Solomon's Decision, page 14
Maybe that was why she couldn't really believe Erik had deliberately snubbed her. Surely he'd been focusing on something else and hadn't even seen her.
"Well, keep it up for a few more hours," Wally said, "until after the concert." He touched two fingers to the bill of his hat as he left her at the ice cream booth.
There were no more emergencies, so her crossed fingers must have been effective. They didn't, however, prevent minor hitches, so it was well after the concert began before she was able to take a break. And she didn't see Erik again, though she watched for him all evening.
Thanks to an excellent sound system, she at least got to hear Trace Pickett sing.
* * * *
Madeline didn't know where he was, where he'd slept. Erik hadn't come to her house last night, as he had said he would. The Picketts had still been in his room over the Wooden Nickel, so he'd had nowhere to go.
"Linnie, are you listening?"
She jumped and almost knocked over her coffee mug. "I'm sorry, Amelia. I was wool gathering."
"Well, pay attention. Wally needs an answer as soon as possible."
An answer? She hadn't even heard the question. "I'm sorry," she apologized again. "I can't seem to wake up. What is it Wally needs to know?"
"Those motor homes. Some of the people want to stay at the fairgrounds until tomorrow. He says it's our responsibility. Something about insurance."
Madeline shook her head, trying to clear it. "Insurance? Oh, sure. Our special liability policy covers us until Monday morning. I don't see any reason why they can't stay, as long as they don't make a mess."
"That's what I told him."
Well, why did you ask me? Madeline's head ached already. She knew Amelia wasn't usually this indecisive, for she'd sat through numerous County Commission meetings where her friend had kept the men to the topic at hand until a resolution was reached. "When is Erik coming in?" she said, hating herself for needing to know. If he hadn't cared enough to let her know he wouldn't be home--listen to her!--wouldn't return to her house for a second night, she shouldn't care if she ever saw him again.
"Probably not until tomorrow," Amelia said. "He decided to go with the Picketts when they left, early this morning." Amelia's voice held a gentle question, one Madeline hope she wouldn't put into words.
"Oh." She tried to make herself sound nonchalant. "He didn't tell me, but I guess there's no reason why he should. Who's going to take care of the money, then?"
"Everything's copacetic, Linnie." Lester reached across her plate to top off her hardly-touched coffee. "Something wrong with your eggs?"
She looked down. The liquid yolks were stirred into her hashbrowns and the whole congealed mass sat in her plate. She poked her fork into it and realized that nothing could convince her it was edible. "I guess I'm just not hungry," she said apologetically. With an effort, she took a bite of her toast. It was cold and she almost gagged as she forced herself to swallow.
"Erik and me, we counted all that money last night and made out a deposit. I'll take it to the bank first thing tomorrow." He pulled a chair from a nearby table and straddled it at the end of their booth, leaning his massive arms on its back. "He and Trace hadn't had much time to catch up on old times, and I told him to scat. I didn't do much gettin' ready for the Social, so's the least I can do is help clean up afterward."
Lester had been generous with contributions of food and other supplies for the Social in the past, but he'd always said he was too busy to give his time. Madeline wondered how Erik had managed to convince him otherwise. Or had it been Amelia?
She pressed her lips together to keep from asking Lester if Erik had seemed angry with her. "Look, I've got to go. It's not that I don't trust everyone to clean up their messes, but...."
"Go along with you," Amelia said. "I'm just going to have just one more cup, and I'll be off myself." She smiled at Lester and held out her cup. His answering smile made Madeline ache with loneliness. Erik had smiled at her just that way a little over twenty-four hours ago. And now he was gone without a word.
* * * *
Damn Charlie Bittenbusch anyhow. Erik had just waved goodbye to Trace and his wife last night when the commissioner had come pounding on the door. "I've got a deal you can't afford to pass up," he'd said, hinting that it would complete the funding package for Wounded Bear Meadow.
Erik had agreed to come with him this morning because it was still too soon to confront Madeline.
