The Pretender (9 page)

Sunny’s confused look sought Sage; he held both hands
up and shook his head. Damned if he was going to explain the man.

Sunny shifted the appeal to J.J., then Rachel, who cleared her throat and said, “It’s kind of a long story.” J.J. shifted in his chair. Rachel glanced at him, then continued, “Okay. Well…I was out walking one day, and this old man came riding—”

“Oh! Speaking of riding,” Josie interrupted, turning abruptly to Sunny. “Do
you like to ride?”

There was a moment’s shocked silence, and nobody was more surprised by the interruption than Sage. Obviously, his mother was as anxious as he was to steer the conversation away from the subject of Sam Malone, but he thought she might have been a little more subtle.

Sunny gave her head a shake and her voice, faint with confusion, broke the silence. “R-ride?”

“Horses.” Rachel had turned to Sunny, all pink-cheeked with enthusiasm. “Oh, please tell me you do. It would be so nice to have someone to ride with.”

“Oh, God, no.” Sunny’s voice had gone husky, and the expression on her face was something close to horror. “I’m a city girl, remember? Uh…New York?”

“That’s okay,” Rachel said, giving J.J. a nudge with her elbow, “J.J.’s a city boy,
too, and he’s learning. Or, he was, before he got hurt.”

“Yeah,” J.J. drawled, “it was a pretty extreme way to get out of riding, but hey—it worked.”

Rachel smiled and nudged him again with her elbow. Josie said, “Maybe you could teach Sunny to ride, too, Rachel.”

And Sage heard himself say, “I might have some time.” He looked up at Sunny and found her staring at him. He didn’t
look away. “If…you’re interested.”

Her eyes seemed to shimmer—or was it just him? Something weird that happened in his brain when he looked at her. Whatever it was, it made him feel slightly dizzy. He opened his mouth to say something—to take the offer back, at least make some sort of qualification—and at the same time, her lips parted as if words were trying to decide whether or not to
come out.

But before either of them could say anything, his mother jumped up, grabbed the salad bowl and headed for the kitchen. Then, naturally, Rachel jumped up and asked if she needed any help, and so did Sunny.

“Oh, no, that’s okay, you just sit down,” Josie said.

She was all smiles, but Sage knew better. His mother’s voice was tight…clipped. Something was bugging her, and
he figured it was most likely Sam—or his absence—since if anybody had cause to be fed up with Sam Malone’s disappearing act, it was Josie.

He shifted in his chair, thinking maybe he ought to go in and ask her what was on her mind. Which he knew would be pointless because his mother wasn’t going to talk to
him
about personal stuff, particularly anything having to do with Sam.

And while
he was considering, his mind half elsewhere, he heard Rachel say something about Sunny’s cat.

He jerked his attention back to the table, just as J.J. remarked, “Well, you shouldn’t have let her out so soon.”

Sunny shook her head. “I didn’t. She was out earlier to go to the bathroom, but I live in an apartment, so she’s never been an outside cat. I left her in my room with the door
closed and went to take a shower, and when I came out, the door was open and she was gone.”

J.J. made a sound that pretended to be laughter, the kind of sound a cop makes when a suspect tells him stories he doesn’t believe. “Oh, right,” he said as he forked up a bite of salad, “so I guess she opened the door all by herself.”

“I believe she did,” Sunny shot back, not a bit intimidated.

Sage had to hand it to her; the sheriff could be a pretty intimidating guy. When she went on, her voice was low and vibrant, with a resonance that seemed to find corresponding harmonies in him, the way a cat’s purring sometimes made his chest hum.

“She’s tried to, before. She can’t manage a doorknob, but the French doors have those handles you just pull down on. Anyway.” She lifted
her head and stared him down. “Who else could have opened it?”

“Maybe,” J.J. said equably, pushing back his salad plate, “you only
thought
you shut the door.”

“I
know
I shut it.” She held up her bandaged hand. “I know my cat. And I’m not stupid.”

Watching her stand up to the sheriff like that, looking like a queen with her head high on that long graceful neck, and her eyes sparking
like flint on steel, he felt a rush of something that was almost exhilaration, like a fine cool spray of water on a hot day that could make him gasp and whoop with the sheer pleasure of it.

