“Oh, yeah.” His forehead crinkled as he compressed his lips and nodded. This was his version of serious--as solemn as he ever got. “We got a new water fountain at the high school.” He looked at me from the corner of his narrowed eyes. “It made the front page of the paper.”
I nodded, unable to control the upward curve of my lips or the increasing beat of my heart.
“And we got a new Dairy Queen. There’s even been talk of a supercenter.” He leaned back against the fence and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.
I saw it coming and closed my eyes as his fingers grazed my cheek.
“Mrs. Rosenbury’s mutt had an affair with Mr. Duncan’s poodle down the street, then gave birth to seven of the ugliest pups in the history of animals.” He waved a hand in the air. “Mr. Duncan went right out and got his poodle neutered.” He finished with wide eyes and a few nods of his head.
“Wow, I missed all that?”
“Yeah. I’ll dig up the newspaper clippings for you. You can catch up with some late night reading.” He lifted one eyebrow. “Unless you have other late night activities planned.”
As I stood there with the second strongest person I knew, it was easy to forget Sean and concentrate on Simon, easy to pretend like nothing had ever come between us and I wasn’t a big old liar. “Same old Simon.”
He shrugged. “Not exactly the same.” He brought his head forward and took out the leather band holding his hair out of his face. I didn’t have to guess about the changes. The scar at his hairline said it all.
“How have you been?” I asked the question to shove my shame to a dark corner in my mind.
He shrugged, his face serious, the smile faded. “It’s slow going, but your mom helps.” My mother had been working with him for weeks to see what of his memory remained. So far, not much survived the bullet. “At least I can cover it with hair.”
My skin heated at the way I had reacted to his scar the first time I saw it, and I turned my gaze to face him completely. He’d been newly recovered, and I’d been my horrible self, saying ugly things to him about the scar, using insults to protect my breaking heart. “Simon, the day in the bakery”--I moved closer and pushed his hair off his forehead, revealing the star shaped scar--“I was upset because you were with someone else again. I should have held it together and not taken all my crap out on you. I’m sorry.” I pressed a kiss to the scar and gasped when he pulled me against him.
“Seriously?” He leaned against the fence. “That’s all I get, after all this time? You kiss my scar?” My eyebrows drew together as he continued. “I have two perfectly good lips right here and you go for my scar?”
I shook my head. “I’m married, Simon.”
He nodded and dropped his arms, setting me free enough to step back if I was so inclined. Which I wasn’t, no matter what I’d just said.
“I know.”
“I can’t do this.” Even if I wanted to more than I wanted to draw another breath.
“Because you love him?”
I blew out a breath on a dry laugh. “Oh, God no. Not even for a minute.” I looked out into the woods. How could I explain it? I wanted to be a better person, and better people didn’t cheat. They didn’t lie, either, but I was working in baby steps.
Chapter 14
Mom used words like “depression” and “overwhelming grief” to describe my condition. Dad’s words of wisdom included “buck up” and “I’ll kill that SOB.” Those, incidentally, made me feel better than anything else. The plain and simple truth… I suffered from loneliness and regret from my own faulty decision-making.
I steered clear of the barn and anywhere else I might run into Simon--town, church, the grocery store, daylight. Hiding out made sense. I wanted to see him too much and not for the right reasons. Ravaging Simon, while a very real possibility, would probably get me run out of town by a bunch of broom carrying biddies whose moral code provided the standard we were all to live by. They’d chased me off once. I wasn’t giving them a second go at me. To remain in their good favor, I had to walk the straight and narrow, toe the line, become their small town cliché.
One Tuesday morning, though, fate--and my mother--stepped in. When I came down for breakfast, Simon sat across the table with a tall stack of pancakes in front of him.
