Seems Like Old Times Read online

  Vic watched Tony put the leftovers in the refrigerator and stuff the food wrappings in the trash. "What's wrong?"

  Tony froze. "Nothing!" He slammed the under-the-sink cabinet door where the garbage was gathered, then he stopped and drew in his breath. He had no business being irritable with his father. It wasn't Vic's fault that he was crackling with nervous energy. He felt like a cat in a lightning storm, but he didn’t know why. Or did he? He rubbed the back of his neck. "Look, would you watch Ben for a couple of hours? I think I'll go for a drive or something."

  "You goin’ any place special?" Vic’s question was pointed, and Tony knew it.

  "No." His answer was equally pointed.

  Vic shrugged. His once-muscular shoulders had lost most of their bulk, but kept a sinewy strength. "So, to go no place special, you can't take Ben with you?"

  Tony turned from the window. "If you don't want to watch him, you can just say so--"

  Vic waved his hand as if brushing Tony's comment aside. "That's not what I said. You think I was born yesterday?"

  Tony's jaw tightened. "What's that supposed to mean?"

  "A friend of mine saw your old girlfriend's aunt a couple days ago. She told him Lisa was comin’ back and that the two of them was gonna empty out her mother's house. Get the place ready to sell. Now you're goin’ off and won't say where."

  "What? Did I say that?" Tony waved his arms as he spoke. "Did I say I won't say where I'm going? Did I?"

  "But you didn't say where."

  "Jesus Christ, Pa! Maybe I don't know where. What the hell!" He grabbed his sweatshirt and pulled it on. "I'm getting out of here."

  "You gonna go to her house?"

  Tony yanked the sweatshirt into place, then put his hands on the top rail of a kitchen chair. "Christ, that's the last place I want to go. Anyway, you're wrong about one thing. Lisa's not back. The woman I saw yesterday was no more Lisa than Astroturf is a baseball field."

  Vic’s mouth wrinkled in disgust. "Still, you wanna go see her."

  Tony’s irritation swelled. "I don't want to go see her! I didn't expect asking you to watch your own grandson would turn into an inquisition."

  "I'll watch Ben, but I gotta be sure you got the brains to stay away from a woman like her, Tony. You gotta stick with nice, simple women. Ones you can tell what makes them happy."

  There was a silence, then a low, deep, growly reminder. "I'm not a kid," Tony said, holding his agitation in check. "I don't need your advice. Especially about women."

  Vic harumphed and picked up his beer. "Don't seem to me you done so good without it."

  Anger surged, but died almost immediately. In its place came regret. Tony turned to look out the kitchen window. Ben was out there running around imaginary bases, pretending he’d hit a home run, most likely. Somehow, watching Ben always helped bring him back on track.

  From the time he’d heard of Judith Reynolds’s death, he’d wondered if Lisa might come back here. A part of him wanted to see her, but another part hated the thought. His feelings for her had gone from a boyhood infatuation to black, pure hatred to, finally, just a quiet disappointment that she had taken their affection and closeness and had made it so ugly. He'd thought he'd forgotten all about her--that she was just another pretty face on TV--until he'd heard yesterday that she was coming home.

  Many times over the years he had wondered how it would feel to see her again. He wondered what he would say to her, if anything. The way they’d parted, there wasn’t much left to say. No, that wasn’t true. There was everything to say. Starting with why?

  He had avoided watching her on TV as much as possible. It was more than he could tolerate. His memories were too strong to handle the one-dimensional image. The girl he knew was brilliant, ambitious, and surprisingly tough-minded--Lisa was never the sweet little miss she'd pretended to be--much more vivacious, much more real than the cool, golden, glittery creation who so seriously presented the news each night. He wondered how she’d look and sound without the make-up and hair style and jewelry and speech lessons that went along with being a television star. Was any of the old Lisa left at all?

  Yes, he had definitely wondered what it would be like to face her again. The only problem was that he'd never suspected it'd feel the way it did. Wretched, confusing, scary. She had looked beautiful, so god-damned beautiful it actually had made his chest ache to see her. Even more than before, and Lisa had looked gorgeous from the first day they’d met, even though she’d seemed scared to death of him.

