The Unquiet - J. D. Robb [101]
“So, you told me so?”
“Look at him now, raking it in, and who put him in a position to rake it? You. You threw away your career for his, and now where are you? He set you back years.”
Exactly the sort of thing Molly didn’t care to hear tonight, so she didn’t call.
FOURTEEN
Her voice was like your favorite music, familiar and thrilling at the same time. “Hello. It is Madame Romanescu,” she said, and the words went straight to your heart. Brought you back, in case you’d been missing.
“Howdy,” Oliver said. “It’s Shorty.” Stupid name; he wished he’d called himself “Slim” or “Lefty.”
But she repeated it with such gladness and relief—“Ah, Shorty”—it didn’t matter. He settled deeper into the chair on his small deck overlooking Q Street, thinking the world would be a better place if everybody had somebody to call them “dear one.”
“I am so happy you called, Shorty.”
“Reckon you say that to all of us.”
“No, oh no. Believe me.”
He did. And that was another part of her magic. “How’re you doin’? You sound a mite down.”
“It has not been a good day.”
“Tell me about it.”
“You, too?”
“Yeah, but nothin’ dire. I just called to hear your voice.”
“I’m so glad. Are you drinking a cup of Arbuckles’?”
“No, ma’am. Glass o’ whiskey tonight.” Wine, actually. “We cowboys got a saying: Never drink unless you’re alone or with somebody.”
Where did he come up with this stuff? But she laughed her low, throaty laugh, so it was worth it. “I love cowboy sayings,” she said. “Tell me another one.”
He thought. “Don’t squat with your spurs on.”
This time her laugh was higher, freer. Familiar . . .
“You like that one?”
“Shorty, you cheer me up. But I have something to tell you.”
“I got something to tell you, too. You go first.”
“No, you. Please. Tell me your news.”
“Yeah? Well, okay. I just wanted you to know, I quit my job at the Double K.”
“Oh my. Are you happy?”
“I’m . . . Yeah. I reckon I am, now that it’s done. Feels right.”
“Yes. I think so, too.”
“Not sure what was holdin’ me back.”
“Caution. Your natural prudence.”
“That, and maybe thinkin’ . . . maybe I didn’t quite deserve to get exactly what I wanted.”
“Ah,” she said lightly. “But that’s gone now?”
“More or less.”
“Good riddance. And now you will—what?”
“Well, I got my eye on a . . . a piece o’ land not too far from here. I got enough saved up to buy it and start a little herd o’ my own.”
“ And raise the dogies in new, modern ways.”
“Did you know cattle-raisin’ causes more greenhouse gases than cars do? If we changed their diets—the dogies, I’m talkin’ about—we could reduce methane emissions, fix global warming, fix acid rain.... Okay, I’ll shut up.”
“I’m so proud of you, Shorty.”
“You are, huh?”
“You’re a good man. And you will be a great success, I know it.”
“What about you? How come you’re havin’ such a low-down day, Miss Romy?”
“Oh, my friend. Where to begin.”
“How ’bout the beginning?”
She heaved a sigh. “Not enough time.”
Funny thing to say, he thought, for a woman who got paid by the minute. “The middle, then. Anywhere you want.”
Another sigh. “It’s nothing. I have fallen on hard times,” she said with a laugh, mocking herself.
“Is it that sidewinder?”
“That—? Oh, him. No. Well, not only him.”
“Because that’s a varmint that oughta be shot.”
“Did you take my advice, Shorty? Did you ask the lady you don’t even like if she stole your horses?”
“Didn’t get the chance. She’s not talkin’ to me anymore.”
“Uh-oh.”
“No big deal.”
Silence from Romy.
“Okay, it’s a big deal, but danged if I know why.”
“I understand.”
“I figure you do. How come?”
“The same thing has happened to me. The man—he is gone, and that’s good, and yet it feels as if I have lost something quite . . . valuable.”
“Yeah.”
“Perhaps . . . irreplaceable.”
“Yeah.”
They shared a gloomy silence.