She Can Tell

by Melinda Leigh

  Sarah gawked out the window.

  Rachel swallowed the bitter taste a lifetime of jealousy had left in her mouth. None of what happened had been David’s fault. Not directly, anyway.

  Chapter Nine

  “What is he doing here?” Rachel eyed the large man with suspicion.

  Sarah squinted out the windshield. “I don’t know. He did some work for Vince awhile back, but I haven’t seen him lately.”

  “I haven’t seen him since Dad sold him the company.” Right after their mother’s funeral. Of course, Neil Parker hadn’t offered the family business to either of his daughters. No, he’d practically adopted the neighbor’s kid instead.

  “Daddy needed to retire,” Sarah said in a sad voice. “He couldn’t function after Mom died.”

  “Retire? Is that what you call sitting in a recliner and drinking twenty-four-seven?”

  “You can’t hold that against David,” Sarah answered in a sad voice. “He isn’t responsible for Daddy’s actions. Mom dying like she did took a huge toll on him.”

  On her daughters too.

  “I know.” Rachel took two slow, deliberate breaths. Didn’t help. “Also wasn’t David’s fault that Dad wanted boys, and all he got was us.”

  Or that their unstable mother had dragged their father into her emotional wreck long before she got ripping drunk and drove her car into a tree.

  Sarah didn’t respond, and Rachel wondered how much a decades-old wound could bleed. Dad’s decision hadn’t been David’s fault, but he hadn’t exactly turned the company down, had he?

  Rachel parked alongside Sarah’s minivan, which Mrs. Holloway had helped Rachel retrieve early that morning. David’s van, still emblazoned with the Parker Construction logo, sat a few yards away. He hadn’t even changed the name of the company. One more indication of how David had insinuated himself into their family. She shoved open her door and hopped out of the cab, then reached into the truck for the hefty pile of library books. Old hinges squealed as she used a hip to shut the truck door.

  “David.” She stretched her face into a smile. The skin of her cheeks felt tight enough to crack, and the armload of books was a convenient excuse to not shake his outstretched hand. “I haven’t seen you for years.”

  David shoved his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. “I know. I heard you two were having trouble.” In his early forties, his body had thickened with age but he hadn’t gone to fat. His towering frame was packed solid. Close-cropped brown hair showed just a few strands of gray.

  Sarah walked past Rachel and stood on her toes to give David a one-armed hug. “It’s good to see you.”

  Rachel suppressed a scowl. Sarah was the better person. No question.

  David’s weathered face flushed, and he stiffened. One beefy arm lifted as if he didn’t know what to do with it. A few seconds passed before he awkwardly lowered it to return her embrace. “Thanks, Sarah.”

  Sarah stepped back. “Why don’t we go inside?”

  Sure, let’s extend this awkward-fest. Ugh. Did Sarah have to be that nice?

  David dug the toe of his work boot into the mud, echoing Rachel’s discomfort. Guilt wormed into her. She was always thinking she should be more pleasant, more like Sarah. Here was a chance to practice. “Come on in. I’ll make coffee.”

  She picked her way across the rear lawn to the back door. David and Sarah followed. Bandit barked and leapt at the door. A bee hovered above the stoop. Rachel froze. Anaphylactic shock wouldn’t be a good way to round out her day.

  “Watch out.” Sarah moved in front of Rachel until the insect buzzed away. “You still carry your EpiPen, right?”

  “Always. Wish it would just get cold out already.” Rachel unlocked the door. She turned to David and dumped the pile of books in his arms. “You take these. I’ll get the killer dog.” She grabbed Bandit and clamped a hand over his growling muzzle as she bundled him outside and tied him to the tree. Bandit continued to protest while she returned to the kitchen. “I’m sorry about that, David. Bandit has no manners.”

  Sarah was already filling the coffeepot from a gallon jug on the counter. “It’s been hard to get him used to people. Troy wouldn’t let him in the house.”

  Thankful that she had no close neighbors, Rachel shut the door on his furious yapping. “Bad case of small dog’s disease.”

