Once inside, Brock closed the door and indicated a chair across from his at the desk. “Have a seat.”
Sighing heavily, Mr. Bell sat. “I’m worried about my daughter,” he said.
“I understand.” His fingers steepled in front of him, Brock waited to see what else the other man had to say.
“What do you think?” Mr. Bell peered at him with bloodshot eyes. “Do you think our Shayna just ran away?”
Our Shayna. On the verge of telling the truth, Brock hesitated then decided not to. No sense in hurting Shayna’s father any more than he had to. “I honestly don’t know, Mr. Bell.”
“Call me Marshall,” the other man said, surprising Brock. He’d known Mr. Bell his entire life and never addressed him by his first name.
“I’ll try,” he said, meaning it. “Though I might forget. Force of habit. As far as Shayna leaving, I don’t know.” He took a deep breath, aware his next words would probably be a shock. “Marshall, did Shayna tell you that she and I were breaking up? She was planning to move out of the apartment soon.”
Marshall recoiled, clearly stunned. “I suspected that would happen. Do you have any idea where she was planning to live?”
“She was talking about moving in with Cristine,” Brock said, dodging a direct answer. “Those two had gotten to be pretty good friends.”
“Cristine.” The other man’s voice conveyed his disgust. “I wish she and Shayna had never started hanging around together. She’s nothing but a bad influence on my baby girl.”
Again Brock had to bite his tongue. He was of the opinion that Shayna and Cristine egged each other on. Who was the worse influence, he couldn’t tell. He really believed they sort of fed on each other’s energy.
Suddenly, he realized Shayna’s father was eyeing him with suspicion, making him wonder what his expression had inadvertently revealed.
Torn between wanting to laugh or simply shake his head, Brock decided the direct approach would be best. “Despite the fact that our relationship was over and her plans to move out, I bore no malice toward Shayna, I assure you,” he said. “I promise you I had nothing to do with her disappearance.”
Instead of appearing relieved, Mr. Bell narrowed his eyes. “That’s a strange thing for you to say. I never accused you of anything like that.”
“No, you didn’t. But I wanted to set your mind at ease in case you were wondering.”
“I wasn’t.” Mr. Bell sighed heavily. With apparent difficulty, he focused on Brock again. “But I know you. I’m certain you’d never do anything to hurt my daughter.”
“Thanks.”
“How are you doing with all this?”
Surprised, Brock shrugged. “I can’t help but think Shayna will be found when she wants to be found.”
Marshall cocked his shorn gray head. “I didn’t mean about that. I’m talking about your former fiancée. Zoe’s back in town. Though I’m not sure why, my wife seems to think if anyone can find Shayna, Zoe can.”
Brock shrugged. “I don’t care either way what Zoe does. That relationship was over long ago.” As far as Zoe being able to find Shayna, anything was possible. Though Shayna had lately made a big effort to prove she didn’t care about anything or anyone, Brock figured maybe Zoe would prove the exception.
“Apparently, the two of them have kept in touch all this time,” Marshall continued. “My wife even thought maybe Shayna took off to go visit Zoe.”
“I see,” Brock said, though he really didn’t. He hadn’t even known Shayna and Zoe still talked to each other these days. Shayna had said Zoe’d been backing away, abandoning her friendship the same way she’d deserted him.
Marshall nodded, his faded brown gaze far away.
Though Brock understood the older man’s concern and worry for his only daughter, his intuition told him that this roundabout conversation wasn’t the entire reason Mr. Bell had come to see him. He checked his watch. “I’m sorry, but I’ve got to get back to work. Is there anything else I can do for you?”
The other man nodded, a muscle in his cheek working. “I’m leaving,” he blurted. “Tomorrow.”
Stunned, Brock wasn’t sure how to respond. “You’re leaving? What do you mean?”
“I’m leaving Mrs. Bell, Anniversary, everything.” He waved his hand vaguely. “All of this is way too painful. I can’t take it anymore.”
