Unwilling Wife Page 4

  “Hello?” A tentative male voice responded. “Is—er—Gina Baron there?”

  “Yes. Who is this?” David demanded, not caring that Gina would say it was none of his business.

  “Uh—”

  “I’ll take it,” Gina said, grabbing the phone from David’s hand. Her hair was now concealed beneath a plastic cap. She lifted the plastic off one ear and took the call. “Hello? Oh, hi, Paul.” She gave David a brief, this-isn’t-your-business look and turned her back on him.

  Since the phone was on the end table beside the couch, David stepped back across the electrician’s tape line and sat down heavily in an overstuffed chair. Who the hell was Paul, and why was she using such a syrupy voice?

  “Oh, really, Paul? The Maryvale Community Theater? I’d love to be a part of it. Let me know when tryouts begin.” She turned around to see if David was listening. He made no attempt to hide the fact that he was. With a rebuking frown, she turned away, lowering her voice, “Sure, Paul. Tonight at seven. Of course, it’s still on. Oh, him? Nobody. Okay. I’ll see you then.”

  David listened with growing anger. He was nobody? He was her husband, dammit! What was she doing? Dating? This Paul guy was a date? Good God! She’d even giggled. He’d thought he’d educated that little-girl twitter out of her long ago. Sitting fixedly, he found himself gripping the arms of the chair as she hung up and hurried back into the kitchen.

  “Who was it?” he asked, as calmly as he could.

  “Nobody you need to know about.”

  He sank back into the marshmallowy cushion and stared straight ahead. If Gina Baron—his wife—thought she was going out with another man, then she was sadly mistaken. He sat there for a long time, trying to appear at ease. He even took up a magazine from a contraption that was a combination ashtray and pipe and magazine rack-apparently left intact from before Grandpa Johnson had died; the magazines were that old. Slipping on his wire-rimmed reading glasses, he pretended to absorb himself in an article, though it was a magazine comprised of fishing and hunting tips—subjects David cared nothing about.

  As time dragged by, he found himself learning more than he would ever care to know about tying flies for trout fishing. At around six o’clock, Gina passed by, humming. Her hair was now dry and kinked up like some drug-crazed rock singer’s. He supposed he could be grateful that it wasn’t green.

  “How do you like it?” she asked, twirling before him.

  “Your back must be better,” he commented. She smiled, but she wasn’t smiling at him, she was smiling to spite him. She thought she was really going to thwart him with this Paul character. He pursed his lips.

  “No, David, I mean my hair?”

  “I’m glad it’s still brown,” he offered bluntly.

  She laughed gaily, fluffing it with her hands. “That’s next week’s project. What do you think about yellow-green as a hair color?”

  “If your objective is to hide among unripe bananas, then I applaud your choice. Otherwise—”

  “Never mind,” she cut in, admitting, “Not that I’m trying to please or appease you, but I don’t plan to color it. I like it coffee brown, just the way it is.”

  He snorted derisively. “Finally, we agree on something.”

  She turned her back on him, calling over her shoulder as her hair flung itself playfully about her shoulder blades. “I’m going to need the bathroom to change. I’ll just be a while.”

  David cursed under his breath.

  “A while” turned out to be an hour. David, still dressed in the dark gray linen slacks and white cable crewneck he’d worn to town, was ready when the knock came at the door. He was up like a shot, dropping both the magazine and his glasses onto the chair as he strode toward the door.

  Gina heard the knock and dashed from the bedroom looking young, curly and dangerously sexy in a cotton sundress—braless, again, David noted irritably—as she hurried across the line in her attempt to beat him to their mutual objective. Since he’d been tensed and waiting three hours for this moment, she had no chance of beating him—no chance at all.

  “Well, well,” David exuded in his perfect host’s voice. “Who could be visiting us?”

  “It’s for me, David,” Gina explained breathlessly. But David blocked her way.

  When he’d swung the door wide, he flashed a believable smile. “Hello, there. You must be Paul. Come in,” he offered, gesturing grandly.