  What had she been doing at the park yesterday? Lee Reynolds at a snack shack, for crying out loud, wearing an expensive blue dress that made her glow, that hinted at the familiar gentle curves, the long sexy legs it covered. Seeing her was like a kick in the balls, and he had reacted in kind.

  There was no damn reason she should have had that effect on him. Not after all these years. Not after half a lifetime.

  God, but he felt like an asshole for just standing there that way, gaping at her like some star-dazzled groupie, not saying a word, not even waving. She must have thought he was a complete jerk.

  Now that he’d seen her again, gotten the shock out his system, he’d love just five minutes with her, with that new "Lee" Reynolds. Just five minutes to show her how little she mattered to him, to show her how much he'd made out of his life. How easy it was, now, for him to walk away from her.

  He folded his arms and turned back to Vic. "Don't ever think I still care about her, Pa. You'd be dead wrong. She's no more to me than a bad memory of how ambitious and cold a woman can be."

  Vic glanced at his son. Vic's weather-beaten face had been baked hard by the sun, and his black eyes were barely more than thin slits in heavy folds of skin. "This is a small town, Tony. It's easy for you to say those words now, but don't forget them when you have to talk to her, face to face. For your sake, remember how you felt when she left. Then get the hell away from her."

  "What the hell do you think? That she's been on my mind all my life? Well, she hasn't!"

  Vic folded his arms. "The sooner she gets outta Miwok the sooner I’ll like it."

  The front doorbell rang. Vic glanced at his son.

  "I'm not expecting anyone," Tony said.

  "You better go see who it is, then."

  Tony strode down the long hallway to the front door, Vic following. Trish Hollingsworth stood at the door, holding a pizza box. She was young and short, with a knockout body. Her auburn hair was styled with thick, brightly shining bangs that met her eyelashes. The sides fell from a center part to just below her ears where they were bluntly cut all the way around and formed a wedge in back. A low cut, tight white dress with a straight skirt that stopped about ten inches above her knees revealed as much as possible without fear of arrest.

  "Hi, Tony, Vic," she said as she breezed past them into the house. "I hope I'm not too late. I figured you wouldn't want to cook after your game today."

  "Actually, Trish..." Tony still held the doorknob.

  She glanced over her shoulder once, then continued toward the kitchen, her back motor in high gear.

  Vic watched her go, raised one eyebrow, then looked at Tony, "Now that's a woman easy to understand. Time for me to leave. I’ll take Ben down to my place."

  "There's no need for that, Pa."

  Vic shrugged. "You can always come and get him later." He went outside and called Ben. Tony glanced at the door he was still holding open, then shut it and headed for the kitchen.

  Trish had opened the box, plucked a piece of stringy mozzarella off the top of the pizza and was holding it high in the air. With her tongue, she found the end of the cheese string, then slowly lowered it into her mouth. She kept her eyes on Tony as she licked the oily cheese and pizza sauce off her fingertips, one by one.

  His stomach clenched. "Thanks for bringing it, Trish. If I’d have known...We already ate, though."

  "No problem." She smiled jauntily, and put the box top back in place, opened the refrigerator and tossed it inside. Then
she spun toward him, hands on hips. "Cold pizza's great. Especially for breakfast." She lifted her eyebrows suggestively.

  The house was silent.

  "No. You can take it home."

  She stepped close to him and leaned forward until her breasts touched his chest. "But I bought it for you." She pressed closer. "I wanted to give it to you. To fill you." She placed one hand against his stomach, then began to slide it lower.

  He stepped back. "No need Trish."

  She wrapped her arms around his neck, rocking her pelvis from side to side against him as she spoke. "You're just angry that I missed your ball game. I'm sorry, Tony."

  Trish had a manicure shop in town. Tony found it hard to believe anyone could make a living off the vanity of women about their nails, but she did. A good living, too. She was too young for him--about twenty-three--and outside of bed, they had nothing in common. The sex was good, though.