“But what about your wife?” Brock sputtered. “She’s already hurting over Shayna’s disappearance. Think about what this will do to her.”
The other man’s face seemed to close in on itself. “I have thought of that, believe me. But I can’t help thinking it will hurt her worse if I stay.”
“Worse? How can it be worse than that? And what about when Shayna comes back? How’s she going to feel when she finds her daddy has taken off?”
“If Shayna comes back,” Marshall said, his voice full of the same weariness revealed by his rounded shoulders and defeated posture. “As to that, I can’t help but feel if she didn’t care enough to say goodbye, what will it matter to her who’s here when she returns? Look after them for me, will you?”
He waved away any comment Brock might have attempted to make. Moving laboriously, as though he’d aged twenty years in the space of minutes, he gave Brock a bleak smile.
“Why are you telling me this?” Brock asked as he followed him to the door.
“Because you care,” Mr. Bell said. “I have to let someone know, and you’re the closest thing I have to a son. As far as I can tell, you might be the only one holding this family together by the time all of this is over.”
Those words haunted him. For the rest of the afternoon, as he loaded pickup trucks with bags of feed, sold bridles and bits, hay and birdseed, Brock tried to figure out what the hell Mr. Bell was thinking. If he did leave, the fallout would be tremendous. Poor Mrs. Bell, who was one of the nicest, kindest women in town. She would be devastated.
And Zoe? She considered the Bells her family. Mr. Bell was the closest thing to a father she’d ever had. How would she take his desertion?
Just like that, the old pain came roaring back. Zoe’d left him, and he’d foolishly believed he’d recovered. Now he realized what he’d done was survive, nothing more. And despite the fact that his and Shayna’s relationship hadn’t worked out, he didn’t understand how she could do the exact same thing. To him or to her family. And now this. Marshall Bell was beating a fast track out of town.
Wherever she’d gone, Shayna needed to come home now. If she didn’t, she might return to Anniversary some day and find she had nothing left to come back for.
The rest of the afternoon dragged. After finally turning the Open sign to Closed, Brock locked up the feed store and tried to decide whether he wanted to grab some fast food for dinner or cook something himself.
Or he could make another trip to the sheriff’s office and see if there was anything else they could do to help find Shayna. He’d been there several times already, as had Mama Bell. He’d learned that adults have the right to leave without telling anyone where they are going, who they are with or why they left. According to Roger Giles, the sheriff, without evidence of foul play, they had to balance the missing person’s legal right to do what they liked and the family’s natural desire to make sure their loved one was all right.
In other words, the information would sit in a file and, beyond the occasional phone call to see if Shayna had come home, little else would be done.
While Brock didn’t like it, he could see Roger’s point.
More weary than he’d been in ages, he decided he’d figure something out on the drive home.
Instead, he found himself turning onto the Bells’ street. As he coasted to a stop in front of the neat ranch-style house, he debated whether he really wanted to go inside. Not only was Mr. Bell’s secret weighing him down, but h
e wasn’t sure he was up to seeing Zoe again.
The decision was taken from him when the front door opened—Mrs. Bell, heading to the mailbox to get the day’s mail. The instant she caught sight of him, she smiled and waved.
“Brock! What are you doing sitting in your truck? Come on inside. I was just about to cook up some of my famous fried chicken.” Her smile wavered slightly. “Who knows, maybe Shayna will smell it and decide to come home.”
Despite himself, his mouth watered and his stomach growled. Mrs. Bell was known all around town for her chicken. It was the best he’d ever had.
Any reservations he might have had vanished, just like that. His stomach won out. He cut the engine and pocketed the keys.
Retrieving her mail, Mrs. Bell chattered all the way up the sidewalk. Apparently, Mr. Bell hadn’t yet told his wife of his plans to leave. Brock wondered if he would.
He held the door open so Mrs. Bell could go inside.
Zoe glanced up as they entered the room. Surprise flashed across her face when she saw Brock, but almost immediately she schooled her features into an expression of polite interest. “Brock,” she said. “What are you doing here?”