  Paul was shorter than David, seven or eight years younger, broadly built and handsome in a blunt, sun-bleached way. Wearing a checked sports shirt, poplin slacks and a thoroughly perlexed expression, the stranger stepped inside the door. Extending his hand he said, “I’m Paul Page. Page Real Estate.” He could see Gina and smiled at her as she finally managed to step around the tall obstruction of David Baron.

  “Hello, Gina. I like your hair,” he said with a smile that telegraphed the fact that he liked a lot more than just her new hairstyle.

  She cast David a smug “so there” look as she answered, “Thank you, Paul.” She took his arm, unceremoniously swerving him toward the door. “We’d better go—”

  “Aren’t you going to introduce us?” David cut in, his expression so cheerful it was scary.

  Paul looked from Gina to David, then back to Gina.

  She shrugged helplessly. “Paul, this is David.” She flipped a hand toward David. “David. Paul. Let’s go—”

  “Paul—” David clamped a hand on the other man’s shoulder, halting any possible exit. “How about a drink before you leave. I’d like to get to know you better.” He smiled ingratiatingly.

  Paul smiled back, but with less enthusiasm. “Well, I suppose we do have some time.”

  Gina shot David a killing glare, which David deftly ignored. “Fine,” he was saying to Paul. “Gina, what would you like to drink?”

  Thin-lipped, she stated, “Since neither of us drink, anything containing alcohol would be a little difficult to come up with, don’t you think?”

  David cocked his head theatrically as though this hadn’t occurred to him. “Witless me.” He chuckled, looking sheepish. “What was I thinking? So, Paul, how about a glass of carrot juice.”

  “I—” Paul looked uncomfortable. “I don’t think so.”

  “Turnip tonic?”

  Gina rolled her eyes. She doubted that there was even such a thing as turnip tonic. David was contemptible.

  “No—I—thanks—” Paul was saying, when David interrupted smoothly, “So, how do you know Gina?”

  “I—er—her grandfather stipulated in his will that I take care of the property until Gina could take over. I had the keys to the place.” He turned to give Gina a love-struck look that rankled David thoroughly, adding, “She’ll sure make a nice addition to Maryvale.” Turning back to a scowling David, he asked, “Say, are you Gina’s brother or something? I don’t remember her saying anything about a brother.”

  David laughed, and Gina didn’t like the sound of it. “Paul, we’d better be—”

  “No, I’m not her brother,” David broke in. “Actually, Paul, I’m Gina’s husband.”

  The younger man paled visibly. Gina’s heart went out to him. “David, don’t bully Paul.”

  “Maybe—I’d better just go,” Paul offered, backing toward the door.

  Gina grabbed his arm. “Certainly not. We have a date, and I’ve been looking forward to an evening out with you.” Her smile was meant to be encouraging. “David and I are in the process of getting a divorce. You needn’t worry about him.”

  “Oh, absolutely, Paul. Don’t worry about me. You two go out and have a good time.” David smiled, but his eyes sparked a warning. “I’d appreciate it, though, if you’d have her back by ten. That’s when we go to bed. I don’t mind saying I hate to sleep without my little love kitten. I’m sure you understand.”

  Gina coughed, glaring at David. Love kitten? He’d never called her any such absurd name in all their ten years of marriage!

  Paul swallowed and tugged at his s
hirt neck, though the top button wasn’t buttoned. “I—er” Paul ventured.

  “Let’s go, Paul. Ignore him.” Positive the worst was over, she tossed her tormentor a beatific smile that was fraught with sarcasm. “Don’t wait up, David,” she baited.

  He broke eye contact with her and shifted his gaze to Paul. Eyes slightly narrowed and one eyebrow lifted in inquiry, he seemed to dare Paul to leave with her, but he said only, “Later …” His smile never faltered.

  Though Gina had turned away, intent on making a brisk exit, that one word, stated so quietly yet so cold-bloodedly, sounded like a death threat. She swallowed. Where had her stuffy, bespectacled professor gone? The man behind her had sounded like Dirty Harry or some such bloodthirsty, revenge-seeking, larger-than-life celluloid bad boy!

  Paul dragged her to a halt. She looked worriedly over at him. His anxiety-ridden gaze was glued to David’s face, and though Gina tried to haul him closer to the door, he wouldn’t budge.

