Discovering You
Discovering You
Brenda Novak
Can she ever trust another “bad boy”?
India Sommers once had the perfect family—until an ex-boyfriend broke in and shot her husband. Not only did that cost her the man she loved, a respected heart surgeon and the father of her child, but she also feels responsible. Charlie died because of the people she hung out with before she had the strength to change her life.
Just after moving to Whiskey Creek with her little girl, Cassia, to start over, she’s learned that her ex-boyfriend’s trial ended in a hung jury. He’s getting out of jail; he could try to find her again. And that’s not all that scares her. She’s extremely attracted to her next-door neighbor, but Rod Amos is the handsome “bad boy” type that’s given her so much trouble in the past. If she got involved with him, her in-laws would sue for custody of Cassia.
India has to keep her distance from Rod—but the more she gets to know him, the more difficult that becomes.
Praise for the Whiskey Creek novels of New York Times bestselling author Brenda Novak (#u078a007a-7f7f-5d5c-a636-6cbe4bf43d1f)
“Another Whiskey Creek novel is just what readers need to satisfy their craving for a romance that tugs at the heartstrings.”
—RT Book Reviews on A Winter Wedding, Top Pick
“[This Heart of Mine] had such beautiful details that it captured my full attention—and had me sniffling and smiling while waiting to board my plane.”
—First for Women
“This Heart of Mine is a potently emotional, powerfully
life-affirming contemporary romance that can be read and enjoyed on its own, but it also serves as an excellent addition to Novak’s popular Whiskey Creek series.”
—Booklist, starred review
“Another engrossing addition to Novak’s addictive series.”
—Library Journal on This Heart of Mine, starred review
“Novak’s Whiskey Creek novels are a favorite among romance readers because of their small-town charm… Novak never disappoints.”
—RT Book Reviews on This Heart of Mine, Top Pick
“Once again Novak’s Whiskey Creek springs to life in all its realistic, gritty Gold Country glory as two determined, likable people come to terms with their pasts and give love a chance. This poignant, heartfelt romance puts a refreshing spin on the classic reunion/secret baby theme.”
—Library Journal on Come Home to Me
“One needn’t wonder why Novak is a New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author. Just read Come Home to Me.”
—Examiner.com
“The Whiskey Creek series is an absolute delight and this newest installment is…so satisfying I ran out of superlatives. Brenda Novak outdid herself in Take Me Home for Christmas.”
—Fresh Fiction
“It’s steamy, it’s poignant, it’s perfectly paced—it’s When Lightning Strikes and you don’t want to miss it.”
—USATODAY.com’s Happy Ever After blog
Discovering You
Brenda Novak
www.mirabooks.co.uk (http://www.mirabooks.co.uk)
To Kay Myers, who read my very first book
before it ever came out and told me it was good.
Dear Reader (#u078a007a-7f7f-5d5c-a636-6cbe4bf43d1f),
Dylan Amos is probably my favorite character in all of Whiskey Creek, so it is with great pleasure that I return to his family to write about another one of his sexy brothers. There’s just something special about a family of rugged men who’ve managed to pull together in the face of adversity. The Amoses are tough, able to carry the weight of the world on their shoulders. I love that they have a hard edge to them, because, as much as they may not want to admit it, they also have soft hearts (way down deep). I think Rodney rises to the occasion when he meets his beautiful new neighbor, who so desperately needs his friendship and support. Only he would be right for her. I hope you’ll agree.
If you’re just starting the series, don’t worry. The books are written to stand alone, so you won’t be lost jumping in at any point. And if you’d like to go back to the beginning and catch up, I have a list of the books in order on my website at brendanovak.com (http://www.brendanovak.com). There’s even a pdf you can download and take to the bookstore (or use to order online).
Next up, I’ll be veering away from Whiskey Creek for a bit with the publication of The Secrets She Kept, my second Fairham Island book. It’ll be released at the end of July, but if you join my mailing list at brendanovak.com (http://www.brendanovak.com), I’ll send you an email whenever I have a book coming out. At brendanovak.com (http://www.brendanovak.com), you’ll also be able to enter monthly drawings, contact me with comments or questions or join my fight to find a cure for diabetes by purchasing a copy of Love That! Brenda Novak’s Every Occasion Cookbook (with Jan Coad). My youngest son has this disease. Thanks to the support of so many, I’ve been able to raise $2.5 million for the cause so far (which has gone to both JDRF and the DRI).
Best wishes always,
Brenda Novak
Contents
Cover (#u2591e6f1-4f70-5033-a64d-a11b4b90fa2f)
Back Cover Text (#u929b0058-eb7d-5ef8-b219-b0ef3400b72a)
Praise
Title Page (#ufdf6b54c-35d0-5ba8-af88-910db575dfa9)
Dedication (#u2dc49736-5f3a-5384-9cd3-1513c472d6c0)
Dear Reader
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Epilogue
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
1 (#u078a007a-7f7f-5d5c-a636-6cbe4bf43d1f)
There was a bloody man walking down the middle of the road.
India Sommers’s heart leaped into her throat the moment her headlights fell on the tall, lean figure. Had she been more familiar with the area, she might’ve come racing around the bend in her quiet Prius and accidentally mowed him down, but he didn’t seem to give a damn about the danger. He looked too angry to care. And judging by his rumpled clothes, she thought she could guess why. This guy had been in a fight.
He seemed determined to flag her down. But she’d seen enough violence to recognize that he was no helpless victim, which made her far less sympathetic to whatever he needed than she might otherwise have been.
She started to slow; she didn’t want to hit him. But neither was she willing to leave herself vulnerable. She was alone on a winding road in the foothills of the Sierra Nevada Mountains, and she’d moved to Gold Country only this week. She hadn’t had a chance to meet more than a handful of people. For all she knew, this man could be some kind of crazed lunatic who’d just committed murder!
He looked menacing, with his hands curled into fists and his jaw set as if he’d like to take another swing at someone.
Who had he tangled with already?
She edged to the right so she could squeeze past him. Once it seemed safe, she planned to punch the gas pedal and get out of there. Whatever he’d been involved in, she wanted no part of it. Since she’d been using GPS to get home from the art show she’d attended in another town, she had her cell phone in the passenger seat. She’d call the police as soon as she was well away, so she wouldn’t leave him stranded, and be done with this.
But the minute she slowed and he started to approach, she recognized him. It was her neighbor! She’d seen him out with his brothers, throwing a football the day she moved in. The three of them—all equally tall, dark and muscular—had even hauled her potter’s wheel into the screened-in porch at the back of her house, where she’d decided to work through the summer.
Although still a little reluctant to stop, she couldn’t just drive off, not if her neighbor needed help. So she stepped on the brake, and Rod—she remembered his name because he was the type of man a woman wouldn’t easily forget—came to the side of the car.
A chill ran through her as he waited for her to lower the window. Was she a fool for trusting him? Just because he lived next door didn’t make him safe, especially if he was high on something. And even if she could normally outrun him, which wasn’t likely, she was wearing a long dress and heels.
Cursing her desire to be helpful and polite, which occasionally overrode her good sense, she pressed the button.
“It’s you,” he said as soon as they no longer had a barrier of glass between them.
“Yes.” She wasn’t sure he remembered her name, so she added it. “India Sommers.”
“Right. My new neighbor. Listen, India, I need you to call the cops.”
He seemed quite matter-of-fact. She didn’t get the impression that he intended to drag her out of the driver’s seat and into the woods—or steal her purse or her Prius. But she’d been correct when she guessed he’d been in a fight. His knuckles were scraped.
“What happened?” she asked.
He wiped the drop of blood that was running from his mouth. “Some bastard got out of line.”
And Rod had put him back in line? Where was that bastard?
Butterflies danced in India’s belly as she squinted to see down the road, as far into the darkness as she could. “Where is this person?”
“Back that way.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder.
The other guy hadn’t driven off? Why? “Is he seriously injured?”
Rod stretched his fingers, as if his hand hurt. “Probably not seriously, but he’s out cold.”
She still wasn’t clear on why he’d been walking in the road. This remote location wasn’t one you’d arrive at on foot. “So...why are you without transportation? Were you traveling together?”
“No. He wrecked my motorcycle when he came up from behind and ran me off the road. Now it’s undrivable. And somehow in the scuffle I lost my phone. I looked for his, but he doesn’t seem to have one on him.”
“It’s a miracle you’re alive!” she said as she reached for her cell. “What would make someone do what he did?”
Obviously irritated, Rod gestured as if too much had happened to explain. “It started before, at the bar. I should’ve kicked his ass then.”
“Oh, God.” Her hand shook as she dialed 911. She didn’t do well with violence; she’d seen too much of it. That was part of the reason she’d come to Whiskey Creek—to start over in a place that still felt innocent. Her past was littered with dangerous yet attractive rebels, men a lot like this neighbor of hers. The rough, outlaw type used to fill her with excitement, with desire. They made her feel...alive.
She’d learned a few lessons since then about what really mattered. It wasn’t a reckless disregard for the rules, or a handsome face and rock-hard abs. These days she understood that in more than a cognitive sense; it’d sunk deep into her emotional memory. But whether she’d learned her lesson or not, she was still paying a terrible price for having associated with the wrong people.
As she waited for the dispatcher to pick up, she eyed the tattoo—a snake slithering up a tree—that covered the sinewy contours of Rod’s right arm until it disappeared into the sleeve of his white T-shirt. Yep, this was exactly the kind of guy she would’ve liked once upon a time. She wouldn’t have cared that he could be volatile. She wouldn’t have cared that he probably didn’t have a college education or even a decent job. Physically, he was everything a woman dreamed about.
And he’d probably be good in bed—although she had no idea where that thought came from. Just the casual way he held himself, his lack of self-consciousness and natural confidence, she supposed. He stood out from other men. But the intimacy she’d shared with Charlie, who was nothing like this guy, had been sweet and fulfilling. What Charlie had brought to the rest of her life was even better. She needed to find another man like him—when she was ready.
“911. What is your emergency?”
At the sound of the operator’s voice, she snapped to attention. “Hello... I’m out on...” She looked up at Rod for help. She’d forgotten the name of the street. She wasn’t familiar with anything other than the few blocks that constituted the center of town and Gulliver Lane, which led from town to her place.
“Old Church Road,” he said.
She’d begun to repeat that when he took her phone and spoke into it himself. “There’s been an incident about a mile before you get to Sexy Sadie’s outside Whiskey Creek. A man’s down, so send an ambulance.”
The operator must’ve asked for more details, because he said, “I’m not a doctor. All I can tell you is that he’s not moving.”
“Sir? What caused his injuries? Are you still there? Can I get your name?”
India could hear those questions, since Rod was handing her the cell. “Um, just get someone here quick,” she told the dispatcher and disconnected.
“Would you mind giving me a ride back to my bike?” he asked.
India wasn’t sure she wanted him in her car. But he had to know she was going in that direction; they lived next door to each other.
“Okay,” she said, because she didn’t see how she could refuse.
When he walked around the front of her car, she noticed that he favored his left leg and figured he had a few injuries of his own, in addition to the scraped knuckles and busted lip.
“You could use some medical attention yourself,” she said when he opened the passenger door.
“I’m all right,” he responded as he climbed in.
“But your leg—”
He stretched it out through the open door to have a look. “When he hit my bike, I came down on it pretty hard.” He lifted his torn jeans away from the scrapes. “Skinned it up is all,” he said, as if that wasn’t anything to worry about.
“Are you sure you didn’t break it?”
Shifting gingerly, he managed to bend his hurt leg far enough to get it in the car. “I wouldn’t be able to walk if I had.”
She gave him a skeptical glance. “That’s not necessarily true. It would depend on the kind of break. You should have it x-rayed.” She felt confident that was what her husband would’ve said, and he had been a doctor—on his way to becoming a world-class heart surgeon.
Rod closed the door. “There’s no need.”
Having him in the same confined space made her slightly claustrophobic. Or maybe he made her uncomfortable for other reasons. Like the fact that he reminded her of Sam, the boy she’d married straight out of high school only weeks after her mother’s death. Unlike Charlie, Sam had been a terrible husband. He’d possessed no more life skills than she had at that age, so the marriage didn’t last a year. But being with him had had its high points, including a certain giddy I-can’t-keep-my-hands-off-this-man attraction.
She felt some of that attraction now, just as she had the other day, when Rod had carried her potter’s wheel from the back of her Prius. She also felt wary—more wary than anything else. But she couldn’t complain about the way he smelled, like warm male and fecund earth. She saw some leaves sticking to his shirt and hair and assumed he’d taken a tumble when he fell from his bike. Maybe the fight had even turned into a wrestling match. Most fights went that way, at least the ones she’d witnessed.
Pushing her silver bangles up her arm, she pressed the gas pedal.
They rolled carefully around the next bend, but she didn’t see any sign of a bike, a car or another person.
“It’s farther down,” Rod said before she could ask.
Apparently, he’d walked a greater distance on that leg than she’d expected.
The road took several more twists and she still saw no sign of where the incident might’ve occurred. “Where were you going?” she asked in confusion.
He looked over at her. “When he hit me? I was on my way home.”
“No. When I saw you. You were walking away from town. You do realize that?”
“Of course. I’ve lived in Whiskey Creek all my life. It’s not likely I’d get turned around. I was heading back to the bar so I could use a phone or get help.”
She’d driven past a saloon-style tavern, one with a big neon sign out front. That had to be the place he was talking about. “Are your brothers there?” She’d gotten the impression the three men were close, that they did a lot together.
“They were until they got tired and left.”
“They must be wondering where you are.”
He was too focused on the road to look at her again. “Doubt it. I’m sure they’re asleep.” He pointed ahead. “There it is.”
She hunched over the steering wheel until she saw a flash of shiny chrome reflecting the moonlight. “So this guy knocked you off your bike, and then he came back to...what? Fight?”
“I think he was planning to taunt me, to celebrate what he’d done. Or kick me while I was down. The way I fell...he had to believe I’d be more hurt than I was.”
“He must’ve been surprised when that wasn’t the case.”
“Yeah, he would’ve been smarter to keep going, although I would’ve caught up with him eventually.”
That last bit sounded ominous, but at least the other guy seemed to have been the aggressor.
“Do you have any idea why he’d run you down?” she asked.
“I guess he didn’t like what I had to say to him at Sexy Sadie’s.”
They’d reached his Harley, which was black and lying on its side. She parked on the shoulder between it and a white compact car that was still running. The car had its back end in the road, as if the driver had slammed on his brakes and hopped out. The door was open, and the cabin light cast an eerie triangle on the blacktop.
India wanted to ask Rod what he’d said at Sexy Sadie’s that might’ve incited the driver of that car to violence, but she didn’t get the chance. He got out right away and, despite his injured leg, strode confidently over to a dark shape lying off in the bushes.
She hurried behind him, even though she wasn’t sure she could stomach what she was about to see. It used to be that the sight of blood didn’t bother her. But, like the rest of her life, that’d changed eleven months ago. Now she had nightmares in which she was drowning in blood.
And it wasn’t just anyone’s blood...
Shoving that memory from her mind, she focused on the gravel crunching beneath her high heels until they reached the inert form of the guy Rod had fought. There were no streetlights, but the moon was full. The man seemed to be about thirty-five and was dressed in a polo shirt, jeans and cowboy boots. A dark streak suggested the brawl had taken place in the middle of the road and someone—Rod, no doubt—had pulled him to the side when it was over so he wouldn’t be struck by a car.
It was a point in her neighbor’s favor that he’d had the presence of mind to take that precaution. But, as he’d mentioned, his opponent wasn’t conscious. India guessed the blood on the road had come from the man’s head, since that was where he was bleeding the most.
Was he even alive?
Holding up her dress, she crouched to find his carotid artery. Then she backed slowly away. He had a pulse, thank goodness. She didn’t want to touch him beyond ascertaining that. She was already having flashbacks, could hear her own voice screaming Charlie’s name...
Instinctively, she covered her ears—then lowered her hands when Rod gave her a funny look. “Do you know him?” he asked.
She shook her head and was relieved when he didn’t press her.
After throwing the man a disgruntled glance, he began to pace back and forth across the road.
“Shouldn’t we search for your phone?” she asked. “I could call it, if you give me your number.”
“I put it on silent. I hate it when you go out with someone whose phone is always ringing.”
“It’d light up, at least,” she said.
They gave it a try. They even used her flashlight app to comb both sides of the road—all to no avail.
“I’ll come back in the morning, when it’s light,” he said and returned to pacing.
India held three fingers to her forehead as she watched from the shoulder. “Can you please get out of the street?” she asked when he didn’t move to a safer place.
His gaze swept over her as if he was wondering why she was so dressed up. But he didn’t ask. Neither did he comply with her request. He continued to prowl while she stared in the direction of Whiskey Creek, wishing the police and the ambulance would arrive.
“Can you stop?” she finally muttered. “You’re making me nervous.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he grumbled.
Obviously, they were both agitated. She could feel the anxiety flowing through him. “I can’t help worrying,” she said. “Not everyone is as cautious as I am. I get that. But a car could come tearing around that bend any second and—”
“Fine!” He cut her off and came over to the shoulder, as if arguing with her was more of a hassle than it was worth.
She reined in her temper. “Thank you.”
He didn’t acknowledge her thanks. “You don’t happen to have a smoke, do you?”
She almost walked back to the Prius for her purse before it occurred to her that of course she wouldn’t have a smoke. She hadn’t bought a pack of cigarettes since she’d gotten pregnant with Cassia nearly six years ago. “No.”
He touched his mouth and looked at his fingers, checking to see if his lip was bleeding again. “I never smoke unless I’m drinking,” he explained. “It’s been a year since I’ve done even that. But I’ll be damned if I couldn’t use a cigarette right now.”
“I quit when I was twenty-four.” She hadn’t been the same person in those days...
He raked his fingers through his light brown hair. It was a little too long, but she admired the way it fell loose and went curly at the ends. “Can I use your phone?” he asked.
The moment she handed it to him, he turned away and kicked a pebble from foot to foot while waiting for the person he’d called to pick up.
She knew someone had answered when he straightened and forgot about messing with that rock. “You’re not going to believe this,” he said. “It’s me...Our new neighbor’s...Yes, that neighbor...Stop. Listen, I need some help. Remember that guy who was bothering Natasha? The one we warned to stay away?...Yeah, him. He wrecked into the back of my bike.”
Rod didn’t explain that he’d been driving it at the time, which seemed like a salient point to India. He could’ve been killed. But she wasn’t about to get involved in his conversation.
“No, I’m not kidding,” he said. “Uh-huh...Don’t worry, I doubt he’ll ever mess with her again.” He slowly gravitated over to the man he’d knocked out and nudged him with one foot.
No response.
“I can’t leave yet,” he said, stalking off in the other direction. “I’m waiting for the ambulance...Yes, ambulance. The asshole’s out cold...What would you have done? He had no business hitting my bike. I’m lucky I can still walk...Of course I was riding it at the time! I was driving home.”
There, the information had finally come out. India took a deep breath and told herself to relax.
Usually, it cooled off at night when the Delta breeze swept in. That was what she loved about Northern California. But they’d been going through a terrible heat wave since she’d moved to Whiskey Creek. Part of her discomfort had to be due to the stress of the situation, but it felt like a hundred degrees outside, as it had been earlier in the day.
“Right. So can you bring the trailer and get my bike?” she heard Rod say. “How would I know? Chief Bennett’s going to give me hell. He might even take me down to the station to get a statement or try to lock me up for the night...True...No, don’t call Dylan or Aaron. I can handle my own problems.”
He disconnected and was about to return her phone when he saw he’d gotten blood on it. After wiping it on his jeans, he gave it back. “Sorry.”
“No problem.” She held on to the phone, since she didn’t have a pocket and her purse was in the car. “That was...one of your brothers?”
“Yeah.”
Still no headlights coming from Whiskey Creek. What was taking emergency services so long? She and Rod—and the man who needed the ambulance—weren’t that far from town. “Which one?”
“Grady. He’s driving over to get my bike.”
“Is he older, or...”
“Dylan and Aaron are older. Grady and Mack are younger.”
“Would you mind if I asked how old you are?” They were both young enough that she couldn’t imagine it would be an offensive question.
“Thirty-one. You?”
She considered taking off her heels but was afraid she might cut her foot on a rock, nail or piece of glass. “Thirty.”
“I guessed we were about the same age.”
“When?”
“The other day.”
She ignored that, didn’t want to think about the implications. She’d noticed more details about him than she cared to admit; knowing he’d done the same with her didn’t help keep her mind where it needed to be. “So there’re five kids in your family, not three?”
“Right. Dylan and Aaron are married. They live in town with their wives. You met Grady and Mack, who live with me.”
Finally, the faint wailing of a siren drifted to her ears. “And this Natasha? She’s your...?” She knew better than to ask. It sounded as if she was probing, trying to learn whether he had a romantic interest. And yet she was too curious to let it go.
“Little sister. Actually, she’s my stepsister, ever since my father married her mother a few years ago.”
“I see. You have a big family,” she said to shift the focus away from the fact that she’d wanted to find out if Natasha was his girlfriend. “I think I’ve seen your father and stepmother. Are they living with you, too?”
“For now. It was supposed to be a temporary arrangement, but it’s been a couple of years and they don’t seem too eager to leave.”
“You’ve got a big house. Having them there wouldn’t be too bad if they’re helping with the mortgage.”
“They aren’t.”
“Then I could see how it might be an imposition.”
His gaze slid over her, taking in every detail of her long, slinky black dress—including the slit up her leg. “What’s your story?”
She cleared her throat. “I’m an only child.”
“From the city?”
“What makes you think I’m from the city?”
“That dress,” he replied. “Women around here don’t wear that type of thing very often.”
“I was born and raised in Oakland.” She’d been living in San Francisco since her marriage to Charlie, however. An art exhibit in the city was a fancy affair. She knew she was overdressed for the small towns along Highway 49, but she’d felt the need to clean up, to feel attractive again, the way she used to feel when Charlie took her out.
“And now you live alone in Whiskey Creek, except for your little girl,” he said.
She stiffened in surprise. “How’d you know I have a little girl?”
“I saw a photograph of her in your car the other day.”
“Oh.” She smiled at the thought of her five-year-old daughter. She missed Cassia so much.
He waited for her to look him in the face again. “Is she staying with her father right now, or...”
“She’s with her grandparents. They offered to keep her until I could get settled.” And because they missed Charlie as much as she did, India had felt obliged to allow it.
There were other reasons she’d felt she had to let Cassia stay with the Sommerses, but those reasons made her stomach churn.
Rod stuffed his hands in his pockets. “So where’s your husband?”
She refused to flinch despite the sting that question caused. “Not everyone who has a child has a husband.”
He raised his eyebrows. “You’re wearing a ring.”
It’d been so long since she’d been anyplace a man might bother to ask, she hadn’t even remembered, probably because her ring didn’t mean what it was supposed to. Not anymore. Charlie was dead. She’d sold their lovely home because she could no longer bear to live there. She couldn’t divest herself of her ring, too. That symbol of his love meant too much to her. Besides her mother, he was the only person who’d ever treated her as though she mattered, as though she was special enough to deserve any kind of devotion. She’d since figured out that was a reflection of her own self-esteem at the time, but he’d somehow been able to look beyond that to see what she could be, to help shape her into what she was today.
“Right. My ring,” she said. “Of course. But—” she stared down at her 1.5 carat diamond, remembering the night Charlie had given it to her “—my husband’s...gone.”
Fortunately, a truck came from the direction of the bar, interrupting their conversation before Rod could follow up on that. Two men rode in the cab, both of whom knew Rod.
The driver stopped and lowered his window, and the passenger called out to him. “What’s going on, man? You okay?”
They exchanged a few words. Then the guys in the truck asked if Rod needed any help and Rod phoned his brother to say he could send his bike home with Donald and Sam. By the time the three of them had used a wooden plank to roll the heavy motorcycle up and into the bed, a policeman arrived—Chief Bennett, according to his name tag.
“Stand back,” he told them, pushing them even farther to one side of the road. “I’ll talk to you once I get some flares out so no one else gets hurt.”
The ambulance came just as Rod’s friends drove off with his bike. India watched from about ten feet away while two paramedics knelt by the man on the ground and Chief Bennett gave Rod a sobriety test—which, thankfully, he passed.
India hated to interrupt the paramedics, but they were beginning to load the injured man into the ambulance and she hoped to get some word of his condition before they left. “Is he going to be okay?”
“Most likely,” one of them replied. “Even minor head injuries bleed a lot. I think he’ll be fine.”
“He was an idiot to pick a fight with Rod Amos,” the other paramedic piped up.
The first guy jerked his head at the wallet resting on the unconscious man’s chest, which Chief Bennett had used to ID him. “Liam Crockett’s from Dixon. Mustn’t have heard.”
India wanted to ask if Rod was a professional fighter, but they were in too much of a hurry, so she backed away and let them go.
Ever since the police chief had determined that Rod was sober, Bennett had been grilling him on how everything had happened. They were still talking, and India didn’t know whether to get in her car and leave, or wait to see if Rod needed a ride home.
“Damn it, Rod,” she heard the police chief say. “You are so damn wild. It’s always something with you.”
Rod was obviously not pleased by that reaction. “I told you. He started it.”
“Yeah, well, we’ll see if that’s what he says.”
“You saw my bike! How do you think it got wrecked?”
When Bennett refused to commit himself, Rod continued. “We could’ve settled our differences at the bar. Instead, he followed me and tried to run me off the road. What kind of pussy tries to run someone over instead of fighting like a man?”
“Wait. What do you mean, handle it at the bar?” Bennett said. “You bust up Sexy Sadie’s again, you won’t be allowed to go there anymore.”
“What are you talking about?” Rod cried. “I’ve never busted up Sexy Sadie’s! You can’t hold me accountable for what my brothers do.”
“One of you is always raising hell,” he said in disgust. “Anyway, I’m going to look into this further. That I can promise you.”
“Fine,” Rod told him. “I hope you do. When that bastard wakes up, he should go to jail.”
“If he wakes up,” the police chief grumbled. “God, I’m exhausted. Do you need a ride or—” He looked at India, obviously hoping she’d relieve him of that duty.
“I can take him,” she volunteered. “I’m going that way.”
“Maybe you should drive him over to the hospital first,” he said, “see if he has any broken bones or needs stitches. It shouldn’t take long. They’ve got to be on a first-name basis with him by now.”
Rod shot him a dark scowl. “Quit trying to make me look bad.”
“I don’t need to try,” Bennett said. “Since you can’t stay out of trouble, you make yourself look bad.”
Stepping between them, India touched Rod’s arm to get his attention before he could spout off and get himself arrested. “Should we go to the hospital?”
He shook his head, suggesting it’d been a ridiculous idea to begin with.
“Can’t hurt to get checked out,” Chief Bennett said, attempting to persuade him.
“No way,” Rod told him. “I’m going to bed.”
“Suit yourself.” With a sigh, Bennett adjusted his heavy belt and trudged over to his car.
All the excitement was over. India raised the hem of her dress to keep it from dragging on the ground as she returned to the car. She was halfway there before she realized Rod wasn’t following her—and glanced back to see why.
“I can’t even begin to guess where you’ve been tonight,” he said, “but that dress...” Letting his words fade, he ended with a whistle.
“Thank you.” She felt her face heat and wished she didn’t find his appreciation so gratifying. He was definitely not the type of man she needed. She needed Charlie, but Charlie was gone and he wasn’t coming back. The vacuum created by his death, as well as the reason behind it, had left her feeling...abysmal. It was terrible to be so lost and lonely that a stranger’s attention felt like a lifeline.
“What happened here really wasn’t my fault,” he called out. “I hope you believe that.”
“Of course,” she responded, and yet she’d heard Chief Bennett say he was always in trouble. That confirmed her first impression of him, didn’t it? He still wasn’t coming toward her, so she crossed her arms and looked back at him. “Are you ready to go home?”
Finally, he started walking. “I’m ready, but...maybe we could clarify a few things along the way.”
“Like...?”
“That ring on your finger,” he said and threw her a sexy grin.
India felt a corresponding shiver of desire, which scared her. No! she told herself. Not this guy. She couldn’t screw up again.
2 (#u078a007a-7f7f-5d5c-a636-6cbe4bf43d1f)
Rod had never particularly liked red hair. He usually had a preference for blondes. But India’s hair, which fell long and straight to her shoulders, was between a bright orange and a dark mahogany, and somehow it worked with her pale skin and almost translucent blue eyes. She was different, unique, delicate in appearance.
