Dark Hearts

by Sharon Sala

  Glen Sherman was asking everyone who walked past him if they would give him an interview, but no one was talking.

  Trey and Sam were the last to exit, and Trey saw Sherman heading straight for him just as his phone rang. He spoke briefly to the caller. “I’m on my way,” he said, and then grabbed Sam’s arm. “I’ve got an emergency. I’ll talk to you later.”

  Sam nodded.

  Glen Sherman frowned. “Is there anything either one of you would like to say?” he asked.

  Sam paused. “I guess there’s one thing that was said in the meeting that needs to be repeated.”

  Sherman pressed a button on his cell phone to record the statement, and then held it close to Sam. “Go ahead,” he said.

  “We’ll find out the truth whether someone helps us or not, and when we do, whoever is keeping secrets to protect the killer is going to wind up in prison for aiding and abetting a murderer.”

  “Thank you,” Glen said, and then he added, “You know, Betsy was real proud of you. She talked about all her kids all the time, but she had a special place in her heart for you, I think.”

  Sam was shocked, listening in disbelief as Glen continued.

  “She always said you were most like Justin, and you know how much she loved your daddy. She said you took on more burdens than you needed to in an effort to protect everyone you loved. Anyway...thanks for the statement.” With that, he hurried back toward the newspaper office.

  Sam watched him go, trying to find the impetus to move.

  * * *

  Lainey drove home in a daze, barely aware of the tiny snowflakes that were beginning to fall. She’d dropped the diaries in the officer’s hands and left City Hall on the run, pushing her way through the crowd outside, ignoring their comments and stares. Right now it hurt to breathe, and tears kept blurring her vision.

  He’d finally come home—ten years late, but he was here. Sam. Her Sam. He’d gone away a boy and come home some kind of warrior. He scared her, and at the same time she thought she would die from the pain of wanting him. Damn him to hell and back for quitting her like he did. All these years she’d thought she was over him, and right now she felt as if she’d suffered a beating.

  The snow was falling a little heavier by the time she got home. She drove into the garage, and then went inside, upping the thermostat as she went to her room to change. She wanted warmer clothing, and turned on the light in her closet so she could see to find what she wanted from the cedar chest.

  She sorted through the folded sweaters and winter slacks until she found the sweatshirt she was looking for and began to pull it out. But it was hung up on something, and she stopped before it made a hole in the fabric. The moment she realized it was caught on the corner of a picture frame, her heart sank. She knew which picture it was and remembered all too well packing it away. It was the height of irony that this would happen today of all days.

  She pulled it out and stared.

  It was a picture of her and Sam taken only days before he’d left for boot camp. They had been on a picnic down at the family pond with Trey and Dallas. She could still hear Dallas’s giggles as she kept telling Sam to stand still. As usual, he had ignored what she said and swooped Lainey up into his arms just as the picture was snapped. Lainey’s feet were up, her head was falling back against his arm and she was reaching for him with one hand, thinking he was going to drop her. And she was laughing.

  Lainey kept staring at her face, remembering the joy. Then she noticed Sam’s expression, and it broke her heart. He was looking at her with so much love.

  Her heart was pounding now, and it hurt to even breathe.

  Damn that war.

  Damn Sam Jakes for not trusting her love.

  She rolled over on her side, pulling the shirt and the photo against her like a pillow, and cried herself to sleep.

  * * *

  The killer was anxious and trying to hide it. Knowing that the police were slowly putting clues together was nerve-racking, and learning about Billie Conway’s diaries had been a shocker. Definitely not something he had expected or prepared for. His only saving grace was that they were focused on one angle while he was coming from another. If he could just silence Trina Jakes, his troubles would be over, and he had an idea for how to make that happen.

  * * *

  Sam stepped out of the hospital elevator and into the lobby with a heavy heart. It was getting dark, and the snow was falling faster now. It was close to Thanksgiving, but a little early for this kind of weather.

  Trina was no better, but she was also no worse.

  He’d stood at her bedside watching her breathe until he couldn’t take it any longer, and seeing the way Lee was with her made him realize something else. Lee was there regardless of the consequences of her condition. He needed to be with her. He needed to know in his heart that he was doing all he could to give her strength and courage to fight her way back to them, while he had never given Lainey that chance.

  When he had returned stateside, he’d been so hurt in mind and body that he had mentally crawled into a shell. He’d lied to himself, believing no one would want anything to do with him. It wasn’t so much that he’d feared she would be disgusted by his wounds. It was more about how disgusted he had been with himself. And now here they were, ten years later, and because of him, they were still in limbo.

  He walked out into the snow, heading for his car. He hadn’t eaten any dinner, but he wasn’t hungry, either. All he wanted was a shower and a bed. Maybe he could sleep away some of this heartache.

  The drive to the motel was brief. He pulled around back, parking beneath one of the security lights, and when he got out, the snow swirled around him like bugs swarming beneath a streetlight. He ducked his head and made a run for the door. Once inside his room, he shed his hat and coat, kicked off his boots, got his handgun from the suitcase and stretched out on the bed. He laid his phone on his belly and turned on the television, and within minutes he had fallen asleep.

