The Price He Paid

by Jean Brashear

  David inched closer to the porch but remained on the ground, his gaze traveling over her with haste, as a starving animal bolted down food without tasting it for fear it would disappear. Once he’d covered her head to toe, he started again, only slower.

  She was beautiful to him, but he thought she might just be beautiful, period. Only a minute examination of her features revealed anything familiar.

  But last night she’d felt, for the first time, like the real Callie, the soft girl pretending to be tough, the one who was strung so tight with misery, who felt that there was nowhere on earth she belonged.

  That girl, so tiny and thin, had grown into a stunning woman who gave every appearance of command over her life and her circumstances, instead of being whipped by the winds of fate as had once been the case. The Callie who’d snarled and tried to bite every helping hand but his, he’d thought her completely vanished.

  Until the grown Callie’s composure had cracked over a baby’s grave.

  It was so hard to keep the Callies straight, to remind himself that just as he was forever changed, so might she be. That the girl who’d blossomed under simple attention, who’d found her laughter again—buried as it had been under black leather and ugly boots—that girl was lost to him, and their bond forever slashed.

  This Callie, the grown one, the harder one, he did not know and he could not predict. The call of her, the lure she presented, had to be blocked out, could not be trusted.

  No one could be trusted, not now. Not with the secret he would carry to his grave.

  David realized then that he’d begun to relax his guard, that he had to back away, get out. Now.

  But just then, the breeze shifted, and the scent that came to him blasted away all his good intentions.

  “Why does your hair smell like cigarette smoke?”

  Callie struggled from her fog and saw David’s eyebrows drawn together, fierce and furious. “Excuse me?”

  “Answer me. Where did you go when I left you last night?”

  “And why would that be any of your business?”

  His eyes narrowed. He cursed, long and low. “Damn it, Callie. There’s only one place in Oak Hollow with that combination of beer and smoke. What the hell were you doing at Carl’s?” He shot to his feet, prowled the back porch, every step echoing anger.

  Then he whirled. “Do you not have a lick of sense? Don’t tell me you went there alone.” He cast a look upward as if pleading with the heavens. Just as quickly, his gaze snapped back to hers. “Of course you did. I told you to butt out, didn’t I?” When she remained silent, he repeated himself. “Answer me—didn’t I tell you to stay out of this?”

  “I am trying to help, you rock-headed fool. You’re going to jail if I don’t. Your attorney means well, but he’s way overloaded.”

  “You said you wanted my advice.”

  “On construction, not on your legal defense. That’s my arena.”

  He bent closer, the skin around his mouth strained white. “But you’re not my attorney, now are you?” When she didn’t respond, his eyes widened. “What have you done, Callie?” His voice was low with horror. “No.” He shook his head violently. “No, damn it. There has to be one thing about my life that I control. Tell me you haven’t taken action to become my lawyer.”

  She swallowed hard. Dodged. “I can’t legally represent you, not alone.”

  “Oh, sweet mother of—” He paced again. Wheeled on her. “What were you doing at the bar, asking questions?” He frowned. “Who was there? Was Carson?”

  She glanced away. “It was fine.”

  He grabbed her elbow, swiveled her to face him. “He was, wasn’t he? Damn it, Callie, that’s not only stupid, it’s dangerous. He’s dangerous. You stay away from him.”

  “I deal with murderers and rapists and drug dealers all the time. There is nothing in Oak Hollow that can come close to the scum I’ve seen.”

  “And you’re in the middle of them, all alone? Bullshit, Callie. Don’t talk down to me. I’ve lived with criminals like that for fifteen years. I’ve been surrounded by them, been in the middle of their depravity, the wars waged only because someone’s skin is white and someone else’s is black.” His eyes were dark then, haunted and hollow.

  More than ever, she was forced to face what it would have been like for a tender boy to be thrown into the midst of that sewer. She knew what it was to want to scrub your skin raw to remove the taint. To gulp huge breaths of outside air.

