Texas Secrets, Lovers' Lies

by Karen Whiddon

  When they reached the Bell home, Zoe invited Brock inside. Shaken, and glad to see them, Mama hugged them both before motioning toward the TV. She had the news report on. Both Zoe and Brock watched, still standing side by side, at the coverage of the damage. The Dallas stations had all sent reporters and camera crews and were broadcasting views of damaged buildings and uprooted trees.

  At this point, the report announced, no one even knew if anyone had been wounded or—heaven forbid—killed.

  The damage had been confined to the downtown area. The tornado had cut a swath through many businesses and apartments in the center of town. As far as they could tell from preliminary reports, the northern part of downtown—the area that had been recently renovated and restored—had been hit directly. Some of the roads leading to the lake were blocked with downed trees. The older parts of Anniversary, including the area near the Hitching Post, appeared untouched.

  “I didn’t see Sue’s Catfish Hut,” Mama Bell said. “Or TJ’s or Joe’s.” She named all the mainstay town favorites.

  “Maybe they’re okay.” Crossing to the older woman, Brock placed his hand on her shoulder, offering comfort.

  Zoe found herself tearing up at the sight.

  Telling herself it was only because she’d been through a lot, she went into the kitchen and got the pitcher of iced tea Mama always kept on hand. She suddenly felt parched. “Would anyone like some tea?”

  Mama jumped up and hurried over, taking the pitcher out of Zoe’s hands. “Go sit down,” she said, reaching for three glasses. “I’ll fix this, along with some of those cookies I baked earlier. You need to rest.”

  The phone rang. “Would you get that?” Mama asked, her hands full. Zoe answered, exhaling as Mr. Bell’s worried voice asked her if everyone was all right. After assuring him they were, she asked him if he wanted to talk to his wife. As she expected, he muttered something about having to get back to work, and he hung up.

  Returning to the living room, she found Brock trying to use his cell phone. “Nothing will go through,” he said. “I keep getting that annoying fast beep.”

  She pointed toward the old-fashioned wall phone. “Landlines are working. I’m sure Mama Bell won’t mind if you use that.”

  He nodded, his expression remote. “I’ve got to find a place to live. I can’t stay with Eve, because she lives with two other women in a too-small apartment.”

  Hearing this, Mama Bell glanced from Brock to Zoe and then back again. “You can stay here,” she said. “You can have Shayna’s old room.”

  Horrified, Zoe hoped he’d decline. She and Brock both had enough difficulty resisting temptation as it was. With him in the bedroom next door, she wondered how they’d be able to keep their hands off each other.

  Apparently, the same thing had occurred to him. He didn’t even look at Zoe, keeping his gaze on Mama. “Thank you so much, Mrs. Bell,” he said. “I’ll keep that offer in mind.”

  Which meant he’d try all other options first. Attempting not to feel too guilty, Zoe nodded.

  Mama Bell handed them each a tall glass of iced tea. When she went back to the kitchen to retrieve her own, she returned with a plate of her famous chocolate-chip cookies.

  Zoe’s mouth began to water when she saw them. Growing up, she and Shayna had joked Mama could make a fortune if she’d sell them. They were beautiful and so delicious they were addictive.

  Good for an extra pound or two, Zoe thought, even as she reached for three.

  After a few minutes—and several cookies—Brock left. He again thanked Mama Bell for her kind offer and promised to let them both know where he ended up.

  Though she wanted to hug him, Zoe stayed where she was and waved goodbye.

  The instant the door closed behind him, Mama Bell rounded on her. “What the tarnation was that?”

  Briefly debating pleading innocence, Zoe closed her eyes instead. “Please, Mama. I’m exhausted. I just survived a direct hit from a tornado.”

  “What were you doing with Brock? I thought you were going to go talk to the sheriff?”

  Briefly, Zoe explained what had happened.

  A breaking alert on the news caught her eye. A body had been recovered from a building on the southeast side of downtown. No identity had yet been established.