The more he looked at her, the more he liked what he saw. But based on what he’d gathered from their conversation since she’d started to drive, she was still in love with her dead husband. She teared up when she talked about him, and yet she wouldn’t say how he died. When Rod asked, she told him she didn’t want to “go into that.” Then she fiddled with her wedding ring the rest of the way to town. The only thing he could get out of her was that it’d been eleven months since the “tragedy” that’d taken Charlie.
“When will your daughter be back?” he asked, hoping she’d be more comfortable if he changed the subject.
“After the Fourth of July,” she replied.
He shifted to ease the terrible ache in his leg. “That gives you three weeks on your own.”
“Yes, too long for me, but I plan to make good use of that time.” She turned toward the river, where they both lived.
“Doing what?”
“Using that potter’s wheel you helped me carry into the house.”
“You do ceramics for a living?”
“Hope to,” she said. “To be honest, I haven’t made much money on it in the past, but I’ve never seriously pursued my art. I plan to open my own studio one day.”
The smile that curved her lips when she said that—as if it had always been her dream—lit her whole face.
“Here in Whiskey Creek?”
“Yes.”
“Not out of your house...”
“No. I’m picturing a cute little shop downtown. But first I have to build up my inventory.”
He was glad she didn’t expect folks to find her place along the river. He didn’t think she could be successful there, not tucked away as they were. “Don’t you have stuff already? I mean, haven’t you been doing it for a while?”
“Since high school, but not with a business in mind. What I created before belongs to a different era in my life. Now that I’m starting over, rebuilding, I’d like to take my work in a new direction.”
Her husband must’ve left her well-off, Rod decided. She’d essentially told him that what she planned to do wouldn’t cover her bills—and he knew she’d paid quite a bit for her house. Although it’d once been a cheap rental, some investors had purchased it and renovated with the intent of reselling. They did a lot of work and put some key upgrades into it, so it’d been pricey by the time they were done.
Of course, Rod would’ve been able to tell by her clothes—or that rock of a wedding ring—that she wasn’t hurting for money, even if he hadn’t known how much she’d paid for the house, or noticed the expensive furniture the movers carried in when the van arrived a few hours after he and his brothers had helped set up her potter’s wheel. “So you’ll work from home every day?”
“For the next year or so, until I can determine if I have any chance at succeeding.”
“You can make it,” he said. “There’re quite a few artisans in Gold Country. There’s a glassworks place not far away, in Sutter Creek, if you haven’t seen it.”
“I have. It’s wonderful.” She stopped at the four-way, the last turn before the route home took them along the river. “What about you? What do you do?” she asked. “From the way the paramedics were talking, I wondered if you’re a professional fighter.”
“No,” he said with a chuckle. “My oldest brother, Dylan, used to do MMA. Made good money at it, too. But he didn’t want the rest of us to get involved in it. He needed us to work in the family business, which started doing well after he took over.”
“From...”
“My father.” Rod didn’t state the reason or say anything about the circumstances. He knew how his history would sound to someone who wasn’t familiar with it, especially someone who came from a better class of people—and India’s clothes, her interest in art, even her language, suggested she came from a better class of people.
She tucked her silky-looking hair behind her ear. “What kind of business?”
“We own the auto body shop.”
“And you work there?”
He could smell her perfume. That, too, seemed to hint at money. “I do. Probably always will. But that’s okay. There isn’t anything I’d rather be doing. Maybe you’ve seen it. Amos Auto Body. It’s a couple of blocks off Sutter Street.”
She shook her head. “Don’t think I have.”
“I’ve been fixing smashed cars, trucks and motorcycles pretty much all my life.”
“Given the state of your bike, that experience should be useful,” she said wryly.
He opened and closed his right hand, which was beginning to swell. “I rebuilt it the first time. I can do it again.”
“It was insured, wasn’t it?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“That should help.”
He leaned over to check her speedometer. He felt he could push the damn car faster than she was driving. “You realize you’re ten miles under the speed limit.”
“I’m a little rattled.”
“Why? I’m the one who got into a fight.”
She gave him an exasperated look. “Which proves there’s no telling what you might come across out here!”
He chuckled. “This is a quiet area. I think you’re safe for the rest of the night. And I would like to get home before morning,” he added, just to rib her.
Her jaw dropped open. “You have no shame,” she said. “Here I am, being a good citizen and helping you out, and you’re criticizing the way I do it.”
“Nope. I’m only suggesting you make more of an effort.”
She hit the gas, and the car surged forward. “Happy now?”
“Happier.”
“I aim to please.”
He studied her profile. “India’s a different name. You’re the first India I’ve ever met.”
“My mother loved Gone with the Wind. Named me after India Wilkes.”
“Shouldn’t it be Scarlett or something like that?”
“India was a secondary character.”
“I guess I skipped that book,” he joked. He’d skipped a lot of books, hardly ever shown up for class. It was surprising he’d graduated from high school. He wouldn’t have, if his big brother had been willing to accept anything less. “Where does your mother live these days? She still in Oakland?”
“She died when I was eighteen.”
She’d had to deal with two family deaths? “I’m sorry. So it’s just you and your father now?”
“No, my father died before she did, but I didn’t know him very well. They were divorced when I was three. He was an alcoholic, wasn’t part of my life.”
He could relate to her situation there. His own father had turned to alcohol. “So neither of your parents knew Charlie?”
“No, we were only together the last six years.”
“Where did you meet?”
He expected her to say college. The timing would’ve been about right. But she didn’t. “I was waiting tables at a restaurant near the hospital where he worked. He and some of the other doctors used to come in quite often.”
“Doctors.”
She nodded. “He was ten years older than me.”
“And he was a doctor.” Rod repeated that because it wasn’t good news. It confirmed that she was, indeed, way out of his league.
“A heart surgeon,” she said.
Shit. Just what a guy wanted to hear when he’d never even attempted college.
“If he’d had another fifteen or twenty years, who knows what he might’ve accomplished,” she said softly, almost reverently. “I believe he would’ve made a real difference in the world.”
Rod knew then that it didn’t matter if Charlie was six feet under. An auto body technician couldn’t compare with a renowned heart surgeon, even the memory of one.
“Was it a car accident that killed him?” Rod hoped it wasn’t a heart attack. That would be too ironic.
“Please. Like I said, I’d rather not talk about his death.”
He didn’t understand why she had to leave him wondering. She’d told him other things, like how long Charlie had been gone. Why couldn’t she say it was an accident or an illness or whatever?
“I shouldn’t have asked again,” he said. But his curiosity couldn’t be entirely unexpected. Someone dying that early was unusual.
They were silent for a moment. Then Rod spoke again. He didn’t want his question about her late husband to be the end of their conversation. “Can’t be easy to work on art with a child underfoot. Is that part of the reason your in-laws are keeping your daughter? To give you a chance to get started on your pottery?”
“Not really. Having her around helps fill the hole Charlie left behind. They have a daughter, but her job took her to Japan two years ago. They don’t see her often.”
“A family of high achievers, huh?”
“Yes. They can be a bit intimidating.”
“You didn’t feel you fit in?”
She hesitated. “They were fine. Anyway, for the record, I’d never choose to be without Cassia.” She sent him a grim smile. “When she’s gone, I hardly know what to do with myself. I can’t work all the time.”
She’d recently lost her husband, and she was new in town. He could see why she’d want her daughter to keep her company. But at least the kid had grandparents who cared about her. Rod hadn’t been lucky enough to get decent parents, let alone anything more. If not for Dylan, his oldest brother, who’d raised him, he would’ve been put into foster care when he was in middle school.
Now that they were older and able to take care of themselves, life was easier. Rod was glad of that. He was also determined not to do anything that might make it hard again. Intrigued though he was with his new neighbor, he’d be better off moving on to other prospects.
“You’ve been through a lot of changes,” he said. “But I’m sure things will eventually improve.” That was a throwaway statement. He was backing off and letting her have her secrets and her space. Considering what his mother had done and how it had affected his whole family, he had no desire to get involved with an emotionally inaccessible woman. He wasn’t about to try to break down what he considered a locked door.
When India glanced over, he could tell she’d noticed the change in his tone. That glance was filled with uncertainty, and maybe a tinge of regret. She understood that he’d disengaged; he could see it in her face. It surprised him that she didn’t seem completely convinced she wanted that. But what else could he do? She was the one who’d thrown up barriers.
“You’re quiet,” she said at length.
Now that he no longer had any romantic interest to distract him from his injuries, he discovered that his leg, his mouth, his hands—almost every part of his body—hurt like hell. He needed to take a shower, swallow some pain pills and fall into bed. “It’s late. I’m not in the best shape. And there’s not much to say.”
“I may not be open to a relationship. I’m still in love with Charlie. I hope we can be friends, though.”
That was direct, but he’d been direct with her. He preferred open communication, didn’t see any reason to play games. “Of course.”
“I’m sincere. I could use a friend.”
He shrugged. “Sure, we’ll be friends and neighbors.”
That must’ve sounded trite, because she frowned, apparently not pleased by his response.
Bed, he told himself. He needed sleep. This woman was sending him mixed signals. She said she was still in love with her late husband and yet she kept looking at him as if...well, as if she liked what she saw. How was he supposed to react to that if she wouldn’t give him a chance?
As soon as she pulled into his drive, he reached for the door handle.
“Rod?”
When he looked back, she seemed about to speak.
“Yes?” he prompted.
She pressed her thumbnails into the padded steering wheel. “Maybe if...if you’re not too tired, you should come over to my place.”
“Right now?”
When she raised her eyes, she seemed nervous—but she nodded.
“What for?” he asked.
She kept making those indentations in her steering wheel. “Well, I’ve got some salve and bandages. I could help get the dirt and gravel out of your leg.”
Except she’d just told him she wasn’t interested. What the hell? “It’s okay, I’ll manage.”
She caught his arm. “You could—” her voice fell to a whisper “—shower at my place.”
He stared down at her pale hand against his darker skin. “I thought you didn’t want to be with me.”
Releasing his arm, she looked away. “I never said that.”
“You shut me down. Immediately. I let you know I was interested, that I wanted to take you out, and got a no.”
She went back to making those marks in the steering wheel. “Because I’m not available for a relationship. I think it’s important to be honest about that up front.”
“So what’s this about?” He peered at her a little more closely. “Sex?”
Her nails dug deeper. “No! I just thought...maybe we could get to know each other a little better.”
“Then this isn’t about sex. You want me to shower at your place...as a friend? For company or something?”
“Sort of. I guess we could...talk.”
They’d been talking. He didn’t believe that was what she had in mind. But whatever she was asking for wasn’t easy for her to put into words. “You’re missing your husband,” he ventured.
“Of course.”
“The way he touched you.”
She briefly closed her eyes. “Yes.”
“And you haven’t been with anyone since.”
Her face flushed. If he could see her cheeks in the light, he suspected they’d match her hair. “Right.”
He felt his breath seep out, hadn’t even known he was holding it. “Then you do want to fuck me.”
When she blanched, he regretted stating it so baldly. But he didn’t want to wind up at her house and have her bail on him. This night had been bad enough.
“It doesn’t have to go that far,” she said.
“You just want to make out?”
“I’m...open to ideas. I guess with Cassia gone, it felt like a good opportunity to...” Finally, she glanced up—and then she seemed to lose her train of thought because she stopped talking again.
“Be with a man,” he filled in. Did that put it nicely enough?
She slid her bracelets up her arm, something she’d been doing the whole drive. “If...if you’re interested. But you’re injured and...I’m basically a stranger to you, so...I’ll understand if you’re not up for that kind of...encounter.”
“I’m trying to get this straight. You won’t let me take you to dinner. But you’ll let me take off your clothes?”
She would no longer look at him. “I know, that sounds crazy,” she said with an awkward laugh. “I’m not thinking straight. You can go.”
“This back and forth is confusing,” he told her. “I’ve been getting conflicting signals since I got in your car. So why don’t you tell me exactly what you’re after?”
Her eyes widened. “You liked the dress,” she said helplessly, as if she couldn’t frame it any more clearly than that.
He chuckled at her lame attempt. “I like what’s in the dress, and I’m not ashamed to admit it.”
She said nothing. Staring straight ahead, at his house, she nibbled at her bottom lip.
“Look at me,” he said and waited for her to comply. “Are you really committed to going to bed with a man you’ve barely met? Have you ever done that before?”
“No. I’ve been with some rather...unsavory characters, but I always knew them before...you know.”
“And that means...”
“It wouldn’t be a good idea.”
“That’s a no,” he said. “Okay. I’m glad I clarified. Because if I’d had to guess, I would’ve gone the other way.”
He started to get out, but she caught his arm again, and this time when he looked back, she gripped her forehead with her free hand and squeezed her eyes shut. “Yes. It’s a yes.”
Suddenly, Rod didn’t feel all the aches and pains that’d been bothering him. Opportunities like this didn’t come around very often. Although there’d never been any shortage of women in his life, there’d been no one like India Sommers. She was refined, educated, classy—not the kind of girl who typically tried to pick him up.
Lowering his gaze to her lips, he leaned across the console to get a sample of what he could expect at her house. He could tell a lot about a woman by the way she kissed—and he wasn’t disappointed. She wasn’t too assertive or overeager, despite the fact that she was the one who’d extended the invitation. She was still struggling with her decision to do something so reckless. He could feel the tug-of-war inside her—between her idea of what was appropriate and her desire. But she was responsive in spite of that, and her mouth meshed so comfortably with his that he had no doubt he was in for a special treat.
He could use a few hours with a woman, especially a woman who kissed like this.
When her hands touched his face, and her tongue gently probed the cut on his bottom lip before she allowed him to deepen the kiss, he could sense an inherent sweetness, and that caused his excitement to skyrocket. He’d found her to be different and attractive from the start. But she’d acted so aloof when he helped her unload her Prius, Rod had decided she thought she was too good for him and his brothers.
He’d never expected this.
“That’s nice,” she murmured when he kept it soft.
It was nice. Her kiss told him she wasn’t nearly as cold and unreachable as he’d assumed.
Soon his heart was pounding almost as hard as when he’d gotten into that fight. But as she relaxed and began to sink into the kiss, he could tell she was investing a great deal of emotion, as if...as if she knew him better than she did.
He pulled back to look at her, but she didn’t open her eyes. He was fairly certain she didn’t want to see him. She wanted to feel what he was making her feel so she could pretend he was someone else. Someone she loved and missed. Charlie.
A strange reluctance hit him, slowing his pulse. Two minutes earlier he hadn’t cared that she wanted him only for his body. He’d known she wasn’t inviting him over for his personality; they weren’t well enough acquainted for that. But now?
His gut told him to stop. He’d been with plenty of women, knew he could give her an orgasm. But she’d experienced what it was like to feel something deeper for the man who was making her tremble. A hit-and-run, even a successful one, would only convince her that their time together had been a mistake.
Finally, she opened her eyes. “What’s wrong?”
He wasn’t sure he could explain the disappointment he felt, wasn’t sure he should try. Since they’d barely met, it probably wouldn’t make any sense.
“Are you...in pain?” she asked. “Hurting? I have ibuprofen at my house.”
“That’s not it.” He had so much testosterone flowing through him that, once again, he could hardly feel his injuries. He wanted her; he was rock-hard. But she didn’t want him, and that disconnect was something he’d never experienced before. His previous one-night stands had involved women who admired him and were anxious to be with him—or what they perceived him to be. Even if he couldn’t count love as part of the equation, there’d been the hope of something more, a certain openness that wasn’t present here. It was almost as if India had chosen him because she didn’t feel he could ever be a threat to her heart. He was just a cheap substitute for the man she’d married.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“You’re sorry?” she echoed. “What does that mean?”
“I didn’t intend to get your hopes up and then disappoint you.” On the contrary, that was the one thing still goading him to continue. He felt he’d made a commitment, even though he’d barely touched her.
“Is that what you’re doing?” she asked.
“I guess it is,” he replied.
“What’d I do? You...you don’t like the way I kiss? Or my perfume reminds you of someone else? Or—”
“Nothing like that.”
“Then what?”
Should he tell her that he’d figured out why she’d chosen him? That he understood she’d defined him as a “troublemaker,” thanks to what she’d witnessed tonight and what Chief Bennett had said, and saw him as the perfect guy to use?
“I’d go home with you if that’d fix anything,” he said and meant it. “But you’d be every bit as lonely and miserable in the morning. The guilt might make things worse.”
Her troubled eyes met his. “If you’re stopping for my sake, don’t. I see it as an hour or two during which I won’t have to feel what I’d otherwise feel.” She pressed her lips against his, trying to engage him again. “I can take care of myself,” she said when he resisted. “I’ll accept responsibility.”
Catching her hands, he leaned away from her. “But there’s no way I can compete with the man in your mind.”
She looked befuddled. “You don’t need to compete. I’m not asking you to.”
“That’s just it. Because you’ve already counted me out. Why would I get involved?”
“Surely a guy like you—”
“A guy like me? You don’t even know me.”
“I’m guessing you’ve had other casual encounters.”
“Of course. I’m not pretending to be a saint.”
“Then...how am I different?” she asked. “I won’t expect anything from you afterward. I promise. I may live next door, but I’ll keep to myself.”
“Maybe that’s the problem.” He could feel her surprise when he got out, knew she was watching as he walked to his house and went inside. He was stunned himself. Was he crazy to refuse what she’d offered him?
He knew what Grady and Mack would say. They’d think he’d lost his ever-lovin’ mind. They’d all been admiring her, and she’d just invited him into her bed!
If he were a few years younger, he would’ve said yes to something quick and dirty like that, he told himself. But he was thirty-one. It was time to take life more seriously, time to earn more respect. If India wanted to be with him, she’d have to give him an honest shot, not relegate him to the category of “good for a midnight ride but nothing else.”
Just because he’d had so little in life for so long didn’t mean he had to accept less forever—even if he was an auto body technician and not a heart surgeon.
* * *
If she closed her eyes, India could taste Rod’s kiss, could easily feel the way his lips and tongue had moved with and against hers. It wasn’t often that a man could kiss with such perfect pressure tempered by control. She’d just decided that she’d picked an ideal partner, one who could actually carry her away, when he’d pulled back and brought all that positive sensation to a halt.
Why had he changed his mind?
What he’d said led her to believe he wasn’t satisfied with the limitations she’d imposed on their encounter. Perhaps he didn’t like that she was the one dictating the terms. Or she’d ruined the challenge by offering. The men she’d been with before Charlie had liked having something to conquer. Love, or what passed for it, was a game to them. Considering what she’d learned from those early experiences, she’d played Rod entirely wrong. But she was an adult now, no longer interested in all the pretense and posturing that so often went with the single life.
Besides, she hadn’t intended to proposition him, hadn’t intended any of what had happened tonight. It’d been a desperate, spur-of-the-moment attempt to numb the dull ache that echoed through her body with every beat of her heart.
“Congratulations, you’ve fallen to a whole new low,” she muttered to herself. She needed to get her little girl back home. Cassia was the only anchor she still had in her life. She wouldn’t have made this mistake if Cassia was with her.
Getting her child back early wouldn’t be easy. Charlie’s parents wouldn’t welcome the idea. They’d likely start a fight as soon as she mentioned it.
Tears burned her eyes as she entered her drive and parked. Then she sat there, staring at her new house. She needed to hang all the art waiting in the detached garage, make this place her home in the truest sense. But some of those pieces were so heavy they’d require a helper, which she didn’t have, not unless she went to the trouble of hiring someone.
Anyway, the paintings would only remind her of Charlie, she told herself. He was the one who’d bought them for her—and she already thought of him far too often. She’d never get over him if she didn’t do what she could to move on.
She saw a light go on next door and realized it was probably coming from Rod’s room. The window that glowed in the darkness was on the second floor, and it had a small deck with stairs that led to the backyard and overlooked the river. She grabbed her purse, but just as she reached for the door latch, he confirmed that it was his room by coming out onto that deck and looking down at her car.
She wished she’d hurried inside while she’d had the chance to do it without being observed. How could she be so desperate as to proposition her new neighbor?
He must’ve thought she was pathetic...
Blinking back the tears that’d threatened a moment before—the situation would only get worse if he believed she was crying over his rejection—she forced herself to climb out of the car. She wanted to offer him an apology for being so forward, and to promise she’d never approach him like that again. But he was too far away to hear her, and she wasn’t about to walk any closer.
Better to prove it, anyway.
So she acted as though she didn’t notice him standing there and said nothing.
Once she was safely inside, she breathed a sigh of relief, locked the door and went to lie on Cassia’s bed, where she could hug one of her daughter’s stuffed animals while she waited for morning. Although she knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep for some time—she’d had trouble getting a solid eight hours ever since that night—she didn’t bother turning on any lights. She just stared at the moonbeams filtering through the window.
3 (#u078a007a-7f7f-5d5c-a636-6cbe4bf43d1f)
The next morning Mack walked into the kitchen. “What happened last night?” he asked.
Rod glanced up from his cereal bowl. He wasn’t feeling any better for having slept. As a matter of fact, he was worse. He wasn’t bleeding anymore and some of the scrapes he’d sustained when he fell from his bike were starting to scab over, but every muscle was sore. He could hardly move without wincing. He was beginning to wonder if he should’ve listened to Chief Bennett and gone to the hospital—not for his leg but for his hand. It was almost twice its normal size and hurt whenever he tried to use it.
“Last night was freaking crazy,” he said. And Mack didn’t know it, but the fight wasn’t the only crazy part. Rod felt terrible about what’d taken place between him and India. He should’ve gone to her place. So what if she wanted to pretend he was her dead husband? It wasn’t her intention to be hurtful or selfish; she was just looking for an escape from the pain. He’d had low moments like that in his life, hadn’t he? When he’d needed to be with someone?
Besides, there were worse tasks than giving a woman a little pleasure and comfort...
“Grady woke me up, said you’d been in a fight with the prick who was giving Natasha so much trouble.” Mack walked over to the cupboard to grab himself a bowl. “When I opened my eyes this morning, I thought maybe it was a bad dream. But now that I see you...”
Rod used his left hand to bring the spoon to his mouth. “I wish it were a dream.”
“Tell me the other guy looks worse.”
“He should. He’s the one who’s in the hospital.”
“Good for you,” Mack said. “I don’t feel the least bit sorry for him. Sounds like he’s where he deserves to be.”
Rod rested his elbows on the table. “Whether he deserved it or not, I wasn’t trying to hurt him that bad. He can’t fight worth shit, but he doesn’t seem to understand his own limitations. Every time I’d step back, thinking he’d had enough, he’d take another swing at me.”
“Stubborn son of a bitch,” Mack grumbled. “So how’d it end? Did someone call the police or what?”
“I called. The fight didn’t happen outside the bar. It happened on the road when I was on my way home. And he needed an ambulance.”
Mack whistled. “Which officer came out? Hope it was Howton. Far as cops go, Howton’s not too bad.”
“None other than Chief Bennett. Just my luck, right?”
“He’s not a big fan of yours, not since your ex-girlfriend filed that complaint claiming you beat her.”
Rod grimaced at the reminder. “I never touched Melody.” He’d never even been tempted to strike a woman, but if he ever did, he wouldn’t have the police to fear as much as his older brother. Dylan would beat him to within an inch of his life—and Dylan was one of the few people who could do it. “She was pissed off that I was calling it quits and was trying to get back at me.”
“I know that, and you know that. But once this kind of accusation’s been launched, the dude never gets the benefit of the doubt. There’ll always be people who wonder, and I think Bennett’s one of your skeptics.”
Rod thought so, too. What Melody had done still enraged him. It was so unfair. But the more he protested, the guiltier he looked. He’d had to let it go. He could only hope that someday she’d come forward and tell the truth.
Maybe when she was over him. Until then...
“Bennett’s not a big fan of any of ours,” Rod said as he shoveled another spoonful of cereal into his mouth. “But at least he’s not as bad as the former chief.”
“You would’ve gone to jail if Stacy was still in charge,” Mack agreed. “He loved to yank Dylan’s chain, and he knew he could do that by harassing one of us.” He poured himself some of the Wheaties Rod had on the table. “Does Natasha know you wound up fighting the guy who kept coming on to her?”
“Not unless Grady woke her, too. Why?”
“She won’t be happy about it. You heard her last night. She thinks she can fight her own battles.”
“Yeah, well, it got personal when he crashed into my bike.”
“I’m sure Grady didn’t wake her. He only came into my room to ask me to go with him, in case you weren’t in any shape to help load the bike.”
“Then we won’t mention it,” Rod said, but he knew there’d be no keeping it from her. Not only did she live with them, when she wasn’t in school she also worked at the shop, doing the bookkeeping and other administrative tasks. She’d see his scrapes and bruises and know something was up.
“So what now?” Mack asked. “What’re the chances this incident will just...go away?”
Rod dropped his spoon in his empty bowl. “Not very good. If that guy—Liam Whatever—decides to press charges, it could be a problem.”
Mack scooped up a spoonful of cereal. “He started it. But that might not matter. You’ve been in too many fights to get the benefit of any doubt.”
Rod didn’t appreciate the candor. “You’ve been in as many fights as I have, little brother.”
Mack didn’t argue. He grinned, completely unrepentant. “Have you heard if the jerk’s going to be okay?”
“Haven’t called the hospital yet.”
“He had no business trying to cop a feel off a nineteen-year-old girl.”
That was true. She’d asked him to leave her alone several times. He wouldn’t, which was why they’d stepped in. But talking about Natasha always brought up something Rod didn’t like. He sometimes got the impression that Mack cared a little too much about their stepsister’s love life. Or, rather, he cared in the wrong way. Natasha was nothing like her insufferable mother. Rod was willing to look out for her as a big brother should, or he wouldn’t have stood up for her last night. But Mack was the family pet. Surely there was someone else out there, someone better, as much as Rod hated to use that term, for his kid brother. Natasha was basically a decent person, but anyone who’d been raised by Anya would have issues, and to say she could be prickly was an understatement.
Fortunately, Natasha was heading off to Utah to attend college in the fall, so they only had to get through the summer. With any luck, Mack would meet another new girlfriend—he went through quite a few—while she was away, and Rod’s concerns and suspicions wouldn’t amount to anything. Then, if their father ever divorced the freeloading drug addict he’d married, they’d all be done with Anya.
“I need to go out and find my phone,” he said.
“I could help with that, if you want,” Mack volunteered.
Rod gave him a wry smile. “Nice try, but I think you’ll be more useful at the shop. We’re always busy on Saturdays. I’ll get there as soon as I can.”
Mack scowled. “Why bother? You can’t do anything with a broken hand.”
“It’s not broken,” Rod argued and hoped to God that was true.
The creak of footsteps told them someone was coming down the hall. Rod expected it to be Grady. Unless there was some reason not to, they usually drove to the shop together.
But it wasn’t their brother. It was Natasha, still sporting the X on the back of her hand that told the bartenders she was underage and couldn’t be served last night. Her bleached blond hair was spiked and she wore a nose ring, but no one could deny she was attractive in spite of everything she did to hide her natural beauty. Rod could see how Mack might like her. A lot of guys did. Despite her wild hair and her piercings and tattoos, she had a certain...raw sex appeal. But that didn’t change the many reasons it’d be stupid to get romantically involved with her.
“Thought I heard you.” Her gaze settled on Mack first. It had a tendency to do that—and to return to him again and again. When she finally shifted her attention to Rod, she gasped. “What the fuck happened to your face?”
He walked over to put his bowl in the sink. “Watch your language. We’ve talked about that before. You’re a girl, not a truck driver.”
“Oh, stop with the misogynistic bullshit. I’m of age. I’m not just a girl anymore, and I’ll say exactly what I want,” she told him. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. So what happened?”
He rolled his eyes. “You’re hopeless.”
“Does that mean you’re not going to tell me?”
“Grady’ll have to explain. I gotta run.”
“Why can’t Mack?” she asked.
Rod took Mack’s bowl and dumped it into the sink.
“Hey!” Mack cried. “I wasn’t finished!”
“You can eat later,” Rod said, messing up Mack’s hair just to piss him off. “Let’s go.”
Mack knocked his hand away, then halfheartedly tried to comb his hair back into place with his fingers. “Go where?”
“You told me you’d help me find my phone, remember?”
Rod thought Mack might give away the fact that they’d already decided he should go to the shop and not help find the phone, but he didn’t. He didn’t speak until he’d passed Rod’s smashed bike, which Donald and Sam had set to one side of the driveway, and climbed into Rod’s truck. “First you don’t want me to go. Now you do. What’s up?” he asked once Rod had started the engine.
