“Hello?”
“It’s Sam.” Steve and others called her “Sami.” To Matt, she’d always been Sam. She closed her eyes and pictured his face. The curve of his lips, the smile in his eyes.
“Hey, what’s up?” he asked.
“You called me first.”
“You and Boy Genius feel up to a game of tennis?”
Sami glanced down the hall at Steve’s closed door. “I’d love to get out of here, but I doubt we’ll get his royal highness to leave the confines of his sanctuary.”
“Is everything okay?”
“He threw another tantrum this morning over a box of notes he put in the cellar and forgot. I’m ready to kill him or divorce him. Maybe both at this point. I’m really, really sick of his bullshit.”
Matt’s tone softened. “Why don’t you meet me at the club? Leave him stewing at home. We’ll play for a couple of hours.”
“You’ll kick my ass. You know I can’t play well. God knows you tried to teach me.”
He laughed. “Why do you think I want to play you? I love an easy kill.”
“Two okay?”
“Looking forward to it.”
She hung up and fought back memories, especially not wanting to go there after the bad morning she’d had with Steve. Why did she leave Matt and marry Steve? Oh yeah. At the time, she really wanted to get married and have children.
For all the good it did her.
She took a shower and tried to drop thoughts of the past.
Chapter Seven
“Arrrr-oooof!” Sami dove for the ball and missed, almost losing her balance and going headlong into the fence.
“Game!” Matt crowed, trotting over. “Good thing you aren’t a gambling woman.”
“I’d bet on you,” she panted, rubbing a stitch in her side. It wasn’t even close, and she’d quit keeping score after the first set, playing just a way for her to relieve tension. They hadn’t played in months.
Matt still moved as agile as ever. Three inches taller than her five feet eight, and some might say on the stocky side, built fit and solid. Sami couldn’t keep up with him, and she considered herself in good shape even though a few extra pounds had collected over the years in her hips and thighs.
She pulled the ponytail holder from her brown hair and corralled the stray strands that had come loose during their match. Matt patted her shoulder. “Want something to drink? My treat.” His hair had turned prematurely gray, more salt than pepper, but his face looked years younger than forty-three, with playful blue-gray eyes.
“Ought to be, the way you almost killed me.” She reached for her bag when a wave of dizziness swept over her. Matt dropped his racket, steadying her.
“You okay, Sam?”
She held on, meeting his eyes, her heart skipping a beat. “Yeah…yeah, I’m okay.”
He studied her, and she fought the urge to hug him. “You sure, sweetie?”
She finally found the sense of mind to nod. “I’m okay. Just the heat. I need some water.”
He grabbed her bag despite her protests and led her into the snack bar. Once he had her settled at a table in the air-conditioning, he fetched bottles of water.
“So, how’s Boy Genius’s latest masterpiece?” he asked upon his return.
Sami studied the table.
“Sam?” Matt gently touched her hand.
“You’ll have to ask him. I took a peek at the file a couple of days ago. He was in the shower and left the computer up.”
“And?”
She shrugged. “It sucks. You know what pisses me off? He’s blocked, but he won’t talk about it. He used to bounce stuff off me all the time. Now it’s like I don’t even exist unless he needs me for something.” She snorted in aggravation. “Or he wants to yell at me about something.”
“He hasn’t said anything about the book?”
She took another sip. “No. I ask him, ‘How’s the book?’ and he says, ‘Fine.’ That’s it.”
“But it’s not fine?”
Might as well let it all out. “He thinks he’s hiding it. He never used to be like this, and I hate it. Getting information out of him is like dragging a right-wing Republican into a MoveOn.org meeting.”
Matt studied his water bottle. “Is he drinking again?” he quietly asked.
She looked away. “I hope not.” She rolled the bottle around in her hands and then sighed. “Actually, the sad thing is, part of me hopes he is so I can stick a fork in this marriage and call it done for good.”
“Do you want me to talk to him?”