  * * *

  “What’s Mama doing?”

  Sam frowned at his little brother. “Shh. She’ll hear us.”

  Trey leaned closer to Sam’s ear and whispered, “But what’s she doing?”

  Sam was watching their mama put two boxes up on the top shelf in her closet. He knew she was hiding their Christmas presents. He’d found out a couple of years ago that Mom and Dad were really Santa, but Trey was younger and still believed, so he wasn’t going to tell.

  They watched her step away from the closet, and when she shut the door it squeaked loudly. The boys jumped at the unexpected noise, and then, fearing they had been found out, they hightailed it back to their room and into bed. They heard her coming down the hall, and when she peeked in on them moments later they were bunched up beneath the covers in their usual places, seemingly dead to the world.

  * * *

  A loud squeak sounded outside Sam’s motel room, and he sat up with a jerk and grabbed his gun, ready to shoot whoever was coming in the door. And then he realized the squeak was from the wheels of someone’s suitcase being rolled past his room. It was five minutes after 4:00 a.m., and he’d come close to shooting someone.

  “Son of a bitch,” he muttered, then set the gun aside and shoved his hands through his hair. He heard the heating unit come on and realized the room was chilly, so he got out of bed, turned up the heat a little and looked out to see if it was still snowing, which it wasn’t, and then headed for the bathroom.

  When he came back, he took off his jeans and shirt and got between the covers. He tried to go back to sleep, but he couldn’t get the dream out of his head and tried to remember what she’d hidden. He thought it was new cowboy boots for the both of them but wasn’t sure. He hadn’t thought of that night in years and chalked it up to coming back to Mystic. That was resurrecting all kinds of memories.

/>   He rolled onto his side and pulled the covers up over his shoulders and closed his eyes. And as he did, he remembered the expression he’d seen on Lainey’s face in the courtroom. She hated him. He didn’t blame her. But he had to talk to her. Tomorrow. He would do it tomorrow. No, it was already tomorrow. He didn’t know where she lived, but that was no problem. He found people for a living. He could surely find her, too.

  * * *

  It was after nine when Sam woke up again. Someone slammed the door in the room next door, and he sat straight up in bed with the gun in his hand.

  “Shit,” he muttered and laid the gun on the side table as he got out of bed.

  The motel bathroom was small, but the lights over the vanity were bright enough to light up Broadway. He stripped, and then paused and stared at himself, turning to the right and then back to the left, eyeing the puckered burn scars on his back and down the backs of his legs. Then he turned to face the mirror and looked again, eyeing the burns across his belly and down the fronts of his legs to just below the knees. He used to be disgusted at the sight. It had taken years for him to appreciate the simple fact of still being alive when so many of his buddies were not.

  He showered quickly and shaved just as fast. Thirty minutes later he was dressed and heading out the door. The wind was still sharp, and he held on to the Stetson with one hand as he headed for his SUV. He got a text from Trey as he was starting the engine and quickly put the car in Park.

  Trina is the same. Dallas is home sick and I’m transporting a prisoner from here to County. Be back after noon.

  Sam texted him back.

  Where does Lainey Pickett live?

  Where she always did.

  Thanks. Safe trip.

  Sam sat there looking at the words while a wash of emotion swept over him.

  She was right where he’d left her.

  Then he sent Trey one last text.

  Is she married?

  No.

  He didn’t know he’d been holding his breath until he saw the answer, then he let himself breathe and headed to Charlie’s to eat breakfast.

  * * *

  Lainey woke up around midnight on the floor of her closet with a sweatshirt wadded up under her head and Sam’s picture clutched against her chest. She rolled over with a groan, and then squinted against the light shining down in her eyes.

  I fell asleep in the closet just from seeing Sam Jakes? What the hell will happen to me if I ever talk to him again?

  Disgusted with herself for falling apart, she returned the picture to the cedar chest, kept the sweatshirt and headed for the bathroom.

  When she came out, she went through the house locking doors and pulling draperies closed, then turned up the heat before going into the kitchen.

  It was too early for coffee and too late for supper, but her belly was grumbling and she was already in trouble with her doctor because she’d gotten too thin. The chemo had made her sick, but that regimen was over. At this moment she was cancer-free. She still had regular checkups, and they would have to keep close watch for the next five years to make sure she didn’t have a recurrence, but so be it. She’d gotten through all of this and refused to borrow trouble.

  She poured a glass of milk, cut herself a generous slice of poppy-seed cake with cream-cheese frosting that she’d made last week and carried everything to the living room. After turning on the television, she scanned through the channels until she found a show about Marie Antoinette on the History Channel and decided it fit her mood. Off with their heads. Let them eat cake.

  Poor Marie.

  Poor Lainey, but at least she had cake.

  With sweets in her tummy and her mood somewhat calmer, she carried her dishes to the kitchen then turned out lights on the way back to her bedroom. She switched her clothes for a nightgown and crawled into bed.

