by Debra Webb
Bree was relieved, but she knew that wasn’t fair. She couldn’t carry on this lie much longer. The guilt was gnawing at her.
But then, at times like yesterday’s visit with Sherman Watts, she wanted to punch Patrick. They were no longer involved. Hadn’t spoken until three days ago in nearly eight years. How could he step into her professional space and treat her as if she were incapable? As if she was still that young, green rookie?
But that was exactly what he had done then and he was doing it again now. That whole macho cowboy thing was driving her crazy.
At least when he wasn’t making her wish she’d made different choices. His voice…those eyes…just being near him made her want to reach out and touch him. To be kissed by him.
Again.
And again.
She closed her eyes and dropped her head back. She had tried so hard for so long to pretend she didn’t care about him. He damn sure hadn’t tried to get her back. Hadn’t even called. Her father had insisted that was all the proof Bree needed that Patrick didn’t care and certainly didn’t deserve her. She belonged with her people. She should make her and her child’s life here…where they belonged. She allowed her father to do exactly what she’d sworn she would never permit.
She’d pushed on with her career. She’d stayed busy raising her son. And she’d even allowed herself to get married.
Big fat mistake.
But she’d gone for it.
Seeing Patrick again. Being with his mother even if only for a brief lunch reminded Bree of all she’d walked away from. Of all she’d deprived her son of having. Not once had Bree considered how her decision would impact Nora, Patrick’s only family. Or Peter, for that matter, where a paternal grandparent was concerned. He had a whole other family and she had kept him from that part of his life. But she’d been so young, so scared.
She couldn’t keep pretending that life would go back to the way it was. Pretending Patrick didn’t exist or matter was no longer feasible. She simply couldn’t do it any longer.
He’d kissed her. He still had feelings for her just as her sister had said. But any feelings he had left would vanish the instant he learned how she had deceived him. He would hate her.
This was no little thing.
“Oh, by the way, Patrick, you have a son?” His age? “Oh, he’s seven years old.”
Bree groaned.
This was going to be bad.
Peter would be thrilled to have a father. That he was a sheriff would give him that superhero persona he longed for in a male authority figure.
No—in a father. That was what Peter wanted more than anything. A father.
His father.
“Not good. Not good.”
Bree scanned the cliff dwelling and the mountains in the distance one last time. There was an emptiness here that mirrored her emotions. She had to find a way to fill that gaping hole.
For her son.
For her.
But what would she lose in the process?
“Just go to work, Bree.” There was nothing she could do about any of it this morning.
She trudged back to the SUV. Borrowing trouble wasn’t her style. Taking this one step at a time was the key. Talk to her sister. Talk to Peter. Then present the facts to Patrick.
Logical. Rational. Just like her police work. Analyze the situation, present the facts, form a conclusion and take action.
Simple.
“Right.”
She reached for the driver’s-side door of the SUV and the hair on the back of her neck lifted.
Bree whirled around, her hand instinctively re-settled on the butt of her weapon. Her heart rate rushed into rapid fire. She searched the terrain, looking for whatever had set her instincts on point.
She hadn’t felt that creepy “being watched” sensation since the day before yesterday. But that sensation was exactly what she was experiencing right now.
As if someone was hiding out there, watching her…waiting for the right moment.
For what?
To do to her what someone had done to Julie Grainger?
The thumping in her chest sped up.
By God, she wasn’t going to make it easy.
She checked the interior of the SUV since she hadn’t locked it, then climbed in. Keeping an eye on her surroundings, she started the engine and did a one-eighty turnabout.
For the first time in her career she wondered if Patrick was right. Maybe she did take too many chances while ignoring the danger. Otherwise she wouldn’t be out here in the middle of nowhere alone knowing that someone was watching her.
It was real. She knew it was. Her vandalized SUV proved that. The car that threatened her with its aggressive driving could have been coincidence.
But not the vandalism.
Yet, she didn’t listen.
She pretended the threat didn’t exist.
The same way she’d pretended Patrick didn’t for all these years.
And now that was coming back to haunt her. How long before her determination to prove she wasn’t afraid of any kind of challenge also came back to haunt her?
FIVE O’CLOCK.
Patrick stared at his phone. He hadn’t called Bree today. She damned sure hadn’t called him. He’d been playing catch-up all day at the office. Running a sheriff’s department wasn’t a duty that could be ignored. It was a constant balancing act between the police work and the political side of the job.
The political side was something he could live without but it went with the territory.
His personal life…that was something he’d ignored far too long.
Spending time with Bree again made him all too aware of that seriously neglected aspect of his life.
How in hell could they get along if she was going to be so haphazard with her safety? He couldn’t pretend not to be aware of the risks she took. She was in law enforcement. Danger went with the territory.
Why couldn’t she understand that he wasn’t attempting to control her life? He was trying to protect her.
Because he cared.
Far more deeply than he wanted to admit.
But he wasn’t so sure she felt the same way. He’d noticed tiny reactions when they were together. But not the kind of reactions he felt whenever she was near. Not that he could see, anyway.
