hurry them aside so she could say something else. "Terrific. I was just thinking about you. Must be another triplet flash. What's going on?"
"I've got the flu and I'm feeling sorry for myself."
"Now you don't have to. I'll feel sorry for you. Are you getting plenty of rest and liquids? I bet you've never taken one of those megavitamins I sent."
"Yes, I did." She'd taken a total of five before they'd ended up in the back of a cupboard. "Anyway, I'm feeling a bit better today."
Maddy stepped over a boot and sat on a pile of magazines. "How are the monsters?"
"Wonderful. They hate school, very often hate each other, never pick up anything and make me laugh at least six times a day."
"You're lucky."
"I know. Tell me about New York, Maddy. I want to get away for a while."
"We had some snow last week. It was beautiful." Maddy rarely noticed how quickly it turned to gray sludge. "On my day off I walked through Central Park. It was just like fairyland. Even the muggers were charmed."
There was no use telling Maddy it might not be wise to walk through fairyland alone. "How's the play going?"
"Looks like it could run forever. Did you know Mom and Pop made a swing through here last month? They had a couple of gigs in the Catskills and I talked them into a detour through Manhattan. Pop had this terrific argument with the choreographer."
"I bet he did. How are they?"
"The older we get, the younger they get. I don't know how it works." The pause was so slight that no one but her sister would have detected it. "Abby, did you go ahead with the book?"
"Yes." She concentrated on keeping her tone easy. "As a matter of fact, the writer's already here."
"Everything okay?"
"Everything's fine."
"I wished you'd waited until one of us could have been there with you."
"That's silly. But I do miss you-you and Chantel and Mom and Pop. And Trace."
"I got a telegram."
"From Trace? Where is he?"
"Morocco. He wanted me to know he'd shown my picture to some sheikh and got an offer of twelve camels for me. Pretty exciting."
"Did he take it?"
"I wouldn't be surprised. Abby, I'm thinking about leaving the show."
"Leaving? But you just said it could run forever."
"Yeah, that's why. It's getting too easy. I've been with it for a year now." Poking at the table beside her, Maddy found an earring she'd been certain had been lost forever. Without giving it a thought, she clipped it on. "I think it might be time to move on to something else. If I do, would you mind company for a few days?"
"Oh, Maddy, I'd love it."
"Well, keep the light burning, kid. I've got to go. Saturday matinee. Give my love to the boys."
"I will. Bye."
Abby sat back and pictured her sister grabbing her bag, searching for her keys, then dashing out of her apartment, already ten minutes late for makeup. That was Maddy's style. She had a critically acclaimed Broadway musical under her belt and was thinking of leaving it to see what was around the corner. That, too, was Maddy's style.
And hers was to do the laundry. With a little sigh, Abby got out of bed.
An hour later, she was satisfied she had some portion of her life under control. Dressed in baggy sweats, she carried the first load of clean, folded laundry toward the stairs. The front door burst open and two boys and a dog bounded in.
"Sigmund!" She made a quick evasive maneuver before the dog could knock her and the fresh linen to the floor
"Mom, Mom! I got a new truck." Thrilled with himself, Chris brandished a shiny new pickup as he shouted over a mouthful of gum.
"Hey, very fancy." She set her basket down to examine it from hood to taillights as she knew was expected of her.
"I got a plane." Ben was bouncing up and down to get her attention. "A jet."
"Let's see." Abby took it and duly gave it the onceover. "Looks pretty fast. Where's-"
Dylan walked through the door, a bag of groceries under each arm. "More bags in the car, fellas."
"Okay!" They tore out again, the dog at their heels.
"A rock, huh?" Abby smiled at him as he walked past her.
"Aren't you supposed to be in bed?"
"I was. Now I'm not." She followed him into the kitchen. "Dylan, it was very nice of you to buy things for the boys, but you shouldn't let them pressure you."
"Easy for you to say," he muttered. He wasn't quite ready to admit the pleasure it had given him to buy a couple of plastic toys. "I did pretty well, all in all. I think Ben wanted an atomic bomb."
