The Woman for Dusty Conrad Read online

  She didn’t know what she’d hoped to accomplish by coming here. What she did know was that she’d willingly lied to Dusty for the first time in the forever that she’d known him. And that fact more than anything else bore out how very much the dynamics of their relationship had changed.

  Then again, that she’d felt compelled to come out here to visit her grandfather rather than talk things out with Dusty also spoke volumes.

  Despite what she’d told him, she’d never intended to go back to the firehouse. She’d known that Jones wouldn’t accept her presence there. It was par for the course for a firefighter to be sent home after an especially grueling run to recuperate, if only to get back in shape in time for the next run. Instead she’d driven way out here to talk to her grandfather.

  She rubbed her fingertips against her closed eyelids, wishing she could have swung by the house for a quick shower and change of clothes before coming out. While she couldn’t detect the odor on herself, she knew that others could from ten feet away. There was something about the smoke that made itself one with every fiber of clothing, clung to your skin and hair with such tenacity that sometimes she showered three times, scrubbing until her skin was raw and red, and she swore she could still smell the smoke.

  She climbed from the Jeep and walked toward the entrance. Only after signing in and checking her grandfather’s schedule did she climb up to the second floor to where his private room was down at the far end of the hall.

  She rapped lightly on the thick, carved oak door, then stepped inside. Warm mid-afternoon light pooled in from the two curtained windows on either side of the neat bed, making the large room cozy and bright. Jolie smiled tremulously. “Hi, Gramps.”

  She gazed lovingly on his face, then shuffled awkwardly to a chair and sat down on the very edge. Everything at the nursing facility was top notch, from the rich carpeted floor, to the antique wing chairs and bed, Jolie made sure that her grandfather was kept in a way he’d never been entitled to before. Nearly half her paycheck went to supplement his social security and insurance in order to pay for it, but she couldn’t have settled for less.

  “Um, I’m sorry I haven’t been to visit for a while. You see, a lot’s been happening lately.” She bit her bottom lip, counting nearly two weeks since her last visit. “A lot going on at the firehouse…then there’s Darby. I’ve been helping her out as much as she’ll let me. Which—you know Darby—is precious little, but I do what I can, on the sly, of course. If she knew I had an ulterior motive, she’d send me packing faster than last week’s garbage.”

  She smiled at him, then glanced out the cheval window and the brilliant fall foliage visible just beyond. A blue jay flitted from a nearby branch, squawking. Jolie pretended an interest in it, then slowly looked back toward her grandfather.

  “But that’s not really why I came all the way out here in the middle of the week, during a workday at that.” She bit her lip to stop it from trembling. “You see, there’s something I need to talk to somebody about or else I’m afraid I’ll burst.” She drew in a ragged breath. “You see, Dusty’s back.”

  Jolie gazed at Gramps, her heart contracting so painfully she nearly gasped.

  She wasn’t sure what she wanted him to say. That is, if he were capable of saying anything at all. But for the first time since he’d had a massive stroke three years ago, she longed for some sort of response. Some sign that he could hear her. That he could understand what she was saying.

  She tucked her hair behind her ear and stared into her lap. She and her grandfather had never gotten on well. Vinegar and oil, is what Gramps used to compare them to. Though she’d never been quite clear on who was the vinegar and who the oil, and wasn’t sure she wanted to know. Either it meant she was tart and combative. Or slick and evasive. Neither held much appeal to her.

  Still, Gramps was her family. The only blood relative she’d known since she was six. The only one she had left now, no matter his condition.

  She fought to keep her voice even, knowing it was imperative that she not indicate too much upset in case he could understand and might suffer distress himself.

  She clenched her hands tightly in her lap, wondering not for the first time what it must be like to be trapped in a body that no longer worked properly.

  She rolled her eyes to stare at the ceiling to stem the tide of tears that seared the back of her eyelids. “I know I told you that Dusty had gone out of town for a while. But I…I didn’t tell you the whole truth.” She bit soundly on her bottom lip. “He wants a divorce, Gramps. Dusty wants to end our five-year marriage.”

