Jane had to get out of here before she fell apart, and she lurched to her feet. “He’s rich, intelligent, and he doesn’t interfere with my work. Is there anything else you want to know?”
“Yes.” She released her hold on the arm of the chair and stood. “Why in the hell did he marry you?”
Jane knew she had to drive the final nail into the coffin of Lynn’s hopes. “That’s easy. I’m smart, I don’t interfere with his work, and I’m good in bed. Look, Lynn, don’t get yourself in a tangle over this. Neither Cal nor I have a big emotional investment in this marriage. We hope it works out, but if it doesn’t, we’ll both survive. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to my computer. Tell Annie if she wants anything to call Cal.”
“I want him to finish paintin’ my house.”
Jane’s head snapped around, and she was dismayed to see Annie standing in the doorway that led to the back bedroom. How long had she been there, and how much had she overheard? Annie was unpredictable. She obviously hadn’t informed Lynn that Jane was pregnant, but what had she said? Beneath the wrinkles and blue eye makeup, the old woman regarded her with what could only be compassion.
“I’ll tell him,” Jane said.
“You do that.” Annie gave a short nod and walked into the kitchen.
Jane hurried to her car, tears stinging her eyes. Damn Cal for making her come to Salvation! Damn him for forcing her into this marriage and believing it would be so easy to distance his parents!
But as she jabbed the key into the ignition, she knew the fault didn’t lie with Cal. It was hers alone. She was to blame for everything, and the wrong she’d done had spread until it touched more people than she could ever have imagined.
She swiped at her eyes with the back of her hand and drove blindly down the lane, thoughts of the butterfly effect swirling through her mind. It was a concept that scientists who studied chaos theory talked about, the notion that something as simple as a butterfly’s wings stirring the air in Singapore could cause a ripple effect that would eventually affect weather systems in Denver. The butterfly effect could also be a mini morality lesson, and she remembered talking to her third graders about it, telling them that any good deed, no matter how small, could keep multiplying until it had changed the whole world forever for the better.
Her deed had done the same thing, but in reverse. Her selfish act was causing pain to an increasing number of innocent people. And there was no end in sight. The harm kept spreading, the butterfly effect multiplying. She had hurt Cal, she was hurting his parents, and, worst of all, her bad judgment was going to hurt their baby.
She was too upset to work, so she drove into town and went to the drugstore. As she came out, she heard a familiar voice.
“Hey, beautiful. Did you pray for me?”
She whirled around and found herself looking into a pair of cocky green eyes. For absolutely no reason that she could think of, her flagging spirits lifted a few notches. “Hello, Mr. Tucker. I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Why don’t you call me Kevin? Even better, how about calling me honey and really pissing off the old man.”
She smiled. He reminded her of a young golden retriever: attractive, overly eager, full of restless energy and unlimited self-confidence. “Now let me guess. You’ve shown up in Salvation to cause Cal as much trouble as possible.”
“Me? Now why would I do something like that? I love the old guy.”
“If someone doesn’t put you in your place soon, there’s no justice in the world.”
“My place is sitting on the bench, and I don’t like it one bit.”
“I’m sure you don’t.”
“Let me buy you some lunch, Jane—I can call you Jane, can’t I? Why are you driving that old heap around? I didn’t know they still allowed cars like that on the road. Whose is it?”
She opened the door of the Escort and set her packages inside. “It’s mine, and don’t talk about it like that, or you’ll hurt its feelings.”
“That car’s not yours. The Bomber’d never let you drive a junker like that in a million years. Come on, let’s go have some lunch at the Mountaineer. It’s the best meal in town.”
He grabbed her arm, and she found herself being swept around the corner toward a small, tidy-looking wooden house with a roughly carved sign on the porch indicating this was the bar she’d been hearing about. The entire time they walked, he talked.
“Did you know this is a dry county? There are no bars. The Mountaineer is what they call a bottle club. I even had to buy a membership card to get in. Don’t you think that’s bogus? You can still drink in this county, but you have to have a membership card to do it.”