“Maybe not,” Mama Bell said in a matter-of-fact tone. “Life is too short, believe me. I do have to confess, I always thought you and Brock would have been happy together. Shayna told me all about what happened with your mother. I figured once they locked that murderer up, you’d have come back to him.”
The exact same words Brock had used. Suddenly, Zoe was just plain tired of carrying the burden of her awful secret. She hadn’t even been able to tell Shayna that part of the past.
Maybe the time had come to finally reveal it.
Chapter 13
“There’s something you don’t know.” Zoe took a deep breath. “After my mother was killed, I ran to escape the threats from her killer. But I also ran to escape the pressure from Brock. He pushed for us to get married. I knew I loved him, but we were so young. I wanted to wait. So I didn’t come back. And then I learned I was pregnant with Brock’s baby. I still planned to come back, to tell him, but I had to wait until the trial, until my mother’s killer went to prison.”
The older woman’s expression remained the same. When Zoe didn’t continue, she nodded encouragingly. “Go on.”
“I had endometriosis. It caused scar tissue, and the baby wasn’t able to attach properly to my uterus.” Even now, five years later, she found herself blinking back tears. Some kinds of grief never vanished. “I lost her.”
Compassion shone in Mama Bell’s eyes, yet she seemed to sense that now wasn’t the time to offer comfort. If Zoe was going to be able to finish the story, she needed to find her own composure.
“Her?” Mama asked.
Zoe lifted one shoulder in a half-apologetic shrug. “I just knew my baby was a girl. I have no proof, it was too early to tell.”
“I’m so sorry.”
Those simple words almost undid Zoe. Sniffing, she held herself together and managed a nod. “I am, too.”
After giving Zoe a moment, Mama leaned forward. “You didn’t come back home because you lost Brock’s child? I don’t understand. If there’s one thing I know about Brock, it’s that the man has had his share of tragedy in his life and emerged from it a stronger man. He could have helped you with this, and you both could have healed together.”
Zoe nodded.
At that, Mama frowned. “And I suspect you already know this. So, you didn’t think he could handle it, or what?”
Wincing, Zoe shook her head. “That wasn’t the entire reason. I’d already decided to stay in New York. I couldn’t get married. Not yet. But I figured I’d come back home someday. Then, when I lost the baby, I learned my insides are all messed up. My fallopian tubes have been damaged and my uterus is so full of scar tissue that...” Even saying the words made her insides ache, and she paused for a moment. “I can’t have children, Mama Bell. Even through in vitro fertilization. My womb won’t hold them.”
Pushing up her substantial bulk, Mama crossed the space between them and wrapped Zoe in her cookie-dough-scented arms. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” she whispered, smoothing Zoe’s hair as though she were still a terrified youngster rather than an adult woman in mourning. “I know how badly you wanted children.”
“Not just me.” The tears Zoe tried to keep back had begun escaping, stealthily making their way down her cheeks. “That’s the reason I didn’t come back to town after my mother’s killer was sentenced to prison. Brock always wanted kids, even more than me. I couldn’t take that away from him.”
“So you stayed away.” Releasing her, Mama Bell peered into Zoe’s face. “You tried to save him from a childless life.”
“Yes. Exactly.” Giving the older woman a watery smile, Zoe sniffed. It felt good, a relief, to have finally told someone after all these years. And Mama Bell actually seemed to understand.
“He still doesn’t have any young ’uns,” Mama pointed out.
“I know.” Misty-eyed, Zoe grimaced at her own foolishness. “I figured by now he’d already have two or three of them.”
After a pause, no doubt to let this information sink in, Mama Bell continued. “Zoe, did you ever think of letting Brock make his own choice? Tell him the truth and let him say what it is that he wants to do.”
“No. I can’t.” Chest tight, Zoe drew a shuddering breath. “Because Brock is an honorable man. He’d make the wrong decision to make sure he did the right thing.”
“Aw, baby girl. I think you’re mistaken.”
Again Zoe’s eyes filled. Mama Bell hadn’t called her “baby girl” since she’d been nine or ten.
“Give the man a chance,” the older woman continued. “At least then you won’t have to always be wondering what if. At least then, no matter how painful, you’ll know.”
The words rang with wisdom. Zoe nodded and promised to consider them, though even thinking about discussing such a thing with Brock filled her with terror.
It’d be safer and easier if she simply went back to New York after this was all over. And cowardly, too, her inner voice chided. Still, despite the prospect of her empty life looming before her, she was pretty sure that leaving was exactly what she was going to do.
* * *
Brock meant to, but he hadn’t had a chance to check out Zoe’s blog. He’d tossed the napkin with the web address on his desk at work, telling himself he’d look at it once he had time.
The truth of the matter was, he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to. As far as he could tell, blogs were like online diaries. He had no doubt that anything New Yorker Zoe had written there would only cause him hurt.
Even the name of the thing—City Girl—spoke of the side of Zoe that Brock tried not to think about. As if by leaving, she’d abandoned everything she’d used to love.
Yep, he was pretty damn sure he didn’t want to read anything City Girl had to say.
