The Taming of Billy Jones Page 13

  That reached her. She had to look away.

  He laid a final point on her. "Randi was a hell of a woman. But she was no candidate for sainthood. Maybe you just ought to face that, and move on."

  He thought she sighed. But she wouldn't look at him. He turned and left her there.

  * * *

  Prudence waited until he closed the door to his room. Then she climbed the stairs. She looked in on Jesse. He slept like an angel, in the bottom bunk of the bed his father had bought for him.

  She went to the bathroom, filled the tub and took a long, hot bath to try to relax. But it didn't do much good. She ended up lying awake half the night, putting on her glasses now and then to see how late it was getting, thinking about the things Billy had said and telling herself she'd put him firmly in his place.

  He certainly wouldn't be making any more passes at her. If nothing else, in confronting him about Randi, she'd completely turned him off. And that was good. That was fine.

  She had better things to do with herself than provide some transitory sexual amusement for bad Billy Jones.

  In the morning, she woke late. She looked at the clock and saw it was after ten. Downstairs, she discovered the note waiting on the table, stuck between the salt and pepper shakers: "We went to Grass Valley. Don't worry, took diapers. Back by five. Will feed no junk food."

  * * *

  By eleven, minus Jesse to care for and Billy to argue with, Prudence began to feel pretty much at loose ends. She started to call Delilah and Sam's house, wanting to talk to Oggie, who always cheered her up. But then she remembered that Oggie had left town. She hung up before she even dialed.

  She called Eden, who assured her that Jared was fine. "He's even gone into work today. He's not a man to let a knot on his head get him down. And how's the family hero?"

  It took Prudence a second or two to realize that Eden referred to Billy. "Oh, he's fine, too. A little beat-up, but fine."

  "I have to tell you, he showed up just in time yesterday."

  "Yes. So I heard." She could see him, in her mind's eye, lounging on the sofa last night, telling her the whole story of how he'd knocked poor Sam out cold.

  Eden asked, "How's he been, the past few days?"

  "Pardon me?"

  "You were worried, about his drinking."

  "Oh, that. He's been … good. He's stayed sober and he's put in some real effort with Jesse."

  Eden laughed. "So there's hope then? For him as a father."

  "Yes. Yes, I suppose there is."

  They talked for a few minutes about Sam and Delilah. Eden said Delilah had stopped in to see that Jared was all right. Jared had told her to go back to her husband, and Delilah had walked out in a huff. Eden added that Delilah had never been one to sit still for advice from her hell-raising brothers.

  After the call to Eden, Prudence decided to walk over to Main Street

  . The rain had stopped sometime in the night. Outside, it was clear and cold.

  She went to Lily's Café and had a sandwich. All the talk there centered on Sam and Delilah. Prudence learned that, in spite of everything, Delilah had gone to work that morning – she taught fourth and fifth grade at the North Magdalene School. Also, Sam had opened up his store right on time. The clerk, Sharlee, was still on the job.

  "Business as usual," Linda Lou Beardsly was heard to whisper. "Except for the distinct possibility of d-i-v-o-r-c-e in the future."

  After lunch, Prudence wandered into the shop next door, Santino's Barber, Beauty and Variety. A small dark-haired woman smiled at her from behind the register counter when Prudence entered the store. "Hi, how you doing? I'm Maria. Santino, like the front window says."

  Prudence murmured hello and glanced toward the back of the shop. She could see two barber's chairs there, a sink and a hair dryer.

  "You need a cut?" asked Maria.

  "Oh, no. I didn't…"

  Maria emerged from behind the counter. "I tell you true, I'm bored to death. You do me a favor, let me cut your hair. I give you a break on the price."

  "Um, well, I…"

  "Come into the light. Let me see." She took Prudence by the arm and led her back to the barber's chairs, where a big window let in the afternoon sun and the overhead lights were much brighter than in the rest of the shop. "Sit. Sit here." Prudence allowed herself to be pushed into one of the chairs. Maria stood behind her and began removing the pins that held back her hair. Absurdly Prudence found herself thinking of that night in Billy's club, when he had stolen her glasses and let down her hair.