Maybe he should have stayed in town yesterday, while his anger was still fresh, before he'd had time to brood about her betrayal. Certainly he should have slammed the door in Charlie's face last night, instead of caving to his demand.
It was a good thing he and Trace were old friends, forgiving of each other's foibles. Otherwise he might have found himself walking home from Hell's Canyon. He'd been silent and surly far too often yesterday. Worse, he was afraid his apology to the Picketts had sounded grudging, rather than sincere. How Sarah Pickett could have kissed him and wished him good luck with whatever was eating at him spoke volumes for the woman's Christian charity.
And now this...this latest wild goose chase of Charlie's. God knows I've plenty else to do today. And the first task would be to pry the truth out of Madeline.
The truth he already knew.
"I figure she got herself knocked up on one of them business trips...." Alf Wallace's words echoed in his memory as Erik tried to push his foot through the firewall of Charlie's car.
No! Madeline would never be so dishonest as to use him to father her child...children, and never tell him he was a father. Kyle's uncanny resemblance to Gail was simply one of those bizarre coincidences.
That's all.
Coincidence.
He had been careful. In his entire adult life Erik had never assumed the women he was intimate with were on the pill or otherwise protected against pregnancy. He wasn't a stud, but he was human. If the opportunity presented itself, if he liked and respected the woman, he'd never walked away from a sexual encounter. It was a matter of pride with him, however, that almost all of them had been long-term, rather than one night stands.
All but one of them.
A one night stand. Wasn't that what one of the fellows in the tavern had accused Madeline of? Or had the words been his own? He didn't know. It didn't matter.
"Here we are," Charlie said, pulling into the parking lot of McCall's biggest and poshest hotel. He led Erik into the restaurant, where three men, about Charlie's age and having much the same air of wheeler-dealers, were waiting at a table.
Charlie introduced them, but their names went in one of Erik's ears and out the other. They were easy to tell apart, however. One had artfully coifed hair that was both too black and too thick for a man his age. Another looked like a Prussian field marshal, And the third was so nondescript, so colorless and expressionless, that he faded into the background.
Charlie pulled out a chair between the Prussian and the hairdo, leaving Erik to sit more or less facing them all. Feeling like he was about to undergo interrogation. Or brainwashing.
The three were the major investors in a consortium--High Country Homes--that had its collective eyes on the Zenger Ranch. Erik was assaulted with the most concentrated, most overpowering sales pitch he'd ever experienced.
"Whenever you have time, we'll fly you over to Sunriver so's you can see how they've managed their environmental protection," the Prussian promised. "We've planned for about the same housing density, or maybe even a little less."
Hairdo broke in. "We've already talked to some people up at Billings who're putting together a homeowners' agreement for us. It'll set up restrictions for access to the meadow. Any trees that have to be cut down will be replaced. We figure on movin' a good number of them, as long as they aren't too big."
The third man's voice was as colorless as the rest of him. "The hotel and golf courses will be where the main ranch buildings are now, so we won't have to construct new access roads. And we'll hire the best engineering firm to plan the interior roads to do the least environmental damage."
And on and on and on. At three Erik looked at his watch for the fourth or fifth impatient time. Would they never run down?
"And that about wraps it up, Erik," Hairdo said, sitting back and beaming. "What d'you think?"
"I think you've put a lot of thought and time into your planning," he said, admiring in spite of himself their apparent determination to construct what amounted to a small city with minimal environmental damage. "But I don't see what this all has to do with me. I couldn't invest if I wanted to. It would be a conflict of interest, since I'm representing NWT."
"We need Wound--"
The Prussian held up a hand, stopping Charlie's explanation. "Let me explain." He waved the waitress over for their umpteenth refill, waiting until she had poured before continuing. "You're the wetlands expert. We need you to help us plan so we don't do anything to mess up Wounded Bear Meadow."
Erik stared for a long moment. "Wait a minute! What makes you think you'll be allowed to build anywhere near the meadow?"
