Mary stared at the words for a long time and had no idea why they made her heart race. We’re here. They were just two little words . . .
But she was recalling that Dante had said they were to wait here until hunters were sent to help trap the kidnappers should they try to grab him again. She was guessing that’s who the “We’re here” referred to.
Slipping the paper back inside the envelope, Mary set it on top of the clothes and turned to slip out of the RV. She didn’t see Dante and Bailey anywhere, but it didn’t matter. Mary slipped around the RV and moved to the hookups to begin unhooking her RV from the septic, the water and the electricity.
Mary was rather surprised that she managed the task before Dante and Bailey returned, but simply took it as a sign that she was doing the right thing and checked to be sure that all the storage compartments under the RV were locked, before going inside and closing the bedroom slide-out. Once the bed had slid all the way forward to press against the drawers under the closets, she left the panel to quickly slide the L-shaped couch back into a straight couch. She then closed the living-room slide-out as well. They hadn’t put out the awning, so Mary next got into the driver’s seat, turned on the engine and retracted the jacks.
“What are you doing?”
Glancing around at that question, she saw that Dante was leading Bailey into the RV, but merely gestured toward the table and waited for the jacks to finish pulling up as she watched him drop Bailey’s leash and move to the table to examine the contents she’d removed from the box.
The jacks finished retracting then, and Mary turned in the driver’s seat and patted her leg. Bailey immediately moved to her side.
“Good girl,” Mary murmured and leaned down to undo her leash.
Standing then, she hung the leash on the hook and moved up beside Dante. “I’m sorry I opened it. It was addressed to me.”
“Yes. Lucian asked for your name,” Dante murmured, retrieving a bag of blood from the cooler.
Mary peered at him curiously, noting that his eyes were glowing more silver than black.
“You need blood,” she guessed.
He grimaced and nodded. “I was careful not to take too much from the people at the truck stop. It was enough to handle the worst of the healing, but I needed more and did not take much at all from Dave before you stopped me.”
“I’m sorry,” she said softly.
Dante merely shrugged, grabbed two more bags and turned to carry them toward the bathroom door.
“You don’t have to go in there to feed,” Mary protested with a frown.
Dante hesitated, but then turned back. “It will not make you uncomfortable if I feed in front of you?”
“I don’t think so,” she said honestly. “Actually, I’m kind of curious to see—” Mary stopped abruptly as he opened his mouth and his canines suddenly shifted and slid down like the tips of staples descending out of a stapler, and then he slapped one of the bags to them. That was the only way to describe it. He just slapped it on them like poking a straw into a fast-food drink glass. Mary watched silently as the bag began to shrink, crumpling inward as the blood inside dwindled. It was all rather fast, certainly quicker than she’d expected, and then he tugged the now empty bag off of his fangs and slapped another one on.
Not wanting to make him uncomfortable, Mary turned away then and began to check that all the drawers and cupboards were securely closed so that they wouldn’t swing open with every turn the RV took. They might still come crashing open if the RV stopped too abruptly as they had when she’d run over Dante, but otherwise should remain secure.
“Mary.”
She turned to see that he’d finished the third bag. She opened the door under the sink and he slipped them into the garbage, then straightened and waited as she closed the door again, before taking her arms.
“I wanted . . .”
“I know,” she murmured, ducking her head. Mary certainly hadn’t forgotten what he’d said he’d do to her on his return. Clearing her throat, she lifted her head and said, “But if the men poking around the campground gates last night were your kidnappers, they will probably still be around somewhere, and if we let them find and follow us, your friends can catch them and find out where Tomasso is.”
“Yes,” Dante breathed, obviously relieved at her understanding. Smiling, he pressed a kiss to her forehead, and then hugged her tight. “I am the most fortunate man to have you for a mate.”
Mary swallowed, and allowed herself to hug him back briefly, but then pulled away. “Are you driving or shall I?”
“Perhaps I should,” he offered. “I know you did not sleep well last night.”
“Neither did you,” she pointed out with amusement and he nodded in acknowledgment.
“But for my people, an extra bag of blood makes up for that,” he said with a shrug. “I’m as good now as if I had a full night’s sleep.”
“Nice trick,” Mary said dryly and took the cooler off the table to secure it in the cupboard over the couch. She placed the box with his clothes in there as well when he handed it to her, then slipped past him to move to the front of the RV and take the passenger seat.
Bailey immediately followed her, squeezing past her to curl up in the space in front of her legs under the dashboard. It was much more room than you would find in a car, but it was still a bit tight for a dog Bailey’s size. Still, she was happy enough there, so Mary left her to it and did up her seat belt as Dante slipped into the driver’s seat.