  But he’d had no visitor’s pass to let him escape. Her heart hurt for that boy. Whatever his crime, he could not have been prepared for the cesspool that had closed over his head that first day.

  Watching her closely, his eyes went to slits. “Don’t you feel sorry for me,” he growled. “I won’t have your pity.”

  “I’m not.” But she had. She did. She was all too familiar with the misery, the sheer animal rage that simmered inside those walls. She pictured David in there, and the horror of it was fresh and new. How could that big, open heart of his have survived the massacre of the soul that was prison?

  It couldn’t, of course. She felt sick to her stomach at the waste of a bright mind and a sweet, pure soul.

  And watching him, she could see the taint of those years, the shame he felt at her new awareness of him.

  He looked stricken. Vulnerable as he had been when he’d discovered her coming out of that monk’s cell bedroom in his mother’s home. If she’d stripped him naked and paraded him through the streets, it wouldn’t have been more degrading, she realized. “David—” She reached for him, wanting to comfort, longing to soothe him, to tell him she understood.

  He yanked from her grasp with an expression of such loathing she felt dirty. He stepped off the porch and started walking away.

  She didn’t know what to say. How to fix this.

  But she couldn’t let him leave, not like this. “David—” She scrambled after him, trying to catch up with his long strides. “David, I don’t—” Finally, she had to run to close the gap. She grabbed him again.

  He turned on her. “Stay away from me.” His voice was low and dark and menacing, and he loomed over her. “Do you hear me?”

  “I’m not afraid of you.” But her voice wavered before she could firm it. She had to right this grievous wrong. She cleared her throat, sought for every last bit of composure she could salvage. “I don’t pity you, I swear it. I—I don’t understand what happened back then, but the boy I knew—”

  “—is dead. Never forget that.”

  She didn’t respond to that. He was talking to her, that was all she’d focus on. “I can’t do anything about what you’ve been through, but I can help you now. Convince me that you started that fight with Mickey Carson, that you intentionally beat him up. Do it, David, and I’ll let you be.” Her chin jutted. “I have a mess of my own to clean up back in Philly and all these loose ends here. I have plenty to do, and I’m no bleeding heart. I’m a prosecutor. I put scumbags away, and I’m good at it. If you’re one of those, I’ll gladly shut the cell door and turn the key, but my instincts say there’s more going on here. You could explain everything to me, and I wouldn’t have to go to places like Carl’s to save your stubborn hide.”

  He stared off into the distance, a muscle in his jaw flexing. Then he looked down at her. “What kind of mess?”

  “What?”

  “In Philly.”

  “None of—”

  One brow arched. “My business?”

  She opened her mouth. Shut it again.

  Just then, they both heard Jessie Lee singing, the sound growing louder as she approached the back of the house.

  “You asked for my help with these properties,” he said. “That’s all the business we have together. You don’t pry into my life, and I won’t pry into yours. You want to go back to Philly, then stop screwing around playing lawyer and let’s get this over with.”

  “But—”

  “Hey! You’re both here,” called out a cheery young v
oice.

  “You already butted into my life too much. I’ll pay off my bail, then we’re done. Take it or leave it,” he said too low for Jessie Lee to hear.

  “Callie? David? Y’all okay?”

  She was the first to look away, summoning up a cheer she didn’t feel. “We’re just fine. How are you this bright morning?”

  Giving David her back but not her promise, Callie walked over to join the girl.

  If his looks had been daggers, she would have been bleeding half to death.

  Chapter Twelve

  The old man met them at the door. “What’s he doing here?”

  “Mr. Langley is with me, Mr. Sims. We’re inspecting the properties Miss Margaret left to me.”

  “Uh-uh. Not having a murderer in my house. Man nearly beat my nephew bloody when he tried to help Mickey.”

  Callie didn’t have to look back to feel David stiffen. She wondered which one of Mickey Carson’s drinking buddies this man was related to. “Mr. Sims…” she began.