  Against his will he could feel his body reacting to her slow, seductive movements. He put his hands on her waist and tried to push her away, but her tongue tickled his ear, sending shivers down him. "God, Trish!" As he let go of her waist to rub his ear, she licked his neck, then his chin, and finally his lips. She kept one arm still around his neck, but the other drifted downward until she touched the fly of his jeans. "We'll have our own ball game, Tony," she whispered then giggled. It was an old joke, one he had grown tired of long ago. "You know you like it," she insisted. "You always do." He grabbed her arms, wanting to push her away, but as she continued to stroke him, he felt himself grow hard. He shut his eyes. Why was he fighting her? Just because an old girlfriend was in town? Who did he think he was kidding? Trish wanted him. Lisa never did. Once, Lisa could have had him on a silver platter, but she kicked it aside and left. Her dreams for a career always came first with her, and, he was sure, they still did. The hell with her.

  He looked at Trish. He didn't love her, but he never had pretended to either. She knew exactly where she stood. Raising hands to the spaghetti straps of her dress, he slid them from her shoulders and down her arms. She wore nothing underneath. Pushing her back against the refrigerator as his mouth came down hard on hers. She wanted him, but he needed her--needed her to help him forget.

  Chapter 6

  Cheryl telephoned Lee early the next morning and suggested going to lunch that very day in the Old Town section of Miwok. Lee had planned to go to a shopping mall with Miriam to look for new carpeting and drapery, but was glad for an excuse to put it off a bit longer. Although the place needed to be spruced up before it went on the market, the thought of so brazenly redecorating her mother's house bothered her. She could all but see Judith's furious reaction.

  Miriam didn't mind the revised plans at all, and sounded pleased that Lee and Cheryl had enjoyed each other's company so much.

  Lee changed into an ivory and navy Louis Vuitton dress and Rossetti navy pumps, drove over to Cheryl's, and together the two of them went the short distance to Old Town. There, the town of Miwok had been established one hundred fifty years ago as little more than a junction along the railroad line. Many of the original buildings had been restored and were still in use.

  The number of new boutiques in the area astonished Lee, but her heart warmed at the sight of Porky's Chili Bar, the Do Drop Inn, the Old Ball and Chain Pool Hall, Amazing Grace Religious Artifacts, Kettleman's Jewelers, and the rickety old Miwok Cinema with gum on every seat and sticky, spilled coke in every aisle.

  Each place had been a part of her youth, even though they now stood side-by-side with a modernistic sculpture and jewelry maker, an art gallery, and a French restaurant.

  "Let’s take a couple of minutes before we go eat." Cheryl grabbed Lee's arm as she turned into the Cantelli Saddle Company. "Gene Cantelli's a friend. I'd like you to meet him."

  The small store, filled with tack, and smelling of leather, hay and saddle soap, had the comfortable, rustic feel of an old time livery stable’s tack room.

  A man stood in the back of the store oiling a beautiful, hand-tooled Western saddle. He appeared to be in his fifties, with curly, steel gray hair, a gray mustache under a generous nose, and sparkling amber eyes.

  "Cheryl, hello," he called out as they entered. "This must be the famous friend you told me about." Wiping his hands on a clean cloth, he stepped around the counter and held out his calloused hand as Cheryl made the introductions.

  "Hello, Mr. Cantelli," Lee said, returning his sharp-eyed scrutiny with quiet poise. The twinkle in his eye, she decided, had less to do with her fame than with a masculine appreciation.

  "The name's Gene. Welcome to the shop."

  "Hey, Gene, that's a drop-dead gorgeous saddle," Cheryl said.

  "Yeah. Tony bought it. He should be in here any time to pick it up."

  Lee's gaze snapped from the saddle to Gene, then quickly to Cheryl who had discovered an intense fascination with mink oil and saddle soap.

  "You probably remember Tony Santos," Gene said to Lee. "Him and his old man are good buddies of mine."

  "I remember him," she murmured coolly, her suspicions aroused by this turn of conversation. Were these two up to something here?

  "I’ll bet Lisa, I mean Lee, has never seen the pictures you’ve got of Tony and Vic," Cheryl said, avoiding Lee's gaze.

  "Right there." Gene pointed to a wall filled with framed photographs. "Take your time. Look around." Gene was effusive.

