Jade Star (Star Quartet 4)

“Ain’t nobody going out in that damned soup. Sorry, mister, but you’re spending the night here.”

Saint paid his shot and went outside. The man was right. He couldn’t see a foot in front of him. San Francisco could be a thousand miles away, and in any direction. He thought of Jules and cursed. He should have left her a note, dammit. She would worry, and there was nothing he could do about it.

There were no inns in Sausalito, so he walked back into the saloon.

19

Saint didn’t get back to San Francisco until late the following afternoon. He felt dirty, tired to the soles of his boots, guilty, and he didn’t want to go home. As he strode along Clay Street, his eyes on mud puddles that could bring the unwary low, he imagined the look on Jules’s face when she saw him. Disgust, revulsion—God only knew. For a moment he allowed himself to remember the intense pleasure he’d experienced, but of course, the pleasure had been all his. He kicked a stone viciously out of his way. Life, he decided, had become bloody hell.

He drew a deep breath and opened the front door to his house. “Jules,” he called.

Jules, who had talked herself into fatalistic calm, heard his voice and forced herself to walk slowly from the parlor into the entrance hall.

“Hello, Michael,” she said, not meeting his eyes. Somehow his presence made her feel dreadfully vulnerable and exposed. “Are you hungry? Lydia made a delicious beef stew, and there’s freshly baked bread. Thomas isn’t here. I believe he is again with Penelope Stevenson, teaching her manners, no doubt.” She ground to a pained halt.

Saint wanted desperately to take her in his arms, to stroke her bright head, to comfort her, but he was afraid to. He thought ruefully that he needed comforting himself. He smiled painfully, knowing she was putting on an act for him, trying to behave naturally, hiding her true feelings about him.

“I need a bath first,” he said. “I’m sorry, Jules, about a lot of things. I should have left you a message, but I expected to be home soon. I was called over to Sausalito, across the bay, and couldn’t come back any sooner because of the fog. Please forgive me—a doctor’s lot and all that.”

She raised her eyes to his face. For a brief instant his expression was unreadable; then she knew she saw pity in his eyes. She rocked back on her heels, hating him, hating herself. He’d found her lacking, found her still to be a child, not a woman, and now he was stuck with her. She wanted to yell, but she didn’t. She said nothing, merely looked away from him. “Yes,” she said finally, “yes, there was fog.” She hadn’t known the fog was all that heavy, but of course she hadn’t been out of the house. She’d been too afraid to leave. No, she amended to herself, not really afraid. She hadn’t wanted to leave because he might return at any moment.

“What happened to your patient?”

“She died,” he said, his voice clipped. “I could do nothing for her.”

“I’m sorry,” she said.

He slashed his hand through the air. “There was nothing to be done for her, as I said. Now, I think I’ll go up. I won’t be long, Jules.”

He wasn’t long and the dinner was indeed well prepared. Saint said nothing more about his trip to Sausalito. He didn’t want to burden her with particulars. In fact, he said very little, not knowing what to talk about to her. He was drinking a cup of coffee, screwing up his courage, and finally said, “Jules, I want to apologize, to tell you how sorry I am for what happened, for what I did and—” He broke off suddenly, seeing her flinch.

He very nearly sighed with relief when there was a loud knock on the front door.

It wasn’t a patient. It was Brent Hammond.

“You stupid bastard,” Brent said as he strode into the house.

“Good to see you too, Brent,” Saint said. “Come in, won’t you? Would you like a drink?”

“Nope. I want to talk to you.”

Brent saw Jules from the corner of his eye, and quickly turned to smile at her. “Good evening,” he said. She looked pale, Brent thought, and no wonder.

Jules nodded, and looked a question at her husband.

Brent answered for him. “I need to speak to your husband for a little while, Jules, if you don’t mind. Incidentally, Byrony sends her love.”

“Not at all,” Jules said, and went upstairs. She’d never felt so alone in her entire life. She hated the house, the bedroom, hated the wretched mirror that showed her looking miserable.

In the parlor, Brent said, “Now, my friend, I’ve had a talk with Del.”

Saint walked to the sofa and sat down, his arms behind his head. “Go ahead. I doubt I can stop you unless I plant my fist in your face. Since Del has said his piece, do feel free to dose me with your marvelous advice.”

Brent smiled. “Touchy, aren’t you, Saint? No advice. I’ve come with an offer for you.”

“Lord save me! Look, Brent, why don’t you just go back to your beautiful wife and leave me the hell alone!”

“If I recall correctly,” Brent said, unperturbed, “you were very involved in my affairs not too long ago.”