She shook her head, not meeting his eyes. “I’m tired of talking.”
They sat in silence for a while. She felt like he wanted to say something. “What is it?”
“Hmm? What?”
She smiled. “I don’t think we ever lost that ESP. What’s on your mind?”
“I really miss that.” He dropped his gaze. “I wanted to ask if you needed any help with the move.”
“What move?”
Matt froze. “Steve didn’t tell you?”
“Matthew Barry, please. Steve didn’t tell me what?”
“About the house he rented for you two?”
Sami closed her eyes. “What house?”
Matt reddened, embarrassed. “Uh, the house he rented in Florida for the summer? Outside of Brooksville?”
A Florida native, Sami hadn’t lived there in over ten years. Ohio was home ever since she graduated from Ohio University and took a teaching position before her first novel sold and she could write full-time. Ohio was home. With Steve.
With Matt.
“When did he do this?”
“He told me last week. He didn’t say anything to you about it?”
She leaned back in her chair and fought the urge to scream. “Not a thing. Christ.”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have opened my mouth.”
She touched his hand and resisted the urge to hold it. “No, Matt, it’s not your fault. Steve’s been working his way toward an asshole of the year award. I think he finally earned it.”
* * * *
Matt watched her drive off, wishing he’d kept his mouth shut. He never should have let her get away in the first place. It had taken every ounce of will in his body not to slug Steve when he broke the news the other day. Steve wanted to take Sam to Florida for the summer.
His Sam.
He’d assumed the dumb-ass would have told her by now.
How long did he torture himself? Maybe this was for the best. Maybe with Sam in Florida, he could finally get her out of his mind. God knows nothing else had worked over the years. And except in his heart, she wasn’t his anymore anyway.
Maybe it was time for some distance.
But could he handle it?
* * * *
Normally respectful of Steve’s privacy, Sami burst through his study door, flinging it open so hard it slammed against the wall and bounced halfway back. Steve looked up from his laptop, startled.
“Steven Corey, what the hell’s your problem?”
Stunned into momentary silence by her fury, he finally asked, “Honey, what’s wrong?”
“Don’t you honey me, asshole. What’s wrong? You’ve been acting like a major prick for the past several months, then you chew me out this morning for something I didn’t do. Now Matt tells me you’ve rented a house in Florida, and you haven’t bothered to tell me! You better explain why I shouldn’t kick your ass out right now.”
He blanched, visibly shaken. “Oh, no! I meant to tell you, honey—I wanted it to be a surprise.”
“Well, congratulations, you surprised me. What the hell do you think you’re doing? Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t just go ahead and file for divorce and get it over with? I am sick of this bullshit!”
It wasn’t the first time she’d broached the subject of divorce, but this was the first time he actually seemed to hear her say the word.
He started talking, and it spilled out, the stress, the writer’s
block, the anxiety, how he wanted them to get away for a while. When he finished, Sami thought she glimpsed her husband behind the desk, the man she married, apologetic for hurting her yet again.
Sami took a deep breath and walked over to him. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her into his lap.
“I know I’ve been shitty to you lately,” he said, “and I’m sorry. And I wouldn’t blame you if you did leave me. I don’t know what the hell’s wrong with me. I need to get away. I wanted to surprise you for our anniversary. I meant to tell you but…” He waved his hand, indicating the scattered papers on his desk and floor. “I got busy again. I’m sorry. Can I have one more chance? Please?”
She took a deep breath and tried to calm her temper. One more chance. What could it hurt? “What about the horses? I can’t leave them, and I won’t board them.”
“That’s what’s so great about this place. Ten acres of land, smack in the middle of a state forest. Fenced, a barn, miles of riding trails, we’ll trailer them down. I’ve thought this out. It’ll be great, a way to spend some time together…”
Chapter Eight
Sami didn’t really want to go to Florida, but made the plans anyway.
It’s just for the summer. I’ll hold off filing for divorce until after he gets this book turned in. I told him I’d give him one more chance.