“I stopped by after work to check on ya’ll, and Mrs. Bell invited me to dinner.” He kept his response equally civil. “When she mentioned she was making her chicken, I couldn’t pass it up.”
“Oh, look at this!” Mrs. Bell held up a flyer, passing it to Brock. “Looks like Cristine is having a get-together tomorrow over at the high school.”
Brock nodded, reading the leaflet quickly. Maybe if he kept himself busy while he was here, not only would he not have to wonder if Shayna had left because of him, but he also wouldn’t have to look at Zoe and wonder what might have been.
“A get-together?” Zoe’s voice jolted him out of his thoughts. “Why on earth—”
“Wrong choice of words,” Mrs. Bell said, lifting one shoulder in apology. “Cristine is calling a meeting to organize a search for our Shayna. Even if she took off on her own, maybe Cristine can help locate her.”
Closing her mouth, Zoe nodded. To Brock’s surprise, she glanced at him, almost as if seeking his opinion. The instant her vibrant brown eyes met his, he felt a slow burn begin in his blood. Did she feel it, too? How could she not?
But her glance flitted away almost as quickly, and he knew he’d been wrong. Zoe didn’t feel anything for him. She never had.
“Are you going?” Mrs. Bell asked, taking the flyer from him and passing it to Zoe.
“We’ll go,” Brock found himself saying, replying for both of them even though he had no right.
“Of course, we’ll go,” Zoe interjected. “We all want to help find Shayna as quickly as possible.”
Since there was nothing Brock could add to that, he nodded.
“Well, I’d better get busy frying up some chicken.” Mrs. Bell headed toward the kitchen.
“I’ll help,” Zoe said, letting the flyer flutter to the floor as she jumped to her feet. She hurried away, leaving him alone in the oak-paneled living room.
He picked up the flyer and read it again. While he’d never really liked Cristine, he found it commendable that she cared enough about her friend to do something to try to find her. The skeptical part of him wondered if Cristine just missed having someone to party with, but in truth, her motives didn’t matter. Finding Shayna was what mattered. Even if she had just climbed onto the back of some guy’s motorcycle, she needed to understand the worry she’d caused her family.
Again, he questioned how it could be that Shayna hadn’t at least told Cristine where she was going. The two women had been best friends, so close that Shayna had planned to move in with her.
The thought twisted his gut. This one little fact, his belief that Shayna would have clued Cristine in, worried him more than anything else.
Glancing again at Zoe, he couldn’t help but wonder how she and Cristine would get along. Both women thought of themselves as Shayna’s best friend. They couldn’t be more dissimilar, except for the fact that they both loved her.
Cocking his head, he listened to low murmur of voices as Zoe and Mrs. Bell talked in the kitchen. The sound brought back old memories. As teens and young adults, he and Zoe and Shayna had spent a good bit of their time hanging out at the Bells’ house. Partly because of Mama Bell’s amazing cooking, and partly because the place always felt warm and welcoming, Brock had come to consider it his second home.
As nostalgia filled him, he grimaced. He hadn’t even realized how much he’d missed those days. Or that part of them, at least. He was over the Zoe part. Completely.
A few minutes later, he heard the sizzle of the frying pan, and then the heavenly smell of Mama Bell’s fried chicken filled the air.
On cue, his stomach growled, making him grimace at himself. Suddenly the delectable fried chicken had become a gateway to a past he’d put behind him. Life had been...good. He had a routine, a rhythmic sameness to his days that felt soothing, and maybe just the tiniest bit boring.
Not anymore. Now that very same peaceful existence had been turned on its ear. He didn’t like change. Never had. But starting with Shayna’s abrupt disappearance, his ordinary life had been thrown into upheaval. He’d tried searching for her, just as he had for Zoe when she’d left. Both times, he’d found nothing but heartache.
Now Zoe was here. Zoe, whom he’d loved more than life itself.