  “That’s all right.” David slid the armload of books onto the counter. “Studying?”

  Sarah set mugs, cream, and sugar out at the table, then gestured for David to sit. “Rachel and I are researching the history of the house.”

  “Oh. Sounds interesting.” But David’s tone said not. He lowered his bulk into a chair. Sarah sat next to him. Rachel stayed on her feet but leaned against the counter. She’d start with polite and work her way up to friendly.

  The chair squeaked as David shifted to face Rachel. “Look, I know you don’t like me much. Some of that is my fault. Back then, I let your father treat me better than he did you and Sarah. I knew it, and I let it happen anyway.”

  The knot inside Rachel’s chest loosened. “You were just a kid.”

  “No, you and Sarah were kids. I was old enough to know what was going on. I chose to ignore it because…” He grimaced as if the words were going to hurt when he spit them out. “Because my life was horrible, and I needed something to keep me going. After my dad’s accident…” David looked at the window, but Rachel knew he wasn’t admiring the serene meadow view. Sarah poured him a cup of coffee and set it on the table, but he ignored it.

  David had gone from teenager to adult in the amount of time it had taken a tractor trailer to squash his father’s car—and spine. Another bit of pressure eased inside her. Was it time to let go of some of her childhood issues? Could it actually feel good?

  “He needed round-the-clock care. We couldn’t afford the mortgage, let alone nursing. Me and Mom did everything. She worked nights. I worked days. Your dad paid me decently too, and we were strapped for cash back then. Medicine. Supplies. Hospital bills. You have no idea how much stuff a quadriplegic needs.” David turned back to her. “But that’s no excuse. I took your father to replace mine. Wasn’t fair to you or Sarah.”

  “You can’t take something we never had.” Rachel’s gaze dropped to David’s giant, work-scarred hands. “Our father wasn’t interested in us long before you started working for him. It isn’t your fault. He wasn’t going to give either one of us his company. If you hadn’t bought it, he would have sold it to someone else.”

  Tension slid from Rachel’s neck. This forgiveness thing wasn’t so bad. The smile that spread across her face wasn’t forced. See, she could interact with other people in a mature fashion. “Look, David, all that happened a long time ago. We’re all adults now. No reason we can’t put that behind us.”

  David perked up.

  Beside her, Sarah beamed. “Is that all that brought you out here today, David?”

  “No. I was having breakfast at the diner. Heard about the trouble you’ve been having.” David’s intense eyes pierced Rachel’s.

  Rachel stiffened and crossed her arms over her chest. Just because she let one past issue go didn’t mean she wanted to share anything else with him. Baby steps with this whole emotional wellness, anger management thing. “Just some juvenile vandalism.”

  “That’s not what I heard.” David’s eyes stayed locked on her face. Concern? Or something else?

  Scrutinized like a pinned butterfly, Rachel fought the urge to squirm. “Well, the gossipmongers must have exaggerated, as usual. The diner isn’t exactly CNN.”

  David stood and moved toward the counter. He loomed over her as he leaned forward to place his empty mug in the sink. “I have to meet with a client. Thanks for listening. And understanding.” He turned his burly frame. At the kitchen door, he paused and looked at Sarah, his expression gentled. “And if you ever need help, just call. I’d be happy to have a talk with Troy for you.”

  Sarah stared at the floor for a few heartbeats. S
he raised her head. “I need to handle this myself, but thanks anyway.”

  “The offer stands.” He nodded his approval as he stepped outside.

  “I’ll bring Bandit in.” Rachel followed him onto the stoop and closed the door behind her. “Do you know Troy well?”

  “Just enough to know he’s an ass. Sarah deserves better.” David paused and squinted at her sideways. “You know, you look a lot like your mother.”

  The tension that had eased in Rachel’s chest rewound like a spring.

  He tilted his head. “That bothers you?”

  “My mother had problems.” Her mother’s mental illness was a stain on her childhood memories. And I have enough emotional overflow to worry that the condition is genetic.

  “She was beautiful, and she wasn’t always that way.”