  Sobering. “At least one fatality,” Mama Bell said, her voice sad. “You and Brock were very lucky.”

  Just like that, exhaustion swept through her. “I know,” Zoe said, rising and finding her legs unsteady. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to go lie down for a while.”

  She made it to her room before collapsing on her bed. Not entirely sure why, she began to cry, turning her face into her pillow so Mama wouldn’t hear. She felt as if she was in mourning, as if the destruction caused by the twister was symbolic of her life.

  She wanted what she couldn’t have. And now she had to wonder if she could ever be happy again with the hand fate had dealt her.

  * * *

  Though initially the idea of staying at the Bells’ had horrified him, by the time he’d made seven phone calls looking for a place to live without success, the idea was beginning to grow on him.

  Hell, all that instant access to Zoe would probably drive him insane.

  She hadn’t been thrilled with the idea, either. He wasn’t sure whether to take that as a compliment or an insult. He decided her reluctance was due to the fact that she knew they’d be unable to keep their hands off each other if they were so close.

  He’d have to try harder to find an alternative. After all, he’d just told her they had to stop giving in to their sexual attraction. He knew better than she how much letting go when she returned to New York would hurt. He’d done it before.

  Despite that, he couldn’t find anyone in town able to take him. So many people had been displaced because of the tornado, it seemed everyone already had a temporary guest.

  Out of desperation, he checked Anniversary’s lone motel. As he’d guessed, they were already booked up. Finally, he gave up. Looked like he’d be staying with the Bells.

  He made the call before he could reconsider. Mrs. Bell seemed genuinely happy to have him. After letting her know he had to see if he would be allowed back into his apartment long enough to get his things, he promised to be there for dinner.

  He decided to let her tell Zoe.

  * * *

  Watching the Dallas news station report on the ongoing cleanup after the devastation left by the tornado in Anniversary, Zoe was shocked again by the amount of the damage. When the camera showed a shot of Brock’s apartment complex, she realized exactly how lucky they had been.

  Several others hadn’t been so fortunate. The death toll currently sat at five, with a dozen more injured.

  Refusing to endure any more of the television sensationalism, Mama Bell had been busy in the kitchen for the past hour, humming under her breath and seeming genuinely happy for the first time since Zoe had been home. Maybe she didn’t miss her husband as much as Zoe’d thought she would.

  When the doorbell rang, Zoe got up to answer. As she pulled the door open and saw Brock, her heart foolishly skipped a beat. When she realized he carried a duffel bag, she understood why Mama had been cooking up a storm.

  “Can I come in?” he asked, a smile in his voice.

  “Sure.” She swallowed and stepped aside, eyeing his bag. “I take it you’re going to be staying awhile?”

  “Didn’t Mama Bell tell you? I took her up on her offer to let me stay until I can get back in to my apartment.”

  Her stomach did a slow roll.

  As he moved past her, he lifted his head, inhaling. “That smells unbelievable.”

  His happiness was contagious, though she had no idea why. She found herself smiling back at him. “She’s making chicken enchiladas.”

 
; “That’s fantastic.” He hefted his duffel.

  “Hi, Brock!” Mama Bell chirped, appearing in the kitchen entrance. “Go ahead and get settled. You’ll be staying in the middle bedroom. I changed the linens earlier today. You and Zoe will have to share a bathroom, but I guess you two can make that work.”

  Glad her back was to Brock, Zoe swallowed. The words sharing a bathroom conjured up the steamy showers she and Brock had shared in years past. Her entire body heated at the thought.

  “I’ll show you the way,” she said, moving away and hoping he didn’t notice the huskiness in her voice. He followed her down the hallway, too close, she thought, even as she fought the urge to turn and wrap her arms around him.

  Great. She hoped this wasn’t a foreshadowing of how difficult it was going to be, sleeping in the room next to him.

  Opening the door, she flicked on the light and stepped carefully inside. Since Shayna had moved out, Mama Bell had updated the room with a queen-size bed that had formerly been in the guest room, and some flowery framed prints.