He heard his own voice say, “I’ll help you find her. She’s somewhere in the courtyard. She’ll keep until after we eat.”

Josie came through the door just then, juggling a platter heavy with roast
beef and vegetables and a small bowl containing cheese and deviled eggs for Sunny. He got up to help her, so he didn’t see Sunny’s face as she murmured a breathy, “Thank you.”

But the sound was like warm fur on his ears.

The evening had turned unexpectedly cool, after the heat of the day. A breeze had come up, carrying with it the scents of growing things Abby didn’t recognize and
making the long arching wands of climbing roses dip and wave as if they danced to music she couldn’t hear.

She stood on the veranda, hugging herself and rubbing her arms, thinking again how
quiet
it was. Though not silent; there were sounds: the shushing of wind through distant trees, the rustling of leaves closer by, the musical trickle of water in the central fountain, the mooing of a
cow somewhere far away. The rhythmic chirping of some sort of creature—frogs, crickets—how would
she
know? But these sounds were soft…gentle…peaceful, so different from the sounds of a New York City night. There, the night would be noisy with the muted roar of traffic, the wail of a siren, horns honking, someone’s radio thumping, people shouting—angry, impatient, hurrying, frantic sounds. She
felt a sudden wave of homesickness for the craziness of the city—and how did that make sense, when she so did
not
want to go back to it?

She heard a light tapping at the door to her room and went to open it. Sage loomed, silhouetted against the light in the alcove behind him, seeming bigger, somehow, than she knew he really was. Her heart quickened.

“Hi,” she said, her voice breathless.

“Hi,” he replied, his voice soft. “She come back yet?”

“No.” She stood aside to let him in. “I thought she’d come if I went out there, but…I even tried calling her, not that she ever comes when I call.”

Sage’s laugh blended well with the gentle night sounds. “If I call ‘kitty-kitty,’ cats come running from all directions with their tails in the air.”

“Yeah, well, maybe you’ve
noticed, but Pia’s not exactly a normal kitty.” She glanced back at him as she stepped through the door onto the veranda. “Josie said she looks like a…tooga—something? A small mountain lion.”

“Ah—
tuugakut.
Yeah, I can see that. Small head, long body, long tail…those little tufts of hair on the tips of her ears. Wrong color, though. She’s more like a very small gray leopard. Or a stretched-out
lynx cat with a long tail.”

He followed her onto the veranda, and she felt his closeness like a humming below the level of sound. It made her edgy with awareness, and why should that be, she wondered, when in New York there were strangers invading her personal space constantly—in subways, buses, elevators, sidewalks, crowded hallways and dressing rooms. But no stranger had ever set her senses
on alert the way this man did.

“It’s so dark,” she said, gesturing toward the shadowy courtyard. “I thought there would be lights, or something.”

“Like in the city, you mean.” She could hear rather than see the smile in his voice. “Yeah…I remember that about the city. It’s never dark.” He moved to stand beside her and she felt his body’s warmth. “There are lights out here. But if you
turn them on, you can’t see the stars.” He was looking at her; she could tell by the way his voice sounded, though she didn’t dare turn to see. “Look—there’s no moon tonight. You can even see the Milky Way.” His arm lifted, and brushed hers as he pointed.

She couldn’t seem to find words to answer him. Dutifully, she tipped her head to follow his direction, and felt a tickling in her scalp
as her hair touched his shoulder. Her skin prickled as if all the stars in that black sky had come inside her.

“That’s…amazing.” Was that her voice?

She moved away from him, stepping resolutely into the shadowy courtyard. “Here, Pia…come on, Pia-Pia.” Even she could hear the note of desperation in her voice. “Here, kitty-kitty—”

Hands came to rest on her shoulders, fitting warmly
over the rounded parts, and Sage’s voice, close to her ear, murmured, “Hush.” And it was the voice more than the hands that held her in utter stillness, listening to the sound of her own beating heart.