I hadn’t bothered with a hairbrush or changing from my pajamas, and couldn’t even remember where I’d put my makeup bag. Simon, on the other hand, could have stepped out of a magazine. A vintage T-shirt with an Aerosmith logo on the front hugged his broad chest and ripped stomach. His hair was captured in the back by a ponytail and, if I hadn’t known better, I would have said he had another growth spurt since I last saw him.
He whistled. “That is a stunning garment, Miss Clothing Designer.”
I ignored him and poured a cup of coffee. What the hell time did these people get up? My mother’s hair, sleek and straight, gleamed in the morning sun streaming through the window. I leaned over his shoulder, inhaling his bottled-by-the-gods-cologne. Early morning perfection annoyed me. His cologne did not.
“I design kids’ clothes, but if I knew you were going to be here, I would have spent the night stitching sequins on my freaking robe. However”--I shot a pointed glare at my mom--“no one told me we were having breakfast guests.”
“Jolly in the mornings, isn’t she?” Even the sight of his grin did nothing to calm my annoyance at my mother.
“Yeah. I’m a regular Santa Claus.” I sat across from him and pretended to read the newspaper for a few minutes, but ignored the printed word. Instead, I wished for a hairbrush and a prettier robe. The little hairs on my arms stood on end, and I glanced up, mouth open, ready to be flip, to ask why the hell he kept popping up, making me uncomfortable in the place where I should have been most secure. Something in his eyes made me snap my jaw shut.
After several moments of intense staring, I finally said, “Is it rude of me to ask what you’re doing here?”
“Kind of.” Mischief crinkled the corners of his mouth before he sobered and blew out a breath. “Your mom asked me to come.”
I squinted at her. “Of course, she did.” I had to find a way to convince her my relationship with Simon didn’t require meddling.
“Dani, something happened.” From the look on her face--tight line of her lips, drawn brow, and a wariness clouding her eyes--something very bad happened. Her lids lowered, and she wrung the fingers of one hand with the other. “I got a phone call from Sean. He asked for you, but I told him we didn’t know where you were, that we hadn’t heard from you.”
In the semi-darkness of my first night home, the only concrete plan we’d concocted involved lying about my whereabouts.
“Obviously, he knows otherwise. This arrived last night.” She handed me an envelope with a single picture of Kieran and me as we played in the yard a few days earlier. “I want you to let me and your dad take Kieran with us on a vacation.”
A lump formed in my throat. I couldn’t argue with the logic behind a trip, considering Sean could be sitting outside in his car waiting for me to come out. For all I knew, he could have a sniper rifle aimed at my head as I sat in the kitchen. I glanced out the patio doors fearing the worst. However, Sean was too lazy to park himself in a tree doing recognizance on the slim chance he’d be able to nab Kieran. “How long would you be gone?”
Mom considered her hands carefully. “Until you figure out how to get this mess with Sean resolved. Until Kieran is no longer in danger.”
All the mistakes I’d ever made flashed through my mind--a wedding to a man I hardly knew, Keaton’s face when I told him about Kieran, Kieran bloody and scared, Simon…a lot of Simon. A tear slipped down my cheek and I swiped at it. “When do you want to go?”
“Your dad made reservations for a flight this afternoon.” Her no-nonsense-I’m-not-asking-I’m-telling tone left little room for negotiation. The decisions had all been made because my parents, once again, believed I’d failed
. Telling me was nothing more than imparting information. She covered my hand with hers. “We want you and Kieran to be safe.”
I turned to Simon, unreasonable in my anger. The rational part of me knew he hadn’t forced this on me; the part in charge of my mouth blamed him for breaking up with me all those years ago. Bitterness burned my tongue as I breathed in a huffy puff of air. “So, my safety is where you come in?” The venom in my voice should have warned him away, but he grinned. A second later, at my angry huff, he sobered and used his fork to toy with food on his plate.
Instead of slinking away to hide from my wrath, he shrugged. “Depends on you, I guess.”
I nodded. “And if I say I don’t want your help?” Which I didn’t. I wanted his gun.