  "Not bad," Maria declared.

  Prudence smiled to herself. That night in the club, one of Billy's friends had said the same thing.

  "What's so funny?" Maria wanted to know.

  "Oh, nothing. Really. Nothing at all."

  "We shorten it," Maria murmured. "Four or five inches. Take it up some in back. What do you say?"

  "Well, I…"

  "A nice shampoo first, a little head massage. So relaxing. You'll see." Maria was already guiding her out of the chair, leading her to the shampoo sink.

  Half an hour later, Maria hooked her blow dryer back in its rack on the wall by the mirror. "So. What do you think?"

  Prudence's hair barely touched her shoulders now. It fell, smooth and sleek, from a center part. "It's just so … red."

  "A beautiful red." Maria handed Prudence a hand mirror, "Like dark fire. And this cut is good for the shape of your face."

  Prudence used the hand mirror to check the back. "You think so?"

  "I know so. I'm the expert, right? But let me give you a little bit of advice."

  Prudence lowered the mirror and looked at Maria.

  "Those glasses, they gotta go. You pay a visit to my cousin, Benny, in Grass Valley. He's an optometrist. He'll fix you up good. Wait right here. I'll get you his card."

  Prudence left Santino's at a little past one. She went home and sat down in the kitchen for a moment and thought about brewing a pot of tea. Instead she called the number on the card Maria had given her. Benny Anselmo's assistant said he had a three o'clock slot on his appointment schedule.

  Prudence said, "Well, maybe we should just forget this."

  "Miss Wilding, that's certainly up to you."

  Prudence closed her eyes, slid her thumb and forefinger under the nosepiece of her glasses and massaged the bridge of her nose.

  "Miss Wilding, are you there?"

  Billy was wrong about a lot of things, she thought. But probably not about her glasses. They were plain ugly. And it was time she stopped using them to hide from the world.

  "Miss Wilding, will we see you at three today, or not?"

  She sucked in a deep breath and forced out "Yes."

  * * *

  Chapter 12

  « ^ »

  Billy knew the minute he saw Prue's new haircut that he was making headway, after all. Over dinner, he told her it looked good.

  She said, "Thank you," as if the words caused her pain coming out.

  He asked, "What made you decide to let it down?" as if he didn't know.

  She said, "I thought it was probably about time. Pass the squash."

  Jesse fell asleep two minutes after Billy put him in his bed. Now that was a record. But the kid was beat. Billy had kept him hopping all day. They'd visited two playgrounds and gone to McDonald's for lunch. Jesse had climbed around on the play-sets and dug in the sandboxes until he was plain wiped out. Yeah, Billy decided, standing over his sleeping son, holding the Martin on which he'd been playing variations on the theme of "Puff, the Magic Dragon," he just might turn out to be an okay dad, after all.

  At 7:37 he tiptoed from his son's room and went down the stairs to find Prue sitting on the sofa, reading.

  "Good book?"

  She looked up. For half a second, he dared to hope she might crack a smile. Her newly liberated hair shone so pretty in the light from the lamp beside her. He wanted to run his hand down it, from the crown of her head to where it brushed her shoulde
rs.

  Then her face pruned up. "You know, the music you're always playing for Jesse is great. Children love and need the sound of music. But you have to make a point to read to him, too. Most studies show that a child who is read to consistently learns to read and write much earlier and with much less effort. And the state of a child's reading and writing skills are a direct measure of his success in his future working life."

  "Thank you, Dr. Wilding."

  She sighed. "Will you just try to read to him more?"

  "Sure. I can do that."

  "Good." She looked down at her book again.

  He stood there, staring at her bent head, feeling dismissed. Then he turned on his heel and went to his room. He got his keys, put on his hat, his shades and a jacket. After that, he returned to the arch that led to the living room and leaned there, just as before. "Look. I think I'll go out for a while."

  That got her attention. Her head snapped up. "Go out? Where?" He knew just what she was imagining: booze, naked women and broken furniture.

  He shrugged. "Hell if I know. Maybe I'll go over and see how Sam's holding up. Can you watch Jesse?"