  “I’ll let you get situated,” she said, careful not to look at Brock. And then she rushed away, wishing she had somewhere else to go.

  Dinner that night was an odd combination of pleasure and pain. Brock and Mama Bell chatted quietly, comfortable with each other, while Zoe sat silently eating her food. The growing ache in her throat made swallowing difficult. She couldn’t help but realize that this could have been her life. If she hadn’t had to run away to keep herself and everyone she loved from being killed, she and Brock would have been comfortably married. If she hadn’t miscarried or had scar tissue, they might even have had a couple of kids by now. The might-have-been images wounded her more than she could bear.

  Afraid she’d burst into tears, she pasted a pleasant expression on her face and let the conversation swirl around her.

  Mr. Bell’s conspicuous absence bothered her, too. As far as Zoe knew, since dropping the bomb on his wife and being asked to leave, he’d made no attempt to reconcile. Until today, he’d never even called. This seemed to bother Zoe more than it did Mama Bell, which maybe said something.

  Despite that, sitting around the dinner table with the woman she considered her mother and the man she’d almost married, Zoe felt more like part of a family than she had since she’d gone to New York. More than she ever would again.

  After dinner, Brock insisted on doing the dishes, overriding the older woman’s protests. With her heart pounding in her chest, Zoe excused herself to go read in her room, leaving Brock and Mama Bell chatting amiably.

  She barely closed her door before her eyes filled with tears. Not only did this hurt—she hadn’t expected to have to continue the charade of not caring 24/7—but it also made her furious. It was like fate or whoever pulled the strings up there in the cosmos wasn’t done torturing her.

  Taking deep breaths, she got herself under control. She managed to concentrate on her book, tuning out the sounds of their voices mingled with the television. She got ready for bed as soon as humanly possible, washing quickly in what was now her and Brock’s shared bathroom before rushing back to her room. At least sleep would keep her from hurting, from wanting things she couldn’t have.

  She knew she was hiding, knew too that she had no alternative. Gradually, she managed to fall into a troubled sleep.

  Of course, she dreamed of him. She’d known she would, and if she was honest with herself, she’d been looking forward to the dreams before she even put her head on her pillow.

  The dreams weren’t the worst of it. The temptation—oh, the temptation made her burn. She actually got up and had her hand on her doorknob, before she made herself go back to her own bed and stay there. How she was going to make it through night after night of this, she didn’t know.

  She must have finally fallen into a deep sleep. When she woke and stretched, she felt better. As if she’d wrestled all her worst demons to the ground. She could handle this. She would handle this.

  Dragging a brush through her hair, she listened to see if anyone else was up and heard the sound of the shower running. Apparently Brock had also risen and was getting ready for work.

  Taking a deep breath, she pulled on a pair of jeans and T-shirt and wished she’d been able get in there first and brush her teeth. She tried not to picture him there, completely naked, though even the thought made her body buzz.

  No. She wasn’t going to begin her day thinking like this. Today she had work to do as well as trying to come up with some sort of a plan to speed up the search for Shayna. She refused to let anything bother her on this bright and sunny morning.

  In the kitchen, she snagged a cup of coffee and, after doctoring it with half-and-half, took a seat at the table and checked out the morning paper.

  When the bathroom door opened, she deliberately turned her back, rising to get coffee for Brock. She even remembered how he liked it. Black.

  The act of pouring him his morning drink made her feel distinctly wifely. Warmth flooded her. Though the feeling was from one of last night’s dreams, she decided not to care. Just this once. She even smiled at him when he strolled into the kitchen. The intimacy of the two of them, alone in the morning, wasn’t lost on her. Pushing away the pain, she inhaled and again reminded herself that she could handle this.

  But he looked so good. Well-worn jeans hung low on his narrow hips, and his T-shirt did little to disguise his muscular chest. Even his dusty black work boots looked...manly. Her mouth went dry and she felt her face color as she thought of the incredibly erotic dreams she’d had the night before.

