It Had to Be You Part 14

"One and the same." He turned back to Phoebe and, speaking softly, said, "This is Valerie Calebow, Phoebe. My ex-wife. She's also a member of the United States Congress, but, despite that, you can trust her. Valerie is going to explain to you that I wasn't trying to hurt you, and she's going to tell you exactly what you walked into."

Valerie's forehead puckered in dismay. "Dan, I can hardly-"

"Do it!" he snapped, his expression murderous. "She's not in any state to listen to me right now."

She picked her words carefully, her expression stiff. "Miss Somerville, although Dan I are divorced, we have chosen to continue an intimate relationship. We are both rather adventurous lovers, and-"

"Speak for yourself, Val. I'd have been happy with a double bed and some Johnny Mathis tapes."

"Are you blaming me for what happened?"

"No," he sighed. "It was my fault. You both have light hair, and you're about the same height. It was dark."

"Dan and I had made arrangements to meet here tonight. I had an official function to attend so I was a bit late. Unfortunately, Miss Somerville, he mistook you for me."

Slowly, Phoebe began to comprehend what had happened, but she could only stare at the woman in bewilderment. "Are you telling me that you wanted him to treat you like that?"

Valerie refused to meet her eyes. "I'm afraid I have to go. I'm sorry you received such a fright. I only hope you understand how delicate this matter is. As an elected official, it would be extremely awkward for me if anyone were to find out."

"For chrissake, Val-"

She spun on him. "Shut up, Dan. This could put an end to my career. I want her a.s.surance that she won't tell anyone."

"Who would I tell?" Phoebe said helplessly. "No one would believe me anyway."

"I'm sorry." Valerie gave her an awkward nod and quickly left the gazebo.

Phoebe didn't want to be alone with him. She was immediately conscious of his oppressive physical size, the muscles straining the too-tight sleeves of his knit shirt. Holding the front of her dress together, she began to move toward the vine-draped opening in the gazebo's latticework.

"Please sit down," he said quietly. "I promise I won't come near you, but we have to talk."

"It's all a game to the two of you, isn't it?" she whispered. "That's how you get your kicks."

"Yes."

"It wasn't a game to me."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"How could you do something like that?"

"It's what she likes."

"But why?"

"She's a strong woman. Powerful. Sometimes she gets tired of always being in control."

"She's sick, and so are you!"

"Don't judge, Phoebe. She's not sick, and until tonight, what went on between the two of us had nothing to do with anyone else."

She started to shake again. "You were going to- What if you hadn't stopped?"

"I'd have stopped. The minute I felt your-" He cleared his throat. "Valerie's a little more flat-chested than you."

Her knees weren't going to hold her any longer, and she collapsed into the nearest chair. He came toward her cautiously, as if he were afraid she would start to scream again.

"What were you doing here?"

She took a shaky breath. "Paul showed up at the party not long after you left. I- I brought you the videotape you wanted." She made a helpless gesture as she realized she'd dropped it.

"But I told Ronald not to send it over tonight."

"I thought- I wasn't sleepy, and- Never mind, it was a stupid idea."

"You can say that again."

"I'm going." By bracing her hands on the arms of the chair, she managed to rise to her feet.

"You need a few minutes to settle down before you try to drive. I'll tell you what. I didn't get anything to eat at the party and I'm hungry. Let me make us some sandwiches. How about it?"

There was a boyish eagerness to please in his expression that alleviated some of her residual fear, but he was too large, too strong, and she hadn't recovered from those moments when the past seemed to be repeating itself. "I'd better be going."

"You're afraid to be alone with me, aren't you?"

"I'm just tired, that's all."

"You're scared."

"I was completely helpless. You're a strong man. You can't imagine what it's like."

"No, I can't. But it's over now. I won't hurt you. You know that, don't you?"

She nodded slowly. She did know it, but it was still hard for her to relax.

He smiled at her. "I know why you want to rush home. You're going to wake up your little sister so you can start slapping her around again."

Mystified, she stared at him. "What are you talking about?"

"Miz Molly and I had an interesting conversation tonight. But I'm not going to tell you about it unless you let me fix you something to eat."

She saw the spark of challenge in his eyes. He was the coach now, testing her mettle, just as he tested his men. She knew he wasn't going to hurt her. If she ran away this time, would she ever stop?

"All right. Just for a bit."

The unfamiliar path was difficult to maneuver in the dark. She stumbled once, but he didn't take her arm to help her, and she wondered if he knew that she would have fallen apart if he had touched her in the dark.

As they walked, he tried to put her at ease by telling her about the farmhouse. "I bought this place last year and had it renovated. There's an orchard and a stable where I can keep a couple of horses if I want. I've got trees on this place that are a hundred years old."

They reached the front porch. He bent down to retrieve the videotape she'd dropped, then opened the front door and flipped on a light before he let her in. She saw a staircase off to the left and an archway to the right that led to the side wing of the house. She followed him through it into a s.p.a.cious open area that was rustic and welcoming.

