“And he was.”
“Yeah.” And Ben had never been sure that was a good thing. “She and her…friend eventually became lovers out in their cave, and she got pregnant. She knew the knowledge would kill her father, that if it didn’t initially, it would eventually as he worried himself to death about her safety and the safety of her baby. Her Hopi lover—”
“Your grandfather…” He saw the truth dawn in her widened eyes.
“—insisted that she come home with him, be his wife, live with his tribe and raise their child as one of his people. She was young, in love. And scared to death.”
“She went with him,” Christine whispered.
“Yes.”
“And his people were cruel to her, weren’t they.”
“No,” Ben said, shaking his head as he looked once again at the statue of Samuel Montford.
“She was happy with them?”
“Except for missing her family in Shelter Valley, she was very happy. She’d always intended to come back once enough time had passed to assure her father that what had happened to his first wife and son would not happen to her and her baby.”
“So what stopped her?”
“She got a fever and died. She was only twenty-four.”
“How sad!”
Yeah. And the rest of the story didn’t get any better. Because as it turned out, her father’s fears had not been as unfounded as she’d hoped. Her husband’s people might have been willing to accept a half-breed, but the rest of the world—even neighboring tribes—hadn’t been so charitable. Ben’s father had spent his entire life running from who he was—and what he wasn’t.
He’d married a white woman, had a son, but he’d been unable to live in their world, to accept the prejudices he too often came up against as an Indian in a white man’s world.
And he wanted more than he could find with his father’s people.
He’d wanted more than he could find…anywhere.
CHAPTER SIX
“SO THIS IS WHY you came to Shelter Valley,” Christine said softly, glancing from Ben to the statue standing proudly in front of them.
“Partly,” Ben said, feeling raw suddenly, as though he’d given up far more of himself than he should have. “The university played a big role in my decision, too.”
They were the wrong words to say, reminding Christine of his place in her life. Her place in his.
“Now don’t go becoming all Ms. Teacher on me again,” he said, poking her arm with his elbow.
She straightened, and her glance touched him, then skittered away. “I am your teacher.”
“I’m not arguing that point, and I promise not to pressure you to give me good grades….” He hoped a little humor would leaven the situation.
“Judging by the couple of papers you’ve already turned in, you’re going to earn those all by yourself.” She spoke seriously, apparently unaware that he’d been joking. She was looking at the ground, pushing a rock around with the toe of her sandal.
“So what’s the harm in two people who have something in common—a displaced feeling in a town where most of the permanent residents know each other—keeping company now and then?”
Though she didn’t move, he could feel her escaping him and wished he hadn’t pushed her. He had no idea why he’d even made the suggestion, since he had no desire to “keep company” with anyone. For a long time to come.
“I—”
“Tell you what,” he interrupted. “Why don’t we just let it be for now, huh?” Maybe they’d run into each other once in a while—or maybe not. “I don’t have room in my life for complications, either.”
She gave a stilted nod. He waited for her to make some excuse, to get up and leave. She didn’t. He thought about doing so himself.
“How come you chose Shelter Valley?” he asked, instead.
Hand fumbling with the ends of her shoulder-length hair, Christine answered, her voice tighter than before. “I wanted a change of pace from Boston, and this position was available, Montford has an impeccable reputation, good advancement opportunities, and here I am.”
“What about Dr. Langford?”
“I was speaking with Dr. Parsons on the phone one day after I was hired, and he happened to mention that he was looking for a psychology professor. My-I, uh, thought of Phyllis immediately. She’s had a hard time letting go of her ex-husband, and the change of scenery seemed like a good idea for her, too.”
She hadn’t met his eyes as she spoke, but at least she’d raised her head, gazing out at the park. “Besides,” she muttered, “coming out here alone seemed kind of scary. Having a f-friend along made it an adventure.”
Ben had been reading what people weren’t saying his entire life. With his father, it helped him stay a step ahead of conflict.
And there was definitely more to Christine’s story. He could feel it, could sense the gaps.
But that was fine. Her life wasn’t his business. He and Christine were no more than a teacher and student who ran across each other occasionally.
“Do you mind if I tell Becca—” Christine motioned to the statue of his great-grandfather “—about your relationship to him?”
Ben’s stomach tightened. He’d learned a long time ago to keep his family history to himself. Other than his dark hair, he didn’t carry any outward signs of his Indian heritage. Life had taught him to go with that.