  She sat like that for long, quiet moments. Staring at the ceiling. Concentrating on breathing in and out. Distantly aware that saying the words hadn’t resulted in the stopping of her heart. That she was still very much there. Alive. The trees continued to sway outside the window. The quiet clink of dishes as a cart was rolled by outside the open door reminded her that life went on around her.

  She swallowed hard, almost wishing that the world had stopped spinning. It might make the whole mess she was in the middle of much easier to cope with. “I don’t know. A part of me thinks I should just give him what he wants. End this…suffering. This pain.”

  Her quiet gulp filled the silent room.

  “Another part…well another part wants to believe that we still have a chance, you know? That maybe, just maybe, if we spend time together, try to talk things out, remember…how good it used to be that…well, that we’ll rediscover that common bond that’s always existed between us.”

  Her throat threatened to close up on her, making a strange strangling sound. “But I keep thinking that I can’t make Dusty love me if he doesn’t.”

  For long moments she sat, trying to regain control over the tears flowing freely down her cheeks, the breath-stealing ache in her chest. She scrubbed her palms over her damp cheeks, then gave a quiet, humorless laugh. “You know what’s funny? I’m sitting here right now, watching you like this…thinking of all Darby has gone through, and I’m feeling…so completely selfish. Guilty that I’m complaining about anything.” She took a ragged breath. “After all, I still have my health, don’t I? And while I may have lost Dusty, he’s not dead. He…he just doesn’t want to be married anymore. He just doesn’t want me anymore.”

  She turned her head toward the window, staring sightlessly at the shifting tree branches.

  She tried to imagine what Gramps might say. Would he point an accusatory finger at her, pinning her as the one to blame for the end of her marriage? Or would he curse Dusty Conrad? She couldn’t be sure. She’d never been very good at second-guessing others’ motivations, thoughts. Her own devastating shock at Dusty’s departure was a perfect example of that.

  Perhaps it was better that Gramps was unable to answer her. She was having a difficult-enough time trying to sort through her own feelings without piling up someone else’s on top of them.

  Jolie couldn’t be sure how long she’d sat there listening to her grandfather’s even breathing. Clenching and unclenching her hands in her lap. Trying to make sense out of what was happening in her life and why. But she slowly became aware of a certain resolve stealing over her. An acceptance, really, that what was happening was physically survivable. And if it was physically survivable, well, then, it was up to her to get through the emotional part.

  She absently pulled her hair back from her face and sniffed, rubbing the remainder of her tears from her chin. She also realized that while Dusty had been away, she’d never really come to terms with the fact that he might not ever come back to her. With him physically absent, it had been easy to just push the whole issue aside. Pretend that he was on that extended trip out of town to make some extra cash, as she had told everyone, and that he would soon be coming home.

  But now that he had come back, and it was crystal clear he had no intention of staying, the time had finally come for her to face the truth. And stare down six months of delayed grieving over the most important relationship of her life.r />
  She glanced back toward her grandfather lying still in the bed. The crisp white linen sheets and his silken blanket had been neatly folded across his chest. His arms lay unmoving at his sides. His eyes stared blindly at the ornate detailing that edged the white ceiling. He hadn’t moved a muscle since she’d come in. He hadn’t moved a muscle in three years.

  She smiled shakily. “God, what a load to dump into your lap all at once, huh?” She slowly got up from the chair, keeping her gaze on his expressionless face. “Sorry about that. It’s just that I didn’t know who else to talk to. Darby…well, Darby’s got enough going on in her life without having to worry about me, too. And Dusty, he…he was always my best friend. My rock. But not anymore.” She slid her fingers under her grandfather’s and grasped his warm, dry hand in hers. “The only other person I could think of was you.” She squeezed his fingers. “God, right now I miss you more than I ever have, Gramps.” She choked back a sob. “I could really use some of your no-nonsense advice right about now. No matter how wrong it probably would have been.”