He grinned. “I have a couple options I’m working on.”
My eyebrows shot heavenward as I whipped my head to look into his eyes.
“Not that, dirty girl.” He chuckled, then stopped when I frowned. My mother was sitting between us, and innuendo had no place in my day. Nothing about the situation amused me. “I can convince you--or try to--or I can park my car out front and watch you from the driveway. Of course, kicking me out means two of us would be watching you from the street and no one would be in here making sure you’re safe.”
I pulled my cell from my pocket and stabbed Sean’s number into the keypad. After one split second of indecision, I hit send and drilled my fingers against the table top until he answered. “Sean, why are you doing this?” Just talking to him stole my confidence and my voice shook.
My mother’s gasp almost drowned out his reply. “I want my family back.”
“You didn’t want us when we were your family.” He’d wanted something, maybe a wife and a kid, but not what I’d given him.
“No one walks away from me.”
My skin prickled while a mixture of fear and anger hammered in my chest. “I walked away from you because you hurt my boy. And we’re not coming back. God, Sean.” I’d found my fury, but buried it as though he could reach through the phone and hurt me.
“He’s our boy.” His voice rose as anger charged him.
I’d heard it happen a hundred times or more, and I could tell without seeing his face.
“And you go ahead…keep telling yourself I can’t make you come home to me. I can, and I will. By the end of the week, you and our boy better be home.”
“He’s my boy, and I’m not scared of your threats.” I could probably have been more convincing if my voice hadn’t cracked, but that one weakness didn’t diminish the power building my convictions. I’d almost let Sean destroy him once. I wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.
“You better not be telling people what happened, at least not your warped twisted little version, or I’ll kill you.”
I’d been beaten, kicked, held prisoner in our house… Of course, my courage came easy at nine hundred miles away, with Simon opposite me and my Dad’s gun case not fifty feet from where I sat. “I would be scared, but you’d have to stay sober to do it, and we both know that isn’t your strong suit.”
“I guess you’ll have to wait and see, won’t you?”
“You obviously know where to find me. Why wait?” My courage morphed into stupidity. I regretted the words almost before I’d finished saying them. He would come whether the welcome wagon greeted him or not.
Simon shook his head as my mother yanked the phone away from me. She hit the end button.
“Seriously, Danielle?” Her hands trembled as she shook the phone at me. “You invited a maniac to come here without so much as a single thought of that innocent baby. You take chances, and you never, ever consider those who could be hurt, or worse. He could hurt Kieran again, and what would you do then?” She stood.
“What do you want from me, Mom? I don’t know what to do. I’ve never had anyone want to kill me before, and as far as I know, there’s no handbook I can use as a guideline.”
“Well, I can tell you that you don’t invite them to finish the job. The scars on you, on that baby, have barely healed.”
Simon jerked his gaze up to my face, his head tilted to one side.
“I can’t just sit back anymore. I know you don’t get it, Mom. I know, because Daddy is a good guy, but Sean isn’t. He is every bad thing a person can be, and I will never be free from him as long as I’m too scared to fight back.” My logic might have been flawed, but it was all I had.
“Danielle--”
I shoved the chair back. “I will die trying to protect Kieran. You can call me stupid, and you can point out all my past mistakes”--I waved a hand toward Simon--“invite them all over for breakfast if you want, but don’t question how far I would go to protect my boy.” I spoke with a control I hadn’t felt in years. Quiet rage hummed through my entire body, but my voice remained calm.
I had one more card to play with Sean. My mother glared at me when I held my hand out for my phone. She put it on the table between us, probably waiting to smack my hand if I picked it up again.
“How? By getting yourself killed? Does that even come close to sounding like a resolution we would hope for?” The cell on the table shifted with vibration. Sean’s face appeared on the screen. I snatched it up.
“Sean, please?” I appealed to the part of him that loved to hear me beg. “I filed for divorce. I don’t want anything from you except to be left alone.” I kept my tone even, measured. “All you have to do is let me go.”