"It was on his Christmas list." She poked in the first bag and pulled out a box of little vanilla cakes with cream filling. "Twinkies?"
"I happen to like Twinkies."
"Mmm. And chocolate ice-cream bars."
"And chocolate ice-cream bars," he agreed, snatching them out of her hand.
"Got any teeth left?"
"Keep it up and I'll show you."
"And guess what else?" Chris staggered into the room under the weight of a grocery bag. Abby saved the bag, set it on the counter, then scooped him up.
"What else?"
"We have a surprise." He hooked his feet behind her waist and laughed.
"You're not supposed to tell." Ben walked in, trying not to show the strain as he carried the last bag.
"I see. Well, it seems to me that anyone who worked so hard must be ready for lunch."
"We ate already." Ben set his bag down and eyed the box of Twinkies. "Hamburgers."
"And French fries," Chris added.
"Sounds like quite a day."
"It was neat. I want to put the stickers on my plane now. Come on, Chris."
At the imperial order, Chris was scrambling down and racing after his brother.
"Don't walk much, do they?" Dylan commented as he stashed the groceries away.
"I guess you found that out in the store." She started to empty bags but she was more interested in Dylan. "I'm a little surprised," she began. "You don't look ready for a bottle of aspirin and a nap."
"Should I be?"
"I don't know. Actually, you look as if you enjoyed yourself."
"I did." He closed a cupboard door and turned. "Surprised?"
"Yes." Chuck had never enjoyed them. He'd been frustrated, baffled and annoyed by them and he'd never enjoyed them. "Most men-bachelors-don't consider an afternoon shopping with kids a barrel of laughs."
"You generalize."
She moved her shoulders dismissively. "I suppose I've never asked if you have children of your own."
"No. My ex-wife was a model. She wasn't ready to take time out for children."
"I'm sorry."
He turned, giving her a mild, half-amused look. "For what?"
The question left her stumbling. "Divorce-it's usually a difficult experience."
"In this case, marriage was the difficult experience. It only lasted a year and a half."
Such a short time, she thought. Yet he did seem like a man who would admit a mistake quickly and deal with it. "But still, divorce is never pleasant."
"And marriage rarely is."
She opened her mouth to disagree but discovered she had very little ammunition. "But divorce is like admitting you're a failure, isn't it?"
She wasn't talking about him. He took a gallon of milk and put it in the refrigerator, wondering if she knew how transparent she was. "The marriage was a failure. I wasn't."
She shrugged off the feeling. In the way he'd seen his own mother do, she neatly folded the empty bags. "I suppose it's easier when children aren't involved."
"I wouldn't know about that. I'd say when a marriage is bad, it's bad. It doesn't do anyone any good to pretend otherwise."
She glanced up to see him staring at her. Too close to the bone, Abby thought, keeping her hands busy. "Well, we seem to have things under control here."
"Not yet. But nearly." He crossed over and put his hand to her
brow. "Fever's down."
"I told you I was feeling better."
"Good. Because I want you to have all your strength back before we start again. I like to play fair whenever possible."
"And when it's not?"
"Then it's not. Do you believe in rules, Abby?"
"Of course."
"There's no 'of course.' People make rules, then they use them or they ignore them. Smart people don't box themselves in with them. I've got to get something else out of the car."
Dissatisfied with him and with the situation, Abby went back and picked up the laundry. She heard the boys shuffling around in Ben's room and went into her own.
How much did Dylan suspect about her marriage? She hadn't intended to make it sound as though it had been made in heaven. Or had she? She'd wanted to give the illusion of normalcy, of contentment. The agreement with herself had been made. There would be no mention of the tears and broken promises, of the lies and disillusionment. She would never have been able to hide the infidelities already gleefully recorded in the scandal sheets, but she'd thought she could play them down. And never, never had it occurred to her that he might discover that divorce papers had been filed weeks before Chuck's last race.
He probably didn't know, she told herself as she walked to the window and looked out over her land. He would have no reason to question her lawyer. And if he did, wasn't that privileged information? Four years earlier she'd agonized over how to tell her children she was divorcing their father. Instead, she'd had to tell them their father was dead.