Should he try to explain? Probably not. If he brought it up, his brother would only deny feeling any attraction to their stepsister. To Mack’s credit, he did his best to avoid her. Rod had noticed the effort he put into that. But...as hard as his brother was fighting whatever he felt, there was still a kind of tangible energy whenever he and Natasha were in the same room. “You’ve never touched Natasha, have you?” he asked.
Mack’s eyebrows slammed together. “What the hell are you talking about? Touched her in what way?”
“You know what way.”
“Unless you’re looking for a better fight than you got last night, don’t ever ask me that again,” he snapped, instantly furious. “That’s too screwed up for words.”
“I know she’s attractive, but...she’s off-limits.” They weren’t related by blood, and they hadn’t grown up together, so Rod could see where the confusion might come in. Two people from different families meeting after adolescence because their parents had married through some prison website could cloud the “related” issue. But Rod couldn’t stand the thought of his brother being tied to someone who’d make Anya a permanent part of their lives. There were too many other women out there who didn’t have an addict for a mother, didn’t bear the stigma of ever having been called their sister—and didn’t have the emotional problems Natasha did.
“You think I’d ever be able to forget that?” Mack said.
Rod felt like shit for even asking. He should’ve gone with his first instinct and kept his mouth shut. “No, of course not,” he replied and peeled out of the drive.
* * *
When India heard the sound of an engine, she peered through her plantation shutters. She knew it had to be one or more of the Amos brothers. Other than a handful of houses half a mile down the road, they were her only neighbors. She liked the countryside, with its wide-open spaces. That was why she’d chosen this location.
Sure enough, someone was leaving in a big blue truck.
She recognized Rod immediately. He was in the driver’s seat, which was closest to her as the vehicle rolled by. She was fairly certain he had Mack or Grady with him, but it was difficult to see. The passenger didn’t matter, anyway. Knowing that Rod wouldn’t be around for a while eased her anxiety. She hadn’t begun to get over her embarrassment about what she’d done last night. The fact that they could bump into each other if she so much as went out to weed the front flower bed made her reluctant to leave the house.
God, what had she been thinking?
Rod had to be scratching his head, too, wondering what kind of woman had moved in next door. The further she got from that moment, the more horrified she became. It bothered her so much that, when she couldn’t sleep last night, she’d gotten up and baked him some cookies. She had a special snickerdoodle recipe that had been her mother’s. Besides a few pieces of jewelry, some photo albums and a handmade sweater, that recipe was about all her mother had left behind. Charlie would often take platefuls of her snickerdoodles to the other doctors and nurses at the hospital, so she thought Rod might like them, too.
In any case, they were her peace offering. She’d just relocated, planned on starting over. She didn’t want the first person she’d met in Whiskey Creek to hold a terrible opinion of her. She and Rod could be neighborly even if they weren’t exactly friends, couldn’t they?
As she watched his taillights disappear around the bend, she breathed a sigh of relief. Now she had the chance to make her delivery when he wasn’t home, which was the opportunity she’d been looking for—if only she could figure out what to say on the accompanying note and get it over there before he got back. She didn’t want to write anything that might make him think this was another invitation. That was why she’d driven to the Gas-N-Go early this morning, before the closest supermarket was open, to buy a package of paper plates—so she wouldn’t have to put the cookies on a dish he’d feel obliged to return. She was merely acknowledging that she’d screwed up and was promising it wouldn’t happen again. She preferred to leave it at that.
She imagined seeing him in the future, out in the yard or on the road, and giving him a polite wave. She wasn’t sure they could get to a polite wave from “Will you take me to bed?” Especially with just a plateful of cookies. But she’d already made them. She figured it was worth a try.
Dear Rod, she wrote. Then she made a face at the words. “Dear” sounded both too familiar and old-fashioned. Unfortunately, “Rod” without the “Dear” didn’t seem right, either.
After throwing that note away, she started over and skipped the salutation completely:
I wasn’t myself last night. I’m sorry. Please accept these cookies as my apology and know I will never cross that line again.
Sincerely,
Your neighbor—who is cringing at her behavior but promises she’s not as bad as you must think.
She didn’t allow herself to analyze what she’d written or change it again. She slipped the card into its envelope, grabbed the cookies and a roll of tape and hurried over to the stairs that led up to the deck outside his bedroom. She couldn’t go to the front door and ring the bell, or his brothers would know she was leaving him something. If he had to explain, she was afraid of what he might say.
“With any luck, he’ll forgive me, and we’ll just go on as if it never happened,” she mumbled and put the foil-covered plate on the railing.
As she searched for a place to tape the note, she saw that he hadn’t closed his door all the way. He didn’t seem to take much care when it came to protecting his personal property, but she could understand why he might not be too concerned. There wasn’t a lot of crime in Whiskey Creek; that was one of the reasons she’d moved there. Also, for the most part, everyone knew everyone else, which would make a man like Rod an unlikely victim.
He was an idiot to pick a fight with Rod Amos. That was what one of the paramedics had said.
Since she had such easy access to his room, India wished she could put the cookies on his bed or dresser, so she wouldn’t have to worry about ants, rodents or other animals finding them before he did. But entering his house wasn’t a serious consideration until she heard someone outside, around the front.
“You’ll have to drive over later,” a male voice called out. “I’m late as it is.”
Damn! She was afraid she was about to be spotted...
“It won’t take me long to shower,” a female voice responded. “Rod’s hand is jacked up. Mack texted me that he doesn’t think Rod’ll be able to work, but Mack will be at the shop in an hour or so.”
“We’ll manage. See you there,” came the response.
An engine started. India had to do something or whoever was driving that car would see her the moment he backed up, and she definitely didn’t want to be caught lurking outside Rod’s door.
Snatching up her cookies, she stepped into the room.
“Hey, keep it down!” someone shouted, this time from inside the house instead of at the door. “What do you think this is? I’m trying to sleep!”
That was a woman, too, but not the woman India had already heard, a fact that became more apparent when the first woman snapped an equally irritated response. “Yeah, well, some of us have to work.”
Half expecting an argument to flare up, India held her breath. Neither woman seemed to be in a good mood. But nothing else happened. The younger one must’ve gotten in the shower so she could go to work, because everything fell silent.
“Thank goodness,” India whispered. She thought she could leave now, but she couldn’t help taking a look at Rod’s room while she was there.
He had a big bed, which he hadn’t made. His torn and bloody clothes from last night lay on the floor, along with some cleats and a football. Other than that, the place was clean. It was even sort of decorated, which came as a surprise. Twenty or more baseball caps lined the dresser, and a collection of grilles and hubcaps from old cars hung all over the walls.
India was tempted to throw away the clothes he’d left—they couldn’t be saved—and straighten the bedding. She supposed it was the mother in her...
Actually, if she was being honest, it had nothing to do with the mother in her. She liked him enough to want to touch the things that were most personal to him...
A door opening and shutting somewhere else in the house reminded her that she needed to get out.
She set her cookies on the railing, where she’d put them before, taped the note beside the foil-covered plate and hurried down the steps and across the lawn.
Once she reached her screened-in porch, she knew she was safe. But then she turned to give the cookies and note a final glance and realized she’d left his door open a little wider than she’d found it. She hated that he might guess she’d invaded his private space—especially since she had—but she wasn’t going over to correct it. In the future, she planned to keep her distance from Rod Amos and anything or anyone associated with him.
Now she needed to figure out a way to approach her in-laws about getting her daughter home, so she could bring some normalcy back into her life, or the loneliness that dogged her every step would completely destroy her.
Before she could commit herself to that course of action, however, she had to call the detective who was handling her late husband’s case.
4 (#u078a007a-7f7f-5d5c-a636-6cbe4bf43d1f)
“Are you going to get it x-rayed?” Dylan asked, his voice sounding a bit tinny through Bluetooth.
Rod glanced at his swollen hand. He’d been driving with his left; it hurt too much to use his right. But at least he’d found his phone, way off, under a bush. The fact that it had traveled so far from the point of impact showed how hard he’d come down, which made him angry all over again. “I think I’ll give it a few days. See how it feels.”
Mack frowned at him from the passenger seat. He, too, had been telling Rod to stop by the hospital—and now that Dylan was starting in on him, Rod wasn’t sure he’d be able to refuse. He loved and respected his oldest brother more than anyone in the world. Dylan was more of a father to him than their own father had ever been.
“I’d rather you got to a doctor right away,” Dylan said.
Mack, who could hear everything, since Rod’s Bluetooth worked as a speakerphone, smirked at him. He knew how hard it was to say no to Dylan. They all had the same problem—except maybe Aaron. Although Aaron and Dylan got along now, they’d fought like crazy over the years, probably because they were closest in age and too damn much alike.
“What will it hurt to wait?” Rod asked.
“I need you at the shop,” Dylan replied. “If it’s broken, let’s get it fixed so you can use it as soon as possible.”
Rod rolled his eyes. “Fine.”
When Mack laughed to see him crumble so easily, Rod sent his younger brother a look that said he’d better not provoke him any further, and Mack, of course, ignored that and slugged Rod in the arm.
“Want me to meet you over there?” That came from Dylan before Rod could slug Mack in return, an interruption that was well-timed. Since he couldn’t use his right hand, it would’ve been too awkward to reach across his body with his left.
“You kidding?” Rod said. “It’s Saturday. You’re needed at the shop. Besides, I’m a big boy. I can handle seeing a doctor on my own. I’ll drop Mack off first, so you’ll at least have his help.”
“Thanks.”
“I’ll check on Liam while I’m at the hospital,” Rod went on. “See how bad off he is.” As angry as he was that this guy wouldn’t leave Natasha alone at the bar, not to mention everything the bastard had done afterward, Rod didn’t want to be responsible for seriously injuring anyone. It wasn’t as if he lived for violence. He also didn’t want this incident to escalate. He knew he’d probably get the worst of any repercussions. Although Liam had started the fight, he’d been hurt worse, so it meant Rod looked like the bad guy.
“No need,” Dylan said. “I’ve already called over there. Liam Crockett has a broken jaw, a broken nose and a concussion.”
“Damn!” Mack said. “You busted him up good.”
“What’d you do?” Dylan asked. “Slam his head into the pavement?”
Rod wasn’t even sure. It’d all happened so fast—and when someone pushed him that far, he fought to win. “I honestly don’t remember. After I went flying from my bike, I got up, saw him charging toward me and...unleashed. But it wouldn’t have been like that if he hadn’t asked for it.”
“Might be a few days before we find out what he has to say,” Dylan informed him. “I talked to Chief Bennett this morning, too. Called him as soon as Grady filled me in. He’s not even going to take Liam’s statement until the guy gets out of the hospital.”
“When will that be?” Rod asked.
“Tuesday or Wednesday,” Dylan replied. “At least, that’s what his sister told me, who’s with him.”
Rod scratched his neck. “Stupid bastard shouldn’t have run me off the road.”
“I doubt he’ll ever make that mistake again,” Dylan said wryly. “Call me after your X-ray.”
Dylan had his own son to worry about these days. Little Kellan was nearly eighteen months old. Dylan doted on him, but Rod figured he’d never stop taking care of his brothers, too. Their father was out of prison and living at the house with his wife and her daughter, yet J.T. hadn’t replaced Dylan. Dylan had been there for them too many years to suddenly stop playing that role.
Rod considered it a blessing that Dylan retained some interest in them. Their father was more of a liability than an asset, even now.
“Okay,” Rod said grudgingly. “But it might be a while before you hear from me. You know how long the hospital takes.”
“Cheyenne can bring Kellan over and sit with you, if you like,” Dylan offered.
“Kellan doesn’t need to be in a hospital waiting room,” Rod said.
“They can keep you company, help you pass the time.”
Mack cut in, raising his voice so Dylan could hear. “Hey, Dyl, I can always send some toy trucks with Rod, if you think that’ll make the wait any easier.”
Rod shot Mack another warning glance for being such a smart-ass but spoke to Dylan. “You’re getting soft in your old age, big brother. You know that? You’re treating us more like little girls every day.”
“Just get yourself back to work,” Dylan snapped.
“That’s better,” Rod teased and hung up.
“So you’ll go to the hospital if Dylan asks you to but not if I do?”
“I’d walk through fire if Dylan asked me to, and so would you,” he replied. As far as Rod was concerned, Dylan had earned it.
* * *
India had tried to reach Detective Flores three times and received his voice mail every time. She wanted to talk to him. But when she saw his number flash across her screen, she drew a deep breath. There was so much she needed him to say, so much he never seemed able to say. Her disappointment in the criminal justice system and the lack of information and closure she received from the police could be crippling. Sometimes it took days to recover.
“India, Detective Flores,” he said when she answered. “How are you?”
He always sounded so warm and friendly. But she didn’t trust the encouragement and hope his tone offered. His voice had the same inflection the day he’d told her that the crime scene analysts hadn’t found any of Sebastian’s DNA in her house—and on the day he’d told her that Sebastian’s wife, despite the way he’d treated her, was providing him with an alibi.
“I’m good. Better.” To a point, that was true. She had some bright moments, usually when she was working or feeling grateful to still have her daughter in her life. At other times the memories flooded back or she missed Charlie so much she could scarcely breathe. Then the questions would start. Could she have saved him if she’d called 911? Or would Sebastian have shot her, like he’d said he would?
“I’ve moved to Whiskey Creek and set up my pottery workshop in a lovely screened-in porch overlooking a small river,” she told him. “So that’s nice.”
“Sounds like you’ll be able to open your studio soon.”
“I hope so—when I find the right spot.”
“I can’t tell you how happy I am to hear that you’re moving on.”
She cringed as she thought of the mistake she’d made with Rod Amos last night. Was that a sign that she was making progress—or backsliding? Her behavior would shock Detective Flores; it would shock anyone who knew the person she’d become once she’d managed to gain some self-esteem and change her life, and that included Charlie’s parents. “Thanks. How are you?”
“Busy, as usual. My wife and kids are actually at Disneyland. I was supposed to go, too, but something came up here at work. With any luck, I’ll be joining them tomorrow.”
“You work hard, and that’s a blessing to every single person attached to the cases you handle.”
If only he could do more... As kind as he was, she hated to think that, but it was the truth. She’d seen firsthand how difficult it could be to hold anyone accountable—even when that person had committed a horrendous crime and she had a diligent detective investigating the matter.
“I appreciate that,” he said. “I’m guessing you called to see about Sebastian’s new trial.”
“Yes.” She wanted to know when it would be taking place, although she wasn’t sure she’d attend the whole thing. The first trial had dominated her life after Charlie died, what with waiting and wondering and preparing—and then testifying and listening to everyone else testify, including the infuriating witnesses called by the defense.
She’d have to testify again, of course. There was no way to avoid that; she didn’t even want to. She had to do her part, for Charlie’s sake. But she didn’t have to sit in court day in and day out and see all those gruesome photographs of the man she loved. The morning the first trial ended in a hung jury had been almost as painful as the night Charlie was shot.
The prospect of going through it all again was too daunting to consider.
That didn’t mean she wouldn’t keep abreast of what was happening, however. Only once she knew Sebastian Young was back in prison—this time for the rest of his life—would she feel entirely safe.
“Yes. When’s the new trial? Have you heard?”
Once she had the date, she’d have a legitimate reason to call her in-laws, and then she could approach them about having Cassia come home before July. India had escaped San Francisco and all the people and places that reminded her of Charlie. She had fresh scenery and the promise of reestablishing her life—but now she was too alone. She thought that was the reason she was flailing around, grabbing on to strangers, like Rod Amos, who had no reason to care that she was drowning in a sea of loss and regret.
“The district attorney called me a couple of days ago,” Flores said.
She curled her fingernails into her palms. She could sense that, once again, she was about to be disappointed. “And...”
“It’s not good news.”
“Don’t tell me the DA has changed his mind!”
“I’m afraid so. He doesn’t want to try Sebastian again for fear the state will lose. He’s decided to wait until we can gather more evidence.”
Unable to continue standing, India sank into a chair. “What does that mean?”
“It means we’ll keep at it—and when we have more, we’ll bring him back to trial.”
“But that isn’t a certainty.”
He hesitated. “No.”
“Then...you’re letting him go.”
“We had to release him, India. We couldn’t hold him once we dropped the charges.”
“He’s out? And you didn’t tell me?”
“I’ve been meaning to, but...I knew how heartbreaking this would be for you.”
“It’s more than heartbreaking! He could find me again, Detective Flores. And what about Cassia? He knows she’s the reason I wouldn’t go with him when he tried to drag me off that night. Next time he won’t take the chance. He’ll kill her.”
“I understand the fear and pain you must feel,” he responded. “But please try to understand our dilemma. If we go back to trial and Sebastian gets off, we can’t try him again. We’ve discussed it at great length. After what happened with the last jury, we feel it would be smarter to wait and see if we can build a stronger case.”
India felt as if she’d been shot herself. As terrible as the past eleven months had been, as slowly as justice seemed to crawl, she’d still had faith that Sebastian would be convicted eventually. How could he not? She’d seen him shoot Charlie. There was no confusion in her mind about who was responsible or how it had happened.
She dropped her head in her hand. “What are the chances that you’ll find some new piece of evidence? They’ve got to be slim, at best. That means he might never have to answer for what he’s done.”
A long silence ensued. Finally, Detective Flores cleared his throat. “I hope that’s not the case,” he said. “And we have to hang on to that hope. It’s the only way to keep our sanity in the face of such a horrendous act. A lot of things could change, India. This isn’t over.”
But he hadn’t been able to deliver on anything. How could she trust what he told her? “You won’t get any more evidence from the house,” she said. “You went through it and released it. The place has been sold. You already subpoenaed Sebastian’s cell phone records. You searched his house and his car and didn’t get what you need. What could you possibly come across in the future that might strengthen the case?”
“Maybe we’ll receive a tip from a neighbor who hasn’t come forward yet, or someone will turn in the gun. It’s even possible his wife will leave him. If she does, she could change her story. I’ve seen that happen a number of times. If she’ll admit he went out that night, that they weren’t together, we might have what we need to get a conviction.”
“Sebastian shot Charlie!” India insisted. “I was there.”
“I believe you. However, your background...the mistakes you made in your youth...”
He let his words trail off. She could tell he didn’t want to come right out and say it, but the defense had assassinated her character. They’d painted her as a woman who couldn’t be trusted, someone who’d managed to get her hooks into Charlie, then killed him for his money and his life insurance.
Thinking about all the things that’d surfaced while she was on the witness stand made her sick—especially since her in-laws had been in the courtroom, staring up at her. She’d never forget the expression on her mother-in-law’s face when the defense claimed that Charlie’s wife was the person who had the most to gain from his death.
“I had very little parental support growing up,” she said. “My mother meant well, but she had to work two jobs just to keep a roof over our heads. And my father was an alcoholic who stepped out of a bar when I was seven and was struck by a car. I was wild in my teens and early twenties. I hooked up with the wrong crowd. I dated the wrong men. But I put all of that behind me once I met Charlie and realized what I really wanted out of life.”
“I understand. People change. Still, your past doesn’t look good on paper. You were once an ‘old lady’ to a man in a biker gang—and drove the getaway car when Sebastian robbed a liquor store.”
“Sebastian didn’t tell me he was going to rob that store! I was waiting for him to pick up a pack of cigarettes!”
“Money is motive.”
Tears began to roll down her face and drip into her lap. “So is obsession. Sebastian was obsessed with me!”
“I get that,” he agreed. “But it isn’t motive we need so much as evidence.”
Charlie was dead, and yet Sebastian was free to go anywhere he wanted. How had it come to this? “What if Sebastian somehow finds out where I live?” she asked. “He could turn up at my house again.”
“I wish we could keep him behind bars,” the detective replied, “but we can’t.”
She was glad Flores didn’t point out that she was the one who’d given Sebastian her address the night Charlie was shot. She’d felt sorry for him, wanted to help an old friend get into rehab. She’d never dreamed Sebastian would read more into her actions, that he’d start trying to reconcile with her. I’ll never be happy without you, he’d said that night.
So he’d made it impossible for her to be happy...
“Have you told the Sommerses?” she asked dully.
“Not yet. I’ve been trying to figure out how to break the news to both of you. I knew how it would make you feel.”
She felt there was no justice in the world. That was how it made her feel. Then there was the helplessness. What now? How would she defend herself—or Cassia—from Sebastian if he tracked her down?
“I doubt he’ll bother you,” the detective was saying. “He’d be crazy to risk his freedom again.”
“You mean since he’s gotten off once,” she said. “Criminals do that all the time. They’re given a second chance, and then they reoffend, right?”
“If I were you, I’d get a security system. And keep an eye out. But try not to let this ruin your peace of mind.”
She had to laugh. Could he be serious? She’d get a security system, but that wouldn’t stop Sebastian from getting to her if he was determined enough. All he’d have to do was follow her to Cassia’s preschool or the store, where she’d be defenseless.
“India?” Detective Flores said when she didn’t respond.
She couldn’t answer him. What was there to say? They’d let Sebastian go, and now he’d come looking for her. She’d testified against him. In his world, there was no greater sin, no greater betrayal.
“When?” she said as she wiped her cheeks.
“When...what?” the detective asked.
“When did you release him?”
There was another long moment of silence. Then he said, “Yesterday.”
Now she didn’t want Cassia to come home, not when the child would be so much safer with her grandparents.
That meant Sebastian hadn’t cost her only Charlie; he’d cost her Cassia, as well.
5 (#ulink_123098c6-58d1-55ce-a8e0-089199f8f31a)
Rod cursed as he stared down at his new cast. The doctor had indicated that the worst of his injuries hadn’t occurred during the fight. He’d busted his hand trying to break his fall from the bike, but hitting Liam after had led to a second fracture—a stress fracture. The doctor couldn’t believe he’d been capable of using his fists, although Rod didn’t remember feeling he’d had any choice. When Liam came running back to him, he’d assumed he had to get up and defend himself. He wasn’t about to let Crockett, or anyone else for that matter, beat his ass.
So now he was looking at six weeks without the use of his right hand. He knew the routine, had been through it before—with a broken ankle from a waterskiing accident, a broken left wrist from when he’d been hit by a wild baseball pitch and a broken transverse process, one of the small bones coming off his spine, from when he’d rolled his four-wheeler.
Fortunately, his leg wasn’t broken, too. It just felt like it.
I could help get the dirt and gravel out of your leg...
As Rod passed India’s house on the way home, he remembered that offer and wished he’d taken her up on it. Maybe then he’d be able to go back there and get lost in her all over again. He was eager for any distraction absorbing enough to take his mind off his aches and pains—as well as the ominous news he’d received a few minutes earlier, when Chief Bennett had called to warn him that Liam Crockett’s sister was urging her brother to press charges.
If they sued for medical expenses, he’d have another fight on his hands, and this wouldn’t be physical, so he wasn’t as likely to win. His reputation—and the reputation of his family—would work against him, which was doubly unfair, since he hadn’t done even half the shit he’d been accused of doing.
Once he’d parked in his drive, his phone buzzed. He’d received a message from Cheyenne, Dylan’s wife. She was planning to bring him dinner tonight. He liked it when she cooked. She tried to mother them the way Dylan fathered them. But she wasn’t coming until six, and it was only two. Rod supposed that if he couldn’t spend the afternoon with India, he should try to get some work done. Dylan had sent him home, wouldn’t let him stay at the shop, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t mow the yard. At least he’d have something to show for the day.
He went inside to change into a pair of basketball shorts, which wouldn’t be as hot as his jeans. But then he noticed his laptop sitting on the coffee table and decided to take a minute to see if he could learn a few details about his new neighbor. He was more than a little curious, especially after last night.
Groaning as he eased into a recliner, he logged on to the internet. When he typed the name “Dr. Charlie Sommers” into a search engine, he thought he’d be lucky to find a brief obituary that would tell him how India’s husband had died.
But he got a lot more than that. Link after link filled the screen.
Renowned Heart Surgeon Shot in Bed
Wife Knew Gunman Who Killed Husband
Dr. Sommers’s Parents Hire PI
Secret Affair or Spurned Lover?
Sebastian Young Charged in Sommers’s Murder
Doctor’s Wife Claims Innocence
Wife’s Ex-Boyfriend Murders Heart Surgeon?
Surgeon’s Murder Trial Ends in Hung Jury
“Holy shit,” Rod muttered as he read the accompanying articles. No wonder India didn’t talk about how her husband had died. Her ex-boyfriend had broken in late at night and gunned him down while they were both sleeping and their young daughter was in the other room. According to one journalist, who’d reported on the trial, India stated under oath that she’d awakened to the sound of her ex-boyfriend’s voice demanding Charlie get out of bed. When she realized it wasn’t a nightmare and managed to open her eyes, she saw Sebastian Young standing at the foot of the bed, holding a gun.
Charlie, disoriented and barely awake, had reached for his cell—and was shot. The gunman then threatened to kill India’s daughter if India didn’t pack a bag and leave with him. She complied as far as gathering her things but pleaded and argued with him for the next few hours. It wasn’t until the housekeeper arrived the following morning, and the carpet cleaners rang the bell shortly after, that Sebastian dragged India out the back door. India claimed that he demanded she leave her child, which she wouldn’t do. She thought he was about to shoot her when the housekeeper stumbled on the bloody mess in the bedroom and started to scream. Fortunately, Sebastian didn’t pull the trigger. At that point, he panicked and ran.
What a story! Rod rubbed his chin as he searched through even more links. The trial had lasted for three weeks but ended in a hung jury. Some questioned whether India could’ve been involved, whether she might’ve killed her husband and blamed Sebastian, or manipulated Sebastian into killing her husband for her. Although there’d never been any charges filed against her, the suspicion lingered, which became more and more apparent as he continued to read.
Rod hoped to learn the DA’s decision on whether to try Young again, but he couldn’t find any word of it. The most recent articles were over a month old.
What had happened since? Was this Sebastian still in jail, awaiting a new trial? Or had he been released? And if he’d been released, where the hell was he? Was India worried that he might come back? Was that the reason her in-laws had her daughter?
She must have been severely traumatized. Not only had she lost her husband, she’d been villainized by the press and her detractors, too. “It’s always the spouse,” one neighbor had said.
At first, no surprise, the police had focused on India. The money she stood to receive, and the value of Charlie’s life insurance policy, had given her more than a million reasons to get rid of him. There was even some mention of the type of people she’d associated with before her marriage, as if the friends she’d once had proved that she wasn’t a good person.
They weren’t the sort Rod would’ve expected. One had belonged to an outlaw biker gang. She’d been with him for about a year—until he tried to run her over with his truck and she had to get a restraining order against him. Then she’d gotten involved with Sebastian, who’d robbed a store and spent four years in prison for it. Everyone pointed to that as proof that she must’ve known he was dangerous, that she must’ve wanted to get back with him when he was released from prison.
But robbery wasn’t murder. Sebastian had threatened the liquor-store clerk by saying he had a gun in his pocket; he hadn’t really had one. Nobody had been hurt, and he’d served his sentence for that crime. Those were important distinctions, and yet her detractors hadn’t cut her any slack. What the detective on Charlie’s case had to say was important, too. He told one reporter that she’d never written Sebastian or visited him, not after she met Charlie. There were no texts between them that included anything questionable or suggestive and only a few calls, which was consistent with her story that she’d merely been trying to help him. Also, Sebastian had been out of prison for a year before he even reached out, and he did that on Facebook, so they had proof of first contact.
Rod didn’t believe India had anything to do with Charlie’s murder, and the police must not have found any evidence to the contrary because they’d dismissed her as a suspect early on. Plenty of people continued to doubt her, though. Rod came across several articles that pointed a finger at her. But he understood what it was like to be judged on the basis of the past. There was no getting rid of the stigma attached to certain mistakes.
Maybe he and India weren’t so different, after all.
Setting his computer aside, he pulled his cell out of his pocket. He had her number from when she’d called last night, trying to find his phone. He’d nearly added her to his contacts list several times today, but he’d stopped himself. Now he went ahead. She was innocent of her husband’s death. She truly loved Charlie. Rod could see that last night. She’d told him as much.
She’d also said she could use a friend, and he’d blown her off.
He felt bad about that now.
He felt even worse once he found her cookies.
* * *
India was concentrating so hard on her work that it took several seconds to realize someone was watching her. When it finally occurred to her that she had company, she jumped. She was so afraid Sebastian would appear out of nowhere, like he had before. But this time she knew who it would be. She’d heard Rod come home less than an hour earlier.