“I wouldn’t even ask, except that she really seems to care about him,” she said, her eyes understanding as they finally met Ben’s. “You’d think he was her great-grandfather.”
That might be, but…
“You wouldn’t have to worry,” Christine assured him, “Becca’s wonderful, not the gossipy sort at all.”
Uncomfortable, Ben had a feeling he wasn’t the only one who’d developed the ability to read between the lines of what people said.
And because he couldn’t have her doing that, couldn’t let her know she’d read him right, he shrugged as he stood.
“Sure, tell her,” he said. “I don’t mind at all.”
But of course he did.
TORY DIDN’T RETURN to the beauty shop to pick up Phyllis. She’d told Phyllis she planned to run to the drugstore for a couple of things and come right back. Phyllis paid her bill, tried to be cordial and polite as she waved goodbye and rushed out of the shop.
Tory’s car was still in the parking space, just as they’d left it when they arrived. It was empty.
Heart beating, Phyllis glanced up and down the street. Please let her be okay.
She couldn’t see Tory anywhere.
Could Bruce really find her here? Was his influence that extensive? Christine had been convinced that Tory would be safe here. But Phyllis knew that Tory herself believed it was only a matter of time before Bruce found her.
Tory wasn’t in the drugstore. Nor was she in Weber’s. Or at the Valley Diner having a glass of iced tea.
Bruce thought Tory was dead. He wouldn’t be looking for her, would he? Unless he’d come to see Christine for some reason.
And found out who really died.
Oh. God.
Every breath a labor, Phyllis hurried up and down both sides of Main Street, searching everywhere. She’d only known her a few short weeks, but already felt as though Tory was the little sister she’d never had. In that regard, she’d stepped into Christine’s shoes as easily as if she’d worn them all her life.
Phyllis stopped abruptly as she crossed the far edge of the town square. Tory was sitting on a bench by the statue of Samuel Montford. With a man.
Tory wouldn’t sit and talk casually with a man. She’d excuse herself and move away. She’d even felt uncomfortable the other night with Will Parsons, and he was not only nonthreatening, he’d treated Tory in a gracious, welcoming way.
Yet spending an evening in his presence, with Phyllis and his wife for company, had exhausted Tory.
So why was she sitting there now? And well past the time she was supposed to be back a
t the hair-dressing salon?
Phyllis’s heart started to pound. Could the man be Bruce?
And if he was, what should she do? Make herself known? Demand that he leave Tory alone?
Or would she be better able to help Tory if the man didn’t know who she was, what she looked like?
Who was she fooling?
If Bruce had the ability to trace Tory to Shelter Valley, he’d know exactly who Phyllis was, too. Probably had an entire dossier on her.
She couldn’t let him get away with this.
She marched right up to them.
“I don’t know who you think you are, you bastard, but you touch one hair on her head and I’ll kill you myself.”
“Uh, Phyllis—”
“No, Christine! I won’t let him do this to you. I—”
“Phyllis!” The urgent note in Tory’s voice registered at about the same instant the man’s astonished and thoroughly confused expression did.
“Do what?” the man asked.
“I’d just told Phyllis on the way into town that one of the guys at the hardware store has been after me all week to go out with him. He won’t take no for an answer. I’m sure Phyllis thought you were him.”
Phyllis was impressed with her friend’s quick recovery, but she shouldn’t have been surprised. Tory had survived four years of Bruce’s tyranny. She’d buried her dead sister in a strange town with only herself to rely on. And then driven cross-country to take her sister’s place—and begin a deception of staggering complexity.
The woman was a survivor. And smart. Loyal, too.
Phyllis was going to have to calm down. She hadn’t realized how much this whole situation was getting to her. Tory’s future mattered so much. And she’d almost gone and blown things for her.
“Phyllis Langford, meet Ben Sanders,” Tory said as politely as any society matron. Standing, she took refuge slightly behind Phyllis.
“Glad to meet you,” Phyllis said, her mind racing. Who was this man?
Could Tory possibly be interested in him?
“Nice to meet you, too,” the man said. His hand, when he shook Phyllis’s, was warm, gentle—yet firm.
“Ben’s in my 9 a.m. American Lit class,” Tory said.
And Tory had been sitting on this bench of her own free will, talking to him.