  “Mornin’,” he drawled, accepting the cup from her. Something in the way he looked at her—maybe the decidedly wicked glint in his eye—had her wondering if somehow he knew what she’d dreamt.

  Or how close she’d come to sneaking into his room.

  Damn.

  Turning away to try, too late, to hide her blush, she busied herself with scrambling eggs. “Do you want some eggs?” she asked, trying to sound casual. “I was just about to eat.”

  “No, thanks. I’m headed over to Joe’s before going in to the feed store. Eve’s opening this morning.”

  Lifting her chin, she nodded, hating that she’d even offered. Blinking back sudden—and stupid—tears, she tried as hard as she could to come up with a smile. Her words got caught in her throat.

  “Hey.” With his voice turning gentle, he took a step toward her. Then, reconsidering, he drained his coffee and placed the cup on the counter near the sink. “Thanks for the coffee. We’ll talk later about what we should do next to locate Shayna.”

  She nodded, pretending to focus on keeping her eggs from burning. “Have a good day.” To her surprise, she managed to sound normal. Maybe she was getting good at pretending to feel something she really didn’t.

  “You, too,” he said softly.

  She didn’t turn around to watch him go. Only when she heard the sound of the front door opening and closing did she relax.

  Turning off the burner, she transferred her eggs to a plate and carried them to the table. What the hell was wrong with her? Was she so deluded that she was willing to pretend there was something between her and Brock when, in fact, there wasn’t. Nor would there ever be. No matter how badly she wanted it.

  After she ate, she carried her dishes to the sink, rinsed them and loaded them in the dishwasher. Then she opened her laptop, checked her email and wrote a short blog on the power of happy memories. As usual, she held nothing back, finding comfort in putting her soul into words that could hurt no one. Such was the power of anonymity.

  When she finished this, it was barely ten o’clock. She wanted to go talk to Roger Giles but knew Shayna’s case had most likely been put on the back burner due to the tornado. Instead, she thought she’d take a drive into town and see the damage for herself. While she was there, she could t
alk to a few people about Shayna and see if anything new turned up.

  Mama Bell finally got up. Though Zoe remembered her as an early riser before, these days she slept in, often not rising until ten or later. As she poured herself a cup of coffee, Zoe offered to fix the older woman something to eat, but Mama waved her away.

  “Thanks, but I’m just going to have some oatmeal.”

  Zoe was struck by how much Shayna’s mother had aged. Despite the cheerful facade she’d put on for Brock the night before, in private she carried her sadness like a weight. Where before she’d always walked with her shoulders back and her head held high, now she seemed to shuffle, her shoulders rounded and her posture defeated.

  “I’m going to head into town and take a look at the tornado damage,” Zoe said. “Do you want to come with me?”

  Again Mama shook her head. “No, thanks. I want to be here in case anyone calls about Shayna. Plus, my stories will be on soon, and I don’t want to miss them.”

  This made Zoe smile. As long as she could remember, Mama Bell had refused to miss her soap operas. When she had to, she’d record them, but she preferred to watch them as soon as they came on.

  So Zoe would be going into town by herself.

  About to back from the driveway, she waited for a truck to go by so she could pull out into the street. Before she had the chance, a police car pulled into the driveway, effectively blocking her in.

  Dread, immediate and heavy, filled her. Putting the car in Park, Zoe killed the ignition and got out. Roger Giles and one of his officers, both in uniform, got out of the squad car slowly.

  One look at the solemn expression on the sheriff’s rigid face and Zoe knew. Shayna. This was about Shayna.

  “What is it?” she asked, stepping in between them and the house, her voice trembling despite her best efforts.

  He wouldn’t meet her gaze as he brushed past her. “I need to speak to Mr. and Mrs. Bell.”

  “Please.” She hurried after him, ignoring the pitying looks the deputy gave her. “Is this about Shayna?”