“Hey.” He had a toothpick in his mouth and a cast on his right hand. He hooked his left on the wood overhang as he gazed through the screen.
When she’d jerked, she’d messed up the pot she’d been throwing, which was unfortunate. She’d already started over several times. After what she’d heard from Detective Flores, she was too upset to have steady hands—and yet she’d needed something to do. She couldn’t sit there and worry indefinitely.
She wouldn’t start over again now, however. Having Rod so close made it virtually impossible to focus, especially since she wasn’t prepared to see him. She didn’t have any makeup on, or shoes—or even a bra. In deference to the heat, she’d stripped down to a pair of high-waisted cutoffs and an old button-down shirt of Charlie’s that she’d tied under her breasts.
“Hey,” she echoed and, after pushing the clay into a big lump, turned off her wheel.
He gave her a sheepish look. “I didn’t cause that, did I?” he asked, indicating her ruined vase.
“No,” she lied. Then she bolstered her response with the truth. “Mistakes and do-overs happen all the time. This was actually my fourth try today.”
“Really?”
“Really,” she said. “Don’t worry about it.”
He lowered his good arm to move the toothpick to the other side of his mouth. “You ever seen the movie Ghost?”
She had. That steamy scene with Demi Moore and Patrick Swayze was one of her all-time favorites, but after last night, she was surprised he’d bring it up. “Yes.”
“That’s what finding you covered in clay and not much else reminds me of.”
Ignoring that comment, she got off her stool and walked over to him. “You broke your hand, huh?”
“Yeah.” He frowned at it. “In two places.”
“I’m sorry about that. But I’m glad you saw a doctor.”
“Yeah, it’s a good thing. It would’ve had to be rebroken if I’d let it heal on its own, so...better to go this route from the beginning.”
“Is this your first cast?”
He chuckled without mirth. “’Fraid not.”
“They’re no fun.”
“You’ve had one?”
“Broke my arm once.”
“How?”
“Motorcycle accident.”
“Who was driving?”
Sebastian had been driving. He’d been angry with a friend and going too fast, and he’d pulled out in front of a semi that clipped their back tire. It was a miracle they’d lived through it. Because of that, he had a scar going halfway around his back, and she had two pins in her arm, but it could’ve been so much worse.
“A friend,” she said to avoid mentioning Sebastian’s name.
Rod studied her until she felt too uncomfortable to allow the silence to continue.
“So...what can I do for you?” she asked.
His mouth quirked to one side. “I just found a plate of cookies on the railing of my deck.”
It was almost impossible not to return his smile, but India fought the impulse. She had to remain on guard at all times. He did something to her she couldn’t explain—probably because it didn’t make any sense. She’d barely met him. “I hope the ants didn’t find them first.”
“Not that I could see. Although I wouldn’t have let that stop me. They were delicious.”
“Were?” she repeated. “You ate them already?”
“Was I supposed to wait? If my brothers came home and found me with homemade cookies, they’d be gone in seconds. And my father and his wife are always there.”
“So to prevent sharing, you ate all twelve?” she said with a laugh.
“They were for me, weren’t they?” he responded with a wink.
He made her feel better. She preferred not to contemplate why. “Yes, they were for you, and I’m glad you liked them.” She sobered. “I hope you also got my note.”
“I did.”
Then why was he here? Didn’t her note say it all?
She crossed to the sink in the corner. “I’m really sorry about last night,” she said as she washed her hands. “I’ve made my share of mistakes, but I’ve never done anything like that.”
“I’m not here for another apology. I just wanted to tell you not to worry about it. I can understand why you might want to feel good for a change.”
“Thank you. I appreciate your forgiveness. But I’m really not as bad as hitting on you made me seem.”
“I know.”
After drying her hands, she used the same towel to mop the beads of sweat running down the sides of her face. “Then...can we pretend it never happened?”
His gaze slid over her like it had last night, and she suddenly realized why she’d propositioned him. Just the way he looked at her—as if he was undressing her with his eyes, even though they weren’t talking about anything remotely suggestive—made her too aware of him. He exuded sex appeal, and as a young, lonely widow, she was vulnerable. It’d been eleven months since she’d felt a man’s touch; she missed Charlie’s gentle caress.
“’Course. I’m not holding anything against you,” he said, giving her the impression that he wouldn’t have thought twice about what she’d done, with or without the cookie offering.
Maybe he got hit on all the time. India knew she couldn’t be the only woman to find him attractive.
She clasped her hands in front of her, partially to hide the fact that she didn’t know what to do with them now that she’d cleaned them, and partially to block his view of the stains on her shirt. When she was creating, she didn’t care about staying clean. She didn’t care about much of anything then. Several hours could pass without her noticing. Her art was the one thing that helped her cope with life since Charlie died.
“Good. Thanks again.” She gestured toward her back door. “I’d better go inside. I’ve still got a lot to do tonight.”
“India?” He stopped her before she could reach the sanctuary of her kitchen, and his tone suggested that whatever he was about to say wasn’t idle chitchat.
She turned. “Yes?”
“Let me take you to dinner.”
She almost told him again what she’d told him last night. That she was still in love with her late husband, that she couldn’t get involved. Even when she started dating again, she couldn’t date anyone like Rod. Her in-laws would take one look at him, see Sebastian Young instead and sue her for custody of Cassia. It could easily be the final piece of “evidence” to convince them that her poor choices were to blame for the death of their son.
But instead of “no,” she heard herself say, “When?”
“Tomorrow night?”
He’d lowered his voice in what felt like a meaningful way and that filled her belly with butterflies. She stared at him, willing herself to clarify that she couldn’t go, but she didn’t. She nodded.
“Pick you up at six,” he said.
Her heartbeat seemed to travel out to her fingertips. What was she doing? Clearly, she’d lost her mind—and yet she overrode her better judgment for a second time. “Okay.”
When his smile widened, she felt a bit wobbly in the knees. “See you soon.”
6 (#ulink_fc0ca8e8-934a-500a-8149-5f8a6f020e9d)
Rod was mowing the lawn. India could see him from the window above her sink, where she was doing dishes. She had a hard time looking away, especially once his T-shirt grew damp and he took it off. He wrapped it around his head to block the sun, which wasn’t the most attractive way to wear a shirt, so she knew he wasn’t trying to show off.
That certainly didn’t detract from his appearance, however. His bare chest and arms... Holy cow! As much as she’d loved Charlie and would never have tried to change him, she had to admit he hadn’t looked like that. He couldn’t; he didn’t spend enough time outdoors, didn’t do anything physical. He was too busy concentrating on his patients and his career. They’d even had a yard service.
She didn’t realize she was no longer washing dishes—that she was only staring—until her phone buzzed. Then she finally looked away. She’d been trying to reach her in-laws to tell them about the DA’s decision, and now they were getting back to her.
After drying her hands, she turned from the window and hit the talk button.
“Hello?” She went into the living room so she wouldn’t be tempted to watch Rod anymore. Charlie was dead, but somehow she still felt guilty about the things she thought and felt whenever she encountered her neighbor. She knew the Sommerses wouldn’t appreciate the fact that another man had that kind of effect on her. She’d have to remain single for a long time in order to convince them that she’d loved Charlie and wouldn’t have done anything to hurt him.
“India? It’s Claudia,” her mother-in-law said. “How are you, sweetheart?”
The endearments Charlie’s mother bandied about could be so misleading. India wished they were sincere. Since she’d never really had a father, and she’d lost her mother when she was still young, she often felt a childlike craving for the love of a good parent.
But experience had taught her that Claudia’s sweetheart, honey and darling were mere words. Claudia tried to like her because she’d meant so much to Charlie, but on some level, she couldn’t help blaming India, as India blamed herself, for what Sebastian had done. The defense attorney had made her look so bad. India had felt her in-laws’ loyalties weakening as witness after witness claimed she’d called Sebastian several times, which she had, but only for moral support because he’d been talking about suicide, that she was probably still in love with him—given their history—and that they were planning to run away together once she inherited the money. As a result, relations between her and Charlie’s parents were strained and had been for months, although they all tried to pretend they were as close as ever.
“I’m fine,” India said, despite the fact that she felt as if she was living from minute to minute. “And you?”
“Busy. Little Cassia and I went to the thrift store today and bought an old trunk that we filled with whatever toys she wanted. Guess what she picked?”
“A ball of some kind?” India knew it wouldn’t be anything too girlie. Cassia preferred to be outside playing with boys and had no interest in Barbies or dress-up.
“Yes. We got her a tee to hit off and some other sports stuff but no dolls. She’s such a tomboy.”
A twinge of jealousy had India gritting her teeth. Cassia was her daughter, damn it. India wanted her back. And yet she couldn’t push, not if Sebastian was free. He could be looking for her this very minute. It wasn’t as if she’d moved far away. Her in-laws had insisted she remain fairly close so they could continue to be a big part of Cassia’s life.
But right now India felt they were too involved. A whole month without her daughter was beginning to feel like an eternity.
“I’ll bet she loved that,” she said, carefully modulating her voice to sound congenial and appreciative. “You’re such a good grandmother.”
“It’s been wonderful spending time with her. I can’t tell you how much fun we’re having. And I’m sure it’s made things easier for you. Moving is such a big job.”
India gripped the phone tighter. “Yes, but I’m pretty well finished.”
“You’re all settled, then?”
“Except for hanging the paintings. I...I’m not ready for that.”
There was a moment of silence. “Charlie bought you a lot of art.”
“Yes. He knew how much I loved it.” She closed her eyes. “I miss him so much.”
She hadn’t intended to say that last part. The words had just welled up and slipped out. They came from a place of pain and deep regret, but she could tell from Claudia’s hesitation that her mother-in-law didn’t know whether to trust her.
“We all do,” she said. She spoke stiffly, as if she was the only one who really missed him.
After that India found herself gravitating to the window to see if Rod was still out. The fact that she was ogling another man almost made her believe she must be as fickle as her mother-in-law suspected. But admiring him helped combat some of her anger, disappointment and fear.
Too bad he was mowing on the far side of the house where she couldn’t see him...
“Will you be coming soon, to check out my new place?” she asked Claudia.
“Not before we bring Cassia home. Steve’s too busy with his new victims’ charity. We’ve been putting together a golf tournament, and it’s taking hours and hours out of every day.”
India caught her breath. “You could always bring Cassia home early if you need to concentrate on other things. That would be no problem for me. I’m basically moved in and ready.” She’d figure out some way to protect her...
“Oh, no. Cassia’s more important. We won’t let anything interrupt this month with our girl.”
India slowly released her breath. She’d taken advantage of the opportunity to try—because she knew as soon as she told Claudia that Sebastian was no longer in jail and might never return to custody, she’d probably have to battle her in-laws in court to get Cassia back. “Can I talk to her?”
“Of course.”
A momentary flash of hope shot through India, which Claudia immediately extinguished.
“But later,” she said. “She’s right in the middle of helping Papa make lunch. We’ll have her call you after, if we get the chance.”
If we get the chance... They wouldn’t call, and if India ever asked why, they’d invent some excuse. Charlie’s parents were so possessive of their granddaughter.
Now that India knew she wasn’t going to be speaking to her little girl, at least in this conversation, she moved on to the purpose of her call. “I got hold of Detective Flores earlier.”
“You did? I’ve called and called. I always get his darn voice mail. What’d he say? When’s the next trial?”
Rod came into view, the muscles of his left arm bulging as he carried the grass clippings to the green waste can. India put her hand to the window as if she could touch his warm skin or feel the solid thud of his heartbeat—as if such a strong man could shelter her in some way. But that was ridiculous. He was rough around the edges, much more like the ex-boyfriends who’d created so many problems for her in the past than true-blue Charlie.
“They’re waiting,” she told Claudia.
“I couldn’t hear you. What’d you say?”
India forced herself to speak louder. “They aren’t convinced they have enough evidence to get a conviction. They’d rather not risk a second trial, not until they’ve built a stronger case.”
Another long silence, this one filled with shock and anger.
India could identify with both of those emotions.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Claudia said when she spoke again.
“I’m afraid not.” India swallowed, trying to wet her tongue, to make it easier to speak. “But Detective Flores is hopeful that they’ll be able to bring him back to trial soon.”
“When?”
India watched Rod disappear around the corner of his house again. “They can’t give us a date. Yet.”
“Which means what? It may never happen? Is that animal going to get away with what he did to my son? He took a life! And not just any life—the life of someone who mattered!”
India winced. She’d often felt Claudia wished she’d been the one to die that night. There’d been times she’d wished the same thing...
“It’s heart-wrenching,” she said and prayed she’d put enough emotion into that statement. The Sommerses, and everyone else who knew Charlie, were always watching her and interpreting everything she said or did with such suspicion. She felt as bad as Claudia did about this most recent turn of events. But she couldn’t commiserate with her on the DA’s lack of action or show the doubt she had that Sebastian would eventually be brought to justice, because then her mother-in-law would start thinking about Cassia and the fact that she might not be safe living with her mother.
If India wanted her daughter back without a fight, she had to ignore her own despair and convince the Sommerses that this was only a temporary setback.
“It’s beyond heart-wrenching,” Claudia said. “There are no words for what we’ve suffered.”
That was true. The past eleven months had been hellish. And yet, for her own sake as well as Cassia’s, India had to keep herself together. She was fighting to do that. Charlie wouldn’t want them to be miserable, but this new hurdle...
India wasn’t sure how she’d get past it.
“They’ll find the gun,” she said. “That’s what they need. If they find the gun and they can link it to Sebastian, they’ll have him.”
“You knew Sebastian well,” Claudia said. “What could he have done with it? Where might he have put it?”
That night was a jumble of terror for India, but she could trace the gun through those memories because Sebastian had it in his hand, pointed at her, for so long. She’d spent hours believing he’d shoot her, and Cassia would be an orphan. “I told you. I told everyone. He took it with him when he ran out.”
“If they haven’t found it by now, they never will,” her mother-in-law said. “What more can they do that they haven’t already done? What more can we do? We hired that PI—little good it did us. He accomplished nothing, and the police haven’t been much better. Detective Flores will move on to other cases, and we’ll be left with our lives destroyed and Charlie’s killer running around free.”
“Please. Don’t talk like that,” India said. “We have to retain hope.”
“I have to go,” Claudia said abruptly.
India was afraid to let her hang up for fear of what she might decide. “I’m sorry about this, Claudia. I wish... I wish Detective Flores had given me better news, but...don’t assume the worst. We’ll see justice yet.”
“Is that what you think? Because there is no real justice. You get that, right? Even if Sebastian goes back to prison for life, we’ll still have to live without Charlie.”
“Which is hard to fathom. I know.”
“You do? Because sometimes I can’t help feeling...”
India’s stomach cramped at the sudden bite in Claudia’s tone. “Yes?” she prompted when her mother-in-law’s words fell off.
“As if you’re—”
Someone—her father-in-law?—spoke in the background, but India couldn’t make out the words.
“Never mind,” Claudia said instead of finishing.
That sudden reversal led India to believe Steve had anticipated what was about to come out of his wife’s mouth and admonished her against it.
“What?” India pressed, but she could guess. The Sommerses had questions about her involvement with Sebastian. They didn’t understand why she’d been associating with him again. If she hadn’t accepted him back into her life, none of this would’ve happened.
India wished she could explain. She’d tried, several times. But in light of what Sebastian had done, her reasons sounded lame. Everyone thought she, of all people, should’ve had some idea what he was capable of. Yes, she’d known he could be angry and unreasonable, even unpredictable. He’d gotten her in serious trouble when he robbed that liquor store on a whim. But he’d been young and impulsive, and he’d done what he could to make sure the police understood she’d played no part in it. That was why they hadn’t charged her. He’d apologized over and over for involving her that day.
Prison and the drugs he’d taken over the years had changed him more than she could ever have dreamed. She’d assumed he’d learned his lesson—and was just down on his luck. She’d also naively thought she could help him.
How she wished she’d never responded to that first message on Facebook. She’d been beating herself up over that ever since. At first she hadn’t understood why she’d allowed Sebastian to reconnect with her, either. But, unlike the Sommerses, she had no family. That made her hesitant to cast old friends aside, even if they’d once been boyfriends.
“We love Cassia,” Claudia said. “She’s all we have left of Charlie. Thank you for letting her stay with us.”
In other words, Charlie’s mother was biting her tongue in order to preserve the relationship. But the calm her in-laws affected almost worried India more than if they’d unleashed their anger and disappointment. So much turbulence churned under the surface of those “still waters,” probably more than she’d ever be able to overcome.
She feared where those powerful currents were carrying them...
“Of course. Cassia loves you. So do I,” she added, hoping to retake some of the ground they’d lost.
Her mother-in-law wasn’t receptive. “Good night” was all she said.
As Claudia disconnected, India let her head fall against the cool glass. It wasn’t until she heard the sound of a mower in her own yard that she remembered Rod.
She hurried out front to find him cutting her grass. “Rod!” she yelled, trying to flag him down.
When he finally heard her, he looked over.
“You don’t have to do this,” she shouted above the noise. “It’s getting a little overgrown, but I plan to buy a mower on Monday. I’ll take care of it then.”
“No big deal,” he said. “Won’t take long.”
He seemed more than capable in spite of his broken hand. And here in Whiskey Creek, neighbors probably did that type of thing for each other. But receiving even a small amount of kindness on the heels of that call with her in-laws brought a lump to India’s throat.
“Thank you,” she said and turned away before he could see the tears in her eyes.
* * *
That night, Cheyenne brought over some lasagna and garlic bread. While Natasha helped her serve dinner, Rod and his brothers tossed Kellan around, making him laugh and squeal. Cheyenne complained that they were getting him too riled up, but Rod could tell she liked the attention they paid him. Kellan certainly enjoyed the roughhousing.
“More,” he’d say whenever they stopped. It was about the only word he knew, besides Mama and Dada.
J.T. and Anya either heard the noise or smelled the food, because they entered the kitchen just as Cheyenne asked about their new neighbor.
“She’s all moved in,” Grady told her.
“I’d love to see the inside of the house now that it’s been renovated,” Cheyenne said, interested because she used to live there before she married Dylan.
“I bet she’d show you.” Mack handed out forks. Rarely were their meals formal occasions, with someone setting the table beforehand. They ate whenever they were hungry and fended for themselves or ordered out. Heaven forbid Anya would ever go to the trouble of cooking or doing the dishes, even though she didn’t work.
“You should stop by,” Grady said. “And get her number for me while you’re there. She’s freaking gorgeous.”
Cheyenne glanced up. “She’s single?”
“Not sure yet,” Mack said. “She’s wearing a wedding ring, but her husband hasn’t shown up. So...maybe he works out of the state or country.”
“He’s dead,” Rod announced.
Everyone looked at him.
“She told you that?” Mack asked.
“When she gave me a ride home last night.” Rod felt this would be the natural time to reveal that he’d be taking India to dinner tomorrow night. He’d heard Grady’s little joke about getting her number and didn’t want him or Mack to go on thinking she was fair game. But he didn’t speak up. He wasn’t sure his relationship with her would go anywhere and decided he’d wait and see how they got along before telling anyone. His brothers could be merciless; he wasn’t going to provide them with fresh ammunition.
“Why’d she give you a ride home?” Cheyenne asked. “Where was your truck?”
“She came across me after the fight, when I was trying to get help.”
“What was she doing out there so late at night? Was she at the bar, too?”
“No. She was on her way back from some art show.”
“Oh, art,” Grady said.
“Something wrong with that?” Rod asked.
Grady gave him a funny look. “Of course not. I’m just messin’ around. When did her husband die?”
“About a year ago.”
“So she’s available,” Mack said, and Rod felt himself stiffen—almost as much as Natasha did.
“She’s too old for you, bro.”
“But not for you.” Anya smiled like the Cheshire cat. “Is that why you mowed her lawn today?”
Rod hadn’t realized his stepmother had seen him. She usually stayed in her room all day, playing on the computer or watching TV. “Not necessarily. She doesn’t have a mower yet, so I figured I might as well do hers while I was doing ours.”
“And did she show you any appreciation?” J.T. joked, sending him a meaningful grin.
Rod didn’t care for the way his father talked about women since he’d been released from prison. “She thanked me, if that’s what you mean.”
“Is she nice?” Cheyenne asked.
“Seems like it,” he said.
Cheyenne took a bottle of salad dressing out of the box she’d used to transport all the food. “I’d like to meet her sometime.”
Grady sat down and dug into his meal before the rest of them could get a plate. “Why not tonight?”
Without Mack’s even asking, Natasha added a second piece of garlic bread to his plate, and Rod pretended he didn’t notice that whatever Mack received from Natasha was always the biggest and the best.
“Dyl’s getting home soon,” Cheyenne replied. “So I should head out.”
“Have him join us,” J.T said. “He hardly ever comes over these days.”
Rod suspected Anya’s presence had a great deal to do with that. Dylan liked her even less than the rest of them did.
“Can’t,” she said. “He has a baseball game.”
“We should go watch him play,” Anya suggested, but no one chimed in to encourage her.
Rod put Kellan down to accept his plate. “Thanks.” Since he wanted to speak to Cheyenne in private before she left, he hoped she wasn’t going to rush off.
“How’s your hand?” She nodded toward his cast.
“Throbbing like crazy,” he admitted.
“I made that apple crisp you like for dessert.” She winked. “Maybe that’ll help ease the pain.”
He leaned over to drop a kiss on her forehead. “Dylan got lucky the day he married you.”
“That’s what I keep telling him,” she teased.
“Will Aaron be at the game, too?” Mack asked.
“Should be,” she told them. “Dyl talked him into joining the team.”
Mack got up to get a beer and grabbed one for Rod, too. “Want to go over to the park?” he murmured so Anya and the others couldn’t hear.
Normally, Rod would’ve enjoyed seeing the game. But after being up so late, and everything he’d dealt with today, he was ready for bed. “Not tonight.”
Cheyenne put the dessert on the counter and started cleaning the spatula and serving spoons. “I’ll leave the rest of this here,” she said, indicating the leftover salad, lasagna and bread. “Just remember to take the dishes to Dylan tomorrow so he can bring them home.”
“I will,” Rod said.
She swung her son into her arms. “I’d better get going. I want to make sure Dyl has a chance to eat before he has to show up at the field.”
Rod wasn’t finished with his supper, but he stood. “I’ll walk you out,” he said so the others wouldn’t find it odd when he left the kitchen after only a few bites.
He caught up with his sister-in-law at the front door. “Before you go, could you do me a favor?”
She turned in surprise. “Of course.”
“Will you take a second to come up and look in my closet?”
“What for?” she asked.
He lowered his voice to make sure no one else could hear. Fortunately, they were all so busy eating, he didn’t think anyone was paying attention. “I have a date tomorrow.”
“And you want me to tell you what to wear? This girl must be special,” she said. “You’ve never asked for my help with that kind of thing before.”
He’d never felt so out of his element before. “She’s...different.”
“Special,” she confirmed with a grin. “Do I know her?”
He scratched his neck. “It’s our new neighbor.”
“Oh!” Her smile widened. “Why didn’t you speak up a second ago?”
“It’s one date,” he said with a shrug.
“But you’d like to impress her.” She wasn’t buying his nonchalance.
“I need to dress up a little, that’s all,” he said. “Her husband—the man who passed away—was a heart surgeon.”
“I see,” she responded. “So we’re going for sophisticated and respectable.”
At least Cheyenne seemed to be catching on to what he needed. “Yeah. That sounds good.”
She put down her son and linked her arm through Rod’s. “I have no doubt you’ll clean up nicely. Let’s go take a look.”
7 (#ulink_d9393931-e27d-586f-9b10-663c07a244e1)
India sat in her quiet living room with a cup of tea. She’d thought some chamomile might help her relax, but it didn’t seem to be working. She was wide-awake and anxious, and looking at another long night. She wished she could read a book or watch TV. But ever since Detective Flores had told her about Sebastian, she’d been checking and double-checking her doors and windows. She wanted to believe he’d had enough trouble. That he’d slink off without bothering her again, maybe even leave the area before the police could find the additional evidence she was hoping for. Most men in his situation would flee if they had the chance, wouldn’t they?
But she couldn’t assume anything when it came to Sebastian. If he didn’t care about taking Charlie’s life, or even his own—and she knew from the way he’d been talking that he didn’t—he certainly wouldn’t care about taking hers.
Then Cassia really would be an orphan...
The report of the gun the night Charlie was shot seemed to echo in her head and she saw, again, how her husband had gasped and clutched his chest when the bullet struck him. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to avoid those memories, but she was too tired to fight them. The most gruesome images bombarded her repeatedly, as well as the worst of what’d come after—when Sebastian had forced her to tell him she still loved him, that she’d marry him and do...other things. That was the only way she could convince him not to harm Cassia. She’d never admitted to the rape. She wasn’t even sure she could call it rape, since she hadn’t refused. She’d used her body and everything else she’d needed to in order to save her child.
Maybe that was why so many people suspected her of lying. In a sense, she was. She was holding back some of the worst and, arguably, more important details. But she couldn’t admit to the methods she’d employed to stall, reassure and distract Sebastian. She feared—knew—that there’d be people who would claim she’d enjoyed it and wasn’t choking back vomit every second she let him touch her.
I’ll always love you. Sebastian had told her that. Her skin still crawled when she remembered his hands on her face, forcing her to look up at him as he said it. He didn’t know what love was. He couldn’t, not if he could murder her husband, threaten her daughter and wave a gun in her face. He’d also let his defense attorney blame her for Charlie’s death. Larry Forgash, attorney-at-law, had said she must’ve hired a killer and was now using Sebastian as the scapegoat. He’d pointed to a series of cash withdrawals from her own checking account, which was separate from Charlie’s, since she’d had it before they were married, to suggest how she might’ve paid that person, but the cash withdrawals had only added up to about $3,300 over the course of two months.
Fortunately, his defense precluded him from telling anyone they’d had sex after Charlie died. Since the police had no forensic evidence, nothing except her testimony to say he was even there, he’d had his wife claim he was with her the entire night.
India shuddered as the old revulsion welled up, so strong it made her nauseous. Forget, she ordered herself. Like the river outside, life would wend its way along and someday she’d be able to put it behind her. But she doubted that would be possible unless she could forgive herself. And how could she ever do that? Her shame at having acted as if she wanted Sebastian, as if she’d enjoyed being with him, was too great.
A gentle wind stirred the chimes on her porch. She’d made them herself, planned to carry a wide assortment in her studio, but that tinkle sounded far less cheerful than usual. She missed Cassia, wished she could go and lie down next to her daughter instead of having to worry that, when the time came, her in-laws would conjure up an excuse to try to keep her longer, if not indefinitely.
Actually, they wouldn’t have to conjure up an excuse. They had a great one, considering what they’d learned today.
India stared down at her phone. She’d received a call from Ellie Cox at dinnertime and ignored it. Ellie was the wife of Charlie’s best friend. They’d been close over the past three years, ever since Ellie and Mitchell had moved into her and Charlie’s neighborhood. But, like the Sommerses, Ellie and Mitchell now treated her with coolness. It was humiliating to have her friends turn on her, and yet the loss of her relationship with Ellie wasn’t what concerned India about her message.
India hit the play button on her voice mail, even though she’d already listened to it several times.
India, it’s me, Ellie. Give me a call when you can. I’ve been thinking about you, wondering how you’re doing. I’m sorry it’s been so long, but...we’ve been busy with Tyler’s baseball season. You know how that goes.
She did know, since she’d sat through many of his games, keeping Ellie company. Ellie could easily have stepped away to place a call or, at the very least, send a text message.
But that wasn’t what worried her.
We have games almost every night this month, what with his regular team and his competitive team going at the same time. Anyway, someone at the park told me you’d moved to Whiskey Creek. Is that true? I knew you were looking for a house, but I don’t remember hearing that you’d found one.
There it was. Someone at the ballpark had told Ellie that India had moved to Whiskey Creek. Who? Were her old acquaintances still talking about her? Did they know where she’d gone? India hadn’t told a lot of people where she planned to move, but neither had she kept it as secret as she now wished she had.
How easy would it be for Sebastian to find her?
She was just wondering if she should’ve gotten a new number, when the soft thud of a car door almost made her spill her tea. Ready to call for help should she need to, she gripped her cell in one hand, set her cup aside and crept into the living room to peer through the wooden shutters.
Nearly one in the morning was late for visitors, even on a Saturday.
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Brenda Novak
Can she ever trust another “bad boy”?
