“Nice,” she breathed. But…why the unexpected gift?
She guessed it was Ian’s way of keeping her moving in the right direction—a sample of the finer things she’d enjoy while married to someone so rich. But when she read the accompanying handwritten note, she realized the pendant hadn’t come from Ian at all. It was more personal than that.
“I’ll make it up to you where I can. Simon.”
9
It was late evening by the time Gail summoned the nerve to call her father. She would’ve called him a little earlier, but she’d been on the phone with the police. They wanted to get a statement from her, make sure that no crime—no assault, sexual or otherwise—had been committed.
Taking responsibility for a lie she hadn’t uttered was embarrassing, but she’d managed to assure them that it was just a lovers’ quarrel and they took the news pretty well. They’d probably heard crazier stories. The officer on the phone was very professional, and because there was no evidence to support any charges, none were going to be filed.
She was relieved to have that out of the way, but now she had another hurdle to clear. The photographs of her and Simon were already posted online. She’d checked. That meant the fervor was starting and she risked having her father find out before she could tell him. Fortunately, Martin DeMarco wasn’t fond of the internet. He didn’t watch a lot of TV, either.
Still, sooner or later—and probably sooner—someone in Whiskey Creek would see the pictures of her “kissing” Simon. Then her father would hear about it from everyone in town. Back home, in “the heart of the Gold Country” as the town slogan went, it only took one person to start a social epidemic.
As she sat in the dark of her living room, blinds drawn and clock ticking closer and closer to ten, she imagined how it would go when the news did get out. Have you heard? Gail is dating that no-good bastard, Simon O’Neal. Yes, that Gail—and that Simon!
She almost felt sorry for her soon-to-be husband. If he thought his name had been maligned before, he hadn’t seen what they could do in her conservative hometown. The people who lived there had deep roots and strong values. They prided themselves on living circumspect lives. In Whiskey Creek, his celebrity could not outweigh his notoriety. Not anymore. He’d passed that point six months ago.
As Gail pictured the Old West boardwalk and historic architecture of Sutter’s Antiquities, Black Gold Coffee and Whiskey Creek Five and Dime, she realized that she would, for once, supplant Matt Stinson in the gossip arena—even with all the speculation about his knee injury and the possibility of early retirement. She was Whiskey Creek’s hometown girl made good: valedictorian of her high school, a Stanford grad and, to all appearances, a successful entrepreneur. They’d see Simon as using her, and them by extension, and it wouldn’t go over well.
Too bad she’d helped shape their hard feelings when she visited last month. Their prejudice would only make things more difficult. But back then, she and Simon had been in the heat of battle. She’d had no clue she’d wind up marrying him.
Steeling herself against her family’s reaction, she picked up the phone. All things considered, the evening had been a quiet one. But it felt rather ominous, like the calm before a storm.
She had a feeling that storm was about to break.
“’Lo?” Her brother, Joe, had answered. Not only did he and her father own the gas station and towing service at the edge of town, they shared the same house, at least since Joe’s divorce four years ago.
Gail attempted to put a smile in her voice. “Hey, big brother. How are you?”
“Hangin’ in. You?” Although he was more connected to the world outside Whiskey Creek than her father was, he didn’t seem to have heard anything that upset him. He was treating her like he always did.
She breathed a sigh of relief. She’d called in time. “Fine. Busy, as usual.”
“How’s the biz?”
“Getting better all the time.” Or it would soon....
“So it didn’t hurt you to cut Simon O’Neal from your list? I know you were worried about that.”
She’d been far too vocal about everything. “Um, not so much. It’s going to work out in the end. Dad around?”
“Right here.”
“Who’s at the station tonight?”
“Sandra Morton.”
“I thought she only worked days during the weekend.”
“She’s asked for some extra hours. Robbie’s getting married. You might’ve heard about that.”
“No.” When she’d spoken with Callie earlier, that detail must’ve gotten lost in the news of Matt’s return. “Robbie’s just…what, seventeen?”
“Yep. A senior in high school. Knocked up his girlfriend.”
Maybe she wasn’t the only one Whiskey Creek would be gossiping about. Matt’s return and Robbie’s shotgun wedding would also be hot topics. She would’ve been relieved to have competition for the best scandal in town, except this wasn’t good news for Robbie or his mother, whom she liked. “I’m sorry to hear that, for everyone concerned.”
“They claim they’re in love, want to get married and keep the baby.”
“What does Sandra say?”
“She’s determined to let them.” He didn’t sound like he thought the marriage had a snowball’s chance in hell, but that was probably because he blamed the failure of his own marriage on settling down too early.
“They’ll be living with her?”
“Until they finish high school, anyway.”
Sandra was a widow, mostly dependent on social security. “How will she afford to feed them?”
“He’s working at the station now, too. He does nights. She’s training him.”
For all his exacting ways, her father had a soft heart. He just didn’t want anyone to know it—and could be darn good at hiding his secret. “Do you and Dad really need that much help?”
“Can’t hurt, I guess. Dad’s grabbing the phone,” he said, and passed it off.
“’Bout time you checked in.” Her father’s voice was as commanding as ever.
She stayed in close touch, but he was never satisfied. He wanted her back in Whiskey Creek, like Joe. “Sorry, Dad, my life’s been crazy.”
“What’s going on?”
Hesitant to launch into what she had to say about Simon, she searched for other things they could talk about. “Just…work. You know how it is.”