CHAPTER 3

Before she knew it, Sally was in her driveway staring up at the antebellum mansion she'd just taken off the market and was now going to stage. She didn't remember how she'd gotten home, she'd been so absorbed with thoughts of Mr. Normand and the way he'd nonchalantly kissed her, taking her breath away and causing her womb to knot involuntarily. She ran her tongue over her lower lip and could swear she still tasted him and feel the tiny tug of his teeth as he pulled away from her.

She let out a sigh, opened the car door, got out and took a deep breath of the heavy, night air filled with the citrus scent of satsuma oranges and Meyer lemons, mingling with the sweetness of ginger plants, lining the profusion of beds around the house. Exhaling, she said quixotically to the overcast sky, purple and pink from the reflecting lights of the CBD, "I must have floated home on cloud nine."

Lazily making her way along the walk, she inhaled again and the citrus smell became more pungent and she glanced at the yard filled with overly ripe fruit and made a mental note that she needed to do something with the ones still clinging stubbornly to tree limbs, before they ruined, too. It's such a waste, she thought, climbing the steps to the porch and unlocking the heavy old door, original to the house. Locking it behind her, Sally glided into the massive entry and couldn't help the smile that threatened to turn into a giggle as her cell started ringing and for just a brief second, she had the whimsical hope it might be Harry, checking to see if she made it home okay.

Waking from her daze, her heart filled with dread as she dug in her purse, fearing it would be John. She looked at the caller ID and let it drop back in the purse, as if it had burned her hand. Anxiety swept over her as she headed for the kitchen, poured a bourbon, splashed some water in it, took a sip and felt the burn down her throat the same instant as the sting behind her eyes of unshed tears.

Finally, the ringing stopped and she dropped her purse on the card table and sat wearily down on the hard folding chair. She'd gotten a house phone, cable, internet combo and, as she'd known would happen, the house phone started ringing. She sat there staring at the answering machine, holding her breath and then it came. "This is Sally. I'm not available right now. Please leave a message and I'll get back to you as soon as possible." Beep!

"Look, beautiful, I know you're probably sitting right there. Call me back. Don't play games. If you don't, I'll keep calling until you answer." It was John's deep, commanding voice and it grated on her nerves worse than nails on a chalk board.

She got up, poured more bourbon into her glass and leaned against the sink, not bothering to dilute the sweet liquor she hoped would give her strength to return her husband's call. Damn him to hell and back, why won't he ever say anything to incriminate himself. I just need some proof...something...anything, she thought desperately, gazing down at the tawny liquid as she swirled it, brought it to her lips, chugged then went to the table and sat down.

Opening her purse, she pulled out her cell again and a small tape recorder, turned it on, placed them side-by-side in front of her then tapped the button to call John back. It only rang twice before she heard the clearing of his throat which meant a lie or threat would be imminent and her stomach jumped to her throat as she dug back into her bag for a pack of cigarettes and lighter.

"Uh, hello."

"You called."

"Well, yes, beautiful, I did."

"I didn't think there was much we had to talk about," she said, trying to keep her voice level as she released a puff of smoke and watched it curl lazily upward toward the fifteen foot ceiling.

"Well, there's quite a bit we have to get straight."

"You promised to get my name off of everything, pay everything off and you'd give me a settlement."

"It's not going to be that easy. First of all, the loans on the houses are in your name. Everything is in your name and you can't do a damn thing without me because I'm in control of the money."

"Look, John, I've done everything you wanted me to do. Your threats and you bribing that judge in Mississippi to charge me with contempt and try to through me in jail were the reasons I bought this house, just like you wanted. I put every dime into that account that you control to get that same judge to unfreeze all my assets."

"Sally, you've got some mental problems. You have no proof I bribed anyone. You better watch what you say."

"Watch what I say? That judge went to prison for RECO and bribery a few months later." She was fuming but tried to keep the vibration from her voice.

"Here's the deal. I want to keep the house here in Frisco. I can make it hell on you if you get a contract on it. I can refuse to sell, not sign and in the meantime, the mortgages, taxes and insurance are going to have to be paid and you can't do that without my signature on those checks. Get that damned New Orleans house staged and sold then we'll talk about things. And, Sally?"

"What?"

"If you get legal with me, I'll fight you till I run you out of money again. So, if you're thinking of dragging all this out so you can start making good money again in real estate, I'd think twice. And besides, there's the little thing about Blake...I don't know what he'd do to you or your family if you caused any more trouble."

She was trembling and couldn't force herself to respond.

"So, Christmas is in three weeks. I'll be down the weekend before and drive you back to Oklahoma to be with our families."

Her entire torso clenched with spasms of a panic attack. She stubbed the cigarette out and put her head in her hands. "I was going to fly."

He chuckled. "Well, that's not going to happen now. If you want to get out of all of this, you're going to do things my way. Oh, I forgot to mention, you'll have to come back to Frisco with me for a few days. We have some legal things to work on. Seems like you're getting sued by some oil and gas companies for not paying them."

It will never end, never ever end, she told herself, I'll never get my life back. "I didn't get the money on those wells you put in my name. I didn't sign contracts with them. How can I owe anyone anything?"

"Well, Blake and I were the operators on the wells and you signed an operating agreement—"

"Another trumped up document that you had your secretary sign my name on...that's what you're saying—"

"No, no, of course that's not what I'm saying. Be careful, beautiful, you've already caused enough problems."

The sound of his voice was so repellant, Sally tasted bile at the back of her throat and was sure she'd throw up if she had to listen to one more word from the fucking, slug-slime bastard. She ended the call, clicked off the recorder and threw the glass across the room, feeling a minute glimmer of satisfaction as she heard it shatter against the granite countertop.

"It's okay, guys, I'm home," she yelled into the emptiness of the cavernous house as a tear zigzagged down her face. She always let them know she was home, because she didn't want to upset them, though she'd never figured out if they were ghosts or her guardian angels. She just knew they were there and they loathed John almost as much as she did...she could feel it whenever he was there. The dogs started barking and she went to the side door and let them into the kitchen then shooed them into the den so she could pick up the broken pieces of glass before feeding them.

Once on the elevator, Sally made a check list of all she needed to do before John arrived. Getting off on the second floor, she went to the master bedroom and gazed at its emptiness except for two chairs, an ottoman, table, lamp and a small television on a makeshift stand. The bastard wouldn't even let me take my own furniture, she thought, getting more vexed by the second. I'll have to get a bed and bedding...some inexpensive headboard. I'll be damned if he'll sleep with me on the floor in the guest bedroom.

Exhausted, angry and more than a little tipsy, she headed for the pallet of blankets and pillows in the first room of the , held the door open for the two Chihuahuas, Betty and Boop, closed it, stripped to her panties, dropped to the pile on the floor, pulled the covers up to her ears, let the dogs snuggle down under the sheet and said a little prayer before her brain started obsessing over the staging she'd have to get done, along with Christmas shopping, making marmalade from the rotting lemons and oranges and trying to get back to working real estate. It was impossible, but she'd figure out a way to do it, if for no other reason than to spite her husband who'd kept her from getting a divorce for four years now.

Dwelling on all that had happened, all the horrible things John had done to her, she started to doze off as the tip of one finger accidentally brushed across her lips while pulling the covers up securely around her and Mr. Normand, so easily forgotten an hour ago, flitted through her mind and a tiny moan escaped her as she fell asleep with the memory of the feel of his lips and his body crushed briefly against hers.