. I guess I’ve always known. I just didn’t want to admit it.”

“Well, hell.” He braked to a stop in front of the house. “Why are you the only person in the state who ever listens to me?” He ran a hand through his wet hair. “Abby, it’s you he loves. I’d stake my life on it.”

She gave him a wan smile. “No, he doesn’t, Joe. He wants me. There’s a big difference. And it’s a difference I can’t live with anymore.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to be making a few choices of my own.” She reached for the door latch. “Starting right now. I guess you could say it really is Independence Day.”

Abby darted through the rain onto the porch, pausing only long enough to slip out of her muddy sandals. Buddy was standing in the middle of the living room, his gaze swinging between her and Joe.

“Where’s Tate?” He took a step closer. “Abby, what’s wrong? You’ve been crying.”

The lump in her throat expanded again and she shook her head, unable to go through another explanation.

“I’ll tell him.” Joe put a hand on her arm. “You go get out of those wet clothes.”

“Thank you.” Her voice was a hoarse whisper. She fled up the stairs, her bare feet making no sound on the smooth wood. Once in the bedroom, she stripped rapidly, changing into jeans, a T-shirt and her sneakers.

Afraid that if she paused even for a second she’d lose her courage, she began pulling clothes out of the closet and drawers. There was no suitcase. She spun to the cedar chest and took out a pillowcase, a hysterical laugh bubbling up from inside. She’d arrived carrying a paper bag. A pillowcase had to be a step up.

Working frantically, she crammed the clothes into it, not bothering to be neat. When there was nothing left to pack, she finally stopped, her sweeping gaze pausing on the bed. The bed where they had made love this morning.

Anguish choked her again, but she forced it away and turned back to the closet. Tate’s windbreaker was hanging inside and she pulled it off the hanger and put it on. Grief lanced through her as his scent enfolded her. The jacket swallowed her whole, hanging almost to her knees, but she didn’t care. Wishing desperately that it were his arms, she wrapped it tighter around her body.

Picking up the pillowcase, she walked to the door then turned to take one last look. “Goodbye, my love,” she whispered.

Both Buddy and Joe stood as she entered the living room, Buddy’s glance going to the pillowcase. His face was deathly white.

“You’re leaving, aren’t you?”

Abby put the pillowcase on the couch and went to him, her hands cupping his face, her entire body tense with the effort not to cry again. “Yes, I am.” Her hand brushed the unruly dark hair back from his forehead. “Try to understand, Buddy. I can’t stay here anymore knowing how Tate feels about Diane. It was a mistake to come in the first place, although I can’t regret it.” She forced herself to smile. “I did get to know you. I’m going to miss you.”

“No, you aren’t.” His face set in stubborn lines. “I’m coming with you. You don’t have any place to go, no one to take care of you.”

“Buddy, you know you can’t do that. Besides, I need you to do me a favor.”

“What kind of favor?”

“I need you to take care of the garden and the chickens.” She hesitated. “And take care of Tate for me, Buddy.”

“But where are you going?” His voice broke on the last word.

“For now, it’s better that you don’t know. I don’t want to put you in the position of having to lie to Tate. After I’m settled I’ll get in touch with you.” She gave him a slight shake. “I expect you to come visit me, you know. This baby will need its uncle.”

She glanced at Joe, standing silently to one side. “I need a ride, but if you’d rather not get involved, I can call a cab. You’re Tate’s best friend and I don’t want to put you in the middle.”

“I’m your friend too, Abby. I’ll take you anywhere you want to go.”

“Wait!” Buddy turned and raced down the hall, returning almost immediately with an envelope. He shoved it into Abby’s hands. “That’s all the money we’ve got in the house. Take it.”

“Buddy, I can’t.”

“Yes, you can. Take it, Abby.”

She hesitated then slipped it into her pocket. “Okay, but I’m going to pay every penny of it back.”

“Ready?” Joe picked up the pillowcase.

Abby nodded then hugged Buddy tightly. “Goodbye,” she whispered. “Don’t forget, I love you and I’ll be in touch as soon as I can.”

She couldn’t look at him again as she turned toward the door. She’d felt his tears on her skin and knew she’d break down if she did.

Dog was on the porch when she followed Joe out and she knelt, taking his shaggy face between her hands. His wet tongue laved her face. “Goodbye, Dog. Chase a rabbit for me, okay?”

She bolted to her feet and ran for the truck, the tears she’d been fighting streaming down her cheeks.

* * * * *

Tate paced restlessly in front of the emergency room door, trying to see inside each time he passed the window. He should have listened to her. His hands clenched at his sides as he remembered the bruise on her arm that day in the cafe. This was all his fault. There should have been a way to stop it before it went this far. He was supposed to protect her, not stand by and let her be hurt.

At the far end of his walk, he peered into the waiting room. He’d thought Joe and Abby would follow him, but there was no sign of them. They’d had plenty of time to get here by now. Maybe he should call home and make sure Abby was okay.

The door of the emergency cubicle swung open and a white-coated doctor stepped outside, reading a chart attached to a clipboard.

“Is she going to be okay?”

The doctor looked up, his gaze taking in Tate’s wet clothes. ”Are you the one who brought her in?”

“Yes.”

The man took Tate’s arm and moved him away from the door. “Her injuries aren’t that severe, just some bruising and a cut on her lip. Nothing is broken and there are no internal problems.” He hesitated. “Actually, I’m more worried about her mental state. For now, we’ve given her a strong sedative to calm her down, but I suggest you think about getting your wife some therapy. She seems to be confused about exactly who did this to her.”