The exposed stone on the longest wall glowed b.u.t.tery in the light of the lamps he turned on. The room encompa.s.sed a comfortable two-story living area and a cozy, old-fashioned kitchen with a snug loft tucked above it under the eaves. The scrubbed pine floor held an a.s.sortment of furniture including a couch in a hunter green plaid with red and yellow accents, soft, oversized chairs, and an old pine cupboard. A wooden bench bearing decades of nicks and scars from tools served as a coffee table and held an old checkerboard sitting next to a pile of books. Chunky wooden candlesticks, stoneware crocks, and several antique metal banks rested on the mantel above the big stone fireplace. She had expected him to be surrounded by marble statues of naked women, not live in this comfortable rural haven that seemed so much a part of the Illinois prairie.

He handed her a soft blue chambray shirt. "You might want to put this on. There's a bathroom off the kitchen."

She realized she was still clutching the front of her dress. Taking the shirt from him, she excused herself and went into the bathroom. As she gazed at her reflection in the mirror, she saw that her eyes were large and vulnerable, windows into all her secrets. She straightened her hair with her fingers and rubbed at the mascara smudges with a tissue. Only when she felt calm did she leave the bathroom.

The shirt he had given her hung to mid-thigh, and she rolled up the sleeves as she came into the kitchen where he was pulling a loaf of whole wheat bread and a package of sandwich meat from the refrigerator.

"How about roast beef?"

"I'm not much of a beef eater."

"I've got some salami here, or turkey breast."

"Plain cheese would be fine."

"Grilled cheese? I'm real good at that."

He was so eager to please, she couldn't help smiling. "All right."

"Do you want wine or a beer? I've also got some iced tea."

"Iced tea, please." She took a seat at an old b.u.t.ternut drop leaf table.

He poured both of them a gla.s.s and then began fixing the sandwiches. A copy of Stephen Hawking's A Brief History of Time A Brief History of Time lay open on the table. She used it as an opportunity to restore some semblance of normality between them. "Pretty heavy reading for a jock." lay open on the table. She used it as an opportunity to restore some semblance of normality between them. "Pretty heavy reading for a jock."

"If I sound out all the words, it's not too bad."

She smiled.

He tossed the sandwiches into an iron skillet. "It's an interesting book. Gives you a lot to think about: quarks, gravity waves, black holes. I always liked science when I was in school."

"I think I'll wait for the movie." Taking a sip of iced tea, she pushed the book aside. "Tell me what happened with Molly."

He braced his hip against the edge of the stove. "That kid's a crackerjack. I met her inside when I was making my phone call. She told me some pretty hair-raising things about you."

"Like what?"

"Like the fact that you're keeping her a prisoner in the house. You tear up her mail, put her on bread and water when you're mad at her. And you're slapping her around."

"What!" Phoebe nearly knocked over her iced tea. Phoebe nearly knocked over her iced tea.

"She told me it doesn't hurt."

Phoebe was flabbergasted. "Why would she say something like that?"

"She doesn't seem to like you too much."

"I know. She's like a fussy maiden aunt. She disapproves of the way I dress; she doesn't think my jokes are funny. She doesn't even like Pooh."

"That might be good judgment on her part."

She glared at him.

He smiled. "As a matter of fact, your dog was cuddled around her ankles most of the time we talked. They seemed to be old friends."

"I don't think so."

"Well, I might be wrong."

"She honestly told you I slap her?"

"Yes, ma'am. She said you weren't evil, just twisted. I believe she compared you with somebody named Rebecca. The first Mrs. de Winter."

"Rebecca?" Understanding dawned, and she shook her head. "All that talk about Dostoyevski and the little stinker is reading Daphne du Maurier." For a moment she was thoughtful. "How do you know she wasn't telling you the truth? Adults slap children all the time."

"Phoebe, when you were standing on the sidelines at the game, you looked like you were going to faint whenever anybody took a hard hit. Besides, you just don't have the killer instinct." He turned to flip the sandwiches. "For example-correct me if I'm wrong here-but I'm guessing it's more than a fickle appet.i.te that made you turn down Viktor's barbecue that day we ate in your kitchen, not to mention that good sandwich meat I've got in my refrigerator."

This man definitely saw too much. "All those nitrates aren't healthy."

"Uh-huh. Come on, sweetheart, you can tell Papa Dan your ugly little secret. You're a vegetarian, aren't you."

"Lots of people don't eat meat," she said defensively.

"Yeah, but most of them are on their soapbox about it. You don't say a thing."

"It's n.o.body's business. I simply happen to like unclogged arteries, that's all."

"Now, Phoebe, you're wiggling around the truth again. I have a feeling your eating habits don't have anything to do with your arteries."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Tell me the truth now."

"All right! I like animals. It's not a crime! Even when I was a child I couldn't stand the idea of eating one of them."

"Why are you so secretive about it?"

"I don't mean to be secretive. It's just- I'm not philosophically pure. I won't wear fur, but I have a closet full of leather shoes and belts, and I hate all those hair-splitting discussions people try to push you into. Some of my reticence is habit, I guess. The housemother at my old boarding school used to make it rough on me."

"How was that?"

"We once had a showdown over a pork chop when I was eleven years old. I ended up sitting at the dinner table most of the night."

"Thinking about Piglet, I bet."

"How did you know?"