She watched silently as he adjusted his seat and the mirrors, but her mind was all over the place. Part of her was disappointed that they had to leave without doing what he’d said he was going to. But the other part of her brain was straight-up relieved. While she knew he would have shown her great pleasure, and hopefully this time with the actual happy ending, the images that his words had sent floating around inside her head hadn’t been pretty ones. Oh, he had been pretty enough in them, but Mary had no delusions about herself. He might be older than her, but she looked older than him . . . and with an older woman’s body. And he could say he liked it all he wanted, but it wouldn’t change the fact that she didn’t like it. At least, she didn’t like it next to his young, fit-looking body.
Sighing, she turned her gaze out the window as Dante shifted into gear and steered the RV out of their pull-thru parking spot.
“Should I stop at the office so you can let them know we are leaving?” Dante asked, as they approached the main building.
“No,” Mary murmured, glancing to the building. “They have my credit-card number. I’ll just call them later to let them know something came up.”
Dante nodded, and steered past the building to approach the gate and Mary turned her face away from the offices, knowing she’d probably e-mail rather than call. She also would never come back here, whether Carol and Dave sold the campground or not. She liked Carol and still considered her a friend, but she’d learned too much to want to ever spend time around Dave again. He was, as Dante had said, a dog. Just as her Joe had been, she acknowledged. But Joe had changed, or she’d thought he had, while Dave obviously hadn’t. She didn’t think she could bear being around the man, always worrying he’d make that pass at her Dante had said he’d planned, and she didn’t think that if he did, she could keep herself from telling Carol. She just didn’t want to be in the middle of that. She’d dealt with her own husband long ago, and thought they’d sorted everything out, but Carol had never confronted Dave that she knew of.
“What are you thinking?”
Mary glanced to Dante and hesitated briefly, but then admitted, “About the Bigelows, and my husband and my life with him.”
“Tell me about your life with your Joe?” he asked softly.
Mary turned her face forward and stared at the passing scenery for a moment. “I was six months pregnant the first time Joe cheated on me,” she said slowly, and then grimaced and added, “At least the first time I knew he was cheating on me and I think it really was the first time he did cheat on me.”
“I’m sorry,” Dante said quietly.
Mary waved the words away. She didn’t want sympathy. She wanted him to understand why she would stay with Joe when he did that. Clearing her throat, she said, “He was working late a lot, and came home smelling of perfume sometimes. I started to suspect he was . . . well, doing what he was doing,” she admitted wryly. “But of course I didn’t want to believe it. Still, I hired a private detective to follow him.”
She felt him glance at her, but didn’t turn to see what his expression was and continued. “Well, it wasn’t long before Joe was working late again one night and the private detective called and gave me an address and a room number. It was a cheap little motel on the outskirts of the city. I went there, and—they hadn’t even bothered to close the curtains. He was there with his secretary.”
Mary heard the bitterness in her own voice, and paused to take a breath. “I—well, I guess I lost it. I started pounding on the door and shouting.” She smiled wryly. “I think every door in that motel opened but the one I was pounding on. I cursed him, and said I was going to divorce him, and yelled that he was cowardly scum that wouldn’t even face the music and his secretary was a slut, then I jumped in the car and squealed out of there and crashed into a semi.”
The RV swerved slightly and Dante cursed and started to pull over, but Mary stared straight ahead and said, “If you stop, I’ll stop talking. Please just drive.”
He hesitated, the RV still slowing, and then put his foot back on the gas.
Mary let her breath out, but waited another moment. Even after all these years the memories hurt and she was afraid her voice would crack if she didn’t get herself under control before she continued. But it was harder than she expected and Mary cursed and undid her seat belt.
“Do you want a coffee?” she asked, getting out of her seat.
Dante nodded and glanced at her, and the sadness in his eyes was nearly her undoing. Turning abruptly, she moved back to the coffee machine and switched the inverter on. As she waited for the machine to heat up, Mary took the time to compose herself. By the time she’d made two coffees she felt more like her old self and even managed a smile when he thanked her for the coffee she set in his cup holder.
Settling back in her own seat, she continued abruptly, “I woke up in the hospital to learn that not only had I lost my baby, but due to complications, I’d never be able to carry another.”
“Mary,” Dante said, sounding pained.
“Drive,” she instructed, and continued, “Joe was crushed that I’d killed our child with—as he put it—my foolish hysterics.”
“Bastard,” Dante breathed.
“Yes well, I didn’t see that at the time. I was so awash in guilt for killing my baby, I agreed with him. I never should have gone there. I should not have driven so recklessly.”