India Sommers once had the perfect family—until an ex-boyfriend broke in and shot her husband. Not only did that cost her the man she loved, a respected heart surgeon and the father of her child, but she also feels responsible. Charlie died because of the people she hung out with before she had the strength to change her life.
Just after moving to Whiskey Creek with her little girl, Cassia, to start over, she’s learned that her ex-boyfriend’s trial ended in a hung jury. He’s getting out of jail; he could try to find her again. And that’s not all that scares her. She’s extremely attracted to her next-door neighbor, but Rod Amos is the handsome “bad boy” type that’s given her so much trouble in the past. If she got involved with him, her in-laws would sue for custody of Cassia.
India has to keep her distance from Rod—but the more she gets to know him, the more difficult that becomes.
Praise for the Whiskey Creek novels of New York Times bestselling author Brenda Novak (#u078a007a-7f7f-5d5c-a636-6cbe4bf43d1f)
“Another Whiskey Creek novel is just what readers need to satisfy their craving for a romance that tugs at the heartstrings.”
—RT Book Reviews on A Winter Wedding, Top Pick
“[This Heart of Mine] had such beautiful details that it captured my full attention—and had me sniffling and smiling while waiting to board my plane.”
—First for Women
“This Heart of Mine is a potently emotional, powerfully
life-affirming contemporary romance that can be read and enjoyed on its own, but it also serves as an excellent addition to Novak’s popular Whiskey Creek series.”
—Booklist, starred review
“Another engrossing addition to Novak’s addictive series.”
—Library Journal on This Heart of Mine, starred review
“Novak’s Whiskey Creek novels are a favorite among romance readers because of their small-town charm… Novak never disappoints.”
—RT Book Reviews on This Heart of Mine, Top Pick
“Once again Novak’s Whiskey Creek springs to life in all its realistic, gritty Gold Country glory as two determined, likable people come to terms with their pasts and give love a chance. This poignant, heartfelt romance puts a refreshing spin on the classic reunion/secret baby theme.”
—Library Journal on Come Home to Me
“One needn’t wonder why Novak is a New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author. Just read Come Home to Me.”
—Examiner.com
“The Whiskey Creek series is an absolute delight and this newest installment is…so satisfying I ran out of superlatives. Brenda Novak outdid herself in Take Me Home for Christmas.”
—Fresh Fiction
“It’s steamy, it’s poignant, it’s perfectly paced—it’s When Lightning Strikes and you don’t want to miss it.”
—USATODAY.com’s Happy Ever After blog
Discovering You
Brenda Novak
www.mirabooks.co.uk (http://www.mirabooks.co.uk)
To Kay Myers, who read my very first book
before it ever came out and told me it was good.
Dear Reader (#u078a007a-7f7f-5d5c-a636-6cbe4bf43d1f),
Dylan Amos is probably my favorite character in all of Whiskey Creek, so it is with great pleasure that I return to his family to write about another one of his sexy brothers. There’s just something special about a family of rugged men who’ve managed to pull together in the face of adversity. The Amoses are tough, able to carry the weight of the world on their shoulders. I love that they have a hard edge to them, because, as much as they may not want to admit it, they also have soft hearts (way down deep). I think Rodney rises to the occasion when he meets his beautiful new neighbor, who so desperately needs his friendship and support. Only he would be right for her. I hope you’ll agree.
If you’re just starting the series, don’t worry. The books are written to stand alone, so you won’t be lost jumping in at any point. And if you’d like to go back to the beginning and catch up, I have a list of the books in order on my website at brendanovak.com (http://www.brendanovak.com). There’s even a pdf you can download and take to the bookstore (or use to order online).
Next up, I’ll be veering away from Whiskey Creek for a bit with the publication of The Secrets She Kept, my second Fairham Island book. It’ll be released at the end of July, but if you join my mailing list at brendanovak.com (http://www.brendanovak.com), I’ll send you an email whenever I have a book coming out. At brendanovak.com (http://www.brendanovak.com), you’ll also be able to enter monthly drawings, contact me with comments or questions or join my fight to find a cure for diabetes by purchasing a copy of Love That! Brenda Novak’s Every Occasion Cookbook (with Jan Coad). My youngest son has this disease. Thanks to the support of so many, I’ve been able to raise $2.5 million for the cause so far (which has gone to both JDRF and the DRI).
Best wishes always,
Brenda Novak
Contents
Cover (#u2591e6f1-4f70-5033-a64d-a11b4b90fa2f)
Back Cover Text (#u929b0058-eb7d-5ef8-b219-b0ef3400b72a)
Praise
Title Page (#ufdf6b54c-35d0-5ba8-af88-910db575dfa9)
Dedication (#u2dc49736-5f3a-5384-9cd3-1513c472d6c0)
Dear Reader
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Epilogue
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
1 (#u078a007a-7f7f-5d5c-a636-6cbe4bf43d1f)
There was a bloody man walking down the middle of the road.
India Sommers’s heart leaped into her throat the moment her headlights fell on the tall, lean figure. Had she been more familiar with the area, she might’ve come racing around the bend in her quiet Prius and accidentally mowed him down, but he didn’t seem to give a damn about the danger. He looked too angry to care. And judging by his rumpled clothes, she thought she could guess why. This guy had been in a fight.
He seemed determined to flag her down. But she’d seen enough violence to recognize that he was no helpless victim, which made her far less sympathetic to whatever he needed than she might otherwise have been.
She started to slow; she didn’t want to hit him. But neither was she willing to leave herself vulnerable. She was alone on a winding road in the foothills of the Sierra Nevada Mountains, and she’d moved to Gold Country only this week. She hadn’t had a chance to meet more than a handful of people. For all she knew, this man could be some kind of crazed lunatic who’d just committed murder!
He looked menacing, with his hands curled into fists and his jaw set as if he’d like to take another swing at someone.
Who had he tangled with already?
She edged to the right so she could squeeze past him. Once it seemed safe, she planned to punch the gas pedal and get out of there. Whatever he’d been involved in, she wanted no part of it. Since she’d been using GPS to get home from the art show she’d attended in another town, she had her cell phone in the passenger seat. She’d call the police as soon as she was well away, so she wouldn’t leave him stranded, and be done with this.
But the minute she slowed and he started to approach, she recognized him. It was her neighbor! She’d seen him out with his brothers, throwing a football the day she moved in. The three of them—all equally tall, dark and muscular—had even hauled her potter’s wheel into the screened-in porch at the back of her house, where she’d decided to work through the summer.
Although still a little reluctant to stop, she couldn’t just drive off, not if her neighbor needed help. So she stepped on the brake, and Rod—she remembered his name because he was the type of man a woman wouldn’t easily forget—came to the side of the car.
A chill ran through her as he waited for her to lower the window. Was she a fool for trusting him? Just because he lived next door didn’t make him safe, especially if he was high on something. And even if she could normally outrun him, which wasn’t likely, she was wearing a long dress and heels.
Cursing her desire to be helpful and polite, which occasionally overrode her good sense, she pressed the button.
“It’s you,” he said as soon as they no longer had a barrier of glass between them.
“Yes.” She wasn’t sure he remembered her name, so she added it. “India Sommers.”
“Right. My new neighbor. Listen, India, I need you to call the cops.”
He seemed quite matter-of-fact. She didn’t get the impression that he intended to drag her out of the driver’s seat and into the woods—or steal her purse or her Prius. But she’d been correct when she guessed he’d been in a fight. His knuckles were scraped.
“What happened?” she asked.
He wiped the drop of blood that was running from his mouth. “Some bastard got out of line.”
And Rod had put him back in line? Where was that bastard?
Butterflies danced in India’s belly as she squinted to see down the road, as far into the darkness as she could. “Where is this person?”
“Back that way.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder.
The other guy hadn’t driven off? Why? “Is he seriously injured?”
Rod stretched his fingers, as if his hand hurt. “Probably not seriously, but he’s out cold.”
She still wasn’t clear on why he’d been walking in the road. This remote location wasn’t one you’d arrive at on foot. “So...why are you without transportation? Were you traveling together?”
“No. He wrecked my motorcycle when he came up from behind and ran me off the road. Now it’s undrivable. And somehow in the scuffle I lost my phone. I looked for his, but he doesn’t seem to have one on him.”
“It’s a miracle you’re alive!” she said as she reached for her cell. “What would make someone do what he did?”
Obviously irritated, Rod gestured as if too much had happened to explain. “It started before, at the bar. I should’ve kicked his ass then.”
“Oh, God.” Her hand shook as she dialed 911. She didn’t do well with violence; she’d seen too much of it. That was part of the reason she’d come to Whiskey Creek—to start over in a place that still felt innocent. Her past was littered with dangerous yet attractive rebels, men a lot like this neighbor of hers. The rough, outlaw type used to fill her with excitement, with desire. They made her feel...alive.
She’d learned a few lessons since then about what really mattered. It wasn’t a reckless disregard for the rules, or a handsome face and rock-hard abs. These days she understood that in more than a cognitive sense; it’d sunk deep into her emotional memory. But whether she’d learned her lesson or not, she was still paying a terrible price for having associated with the wrong people.
As she waited for the dispatcher to pick up, she eyed the tattoo—a snake slithering up a tree—that covered the sinewy contours of Rod’s right arm until it disappeared into the sleeve of his white T-shirt. Yep, this was exactly the kind of guy she would’ve liked once upon a time. She wouldn’t have cared that he could be volatile. She wouldn’t have cared that he probably didn’t have a college education or even a decent job. Physically, he was everything a woman dreamed about.
And he’d probably be good in bed—although she had no idea where that thought came from. Just the casual way he held himself, his lack of self-consciousness and natural confidence, she supposed. He stood out from other men. But the intimacy she’d shared with Charlie, who was nothing like this guy, had been sweet and fulfilling. What Charlie had brought to the rest of her life was even better. She needed to find another man like him—when she was ready.
“911. What is your emergency?”
At the sound of the operator’s voice, she snapped to attention. “Hello... I’m out on...” She looked up at Rod for help. She’d forgotten the name of the street. She wasn’t familiar with anything other than the few blocks that constituted the center of town and Gulliver Lane, which led from town to her place.
“Old Church Road,” he said.
She’d begun to repeat that when he took her phone and spoke into it himself. “There’s been an incident about a mile before you get to Sexy Sadie’s outside Whiskey Creek. A man’s down, so send an ambulance.”
The operator must’ve asked for more details, because he said, “I’m not a doctor. All I can tell you is that he’s not moving.”
“Sir? What caused his injuries? Are you still there? Can I get your name?”
India could hear those questions, since Rod was handing her the cell. “Um, just get someone here quick,” she told the dispatcher and disconnected.
“Would you mind giving me a ride back to my bike?” he asked.
India wasn’t sure she wanted him in her car. But he had to know she was going in that direction; they lived next door to each other.
“Okay,” she said, because she didn’t see how she could refuse.
When he walked around the front of her car, she noticed that he favored his left leg and figured he had a few injuries of his own, in addition to the scraped knuckles and busted lip.
“You could use some medical attention yourself,” she said when he opened the passenger door.
“I’m all right,” he responded as he climbed in.
“But your leg—”
He stretched it out through the open door to have a look. “When he hit my bike, I came down on it pretty hard.” He lifted his torn jeans away from the scrapes. “Skinned it up is all,” he said, as if that wasn’t anything to worry about.
“Are you sure you didn’t break it?”
Shifting gingerly, he managed to bend his hurt leg far enough to get it in the car. “I wouldn’t be able to walk if I had.”
She gave him a skeptical glance. “That’s not necessarily true. It would depend on the kind of break. You should have it x-rayed.” She felt confident that was what her husband would’ve said, and he had been a doctor—on his way to becoming a world-class heart surgeon.
Rod closed the door. “There’s no need.”
Having him in the same confined space made her slightly claustrophobic. Or maybe he made her uncomfortable for other reasons. Like the fact that he reminded her of Sam, the boy she’d married straight out of high school only weeks after her mother’s death. Unlike Charlie, Sam had been a terrible husband. He’d possessed no more life skills than she had at that age, so the marriage didn’t last a year. But being with him had had its high points, including a certain giddy I-can’t-keep-my-hands-off-this-man attraction.
She felt some of that attraction now, just as she had the other day, when Rod had carried her potter’s wheel from the back of her Prius. She also felt wary—more wary than anything else. But she couldn’t complain about the way he smelled, like warm male and fecund earth. She saw some leaves sticking to his shirt and hair and assumed he’d taken a tumble when he fell from his bike. Maybe the fight had even turned into a wrestling match. Most fights went that way, at least the ones she’d witnessed.
Pushing her silver bangles up her arm, she pressed the gas pedal.
They rolled carefully around the next bend, but she didn’t see any sign of a bike, a car or another person.
“It’s farther down,” Rod said before she could ask.
Apparently, he’d walked a greater distance on that leg than she’d expected.
The road took several more twists and she still saw no sign of where the incident might’ve occurred. “Where were you going?” she asked in confusion.
He looked over at her. “When he hit me? I was on my way home.”
“No. When I saw you. You were walking away from town. You do realize that?”
“Of course. I’ve lived in Whiskey Creek all my life. It’s not likely I’d get turned around. I was heading back to the bar so I could use a phone or get help.”
She’d driven past a saloon-style tavern, one with a big neon sign out front. That had to be the place he was talking about. “Are your brothers there?” She’d gotten the impression the three men were close, that they did a lot together.
“They were until they got tired and left.”
“They must be wondering where you are.”
He was too focused on the road to look at her again. “Doubt it. I’m sure they’re asleep.” He pointed ahead. “There it is.”
She hunched over the steering wheel until she saw a flash of shiny chrome reflecting the moonlight. “So this guy knocked you off your bike, and then he came back to...what? Fight?”
“I think he was planning to taunt me, to celebrate what he’d done. Or kick me while I was down. The way I fell...he had to believe I’d be more hurt than I was.”
“He must’ve been surprised when that wasn’t the case.”
“Yeah, he would’ve been smarter to keep going, although I would’ve caught up with him eventually.”
That last bit sounded ominous, but at least the other guy seemed to have been the aggressor.
“Do you have any idea why he’d run you down?” she asked.
“I guess he didn’t like what I had to say to him at Sexy Sadie’s.”
They’d reached his Harley, which was black and lying on its side. She parked on the shoulder between it and a white compact car that was still running. The car had its back end in the road, as if the driver had slammed on his brakes and hopped out. The door was open, and the cabin light cast an eerie triangle on the blacktop.
India wanted to ask Rod what he’d said at Sexy Sadie’s that might’ve incited the driver of that car to violence, but she didn’t get the chance. He got out right away and, despite his injured leg, strode confidently over to a dark shape lying off in the bushes.
She hurried behind him, even though she wasn’t sure she could stomach what she was about to see. It used to be that the sight of blood didn’t bother her. But, like the rest of her life, that’d changed eleven months ago. Now she had nightmares in which she was drowning in blood.
And it wasn’t just anyone’s blood...
Shoving that memory from her mind, she focused on the gravel crunching beneath her high heels until they reached the inert form of the guy Rod had fought. There were no streetlights, but the moon was full. The man seemed to be about thirty-five and was dressed in a polo shirt, jeans and cowboy boots. A dark streak suggested the brawl had taken place in the middle of the road and someone—Rod, no doubt—had pulled him to the side when it was over so he wouldn’t be struck by a car.
It was a point in her neighbor’s favor that he’d had the presence of mind to take that precaution. But, as he’d mentioned, his opponent wasn’t conscious. India guessed the blood on the road had come from the man’s head, since that was where he was bleeding the most.
Was he even alive?
Holding up her dress, she crouched to find his carotid artery. Then she backed slowly away. He had a pulse, thank goodness. She didn’t want to touch him beyond ascertaining that. She was already having flashbacks, could hear her own voice screaming Charlie’s name...
Instinctively, she covered her ears—then lowered her hands when Rod gave her a funny look. “Do you know him?” he asked.
She shook her head and was relieved when he didn’t press her.
After throwing the man a disgruntled glance, he began to pace back and forth across the road.
“Shouldn’t we search for your phone?” she asked. “I could call it, if you give me your number.”
“I put it on silent. I hate it when you go out with someone whose phone is always ringing.”
“It’d light up, at least,” she said.
They gave it a try. They even used her flashlight app to comb both sides of the road—all to no avail.
“I’ll come back in the morning, when it’s light,” he said and returned to pacing.
India held three fingers to her forehead as she watched from the shoulder. “Can you please get out of the street?” she asked when he didn’t move to a safer place.
His gaze swept over her as if he was wondering why she was so dressed up. But he didn’t ask. Neither did he comply with her request. He continued to prowl while she stared in the direction of Whiskey Creek, wishing the police and the ambulance would arrive.
“Can you stop?” she finally muttered. “You’re making me nervous.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he grumbled.
Obviously, they were both agitated. She could feel the anxiety flowing through him. “I can’t help worrying,” she said. “Not everyone is as cautious as I am. I get that. But a car could come tearing around that bend any second and—”
“Fine!” He cut her off and came over to the shoulder, as if arguing with her was more of a hassle than it was worth.
She reined in her temper. “Thank you.”
He didn’t acknowledge her thanks. “You don’t happen to have a smoke, do you?”
She almost walked back to the Prius for her purse before it occurred to her that of course she wouldn’t have a smoke. She hadn’t bought a pack of cigarettes since she’d gotten pregnant with Cassia nearly six years ago. “No.”
He touched his mouth and looked at his fingers, checking to see if his lip was bleeding again. “I never smoke unless I’m drinking,” he explained. “It’s been a year since I’ve done even that. But I’ll be damned if I couldn’t use a cigarette right now.”
“I quit when I was twenty-four.” She hadn’t been the same person in those days...
He raked his fingers through his light brown hair. It was a little too long, but she admired the way it fell loose and went curly at the ends. “Can I use your phone?” he asked.
The moment she handed it to him, he turned away and kicked a pebble from foot to foot while waiting for the person he’d called to pick up.
She knew someone had answered when he straightened and forgot about messing with that rock. “You’re not going to believe this,” he said. “It’s me...Our new neighbor’s...Yes, that neighbor...Stop. Listen, I need some help. Remember that guy who was bothering Natasha? The one we warned to stay away?...Yeah, him. He wrecked into the back of my bike.”
Rod didn’t explain that he’d been driving it at the time, which seemed like a salient point to India. He could’ve been killed. But she wasn’t about to get involved in his conversation.
“No, I’m not kidding,” he said. “Uh-huh...Don’t worry, I doubt he’ll ever mess with her again.” He slowly gravitated over to the man he’d knocked out and nudged him with one foot.
No response.
“I can’t leave yet,” he said, stalking off in the other direction. “I’m waiting for the ambulance...Yes, ambulance. The asshole’s out cold...What would you have done? He had no business hitting my bike. I’m lucky I can still walk...Of course I was riding it at the time! I was driving home.”
There, the information had finally come out. India took a deep breath and told herself to relax.
Usually, it cooled off at night when the Delta breeze swept in. That was what she loved about Northern California. But they’d been going through a terrible heat wave since she’d moved to Whiskey Creek. Part of her discomfort had to be due to the stress of the situation, but it felt like a hundred degrees outside, as it had been earlier in the day.
“Right. So can you bring the trailer and get my bike?” she heard Rod say. “How would I know? Chief Bennett’s going to give me hell. He might even take me down to the station to get a statement or try to lock me up for the night...True...No, don’t call Dylan or Aaron. I can handle my own problems.”
He disconnected and was about to return her phone when he saw he’d gotten blood on it. After wiping it on his jeans, he gave it back. “Sorry.”
“No problem.” She held on to the phone, since she didn’t have a pocket and her purse was in the car. “That was...one of your brothers?”
“Yeah.”
Still no headlights coming from Whiskey Creek. What was taking emergency services so long? She and Rod—and the man who needed the ambulance—weren’t that far from town. “Which one?”
“Grady. He’s driving over to get my bike.”
“Is he older, or...”
“Dylan and Aaron are older. Grady and Mack are younger.”
“Would you mind if I asked how old you are?” They were both young enough that she couldn’t imagine it would be an offensive question.
“Thirty-one. You?”
She considered taking off her heels but was afraid she might cut her foot on a rock, nail or piece of glass. “Thirty.”
“I guessed we were about the same age.”
“When?”
“The other day.”
She ignored that, didn’t want to think about the implications. She’d noticed more details about him than she cared to admit; knowing he’d done the same with her didn’t help keep her mind where it needed to be. “So there’re five kids in your family, not three?”
“Right. Dylan and Aaron are married. They live in town with their wives. You met Grady and Mack, who live with me.”
Finally, the faint wailing of a siren drifted to her ears. “And this Natasha? She’s your...?” She knew better than to ask. It sounded as if she was probing, trying to learn whether he had a romantic interest. And yet she was too curious to let it go.
“Little sister. Actually, she’s my stepsister, ever since my father married her mother a few years ago.”
“I see. You have a big family,” she said to shift the focus away from the fact that she’d wanted to find out if Natasha was his girlfriend. “I think I’ve seen your father and stepmother. Are they living with you, too?”
“For now. It was supposed to be a temporary arrangement, but it’s been a couple of years and they don’t seem too eager to leave.”
“You’ve got a big house. Having them there wouldn’t be too bad if they’re helping with the mortgage.”
“They aren’t.”
“Then I could see how it might be an imposition.”
His gaze slid over her, taking in every detail of her long, slinky black dress—including the slit up her leg. “What’s your story?”
She cleared her throat. “I’m an only child.”
“From the city?”
“What makes you think I’m from the city?”
“That dress,” he replied. “Women around here don’t wear that type of thing very often.”
“I was born and raised in Oakland.” She’d been living in San Francisco since her marriage to Charlie, however. An art exhibit in the city was a fancy affair. She knew she was overdressed for the small towns along Highway 49, but she’d felt the need to clean up, to feel attractive again, the way she used to feel when Charlie took her out.
“And now you live alone in Whiskey Creek, except for your little girl,” he said.
She stiffened in surprise. “How’d you know I have a little girl?”
“I saw a photograph of her in your car the other day.”
“Oh.” She smiled at the thought of her five-year-old daughter. She missed Cassia so much.
He waited for her to look him in the face again. “Is she staying with her father right now, or...”
“She’s with her grandparents. They offered to keep her until I could get settled.” And because they missed Charlie as much as she did, India had felt obliged to allow it.
There were other reasons she’d felt she had to let Cassia stay with the Sommerses, but those reasons made her stomach churn.
Rod stuffed his hands in his pockets. “So where’s your husband?”
She refused to flinch despite the sting that question caused. “Not everyone who has a child has a husband.”
He raised his eyebrows. “You’re wearing a ring.”
It’d been so long since she’d been anyplace a man might bother to ask, she hadn’t even remembered, probably because her ring didn’t mean what it was supposed to. Not anymore. Charlie was dead. She’d sold their lovely home because she could no longer bear to live there. She couldn’t divest herself of her ring, too. That symbol of his love meant too much to her. Besides her mother, he was the only person who’d ever treated her as though she mattered, as though she was special enough to deserve any kind of devotion. She’d since figured out that was a reflection of her own self-esteem at the time, but he’d somehow been able to look beyond that to see what she could be, to help shape her into what she was today.
“Right. My ring,” she said. “Of course. But—” she stared down at her 1.5 carat diamond, remembering the night Charlie had given it to her “—my husband’s...gone.”
Fortunately, a truck came from the direction of the bar, interrupting their conversation before Rod could follow up on that. Two men rode in the cab, both of whom knew Rod.
The driver stopped and lowered his window, and the passenger called out to him. “What’s going on, man? You okay?”
They exchanged a few words. Then the guys in the truck asked if Rod needed any help and Rod phoned his brother to say he could send his bike home with Donald and Sam. By the time the three of them had used a wooden plank to roll the heavy motorcycle up and into the bed, a policeman arrived—Chief Bennett, according to his name tag.
“Stand back,” he told them, pushing them even farther to one side of the road. “I’ll talk to you once I get some flares out so no one else gets hurt.”
The ambulance came just as Rod’s friends drove off with his bike. India watched from about ten feet away while two paramedics knelt by the man on the ground and Chief Bennett gave Rod a sobriety test—which, thankfully, he passed.
India hated to interrupt the paramedics, but they were beginning to load the injured man into the ambulance and she hoped to get some word of his condition before they left. “Is he going to be okay?”
“Most likely,” one of them replied. “Even minor head injuries bleed a lot. I think he’ll be fine.”
“He was an idiot to pick a fight with Rod Amos,” the other paramedic piped up.
The first guy jerked his head at the wallet resting on the unconscious man’s chest, which Chief Bennett had used to ID him. “Liam Crockett’s from Dixon. Mustn’t have heard.”
India wanted to ask if Rod was a professional fighter, but they were in too much of a hurry, so she backed away and let them go.
Ever since the police chief had determined that Rod was sober, Bennett had been grilling him on how everything had happened. They were still talking, and India didn’t know whether to get in her car and leave, or wait to see if Rod needed a ride home.
“Damn it, Rod,” she heard the police chief say. “You are so damn wild. It’s always something with you.”
Rod was obviously not pleased by that reaction. “I told you. He started it.”
“Yeah, well, we’ll see if that’s what he says.”
“You saw my bike! How do you think it got wrecked?”
When Bennett refused to commit himself, Rod continued. “We could’ve settled our differences at the bar. Instead, he followed me and tried to run me off the road. What kind of pussy tries to run someone over instead of fighting like a man?”
“Wait. What do you mean, handle it at the bar?” Bennett said. “You bust up Sexy Sadie’s again, you won’t be allowed to go there anymore.”
“What are you talking about?” Rod cried. “I’ve never busted up Sexy Sadie’s! You can’t hold me accountable for what my brothers do.”
“One of you is always raising hell,” he said in disgust. “Anyway, I’m going to look into this further. That I can promise you.”
“Fine,” Rod told him. “I hope you do. When that bastard wakes up, he should go to jail.”
“If he wakes up,” the police chief grumbled. “God, I’m exhausted. Do you need a ride or—” He looked at India, obviously hoping she’d relieve him of that duty.
“I can take him,” she volunteered. “I’m going that way.”
“Maybe you should drive him over to the hospital first,” he said, “see if he has any broken bones or needs stitches. It shouldn’t take long. They’ve got to be on a first-name basis with him by now.”
Rod shot him a dark scowl. “Quit trying to make me look bad.”
“I don’t need to try,” Bennett said. “Since you can’t stay out of trouble, you make yourself look bad.”
Stepping between them, India touched Rod’s arm to get his attention before he could spout off and get himself arrested. “Should we go to the hospital?”
He shook his head, suggesting it’d been a ridiculous idea to begin with.
“Can’t hurt to get checked out,” Chief Bennett said, attempting to persuade him.
“No way,” Rod told him. “I’m going to bed.”
“Suit yourself.” With a sigh, Bennett adjusted his heavy belt and trudged over to his car.
All the excitement was over. India raised the hem of her dress to keep it from dragging on the ground as she returned to the car. She was halfway there before she realized Rod wasn’t following her—and glanced back to see why.
“I can’t even begin to guess where you’ve been tonight,” he said, “but that dress...” Letting his words fade, he ended with a whistle.
“Thank you.” She felt her face heat and wished she didn’t find his appreciation so gratifying. He was definitely not the type of man she needed. She needed Charlie, but Charlie was gone and he wasn’t coming back. The vacuum created by his death, as well as the reason behind it, had left her feeling...abysmal. It was terrible to be so lost and lonely that a stranger’s attention felt like a lifeline.
“What happened here really wasn’t my fault,” he called out. “I hope you believe that.”
“Of course,” she responded, and yet she’d heard Chief Bennett say he was always in trouble. That confirmed her first impression of him, didn’t it? He still wasn’t coming toward her, so she crossed her arms and looked back at him. “Are you ready to go home?”
Finally, he started walking. “I’m ready, but...maybe we could clarify a few things along the way.”
“Like...?”
“That ring on your finger,” he said and threw her a sexy grin.
India felt a corresponding shiver of desire, which scared her. No! she told herself. Not this guy. She couldn’t screw up again.
2 (#u078a007a-7f7f-5d5c-a636-6cbe4bf43d1f)
Rod had never particularly liked red hair. He usually had a preference for blondes. But India’s hair, which fell long and straight to her shoulders, was between a bright orange and a dark mahogany, and somehow it worked with her pale skin and almost translucent blue eyes. She was different, unique, delicate in appearance.
