Page 39 of The Soldier and the Cowboy

“Is it true you’re dating the head of the cartel?”

“Dating’s a strong word for what we do,” she said with a saucy little grin. Bailey could almost feel the pain knife through Cal. She wanted to hit the woman, to physically toss her from the house. But so far she hadn’t done anything but have a tantrum and there was no need for Bailey to interfere into their business.

“You must have lost fifteen pounds in the last month,” Cal said. “I don’t know why I didn’t see it before.”

“That’s the best part. It’s like I don’t even have to try to keep the weight off anymore. Best diet ever,” she said, her flippant tone in sharp contrast to the anxious set of her features. “Cal, I really need that money.”

“Why?”

“It’s not for drugs, I swear. It’s for food and gas and, um, clothes and makeup and stuff.”

“Isabel, you have no mortgage, no rent, no car payment,and I set up an account for you to cover all your utilities, gas, and food. You’ve blown through ten thousand dollars in thirteen days, and I’d venture most of it has gone into your veins or up your nose. You don’t need more money. You need help.”

“Don’t tell me what I need. You don’t know. You’ve never known.” She put her hands to her temples, rubbing them in frustration. “I don’t know why I thought I could come here and you would help. You hate me. You’ve always hated me.”

“You know that’s not true,” he said.

“Then just give me the money. What’s the big deal? You’ve got enough of it.”

He shook his head. “I won’t give you money, but I’ll pay for you to go to an inpatient drug treatment center, somewhere good, somewhere far away like Malibu or Arizona.”

“Those places are for broken down celebrities and junkies,” she said. “Maybe that’s what you want, Cal. Are you going to get a photographer to follow me and publish a picture? ‘Former Miss America Checks Into Rehab.’ Or maybe, ‘Former NFL Quarterback’s Wife’s Brush With Addiction.’ Which do you think will play better for the folks at home?”

“It’s not about that, Isabel. And it’s not for public consumption. We can find a clinic that specializes in privacy. I’ll call my old agent, he’ll know.” He withdrew his phone, and she stamped her foot.

“I’m not going to rehab. Are you even hearing me? I don’t have a problem. I am not addicted to drugs. Stop trying to make this seem like something it’s not. I need some money, that’s all. And you owe me that much, Cal. We’re still married. Or have you forgotten?” Her eyes landed accusingly on Bailey.

“I haven’t forgotten. That’s why I’m making the offer. It’s rehab or nothing.”

She pushed him, or tried to. Both hands landed on his chest and gave a hard shove, but he was taller and stronger and the gesture was ineffectual. Bailey tensed but otherwise didn’t intervene.

Cal lightly grasped Isabel’s wrists. “Stop it,” he said gently and the gentleness seemed to be her undoing. She was spoiling for a fight, wanted to face his anger and wrath, but had no idea what to do with kindness and, worst of all, pity.

“Let go of me,” she screeched, bucking like a wild thing to get away from his grasp. He opened his grip and let her go. One of her palms reared back, ready to strike him hard across the cheek, and this time Bailey intervened because he was going to let it happen, going to let her hit him as much as she wanted, as hard as she wanted until she was spent. But Bailey couldn’t take it, couldn’t stand to see him hurt one minute longer. So she caught Isabel’s wrist and twisted her arm behind her back, pinning her to the wall in one smooth motion.

“I don’t think you really want to pick on someone your own size,” Bailey said.

“Let go of me,” Isabel screamed, followed by an ugly wave of invectives, both in English and in Spanish. Bailey kept her pinned until she wore herself out and stopped struggling.

“Are you done?” she asked when the angry energy faded out of Isabel, leaving her drained and exhausted.

Isabel nodded. Bailey let her go and took a step back, keeping a defensive pose in case the calm demeanor was a fraud.

“I hate you,” Isabel said, her eyes settling first on Cal and then on Bailey. “I hope you both die.”

Cal remained silent, but his breathing was labored, pained. “I don’t hate you,” Bailey said and meant it. “I’m incredibly sorry for you.” The woman had had perfection and tossed itaway, both in her marriage and in her personal life. Someone like that could only be worthy of the deepest sort of pity.

“Don’t be,” Isabel said, her eyes filling with angry tears. “I’m happy,finallyhappy,” she added with another vicious look at Cal. “My life is perfect, and I wouldn’t change a thing.”

“Well then it seems your business here is done,” Bailey said.

“Are you going to let her throw me out of my own house?” Isabel demanded.

“You need to go,” Cal agreed.

Somewhere in there her anger was refueled enough to allow her to take another shot at Bailey. She drew back a fist and swung, but Bailey was ready for her and ducked easily aside. The momentum sent Isabel stumbling almost drunkenly forward a few steps. She grasped a chair to keep from falling over. It would have been funny if it weren’t so tragically sad. Here was a woman whose life was unraveling before their eyes, who refused help, who had no idea how much danger she was really in.

When she regained her balance, she brushed her hands down her well-tailored shirt, dusting at pretend dirt, and then, head up, walked out the door. A minute later they heard her car roar to life and drive away.

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