If, major if, she still had feelings for him, maybe they could start over. Begin back at square one and get to know each other all over again. They could adjust. He could try harder not to smother her.
That was what she had accused him of. She’d sworn that no man would ever control her life the way her father, although she loved him, had controlled her mother’s. And he’d done nothing. Just let her walk away. For the first four of five months he’d been certain she would come back. But she hadn’t. Then he’d convinced himself it was too late. After that it had been easier not to look back.
Was that why she was single again? Had her husband attempted too much control?
Patrick had never met a woman with a more determined spirit than Bree. Well, maybe his mother was a close match. She’d certainly never allowed a man to control her life, not even Patrick. His father had passed away when he was a kid and his mother had been making it on her own ever since.
But he didn’t want Bree to be alone the way his mother was. He’d watched when Nora thought he wasn’t looking and he recognized the loneliness.
Truth was, he didn’t want to end up alone either. Time had already proven that he was a one-woman man. No one else had made him feel the way Bree did. He’d even worked hard at a short-term relationship or two. But he just hadn’t experienced that magic with anyone else. He was approaching forty. The time to change course was running short.
Only one way to fix this.
He picked up the phone and called Bree’s cell. The worst she could do was say no.
She answered and for a moment he couldn’t speak. He didn’t want her to say no.
“Hello? Patrick?”
She’d recogniz
ed his number on her caller ID. “Bree.” Suck it up, buddy. “I think it’s time we cleared up a few things.” Too damned demanding. “I mean…mended some fences.” Take a breath. “If you’re not busy I’d like to take you to dinner tonight. I mean…if you’re available. You do have to eat.”
Lame, Patrick. Damned lame.
The silence on the other end of the line had his gut in knots.
“Okay.”
Relief surged through him. “Great. So I’ll pick you up at seven?”
“Seven,” she agreed.
When they’d said their goodbyes, Patrick closed his cell and leaned back in his chair.
He blew out a big, relieved breath.
“Sheriff?”
Patrick’s head came up. His assistant loitered in the door. “Yeah, Clayton?”
“I have some information you might find useful.”
Confusion furrowed Patrick’s brow. He motioned for his assistant to come on in and have a seat. “What sort of information?”
Clayton closed the door behind him, crossed the room and took a seat in front of Patrick’s desk. “About Detective Hunter.”
Well, hell. How long had the man been standing there listening? When Patrick shot him an accusatory look his assistant seemed to get the point.
“Yes,” Clayton admitted, “I overheard your phone call.”
When Patrick would have dressed him down for eavesdropping, Clayton held up a hand and insisted, “Hear me out.”
At this point, what did Patrick have to lose? His assistant was already eyeball-deep in his personal business.
“I was talking to the receptionist over at TPD.”
Great, now the world would know. Patrick rolled his eyes.
“About a report we need from one of their robbery detectives,” Clayton said, evidently reading Patrick’s mind.
Patrick motioned for him to get on with it.
“Well, according to Mary Jane, the receptionist,” he clarified, “Bree’s ex-husband was a real piece of work. A total scumbag.”
“Explain,” Patrick ordered, tension radiating with rapid fire speed.
“His name is Jackson Raintree. He’s a bully, a heavy drinker and, again, according to Mary Jane, he roughed Bree up a couple of times during the final days of their relationship.”
Patrick sat up straighter. “The bastard hit her?” Fury roared through him.
Clayton nodded. “Mary Jane also said that Bree was afraid his abuse might turn to her son. That was the biggest reason she ended the marriage ASAP after the fool roughed her up.”
“Wait, wait, wait.” Patrick waved his hands back and forth. “Son? Bree has a son?” This was the first he’d heard of that. Damn. She’d had a kid with this bastard. Why hadn’t she mentioned having a kid?
Clayton nodded. “I don’t know exactly how old he is, but he goes to school.”
Bree had married the guy before Patrick moved to Kenner City to go after the position of sheriff. That was six years ago. For all he knew they could have been together awhile before that. Added up, he supposed. If they had the kid early on in the relationship he would be school-age now. Since her husband’s name hadn’t been Peter, maybe that was the kid’s name.
“Anyway, so take it slow, Sheriff,” Clayton advised with a look that said you’d better listen up. “She’s had a rocky go of it in the relationship arena.”
“Thank you, Dr. Phil,” Patrick patronized. He pushed to his feet. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have places to go.”
“Wear that blue shirt all the ladies in the office like so much,” Clayton called after him.
Right. Like he was going to worry about what the ladies liked.
This was Bree. He didn’t have to impress her with fashion.
Tonight would be about getting to know each other again. And moving forward.
It was a good plan.
“TABITHA, you’re really cutting it close.” Bree rubbed at her forehead. She had a major headache brewing. “I know. I know. Just drive carefully.”
Six-thirty.
Bree reminded herself to breathe.
Patrick would be here in thirty minutes and Peter was still here.
“Oh, God.”
Bree left the kitchen and went in search of her son. He was curled up on his bed playing a video game.