The more he looked at her, the more he liked what he saw. But based on what he’d gathered from their conversation since she’d started to drive, she was still in love with her dead husband. She teared up when she talked about him, and yet she wouldn’t say how he died. When Rod asked, she told him she didn’t want to “go into that.” Then she fiddled with her wedding ring the rest of the way to town. The only thing he could get out of her was that it’d been eleven months since the “tragedy” that’d taken Charlie.
“When will your daughter be back?” he asked, hoping she’d be more comfortable if he changed the subject.
“After the Fourth of July,” she replied.
He shifted to ease the terrible ache in his leg. “That gives you three weeks on your own.”
“Yes, too long for me, but I plan to make good use of that time.” She turned toward the river, where they both lived.
“Doing what?”
“Using that potter’s wheel you helped me carry into the house.”
“You do ceramics for a living?”
“Hope to,” she said. “To be honest, I haven’t made much money on it in the past, but I’ve never seriously pursued my art. I plan to open my own studio one day.”
The smile that curved her lips when she said that—as if it had always been her dream—lit her whole face.
“Here in Whiskey Creek?”
“Yes.”
“Not out of your house...”
“No. I’m picturing a cute little shop downtown. But first I have to build up my inventory.”
He was glad she didn’t expect folks to find her place along the river. He didn’t think she could be successful there, not tucked away as they were. “Don’t you have stuff already? I mean, haven’t you been doing it for a while?”
“Since high school, but not with a business in mind. What I created before belongs to a different era in my life. Now that I’m starting over, rebuilding, I’d like to take my work in a new direction.”
Her husband must’ve left her well-off, Rod decided. She’d essentially told him that what she planned to do wouldn’t cover her bills—and he knew she’d paid quite a bit for her house. Although it’d once been a cheap rental, some investors had purchased it and renovated with the intent of reselling. They did a lot of work and put some key upgrades into it, so it’d been pricey by the time they were done.
Of course, Rod would’ve been able to tell by her clothes—or that rock of a wedding ring—that she wasn’t hurting for money, even if he hadn’t known how much she’d paid for the house, or noticed the expensive furniture the movers carried in when the van arrived a few hours after he and his brothers had helped set up her potter’s wheel. “So you’ll work from home every day?”
“For the next year or so, until I can determine if I have any chance at succeeding.”
“You can make it,” he said. “There’re quite a few artisans in Gold Country. There’s a glassworks place not far away, in Sutter Creek, if you haven’t seen it.”
“I have. It’s wonderful.” She stopped at the four-way, the last turn before the route home took them along the river. “What about you? What do you do?” she asked. “From the way the paramedics were talking, I wondered if you’re a professional fighter.”
“No,” he said with a chuckle. “My oldest brother, Dylan, used to do MMA. Made good money at it, too. But he didn’t want the rest of us to get involved in it. He needed us to work in the family business, which started doing well after he took over.”
“From...”
“My father.” Rod didn’t state the reason or say anything about the circumstances. He knew how his history would sound to someone who wasn’t familiar with it, especially someone who came from a better class of people—and India’s clothes, her interest in art, even her language, suggested she came from a better class of people.
She tucked her silky-looking hair behind her ear. “What kind of business?”
“We own the auto body shop.”
“And you work there?”
He could smell her perfume. That, too, seemed to hint at money. “I do. Probably always will. But that’s okay. There isn’t anything I’d rather be doing. Maybe you’ve seen it. Amos Auto Body. It’s a couple of blocks off Sutter Street.”
She shook her head. “Don’t think I have.”
“I’ve been fixing smashed cars, trucks and motorcycles pretty much all my life.”
“Given the state of your bike, that experience should be useful,” she said wryly.
He opened and closed his right hand, which was beginning to swell. “I rebuilt it the first time. I can do it again.”
“It was insured, wasn’t it?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“That should help.”
He leaned over to check her speedometer. He felt he could push the damn car faster than she was driving. “You realize you’re ten miles under the speed limit.”
“I’m a little rattled.”
“Why? I’m the one who got into a fight.”
She gave him an exasperated look. “Which proves there’s no telling what you might come across out here!”
He chuckled. “This is a quiet area. I think you’re safe for the rest of the night. And I would like to get home before morning,” he added, just to rib her.
Her jaw dropped open. “You have no shame,” she said. “Here I am, being a good citizen and helping you out, and you’re criticizing the way I do it.”
“Nope. I’m only suggesting you make more of an effort.”
She hit the gas, and the car surged forward. “Happy now?”
“Happier.”
“I aim to please.”
He studied her profile. “India’s a different name. You’re the first India I’ve ever met.”
“My mother loved Gone with the Wind. Named me after India Wilkes.”
“Shouldn’t it be Scarlett or something like that?”
“India was a secondary character.”
“I guess I skipped that book,” he joked. He’d skipped a lot of books, hardly ever shown up for class. It was surprising he’d graduated from high school. He wouldn’t have, if his big brother had been willing to accept anything less. “Where does your mother live these days? She still in Oakland?”
“She died when I was eighteen.”
She’d had to deal with two family deaths? “I’m sorry. So it’s just you and your father now?”
“No, my father died before she did, but I didn’t know him very well. They were divorced when I was three. He was an alcoholic, wasn’t part of my life.”
He could relate to her situation there. His own father had turned to alcohol. “So neither of your parents knew Charlie?”
“No, we were only together the last six years.”
“Where did you meet?”
He expected her to say college. The timing would’ve been about right. But she didn’t. “I was waiting tables at a restaurant near the hospital where he worked. He and some of the other doctors used to come in quite often.”
“Doctors.”
She nodded. “He was ten years older than me.”
“And he was a doctor.” Rod repeated that because it wasn’t good news. It confirmed that she was, indeed, way out of his league.
“A heart surgeon,” she said.
Shit. Just what a guy wanted to hear when he’d never even attempted college.
“If he’d had another fifteen or twenty years, who knows what he might’ve accomplished,” she said softly, almost reverently. “I believe he would’ve made a real difference in the world.”
Rod knew then that it didn’t matter if Charlie was six feet under. An auto body technician couldn’t compare with a renowned heart surgeon, even the memory of one.
“Was it a car accident that killed him?” Rod hoped it wasn’t a heart attack. That would be too ironic.
“Please. Like I said, I’d rather not talk about his death.”
He didn’t understand why she had to leave him wondering. She’d told him other things, like how long Charlie had been gone. Why couldn’t she say it was an accident or an illness or whatever?
“I shouldn’t have asked again,” he said. But his curiosity couldn’t be entirely unexpected. Someone dying that early was unusual.
They were silent for a moment. Then Rod spoke again. He didn’t want his question about her late husband to be the end of their conversation. “Can’t be easy to work on art with a child underfoot. Is that part of the reason your in-laws are keeping your daughter? To give you a chance to get started on your pottery?”
“Not really. Having her around helps fill the hole Charlie left behind. They have a daughter, but her job took her to Japan two years ago. They don’t see her often.”
“A family of high achievers, huh?”
“Yes. They can be a bit intimidating.”
“You didn’t feel you fit in?”
She hesitated. “They were fine. Anyway, for the record, I’d never choose to be without Cassia.” She sent him a grim smile. “When she’s gone, I hardly know what to do with myself. I can’t work all the time.”
She’d recently lost her husband, and she was new in town. He could see why she’d want her daughter to keep her company. But at least the kid had grandparents who cared about her. Rod hadn’t been lucky enough to get decent parents, let alone anything more. If not for Dylan, his oldest brother, who’d raised him, he would’ve been put into foster care when he was in middle school.
Now that they were older and able to take care of themselves, life was easier. Rod was glad of that. He was also determined not to do anything that might make it hard again. Intrigued though he was with his new neighbor, he’d be better off moving on to other prospects.
“You’ve been through a lot of changes,” he said. “But I’m sure things will eventually improve.” That was a throwaway statement. He was backing off and letting her have her secrets and her space. Considering what his mother had done and how it had affected his whole family, he had no desire to get involved with an emotionally inaccessible woman. He wasn’t about to try to break down what he considered a locked door.
When India glanced over, he could tell she’d noticed the change in his tone. That glance was filled with uncertainty, and maybe a tinge of regret. She understood that he’d disengaged; he could see it in her face. It surprised him that she didn’t seem completely convinced she wanted that. But what else could he do? She was the one who’d thrown up barriers.
“You’re quiet,” she said at length.
Now that he no longer had any romantic interest to distract him from his injuries, he discovered that his leg, his mouth, his hands—almost every part of his body—hurt like hell. He needed to take a shower, swallow some pain pills and fall into bed. “It’s late. I’m not in the best shape. And there’s not much to say.”
“I may not be open to a relationship. I’m still in love with Charlie. I hope we can be friends, though.”
That was direct, but he’d been direct with her. He preferred open communication, didn’t see any reason to play games. “Of course.”
“I’m sincere. I could use a friend.”
He shrugged. “Sure, we’ll be friends and neighbors.”
That must’ve sounded trite, because she frowned, apparently not pleased by his response.
Bed, he told himself. He needed sleep. This woman was sending him mixed signals. She said she was still in love with her late husband and yet she kept looking at him as if...well, as if she liked what she saw. How was he supposed to react to that if she wouldn’t give him a chance?
As soon as she pulled into his drive, he reached for the door handle.
“Rod?”
When he looked back, she seemed about to speak.
“Yes?” he prompted.
She pressed her thumbnails into the padded steering wheel. “Maybe if...if you’re not too tired, you should come over to my place.”
“Right now?”
When she raised her eyes, she seemed nervous—but she nodded.
“What for?” he asked.
She kept making those indentations in her steering wheel. “Well, I’ve got some salve and bandages. I could help get the dirt and gravel out of your leg.”
Except she’d just told him she wasn’t interested. What the hell? “It’s okay, I’ll manage.”
She caught his arm. “You could—” her voice fell to a whisper “—shower at my place.”
He stared down at her pale hand against his darker skin. “I thought you didn’t want to be with me.”
Releasing his arm, she looked away. “I never said that.”
“You shut me down. Immediately. I let you know I was interested, that I wanted to take you out, and got a no.”
She went back to making those marks in the steering wheel. “Because I’m not available for a relationship. I think it’s important to be honest about that up front.”
“So what’s this about?” He peered at her a little more closely. “Sex?”
Her nails dug deeper. “No! I just thought...maybe we could get to know each other a little better.”
“Then this isn’t about sex. You want me to shower at your place...as a friend? For company or something?”
“Sort of. I guess we could...talk.”
They’d been talking. He didn’t believe that was what she had in mind. But whatever she was asking for wasn’t easy for her to put into words. “You’re missing your husband,” he ventured.
“Of course.”
“The way he touched you.”
She briefly closed her eyes. “Yes.”
“And you haven’t been with anyone since.”
Her face flushed. If he could see her cheeks in the light, he suspected they’d match her hair. “Right.”
He felt his breath seep out, hadn’t even known he was holding it. “Then you do want to fuck me.”
When she blanched, he regretted stating it so baldly. But he didn’t want to wind up at her house and have her bail on him. This night had been bad enough.
“It doesn’t have to go that far,” she said.
“You just want to make out?”
“I’m...open to ideas. I guess with Cassia gone, it felt like a good opportunity to...” Finally, she glanced up—and then she seemed to lose her train of thought because she stopped talking again.
“Be with a man,” he filled in. Did that put it nicely enough?
She slid her bracelets up her arm, something she’d been doing the whole drive. “If...if you’re interested. But you’re injured and...I’m basically a stranger to you, so...I’ll understand if you’re not up for that kind of...encounter.”
“I’m trying to get this straight. You won’t let me take you to dinner. But you’ll let me take off your clothes?”
She would no longer look at him. “I know, that sounds crazy,” she said with an awkward laugh. “I’m not thinking straight. You can go.”
“This back and forth is confusing,” he told her. “I’ve been getting conflicting signals since I got in your car. So why don’t you tell me exactly what you’re after?”
Her eyes widened. “You liked the dress,” she said helplessly, as if she couldn’t frame it any more clearly than that.
He chuckled at her lame attempt. “I like what’s in the dress, and I’m not ashamed to admit it.”
She said nothing. Staring straight ahead, at his house, she nibbled at her bottom lip.
“Look at me,” he said and waited for her to comply. “Are you really committed to going to bed with a man you’ve barely met? Have you ever done that before?”
“No. I’ve been with some rather...unsavory characters, but I always knew them before...you know.”
“And that means...”
“It wouldn’t be a good idea.”
“That’s a no,” he said. “Okay. I’m glad I clarified. Because if I’d had to guess, I would’ve gone the other way.”
He started to get out, but she caught his arm again, and this time when he looked back, she gripped her forehead with her free hand and squeezed her eyes shut. “Yes. It’s a yes.”
Suddenly, Rod didn’t feel all the aches and pains that’d been bothering him. Opportunities like this didn’t come around very often. Although there’d never been any shortage of women in his life, there’d been no one like India Sommers. She was refined, educated, classy—not the kind of girl who typically tried to pick him up.
Lowering his gaze to her lips, he leaned across the console to get a sample of what he could expect at her house. He could tell a lot about a woman by the way she kissed—and he wasn’t disappointed. She wasn’t too assertive or overeager, despite the fact that she was the one who’d extended the invitation. She was still struggling with her decision to do something so reckless. He could feel the tug-of-war inside her—between her idea of what was appropriate and her desire. But she was responsive in spite of that, and her mouth meshed so comfortably with his that he had no doubt he was in for a special treat.
He could use a few hours with a woman, especially a woman who kissed like this.
When her hands touched his face, and her tongue gently probed the cut on his bottom lip before she allowed him to deepen the kiss, he could sense an inherent sweetness, and that caused his excitement to skyrocket. He’d found her to be different and attractive from the start. But she’d acted so aloof when he helped her unload her Prius, Rod had decided she thought she was too good for him and his brothers.
He’d never expected this.
“That’s nice,” she murmured when he kept it soft.
It was nice. Her kiss told him she wasn’t nearly as cold and unreachable as he’d assumed.
Soon his heart was pounding almost as hard as when he’d gotten into that fight. But as she relaxed and began to sink into the kiss, he could tell she was investing a great deal of emotion, as if...as if she knew him better than she did.
He pulled back to look at her, but she didn’t open her eyes. He was fairly certain she didn’t want to see him. She wanted to feel what he was making her feel so she could pretend he was someone else. Someone she loved and missed. Charlie.
A strange reluctance hit him, slowing his pulse. Two minutes earlier he hadn’t cared that she wanted him only for his body. He’d known she wasn’t inviting him over for his personality; they weren’t well enough acquainted for that. But now?
His gut told him to stop. He’d been with plenty of women, knew he could give her an orgasm. But she’d experienced what it was like to feel something deeper for the man who was making her tremble. A hit-and-run, even a successful one, would only convince her that their time together had been a mistake.
Finally, she opened her eyes. “What’s wrong?”
He wasn’t sure he could explain the disappointment he felt, wasn’t sure he should try. Since they’d barely met, it probably wouldn’t make any sense.
“Are you...in pain?” she asked. “Hurting? I have ibuprofen at my house.”
“That’s not it.” He had so much testosterone flowing through him that, once again, he could hardly feel his injuries. He wanted her; he was rock-hard. But she didn’t want him, and that disconnect was something he’d never experienced before. His previous one-night stands had involved women who admired him and were anxious to be with him—or what they perceived him to be. Even if he couldn’t count love as part of the equation, there’d been the hope of something more, a certain openness that wasn’t present here. It was almost as if India had chosen him because she didn’t feel he could ever be a threat to her heart. He was just a cheap substitute for the man she’d married.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“You’re sorry?” she echoed. “What does that mean?”
“I didn’t intend to get your hopes up and then disappoint you.” On the contrary, that was the one thing still goading him to continue. He felt he’d made a commitment, even though he’d barely touched her.
“Is that what you’re doing?” she asked.
“I guess it is,” he replied.
“What’d I do? You...you don’t like the way I kiss? Or my perfume reminds you of someone else? Or—”
“Nothing like that.”
“Then what?”
Should he tell her that he’d figured out why she’d chosen him? That he understood she’d defined him as a “troublemaker,” thanks to what she’d witnessed tonight and what Chief Bennett had said, and saw him as the perfect guy to use?
“I’d go home with you if that’d fix anything,” he said and meant it. “But you’d be every bit as lonely and miserable in the morning. The guilt might make things worse.”
Her troubled eyes met his. “If you’re stopping for my sake, don’t. I see it as an hour or two during which I won’t have to feel what I’d otherwise feel.” She pressed her lips against his, trying to engage him again. “I can take care of myself,” she said when he resisted. “I’ll accept responsibility.”
Catching her hands, he leaned away from her. “But there’s no way I can compete with the man in your mind.”
She looked befuddled. “You don’t need to compete. I’m not asking you to.”
“That’s just it. Because you’ve already counted me out. Why would I get involved?”
“Surely a guy like you—”
“A guy like me? You don’t even know me.”
“I’m guessing you’ve had other casual encounters.”
“Of course. I’m not pretending to be a saint.”
“Then...how am I different?” she asked. “I won’t expect anything from you afterward. I promise. I may live next door, but I’ll keep to myself.”
“Maybe that’s the problem.” He could feel her surprise when he got out, knew she was watching as he walked to his house and went inside. He was stunned himself. Was he crazy to refuse what she’d offered him?
He knew what Grady and Mack would say. They’d think he’d lost his ever-lovin’ mind. They’d all been admiring her, and she’d just invited him into her bed!
If he were a few years younger, he would’ve said yes to something quick and dirty like that, he told himself. But he was thirty-one. It was time to take life more seriously, time to earn more respect. If India wanted to be with him, she’d have to give him an honest shot, not relegate him to the category of “good for a midnight ride but nothing else.”
Just because he’d had so little in life for so long didn’t mean he had to accept less forever—even if he was an auto body technician and not a heart surgeon.
* * *
If she closed her eyes, India could taste Rod’s kiss, could easily feel the way his lips and tongue had moved with and against hers. It wasn’t often that a man could kiss with such perfect pressure tempered by control. She’d just decided that she’d picked an ideal partner, one who could actually carry her away, when he’d pulled back and brought all that positive sensation to a halt.
Why had he changed his mind?
What he’d said led her to believe he wasn’t satisfied with the limitations she’d imposed on their encounter. Perhaps he didn’t like that she was the one dictating the terms. Or she’d ruined the challenge by offering. The men she’d been with before Charlie had liked having something to conquer. Love, or what passed for it, was a game to them. Considering what she’d learned from those early experiences, she’d played Rod entirely wrong. But she was an adult now, no longer interested in all the pretense and posturing that so often went with the single life.
Besides, she hadn’t intended to proposition him, hadn’t intended any of what had happened tonight. It’d been a desperate, spur-of-the-moment attempt to numb the dull ache that echoed through her body with every beat of her heart.
“Congratulations, you’ve fallen to a whole new low,” she muttered to herself. She needed to get her little girl back home. Cassia was the only anchor she still had in her life. She wouldn’t have made this mistake if Cassia was with her.
Getting her child back early wouldn’t be easy. Charlie’s parents wouldn’t welcome the idea. They’d likely start a fight as soon as she mentioned it.
Tears burned her eyes as she entered her drive and parked. Then she sat there, staring at her new house. She needed to hang all the art waiting in the detached garage, make this place her home in the truest sense. But some of those pieces were so heavy they’d require a helper, which she didn’t have, not unless she went to the trouble of hiring someone.
Anyway, the paintings would only remind her of Charlie, she told herself. He was the one who’d bought them for her—and she already thought of him far too often. She’d never get over him if she didn’t do what she could to move on.
She saw a light go on next door and realized it was probably coming from Rod’s room. The window that glowed in the darkness was on the second floor, and it had a small deck with stairs that led to the backyard and overlooked the river. She grabbed her purse, but just as she reached for the door latch, he confirmed that it was his room by coming out onto that deck and looking down at her car.
She wished she’d hurried inside while she’d had the chance to do it without being observed. How could she be so desperate as to proposition her new neighbor?
He must’ve thought she was pathetic...
Blinking back the tears that’d threatened a moment before—the situation would only get worse if he believed she was crying over his rejection—she forced herself to climb out of the car. She wanted to offer him an apology for being so forward, and to promise she’d never approach him like that again. But he was too far away to hear her, and she wasn’t about to walk any closer.
Better to prove it, anyway.
So she acted as though she didn’t notice him standing there and said nothing.
Once she was safely inside, she breathed a sigh of relief, locked the door and went to lie on Cassia’s bed, where she could hug one of her daughter’s stuffed animals while she waited for morning. Although she knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep for some time—she’d had trouble getting a solid eight hours ever since that night—she didn’t bother turning on any lights. She just stared at the moonbeams filtering through the window.
3 (#u078a007a-7f7f-5d5c-a636-6cbe4bf43d1f)
The next morning Mack walked into the kitchen. “What happened last night?” he asked.
Rod glanced up from his cereal bowl. He wasn’t feeling any better for having slept. As a matter of fact, he was worse. He wasn’t bleeding anymore and some of the scrapes he’d sustained when he fell from his bike were starting to scab over, but every muscle was sore. He could hardly move without wincing. He was beginning to wonder if he should’ve listened to Chief Bennett and gone to the hospital—not for his leg but for his hand. It was almost twice its normal size and hurt whenever he tried to use it.
“Last night was freaking crazy,” he said. And Mack didn’t know it, but the fight wasn’t the only crazy part. Rod felt terrible about what’d taken place between him and India. He should’ve gone to her place. So what if she wanted to pretend he was her dead husband? It wasn’t her intention to be hurtful or selfish; she was just looking for an escape from the pain. He’d had low moments like that in his life, hadn’t he? When he’d needed to be with someone?
Besides, there were worse tasks than giving a woman a little pleasure and comfort...
“Grady woke me up, said you’d been in a fight with the prick who was giving Natasha so much trouble.” Mack walked over to the cupboard to grab himself a bowl. “When I opened my eyes this morning, I thought maybe it was a bad dream. But now that I see you...”
Rod used his left hand to bring the spoon to his mouth. “I wish it were a dream.”
“Tell me the other guy looks worse.”
“He should. He’s the one who’s in the hospital.”
“Good for you,” Mack said. “I don’t feel the least bit sorry for him. Sounds like he’s where he deserves to be.”
Rod rested his elbows on the table. “Whether he deserved it or not, I wasn’t trying to hurt him that bad. He can’t fight worth shit, but he doesn’t seem to understand his own limitations. Every time I’d step back, thinking he’d had enough, he’d take another swing at me.”
“Stubborn son of a bitch,” Mack grumbled. “So how’d it end? Did someone call the police or what?”
“I called. The fight didn’t happen outside the bar. It happened on the road when I was on my way home. And he needed an ambulance.”
Mack whistled. “Which officer came out? Hope it was Howton. Far as cops go, Howton’s not too bad.”
“None other than Chief Bennett. Just my luck, right?”
“He’s not a big fan of yours, not since your ex-girlfriend filed that complaint claiming you beat her.”
Rod grimaced at the reminder. “I never touched Melody.” He’d never even been tempted to strike a woman, but if he ever did, he wouldn’t have the police to fear as much as his older brother. Dylan would beat him to within an inch of his life—and Dylan was one of the few people who could do it. “She was pissed off that I was calling it quits and was trying to get back at me.”
“I know that, and you know that. But once this kind of accusation’s been launched, the dude never gets the benefit of the doubt. There’ll always be people who wonder, and I think Bennett’s one of your skeptics.”
Rod thought so, too. What Melody had done still enraged him. It was so unfair. But the more he protested, the guiltier he looked. He’d had to let it go. He could only hope that someday she’d come forward and tell the truth.
Maybe when she was over him. Until then...
“Bennett’s not a big fan of any of ours,” Rod said as he shoveled another spoonful of cereal into his mouth. “But at least he’s not as bad as the former chief.”
“You would’ve gone to jail if Stacy was still in charge,” Mack agreed. “He loved to yank Dylan’s chain, and he knew he could do that by harassing one of us.” He poured himself some of the Wheaties Rod had on the table. “Does Natasha know you wound up fighting the guy who kept coming on to her?”
“Not unless Grady woke her, too. Why?”
“She won’t be happy about it. You heard her last night. She thinks she can fight her own battles.”
“Yeah, well, it got personal when he crashed into my bike.”
“I’m sure Grady didn’t wake her. He only came into my room to ask me to go with him, in case you weren’t in any shape to help load the bike.”
“Then we won’t mention it,” Rod said, but he knew there’d be no keeping it from her. Not only did she live with them, when she wasn’t in school she also worked at the shop, doing the bookkeeping and other administrative tasks. She’d see his scrapes and bruises and know something was up.
“So what now?” Mack asked. “What’re the chances this incident will just...go away?”
Rod dropped his spoon in his empty bowl. “Not very good. If that guy—Liam Whatever—decides to press charges, it could be a problem.”
Mack scooped up a spoonful of cereal. “He started it. But that might not matter. You’ve been in too many fights to get the benefit of any doubt.”
Rod didn’t appreciate the candor. “You’ve been in as many fights as I have, little brother.”
Mack didn’t argue. He grinned, completely unrepentant. “Have you heard if the jerk’s going to be okay?”
“Haven’t called the hospital yet.”
“He had no business trying to cop a feel off a nineteen-year-old girl.”
That was true. She’d asked him to leave her alone several times. He wouldn’t, which was why they’d stepped in. But talking about Natasha always brought up something Rod didn’t like. He sometimes got the impression that Mack cared a little too much about their stepsister’s love life. Or, rather, he cared in the wrong way. Natasha was nothing like her insufferable mother. Rod was willing to look out for her as a big brother should, or he wouldn’t have stood up for her last night. But Mack was the family pet. Surely there was someone else out there, someone better, as much as Rod hated to use that term, for his kid brother. Natasha was basically a decent person, but anyone who’d been raised by Anya would have issues, and to say she could be prickly was an understatement.
Fortunately, Natasha was heading off to Utah to attend college in the fall, so they only had to get through the summer. With any luck, Mack would meet another new girlfriend—he went through quite a few—while she was away, and Rod’s concerns and suspicions wouldn’t amount to anything. Then, if their father ever divorced the freeloading drug addict he’d married, they’d all be done with Anya.
“I need to go out and find my phone,” he said.
“I could help with that, if you want,” Mack volunteered.
Rod gave him a wry smile. “Nice try, but I think you’ll be more useful at the shop. We’re always busy on Saturdays. I’ll get there as soon as I can.”
Mack scowled. “Why bother? You can’t do anything with a broken hand.”
“It’s not broken,” Rod argued and hoped to God that was true.
The creak of footsteps told them someone was coming down the hall. Rod expected it to be Grady. Unless there was some reason not to, they usually drove to the shop together.
But it wasn’t their brother. It was Natasha, still sporting the X on the back of her hand that told the bartenders she was underage and couldn’t be served last night. Her bleached blond hair was spiked and she wore a nose ring, but no one could deny she was attractive in spite of everything she did to hide her natural beauty. Rod could see how Mack might like her. A lot of guys did. Despite her wild hair and her piercings and tattoos, she had a certain...raw sex appeal. But that didn’t change the many reasons it’d be stupid to get romantically involved with her.
“Thought I heard you.” Her gaze settled on Mack first. It had a tendency to do that—and to return to him again and again. When she finally shifted her attention to Rod, she gasped. “What the fuck happened to your face?”
He walked over to put his bowl in the sink. “Watch your language. We’ve talked about that before. You’re a girl, not a truck driver.”
“Oh, stop with the misogynistic bullshit. I’m of age. I’m not just a girl anymore, and I’ll say exactly what I want,” she told him. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. So what happened?”
He rolled his eyes. “You’re hopeless.”
“Does that mean you’re not going to tell me?”
“Grady’ll have to explain. I gotta run.”
“Why can’t Mack?” she asked.
Rod took Mack’s bowl and dumped it into the sink.
“Hey!” Mack cried. “I wasn’t finished!”
“You can eat later,” Rod said, messing up Mack’s hair just to piss him off. “Let’s go.”
Mack knocked his hand away, then halfheartedly tried to comb his hair back into place with his fingers. “Go where?”
“You told me you’d help me find my phone, remember?”
Rod thought Mack might give away the fact that they’d already decided he should go to the shop and not help find the phone, but he didn’t. He didn’t speak until he’d passed Rod’s smashed bike, which Donald and Sam had set to one side of the driveway, and climbed into Rod’s truck. “First you don’t want me to go. Now you do. What’s up?” he asked once Rod had started the engine.