  The moment she closed her eyes she saw Sam’s face. She didn’t know the man she’d seen in City Hall. He was bigger and gruff and angry. The anger she understood. It was because of Betsy. But he wasn’t the hurt and broken man she’d last seen in that hospital bed. She didn’t know this man, but he scared her.

  She fell asleep with tears on her cheeks and woke up to daylight and a large resounding crash from somewhere outside. She jumped out of bed and raced to the window to look out. One pickup was in a ditch in front of her house, and another one was out in the pasture beside it.

  Dressing quickly, she ran into the living room, dropped her phone into her old coat and went out the door, pulling on gloves as she went.

  The air was cold and there was an inch of snow on the ground, but the wind from last night was gone.

  She recognized the drivers of the vehicles as two of her neighbors. Both were already out of their vehicles as she ran up the drive.

  “Are you guys okay?” she yelled.

  “I think so,” Bud Decker said.

  “Yeah, I’m okay,” Larry Kinney yelled back.

  She eyed them closely. Both men had a penchant for making homemade wine and imbibing without caution.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  “Slick road,” Bud said.

  “No room to pass,” Larry added.

  She eyed the crushed front ends of both vehicles. Obviously they’d hit each other head-on, which meant neither one of them was telling the truth, but none of that was her concern.

  “I’ll call the sheriff,” she said.

  Their shoulders slumped.

  “Tell him we need a couple of wreckers, too,” Bud added.

  Larry pointed at his car. “Sorry about your fence.”

  She didn’t answer. She was already dialing 911.

  Six

  Two hours later the vehicles had been towed and a deputy from the county had taken Bud and Larry to jail for drunk driving, leaving Lainey with a fence to fix on her own. Her old horse, Dandy, was in the pasture somewhere, and she needed to get the fence back up before he had a chance to get out.

  She had the fence stretcher on the ground beside her and the post driver in her hand, getting ready to replace another T-post, when she paused to rest. She hadn’t begun to address the broken wire on a four-wire fence and was becoming overwhelmed with what she had left to do. Even though she was wearing gloves, her fingers were numb from the cold, and her physical strength was almost gone.

  She was at the point of tears when she heard a vehicle coming down the road, and when it began to slow down and then pulled off into her driveway and stopped, she turned to look, expecting it to be a neighbor who’d come to help.

  But it wasn’t a neighbor.

  It was Sam.

  She watched him get out, settle his hat firmly on his head and start toward her. The long stride and the way one shoulder tilted down just the tiniest bit were as familiar to her as her own face. The urge to run was huge, but she stayed her ground. This was her turf, and he was the trespasser.

  “Lainey.”

  His voice yanked a knot in her gut.

  “You’re obviously lost,” she said, then turned her back on him and went back to work.

  He stepped up beside her, slid one hand over the post driver, took it out of her hands and gently eased her aside. And she let him do it. Partly because she was shaking too hard to hold it, and partly because she wanted the fence fixed badly enough to let the devil do it if he happened to pass her way.

  “What happened?” Sam asked as he set the next T-post in place and began to pound it into the ground.

  “Bud Decker and Larry Kinney hit each other head-on. Bud went in the ditch. Larry went through my fence.”

  “Were they drunk?” Sam asked, as he set the last post and pounded it in.

  “Yes.”

  “Some things never change,” he said.

  “And some thi
ngs do,” she snapped, and grabbed hold of the broken ends of the bottom wire and began patching it back together.

  Sam picked up another wire and did the same. When they’d repaired all four wires, Lainey held them in place as he clipped them to the T-posts. When he was finished, she began putting her tools into the back of her ATV.

  “Thank you for helping. What are you doing here?”

  Sam felt her rage. “I want to talk to you.”

  She was pulling off her gloves as she turned and, for the first time since his arrival, looked him square in the face.

  “I am so sorry for what happened to Betsy and Trina,” she said, and then slapped him hard across the face. “That’s for abandoning me without a fucking word, Sam Jakes.”

  She turned on one heel, got onto the ATV and drove off toward her barn.

  Sam’s cheek was stinging from the impact, but it was nothing he didn’t deserve. He hadn’t come expecting a party. He’d come to make peace, but he couldn’t do that standing out here in the cold, so he got back in his SUV and headed for the house.

  Lainey was walking up from the barn with her head down when he got there. He could tell she was crying. Seeing the end result of his desertion was even worse than he had imagined.

  He knew she wouldn’t open the front door for him, so he followed her into the house from the back. The fact that she let him was somewhat of a relief. Since he wasn’t sure how she would react, he stopped just inside the door, feeling the warmth of the kitchen and watching as she kicked off her work boots and hung up her old coat.

  She walked past him with her chin up and tears on her cheeks. He was waiting for her to give him a sign that she would hear him out when she paused at the kitchen counter, picked up a coffee mug, then spun and threw it at his head.

  He ducked as it shattered on the wall behind him. She had another one in her hand when he took a step backward, holding up his arms in a gesture of surrender.

  “Please don’t break any more of your dishes. I came to apologize. Hear me out, and then I’ll never bother you again, if that’s what you want.”

  “If that’s what I want? Now you’re concerned with what I want? Ten fucking years later you care what I want?”