“You ready to go?”
“Uh-huh,” he said as he simultaneously nodded without taking his eyes off the small screen of the handheld game player.
His backpack was on the bed beside him. He hadn’t bothered taking off his shoes. His jacket was close by. He was ready.
But Tabitha wasn’t. Layla had run out of gas coming home from a school club meeting.
Roy was out of town with work.
There was no one else to call. Her father couldn’t drive anymore. Rarely even left the house.
Of course Layla couldn’t be left on the side of the road with an empty gas tank.
Dear Lord.
“Breathe.”
Unexpected things came up. Tabitha would get here. She’d already put the gas in Layla’s car. She was on her way. It was cool.
Bree walked through the kitchen and living room and looked for signs of her son. Games, books, toys. She’d put everything away.
Like he didn’t exist.
She stopped in the middle of the living room and looked around.
“This is ridiculous.”
What was she doing?
She would tell Patrick. He deserved to know. More than that, Peter deserved to know. So did Nora.
Just not tonight.
She needed a plan. Going about this the right way was extremely important for all concerned. There were many issues she and Patrick had to resolve before this thing went any further.
Her reasons for keeping Peter a secret in the beginning had been solid. Granted her father had had a heavy hand in the decision. But she had respected him, still did.
Even if he was the one to encourage her to marry Big Jack. Bree stopped. Closed her eyes. Her father wasn’t responsible for her decisions. True, she had been vulnerable at the time, but, ultimately, she had made the decision. Jack fooled them all.
This was her mess to straighten out. Not her father’s. Not even Jack’s. She’d heard rumors of his bad-boy reputation before they’d married. But he’d worked overtime wooing her and she’d fallen for it. He hadn’t been the answer to her needs or her son’s.
The sound of gravel crunching beneath tires signaled that Tabitha had finally made it.
Thank God.
Bree grabbed her sweater and headed for the door. “Come on, sweetie. Your aunt Tabitha is here. You have to get going.”
“Coming!” came the answering shout.
Bree felt weak with relief as she opened the door. “Boy, you about gave me a nervous—” Her brain registered what her eyes saw and her mouth snapped shut.
Tabitha wasn’t climbing the steps to Bree’s porch. Her minivan was just turning into the drive.
Patrick paused on the top step, glanced back at Tabitha’s van then turned a questioning gaze on Bree. He wore a blue shirt that made his eyes look even more startlingly blue. “I’m early, I know, but—”
“Who are you?” Peter ducked under Bree’s arm and bounded onto the porch.
Bree’s heart nearly stopped.
Patrick stared at the boy. He wouldn’t know his name or his age, but he would know his own eyes.
“I’m Peter.” He pointed to Bree. “Are you here to see my mom?”
“Come inside, son.” Bree was shocked that her voice was steady. She’d gone numb all over. Her legs were barely holding her upright.
Peter looked from Patrick to Bree. “But Aunt Tabitha’s here.”
Bree managed a stiff nod. “Right. Get your things.”
Peter rushed through the doorway via the same route beneath her arm. She’d kept it planted in the door to ensure she remained vertical.
“Is everything all right, Bree?” Tabitha stood at the b
ottom of the steps. She glanced at Patrick. The worry etched across her face told Bree she was torn between jumping to her sister’s defense and taking Peter and running.
“You’ll be late for your movie,” Bree told her. “Things are fine here.”
Peter burst past Bree and jumped off the porch. “Bye, Mom! Bye, mister!”
Tabitha didn’t move. She stared at Bree, uncertain what to do.
Bree gestured for her to go. The numbness had abruptly been replaced by staggering emotions she couldn’t begin to label. She didn’t trust her voice enough to utter a single word.
Tabitha looked back twice before climbing into her van and driving away. Peter waved with both hands. He was completely innocent and oblivious to the tension squeezing the very air from Bree’s lungs.
When the van’s taillights were out of sight, Bree dared to meet the gaze cutting a hole straight through her heart.
“When did you plan to tell me?”
Patrick’s face was hard. Bree had never seen that cold, icy look in his eyes.
“When he graduated from high school?” he demanded.
This was the moment she had dreaded, feared, for nearly eight years. Since the night Peter was born she had mulled over all the things she could or should say to Patrick when the time was right.
None of it would make a difference now.
Nothing she said was going to take that look off his face…or the mixture of disappointment and derision from his eyes.
This wasn’t the beginning…it was the end.
Chapter Eight
Patrick settled onto the top step. Standing was no longer possible.
He had a son.
He didn’t have to ask the boy’s age any more than he had to ask who his father was.
Patrick had stared straight into the same blue eyes he saw in the mirror each morning.
Peter. His son’s name was Peter.
Bree had kept this secret for…
Damn. Eight years.
Bree sat down next to him. She braced her arms on her knees. “At the time I thought it was the right thing to do.”
Patrick closed his eyes. How could she have ever, ever thought this was the right thing to do?
“I was young. We…” She inhaled a deep, shaky breath. “You and I had parted on bad terms. My father didn’t want me involved with…you.”