  "I am his guardian." She spoke each word distinctly, as if making some major point. "Of course I'll watch him."

  "Terrific. Do you think I'm old enough now to have my own key?" She'd been off somewhere that afternoon when be and Jesse got home. They'd waited on the porch, playing peekaboo and patty-cake, for twenty minutes until she showed up.

  "Of course." Her face remained pursed tight. If she didn't watch it, it would probably get stuck that way. She set her book aside and stood. "I'll get you one." She had to walk past him to reach the stairs. He made a point of watching her go by because he knew it bugged her.

  But then, once she disappeared from the upper landing, he felt edgy and discouraged. He didn't really understand what she did to him. She got to him. In ways he'd never been gotten to before. Last night, they'd had fun together, during that too-short time while he was telling her about Sam and Delilah and the fight at the saloon. Or at least, he'd thought they were having fun. But then, as soon as he admitted that he wanted to get naked with her, she'd turned on him. She'd given him nothing but grief from there on in.

  What in hell did he see in her? She had way too much honor and integrity for someone like him. Most of the time she just plain annoyed him. She made him want to annoy her right back.

  However, in the past couple of days, he'd discovered he wanted to do a lot more than irritate her. He wanted to reach out and touch her. To smooth a hand down her silky hair, to pull her pretty body close. To unbutton all her buttons and see what exactly she looked like under there. To take away her glasses and have her stare up at him through those half-blind sky blue eyes.

  In short, he wanted to get started on the love affair they were going to have. And if she'd only stop aggravating him, he would make another move on her.

  He heard her footsteps on the stairs. He turned and watched her descend. At the bottom, she held out a key. "Here."

  He took the key and headed for the front door, pausing at the threshold to advise, "Don't wait up."

  She gave him a tight, mean little smile. "Don't you worry. I won't."

  Once he was out in the cold night air, he wondered what to do next. He considered a visit to the Hole in the Wall, and then rejected the idea almost before he thought of it. He was feeling too uneasy. And when he felt uneasy, he got an urge to howl. When he howled, he tended to drink too much.

  And if he drank too much, Prue would throw him out. That, he couldn't afford. For Jesse's sake, mostly. And beyond that, for the sake of the father he was learning to be.

  So howling was a no go. He shivered a little and flipped up the collar of his jacket. And then he thought of Sam, probably sitting all alone in that house out there on Bullfinch Lane

  . That first day Billy came to town, when he'd been hot on the trail of the old man, it hadn't taken him more than ten minutes or so to get out there from the bar.

  Yeah, all right. Maybe he would go see Sam.

  * * *

  Sam took so long to come to the door that Billy almost turned around and left. But at last, the longhaired giant appeared.

  "Yeah," he said, staring blankly at Billy as if he'd never seen him before. "What do you want?"

  Billy shrugged. "A beer, maybe. How 'bout that?"

  "A beer," Sam repeated. He looked completely dazed – the walking wounded in the aftermath of a major natural disaster.

  Billy decided he shouldn't stay. "Look. Bad timing, huh? I'll come back some other—"

  Sam cut in. "No. Don't go." And then he just stood there.

  Billy really felt sorry for the poor guy. "What you do is you step back and ask me in."

  Sam stepped back. "Come on in."

  Sam led him into a living area, with a switchback stairway leading to the second floor, high, angled ceilings, and lots of full bookcases. Billy liked the place immediately. It was one of those houses that invited a man to sit down and relax. The furniture looked comfortable and there were lots of carvings around. Sam's work, he was pretty sure. Oggie had told him once that Sam was a real artist with a whittling knife.

  Sam stared at the room as if he didn't recognize it. "Maybe we ought to just go in the kitchen, all right?"

  "Hey. Fine with me."

  They went to the kitchen and sat at a big wood table. Sam got a couple of bottled Buds from the fridge and popped off the caps. "You need a glass?"

  Billy shook his head.

  Sam pulled out the chair across from Billy, dropped into it and slid Billy's beer over to him. Billy took a long pull, then removed his shades and his hat and set them on the table. He gestured with the bottle. "How's your head?"

