She took the knife from its rack, telling herself her hands weren’t shaking.
At last, everyone knew the whole truth. She wished she knew how that made her feel. She wished she knew how it would make her son feel once the shock subsided.
She wished she knew how Trent felt.
“What in the name of merciful heaven are you doing with that butcher knife?”
Floretha’s voice startled her. The knife clattered to the counter.
“Making—” Her voice broke. She paused and willed herself to composure. “Making a salad.”
Floretha took her hand and led her away from the counter. “Heavenly days, child, you put that knife away right this minute. The state you’re in, you’ll find yourself without a finger. And wouldn’t you be in a fix then?”
The gentle hand on her arm, the worried tone of the familiar voice were all it took to break her down. She flung her arms around the fragile old woman and held on for dear life. “Oh, Floretha, what a fix I’m in already.”
“There, now, child,” Floretha whispered. “It’s going to be all right. It’s all on the mend now. You can take old Floretha’s word for that. You hear me, child?”
And like a child, Harper wept until the only emotions remaining were confusion and exhaustion.
Then she sat in one of the old kitchen chairs that had heard so many of her troubles over the years and spilled her heart one more time while Floretha finished dinner.
“What if he hates me, Floretha?” The anguish on her son’s face when he’d confronted her filled her mind again, hurting her the way only a parent can hurt.
“That boy’s never going to hate his mama. He might not be too cheerful for a while. And he might have a grudge or two against his father. But he’ll always love his mama.”
“But now he thinks I’m…” Harper struggled, remembering the contempt in her son’s eyes when she’d said there had been someone else before Trent. “When I told him I believed, until he was born, that he was someone else’s son, that Trent believed I’d tried to dupe him…Oh, Floretha, the look in his eyes…”
Floretha sighed and shook her head. “You didn’t tell him everything, then? You didn’t tell him the way it was?”
“I couldn’t.” The truth was, Harper had been able to tell only one person in her life what had happened between her and Red Jannik. She’d never been able to call it by its name. “How can I tell my son I was…”
Floretha put one gnarled finger under Harper’s chin. Harper was forced to look her in the eye. “You were raped, child. The shame isn’t yours.”
Fresh tears streamed down Harper’s cheeks. “But I was wild. You know what I was like. I—”
“You were a child and that bastard raped you.” The venom in Floretha’s words startled Harper. “I’d kill him if I ever laid eyes on him again. You tell your son the whole truth or I’ll tell him myself.”
“I will. When the time is right. When he’s had time to adjust.” Then another thought struck her. “If he doesn’t leave first. He left once before. What if he leaves again?”
“He came back before. He’ll come back again.”
If there was a place to come back to. Harper’s head began to throb. “I know he hates me.”
Floretha gave her a long, solemn look. “Trent?”
Harper nodded and smeared away another tear. “He wouldn’t even listen when I tried to explain.”
“Well, he’s sure stirred up a hornet’s nest for somebody who doesn’t even know all the facts. I’ll say that for him.” The old woman shook her head, turned back to the counter and took a loud whack at a cucumber. “Let it go, child. You’ve done fine without him all these years. You’ll do fine without him again.”
Harper tried to take solace in the fact that Floretha was always right.
IT WAS PAST MIDNIGHT, but Dillon didn’t go inside. He wouldn’t be able to sleep. Angie hadn’t returned. Where was she?
She didn’t have to come back for her clothes. She could buy anything she needed. She probably had a whole apartment full of things in Charlotte. She would never return to Weddington Farms because he was a fool.
He had intended to ask her to marry him. Twice the words had trembled on his lips before Trent had walked up and shattered his world.
He couldn’t understand why knowing Trent was his father should have coldcocked him emotionally. If his father had to turn up, Dillon should have been pleased he was someone like Trent. He couldn’t really blame Trent for leaving, either. Dillon was honest enough to admit he’d have left Evelyn to rot in hell if he’d thought she was trying to saddle him with another man’s child. So why was he so angry and why had he tried to take it out on Angie?
“Is she back yet?” It was Harper.
“No.”
Harper handed him a mug of steaming coffee.
“What did you say to her?”
“Something pretty awful.”
“Oh, Dillon.”
“I know. I was trying to hurt that bastard Trent, but I hurt her instead.”
“Dillon, I’ve told you he didn’t know about you.”
“I know, dammit! I know!” Dillon cursed as he stumbled down the steps into the yard. Now the bastard was coming between him and his mother. He couldn’t let that happen. Harper’s love had been the rock that had gotten him through many of life’s tough moments.
He looked up at the big house. Welcoming light poured from the windows, and he thought of all the years he’d spent here, of all the years he’d spent hoping to come back. And now Trent’s presence threatened to drive them all away again.
“You might as well come inside,” Harper said. “If she’s upset enough to stay out this late, I don’t imagine she’ll want to talk to you when she gets back.”
“She’s not coming back.” Dillon turned to face his mother. “I love her, but I drove her away.”
“I did that once myself.”
Dillon climbed the stairs and gave his mother a hug. “Screwing up seems to run in the family.”