When she heard a familiar chirping sound, her heart gave a hopeful leap—until she realized it had come from Sage, not Pia. He made the sound again, and again they waited in absolute stillness,
while Abby tried not to breathe.

Once more he made the little trilling chirp, so much like Pia’s Abby wouldn’t have believed it had come from a human throat if not for the tickle of breath blowing past her ear.

They waited. She thought she could hear
his
heart beating, not quite in sync with her own. And then, as she was about to speak, to ask, from far away…came a tiny answering chirrup?

“I hear—” Abby cried, half turning.

“Shh.” His hands tightened just a little on her shoulders. “She’s on the roof.” He made the trilling sound again, and after a moment the answer came, from above but closer than before.

“Stay here. I’ll get a ladder.” He slipped soundlessly into the shadows. Her shoulders felt cold where his hands had been.

Chapter 5

T
he evening was chilly, and she’d begun to shiver by the time he returned no more than a minute or two later, though it seemed like hours had passed while she waited alone in the darkness. Hugging herself, she uttered a tiny whimpering sound of relief as she watched him come toward her, a shadowy form moving in a way she realized had already become familiar to her.

Wordlessly, he moved past her. She heard a soft creak and a muted click, then a scuffling, crunching sound as he set the ladder firmly in the soil of a flower bed.

His voice came out of the shadows. “Come here and hold it steady for me.”

She moved toward him and his hand reached for her before she could see it, slipping around her upper arm and drawing her close to him. The sensation
of safety that came to her then was as profound as it was unexpected. Even more so was the feeling of longing she suddenly felt…longing to keep walking another step or two, straight into his arms…to slide her arms around his waist and put her head down on his shoulder.

It’s been a long and trying day,
she thought.
I’m just tired, is all. Any place to lay my weary head would seem like heaven
to me now.

“Hold it here—just like this.” His hands covered hers, guiding them. Then for an instant his body brushed hers, quickly there and then gone, and it was as if someone had waved a lighted torch over her, close enough to singe her skin. She gave a small gasp—she couldn’t help it, and he murmured, “Hold steady, now.”

She managed a breathless “Okay,” and leaned her weight against
the ladder. She felt it sink as he put his weight on the first step, and then he surged upward, catlike himself. He paused, and she felt the rough denim fabric of his jeans brush her cheek. His voice drifted down to her.

“I’m going up another step. Can you hold it?”

“Yes. Okay.” She braced against the ladder and felt his weight shift upward. There was a long silence before the suspense
got to her and she had to ask, “Is she there? Do you see her?”

The only answer was some low
chirring
sounds—Sage’s, she thought, though who could be sure?

“Be careful,” she said, laughing nervously. “Remember, she bites.”

Again, she heard his voice, speaking low in a language she didn’t understand. Her heartbeat was thunder. She leaned her forehead against the cool metal of the
ladder and pressed her lips together. She would
not
ask again.

A sudden creak, his weight on the ladder shifted, and a moment later Sage stood beside her, holding Pia in his arms.
In his arms.
Miraculously, the cat wasn’t growling, biting, hissing, clawing or turning herself into a furious bundle of rage.

“How did you do that?” Her voice was a squeak that ended in a sobbing laugh.
“What are you, a cat whisperer?”

“She was just scared…recognized a savior, I guess.” He was facing her room, and the light spilling from the open French doors highlighted his crooked smile and reflected in the cat’s eyes, turning them into round iridescent buttons. “Didn’t you, little one?”

Fascinated, Abby watched while he gently scratched between the cat’s ears, and Pia turned her
head in a quick, openmouthed way, as if trying to catch his fingers. Abby reached toward the cat, then nervously pulled her hand back. “She won’t let
me
carry her. I’ve never seen her let
anyone
carry her. You must have done
something.
”

He shrugged and began to walk slowly back toward her room, still cradling Pia in his arms. “Like I said, I have a bunch of cats.”

She found herself
walking beside him. “So, that means…what? You speak their language?”

He looked over at her and smiled. “Kind of. I guess.”

He stepped over the doorsill, into her room. She followed and pulled the door shut behind her. Safe inside, Pia vaulted from Sage’s arms onto the bed, where she turned her back on her rescuers and began industriously washing herself.