Should he try to explain? Probably not. If he brought it up, his brother would only deny feeling any attraction to their stepsister. To Mack’s credit, he did his best to avoid her. Rod had noticed the effort he put into that. But...as hard as his brother was fighting whatever he felt, there was still a kind of tangible energy whenever he and Natasha were in the same room. “You’ve never touched Natasha, have you?” he asked.
Mack’s eyebrows slammed together. “What the hell are you talking about? Touched her in what way?”
“You know what way.”
“Unless you’re looking for a better fight than you got last night, don’t ever ask me that again,” he snapped, instantly furious. “That’s too screwed up for words.”
“I know she’s attractive, but...she’s off-limits.” They weren’t related by blood, and they hadn’t grown up together, so Rod could see where the confusion might come in. Two people from different families meeting after adolescence because their parents had married through some prison website could cloud the “related” issue. But Rod couldn’t stand the thought of his brother being tied to someone who’d make Anya a permanent part of their lives. There were too many other women out there who didn’t have an addict for a mother, didn’t bear the stigma of ever having been called their sister—and didn’t have the emotional problems Natasha did.
“You think I’d ever be able to forget that?” Mack said.
Rod felt like shit for even asking. He should’ve gone with his first instinct and kept his mouth shut. “No, of course not,” he replied and peeled out of the drive.
* * *
When India heard the sound of an engine, she peered through her plantation shutters. She knew it had to be one or more of the Amos brothers. Other than a handful of houses half a mile down the road, they were her only neighbors. She liked the countryside, with its wide-open spaces. That was why she’d chosen this location.
Sure enough, someone was leaving in a big blue truck.
She recognized Rod immediately. He was in the driver’s seat, which was closest to her as the vehicle rolled by. She was fairly certain he had Mack or Grady with him, but it was difficult to see. The passenger didn’t matter, anyway. Knowing that Rod wouldn’t be around for a while eased her anxiety. She hadn’t begun to get over her embarrassment about what she’d done last night. The fact that they could bump into each other if she so much as went out to weed the front flower bed made her reluctant to leave the house.
God, what had she been thinking?
Rod had to be scratching his head, too, wondering what kind of woman had moved in next door. The further she got from that moment, the more horrified she became. It bothered her so much that, when she couldn’t sleep last night, she’d gotten up and baked him some cookies. She had a special snickerdoodle recipe that had been her mother’s. Besides a few pieces of jewelry, some photo albums and a handmade sweater, that recipe was about all her mother had left behind. Charlie would often take platefuls of her snickerdoodles to the other doctors and nurses at the hospital, so she thought Rod might like them, too.
In any case, they were her peace offering. She’d just relocated, planned on starting over. She didn’t want the first person she’d met in Whiskey Creek to hold a terrible opinion of her. She and Rod could be neighborly even if they weren’t exactly friends, couldn’t they?
As she watched his taillights disappear around the bend, she breathed a sigh of relief. Now she had the chance to make her delivery when he wasn’t home, which was the opportunity she’d been looking for—if only she could figure out what to say on the accompanying note and get it over there before he got back. She didn’t want to write anything that might make him think this was another invitation. That was why she’d driven to the Gas-N-Go early this morning, before the closest supermarket was open, to buy a package of paper plates—so she wouldn’t have to put the cookies on a dish he’d feel obliged to return. She was merely acknowledging that she’d screwed up and was promising it wouldn’t happen again. She preferred to leave it at that.
She imagined seeing him in the future, out in the yard or on the road, and giving him a polite wave. She wasn’t sure they could get to a polite wave from “Will you take me to bed?” Especially with just a plateful of cookies. But she’d already made them. She figured it was worth a try.
Dear Rod, she wrote. Then she made a face at the words. “Dear” sounded both too familiar and old-fashioned. Unfortunately, “Rod” without the “Dear” didn’t seem right, either.
After throwing that note away, she started over and skipped the salutation completely:
I wasn’t myself last night. I’m sorry. Please accept these cookies as my apology and know I will never cross that line again.
Sincerely,
Your neighbor—who is cringing at her behavior but promises she’s not as bad as you must think.
She didn’t allow herself to analyze what she’d written or change it again. She slipped the card into its envelope, grabbed the cookies and a roll of tape and hurried over to the stairs that led up to the deck outside his bedroom. She couldn’t go to the front door and ring the bell, or his brothers would know she was leaving him something. If he had to explain, she was afraid of what he might say.
“With any luck, he’ll forgive me, and we’ll just go on as if it never happened,” she mumbled and put the foil-covered plate on the railing.
As she searched for a place to tape the note, she saw that he hadn’t closed his door all the way. He didn’t seem to take much care when it came to protecting his personal property, but she could understand why he might not be too concerned. There wasn’t a lot of crime in Whiskey Creek; that was one of the reasons she’d moved there. Also, for the most part, everyone knew everyone else, which would make a man like Rod an unlikely victim.
He was an idiot to pick a fight with Rod Amos. That was what one of the paramedics had said.
Since she had such easy access to his room, India wished she could put the cookies on his bed or dresser, so she wouldn’t have to worry about ants, rodents or other animals finding them before he did. But entering his house wasn’t a serious consideration until she heard someone outside, around the front.
“You’ll have to drive over later,” a male voice called out. “I’m late as it is.”
Damn! She was afraid she was about to be spotted...
“It won’t take me long to shower,” a female voice responded. “Rod’s hand is jacked up. Mack texted me that he doesn’t think Rod’ll be able to work, but Mack will be at the shop in an hour or so.”
“We’ll manage. See you there,” came the response.
An engine started. India had to do something or whoever was driving that car would see her the moment he backed up, and she definitely didn’t want to be caught lurking outside Rod’s door.
Snatching up her cookies, she stepped into the room.
“Hey, keep it down!” someone shouted, this time from inside the house instead of at the door. “What do you think this is? I’m trying to sleep!”
That was a woman, too, but not the woman India had already heard, a fact that became more apparent when the first woman snapped an equally irritated response. “Yeah, well, some of us have to work.”
Half expecting an argument to flare up, India held her breath. Neither woman seemed to be in a good mood. But nothing else happened. The younger one must’ve gotten in the shower so she could go to work, because everything fell silent.
“Thank goodness,” India whispered. She thought she could leave now, but she couldn’t help taking a look at Rod’s room while she was there.
He had a big bed, which he hadn’t made. His torn and bloody clothes from last night lay on the floor, along with some cleats and a football. Other than that, the place was clean. It was even sort of decorated, which came as a surprise. Twenty or more baseball caps lined the dresser, and a collection of grilles and hubcaps from old cars hung all over the walls.
India was tempted to throw away the clothes he’d left—they couldn’t be saved—and straighten the bedding. She supposed it was the mother in her...
Actually, if she was being honest, it had nothing to do with the mother in her. She liked him enough to want to touch the things that were most personal to him...
A door opening and shutting somewhere else in the house reminded her that she needed to get out.
She set her cookies on the railing, where she’d put them before, taped the note beside the foil-covered plate and hurried down the steps and across the lawn.
Once she reached her screened-in porch, she knew she was safe. But then she turned to give the cookies and note a final glance and realized she’d left his door open a little wider than she’d found it. She hated that he might guess she’d invaded his private space—especially since she had—but she wasn’t going over to correct it. In the future, she planned to keep her distance from Rod Amos and anything or anyone associated with him.
Now she needed to figure out a way to approach her in-laws about getting her daughter home, so she could bring some normalcy back into her life, or the loneliness that dogged her every step would completely destroy her.
Before she could commit herself to that course of action, however, she had to call the detective who was handling her late husband’s case.
4 (#u078a007a-7f7f-5d5c-a636-6cbe4bf43d1f)
“Are you going to get it x-rayed?” Dylan asked, his voice sounding a bit tinny through Bluetooth.
Rod glanced at his swollen hand. He’d been driving with his left; it hurt too much to use his right. But at least he’d found his phone, way off, under a bush. The fact that it had traveled so far from the point of impact showed how hard he’d come down, which made him angry all over again. “I think I’ll give it a few days. See how it feels.”
Mack frowned at him from the passenger seat. He, too, had been telling Rod to stop by the hospital—and now that Dylan was starting in on him, Rod wasn’t sure he’d be able to refuse. He loved and respected his oldest brother more than anyone in the world. Dylan was more of a father to him than their own father had ever been.
“I’d rather you got to a doctor right away,” Dylan said.
Mack, who could hear everything, since Rod’s Bluetooth worked as a speakerphone, smirked at him. He knew how hard it was to say no to Dylan. They all had the same problem—except maybe Aaron. Although Aaron and Dylan got along now, they’d fought like crazy over the years, probably because they were closest in age and too damn much alike.
“What will it hurt to wait?” Rod asked.
“I need you at the shop,” Dylan replied. “If it’s broken, let’s get it fixed so you can use it as soon as possible.”
Rod rolled his eyes. “Fine.”
When Mack laughed to see him crumble so easily, Rod sent his younger brother a look that said he’d better not provoke him any further, and Mack, of course, ignored that and slugged Rod in the arm.
“Want me to meet you over there?” That came from Dylan before Rod could slug Mack in return, an interruption that was well-timed. Since he couldn’t use his right hand, it would’ve been too awkward to reach across his body with his left.
“You kidding?” Rod said. “It’s Saturday. You’re needed at the shop. Besides, I’m a big boy. I can handle seeing a doctor on my own. I’ll drop Mack off first, so you’ll at least have his help.”
“Thanks.”
“I’ll check on Liam while I’m at the hospital,” Rod went on. “See how bad off he is.” As angry as he was that this guy wouldn’t leave Natasha alone at the bar, not to mention everything the bastard had done afterward, Rod didn’t want to be responsible for seriously injuring anyone. It wasn’t as if he lived for violence. He also didn’t want this incident to escalate. He knew he’d probably get the worst of any repercussions. Although Liam had started the fight, he’d been hurt worse, so it meant Rod looked like the bad guy.
“No need,” Dylan said. “I’ve already called over there. Liam Crockett has a broken jaw, a broken nose and a concussion.”
“Damn!” Mack said. “You busted him up good.”
“What’d you do?” Dylan asked. “Slam his head into the pavement?”
Rod wasn’t even sure. It’d all happened so fast—and when someone pushed him that far, he fought to win. “I honestly don’t remember. After I went flying from my bike, I got up, saw him charging toward me and...unleashed. But it wouldn’t have been like that if he hadn’t asked for it.”
“Might be a few days before we find out what he has to say,” Dylan informed him. “I talked to Chief Bennett this morning, too. Called him as soon as Grady filled me in. He’s not even going to take Liam’s statement until the guy gets out of the hospital.”
“When will that be?” Rod asked.
“Tuesday or Wednesday,” Dylan replied. “At least, that’s what his sister told me, who’s with him.”
Rod scratched his neck. “Stupid bastard shouldn’t have run me off the road.”
“I doubt he’ll ever make that mistake again,” Dylan said wryly. “Call me after your X-ray.”
Dylan had his own son to worry about these days. Little Kellan was nearly eighteen months old. Dylan doted on him, but Rod figured he’d never stop taking care of his brothers, too. Their father was out of prison and living at the house with his wife and her daughter, yet J.T. hadn’t replaced Dylan. Dylan had been there for them too many years to suddenly stop playing that role.
Rod considered it a blessing that Dylan retained some interest in them. Their father was more of a liability than an asset, even now.
“Okay,” Rod said grudgingly. “But it might be a while before you hear from me. You know how long the hospital takes.”
“Cheyenne can bring Kellan over and sit with you, if you like,” Dylan offered.
“Kellan doesn’t need to be in a hospital waiting room,” Rod said.
“They can keep you company, help you pass the time.”
Mack cut in, raising his voice so Dylan could hear. “Hey, Dyl, I can always send some toy trucks with Rod, if you think that’ll make the wait any easier.”
Rod shot Mack another warning glance for being such a smart-ass but spoke to Dylan. “You’re getting soft in your old age, big brother. You know that? You’re treating us more like little girls every day.”
“Just get yourself back to work,” Dylan snapped.
“That’s better,” Rod teased and hung up.
“So you’ll go to the hospital if Dylan asks you to but not if I do?”
“I’d walk through fire if Dylan asked me to, and so would you,” he replied. As far as Rod was concerned, Dylan had earned it.
* * *
India had tried to reach Detective Flores three times and received his voice mail every time. She wanted to talk to him. But when she saw his number flash across her screen, she drew a deep breath. There was so much she needed him to say, so much he never seemed able to say. Her disappointment in the criminal justice system and the lack of information and closure she received from the police could be crippling. Sometimes it took days to recover.
“India, Detective Flores,” he said when she answered. “How are you?”
He always sounded so warm and friendly. But she didn’t trust the encouragement and hope his tone offered. His voice had the same inflection the day he’d told her that the crime scene analysts hadn’t found any of Sebastian’s DNA in her house—and on the day he’d told her that Sebastian’s wife, despite the way he’d treated her, was providing him with an alibi.
“I’m good. Better.” To a point, that was true. She had some bright moments, usually when she was working or feeling grateful to still have her daughter in her life. At other times the memories flooded back or she missed Charlie so much she could scarcely breathe. Then the questions would start. Could she have saved him if she’d called 911? Or would Sebastian have shot her, like he’d said he would?
“I’ve moved to Whiskey Creek and set up my pottery workshop in a lovely screened-in porch overlooking a small river,” she told him. “So that’s nice.”
“Sounds like you’ll be able to open your studio soon.”
“I hope so—when I find the right spot.”
“I can’t tell you how happy I am to hear that you’re moving on.”
She cringed as she thought of the mistake she’d made with Rod Amos last night. Was that a sign that she was making progress—or backsliding? Her behavior would shock Detective Flores; it would shock anyone who knew the person she’d become once she’d managed to gain some self-esteem and change her life, and that included Charlie’s parents. “Thanks. How are you?”
“Busy, as usual. My wife and kids are actually at Disneyland. I was supposed to go, too, but something came up here at work. With any luck, I’ll be joining them tomorrow.”
“You work hard, and that’s a blessing to every single person attached to the cases you handle.”
If only he could do more... As kind as he was, she hated to think that, but it was the truth. She’d seen firsthand how difficult it could be to hold anyone accountable—even when that person had committed a horrendous crime and she had a diligent detective investigating the matter.
“I appreciate that,” he said. “I’m guessing you called to see about Sebastian’s new trial.”
“Yes.” She wanted to know when it would be taking place, although she wasn’t sure she’d attend the whole thing. The first trial had dominated her life after Charlie died, what with waiting and wondering and preparing—and then testifying and listening to everyone else testify, including the infuriating witnesses called by the defense.
She’d have to testify again, of course. There was no way to avoid that; she didn’t even want to. She had to do her part, for Charlie’s sake. But she didn’t have to sit in court day in and day out and see all those gruesome photographs of the man she loved. The morning the first trial ended in a hung jury had been almost as painful as the night Charlie was shot.
The prospect of going through it all again was too daunting to consider.
That didn’t mean she wouldn’t keep abreast of what was happening, however. Only once she knew Sebastian Young was back in prison—this time for the rest of his life—would she feel entirely safe.
“Yes. When’s the new trial? Have you heard?”
Once she had the date, she’d have a legitimate reason to call her in-laws, and then she could approach them about having Cassia come home before July. India had escaped San Francisco and all the people and places that reminded her of Charlie. She had fresh scenery and the promise of reestablishing her life—but now she was too alone. She thought that was the reason she was flailing around, grabbing on to strangers, like Rod Amos, who had no reason to care that she was drowning in a sea of loss and regret.
“The district attorney called me a couple of days ago,” Flores said.
She curled her fingernails into her palms. She could sense that, once again, she was about to be disappointed. “And...”
“It’s not good news.”
“Don’t tell me the DA has changed his mind!”
“I’m afraid so. He doesn’t want to try Sebastian again for fear the state will lose. He’s decided to wait until we can gather more evidence.”
Unable to continue standing, India sank into a chair. “What does that mean?”
“It means we’ll keep at it—and when we have more, we’ll bring him back to trial.”
“But that isn’t a certainty.”
He hesitated. “No.”
“Then...you’re letting him go.”
“We had to release him, India. We couldn’t hold him once we dropped the charges.”
“He’s out? And you didn’t tell me?”
“I’ve been meaning to, but...I knew how heartbreaking this would be for you.”
“It’s more than heartbreaking! He could find me again, Detective Flores. And what about Cassia? He knows she’s the reason I wouldn’t go with him when he tried to drag me off that night. Next time he won’t take the chance. He’ll kill her.”
“I understand the fear and pain you must feel,” he responded. “But please try to understand our dilemma. If we go back to trial and Sebastian gets off, we can’t try him again. We’ve discussed it at great length. After what happened with the last jury, we feel it would be smarter to wait and see if we can build a stronger case.”
India felt as if she’d been shot herself. As terrible as the past eleven months had been, as slowly as justice seemed to crawl, she’d still had faith that Sebastian would be convicted eventually. How could he not? She’d seen him shoot Charlie. There was no confusion in her mind about who was responsible or how it had happened.
She dropped her head in her hand. “What are the chances that you’ll find some new piece of evidence? They’ve got to be slim, at best. That means he might never have to answer for what he’s done.”
A long silence ensued. Finally, Detective Flores cleared his throat. “I hope that’s not the case,” he said. “And we have to hang on to that hope. It’s the only way to keep our sanity in the face of such a horrendous act. A lot of things could change, India. This isn’t over.”
But he hadn’t been able to deliver on anything. How could she trust what he told her? “You won’t get any more evidence from the house,” she said. “You went through it and released it. The place has been sold. You already subpoenaed Sebastian’s cell phone records. You searched his house and his car and didn’t get what you need. What could you possibly come across in the future that might strengthen the case?”
“Maybe we’ll receive a tip from a neighbor who hasn’t come forward yet, or someone will turn in the gun. It’s even possible his wife will leave him. If she does, she could change her story. I’ve seen that happen a number of times. If she’ll admit he went out that night, that they weren’t together, we might have what we need to get a conviction.”
“Sebastian shot Charlie!” India insisted. “I was there.”
“I believe you. However, your background...the mistakes you made in your youth...”
He let his words trail off. She could tell he didn’t want to come right out and say it, but the defense had assassinated her character. They’d painted her as a woman who couldn’t be trusted, someone who’d managed to get her hooks into Charlie, then killed him for his money and his life insurance.
Thinking about all the things that’d surfaced while she was on the witness stand made her sick—especially since her in-laws had been in the courtroom, staring up at her. She’d never forget the expression on her mother-in-law’s face when the defense claimed that Charlie’s wife was the person who had the most to gain from his death.
“I had very little parental support growing up,” she said. “My mother meant well, but she had to work two jobs just to keep a roof over our heads. And my father was an alcoholic who stepped out of a bar when I was seven and was struck by a car. I was wild in my teens and early twenties. I hooked up with the wrong crowd. I dated the wrong men. But I put all of that behind me once I met Charlie and realized what I really wanted out of life.”
“I understand. People change. Still, your past doesn’t look good on paper. You were once an ‘old lady’ to a man in a biker gang—and drove the getaway car when Sebastian robbed a liquor store.”
“Sebastian didn’t tell me he was going to rob that store! I was waiting for him to pick up a pack of cigarettes!”
“Money is motive.”
Tears began to roll down her face and drip into her lap. “So is obsession. Sebastian was obsessed with me!”
“I get that,” he agreed. “But it isn’t motive we need so much as evidence.”
Charlie was dead, and yet Sebastian was free to go anywhere he wanted. How had it come to this? “What if Sebastian somehow finds out where I live?” she asked. “He could turn up at my house again.”
“I wish we could keep him behind bars,” the detective replied, “but we can’t.”
She was glad Flores didn’t point out that she was the one who’d given Sebastian her address the night Charlie was shot. She’d felt sorry for him, wanted to help an old friend get into rehab. She’d never dreamed Sebastian would read more into her actions, that he’d start trying to reconcile with her. I’ll never be happy without you, he’d said that night.
So he’d made it impossible for her to be happy...
“Have you told the Sommerses?” she asked dully.
“Not yet. I’ve been trying to figure out how to break the news to both of you. I knew how it would make you feel.”
She felt there was no justice in the world. That was how it made her feel. Then there was the helplessness. What now? How would she defend herself—or Cassia—from Sebastian if he tracked her down?
“I doubt he’ll bother you,” the detective was saying. “He’d be crazy to risk his freedom again.”
“You mean since he’s gotten off once,” she said. “Criminals do that all the time. They’re given a second chance, and then they reoffend, right?”
“If I were you, I’d get a security system. And keep an eye out. But try not to let this ruin your peace of mind.”
She had to laugh. Could he be serious? She’d get a security system, but that wouldn’t stop Sebastian from getting to her if he was determined enough. All he’d have to do was follow her to Cassia’s preschool or the store, where she’d be defenseless.
“India?” Detective Flores said when she didn’t respond.
She couldn’t answer him. What was there to say? They’d let Sebastian go, and now he’d come looking for her. She’d testified against him. In his world, there was no greater sin, no greater betrayal.
“When?” she said as she wiped her cheeks.
“When...what?” the detective asked.
“When did you release him?”
There was another long moment of silence. Then he said, “Yesterday.”
Now she didn’t want Cassia to come home, not when the child would be so much safer with her grandparents.
That meant Sebastian hadn’t cost her only Charlie; he’d cost her Cassia, as well.
5 (#ulink_123098c6-58d1-55ce-a8e0-089199f8f31a)
Rod cursed as he stared down at his new cast. The doctor had indicated that the worst of his injuries hadn’t occurred during the fight. He’d busted his hand trying to break his fall from the bike, but hitting Liam after had led to a second fracture—a stress fracture. The doctor couldn’t believe he’d been capable of using his fists, although Rod didn’t remember feeling he’d had any choice. When Liam came running back to him, he’d assumed he had to get up and defend himself. He wasn’t about to let Crockett, or anyone else for that matter, beat his ass.
So now he was looking at six weeks without the use of his right hand. He knew the routine, had been through it before—with a broken ankle from a waterskiing accident, a broken left wrist from when he’d been hit by a wild baseball pitch and a broken transverse process, one of the small bones coming off his spine, from when he’d rolled his four-wheeler.
Fortunately, his leg wasn’t broken, too. It just felt like it.
I could help get the dirt and gravel out of your leg...
As Rod passed India’s house on the way home, he remembered that offer and wished he’d taken her up on it. Maybe then he’d be able to go back there and get lost in her all over again. He was eager for any distraction absorbing enough to take his mind off his aches and pains—as well as the ominous news he’d received a few minutes earlier, when Chief Bennett had called to warn him that Liam Crockett’s sister was urging her brother to press charges.
If they sued for medical expenses, he’d have another fight on his hands, and this wouldn’t be physical, so he wasn’t as likely to win. His reputation—and the reputation of his family—would work against him, which was doubly unfair, since he hadn’t done even half the shit he’d been accused of doing.
Once he’d parked in his drive, his phone buzzed. He’d received a message from Cheyenne, Dylan’s wife. She was planning to bring him dinner tonight. He liked it when she cooked. She tried to mother them the way Dylan fathered them. But she wasn’t coming until six, and it was only two. Rod supposed that if he couldn’t spend the afternoon with India, he should try to get some work done. Dylan had sent him home, wouldn’t let him stay at the shop, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t mow the yard. At least he’d have something to show for the day.
He went inside to change into a pair of basketball shorts, which wouldn’t be as hot as his jeans. But then he noticed his laptop sitting on the coffee table and decided to take a minute to see if he could learn a few details about his new neighbor. He was more than a little curious, especially after last night.
Groaning as he eased into a recliner, he logged on to the internet. When he typed the name “Dr. Charlie Sommers” into a search engine, he thought he’d be lucky to find a brief obituary that would tell him how India’s husband had died.
But he got a lot more than that. Link after link filled the screen.
Renowned Heart Surgeon Shot in Bed
Wife Knew Gunman Who Killed Husband
Dr. Sommers’s Parents Hire PI
Secret Affair or Spurned Lover?
Sebastian Young Charged in Sommers’s Murder
Doctor’s Wife Claims Innocence
Wife’s Ex-Boyfriend Murders Heart Surgeon?
Surgeon’s Murder Trial Ends in Hung Jury
“Holy shit,” Rod muttered as he read the accompanying articles. No wonder India didn’t talk about how her husband had died. Her ex-boyfriend had broken in late at night and gunned him down while they were both sleeping and their young daughter was in the other room. According to one journalist, who’d reported on the trial, India stated under oath that she’d awakened to the sound of her ex-boyfriend’s voice demanding Charlie get out of bed. When she realized it wasn’t a nightmare and managed to open her eyes, she saw Sebastian Young standing at the foot of the bed, holding a gun.
Charlie, disoriented and barely awake, had reached for his cell—and was shot. The gunman then threatened to kill India’s daughter if India didn’t pack a bag and leave with him. She complied as far as gathering her things but pleaded and argued with him for the next few hours. It wasn’t until the housekeeper arrived the following morning, and the carpet cleaners rang the bell shortly after, that Sebastian dragged India out the back door. India claimed that he demanded she leave her child, which she wouldn’t do. She thought he was about to shoot her when the housekeeper stumbled on the bloody mess in the bedroom and started to scream. Fortunately, Sebastian didn’t pull the trigger. At that point, he panicked and ran.
What a story! Rod rubbed his chin as he searched through even more links. The trial had lasted for three weeks but ended in a hung jury. Some questioned whether India could’ve been involved, whether she might’ve killed her husband and blamed Sebastian, or manipulated Sebastian into killing her husband for her. Although there’d never been any charges filed against her, the suspicion lingered, which became more and more apparent as he continued to read.
Rod hoped to learn the DA’s decision on whether to try Young again, but he couldn’t find any word of it. The most recent articles were over a month old.
What had happened since? Was this Sebastian still in jail, awaiting a new trial? Or had he been released? And if he’d been released, where the hell was he? Was India worried that he might come back? Was that the reason her in-laws had her daughter?
She must have been severely traumatized. Not only had she lost her husband, she’d been villainized by the press and her detractors, too. “It’s always the spouse,” one neighbor had said.
At first, no surprise, the police had focused on India. The money she stood to receive, and the value of Charlie’s life insurance policy, had given her more than a million reasons to get rid of him. There was even some mention of the type of people she’d associated with before her marriage, as if the friends she’d once had proved that she wasn’t a good person.
They weren’t the sort Rod would’ve expected. One had belonged to an outlaw biker gang. She’d been with him for about a year—until he tried to run her over with his truck and she had to get a restraining order against him. Then she’d gotten involved with Sebastian, who’d robbed a store and spent four years in prison for it. Everyone pointed to that as proof that she must’ve known he was dangerous, that she must’ve wanted to get back with him when he was released from prison.
But robbery wasn’t murder. Sebastian had threatened the liquor-store clerk by saying he had a gun in his pocket; he hadn’t really had one. Nobody had been hurt, and he’d served his sentence for that crime. Those were important distinctions, and yet her detractors hadn’t cut her any slack. What the detective on Charlie’s case had to say was important, too. He told one reporter that she’d never written Sebastian or visited him, not after she met Charlie. There were no texts between them that included anything questionable or suggestive and only a few calls, which was consistent with her story that she’d merely been trying to help him. Also, Sebastian had been out of prison for a year before he even reached out, and he did that on Facebook, so they had proof of first contact.
Rod didn’t believe India had anything to do with Charlie’s murder, and the police must not have found any evidence to the contrary because they’d dismissed her as a suspect early on. Plenty of people continued to doubt her, though. Rod came across several articles that pointed a finger at her. But he understood what it was like to be judged on the basis of the past. There was no getting rid of the stigma attached to certain mistakes.
Maybe he and India weren’t so different, after all.
Setting his computer aside, he pulled his cell out of his pocket. He had her number from when she’d called last night, trying to find his phone. He’d nearly added her to his contacts list several times today, but he’d stopped himself. Now he went ahead. She was innocent of her husband’s death. She truly loved Charlie. Rod could see that last night. She’d told him as much.
She’d also said she could use a friend, and he’d blown her off.
He felt bad about that now.
He felt even worse once he found her cookies.
* * *
India was concentrating so hard on her work that it took several seconds to realize someone was watching her. When it finally occurred to her that she had company, she jumped. She was so afraid Sebastian would appear out of nowhere, like he had before. But this time she knew who it would be. She’d heard Rod come home less than an hour earlier.