Chris hadn't understood. He'd barely known who his father was and hadn't comprehended death at all. But Ben had. They'd wept together, and that first night they'd lain together in the bed where she'd spent so many other nights alone.
Now she was trying to give them what she felt they needed to understand their father and themselves. And she had to protect them. The problem was, she was no longer so sure she could do both.
"Mom." Ben pushed open her door without knocking. "You've got to come down. The surprise is ready."
She looked at him as he stood in the doorway, eager, flushed with excitement and miserably untidy. "Ben." She walked over and caught him up in a fierce hug. "I love you."
Pleased, embarrassed, he laughed a little. And since there was no one to see, he hugged her back as hard as he could. "I love you, Mom."
Then, because she knew him, she nuzzled into his neck until he squealed. "What's the surprise?" she demanded.
"I'm not telling."
"I can make you talk. I can make you beg to tell me everything you know."
"Mom!" Chris yelled impatiently from the bottom of the stairs. "Come down, we can't start till you're here, Dylan says."
Dylan says, she thought with a sigh. Taking advantage of her momentary distraction, Ben squirmed away and danced to the stairs. "Hurry," he ordered, then bolted downstairs.
Amused, Abby started after him. "Okay, where is everybody?" She found them in the living room, huddled over a VCR. "What's this?"
"Dylan rented it." Chris, nearly delirious with pleasure, climbed onto the couch and bounced. "You play tapes of movies on it."
"I know." She glanced at Dylan as he handily attached the necessary plugs.
"He said since we couldn't go to the movies we could have them at home. We got Warriors in Space"
She caught Chris on an upswing. "Warriors in Space?"
"I was outvoted," Dylan told her. "They had some very interesting movies in the back room."
"I bet they did."
"I did pick up this as well." He tossed her a second tape.
"Lawless," she murmured. "Chanters big break. She was really wonderful in this movie."
"I've always been partial to it."
"I still remember sitting in the theater and watching her come on the screen. It was an incredible feeling." Just holding the tape brought her sister closer and reminded her that she was never really alone. "It's funny, I just talked to Maddy a couple of hours ago, and now-"
"Can we watch Chantel, too?" Ben was nearly beside himself with the idea of such extravagance. "I like to see when she shoots the guy in the hat."
She hesitated, struggling with a feeling of obligation she didn't know what to do with. Both boys looked at her with eager impatience. Dylan simply lifted a brow and waited. She gave in, as much for herself, she realized, as for anyone else.
"Seems to me we should have popcorn."
He grinned, understanding very well the process that had gone on inside her head. "You up to making it?"
"Oh, I think I can manage."
Twenty minutes later they were spread out on the sofa, watching the first in a series of flashy laser battles. Ben, as usual, was rooting ferociously for the bad guys. Chris's little fingers tensed on Abby's arm, and she leaned down and whispered something that made him laugh.
It was so normal. That was what kept running through her head as the movie rolled noisily on. Watching movies and eating homemade popcorn on a chilly Saturday afternoon-it seemed so easy, almost nonsensically easy, but she'd really never wanted much else. Relaxed, Abby draped her arm on the back of the sofa. Her hand brushed Dylan's. She started to draw away, then glanced over at him.
He watched her over the heads of her sons. The questions that always seemed to be in his eyes were still there, but she was growing accustomed to them. And to him. He had done this for her, for her children. Maybe, just maybe, he'd done it for himself, as well. Maybe that was all that really mattered. With a smile, she linked her fingers with his.
He wasn't used to such simplicity from a woman. She'd just smiled and taken his hand. There had been no flirtation in the gesture, no subtle promises. If he'd been willing to take the gesture at face value, he'd have said it was a simple thank-you.
He thought this must be what it was like to have a family. Not-so-quiet weekends with sticky faces and mundane chores and a living room littered with toys. Warm smiles from a woman who seemed happy to have you there. Dozens of questions that leaped out of young minds and demanded answers. And contentment, the kind that didn't require hot lights and fast music.
