"Look what she did, just because of a little PMS." Mrs. Brown kept looking at Raquel and shaking her head. "Shame. What a shame. Such beautiful hair."
"I donated it to a charity that makes wigs for kids on chemo." Raquel caught their server and ordered a Glenfiddich single malt scotch. "I don't miss that mop a bit."
Nick's favorite label… Margo shook off the memory of Nick and smiled. "I think donating your hair to charity was a very nice thing to do."
Raquel shrugged and her cheeks pinkened. "I hope they put it to good use."
"You missed Tarzan," Steph told Mrs. Brown. "But the Eroticops are next, and they are to die for."
Especially one of them. Margo had to stop mooning around about Jared and concentrate on her job. Tonight, her notes would make sense, and Jared had promised to find a likely dancer for her to interview.
"So, Margo, what did old Fred want when he called earlier?"
"Just letting me know he's passing through town tomorrow and wants to have lunch." Margo drew a deep breath. Her father-in-law had never been particularly fond of her — especially after Nick decided to settle in her hometown instead of returning to Riley's Crossing. "He doesn't have any other family with Nick gone."
Raquel made a choking sound, and Steph patted her on the back. All the color had drained from Raquel's face.
"Are you all right?" Margo asked.
A pained expression crossed the redhead's face. "Yeah, sure. Why wouldn't I be?" The server delivered her drink, and Raquel ordered another before she took her first sip. "I, uh, take it you were talking about your father-in-law?"
"Yes, exactly." But how did Raquel know that? "Nick was his only son, and I think he's lonely. He misses him."
"Will minor miracles never cease?" Raquel downed the scotch with one smooth flick of her wrist.
"Do you know Fred Riley?" Steph asked, not bothering to hide her curiosity.
"I'm not sure I ever really knew him at all." Raquel rested her chin on her fist, her expression wistful. "I, well, never mind. We're here to have fun. Right?"
Talk about avoidance. Did Raquel know Nick's father or not? Margo exchanged glances with her sister, knowing Steph was also confused by the ambiguous answer. And how had Raquel known about the painting, or where Margo lived?
"Did… did you know my husband?" she asked, uncertain how or why the question had left her lips.
"I…" Raquel's gaze shifted around the table. "Yes, yes, I know — er, knew — Nick."
"I thought you just moved here," Steph said.
"I lived here until two years ago, but now I'm back." Raquel flashed a nervous smile.
Two years ago? Raquel had left town about the time Nick died. She studied the woman's guilty expression, and a sinking sensation struck.
No. She couldn't accept that. Nick had never given her reason to believe he was unfaithful.
The lights and sirens signaled the beginning of the next act, and the crowd went wild, forcing Margo to shove her suspicions aside. Nick was dead, and thinking ill of him was wrong. Still, how did Raquel know so much?
Once the dancers entered the stage, Mrs. Brown leapt to her feet and gave a wolf whistle that would have put the most sexist construction worker to shame.
Steph laughed, and Margo turned her attention to Jared. He was dancing for her again — now she knew that for certain. No one else in the room knew his real identity, or why he meant so much to her. Tears scalded her eyes, but she blinked the liquid traitors away, focusing instead on holding Jared's gaze.
Watching him reminded her again of his kiss. Her body softened and heated, hungry for him. And why shouldn't she indulge her desire? After all, she was single, and it wasn't as if Jared was a stranger. He'd been her first lover. Her first love.
Her only love?
Guilt shoved its ugly face to the forefront of her mind again. If any other man had attracted her attention, would she feel this way? The answer came swiftly — a resounding no.
Oh, but she had loved him. And… she still did. Her heart raced ahead as she gathered that knowledge about her like a protective cloak. She wanted to invite Jared home with her tonight. Could she find the courage? And could she forget the past enough to think of a future with him?
Nothing ventured… A smile curved her lips, and she blew Jared a kiss before she lost her resolve.
"Well, isn't that special?" Raquel muttered.
Margo girded herself and faced Raquel. A myriad of emotions danced in the woman's eyes — regret, sadness, and something more.
"He's Margo's," Steph told Mrs. Brown.
"Lucky girl!" Mrs. Brown laughed. "If my hormones were thirty years younger, I'd give you a little competition."
Raquel extended her glass toward Margo, her eyes misty. "I wish you the best in every… way." Her voice broke, and she drew a shaky breath.
"Thank you." Margo wasn't sure what else to say. Why did this strange woman's words mean so much? Why was Margo relieved to hear her say them? It was almost as if she needed Raquel's approval to seduce Jared. Ridiculous.
Of course, what Margo really wanted with Jared was a lot more than merely a night of sex. Her face flamed, and her heart did a pirouette.
Nick is dead, Margo. She didn't need anyone's permission to do whatever she wanted with Jared or any other man. She'd been a good wife to Nick. Hadn't she?
Wouldn't he forgive her now, knowing she was still in love with Jared?
No, probably not. Though she'd loved Nick in her own way, she hadn't been blind to his faults. He'd been pretty self-centered, and competitive to the extreme. She sighed. Especially with Jared.
Somehow, she had to come to terms with all this, because she couldn't let Jared just walk out of her life again. She needed this — needed him — in her life.
Give me strength.
Determined, she turned her attention back to the stage, watching Jared do things with his hips that set her insides ablaze. She bit her lower lip and sighed.
"Ooops."
Margo glanced over to find Steph shoving napkins toward Raquel, who had spilled her drink.
When Margo met Raquel's gaze, a jolt went through her. The woman's eyes had disturbed her before, and now she knew why. Without all the makeup, Raquel's eyes were just like Nick's.
Impossible.
Raquel's expression grew solemn, and she gave Margo a sheepish grin as she pushed to her feet. "Be right back." Raquel left the table to weave her way toward the rest rooms.
"She's wearing sneakers," Steph said. "Amazing transformation. Kind of like a butterfly in reverse."
"PMS." Mrs. Brown sipped her tropical beverage, her gaze never leaving the stage. "Can I take one of them home with me?"
Steph laughed. "Now, what would Mr. Brown think of that?"
"He won't care. He's been dead ten years."
He won't care. He's been dead… Mrs. Brown's words echoed through Margo's brain. She was alive. She had a right to lead a happy and fulfilled life.
With anyone she pleased.
Would Nick's ghost always lurk between them? Would his memory always create this surge of guilt in Margo's heart and mind? Did Jared feel guilty about Nick?
And who the hell was Raquel Eastwood?
Deciding to focus on the present for now, she looked at the stage gain. The set ended, and Jared blew Margo a kiss as he followed the other dancers offstage. Somehow, she would find a way to come to terms with everything.
Right now, though, Margo had to find out why and how Raquel Eastwood had looked at her with her late husband's eyes. And how she knew so many things about him.