“Why don’t you go to bed. Maybe tomorrow you can—”
“I can’t go to bed without knowing what’s happened to Angie. I’m going to look for her.”
“Where?”
“Everywhere.”
But there weren’t many places to look, and he didn’t find Angie in any of them. He had to face it She was gone.
The few hours he managed to sleep after dragging himself back to the house didn’t help his mood the next day. He still felt angry and in turmoil. Add to that the guilt he felt over the way he’d treated Angie and he figured the biggest favor he could do the world was steer clear of everyone. He managed to keep to himself until it was time to pick up Christine.
All the way home, he tried to think of the right way to tell her that Angie wouldn’t be coming back. But she had thrilling news—she’d been chosen to compete in the riding championship—and he didn’t have it in his heart to spoil her excitement.
Christine jumped out of the truck the minute it stopped in front of the house.
“Where are you going so fast?” Dillon asked.
“I’ve got to tell Angie.”
His spirits plummeted even lower. “Christine, wait—”
But she didn’t even slow down.
Dillon followed her, dreading the scene that was certain to follow. Sure enough, when he walked into the foyer, Floretha was speaking softly, with her hand on Christine’s head. The little girl’s schoolbag was on the floor. Pencils, erasers and jelly bears were scattered over the polished floor.
“Miss Angie’s gone, sweetheart,” Floretha was saying. “She called this morning to ask me to pack up her things.”
Christine jerked away from the old woman’s comforting touch and dashed up the stairs. Doors slammed overhead and Dillon saw Floretha’s reproachful glance sweep in his direction.
“I know,” he said. “I screwed up again, didn’t I?”
Floretha shook her head. “Come with me, young man. We’l
l get you a tall glass of Floretha’s lemonade to take to that child. Then you talk to that young’un. You hear me?”
But when he got upstairs with the lemonade and plate of cookies Floretha insisted would soothe Christine, he couldn’t find her. He wasn’t alarmed when he didn’t find her right away. She’d hidden before—a dozen times in the first month after she arrived at Weddington Farms. But she hadn’t run away in at least a month and Dillon had taken that as a good sign.
Fear began to prickle his scalp when he didn’t find her in her room, or in the barn with Eddie. What if she ran off too far? What if she got lost? Or hurt?
Finally, he found her in the empty closet in Angie’s room. Relieved, he sat down on the floor by the door. Christine huddled back in the corner, clutching Mrs. Stuart.
“I miss her, too,” he said.
“Why did she go?”
“She had things to do.”
“Couldn’t she do them here?”
“I don’t think so.”
“I could help her. Floretha and Grandma Harper, too.” She clung more fiercely to her doll. “Mrs. Stuart says Angie went away because you were mad at her and that man. She says you don’t like him. She says you made him go away.”
Mrs. Stuart had him there. Every word was true.
“I wasn’t mad at Angie. I was upset at Mr. Trent. I don’t want him to be my father. You know, like you didn’t me to be your father.”
Christine didn’t say anything for a minute. “Mrs. Stuart says she doesn’t mind you being my daddy. Except when you shout. It means we’re going to move again.”
Christine had never told him that before, but now he understood. Evelyn was forever discarding lovers and moving on to the next one, all of it no doubt preceded by a shouting match.
“Sometimes people can’t help arguing, but it doesn’t mean they stop loving each other. And it doesn’t mean they’re going to leave you.”
“Angie left.”
“She’s gone to be with her stepfather.”
“She’d come back if you asked her. If you told her you weren’t mad at that man anymore.”
Could it really be that simple? Trent’s face came into his mind, and Dillon knew it was impossible for him to banish years of anger and bitterness that easily. He looked into his daughter’s eyes and knew he couldn’t tell her that. “I’ll make a deal with you. You come down to dinner and I’ll call Angie in a few days.”
Christine hesitated.
“Don’t you trust me?”
By way of reply, Christine jumped up and threw her arms around his neck.
Dillon felt his eyes tearing up. He had waited so long for Christine to show him even the smallest bit of affection. The intensity of the hug was unexpected and nearly overwhelming.
He had almost willed his tears away when he realized that he owed it all to Angie. And she was gone.
HARPER STARED at the phone message and knew she didn’t have the emotional energy for another conversation with Burton Rust. He was offering to extend her loan, with generous terms. He must’ve received her notice that Bill Mott’s bank would now be handling WedTech’s payroll.
“He’ll just have to get over it,” she said, her voice lifeless and weary.
Dessie stood in her open office door, hands on hips. “You gonna tell me what’s going on or am I gonna have to start believing the gossips in this town?”
Gossips. Harper couldn’t deal with that, either. Gossips. How could they possibly know anything? “Leave it alone, Dessie.”
Harper didn’t know how to get this mental fog to lift. Things were so complicated, and there seemed to be no answers that didn’t destroy somebody. The bank in Clover might get Burton Rust off her back, but the debts weren’t going to disappear. Selling the farm would break Dillon’s heart Selling to Angie could cause a rift between Harper and her son that might never be healed. Despite Floretha’s optimism, Harper worried that things would never be the same again.
The other possibility was equally hard to consider. She could sell WedTech. The very idea brought an ache to her heart. WedTech and its workers had been her life—her family—since Dillon had left for college.