“The private investigator should not have given you the address. He should have taken pictures and presented those to you. Was he even licensed?” Dante demanded furiously.
Mary grimaced and shrugged. “Who knows? I found him in the phone book.”
“So your husband cheated on you, then made you feel responsible for what followed . . . presumably so that you would not leave him?”
“That seems likely,” she agreed, and then added, “And I let him.”
“What?” he asked with disbelief. “You are going to take responsibility for his—”
“No,” she interrupted quietly. “I am not responsible for what he did. But I am responsible for my decisions, and I—” She paused then sighed. “It was a bad time for me. My mother was dying of cancer; I’d just lost my baby and learned I would never have another. I felt anger, guilt, loss . . . I was a mess,” she acknowledged. “And I was scared.”
“Of what?” he asked with a frown, glancing toward her again.
Mary bit her lip, and then sighed and said, “Joe and I met in high school. I was in grade nine and he was in grade twelve when we started to date. He graduated and went on to further his education, but we continued to date. He proposed to me on my prom night.” She smiled wryly and said, “It was all terribly romantic. He’d already graduated from the University of Winnipeg with his degree a few months before and had got a good job with a big local company. He was making money and spared no expense that night. He rented a limo, brought me roses, took me to dinner at the finest restaurant and got down on one knee right there in front of everyone to propose.” She smiled faintly at the memory. “I didn’t even care about the prom after that, but he insisted I’d regret it if I didn’t go, so we went to prom and I showed off my ring to everyone.”
Sighing, she shrugged those memories away. “Anyway, I’d kind of planned on going on to get some kind of degree too, but hadn’t really settled on anything yet and he said he didn’t think I should. That I didn’t need to waste our money on that. I’d be his wife, the mother of his children, a housewife.”
“Dependent on him,” Dante said quietly.
“I didn’t see it that way,” Mary said sadly. “Or maybe I did and didn’t care. I thought we’d be together forever and live happily ever after. So if he wanted me to be a housewife, I’d be the best housewife there was.”
Dante grunted. She didn’t know what the sound meant, so continued.
“We got married, and quickly got pregnant and . . .”
“You caught him cheating,” Dante said grimly.
Mary nodded, and picked up her coffee. “I could have left him then, but I was scared. I’d gone straight from my parents taking care of me to Joe taking care of me . . . at least, financially. And I did feel guilty about crashing the car and killing my child. On top of that, I couldn’t have babies anymore. Who would want me for a wife when I was so useless?”
“Me,” Dante growled. “And you are not useless.”
“No I’m not,” she agreed quietly. “But I didn’t see that then.”
Mary took another sip of coffee before continuing. “Of course, after his first outburst, Joe was very sweet. He was constantly at my bedside until I was released from the hospital, then took care of me at home.”
“Guilt,” Dante said shortly. “And he should have felt guilty.”
Mary just smiled wryly and went on, “He apologized for his affair with his secretary. Promised to have her transferred to work for someone else and swore it would never happen again. He said he could live with not having biological children so long as he had me. We’d adopt, or use a surrogate, whatever it took to make me happy. So, I said I forgave him and stayed.”
“But I didn’t really,” Mary admitted in the next breath, and explained, “Forgive him, I mean. I was angry for a lot of years.” She grimaced. “We pretended all was well, and set about adopting children. A little boy first, and then a little girl. But things were not all right. I couldn’t bear him touching me. I could hardly look at him. I know he had other affairs then, he warned me he would if I didn’t stop treating him like a leper, but I didn’t care. I was angry, at myself and at him, so I punished us both for it.”
She smiled wryly. “I’m surprised he didn’t give up and divorce me. He didn’t though. Joe told me years later that he felt he deserved the punishment. Anyway, while I was a horrible wife, I was a good mother, and we acted as if all was well for the sake of the children.”
Mary took another sip of coffee and then said, “We probably would have stayed like that till his death if things had just continued as they were going. As it was it went on for fifteen years.”
“What happened to change things?” Dante asked with curiosity.
“I found out about one of his children. A son,” she said quietly. “An angry fourteen-year-old who showed up at our door one day. His mother had finally told him who his father was and he wanted to confront him. He was faced with me first.”
Mary peered down at her coffee mug. “I was furious. There I was unable to have children of my own and Joe had gone and had them with another woman. Not only that, but he’d just abandoned him. I didn’t know what made me angrier. I hired a private detective to find out if there were any others and . . .” She paused and swallowed the bile rising up in her throat at the memory of how she’d felt when the detective had given his report. “Joe had at least four children by four different women that he knew of. The one boy I’d met, and three girls. There may have been more though; he couldn’t be sure. But he was sure that Joe wasn’t a part of their lives. He’d just been dropping his seed and leaving it to grow as he danced on to the next victim.”