"That's what I was gonna tell you," Charlie began. "We--"
"Charlie, please." Again the Prussian waved him to silence. "Mr. Solomon, we've met with Jethro Zenger and convinced him that selling us the entire ranch would be in his best interests. I'm surprised he didn't tell you."
"The hell you say!" He hadn't spoken to Jethro for more than a week, what with spending all his time on the Social.
"As a condition of the sale, we've promised Mr. Zenger that we would retain you, or someone with similar qualifications, to oversee our planning for the preservation of Wounded Bear Meadow. We would of course, pay you your usual consulting fee." The figure Hairdo named showed he knew what a good consultant was worth these days.
"I don't know what to say." All he could think of was that everything he'd done for the past month was wasted. He'd been so sure he could get the funding together, so sure Jethro would be patient until he could. Why hadn't he insisted on a contract, instead of a handshake?
"Just say you'll consider our offer," The Prussian said. "We'd like to send you some preliminary plans in a few days, have you look 'em over for potential problems."
Erik was in a daze as they left the restaurant. He'd take the consulting job, not for the money but to make sure they really didn't mess up the meadow. But he'd never be able to face his associates at NWT, not after losing one of the best wetlands the Trust had ever had a chance to obtain.
They got back to Garnet Falls about six. The first thing Erik did, after he got rid of Charlie, was call Madeline.
No answer.
Then he called Jethro Zenger. One of the hands answered, told him Jethro was up in Montana.
"He figured to be back around the tenth, unless the fishin's extra good."
"Is there any way I can get hold of him?"
"I don't reckon so. He's likely to call, come Wednesday or Thursday. You want me to give him a message?"
Mrs. Zenger was also away, visiting her son in San Francisco.
"Thanks," Erik said, holding on to the last shreds of patience. "I'll call again after the tenth." He slammed the phone into its cradle.
There was no help for it. He'd just have to wait until Jethro returned to learn what was going on.
Now, which road did he take to the Double J?
* * * *
He spoke as soon as she appeared, not even waiting for her to open the back screen door. "How long did you think you could keep them a secret?"
Madeline stared up at Erik's grim face, slightly blurred through the wire mesh, her heart heavy in her chest. He was angry--and she hadn't the faintest idea why.
She pushed on the screen door, but had to wait while he moved aside before she could join him on the porch. "Whatever I did, we can talk about it better where Janine won't worry about what we're saying." She led him to the cluster of lawn furniture under the big weeping willow.
Madeline sat, knotting her hands together under the table's edge. Ever since her grandfather had insisted she stand at attention for his occasional scoldings, she hated to do battle on her feet. Sitting down kept her relatively composed.
Erik gripped the back of a chair, his knuckles white and his fingers digging into the floral-patterned cushion. "I want an answer," he said. The cords in his neck stood out in harsh relief. "Now!"
"If I knew what the question was, maybe I could give you one."
"Damn it, Madeline, I'm talking about the children!" His face contorted into an angry mask as the words exploded from his mouth. "How long did you expect to keep them a secret from me?"
Honestly puzzled, Madeline frowned. "I know I told you about them, when you first came to town."
"Yeah. And you told me their father was dead." With one step he was before her, hands clenched on her upper arms, pulling her up to face him. "You lied, Madeline. Didn't you?" The expression in his face frightened her.
"Yes." Writhing, she tried to break free of his grip. "Yes, I lied. What did you want me to say? That their father was an unknown...?"
"Unknown? Bull! You know who fathered those kids." His hands tightened on her arms until she wanted to cry out with the pain.
"No!" She couldn't restrain the sob in her voice. "I never knew. I never wanted to know." The old agony came once more, with all the force and sharpness of long ago. As long as she didn't know the identity of the anonymous donor--a condition of the insemination--she could fantasize that Jesse had fathered her children. The fantasy had never replaced reality, but at first she had hoped it would.
"Think back, lady. Remember the first time we met?"