Sage watched her for
a moment, then shifted his gaze to Abby and said, “How did you come by such a wild thing, living in the big city?”

Her room that had seemed so airy and spacious before now felt warm and close. She moved away from the source of the heat, looking for a patch of air that didn’t hold his clean, masculine scent. Odd, though…it seemed to follow her, making her think again of warm breezes blowing
off sunlit meadows, even though she’d never experienced such a thing in reality before.

“We…found her in the woods. My r-roommate and me.” She took a deep breath.
Be careful…be careful! Remember who you are now.
“She’s my roommate’s cat more than mine, actually.” He waited, not asking the obvious question, except with his eyes. She hitched in another breath, this one to ease the tightness
in her throat, then shrugged. “She, um…she died, so I guess the witch-cat is all mine now.”

“I’m sorry.” Sympathy creased his forehead, but his black gaze didn’t waver. “Recently?”

The familiar pain gripped her chest.
I won’t cry. Sunny wouldn’t cry.
She nodded and tossed her head, defying the grief, and hardened her voice and her eyes. “Yeah—three weeks ago. She was murdered.”

“Wow.” In contrast to hers, his voice was soft, little more than a whisper. “That’s… Wow. How? Have they found the one who did it?”

“No…” came on an exhalation that helped a little to ease the ache in her throat. She went on in a more normal voice. “She was, um…strangled. In an alley. The police think it was a random thing. The chances of finding the killer are pretty slim. So they tell
me.”

He reached out a hand and touched her arm, the kind of thing people do out of sympathy. The kind of thing a lot of people had done, in the days after it happened—friends of hers and Sunny’s, coworkers, neighbors—touches on the arm, pats on the back. Hugs. Lots of hugs, some even from almost-strangers. She hadn’t flinched then, and didn’t know why she flinched now, when Sage touched
her. Ashamed and appalled, she tried to hide it by turning away from him, and it was only when she felt his hand fall away that she realized what she really wanted was to turn
toward
him, have him put his arms around her. Hold her.

What craziness is that? I don’t even know this man.

“I’m sorry,” Sage said again, stiffly, this time. There was a pause, then, “But it’s good you’re here.
I’m glad you’re here.”

She heard the words he didn’t say:
I’m glad it wasn’t you—Sunny—who was murdered.

Hearing the voice, so rich and vibrant, so full of compassion, she wanted to close her eyes and wrap herself up in it, to let herself accept the solace it offered. But how could she?

I’m glad it wasn’t
Sunny
who was murdered.
That’s what he was saying.

But of course…it
was, wasn’t it? It was Sunny who died.

This is becoming complicated. Too hard. I can’t do this anymore. I have to tell someone.

Sage?

Maybe… Why not? He seems like a kind man. Would he understand? Can I tell him the truth? Do I dare?

It would be such a relief. Over and done with. At least I could move on.

She turned to him, the words of her confession poised on her
tongue, but before she could utter a single one, he lifted a hand in an awkward little gesture and moved away from her, a smile stiff on his lips.

“Well. So…you’ve got your
tuugakut
back, safe and sound…”

“Oh—yeah.” She made the same kind of gesture, then hugged herself. “Thanks a lot. You know, for—”

“Not a problem. Well, I’ll just…let you get… You must be tired—”

“Yeah…kind
of. On East Coast time…you know how it—”

“I do. Sure. Well, then. See you tomorrow.”

“Yeah…see you.”

With his back to the door, the doorknob in his hand, he paused. “Good night…”

“’Night.” Her smile hurt her face. He opened the door and backed through it. She called out, “Thanks again—” as it closed.

She sank onto the bed, her breath coming in tiny whimpers. Pia came
with her usual interrogatory trill, climbed into her lap and crouched there, eyes half-closed, paws tucked under her and tail twitching.

Sage strode down the hallway, head down, fists clenched in a way that was familiar to him, though he hadn’t felt like this since he was a boy. Since before he’d learned to let the small slights and insults aimed at his ethnicity roll like water off his
skin. To not let them touch who he was inside.