She knew it was a cop-out on her part, but despite all the bullshit she’d put up with from him lately, she didn’t want to screw up his progress on the book.
And it would give her time to get her ducks in a row for the divorce. She didn’t want his money. She just wanted a return to a peaceful life.
Who am I kidding? I want to be with Matt.
She resented the fact that she felt taken in by Steve. He wooed her with one personality, then changed once they were married. She couldn’t exactly call him abusive, considering what she’d grown up witnessing, but life was too short to live like this.
And time away from Matt would give her time to think clearly, to make sure this was the right decision.
It took her all of the three weeks she had to get packed and organized for their trip. Steve had rented the house for six months. While Sami wasn’t looking forward to a hot Florida summer, she enjoyed Steve’s slightly improved mood. With the secrets out in the open, Steve acted somewhat his old self again, and Sami tried to put his sour disposition behind her. He wasn’t totally back to normal, but at least he wasn’t picking fights or being nasty as much as he had been.
Unfortunately, his libido didn’t improve either.
The drive down wasn’t bad. Except for several rest stops to stretch the horses, they drove straight through. Matt had meetings in Tampa in a few weeks and would drive down in Sami’s Explorer with another trailerload of items.
He would also bring Pog, their five-year-old yellow Lab. Sami didn’t like saddling Matt with the rambunctious dog, but she’d never trailered the horses more than a few miles and knew her nerves would be taxed enough by the trip without an eighty-pound bundle of hyperactive dog, too. She’d miss him but trusted Matt to take good care of him.
Sami drove the last leg of the journey on Tuesday evening while Steve navigated from the maps provided by the real estate company.
“It’s right off the interstate. The exit’s only a few miles ahead,” he said.
The sun sank dangerously low on the horizon. “I hope so. I don’t want to hunt around in the woods for this place after dark.”
She followed Steve’s directions to a service road encircling a hotel, ending at a gate with a cattle guard crossing. Slowing, she carefully bumped across the rough surface and rolled to a stop in front of the gatehouse.
She climbed down from the truck and stretched, her spine popping. Steve went to the ranger shack while she checked the horses. Their nostrils flared as they sniffed the strange air.
“I know, boys. Just a few more minutes. I hope.”
A brown wooden sign with yellow lettering read “Withlacoochee State Forest—Croom Motorcycle Area.” She looked down the road. It was deep, sandy clay loam, loose and dry, deeply rutted by hundreds of vehicles, trailers, dirt bikes, and ATVs. A quarter mile ahead, the road climbed in what she considered a steep grade for the conditions. She was grateful for the truck’s four-wheel drive package. Which led to another thought as she watched a truck towing a small motorcycle trailer slough past her through the deep sand and charge up the grade—how would they drive that without beating the horses to death?
Steve walked around the back of the trailer while Sami watched the truck’s banzai run as it fishtailed in the sandy loam. Behind Steve followed a man wearing a green Department of Forestry uniform and baseball cap.
“Sami, this is Tom Jenkins, the head park ranger. We were talking about the horses—”
She pointed at the hill, where the truck and trailer disappeared over the top. “You don’t have to tell me. I’ll ride them in.” The trailer was a four-horse slant, but they’d filled the front two stalls with items they brought from Ohio, not to mention enough feed and hay for the horses for a week. It was heavy even without the horses.
“Um, Mrs. Corey, in all honestly, it’ll be difficult. There’s still a lot of bikes around this time of day. Your horses are liable to spook.”
Sami was exhausted, pre-menstrual, and in no mood to debate the issue. She’d already unhooked the back door. “You let me worry about it. Steve, get me Mutt’s saddle and both bridles out of the front.”
If it wasn’t so late and she didn’t have a government employee as a witness, she’d strangle Steve. He mentioned nothing about an off-road ATV park when he talked up the house’s benefits. Ten acres in a state park with miles of trails, that’s what he’d said.