She couldn't meet his eyes. "How can I forget?" she whispered. "It was a mistake."
The crack of his laughter was like a knife at her chest. "I'll say. The worst mistake you'll ever make." Releasing her, he strode to the thick trunk of the willow, leaned against it, deceptively casual. But his spine showed tension, as did a twitching muscle in his jaw. Finally he said, "Did you really expect me to miss the resemblance?"
She drew a deep, steadying breath. "Erik, you aren't making sense. Now please, sit down and tell me what you're so angry about."
He dragged a chair right up to hers, threw himself into it. He glared directly into her face, close enough that she felt his breath hot on her cheeks. "Talk!" he commanded. "Tell me about their so-called father."
"My children were conceived by artificial insemination," she said, wondering where she had put the records. Not wanting the twins to find them until they were old enough to understand, she had kept her medical records separate from their birth certificates and other important papers.
"And reindeer fly," he sneered. "Come on, Madeline, stop lying to me."
All at once she'd had enough. "Damn you, Erik Solomon! What gives you the right to come out here and call me a liar?" She forced herself to speak slowly, calmly. "It's none of your business, but I can prove what I say. Kyle and Virginia are the result of my being impregnated at a clinic in Portland. Do you want time and date?"
"By all means. Add some verisimilitude to your fiction."
She told him. The details were engraved in her memory. She had begun to care whether she lived or died at that instant.
"That was the day we met," he said. His voice was more subdued than it had been since his arrival.
"I went directly from the clinic to the airport. And I arrived at the conference in Seattle just a little before two." She remembered how emotionally exhausted she'd been that day. How she'd rather have done anything but sit in a conference and listen to a bunch of experts talk about saving a few marshes and bogs.
"And that night you seduced me."
Her voice caught somewhere in her throat, on a gasp of surprise and outrage. "I seduced you?" she managed to croak. For long seconds her mind whirled with confusion and fury. Through narrowed eyes she glared at Erik, trying to remember the exact details of that night. But all she recalled was finding momentary forgetfulness, a brief relief from deadening sorrow, in his arms.
"I didn't seduce you. I don't even remember how we...why we...." Taking a deep breath, she looked him in the eye. "Erik, I don't even know how you got into my room."
He searched her face, seeing sincerity. A pleading to be believed. And he stiffened his resolve. "I suppose you don't remember asking me to make love to you, either."
"I didn't do that!"
"Lady, you begged for it."
She stared at him, tears drowning her eyes. Erik suddenly knew what it felt like to be a lizard hiding under a rock.
Low. Lower than low.
"Oh, hell! Listen. I don't want to fight with you about this. All I want is the truth." He did his best to make his voice calm, non-belligerent.
"I've told you the truth!"
"You've told me the lies you've lived for so long you believe them," he said, and stopped. Now that the words hovered on the tip of his tongue, he was finding them hard to say. As if, by saying them, they changed from a theoretical possibility to reality.
He forced himself to relax, let the fat cushions enfold him. A bee was buzzing just outside the willow canopy, exploring the roses along the white board fence. Sunlight filtered through the branches and lay in long golden lines across the yard, highlighting Madeline's face, heightening the green of her eyes and glinting off the tracks of tears on her cheeks. Erik was more aware of his surrounding than he had ever been, more aware of the mutter of a tractor somewhere, of far away children's voices, of the scents of July: hot grass and fresh-cut hay.
Reaching out to gather her hands into his, he opened them from their rigid clasp in her lap. With one thumb, he stroked along her wrist, wondering if there was any right way to say what must be said. Deciding there wasn't.
"Madeline, I'm the father of your children."
She giggled, a nervous, uncertain giggle. "No you're not!"
He held her hands, even though she was struggling weakly to pull free. "I am. There's no question in my mind that Kyle is my son." None. He'd wrestled with all the possibilities for two days now and there was just no escaping it. Coincidence could not account for such a perfect resemblance.