She’s afraid of me. What the hell is that? She flinches whenever I touch her even accidentally. As if…as if—

He halted and ran a hand over his face. Took a deep breath.

Get ahold of yourself, man. It’s probably not even about you. She’s afraid, all right, but it’s not you…exactly. Something in her. Something going on with her. Just
back off, give her some space.

Be patient.

She was like a wild creature—like that cat of hers. Wary. Distrustful. But he knew how to deal with wild things.

Like most theatre people, Abby wasn’t an early riser. So, when she woke up on a California ranch at her usual New York City time, she was surprised to find she hadn’t even missed breakfast.

“I’m not used to this,”
she admitted to Josie as the housekeeper set a mug in front of her and filled it with steaming hot coffee. Even though the sun was up and shining, the weather had turned cool and windy, so breakfast was being served in the kitchen rather than outdoors on the patio.

“I’m happy to do it.” Josie smiled over her shoulder as she returned the carafe to its place. “You’re our guest—but family,
too. It’s such a pleasure to have you here.”

After a momentary bit of confusion, Abby laughed. “No, no, I don’t mean being waited on—or…well, that, too, actually.” She picked up the mug, took a sip, then lifted it toward the housekeeper in a little salute of appreciation. “Umm…great coffee—thanks.” She put down the mug and ran her hands over her hair, which she’d twisted again into its customary
knot at the back of her head. Her own style, not Sunny’s. Why not? It seemed everyone here was eager to accept her as family anyway, no questions asked, and she felt more comfortable in her own skin. “No, I meant mornings. I’m not used to being up this early.”

“It’s the time change,” Josie said, nodding, and her dark eyes crinkled at the corners with her smile.

Sage’s eyes.

Abby
shifted in her chair and tried to shake off the image that seemed to find every possible excuse to pop into her head. “I guess,” she said. She drank more coffee, then cleared her throat. “So…what do people do with mornings, anyway? Where is everybody?”

“Well, Rachel and J.J. left already—they took the little one for his checkup out in Ridgecrest. And of course, Sage is down at his place
doing chores.”

“Okay…so…guess I’m not so early,” Abby said with a wry smile.

Josie dismissed that with a wave. “You’re fine. This is a ranch—we probably get up earlier than most people. Oh—and Sage brought you a pan and some kitty litter when he came for breakfast. It’s out on the patio.”

And Sam Malone? Where is he?

But Josie had turned back to the stove, and there was
something defensive about the set of her shoulders, so Abby only said, “Thanks,” and didn’t ask.

“Where is that terrible kitty cat of yours this morning?”

“Shut in my room—with a chair in front of the door.” Abby made a face, an apologetic grimace. “I’m so sorry—I let her out in the courtyard this morning, just long enough to, um…use the facilities.” She hadn’t wanted to, scared to
death she wouldn’t be able to coax the cat back inside, or that she’d climb up on the roof again. The thought of having to call on Sage for help made her heart do strange things inside her chest. The only thing worse, as far as she was concerned, would have been to have to ask Josie to clean up a mess in that beautiful bedroom.

Josie waved that off with another smile, and asked what she
would like for breakfast. “I know you don’t want bacon.”

Abby smiled back. “Toast is fine. Honestly—please don’t go to any—”

“How about some French toast, with fresh strawberries?” Josie asked.

Abby sighed and said, “I’ve died and gone to heaven.”

And she thought:
No, that would be Sunny. Where I am I think is what Catholics call Purgatory. Otherwise known as…in limbo.

After breakfast, she took the litter pan and plastic container of litter back to her room and set it up on the tile floor in the bathroom. Then, feeling a need to work off the three slices of French toast heaped with sweetened berries she’d consumed for breakfast, she decided to go for a walk. She’d spent the previous day mostly sitting; her muscles needed limbering up.

“Oh—sure,” Josie
said when Abby mentioned it to her, “why don’t you go down to the barns? Sage can show you the animals. There are lots of babies, you know, this time of year.”

Did something flash in the woman’s dark eyes, too quickly gone to identify?
Probably just my imagination,
Abby thought.
Paranoia playing with my head.
Because Josie’s smile seemed as warm as ever.