  “Would—David—would you care to join us for dinner?” Paul asked weakly, obviously not interested in giving this grinning demon any reason to believe he might be contemplating something improper with Gina.

  “Why, that’s nice of you, Paul,” David replied, his smile broadening as though he were really surprised and hadn’t manipulated poor Paul into his invitation. “I must admit, I haven’t seen much of Maryvale. That might be fun.”

  “There’s not much to see,” Paul tried, his expression just short of dismal.

  “David, honestly!” Gina protested, aghast at his audacity.

  Disregarding her, David said, “Don’t sell Maryvale short, Paul. I’m sure it will be the Elysium I’ve heard it to be.”

  “Uh—well, whatever. I hope you like family-style eating,” Paul remarked as David opened the door for both Paul and Gina to precede him.

  “We love it,” David assured him, slicing Gina a look that told her that he was going to make sure she never got away with this sort of trick while he was physically able to stop her. He added acidly, “After all, we are a family—right, Gina?”

  With high hostility, she shot out, “Temporarily.”

  “Well—uh—it’s good food, anyway,” Paul managed, sounding as though he wished he was anywhere else—like being devoured in a shark feeding frenzy.

  Continuing to glare at David, Gina declared, “Paul, David will be glad to pick up the check, tonight. Won’t you, David?”

  “I’d be delighted, Paul,” David offered, sounding all too satisfied with himself.

  “Thanks,” Paul mumbled, tugging at his collar again.

  Gina was livid. She should have known that nothing short of binding and gagging David would have prevented this. She sighed with exasperation. Feeling sorry for Paul, she took his arm as they proceeded toward his sedan. When David’s hand closed over her elbow, she jerked her arm free of his grip. At least, she tried to jerk free. Angry and feeling defeated, she cast his smug profile a murderous look. It was all too clear that freeing herself from David Baron’s domineering possessiveness would be even tougher then freeing herself from his tormenting hold on her arm.

  3

  To get to Maryvale, the closemouthed trio had to travel nine miles through the untamed grandeur of three-hundred-foot-tall redwoods and unspoiled greenery. The road snaked back and forth around canyons, narrow ravines and over rickety bridges.

  “Maryvale is a town of about seven hundred hardy souls: big-boned, good-natured descendants of Swedes and Finns who came to Northern California to fell the giant hardwoods.” Gina was reciting from a real-estate brochure she’d found in Paul’s glove compartment. The deadly silence that had begun their journey was simply too horrible to endure, so she’d decided to opt for babbling noise over deathlike quiet.

  “The town is nestled picturesquely among sprawling cedars on a remote switchback, so that California’s state Highway 1 runs through the town twice, once on either side of Maryvale Gulch.”

  Gina, trying to make Paul feel more at ease, turned to him, asking, “I’ve been wondering about that huge stone library right at the hairpin curve that dissects Maryvale. It’s so big for a town of seven hundred souls.”

  “That’s a town joke. I’m surprised you haven’t heard about it before now,” Paul replied, slanting a brief smile her way. The pleasant expression died when he happened to catch sight of David’s sober profile. “Uh—anyway, the Maryvale library fund was left to our town by Mary Bronau, a bighearted, pioneer saloon-keeper, for whom the town was named. The joke is that Maryvale’s residents might be rough-and-tumble, backwoods folk, but we’re the most well-read rough-and-tumble backwoods folk in the whole state.”

  Gina laughed. “We are, are we? Well, I guess I’d better get a library card. I’d hate to be too ignorant to talk to my neighbors.” As soon as the words had come out, her smile faded and she cast a damning gaze toward David, muttering, “But then, that wouldn’t be new for me.”

  David turned to look at her. “What do you mean by that?” he queried darkly.

  When she only shrugged and turned away, the car again was filled with oppressive silence.

  It appeared that Paul had opted to take Gina to Mom’s Pantry. The coziest place in town, Mom’s Pantry was located on the far side of the gulch. The other eatery was nearer, but more boisterous. Known simply as Jake’s, its ambience included two pool tables, a jukebox that blared Willie Nelson, and a nightly arm-wrestling competition.