Mary glanced to Dante and smiled wryly. “Joe admitted that most of the women he had affairs with had no idea he was married. He said a friend had helped with that. I’m guessing now that it was Dave, but Joe wouldn’t tell me who it was at the time. I suppose that was to prevent me outing Dave to Carol. Joe would only say he was just a chum from work. But he told me that they went out together to meet women, often double dating. A woman who met two male friends hanging out didn’t imagine that he would be married and carry on an affair with his friend’s knowledge. And his “chum” backed up any story he gave to explain why he couldn’t see her at certain times, or why she hadn’t met his family or any other friends.”
Mary shook her head with remembered disgust. “Of course, once the girlfriend started pushing for those kinds of things, it was time to end it and move on anyway in his mind. Or if she got pregnant,” she added grimly. “As far as Joe was concerned, birth control was the woman’s problem and he always asked if they were on the pill when they started up. If she said no, he moved along. He wanted no chance of having to explain why he had condoms in his wallet when we weren’t having sex. So, they were all supposed to be safe, and if a woman got pregnant, he was sure she was just trying to force him into marrying her. Joe claimed he offered to help with an abortion and if she refused, it was “sayonara sweetheart.”
“He really was a bastard,” Dante muttered.
“Yes,” Mary agreed solemnly, “And I was a total psycho bitch.”
“Mary!” He gaped at her with dismay, and she smiled slightly.
“I was,” she assured him. “I was making his home life as miserable as possible. For instance, he traveled a lot then and one time when he was gone for two months, I bought the kids a cat. Joe was deathly allergic to cats. But the kids had had it for two months by the time he returned. He could hardly take it away from them then. He had to get an inhaler and start taking allergy shots twice a week just to be able to breathe at home. Joe hated shots.”
“Diabolical,” Dante said on a laugh.
“Hmm. I did other things as well.”
“Like what?” he asked with amusement.
Mary considered the various things and said, “Oh, if I knew he hated something, I made it a lot for meals, saying I was sure he’d said he’d liked it last time. If he liked something, I never made it again. I deliberately used his razors on my legs so the blade was always dull when he went to shave his face. I constantly washed his whites with reds to turn them pink. I bought him the loudest and ugliest patterned shirts and ties every birthday and Christmas and then acted wounded if he didn’t wear them. And I used to cook him something with mushrooms in it as his meal before each flight. It didn’t matter what, so long as it had mushrooms.”
When Dante glanced away from the road to give her a confused look, she explained with amusement, “Mushrooms gave Joe gas, you see. Which made the flight miserable for him. Gas expands as the plane climbs in altitude and causes terrible stomach pains.”
Dante’s mouth dropped a little at this news, and then snapped shut. Turning back to the road he muttered, “Remind me not to anger you.”
Mary grinned faintly, but shrugged. “He was the only one I did those kinds of things to. I’m pretty sure I was a good mother. I worked very hard at it. And I was perfectly lovely otherwise.” She pursed her lips and admitted, “I think getting all my aggression out on him made me much more patient with the children and everyone else.”
“Thank God,” Dante breathed.
“Yes, I could really have screwed up those children had I allowed my anger to stretch to them. Fortunately, torturing him was enough.” Mary paused and frowned and then admitted, “Although, I did influence their opinion of him a great deal. It was inevitable, of course. He was often away and I was always there. I shuttled them to school, practice, friends etc. And I never praised him to them. I didn’t put him down either really. I mean I never said he was a lying, cheating louse or anything, but I did often use the term, “Oh, your father,” in that derogatory manner you really shouldn’t use in regard to the other parent in front of children.” She made a face and admitted, “I’m pretty sure I undermined his position with them without even really trying.”
“But that may not have had much affect had he been there to spend time with them,” Dante pointed out reasonably. “Had he been there, they would have got to know him as his own person rather than the man who occasionally showed up at the house and the one you ‘oh, your fathered’ about.”
“True, but then I didn’t make his being home an attractive proposition,” she pointed out.
Dante frowned, but Mary continued before he could argue further. “As I say, that went on for years. Fifteen to be exact.”
“And then his son showed up at your door,” Dante said quietly.
Mary nodded and fell silent as the pain of that discovery washed over her anew. She loved her children and had considered them her own from the minute they’d been placed in her arms, but in that moment, looking at the young carbon copy of her husband . . . Mary thought she might have killed Joe if he’d been home at the time. But she knew without a doubt that after she’d heard what else the boy had to say, she definitely would have killed her husband had he been there.