Steve talked with the ranger, getting detailed directions. From her best guess they still had an hour of daylight, but it would be darker in the woods. Ten minutes later she swung into the saddle and Steve handed her Jeff’s reins. “Let’s go,” she said.
“Okay, hon.”
He got into the truck and dropped it into four-wheel low. Building up speed before the grade, the truck’s engine revved and strained as he gunned it, the wheels spinning a few times and fishtailing, the trailer bouncing, but Steve made it up the hill without getting stuck. Once he reached the crest he waited for Sami to catch up.
That was the worst. It took ten minutes at the horses’ walking pace to reach their driveway, a winding dirt track disappearing into twilight gloom through the slash pines and scrub oaks. Sami didn’t know if it was the horses’ jumpiness or her nerves, but she felt relieved when they emerged in a large, mostly cleared, fenced-in property. The gate was off, but leaning against a nearby post.
The house stood guard over all, with a small barn about fifty yards away. Lights shined in the house, and a Jeep was parked out front.
Steve climbed out of the truck as Sami rode up. “Are you sure this is it?” she asked.
He nodded, consulting the sheaf of papers in his hand. “The agent said he’d meet us.”
The front door opened and a young man walked down the porch steps to meet them. “Hi, I’m Andy Wilson. You must be the Coreys.”
Steve shook hands, making the introductions.
Andy nodded to Sami. “I’ve got all your paperwork, and I’ll give you the grand tour.”
The man, maybe in his early twenties, seemed nervous and in a hurry.
Sami wouldn’t be rushed. “I’d like to put the horses up first.”
“Oh, sure. I’ll show you where the lights are.” They followed him to the barn, Steve taking Jeff’s reins from Sami. Andy fumbled inside the barn doorway for a moment, as if reluctant to step inside the building, and the lights came on. It was a four-stall stable with a tack room, old and in desperate need of a good cleaning, but sturdy.
Dispensing with the horses’ normal grooming, she made a quick safety check of the small corral adjacent to the barn and turned them out until she could attend to them properly. Andy seemed r
elieved to return to the house, but from his nervous demeanor she suspected he wouldn’t relax until the property disappeared from his rearview mirror.
Sami sympathized—she felt it. An unsettled atmosphere, almost like an impending rainstorm despite the clear dusk sky. A feeling of being watched.
Or, maybe just exhaustion from a long trip.
The house was ugly. She couldn’t soften that impression, and it didn’t help her mood. It looked like a Queen Anne–style, two stories, and what appeared to be a large attic with a windowed corner turret. The clapboard siding was a dark gray color, maybe faded from black, or mildewed from white. It had promise, but only with a lot of TLC and elbow grease. A newer screened porch wrapped around the entire first floor, and a carport with a storage room extended off the kitchen.
“Are those basement windows?” she asked as they climbed the porch stairs.
Andy looked where she pointed. “Oh, yes. This area is very high and dry, unlike most of the state.”
They walked into the kitchen. It was clean, but Sami didn’t see many redeeming features beyond that. Fifties-style enameled-steel cabinets covered the walls, and an ugly but serviceable dinette with four mismatched chairs sat in the center on the faded and scratched white-and-green checkerboard linoleum. A new refrigerator, stove, and microwave still bore manufacturer stickers. Andy pointed out the basement door, which she first assumed was a pantry.
“How old is the house?” she inquired.
He consulted the notes. “Um, built around 1908. It’s been renovated several times.”
“Renovated?” Steve doubtfully asked.
Andy laughed. “Yeah, I know, but at least the electric and plumbing are up to date, and it’s got a two-year-old central heat and air system. The washer and dryer are downstairs, brand new.”
He consulted the paperwork. “There’s also a new diesel emergency generator. It’ll power the house, the AC, and the well pump. There’s a phone in the hall, that’s the only one, but there are several phone jacks and you can get DSL connected. No cable, but there’s a satellite dish. The details on activating the service are in the information packet.”