So he’d continued living his life, getting up every morning and going to work, trying to ignore the yawning emptiness inside of him and wishing he could feel normal once more.
At least people were talking to him again. At first, the town hadn’t been sure how to respond to the idea that he could be a suspect in Shayna’s murder. Everyone knew Sheriff Giles had asked Brock in for questioning. Brock imagined some of the townspeople might even be convinced he’d done it.
There was nothing he could do about that.
At first they’d stopped talking to him, going out of their way to avoid him, even crossing to the other side of the street. He been stunned and hurt, wondering how he could have lived in a place his entire life and still people didn’t know him.
And for two days, business dropped off at the feed store. But Brock tried not to worry. The ranchers and farmers would have to buy their grain and pellets and he doubted they’d want to drive forty-five minutes to Mesquite to get what they needed.
He was right. On this, the morning of the third day, the regular customers started drifting back in and making their usual purchases. To Brock’s surprise, they all wanted to talk about the murder investigation.
Several of them clapped Brock on the back and let him know they knew he wasn’t a murderer. A few, the Widow Jones and her friend Enid Bostler, cast sideways glances at him and made sure Eve rang them up.
Right before closing time, as Brock was tallying up the day’s receipts, Zoe came strolling into the feed store. Brock froze, cursing under his breath. Eve promptly made herself scarce.
“Hey,” Zoe said softly. “How have you been?”
“Fine,” he lied, keeping his voice expressionless while recounting the register drawer he’d already counted and balanced.
“The other night, when I had dinner with the sheriff...” Zoe said, all the words tumbling out in a rush. “After talking with him, I’m pretty sure you’re not actually a suspect in Shayna’s murder.”
Easy, McCauley. Brock narrowed his eyes. He wanted to grab her, kiss her again an
d let her know exactly why she shouldn’t be having dinner with any man but him.
Instead, because he shouldn’t, hell, he couldn’t, he simply pointed to the door. “Get out.”
“Brock, I just wanted to...”
He began to sweat. She had to leave, or he wouldn’t be accountable for his own actions. “Zoe, go. Now.”
Instead, she came closer, hugging her arms close to her sides. “I don’t understand. Please don’t be like this.”
“How am I supposed to be?” he growled, furious that even now he ached to touch her. “You waltz back into town and expect me to act like we parted friends? And now, you start dating the sheriff and expect me to be okay with it?”
Crap. He hadn’t meant to say the last part.
“Dating?” Bottom lip between her teeth, she frowned. “I’m not... Is that what this is about?”
“Not really,” he lied, feeling stupid, especially since anger still churned inside him. “I’m well aware we aren’t in a relationship.”
Something that looked an awful lot like pain flickered across her face. “Brock, I’d much prefer to be on friendly terms with you.”
Friendly. He was coming to hate that word. He didn’t want to be friends with her, dammit. And that, he realized yet again, made him even more of a fool.
Time to get back on familiar ground. “Did you really think it would be that easy to forget about what you did?”
A spark of anger fired in her brown eyes. He watched her in disbelief as she came closer still. “Everything I did was for a reason. I left to save my life and protect the Bells.”
There was more, he sensed. Even now with the space of years between them, he could still look at this woman and know when she was hiding something. “Yeah, I know. So you already said. But there’s more, isn’t there? What is it you’re not telling me?”
That stopped her in her tracks. He watched her anger disappear, replaced by a flash of what he could have sworn was fear. Interesting. What was she afraid he’d find out?
“You’re right,” she said, her voice shaky. “I should go.”
He moved to block the doorway. “Zoe, don’t you think you owe it to me to tell me the truth?”
She bowed her head. When she raised it again, her brown eyes were shiny with tears. “There’s nothing to tell,” she said. “What’s past should stay in the past.”
“Not if whatever you’re keeping hidden will help me understand why you never came back.” Refusing to let her tears move him, he did his best to sound unyielding and firm.
“No.” Crying in earnest now, she pushed past him. This time, he didn’t try to stop her or go after her. Instead, chest tight, he watched as she ran to her car, started the engine and drove away.
In that instant, he knew that no matter what it took, he would learn what Zoe was trying to keep secret from him. As soon as Shayna’s killer was found, Zoe would bolt, but he’d be there to block her way. This time, he refused to let her get away with no real explanation. This time, if she was going to shred the rest of his heart to pieces, she would damn well tell him why.
* * *
After the humiliating encounter with Brock at the feed store, her emotions raw and hurting, Zoe tried to avoid running into Brock in the Bells’ house. Each time his pickup pulled up, she hid in her room, declining dinner. She told Mama Bell she was working. And she was, writing posts and scheduling them in advance. That way, she wouldn’t have to worry about neglecting the blog while she threw herself into searching for clues about who had killed Shayna.
No matter what Brock or Roger Giles or anyone said, she would make sure whoever had done this was brought to justice.
But first, she had to get her head in the right place. She needed to try to come to grips with Shayna’s death. At first, the news hadn’t seemed real. She’d gotten angry and kept moving as a way to avoid dealing with the staggering loss.
