“It was a rough day. I needed a cigarette.”
“No, no, no.” Beau grabbed the open pack and squeezed them in his fist.
Daniel jumped to his feet, almost knocking over the beer bottle. He tried to wrestle the pack from Beau, but Beau took off across the yard, Premonition at his heels. Daniel tackled him, both men flying to the ground. “Damn it, Beau,” Daniel said, trying to pry Beau’s hand open to get the cigarettes.
“You’re not getting them, you’re not getting them,” Beau yelled. “I turn my back on you a minute and this is what happens.”
Daniel laughed, recognizing their mother’s famous line.
The dog was on top of them, thinking it was a great game.
“Premonition!” Beau yelled, getting the dog’s attention. “Here!” He gave the cigarette pack a heave. The dog went after it, catching it before it hit the ground.
Daniel got to his feet, with Beau following. “Ha, ha,” Beau said, delighted. “Now they’re full of dog slobber.” Then he saw the grass stain on the front of his shirt and immediately went into a panic. “My shirt. It’s dirty. I have to wear it tomorrow. Look what you did.” He was close to tears.
“It’s okay. We’ll wash it. We’ll use that presoak stuff on it, like you see on TV. It’ll get out a grass stain,” Daniel said with a confidence he didn’t feel. Would it? He hoped so. Otherwise Beau would be up all night worrying about the shirt. “We’ll do it right now. Come on. Get the shirt off.”
They had to go to the store to find something for grass stains. By the time they got home, it was getting dark. Inside, the message light on the answering machine was on.
It was Cleo, wondering why he hadn’t come to pick her up so she could get her dog.
“Premonition?” Beau asked, fresh panic setting in on top of an already fragile state of mind.
Daniel rubbed the gooey stain stick across the front of Beau’s shirt, wondering how in the hell it would get rid of the stain. “Yeah, I was going to tell you, but then I forgot, what with all the shirt business.”
He brought the two sides of the shirt together, trying to grind in the stain remover.
Beau and Premonition followed him to the laundry room where Daniel stepped over piles of dirty clothes, tossed the shirt in the washer, poured in some liquid soap, and turned the machine on, dropping the lid with a bang.
This was exactly what he’d feared would happen, that Beau would become attached to the dog. It had just happened a little faster than Daniel had expected. He turned to Beau, all set to explain that Beau couldn’t keep the dog, but then his words tangled in his throat.
Beau was crying.
At that very moment, someone pounded on the front door.
Chapter Fifteen
Cleo knocked on the door again, then stepped back and tucked the plastic straw in the corner of her mouth, sucking the last bit of Tastee Delight vanilla shake from the bottom of the cup.
The door opened. Daniel stood there looking at her through the screen.
“Remember me?” she asked. “You were supposed to give me a ride so I could get my dog.”
He scratched his head. “Yeah,” he admitted with a distracted air. “I’ve been a little busy.”
“I walked, if you’re worried about how I got here. I can see you are.” In truth, she hadn’t been able to stay in the motel room one more second.
Since he wasn’t going to ask, she had to. “Can I come in?”
He pushed the screen door open. “Sure.” He didn’t sound sure at all.
She stepped inside the cool, welcoming room. “Where’s Premonition?”
In the distance, beyond the kitchen, she heard a washing machine. It was a homey sound.
Daniel crossed his arms high over his chest. “Listen…about your dog.”
The empty paper cup she was holding fell from nerveless fingers, hitting the floor with a hollow sound. “Oh, my God. Something’s happened. He’s been hit by a car!”
“No, no,” Daniel quickly assured her. “He’s fine. It’s just that, well, Beau’s become attached to him. Really attached, and I was wondering if you’d sell him to us. After all, you were going to leave him here, anyway. So what would it matter? This way you can actually get something out of it.”
Sell her dog?
Sell Premonition?
Earlier she’d planned to leave him with Beau, but that was because she’d thought it would be best for everyone. Selling him had never been part of the equation.
Cup forgotten, she strode past Daniel, intent on stepping into the backyard to get her dog. But when she reached the screen door, she stopped.
In the semidarkness just beyond the illuminated circle cast by the porch light, Beau knelt on the ground, his arms around Premonition. And he was crying. There he was, a man who was getting gray at the temples, hugging her dog, sobbing his heart out.
She should never have come to this place.
Everything was wrong. It had been wrong from the beginning.
“I’ll sell the dog.”
The words were out of her mouth before she’d even assessed them. Why had she said that? She would give Premonition to Beau, but she would never, ever sell him.
Without appearing to give Cleo a second thought, Daniel cut in front of her, slid open the screen door, and stepped outside. “Beau!” he shouted, moving toward his brother at a half run. “Good news. You can keep the dog.”
Beau looked up and said something Cleo couldn’t hear.
Daniel nodded.
Beau’s smile, when it came, was brilliant. Dazzling. He jumped to his feet, laughing, Premonition dancing around him, letting out a couple of excited barks.
Tightness gripped Cleo’s throat, grief was coming on.
Moving with a jerky awkwardness, she turned and walked across the living room to the front door. Blindly she groped for the handle, found it, and tumbled onto the porch, almost falling to her knees. Recalling the way Daniel had come after her before, she hurried down the steps. Instead of taking the sidewalk, she ran across the street, disappearing into the darkness between two houses. She kept running. Past houses casting warm light, past barking dogs, through backyards and front yards, until her side ached and her lungs were raw. She stopped, her breathing harsh in her ears, hands braced on her knees. Then, with a palm pressed to her side, she walked.
She couldn’t go back to the motel room. Not yet.
She passed an old cemetery. The iron gate was open. She took that as an invitation, and was soon wandering among the moss-covered tombstones. Gradually her lungs began to feel better. She collapsed in an open area, the grass cool under her cheek, the ground beneath her smelling like a mysterious concoction of things old and new.
In the peacefulness of the cemetery, she drifted off to sleep…
Daniel Sinclair was lying on the grass beside her. He pulled her into his arms, pressing his mouth to hers. Somehow their clothes disappeared, and his body touched hers, hot skin to hot skin. As she looked into his eyes, he filled her, a confident smile on his face, a man in total control. Let go, he told her without verbal communication. Just let go.
She felt herself letting go, falling away, while he continued to smile at her, cool as could be.
She woke up with a start, the slanted, erotic mood of the dream still upon her. It took her a moment to realize she was still in the cemetery. She groaned, her body stiff, her clothes and skin covered with dew. How long had she been there? She pushed herself to a half-sitting position. It had to be late. There were no lights in the nearby houses. There was not a single sound of a vehicle anywhere.
Off in the distance, sounding miles and miles away, a dog barked.