  Lee glanced from one to the other. She walked over to the photos and immediately recognized Vic Santos. Lots of photos showed Vic standing beside a horse, holding an award, and several showed him on the ranch, working with the animals. There were pictures of Tony as well at the Circle Z. Lee stepped closer to get a better look. Why had Cheryl wanted her to see these? Soon, though, she found herself smiling at pictures of Tony and his dad together--Tony as usual wearing a baseball cap, and his dad in a big Stetson. That was so like the two of them, ever at odds, but together, nonetheless. Quite the opposite were her and her mother, who had never openly fought, except once.

  Interspersed among them were pictures of a young Gene Cantelli at rodeo shows, holding trophies, a few of him hanging tight onto a bronco or a bull.

  "My goodness," Lee said. "You look great in these rodeo shots."

  "I was great," Gene said with a smile, "until my back went out."

  She winced. "I’m sorry." She was impressed, though, and it showed. She went back to the photos.

  It seemed odd to think of Tony making a purchase in a store like this. She remembered how much he used to complain about having to spend his summers working at the Circle Z with his father. Judging from the pictures, it looked like his father still worked there.

  The smells in the saddle shop awakened her memories of the times Tony invited her out to the ranch to "help" him. She fingered some leather reins, remembering. What might have been work for the ranch hands, was pure fun for the two teenagers. At one point in her life--Lee guessed she was thirteen or fourteen--she loved horses more than anything else in the world. Now, she sometimes wondered if she loved anything at all. Other than Miriam. And Bruce, of course.

  Since Tony was buying a saddle, could that mean that he, too, now worked on a horse ranch? Maybe on the Circle Z with his father? Lee's heart sank for him. He had such dreams at one time. Dreams of baseball...

  She didn’t follow baseball. Not at all. Once, she thought she’d heard his name mentioned by a sports announcer on a news show, but it was probably someone else. So many Latin players were in the game, and Santos was a fairly common name.

  She faced Gene. "I see you've known the Santos family for years," she said with forced cheerfulness.

  Gene grinned. "I met Vic Santos when I was busting my a, um, backside, on some mustangs in Montana. We became good friends. One day, after I had to give up the rodeo and was on my way to becoming one of those guys who gets drunk and bores everyone with stories about the good ol’ days, Vic called me up and said they could use me at the Circle Z and would I come? Would I!
I started working with Vic and that scrappy son of his. Tony was off playing baseball most of the year, but then he got a little more horse sense, I guess, since he finally came back to us."

  "I see," Lee whispered. Gene's words confirmed her fears about Tony's job. It had probably been too difficult for him to try to make it in baseball and support a family, besides. Minor leaguers, she’d always heard, made a pittance of a salary, and traveled constantly. For those who didn’t have the talent or luck to make it to the top, it was a difficult, stress-filled life.

  "Tony helped me get this place going," Gene added. "It's doing real well, too."

  "I can see why." Lee touched a saddle, feeling the smooth, warm leather. "Your stock is exquisite."

  Gene beamed. "That's 'cause I know where to get the best of everything."

  Lee smiled. "It's been nice talking to you, Gene, but I guess we should get going. Are you hungry, Cheryl?"

  "Well..." Cheryl looked at her watch, then at Gene.

  He shrugged.

  "I guess so. Will you join us, Gene?"

  "No, thanks. About the only thing more boring than to talk about my old school days, is to listen to someone else talk about theirs."

  "We promise not one word if you'll come along," Lee said.

  Gene's steady gaze seemed to be taking in her measure. "Thanks, but I'd better wait for Tony to pick up his saddle. Seems he's late, as always."

  "We'll see you around, Gene," Cheryl said quickly. "Thanks, anyway."

  "Nice to meet you," Lee said, shaking Gene's hand. It was all she could do not to let on to these two the transparency of their plan, although they'd surely deny it. But why would they want her and Tony to meet here? He was happily married, wasn't he? And anyway, she was happily engaged.

  o0o

  Lee leaned back against the family room sofa watching a Bonanza rerun with Miriam. Lee had never watched the show before, but it had been a big favorite of Miriam’s. Apparently, the most dangerous thing in the Old West was to have been a woman and have a Cartwright fall in love with you. Fifty minutes later, you'd be dead.