  She began to slip her hand from beneath his when she grew aware of the slightest pressure, as if he was trying to communicate with her by gripping her. Her heart skipped a beat as she stared at their intertwined fingers. His skin was pale and spotted. Hers chapped and firm. She closed her eyes, trying to discern movement. But after a long moment she had to accept that the motion was either involuntary or she had imagined it.

  She placed her other hand over the top of their joined ones, then leaned over to kiss his pasty cheek, pausing a moment to rest her temple against his. “I love you, Gramps,” she whispered.

  Then she withdrew her hands and slowly stepped from the too silent room, knowing she really hadn’t accomplished anything by coming here. But feeling better just the same.

  Dusty jerkily looked down at his watch, then tapped the crystal when he discovered it was only three minutes later than the last time he’d checked.

  Jolie was more than an hour late.

  He rubbed a hand over his face and considered switching on the heat under the soup again, the late lunch turning into dinner. A low meow caught his attention. He looked down to catch Spot forming perfect figure eights around his ankles. “What, the food at the station not good enough for you?” he asked the black-and-white feline.

  When he’d opened the door to the house after returning from the hospital, he’d been surprised when Spot zipped inside in front of him. While it was known the fearless feline—who suffered from a severe identity crisis and thought she was a dog—got around town, she’d never actually moved beyond their front porch swing during her visits. That she was not only in the house now, but stuck like glue to the hem of his jeans, caused his concern to double.

  Stepping over the cat, Dusty grasped the telephone receiver and pressed the button for the fire station.

  The line was picked up on the first ring, and he said, “Martinez? Hey, it’s Dusty. Jolie around?”

  “Jolie? No…we haven’t seen her since the fire. In fact, we were all just wagering on what the two of you were doing right about now.”

  Dusty absorbed the news. He’d been convinced she’d gotten caught up with something at the station. To find out that she hadn’t even gone there, as she said she would, caused his stomach to line with caustic acid.

  “Hey, Dus, is she okay? I mean, everything checked out all right at the hospital, didn’t it?”

  “Yeah. Everything’s fine,” he said, and hoped like hell it was true. “If she happens by there, have her give me a call at the house, will you?”

  Martinez started staying something more, but Dusty firmly placed the phone back in its cradle.

  For long moments he stood, weighing where Jolie could have gone, what might have happened. Then he picked up the receiver again and dialed the hospital. He’d put through a request to speak to Tuck when he heard the sound of a familiar car in the drive. Once the hospital operator put him on hold, he hung up the receiver. He turned, waiting as the front door opened then closed. Finally Jolie was standing in the kitchen doorway, her cheeks pink from the autumn chill, her gaze strangely penetrating.

  “Hi,” he said, thinking the greeting lame, but he was at odds on how else to handle the situation. Surely he more than anyone knew that the last person Jolie had to account for her time to was him. Still, that didn’t stop the tension rising in his gut caused by his worry about her.

  “Hey,” she responded, then shrugged out of his denim jacket and hung it on the back of a chair. He couldn’t help noticing the way her fingers caressed the soft, worn cotton, then she seemed to snatch them away from the material, as if caught doing something she shouldn’t be doing.

  Dusty cleared his throat and forced himself to turn back toward the soup. He switched on the heat under the pan. “I, um, was worried about you.”

  He wondered if he should tell her he’d just called the station and was in the middle of calling the hospital when she’d returned, then decided against it. Above and beyond everything else, there had always been honesty between them. And he needed to test that honesty now.

  He was surprised when she joined him at the counter, taking plates and bowls out from the cupboard and piling the sandwiches he’d made onto one of the plates. “Yeah. I, um, went out to visit Gramps.”

  Dusty released a breath he hadn’t been aware he’d been holding as he recognized her response as the truth. “How is he?”

  A shadow crossed behind her eyes as she gathered napkins and opened the silverware drawer. “The same.” She hesitated.