  “You get the hell off my property,” the old man interrupted. “You ought to still be locked up. Ned Compton was going to save Oak Hollow. Town’s suffered ever since.”

  “That’s enough, Mr. Sims.” Callie glanced back and saw David’s jaw harden, his green eyes flare. For a second, she considered leaving, but then she realized that this man might have information that could impact David’s case. She needed anything she could get, but antagonizing him would gain nothing, so she made a choice. “Would you please excuse us?” she said to David. “I’ll catch up with you at the next place, all right?”

  David went utterly still, and one glimpse from him made her feel queasy at the cost to him. His shoulders were ramrod straight as he turned on his heel and left without a word.

  “Miss Margaret would be ashamed of you, keeping company with a criminal, young lady.”

  Callie bit her lip until it hurt. “May I come inside?” she asked instead. “I’m trying to take good care of Miss Margaret’s estate, and I’d appreciate a few minutes of your time to discuss your situation.”

  “I missed only one payment.”

  “I’m not here to cause problems, Mr. Sims. I simply want to talk a little and see what we can work out.”

  “Invite her in, for goodness sake, Hiram,” said a female voice from behind him. “I’m Luella Sims. You’d be Miss Margaret’s niece. Please come in. Would you care for some sweet tea on this hot morning?” The woman was tall and big-boned, her hair a silver helmet.

  “Thank you. I’d appreciate that.”

  “I’ll be right back. You just have a seat.”

  Her husband grudgingly escorted Callie to a sofa dotted with floral chintz pillows, then took his own seat in a rump-sprung recliner. Arrayed on top of the television were several photos of various adults and children. “Your family?” she asked.

  He shrugged a shoulder and only grunted.

  Mrs. Sims bustled back in with a sweating glass, placing it on a crocheted doily atop the coffee table in front of Callie. “Yes, our three girls and their babies. Seven grandchildren in all.” She beamed.

  This could be her source, Callie realized, so she sought for the correct response, though her store of small talk was sorely lacking. “They’re very cute.”

  “Bright as pennies, every one of them. Tim here—” She touched one photo of a boy maybe around Jessie Lee’s age. “He’s already decided to be a lawyer.”

  “Boy could argue the day of the week and convince you,” grumbled his grandfather, but there was pride in his tone.

  Callie wondered if pointing out that she was an attorney would help or hinder her aim. “I’m a prosecutor back in Philadelphia. You might advise him to enter debate competitions. That looks good on law school applications.”

  “Why, isn’t that a grand idea and good of you to mention?” said Mrs. Sims. “We’ll just do that, won’t we, Hiram?”

  He only jerked his head, but Callie thought maybe she saw a little softening.

  She was quickly disabused of that notion. “What’s a prosecutor doing, going around with a criminal?”

  Callie once again bit back a heated response. “I’m sorry about your nephew, but it’s not my case to try, and the law says a man is innocent until proven guilty. Miss Margaret had Mr. Langley perform various repairs, and I asked him to use his knowledge to help me figure out what to do with the properties she entrusted to me.”

  The old man bristled, but his wife interceded. “Would you like a tour of the place?” She stood. “Weren’t you headed for the post office, Hiram?”

  Practically before Callie could blink, Hiram Sims had been whisked out the door and she’d been presented with a plate of lemon cookies, along with her glass of tea.

  “David’s mama’s a good woman. Folks are upset because they believed in David, even set up a fund to help him with college expenses. Then he went off the track after—” Here she pursed her lips. “Well, it’s a shame, is all, but he’s kept his head down since he came back. He hasn’t made any trouble, just stayed to himself, up to now.” She leaned closer. “Hiram’s sister’s son spends too much time with Mickey Carson. That man was a bully as a child, and he hasn’t improved with age.”

  Mrs. Sims paused for breath, but it didn’t last long. Callie listened and absorbed every word.