“Hey.” He had a toothpick in his mouth and a cast on his right hand. He hooked his left on the wood overhang as he gazed through the screen.
When she’d jerked, she’d messed up the pot she’d been throwing, which was unfortunate. She’d already started over several times. After what she’d heard from Detective Flores, she was too upset to have steady hands—and yet she’d needed something to do. She couldn’t sit there and worry indefinitely.
She wouldn’t start over again now, however. Having Rod so close made it virtually impossible to focus, especially since she wasn’t prepared to see him. She didn’t have any makeup on, or shoes—or even a bra. In deference to the heat, she’d stripped down to a pair of high-waisted cutoffs and an old button-down shirt of Charlie’s that she’d tied under her breasts.
“Hey,” she echoed and, after pushing the clay into a big lump, turned off her wheel.
He gave her a sheepish look. “I didn’t cause that, did I?” he asked, indicating her ruined vase.
“No,” she lied. Then she bolstered her response with the truth. “Mistakes and do-overs happen all the time. This was actually my fourth try today.”
“Really?”
“Really,” she said. “Don’t worry about it.”
He lowered his good arm to move the toothpick to the other side of his mouth. “You ever seen the movie Ghost?”
She had. That steamy scene with Demi Moore and Patrick Swayze was one of her all-time favorites, but after last night, she was surprised he’d bring it up. “Yes.”
“That’s what finding you covered in clay and not much else reminds me of.”
Ignoring that comment, she got off her stool and walked over to him. “You broke your hand, huh?”
“Yeah.” He frowned at it. “In two places.”
“I’m sorry about that. But I’m glad you saw a doctor.”
“Yeah, it’s a good thing. It would’ve had to be rebroken if I’d let it heal on its own, so...better to go this route from the beginning.”
“Is this your first cast?”
He chuckled without mirth. “’Fraid not.”
“They’re no fun.”
“You’ve had one?”
“Broke my arm once.”
“How?”
“Motorcycle accident.”
“Who was driving?”
Sebastian had been driving. He’d been angry with a friend and going too fast, and he’d pulled out in front of a semi that clipped their back tire. It was a miracle they’d lived through it. Because of that, he had a scar going halfway around his back, and she had two pins in her arm, but it could’ve been so much worse.
“A friend,” she said to avoid mentioning Sebastian’s name.
Rod studied her until she felt too uncomfortable to allow the silence to continue.
“So...what can I do for you?” she asked.
His mouth quirked to one side. “I just found a plate of cookies on the railing of my deck.”
It was almost impossible not to return his smile, but India fought the impulse. She had to remain on guard at all times. He did something to her she couldn’t explain—probably because it didn’t make any sense. She’d barely met him. “I hope the ants didn’t find them first.”
“Not that I could see. Although I wouldn’t have let that stop me. They were delicious.”
“Were?” she repeated. “You ate them already?”
“Was I supposed to wait? If my brothers came home and found me with homemade cookies, they’d be gone in seconds. And my father and his wife are always there.”
“So to prevent sharing, you ate all twelve?” she said with a laugh.
“They were for me, weren’t they?” he responded with a wink.
He made her feel better. She preferred not to contemplate why. “Yes, they were for you, and I’m glad you liked them.” She sobered. “I hope you also got my note.”
“I did.”
Then why was he here? Didn’t her note say it all?
She crossed to the sink in the corner. “I’m really sorry about last night,” she said as she washed her hands. “I’ve made my share of mistakes, but I’ve never done anything like that.”
“I’m not here for another apology. I just wanted to tell you not to worry about it. I can understand why you might want to feel good for a change.”
“Thank you. I appreciate your forgiveness. But I’m really not as bad as hitting on you made me seem.”
“I know.”
After drying her hands, she used the same towel to mop the beads of sweat running down the sides of her face. “Then...can we pretend it never happened?”
His gaze slid over her like it had last night, and she suddenly realized why she’d propositioned him. Just the way he looked at her—as if he was undressing her with his eyes, even though they weren’t talking about anything remotely suggestive—made her too aware of him. He exuded sex appeal, and as a young, lonely widow, she was vulnerable. It’d been eleven months since she’d felt a man’s touch; she missed Charlie’s gentle caress.
“’Course. I’m not holding anything against you,” he said, giving her the impression that he wouldn’t have thought twice about what she’d done, with or without the cookie offering.
Maybe he got hit on all the time. India knew she couldn’t be the only woman to find him attractive.
She clasped her hands in front of her, partially to hide the fact that she didn’t know what to do with them now that she’d cleaned them, and partially to block his view of the stains on her shirt. When she was creating, she didn’t care about staying clean. She didn’t care about much of anything then. Several hours could pass without her noticing. Her art was the one thing that helped her cope with life since Charlie died.
“Good. Thanks again.” She gestured toward her back door. “I’d better go inside. I’ve still got a lot to do tonight.”
“India?” He stopped her before she could reach the sanctuary of her kitchen, and his tone suggested that whatever he was about to say wasn’t idle chitchat.
She turned. “Yes?”
“Let me take you to dinner.”
She almost told him again what she’d told him last night. That she was still in love with her late husband, that she couldn’t get involved. Even when she started dating again, she couldn’t date anyone like Rod. Her in-laws would take one look at him, see Sebastian Young instead and sue her for custody of Cassia. It could easily be the final piece of “evidence” to convince them that her poor choices were to blame for the death of their son.
But instead of “no,” she heard herself say, “When?”
“Tomorrow night?”
He’d lowered his voice in what felt like a meaningful way and that filled her belly with butterflies. She stared at him, willing herself to clarify that she couldn’t go, but she didn’t. She nodded.
“Pick you up at six,” he said.
Her heartbeat seemed to travel out to her fingertips. What was she doing? Clearly, she’d lost her mind—and yet she overrode her better judgment for a second time. “Okay.”
When his smile widened, she felt a bit wobbly in the knees. “See you soon.”
6 (#ulink_fc0ca8e8-934a-500a-8149-5f8a6f020e9d)
Rod was mowing the lawn. India could see him from the window above her sink, where she was doing dishes. She had a hard time looking away, especially once his T-shirt grew damp and he took it off. He wrapped it around his head to block the sun, which wasn’t the most attractive way to wear a shirt, so she knew he wasn’t trying to show off.
That certainly didn’t detract from his appearance, however. His bare chest and arms... Holy cow! As much as she’d loved Charlie and would never have tried to change him, she had to admit he hadn’t looked like that. He couldn’t; he didn’t spend enough time outdoors, didn’t do anything physical. He was too busy concentrating on his patients and his career. They’d even had a yard service.
She didn’t realize she was no longer washing dishes—that she was only staring—until her phone buzzed. Then she finally looked away. She’d been trying to reach her in-laws to tell them about the DA’s decision, and now they were getting back to her.
After drying her hands, she turned from the window and hit the talk button.
“Hello?” She went into the living room so she wouldn’t be tempted to watch Rod anymore. Charlie was dead, but somehow she still felt guilty about the things she thought and felt whenever she encountered her neighbor. She knew the Sommerses wouldn’t appreciate the fact that another man had that kind of effect on her. She’d have to remain single for a long time in order to convince them that she’d loved Charlie and wouldn’t have done anything to hurt him.
“India? It’s Claudia,” her mother-in-law said. “How are you, sweetheart?”
The endearments Charlie’s mother bandied about could be so misleading. India wished they were sincere. Since she’d never really had a father, and she’d lost her mother when she was still young, she often felt a childlike craving for the love of a good parent.
But experience had taught her that Claudia’s sweetheart, honey and darling were mere words. Claudia tried to like her because she’d meant so much to Charlie, but on some level, she couldn’t help blaming India, as India blamed herself, for what Sebastian had done. The defense attorney had made her look so bad. India had felt her in-laws’ loyalties weakening as witness after witness claimed she’d called Sebastian several times, which she had, but only for moral support because he’d been talking about suicide, that she was probably still in love with him—given their history—and that they were planning to run away together once she inherited the money. As a result, relations between her and Charlie’s parents were strained and had been for months, although they all tried to pretend they were as close as ever.
“I’m fine,” India said, despite the fact that she felt as if she was living from minute to minute. “And you?”
“Busy. Little Cassia and I went to the thrift store today and bought an old trunk that we filled with whatever toys she wanted. Guess what she picked?”
“A ball of some kind?” India knew it wouldn’t be anything too girlie. Cassia preferred to be outside playing with boys and had no interest in Barbies or dress-up.
“Yes. We got her a tee to hit off and some other sports stuff but no dolls. She’s such a tomboy.”
A twinge of jealousy had India gritting her teeth. Cassia was her daughter, damn it. India wanted her back. And yet she couldn’t push, not if Sebastian was free. He could be looking for her this very minute. It wasn’t as if she’d moved far away. Her in-laws had insisted she remain fairly close so they could continue to be a big part of Cassia’s life.
But right now India felt they were too involved. A whole month without her daughter was beginning to feel like an eternity.
“I’ll bet she loved that,” she said, carefully modulating her voice to sound congenial and appreciative. “You’re such a good grandmother.”
“It’s been wonderful spending time with her. I can’t tell you how much fun we’re having. And I’m sure it’s made things easier for you. Moving is such a big job.”
India gripped the phone tighter. “Yes, but I’m pretty well finished.”
“You’re all settled, then?”
“Except for hanging the paintings. I...I’m not ready for that.”
There was a moment of silence. “Charlie bought you a lot of art.”
“Yes. He knew how much I loved it.” She closed her eyes. “I miss him so much.”
She hadn’t intended to say that last part. The words had just welled up and slipped out. They came from a place of pain and deep regret, but she could tell from Claudia’s hesitation that her mother-in-law didn’t know whether to trust her.
“We all do,” she said. She spoke stiffly, as if she was the only one who really missed him.
After that India found herself gravitating to the window to see if Rod was still out. The fact that she was ogling another man almost made her believe she must be as fickle as her mother-in-law suspected. But admiring him helped combat some of her anger, disappointment and fear.
Too bad he was mowing on the far side of the house where she couldn’t see him...
“Will you be coming soon, to check out my new place?” she asked Claudia.
“Not before we bring Cassia home. Steve’s too busy with his new victims’ charity. We’ve been putting together a golf tournament, and it’s taking hours and hours out of every day.”
India caught her breath. “You could always bring Cassia home early if you need to concentrate on other things. That would be no problem for me. I’m basically moved in and ready.” She’d figure out some way to protect her...
“Oh, no. Cassia’s more important. We won’t let anything interrupt this month with our girl.”
India slowly released her breath. She’d taken advantage of the opportunity to try—because she knew as soon as she told Claudia that Sebastian was no longer in jail and might never return to custody, she’d probably have to battle her in-laws in court to get Cassia back. “Can I talk to her?”
“Of course.”
A momentary flash of hope shot through India, which Claudia immediately extinguished.
“But later,” she said. “She’s right in the middle of helping Papa make lunch. We’ll have her call you after, if we get the chance.”
If we get the chance... They wouldn’t call, and if India ever asked why, they’d invent some excuse. Charlie’s parents were so possessive of their granddaughter.
Now that India knew she wasn’t going to be speaking to her little girl, at least in this conversation, she moved on to the purpose of her call. “I got hold of Detective Flores earlier.”
“You did? I’ve called and called. I always get his darn voice mail. What’d he say? When’s the next trial?”
Rod came into view, the muscles of his left arm bulging as he carried the grass clippings to the green waste can. India put her hand to the window as if she could touch his warm skin or feel the solid thud of his heartbeat—as if such a strong man could shelter her in some way. But that was ridiculous. He was rough around the edges, much more like the ex-boyfriends who’d created so many problems for her in the past than true-blue Charlie.
“They’re waiting,” she told Claudia.
“I couldn’t hear you. What’d you say?”
India forced herself to speak louder. “They aren’t convinced they have enough evidence to get a conviction. They’d rather not risk a second trial, not until they’ve built a stronger case.”
Another long silence, this one filled with shock and anger.
India could identify with both of those emotions.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Claudia said when she spoke again.
“I’m afraid not.” India swallowed, trying to wet her tongue, to make it easier to speak. “But Detective Flores is hopeful that they’ll be able to bring him back to trial soon.”
“When?”
India watched Rod disappear around the corner of his house again. “They can’t give us a date. Yet.”
“Which means what? It may never happen? Is that animal going to get away with what he did to my son? He took a life! And not just any life—the life of someone who mattered!”
India winced. She’d often felt Claudia wished she’d been the one to die that night. There’d been times she’d wished the same thing...
“It’s heart-wrenching,” she said and prayed she’d put enough emotion into that statement. The Sommerses, and everyone else who knew Charlie, were always watching her and interpreting everything she said or did with such suspicion. She felt as bad as Claudia did about this most recent turn of events. But she couldn’t commiserate with her on the DA’s lack of action or show the doubt she had that Sebastian would eventually be brought to justice, because then her mother-in-law would start thinking about Cassia and the fact that she might not be safe living with her mother.
If India wanted her daughter back without a fight, she had to ignore her own despair and convince the Sommerses that this was only a temporary setback.
“It’s beyond heart-wrenching,” Claudia said. “There are no words for what we’ve suffered.”
That was true. The past eleven months had been hellish. And yet, for her own sake as well as Cassia’s, India had to keep herself together. She was fighting to do that. Charlie wouldn’t want them to be miserable, but this new hurdle...
India wasn’t sure how she’d get past it.
“They’ll find the gun,” she said. “That’s what they need. If they find the gun and they can link it to Sebastian, they’ll have him.”
“You knew Sebastian well,” Claudia said. “What could he have done with it? Where might he have put it?”
That night was a jumble of terror for India, but she could trace the gun through those memories because Sebastian had it in his hand, pointed at her, for so long. She’d spent hours believing he’d shoot her, and Cassia would be an orphan. “I told you. I told everyone. He took it with him when he ran out.”
“If they haven’t found it by now, they never will,” her mother-in-law said. “What more can they do that they haven’t already done? What more can we do? We hired that PI—little good it did us. He accomplished nothing, and the police haven’t been much better. Detective Flores will move on to other cases, and we’ll be left with our lives destroyed and Charlie’s killer running around free.”
“Please. Don’t talk like that,” India said. “We have to retain hope.”
“I have to go,” Claudia said abruptly.
India was afraid to let her hang up for fear of what she might decide. “I’m sorry about this, Claudia. I wish... I wish Detective Flores had given me better news, but...don’t assume the worst. We’ll see justice yet.”
“Is that what you think? Because there is no real justice. You get that, right? Even if Sebastian goes back to prison for life, we’ll still have to live without Charlie.”
“Which is hard to fathom. I know.”
“You do? Because sometimes I can’t help feeling...”
India’s stomach cramped at the sudden bite in Claudia’s tone. “Yes?” she prompted when her mother-in-law’s words fell off.
“As if you’re—”
Someone—her father-in-law?—spoke in the background, but India couldn’t make out the words.
“Never mind,” Claudia said instead of finishing.
That sudden reversal led India to believe Steve had anticipated what was about to come out of his wife’s mouth and admonished her against it.
“What?” India pressed, but she could guess. The Sommerses had questions about her involvement with Sebastian. They didn’t understand why she’d been associating with him again. If she hadn’t accepted him back into her life, none of this would’ve happened.
India wished she could explain. She’d tried, several times. But in light of what Sebastian had done, her reasons sounded lame. Everyone thought she, of all people, should’ve had some idea what he was capable of. Yes, she’d known he could be angry and unreasonable, even unpredictable. He’d gotten her in serious trouble when he robbed that liquor store on a whim. But he’d been young and impulsive, and he’d done what he could to make sure the police understood she’d played no part in it. That was why they hadn’t charged her. He’d apologized over and over for involving her that day.
Prison and the drugs he’d taken over the years had changed him more than she could ever have dreamed. She’d assumed he’d learned his lesson—and was just down on his luck. She’d also naively thought she could help him.
How she wished she’d never responded to that first message on Facebook. She’d been beating herself up over that ever since. At first she hadn’t understood why she’d allowed Sebastian to reconnect with her, either. But, unlike the Sommerses, she had no family. That made her hesitant to cast old friends aside, even if they’d once been boyfriends.
“We love Cassia,” Claudia said. “She’s all we have left of Charlie. Thank you for letting her stay with us.”
In other words, Charlie’s mother was biting her tongue in order to preserve the relationship. But the calm her in-laws affected almost worried India more than if they’d unleashed their anger and disappointment. So much turbulence churned under the surface of those “still waters,” probably more than she’d ever be able to overcome.
She feared where those powerful currents were carrying them...
“Of course. Cassia loves you. So do I,” she added, hoping to retake some of the ground they’d lost.
Her mother-in-law wasn’t receptive. “Good night” was all she said.
As Claudia disconnected, India let her head fall against the cool glass. It wasn’t until she heard the sound of a mower in her own yard that she remembered Rod.
She hurried out front to find him cutting her grass. “Rod!” she yelled, trying to flag him down.
When he finally heard her, he looked over.
“You don’t have to do this,” she shouted above the noise. “It’s getting a little overgrown, but I plan to buy a mower on Monday. I’ll take care of it then.”
“No big deal,” he said. “Won’t take long.”
He seemed more than capable in spite of his broken hand. And here in Whiskey Creek, neighbors probably did that type of thing for each other. But receiving even a small amount of kindness on the heels of that call with her in-laws brought a lump to India’s throat.
“Thank you,” she said and turned away before he could see the tears in her eyes.
* * *
That night, Cheyenne brought over some lasagna and garlic bread. While Natasha helped her serve dinner, Rod and his brothers tossed Kellan around, making him laugh and squeal. Cheyenne complained that they were getting him too riled up, but Rod could tell she liked the attention they paid him. Kellan certainly enjoyed the roughhousing.
“More,” he’d say whenever they stopped. It was about the only word he knew, besides Mama and Dada.
J.T. and Anya either heard the noise or smelled the food, because they entered the kitchen just as Cheyenne asked about their new neighbor.
“She’s all moved in,” Grady told her.
“I’d love to see the inside of the house now that it’s been renovated,” Cheyenne said, interested because she used to live there before she married Dylan.
“I bet she’d show you.” Mack handed out forks. Rarely were their meals formal occasions, with someone setting the table beforehand. They ate whenever they were hungry and fended for themselves or ordered out. Heaven forbid Anya would ever go to the trouble of cooking or doing the dishes, even though she didn’t work.
“You should stop by,” Grady said. “And get her number for me while you’re there. She’s freaking gorgeous.”
Cheyenne glanced up. “She’s single?”
“Not sure yet,” Mack said. “She’s wearing a wedding ring, but her husband hasn’t shown up. So...maybe he works out of the state or country.”
“He’s dead,” Rod announced.
Everyone looked at him.
“She told you that?” Mack asked.
“When she gave me a ride home last night.” Rod felt this would be the natural time to reveal that he’d be taking India to dinner tomorrow night. He’d heard Grady’s little joke about getting her number and didn’t want him or Mack to go on thinking she was fair game. But he didn’t speak up. He wasn’t sure his relationship with her would go anywhere and decided he’d wait and see how they got along before telling anyone. His brothers could be merciless; he wasn’t going to provide them with fresh ammunition.
“Why’d she give you a ride home?” Cheyenne asked. “Where was your truck?”
“She came across me after the fight, when I was trying to get help.”
“What was she doing out there so late at night? Was she at the bar, too?”
“No. She was on her way back from some art show.”
“Oh, art,” Grady said.
“Something wrong with that?” Rod asked.
Grady gave him a funny look. “Of course not. I’m just messin’ around. When did her husband die?”
“About a year ago.”
“So she’s available,” Mack said, and Rod felt himself stiffen—almost as much as Natasha did.
“She’s too old for you, bro.”
“But not for you.” Anya smiled like the Cheshire cat. “Is that why you mowed her lawn today?”
Rod hadn’t realized his stepmother had seen him. She usually stayed in her room all day, playing on the computer or watching TV. “Not necessarily. She doesn’t have a mower yet, so I figured I might as well do hers while I was doing ours.”
“And did she show you any appreciation?” J.T. joked, sending him a meaningful grin.
Rod didn’t care for the way his father talked about women since he’d been released from prison. “She thanked me, if that’s what you mean.”
“Is she nice?” Cheyenne asked.
“Seems like it,” he said.
Cheyenne took a bottle of salad dressing out of the box she’d used to transport all the food. “I’d like to meet her sometime.”
Grady sat down and dug into his meal before the rest of them could get a plate. “Why not tonight?”
Without Mack’s even asking, Natasha added a second piece of garlic bread to his plate, and Rod pretended he didn’t notice that whatever Mack received from Natasha was always the biggest and the best.
“Dyl’s getting home soon,” Cheyenne replied. “So I should head out.”
“Have him join us,” J.T said. “He hardly ever comes over these days.”
Rod suspected Anya’s presence had a great deal to do with that. Dylan liked her even less than the rest of them did.
“Can’t,” she said. “He has a baseball game.”
“We should go watch him play,” Anya suggested, but no one chimed in to encourage her.
Rod put Kellan down to accept his plate. “Thanks.” Since he wanted to speak to Cheyenne in private before she left, he hoped she wasn’t going to rush off.
“How’s your hand?” She nodded toward his cast.
“Throbbing like crazy,” he admitted.
“I made that apple crisp you like for dessert.” She winked. “Maybe that’ll help ease the pain.”
He leaned over to drop a kiss on her forehead. “Dylan got lucky the day he married you.”
“That’s what I keep telling him,” she teased.
“Will Aaron be at the game, too?” Mack asked.
“Should be,” she told them. “Dyl talked him into joining the team.”
Mack got up to get a beer and grabbed one for Rod, too. “Want to go over to the park?” he murmured so Anya and the others couldn’t hear.
Normally, Rod would’ve enjoyed seeing the game. But after being up so late, and everything he’d dealt with today, he was ready for bed. “Not tonight.”
Cheyenne put the dessert on the counter and started cleaning the spatula and serving spoons. “I’ll leave the rest of this here,” she said, indicating the leftover salad, lasagna and bread. “Just remember to take the dishes to Dylan tomorrow so he can bring them home.”
“I will,” Rod said.
She swung her son into her arms. “I’d better get going. I want to make sure Dyl has a chance to eat before he has to show up at the field.”
Rod wasn’t finished with his supper, but he stood. “I’ll walk you out,” he said so the others wouldn’t find it odd when he left the kitchen after only a few bites.
He caught up with his sister-in-law at the front door. “Before you go, could you do me a favor?”
She turned in surprise. “Of course.”
“Will you take a second to come up and look in my closet?”
“What for?” she asked.
He lowered his voice to make sure no one else could hear. Fortunately, they were all so busy eating, he didn’t think anyone was paying attention. “I have a date tomorrow.”
“And you want me to tell you what to wear? This girl must be special,” she said. “You’ve never asked for my help with that kind of thing before.”
He’d never felt so out of his element before. “She’s...different.”
“Special,” she confirmed with a grin. “Do I know her?”
He scratched his neck. “It’s our new neighbor.”
“Oh!” Her smile widened. “Why didn’t you speak up a second ago?”
“It’s one date,” he said with a shrug.
“But you’d like to impress her.” She wasn’t buying his nonchalance.
“I need to dress up a little, that’s all,” he said. “Her husband—the man who passed away—was a heart surgeon.”
“I see,” she responded. “So we’re going for sophisticated and respectable.”
At least Cheyenne seemed to be catching on to what he needed. “Yeah. That sounds good.”
She put down her son and linked her arm through Rod’s. “I have no doubt you’ll clean up nicely. Let’s go take a look.”
7 (#ulink_d9393931-e27d-586f-9b10-663c07a244e1)
India sat in her quiet living room with a cup of tea. She’d thought some chamomile might help her relax, but it didn’t seem to be working. She was wide-awake and anxious, and looking at another long night. She wished she could read a book or watch TV. But ever since Detective Flores had told her about Sebastian, she’d been checking and double-checking her doors and windows. She wanted to believe he’d had enough trouble. That he’d slink off without bothering her again, maybe even leave the area before the police could find the additional evidence she was hoping for. Most men in his situation would flee if they had the chance, wouldn’t they?
But she couldn’t assume anything when it came to Sebastian. If he didn’t care about taking Charlie’s life, or even his own—and she knew from the way he’d been talking that he didn’t—he certainly wouldn’t care about taking hers.
Then Cassia really would be an orphan...
The report of the gun the night Charlie was shot seemed to echo in her head and she saw, again, how her husband had gasped and clutched his chest when the bullet struck him. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to avoid those memories, but she was too tired to fight them. The most gruesome images bombarded her repeatedly, as well as the worst of what’d come after—when Sebastian had forced her to tell him she still loved him, that she’d marry him and do...other things. That was the only way she could convince him not to harm Cassia. She’d never admitted to the rape. She wasn’t even sure she could call it rape, since she hadn’t refused. She’d used her body and everything else she’d needed to in order to save her child.
Maybe that was why so many people suspected her of lying. In a sense, she was. She was holding back some of the worst and, arguably, more important details. But she couldn’t admit to the methods she’d employed to stall, reassure and distract Sebastian. She feared—knew—that there’d be people who would claim she’d enjoyed it and wasn’t choking back vomit every second she let him touch her.
I’ll always love you. Sebastian had told her that. Her skin still crawled when she remembered his hands on her face, forcing her to look up at him as he said it. He didn’t know what love was. He couldn’t, not if he could murder her husband, threaten her daughter and wave a gun in her face. He’d also let his defense attorney blame her for Charlie’s death. Larry Forgash, attorney-at-law, had said she must’ve hired a killer and was now using Sebastian as the scapegoat. He’d pointed to a series of cash withdrawals from her own checking account, which was separate from Charlie’s, since she’d had it before they were married, to suggest how she might’ve paid that person, but the cash withdrawals had only added up to about $3,300 over the course of two months.
Fortunately, his defense precluded him from telling anyone they’d had sex after Charlie died. Since the police had no forensic evidence, nothing except her testimony to say he was even there, he’d had his wife claim he was with her the entire night.
India shuddered as the old revulsion welled up, so strong it made her nauseous. Forget, she ordered herself. Like the river outside, life would wend its way along and someday she’d be able to put it behind her. But she doubted that would be possible unless she could forgive herself. And how could she ever do that? Her shame at having acted as if she wanted Sebastian, as if she’d enjoyed being with him, was too great.
A gentle wind stirred the chimes on her porch. She’d made them herself, planned to carry a wide assortment in her studio, but that tinkle sounded far less cheerful than usual. She missed Cassia, wished she could go and lie down next to her daughter instead of having to worry that, when the time came, her in-laws would conjure up an excuse to try to keep her longer, if not indefinitely.
Actually, they wouldn’t have to conjure up an excuse. They had a great one, considering what they’d learned today.
India stared down at her phone. She’d received a call from Ellie Cox at dinnertime and ignored it. Ellie was the wife of Charlie’s best friend. They’d been close over the past three years, ever since Ellie and Mitchell had moved into her and Charlie’s neighborhood. But, like the Sommerses, Ellie and Mitchell now treated her with coolness. It was humiliating to have her friends turn on her, and yet the loss of her relationship with Ellie wasn’t what concerned India about her message.
India hit the play button on her voice mail, even though she’d already listened to it several times.
India, it’s me, Ellie. Give me a call when you can. I’ve been thinking about you, wondering how you’re doing. I’m sorry it’s been so long, but...we’ve been busy with Tyler’s baseball season. You know how that goes.
She did know, since she’d sat through many of his games, keeping Ellie company. Ellie could easily have stepped away to place a call or, at the very least, send a text message.
But that wasn’t what worried her.
We have games almost every night this month, what with his regular team and his competitive team going at the same time. Anyway, someone at the park told me you’d moved to Whiskey Creek. Is that true? I knew you were looking for a house, but I don’t remember hearing that you’d found one.
There it was. Someone at the ballpark had told Ellie that India had moved to Whiskey Creek. Who? Were her old acquaintances still talking about her? Did they know where she’d gone? India hadn’t told a lot of people where she planned to move, but neither had she kept it as secret as she now wished she had.
How easy would it be for Sebastian to find her?
She was just wondering if she should’ve gotten a new number, when the soft thud of a car door almost made her spill her tea. Ready to call for help should she need to, she gripped her cell in one hand, set her cup aside and crept into the living room to peer through the wooden shutters.
Nearly one in the morning was late for visitors, even on a Saturday.
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Brenda Novak
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современные любовные романы
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
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О книге: Discovering You, электронная книга автора Brenda Novak на английском языке, в жанре современные любовные романы