  Dusty pretended not to notice the way she lingered over the drawer. When he’d returned to the house, he’d put the divorce papers right back where she’d left them, in the drawer. And he didn’t doubt it was those papers she now stared at.

  He heard the crinkling of paper, then the closing of the drawer. She edged around him, the scent of smoke lingering in her wake. Dusty swallowed hard, watching her out of the corner of his eye as she slowly set the table. “I know it’s going to sound funny,” she said quietly, “but I could have sworn he understood what I was saying. Sensed that he…heard me.”

  He nodded, strictly because he didn’t know what else to do.

  What had she needed to talk to her grandfather about? What was so important that she’d driven an hour-and-a-half round trip to the outskirts of Toledo to speak to a man incapable of responding to her?

  Then it hit him. She’d gone out there simply because there was nowhere else for her to go.

  He didn’t know why, but the realization that he’d lost his role as Jolie’s number one confidant cut deep.

  Of course she wouldn’t turn to him. If for no other reason than he hadn’t been around for her to turn to for the past six months.

  And was he sure that it was wise to want to regain her trust now? To offer himself up as that guy she used to tell her deepest, darkest secrets to when he knew he’d be leaving again?

  If not him, who? a voice asked.

  That wasn’t his concern. Not anymore. But the reminder refused to take root, much less hold.

  He filled the bowls with soup, switched off the burner, then carried the bowls to the table. Jolie followed with the sandwiches.

  “Jolie, I…”

  She looked at him expectantly, both of them standing behind their chairs. He gripping the ladder back tightly, she with her hands stoically at her sides.

  “What is it?” she asked quietly. Too quietly.

  He began to open his mouth, even though he didn’t know what he planned to say, when the sound of another car engine pulling up into the drive caught their attention.

  Dusty tightened his grip on the chair as Jolie broke eye contact, then stared through the open kitchen door toward the front of the house.

  A moment later, there was a knock at the front door followed by silence. No cheery call out. No opening of the door to let the visitor in.

  That, more than anything, told Dusty the visit was serious.
/>   Jolie briefly met his gaze, then led the way to the foyer. She pushed back the curtain on the side window. Over her shoulder, Dusty made out the side of a county van in the gathering dusk. Children’s Services, the lettering read.

  Jolie fumbled to quickly open the door, her hands visibly shaking.

  Dusty didn’t know what he expected to find, but the last thing was Nancy Pollard, whom he remembered as little more than a girl two years behind him in college, standing there holding Eleanor Johansen’s hand, staring at them hopefully.

  “May we come in?” Nancy asked.

  Jolie nodded, then opened the door wider, as though surprised she hadn’t already asked them. “Sure, sure. Come on in.”

  Dusty stepped aside as Nancy led the way inside, toting Ellie along with her. He looked into the little girl’s eyes, shuddering when he found the same coal-black look in them.

  “I’m sorry to just show up on your doorstep like this, Jolie and Dusty,” Nancy said. “But after reviewing my files, and seeing that you both have gone through foster-parent training…well, you’re my only option. Would you mind keeping Eleanor until we can work out something else?”

  Chapter 9

  Jolie felt as though her heart might pound right through her chest as she stared at Nancy Pollard, who hadn’t dropped by for a social visit, or on behalf of one cause or another, but rather in her duty as a children’s services rep. Jolie’s gaze swept to Dusty, then to the girl standing in her foyer as if in a trance, her face expressionless, her hand held loosely by Nancy.

  “Excuse me?” Jolie whispered, certain she hadn’t heard correctly.

  Dusty stepped forward. “Why don’t you let me take your coats,” he said, smiling especially warmly at Ellie as he waited out her reluctance, then helped her off with a purple-and-white parka. Jolie only absently registered that Nancy had come up with some secondhand clothes for Ellie to wear. Nowhere to be seen was the soot-covered nightgown she’d had on earlier, the only personal item she’d taken from the fire, and only then because she’d been wearing it.