His evil laugh grated against my soul. “Why would I do that? We’re married and we’re going to stay married. I told you in the beginning, I want this to last.”
I sighed. “Sean, think for a minute. I know things about you and your clients at the club, the drugs you get for them, the weird stuff your girls have to do. I think some very important people wouldn’t be so happy with you if your wife goes all out CNN with their private lives.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“I’m not threatening you. I’m just saying bad things could happen if you don’t sign the divorce papers.”
He laughed again. I tapped my forehead twice with the top corner of my phone, imagining I could choke him without actually having to be in a room with him.
“It doesn’t have to be this way. You leave me and Kieran alone, and I’ll keep my mouth shut.” I calmed my voice to a level of quiet he responded to in the past.
“Who is going to believe you, anyway, without proof?”
I chewed the inside corner of my lip, pushing the anger down. In this case, I had ample ammunition without calling on any attitude. “Sean, I taught you how to use the computer to keep your records, remember?” From my matter-of-fact tone, I could have been talking to an old friend. “You were cussing because you couldn’t figure out how to get two plus two to equal four?” He’d kicked the tower, thrown his papers, created such a ruckus I rushed in to make sure Kieran hadn’t wandered into his home office. “And you know that little green notebook with all those important names with their little fetishes and the prices you charged them? The dates and times they showed up?” I plunged forward. “I have it.”
“You don’t have it.”
“Yeah. I do.”
His breath stuttered through the phone. “Impressive, Dani, all this bravery. Is your boyfriend sitting there with you? Is the half-witted former sheriff giving you all your courage? Or maybe the boy-toy you were never good enough for? The one you lived with in Arizona? Or maybe it’s dear old daddy with his bum knee and his shotgun.”
He could say whatever he wanted about me and I would take it all day long, but going after Simon and Dad struck a low I couldn’t accept. My mean girl stepped out of the shadows. For once, it was good to see her, to give her control. “Hey. Village idiot. I also showed you how to Google, so knowing about Simon’s shooting or Dad’s knee isn’t exactly earth shattering news.” Courage replaced anger and my mind’s eye played a fantasy of seeing Sean in a pool of his own blood.
“I a
m going to kill you.” His voice dropped to a deadly hiss.
I nodded. “The question, Sean”--I blew out a breath--“is will it be before or after I sell all your secrets to the highest tabloid bidder?”
Again, silence floated over the phone line before a loud growl rang through.
“Sign the papers and I’ll burn it. All I want is for you to leave me and Kieran alone. Please.”
“I’ll be in touch.” He ended the connection and presumably began tearing everything he owned apart hunting for the notebook I had upstairs.
I slid the phone onto the table and walked to the steps.
“Danielle, where are you going?”
I looked over my shoulder at my mother. “To pack some things for Kieran.”
Two and a half hours later, my parents, my son, and the notebook were all safely on their way to the airport. Simon, maybe sensing a need to leave for his own safety, or maybe because my father asked, sighed and walked out to care for the horses. I’d paced the living room, then the kitchen, and had just poured a glass of water when I spotted it--a bottle of well-aged scotch. It had been there so long--since my elementary school days--waiting for its chance to breathe I almost didn’t notice it. After a quick twist of the cap, I took my first drink in six years. The whiskey sitting in plain view on the counter, the fact I’d let my boy down, my own weakness… I poured the first shot before I had a split second to rethink it. The second shot came as fast, and by the third, I’d forsaken the thought of a glass altogether.
Chapter 15
I stumbled outside, taking a seat on a lawn chair facing the pool. By the time Simon returned from the barn, I’d tipped the bottle back more times than once and could see the etched numbers on the bottom through the liquid left over.
“Dani.” He touched my shoulder, and my head bobbled toward the sound of his soft, disappointed voice.
“Hi, you.”
“I thought you quit drinking.”
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