And, though she had no idea, he owed her. It had been because of her prodding that he’d gone to broadcast school after graduating high school, because of her bugging him that he’d applied for an internship at a radio station in one of the largest markets in the country. He’d been accepted right after she abandoned him before their wedding. Of course, fate had other ideas. As he’d been packing to move to New York City, his father had suffered a massive heart attack and died, leaving Brock to pick up the pieces. Someone had to run the feed store and take care of his younger sister Eve, who’d only been thirteen at the time.
Reluctantly, Brock had given up his dreams. He worked occasionally on the night shift at a local country music station, when he wasn’t running the feed store. Unlike Zoe, he’d stayed right here in Anniversary, where he had family and responsibilities. His aging mother and baby sister depended on him, as did the local farmers and ranchers who relied on the feed store for their supplies.
While it wasn’t the life he’d wanted, it was the life he had. Brock believed he’d made the best of it. He’d even managed to find a sort of happiness. Or so he’d thought, until he’d seen Zoe’s face again.
He could only hope Shayna showed back up. Maybe then Zoe would go home, Mr. Bell wouldn’t feel compelled to leave, and life around Anniversary could return to normal.
Except for one thing. Seeing Zoe again had reopened that aching, empty space inside his heart, the place only she could fill. He’d managed to forget how much he missed her. Until now.
And he sure as hell didn’t like it. Not one bit.
If not for the tantalizing scent of the chicken frying, he’d have already made an excuse to leave. Instead, he was still lost in thought when Mrs. Bell reappeared in the doorway. “We’re just about ready. Are you going to join us?”
“Yes. Sorry.” He set the flyer down on the coffee table. “I was just...thinking.”
Mrs. Bell smiled sadly and touched his arm. “You miss her, too, don’t you?”
Startled, he swallowed. It took a second, but he realized she meant Shayna, not Zoe. Again, guilt squeezed his chest. Instead of answering, he ducked his head and headed toward the kitchen.
A heaping platter of perfectly golden fried chicken sat in the middle of the table. Keeping his gaze locked on that rather than Zoe, who stood at the stove stirring something, Brock took a seat. His mouth watered.
“That looks wonderful, Mrs. Bell.”
“I made rice and butter beans to go with it,” she said, glancing at her watch. “Marshall’s late. He’d better get here soon or he’s going to miss his favorite meal.”
Brock debated whether or not to mention that Marshall had been in to the feed store, but kept his mouth shut. He wasn’t running interference for the man.
Zoe moved closer, taking a seat directly across from him. He looked up, unable to help himself, and his mouth went dry. With her delicate features and full mouth, she’d always been beautiful—now she was exquisite. Her skin glowed against a soft curtain of sable hair. She was polished and fashionable in a way that only served to remind him she didn’t belong in Anniversary.
“Help yourself.” Mrs. Bell pulled out her own chair, passing Brock a bowl full of plump butter beans. “You’ll have to take a plate to Eve. Her apartment is on your way home. I know how your sister loves my fried chicken.”
“Everyone loves your fried chicken,” Zoe teased. Her lighthearted tone reminded him of the old Zoe, the one who’d spent the day at the lake with him, worn old cutoff shorts and one of his ratty T-shirts, and let the sun warm her freckled nose. Now, as far as he could tell, not a single imperfection marred her perfect, creamy skin.
“I wonder where Marshall is,” Mrs. Bell mused again. “It’s not like him to be this late without calling.”
“Try his cell,” Zoe said, wiping her hands on one of the paper napkins piled in the center of the table.
“No, that’s all right.” A shadow crossed the older woman’s face. “He’ll come home when he comes home.”
Zoe stared hard at her, then returned her attention to spooning rice and butter beans onto her plate. When she’d finished, she slid the bowls over to him, taking care not to accidentally touch his fingers.
He was glad, he told himself. Damn glad.
Silence fell while they all dug in. The crispy chicken had been cooked exactly right, and the seasoning made the flavor explode in his mouth. He had three pieces and could easily have had more, but he didn’t want to appear gluttonous.
Texas Secrets, Lovers' Lies Page 3