  Their families had been next-door neighbors since Rachel was born. Older, David would remember her mom when she was much younger. Before Sarah’s birth escalated her mental illness. Rachel didn’t have many of those memories since she’d only been six at the time. All she had was a mental onslaught of sobbing and screaming and don’t-upset-your-mother. “That’s good to know. Thank you.”

  They stood side by side in a minute of not-too-uncomfortable silence. A flapping sound drew their attention to the barn. One of the tarps had loosened. A corner flapped in the breeze, revealing a choice verb.

  David gestured toward the barn. “How about I paint that for you? The next few days are supposed to be dry, and I have some downtime before my next job starts up.”

  Rachel bristled automatically. “That’s not necessary. I’ll get to it eventually.”

  “Come on, Rachel. I have the equipment to make it quick work. And I owe you.”

  She forced herself to relax. She’d sworn she was going to think things through. No more impulsive decisions, and this time she meant it. He had ladders and stuff. The job would take him a couple of hours. She’d be at it for days. He was only trying to be nice. There was absolutely no reason not to let him do this for her. People did not always have ulterior motives.

  “OK.” Rachel stepped back. He couldn’t help being so tall, but she hated being loomed over. “And thank you.”

  David smiled and looked very pleased with himself, like a barn cat that had devoured a tasty field mouse. The breeze shifted, turning cool and damp. Goose bumps rippled up Rachel’s arms.

  She opened her mouth to tell him she’d changed her mind, then stopped. She was being paranoid and ridiculous. What motive could David possibly have for giving up an afternoon to paint her barn?

  Putting aside her second thoughts about accepting David’s help, Rachel grabbed the dog and returned to the kitchen to finish her coffee.

  At the table, Sarah leaned over one of the volumes from the library.

  Rachel’s stomach growled. She reached into the cabinet and pulled out a box of Pop-Tarts. “Any luck?”

  “No mention of the farm just yet, but I’ve only started.”

  The kitchen door opened, and Mrs. Holloway ushered the girls inside. A fresh round of happy barking ensued. Alex held up a small paper bag with cartoon characters stenciled on the outside. “Mrs. Holloway got us kids’ meals. Mine came with a race car. Emma got a dinosaur puppet.”

  “How was school?” Sarah asked.

  “Dumb. I’m too old for preschool.” Alex scowled. She’d missed the cutoff date for kindergarten by a week.

  Sarah sighed, obviously not up to having that conversation again. “Let’s see those toys.”

  Alex sulked to a kitchen chair. Emma set her bag on the table and climbed up onto her mother’s lap. She held up her forefinger and wiggled the top half of a miniature Tyrannosaurus.

  “I hope you don’t mind.” Mrs. Holloway closed the door and hung her jacket on a wall peg. She held up a larger bag. Enticing, greasy scents wafted across the kitchen. “I thought we could all use some indulgence today.”

  “I don’t mind at all. Thank you.” Sarah opened the bag. “That’s smells gross and incredible at the same time.”

  “Gross? It smells fantastic.” Rachel inhaled deeply, tossed aside the Pop-Tarts, and fetched napkins. “Sarah and I were discussing the history of the farm. Do you think it could have some value that we don’t know about?”

  Mrs. Holloway passed out burgers and cartons of fries. “According to your grandfather, the house was built by your Quaker ancestors in the early nineteenth century. I forget the date, but he had papers, books, and diaries on the subject.”

  “The only papers in his desk were bank statements, ledgers, stuff like that.”

  “Did you search the attic and basement?” Mrs. Holloway asked.

  Salivating, Rachel unfolded her burger. “For the most part I’ve avoided both. They’re packed with trunks and boxes and furniture. Going through it all will be a project.”

  Sarah gestured with her casted arm. “I can get started on that during naptimes and preschool. I need to get a job too, but that’ll have to wait a few weeks.”

  “You should check with Edna Kaiser.” Mrs. Holloway reached for the ketchup. “She’s been the township clerk forever. She might point you toward land surveys or tax records. The township could have some pretty old documents archived somewhere.”