  Sam frowned, not picking up the reference through the fog of his misery. Billy felt another surge of pity for the man. Delilah better come back to him soon, or he'd end up forgetting his own damn name. Finally Sam caught on. "Right." He felt in his hair, for the spot Billy had popped him. "Tender. But no big deal."

  "Glad to hear it." Billy drank again. When he set the bottle down, he wondered what the hell to say next. At this rate a twenty-minute visit would come out feeling like a year.

  Right then, the doorbell rang. Sam jumped up. "That might be Lilah." He flew out of the kitchen, headed for the front door.

  Billy sat sipping his beer, grateful toward whoever it was. He could use a little help here, in keeping the old conversational ball on the move. And if it was Sam's runaway wife, he'd have a fine excuse to take his leave.

  A moment later, Sam reappeared, followed by a small, early-twentyish blonde, a pretty little thing with a round, dimpled Kewpie-doll face. She carried a large rectangular casserole dish covered in foil. She was talking a mile a minute, as she trotted along in the giant's wake. "Sam, I'm only worried about you, that's all. I was sitting at home, thinking how you most likely weren't eating right, and it occurred to me that maybe I should just do something about that and so I—" Right then she caught sight of Billy. "Oh. You didn't say you had company."

  Billy looked at Sam. No help there. The big man had stopped over by the sink and was staring blindly into the middle distance. Billy stood. "Hi. I'm Billy."

  "Oh. Yes. I think I've heard about you. Billy Jones, right?"

  "Yeah." He offered to shake.

  The blonde held out her casserole and giggled. "Sorry. I do have my hands full. I'm Sharlee." The husband-stealing clerk. He should have known. "Pleased to meet you," she simpered. "I hope you're going to be all right."

  He wondered what the hell she meant by that.

  She giggled some more. "Your face, all those bruises."

  He touched the bump under his eye, which was already going down. "Oh, right." He dropped into his chair again. "I'll be fine."

  "Well, good then." Little Sharlee bustled over to the stove. "I'm just going to heat this up a tad, and then— Sam, you haven't eaten yet, have you?" She set the casserole down and began fiddling with th
e oven knobs. "Sam?"

  The big man blinked. "Huh?"

  "I asked, have you eaten?"

  "Eaten?" Sam's brows furrowed. "No, not lately, I don't think."

  "Oh, I just knew it. You must keep your strength up, Sam. Good nutrition is the key to getting through a difficult time." She whipped the foil off the casserole.

  Just then, they all heard the sound of a door shutting. "Now, what was that?" Sharlee asked brightly as she put the dish into the oven.

  Billy said, "Sounded like the front door," just as Sam breathed, "Lilah," in equal parts agony and longing.

  They hard footsteps, coming through the hall and dining room. And then, there she was: Delilah Fletcher, standing in the doorway, wearing some gypsy-looking swirly red skirt and a red jacket, her thick, caterpillar-curly black hair sticking out loose and wild around her face. "Sam, I—"

  Right then, the oven door slammed shut. Sharlee squeaked, "Oh!"

  Delilah's head whipped around. She saw her rival, standing at her own stove. Her creamy skin went pink. All at once she looked fit to chew nails. What a woman, Billy thought. He felt a swift welling of pride, to know that he could call her his cousin.

  "Lilah," Sam said again, on a whisper of pure yearning.

  Delilah looked toward Sam once more. Her face seemed to crumple. "I thought we could talk, Sam. I thought maybe…"

  "Lilah, listen." Sam took a step in her direction.

  She put up both hands. "No, Sam. No." She gathered herself. "You just tell me. What is that woman doing in my house?"

  "Well," Sharlee started to say, rubbing her hands together. "It's a difficult time for Sam and I just came over to see that—"

  Delilah cut her off with a chopping motion of her arm. "No." She pointed at her rival. "You, I don't listen to. You, I don't hear. I want my husband to tell me, I want him to explain."

  Billy stood. "Actually we were just leaving."

  Delilah's hot gaze swung on Billy. "What?"

  "I said, Sharlee and I are going to go now." He went over and took Sharlee by the elbow.