The funeral had truly hammered things home for her. Her best friend was gone. Forever.
So many things unresolved. Shayna’s death, the Bells’ marriage, and Zoe and Brock. Too many emotions, all battling for attention, swirling around inside her head. She felt sick.
So in order to keep her sanity, Zoe did what she’d learned to do best. Compartmentalize. She couldn’t do anything about the Bells’ marriage—that was for them to work out. As to her nonrelationship with Brock, well, she didn’t really even want to think about it.
That left one thing. Shayna’s death. She could try to help learn who’d killed her friend.
Suddenly she realized what she had to do. Go back to the Hitching Post and ask more questions. Shayna had been a regular there. And even if Mike was telling the truth, someone else might know something, something they’d be hesitant to tell the police.
Decision made, she instantly felt better. Since she didn’t feel safe going alone, she had two choices. She could ask Cristine to go with her or she could ask Brock.
* * *
The last person Brock would have expected to find tapping at his bedroom door first thing in the morning was Zoe. After the way he’d practically thrown her out of the feed store, he noticed she avoided being around him as much as possible. Which was fine, for now.
He hated the fact that his heart leaped at the sight of her.
Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he opened the door.
“Brock,” she began, her smile so endearingly serious he could scarcely breathe. “Good morning.”
“Morning.” Staring at her, he tried to sound as unwelcoming as possible. “What do you want, Zoe?”
“This is business, I swear.” Without waiting for an answer or an invitation, she hurried inside his room.
Instantly, her gaze locked on his unmade bed.
Jamming his hands into his pockets—safer that way—he waited, burning to pull her with him onto that bed. Body throbbing, he simply stood, ready to hear her out so he could open the door and send her on her way.
“I’m going back to the Hitching Post,” she said, lifting her chin as if daring him to contradict her. “I’d like you to go with me.”
Though he hated the idea, he had to admire her tenacity. In reality, he didn’t know what she thought she could find out that the police hadn’t.
When he didn’t answer, she shrugged. “If you won’t, then I’ll be going alone.”
And there she had him. She knew good and well there was no way he’d let her put herself in danger like that.
Instead he tried to reason with her. “Come on, Zoe. You know the police have already been over that place.”
“I know.” She flashed him a wisp of her usual smile. “But sometimes people won’t open up to the police.”
She had a point. But still. “And you think they’ll talk to you?”
“Something like that.” And the strangest thing of all, the conviction in her voice almost had him believing her. Something passed between them, something not quite tangible. But he felt it and, if the way she suddenly shivered was any indication, she did too. The pull of it was compelling despite the fact that he kept a distance of several feet between them.
How the hell did she continue to have such a strong hold over him? Continuing to eye her, even while he pondered this, he couldn’t help but remember the last time they’d been alone in his place.
Something must have flared in his eyes, because she took a step back, away from him.
Of course. One of them had to maintain a modicum of sense.
When he still didn’t agree to accompany her, instead just standing like a lump, hands jammed into his pockets, she swallowed and turned to go. “Sorry to bother you,” she said, reaching for the doorknob to let herself out.
“Wait.” Then, against his better judgment, he nodded. “I’ll go with you, Zoe. I might hate that I still want you,
but even more I’d like to keep you from getting killed.”
“Thank you,” she said, her hand still on the door. “I really appreciate it. I’ll see you tonight around seven.”
He nodded. So much for his resolve to avoid Zoe as much as possible.
Leaving the Bells, he checked on the progress being made to repair his apartment building. He’d been lucky; his was one of the ones that wasn’t immediately condemned and slated for demolition. Still, the tenants were not allowed to enter until the city finished making their assessment.
After that, he headed to the marina, got his boat and went out on the lake. Fishing always seemed to soothe away the stress. Every time he even thought about seeing Zoe later that night, he forced himself to think of something else.
When he returned to the Bells’, he went straight to his room, then hopped into the shower before changing into a pair of Western jeans and a button-down shirt. Ready.
Steeling himself for whatever sexy outfit she might wear, he was completely surprised when he strolled into the living room to see Zoe waiting, wearing faded jeans, cowboy boots and a black, unadorned tank top.
“What, no minidress and high heels?” he asked, using humor to try to hide his disappointment. And relief, he told himself. Definitely relief. It would be much less difficult to have carnal thoughts when she wasn’t dressed like sex incarnate.
“No need,” she told him, businesslike. “I’m not trying to pretend to be anyone or pick someone up. I’m simply going in there and asking questions.”
“Which the police have no doubt already asked.”
She shrugged. “Maybe people will be more likely to talk to me.”
Careful not to show his amusement, he cocked his head. “How so?”
“Because,” she said softly, her eyes suspiciously shiny, as though she might cry. “Shayna was my friend.”
He had no answer for that, so he simply nodded. “Well, come on then, let’s go.” Hesitating, he held out his arm.
When she took it, he felt that familiar pull, the urge to yank her up against him and kiss her senseless. It seriously pissed him off.
Texas Secrets, Lovers' Lies Page 19