  “I’ve already been to the library.” A car door slammed outside. Rachel jumped to her feet and crossed to the window. A Mercedes sedan was parked by the barn. “Shoot. My riding lesson’s here early. I have to change.”

  She paused. The well serviceman was walking up the back lawn. Rachel lifted the handle on the kitchen faucet. A few seconds passed, air sputtered, water spattered and then flowed. Hallelujah.

  “Sarah, can you take care of the well guy? Tell him I’ll send him a check tomorrow.”

  “Sure,” Sarah said. “But where are you going to get the money?”

  “Don’t worry. I have it all worked out.” Rachel shoved the rest of her burger into her mouth as she jogged up the stairs barefoot, shoes dangling from her fingertips. A small lump of discomfort lodged in her throat, and not just in response to her source of cash flow.

  She loved her students, but some of the parents were hell, especially this domineering father. As she slid out of her skirt and blouse, she mentally steeled herself for the inevitable confrontation.

  Chapter Ten

  Mike parked next to Rachel’s barn beside a long, sleek Mercedes sedan. Dark window tinting obscured the interior. He made a note of the license plate number as Sean pulled his mammoth SUV in the next spot. The sound of voices and thud of hoofbeats drew them to the other side of the barn, where a horse and rider were cantering around the perimeter of a fenced riding ring. Rachel stood in the center, attention fixed on the school-aged girl and her dappled gray mount. Rachel shouted instructions, pivoting as the horse circled the ring.

  Sweet Jesus. Those riding pants were tight.

  Even as Mike’s mouth watered, he noted that her leather knee patches were worn nearly through, as were the tall black boots. In contrast, everything about her student was new, shiny, and expensive.

  The gray horse turned toward one of the wooden jumps placed in the ring. The rails were set about three feet high. Mike glanced at the sole observer, a lean, dark man in his late thirties. Dressed in slim black trousers and shirt, he rested his tanned forearms on the fence.

  “Weight back,” Rachel called out. “Heels down. Drive him forward.” Her voice rose and sharpened with each command. The horse’s head bobbed and its eyes rolled as it galloped right to the base of the jump, then ducked around the obstacle. The gray took advantage of the girl’s precarious balance, threw its head down, and bolted. Its rider hauled back on the reins until the animal slid to a stop at the gate. The girl pitched forward onto its neck.

  Rachel strode to the animal’s side and spoke to the girl in low tones. The child’s face had paled, and Mike could see her hands trembling from across the ring. Rachel was whispering, and the girl was shaking her head.

  “OK.” R
achel held the reins while her student dismounted.

  The man leaning on the fence straightened and tensed. “You were supposed to train that animal to jump properly,” he shouted, stabbing the air at Rachel with a forefinger.

  Mike stepped up to the fence. Sean veered off and took a spot several feet away on the man’s opposite side. The visitor took them both in with suspicious sideways glances.

  Without a word, Rachel took her student’s cap and jammed it on her own head. She mounted the gray in one fluid movement, picking up stirrups and reins as the horse trotted off. Her body was quiet and still as she made two laps around the ring, easing the gray into a fluid gallop. Mike’s muscles went taut as she turned toward the same jump the horse had just refused, but the gray showed no hesitation. It took the obstacle in one smooth motion. They landed and galloped off. Rachel’s head swiveled. Mike followed her line of sight toward another obstacle, this one four or five feet high. The horse’s ears pricked and its stride lengthened as it approached the jump. Rachel’s body stretched along the animal’s neck as they soared over the top rail.

  The girl slumped as Rachel slowed the horse and walked to her side. Rachel dismounted and handed the girl the reins. “Cool him out.”

  With a hard look at Mike and Sean, the slim man moved to the entrance. He focused intently on Rachel as she opened the gate. After the girl and horse passed through and headed for the barn, the man stepped up behind Rachel.

  “You were supposed to train the horse so that my daughter can ride it,” he said quietly. His voice was accented with a South American inflection and a threatening undertone. “She needs to master that animal.”