Tate rubbed his forehead tiredly. “I’m not her husband. I’m just a friend.”

“Oh?” The doctor arched an eyebrow. “We’ll need her husband’s signature to admit her. Did she tell you who did this?”

“She just kept saying ‘he’. I thought she was talking about her husband. She told me once before she was afraid of him.”

“Until she’s able to tell us for sure, there’s not much we can do about it. I’m going to notify the police, but in the meantime we need to get her husband in here to fill out the papers.”

“I’ll find him,” Tate said grimly. “Can I see her before I leave?”

“I’m afraid she won’t know you’re there. The sedative makes her sleep.”

“I just need to see for myself that she’s okay.”

“For a minute, then.” He held the door open.

The privacy curtain was pulled around the bed, but Tate pushed it quietly to one side. Diane was asleep, the hospital gown looking worn and faded above the sheet. Someone had made an attempt to dry her hair, but it still hung in limp, damp strands, its paleness emphasizing the dark bruise that covered her eye. Bruises that he hadn’t seen before were now apparent below the short sleeves of the gown. Some were old, already fading to yellow. Others were obviously new and guilt warred with anger inside him. He clenched his teeth until his temples throbbed.

“I’m sorry, Diane,” he whispered, brushing her hair back. “I won’t let it happen again. Clayton is going to pay for this.”

He turned, every muscle in his body tense, and left the hospital.

* * * * *

Whether from the rain or the holiday, Delly’s Tavern was almost empty of its usual crowd. Tate stopped in the entrance and let his gaze move through the semi-gloom. It only took a second to spot his target.

Clayton was sitting at the far end of the bar, a drink in front of him. His khaki pants were wrinkled, as if he’d slept in them. His white dress shirt wasn’t in much better shape. His sandy hair was mussed and, even as Tate watched, he ran a hand through it.

Rage slammed into Tate. The man’s wife was in the hospital, beaten senseless, and he was sitting here getting drunk. Paying no attention to the other men in the room, he stopped next to Clayton. His hand shot out. Grabbing Caldwell’s white collar, he yanked the man off the stool and spun him around.

“You bastard.”

Clayton blinked at him in surprise. “Well, if it isn’t my wife’s true love. What do you want, McCollum? Here to rub it in?”

“What do I want?” His fist slammed into Clayton’s jaw. Arms wind-milling, the man went down, crashing into the table behind him. “I want to show you exactly how it feels. Not any fun when you’re on the receiving end is it, Clayton? You’re so damn brave when it comes to beating on women, let’s see how you do against someone who can fight back. Now get up.”

Lifting a hand to his bleeding mouth, Clayton staggered to his feet. “What the hell are you talking about? I’ve never hit a woman in my life.”

“Your wife is in the hospital because those were love taps, right?” Sarcasm dripped from his voice.

The blood drained from Clayton’s face and he swayed. “Diane is in the hospital? When? What happened?” He grabbed the front of Tate’s shirt and shook. “Damn it! Tell me. Is she okay?”

Tate closed his hands tightly around Clayton’s. “Are you trying to tell me that you don’t know anything about this?”

“I haven’t seen her in three days. She was supposed to be in Austin shopping.” He released Tate and visibly gathered himself. “I’m going to the hospital.”

“I’ll take you. I’m not letting you out of my sight until the police have a chance to talk to you.” He caught the reek of whiskey fumes wafting from the man. “I doubt if you’re sober enough to drive anyway.” He turned toward the door, making sure Clayton was following him.

They were silent while Tate started the truck, then Clayton glanced at him. “How is she?”

“She’ll live. When I left, she was asleep. They gave her a sedative.”

Clayton buried his face in his hands, shoulders slumped in resignation. “I tried to tell her. She wouldn’t listen to me.”

Tate turned onto the highway and looked at him sharply. “You know who did that to her?”

“Not his name or what he looks like. But she’s been coming home bruised up for weeks now. If I’d known who he was, don’t you think I’d have stopped it myself?” Anger tinged his voice. “When are you going to let her go, Tate? She doesn’t love you anymore than you do her.”

“What are you talking about? I let her go when I married Abby.”

“Did you? Then why are you the one she ran to? I’m her husband, damn it! I’m the one she’s supposed to come to. God.” He shook his head. “Do you know how long I’ve been in love with her? Do you even have a clue what it did to me all those years when she’d leave me and go right back to you?” His breath hitched. “It ate me alive. I’d sit in Delly’s and watch the two of you together and it almost killed me, knowing you didn’t love her.”

Tate’s grip tightened on the steering wheel until his knuckles bled white. “What makes you think I didn’t love her?”

“You knew she was seeing me. How did that make you feel? You don’t even have to answer, because I know. You ignored it like it was a minor inconvenience. But I wanted to strangle you every time I saw that damned ring back on her finger.” His laugh held an edge of pain that jangled a cord of sympathy in Tate.

“I was so happy when she said she’d marry me, even knowing it was because she wanted to get even with you. I actually believed we might have a chance together. I thought it was finally over, that you realized you didn’t love her. But Diane knew better, didn’t she, Tate? That’s why she couldn’t leave you alone.”

The windshield wipers slapped away the rain that was hitting the window. “You’re right.” Tate’s voice was low. “I didn’t love her. Not like I should have. And for that I’m sorry.” He glanced at the man next to him. Clayton looked almost as bad as Diane had. Lines of defeat etched his face, aging him ten years.

“I didn’t know how you felt, Clayton. I was just trying to take care of her like I’d been doing most of her life.”