  When Paul pulled into an empty parking space outside the rustic log dwelling that housed Mom’s Pantry, Gina grimly determined that he had probably thought Mom’s would be the more romantic of the two local restaurants. Unfortunately, with David’s unwelcome intrusion, poor Paul had been sadly mistaken. A rowdy, four-letter-word-riddled arm-wrestling contest would have been more conducive to a man courting a woman than two hours spent in David Baron’s formidable presence.

  No one had spoken for ten minutes, and even then, conversation had been limited to a comment by Paul concerning the deterioration of Mason’s Bridge as it creaked and groaned under the weight of his midsize car.

  The evening air had grown crisp, and Gina pulled her shawl more securely about her shoulders as she and her escorts marched solemnly up the wooden steps. Even once they were inside, struck full force by the room’s cheery home-cooking smells, Gina’s mood remained gloomy. Both men held one of her elbows, making her feel like part of an angry male sandwich. She cast a stealthy glance at David’s ruggedly attractive profile. His nostrils flared—a dead giveaway that he was incensed. She knew that flare. She’d seen him that angry once—at a promising student who’d been caught cheating. But neither his gentle touch on her arm nor the decorous half-smile he wore betrayed his ire.

  She looked around the room with its raw walls decorated with antique saws and axes and aged framed photographs of logging as it had been fifty years ago. People seated at tables—mainly the women—stopped talking or listening, whichever the case had been, and turned to look at the threesome as they passed. Gina noticed that more than a few of the local women stared openly at David, smiling if they happened to catch his eye. Her lips thinned. If they only knew that under that aggressively attractive exterior beat the heart of a dictator, they would run like frightened rabbits!

  She looked over at Paul, who was keeping up a brave facade as he waved to the café’s owner, his Aunt Marta. Paul was too nice a guy to have done this to, and Gina chided herself for not canceling when he’d called this afternoon. It was too bad that hindsight was so much clearer than foresight. Paul didn’t deserve being caught in the middle of her marriage’s death throes. Sighing heavily, she braced herself for the evening to come, knowing it would border on disaster—and that was her optimistic side speaking.

  When they’d been seated at a candle-lit table and had ordered, Paul cleared his throat, drawing both Gina’s and David’s gazes. The blond man smiled weakly. “Well, so, er, what brings you out here to the West Coast, David?”

  “He brought me
some papers,” Gina put in, not wanting to get into the subject of David’s reluctance to accept the fact that their marriage was over.

  “Oh?” Paul responded, looking perplexed.

  “Actually, I returned them to her,” David corrected, smiling but not bothering to involve his upper facial muscles in the expression, leaving his eyes devoid of pleasantness.

  “Oh?” Paul repeated, uncomfortable. Trying to fill an awkward gap, he asked, “So—what is it that you do, David?”

  “I’m dean of the physics department at Albert Einstein Institute in Boston,” David commented, his smile remaining remote and polite.

  “Yes,” Gina added. “David has a Ph.D. in quantum physics. If you ever need to know the mass of any given comet charging around in the solar system, feel free to call on David.”

  “Oh,” Paul repeated, nodding gamely. “Then, I guess you’re a doctor of some sort.”

  David shrugged, indicating the affirmative. “Having a Ph.D. is far from unusual in Boston.”

  Gina’s strained laugh was unexpected. “Far, far from it! There are more Ph.D.’s per square foot in Bean Town than in any other city in the country—probably, in the universe.” Her tone morose, Gina added, “Imagine my delight at being the only non-Ph.D. at any twelve gatherings out of a dozen.”

  “Nobody cares about that, Gina,” David admonished quietly. “You always insist on making such a big thing out of it. Besides, I wanted you to go for your advanced degree. You’re the one who insisted on looking for a job.”

  “Because that’s what I wanted to do, David! I wanted a job. But, oh, no! A job would cut into my college committee work! Once again, my wants and needs butted up against your wants and needs—and mine lost!”

  “Uh—” Paul interrupted faintly, but it was enough to remind David and Gina that they weren’t alone. “I—Gina,” Paul began looking distressed, “I was wondering what you’re planning to do, now that you live in the lighthouse?”