  Once she rejoined David, he had little to say to her the rest of the uncomfortable afternoon, restricting his comments to construction issues and even then parsing each word as if he had a limited supply.

  But at last, they were done with the inspections. “I’ll work up an estimate of the cost for the work I’m able to do. Some of it will require skilled tradesmen, and I can’t help you with suggestions for that. I’ve been away too long to know who to recommend.” He snapped shut his notebook and started for his mom’s car, then turned back. “I don’t have a truck to transport materials, either. Deliveries to Oak Hollow from the nearest lumberyard aren’t cheap, I’ll warn you.”

  Callie glanced at the vehicle he was driving, clearly not his own choice, and squirmed for him. How many blows to his pride could a man take and still remain standing? Yet despite the constant antagonism and his generally ignominious circumstances, David did not falter. She’d admired the boy he’d been, but the man was even more impressive. “David…”

  He halted but kept his back to her.

  I won’t have your pity. She knew he didn’t want her help, but she was desperate to make up to him for the damage she’d caused.

  It wasn’t pity, not really. Guilt yes, buckets of it.

  But that he didn’t want to discuss it anymore was evident, so a thank you was what she allowed herself.

  One curt nod, and he left.

  Callie watched until he was out of sight. Then, dispirited, at last she climbed into her own vehicle.

  And barely resisted the urge to keep on driving until she left Oak Hollow and all its memories behind.

  Oh, how she hated the nights when sleep eluded her. She’d had too many of them, stressing over a case, giving her closing arguments again and again until the bed had seemed a prison and she’d kicked her way to freedom, only to find her apartment walls suffocating. Sometimes she’d pace and talk herself down; other times she’d exercise herself into exhaustion. Often she’d have preferred to go for a run, but she didn’t live in a neighborhood that lent itself to midnight rambles. She’d chosen it for efficiency, as it was close to work and had plenty of places to eat out.

  Because work was where she actually lived.

  Callie tossed again, punched the pillow. Finally sat up before she could scream. She’d slept well enough here up to now, but tonight…

  She kept seeing David’s face, the despair in it. The determination overlaying that. The stubborn sense of honor others seemed to miss. Not Jessie Lee, though, or her grandmother. And not Miss Margaret.

  Callie rose abruptly and began to pace. She glanced out the front window and saw only a smattering of lights from porches and utility pol
es in yards. Oak Hollow was not a big city; more than likely she was the only soul awake at this hour.

  She could walk outside right now, clad as she was in a nightgown. The notion had her lips curving. She thought Miss Margaret the quiet rebel might get a kick out of it.

  So out on the front porch she went, straight to the edge of the steps. She stood there, head swiveling from side to side, eyes alert, ears perked and waiting for what she did not know. She moved along the wraparound porch, headed for the wicker love seat.

  She heard a noise off to the left. At first she thought it might be the missing tomcat, but this sounded completely different, sort of slithery and menacing. She skittered to the side, her heart thumping. All of a sudden she was afraid to put one bare foot in front of the other, and the expanse between her and the front door seemed a football field long.

  The love seat by then was only one leap away. In a split second she’d cleared it, had her feet off the boards and her legs tucked beneath her.

  She shivered and wished for a blanket. Mountain nights were cool, but she was not, no sir, stepping one foot from where she sat. No telling what might be out there—or what had possessed her to leave the safety of the bed.

  In that moment, Callie missed squealing tires and yelling neighbors and sirens and boom boxes. Those noises she understood.

  Wild things she did not.

  Oh, mercy, something was moving in the grass, something that slithered while something else scratched. She uttered a small scream. She had to get inside. The back door was locked, though. If she ran really fast, she could surely outrun whatever was out there that might bite or sting or claw or—

  Callie took off running pell-mell around the porch, desperate for the safety—

  “Oof—” She hit a solid wall and screamed again.

  “Callie.” A gentle shake. “Callie, you’re okay. Hush now. You’ll have the neighbors out with their guns.”

  Warmth registered. A voice, human.

  Male.