Now, it seemed, that could be taken from her, too. And she had little will left to fight.
Maybe selling WedTech was the best solution. A bigger corporation could invest in the mill, pay better wages, offer better benefits. And she could use the money to pay off the mortgage against the farm and gave it to Dillon, debt-free. Would that keep him from drifting, help him find the emotional center he didn’t even know he was lacking? What if she left Collins? What if…
What if there was nothing to keep her from going to Trent?
She snatched her thoughts back, unwilling to go to that place in her mind. She realized Dessie still stood in her doorway, staring and shaking her head.
“It’s true, isn’t it?”
“What’s true, Dessie?”
“They say some man came to the farm this weekend, beat you up because of some old Mafia debt of Sam’s. That’s it, isn’t it? That’s who this Yankee woman is, isn’t it? I saw that kind of thing on a made-for-TV movie once, and that poor woman looked like you. Whipped.”
For the first time in days, Harper laughed out loud, drawing an offended look from her office manager. She was still laughing when Angie appeared on the other side of her glass office wall. Harper’s laughter died in her throat.
“Dessie, I think I have an appointment,” she said.
“An appointment? You didn’t tell me—” She saw the younger woman then, took in her expensive suit and gave Harper an I-told-you-so look. “I’ll be right outside.”
Dessie stepped around Angie without taking her eyes off her, then closed the door on her way out.
Harper gestured to a seat. It seemed to her that Angie thought about it a long time before sitting.
“I think my stepfather is still in love with you,” she said as straightforwardly as she said most everything.
Harper wanted to smile but found it impossible. To the young, it must seem that simple. She knew better. Trent might have strong feelings for her, yet she doubted if any of their problems could be overcome by something as fragile and uncertain as love.
But she didn’t want to talk about Trent, especially not to his stepdaughter.
“And I think my son is in love with you.” She didn’t like acknowledging that, either. But the fact that he still had his mind on Angie after all that had happened revealed just how deep his feelings for her must be.
Angie frowned and looked into her lap. Harper noted that the younger woman’s hands were twisting, restless—the first real sign of vulnerability she’d ever seen in her. Then she thought about the outpouring of tenderness Angie had always shown for Christine, the instinctive way she’d always understood the little girl’s insecurities. What, she wondered now, must that say about Angie’s own childhood?
“I thought he might be,” Angie said. “Now, I don’t know. Whatever he feels isn’t strong enough to make him forget his doubts or his anger.”
Harper thought about how closely Angie’s fears echoed her own. She had no hope to offer the young woman.
“We’re both hurt,” Angie said, and Harper heard the unspoken reproach. “We both feel betrayed. I guess I always knew Dad didn’t love my mother. But I never understood why. Now I think I do.”
Harper felt the swell of emotions that had sat so close to the surface since the weekend. She had robbed so many innocent people of what should have been theirs. Love and security. A legacy of selfishness and immaturity, that’s what she was passing on to all the people she loved most. And now, to this fine young woman, as well.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “If I could do anything to right all the wrongs, I would.”
Angie studied her and finally said, “I believe that.”
“Thank you.”
As if suddenly realizing she had to regain command of herself, Angie lay her hands flat in her lap and drew a deep brea
th. “None of that is why I’m here. I’m withdrawing my offer for the farm.”
Relief began a slow trickle through Harper’s tense muscles. Angie was right, of course. This made it all so simple. Harper could sell the mill, give the farm to Dillon. No complications. No loose threads to keep everyone tied up in knots for years to come. Without Angie’s money to complicate things, Dillon could figure things out for himself. As far as mother and son were concerned, who knew—
But no, that still left Trent. Trent could leave town now, of course, but he would still be there, in the back of everyone’s mind. Doubly so if anything came of this relationship between Dillon and Angie.
Oh, lord, the repercussions would never end.
“You’re probably right,” she said. “It would make everything simpler.”
Angie stood and put out her hand. Harper stood, too, and shook hands. Angie turned to leave, but stopped at the door and looked back.
“He’s in Camden,” she said. “At The Downs.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
TRENT KEPT STARING at his packed bag, wondering why he and Angie had hung around Camden as long as they had. What had they hoped would happen? he wondered. What miracle had they expected to set this mess right?
Of course, he supposed some form of miracle was taking place. As much as all these revelations had hurt Angie, as distant as she had been these past few days, he’d seen a change in her last night.
They’d driven into Georgia to look at some property, then returned to Camden. Angie had unfinished business here, he knew. Trent supposed he had, too. He hoped Angie was better at figuring out how to handle hers than he was.
They drove mostly in silence. When either of them spoke, it was about the property. Angie wasn’t enthusiastic, although it met all the criteria she’d set up. But that was before Weddington Farms.
Before Dillon Winthrop.
“Do you really love him?” he’d said, at last finding the courage to begin clearing away the debris of his past.
“Does it really matter anymore?”
The resignation in her voice tore at his heart. He tried again. “It seems to me, if this mess between his mother and me proves anything, it shows that running out on what you feel doesn’t solve a damn thing.”
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