He'd always wanted a family. Once he'd told himself he wanted Shannon more-Shannon with the slim, amazing body and the dark, sultry looks. She'd touched Off things inside him-exploded was more accurate, Dylan admitted. He found it much easier to remember now than it once had been. They'd met, made love and married, all in a whirling sexual haze. It had seemed right. They'd both lived on the edge and enjoyed it. Somehow it had been incredibly wrong. She'd wanted more, more money, more excitement, more glamour. He'd wanted- He was damned if he knew what he'd wanted.
But if he could believe the woman sitting two children away from him was real, it might be her.
CHAPTER Seven
A backlog of work had helped Abby avoid Dylan throughout the morning. His typewriter had been clicking when she'd woken the boys for school. It had clattered steadily, almost routinely, rather than in the quick on-again, off-again spurts of creation she'd expected. Perhaps it was routine for him, digging into and recording the lives of other people.
The sound had reminded her forcibly that the weekend had only been a reprieve. It was Monday, she was recovered, and the questions were about to begin again. She wished she could recapture the confidence of a week ago and believe she could answer only the ones she chose to, and answer them in her own way.
Still, her own routine soothed her-the breakfast clatter, the scent of coffee, the typically frantic search for a lost glove before she sent her sons racing off to catch the bus. She watched them go down the lane as she did every morning. It struck her, unexpectedly and sharply, as it did now and then, that they were hers. Hers. Those two apprentice men in wool caps heading off to face the day at a fast trot had come from her. It was fascinating, wonderful and just a little frightening.
When they disappeared, she continued to watch a little longer. Whatever happened, whatever strange twist
Me tossed at her, no
one could take away the wonder of her children. The day no longer seemed so hard to face.
As she headed toward the barn a few minutes later, she heard the sound of a car. Changing direction, she walked around the side and saw Mr. Petrie hopping out of the cab of his truck. She could have kissed his grizzled face.
"Ma'am." He grinned at her, then spit out a plug of tobacco.
"Mr. Petrie, I'm so glad to see you." She shifted the bucket of eggs as she studied him. "Are you sure you're well enough to work?"
"Right as rain."
He did look fit. His small, stubby body appeared well fed. Beneath several days' growth of beard, his color was good, ruddy, windburned and reliable. He was hardly taller than she and built somewhat like a thumb-sturdy and unexpectedly agile. The boots he wore were black and worn and tied up over his ankles. "If your wife let you out of the house, I guess you're ready to pitch some hay."
"Old nag," he said affectionately. "She kept a mustard plaster on me for a week." His small, slightly myopic eyes narrowed. "You look a might peaked."
"No, I'm fine. I was just about to get started in the barn."
"How are the ladies?"
"Wonderful." They began to walk together over the slowly drying ground. "The vet was here on Friday and gave them both a checkup. It looks like Eve and Gladys are going to be mothers before the week's out."
Petrie spit again as they crossed to the barn. "Jorgensen came by?"
"Yes, he's very interested."
"Don't let that old horse thief buffalo you. Top dollar." Petrie swung the door open with a hand that was missing the first knuckle of the ring finger.
"No one's going to buffalo me," she assured him.
He'd known her five years and worked for her for nearly two, and he believed her. She might look like something out of one of the magazines his wife kept on the coffee table, but she was tough. A woman alone had to be. "Tell you what now, you take the horses out and groom them. I'll clean out the stalls."
"But-"
"No, now you've been swinging a pitchfork on your own all last week. Looks like you need some sun to me. 'Sides, I gotta work off some of this food my wife pushed on me when I was too weak to stop her. There now, sweetheart." He stroked Eve's head when she leaned it over the stall. His ugly, callused hands were as gentle as a lute player's. "Old Petrie's back." He pulled out a carrot and let her take it from his hand.
Abby appreciated his easy touch with the horses, just as she had always relied on his judgment. "She's missed you."
"Sure she has." He moved down to the next stall and gave the second mare equal attention. "I tell you something, Miz Rockwell, if I had the means I'd have myself a mare like this."
She knew the position he was in, knew the limitations of living off social security and little else. The regret that she couldn't pay him more came quickly,