Phyllis shook the man’s hand a little more vigorously, more thankful than he’d ever know to make his acquaintance. Tory had been talking to him. Amazing. Wonderful. A hopeful sign?
Except—Phyllis reined in her thoughts as she and Tory told Ben goodbye and headed back to the Mustang—even if Tory was able to recover enough to actually be able to have a relationship, she wasn’t free to do so. She was living a lie.
Something neither of them had considered when they’d formulated this plan.
They’d just had a very close call—a lesson to both of them about the little game they were playing.
IT WAS ALMOST MIDNIGHT before Ben got an answer. He’d been dialing his ex-wife’s number every half hour since seven, his mind seesawing back and forth between Alex and Christine while he listened to the constant ringing on the other end of the line.
“Mary, it’s Ben,” he said without preamble when she finally answered.
“Why are you calling me?”
“We have to talk.”
“There’s nothing more to say. The divorce is final, Ben. It’s over.”
“Don’t hang up!” Ben said quickly. “It’s about Alex.”
“Pete’s her father, Ben. She doesn’t need you anymore.” The barb hit its mark.
“I think she does.”
“Playing hero again?”
“I called last night.” Ben fibbed to protect his little girl. There was no telling what they’d do to her if they knew she’d called him.
“I told you not to.”
“I know,” Ben said. “But that’s not the point. It was late, Mary. She was home alone.”
“So?”
“She’s only seven years old!”
“For God’s sake, Ben, we were just across the street and Alex was in bed.”
“She didn’t sound happy.”
“How can she be, with you confusing her like this? Stay out of her life, Ben. Let Alex get to know Pete, to love him as she should love her father.”
“As she loves me.”
“He’s her father.”
Another dig. She was two for two.
“Just promise me you won’t leave her alone anymore, especially at night,” Ben said.
He couldn’t shake the unidentifiable tone he’d heard in Alex’s voice the night before. Couldn’t do what Mary wanted and just disappear. He’d spent seven years loving that little girl.
“I don’t have to promise you anything,” she said irritably. “Not anymore.”
Ben took a deep breath. “I’m worried about Alex.”
“Pete’s gonna to be home anytime now, and I don’t want him to find me talking to you.”
“I promise not to call if you promise not to leave her by herself anymore,” he said.
She sighed. “You swear?”
“Yes.” But only because he knew Alex would call him if she needed to.
“All right.”
Ben wasn’t sure how much weight the promise carried, given Mary’s track record for breaking every promise she’d ever made to him. But at least she knew he was still watching out for Alex, that he wasn’t willing just to go away. He hoped the knowledge would make her a little more conscientious.
At the moment, with his hands tied by the California legal system, it was the best he could do.
AS SHE PULLED into the faculty parking lot the second Friday in October, Tory glanced in her rearview mirror before shutting off the Mustang’s engine. She always looked behind her first, ensured that no one was lurking. Came from being hunted, having someone approach her from behind as she opened her car door and having no way to escape. Making sure there was always an escape route had become second nature to her.
A car pulled into a parking spot several rows over. A practical-looking sedan, the sort a teacher would drive—except that it was dark. Very few people who lived in Arizona drove dark cars. Tory waited, her hand on the gearshift, ready to throw the car back in drive. There wasn’t a car in front of her; she could drive straight through and—
“Stop it!” she admonished herself.
No one was coming for her. Tory was dead.
Checking in her rearview mirror again, she finally turned off the ignition. If she wasn’t careful, she’d be certifiable in no time.
Not to mention late for class.
She hadn’t seen anyone get out of the dark car. A fellow faculty member would have gotten out, gone to whatever building on campus housed his office or his class. But if someone was after her, he’d be sitting in that car—watching her.
Heart pounding, she tried to make out the interior of the car through the rows of vehicles. The familiar claustrophobic panic took hold of her. Was that a shadow in the car? Two shadows? Bruce’s men usually traveled in pairs.
What were they waiting for?
If they were there for her, why didn’t they come out? Or had someone sneaked up behind her car, beneath the mirror view? As she’d grown wiser, so had her hired captors.
Tory looked around desperately, hoping to see someone she knew, a security guard, a faculty member, even a secretary. Anyone else, anyone at all.
The parking lot was deserted. She should never have used the back lot. But it was closer to her office building, which meant spending less time out in the open, exposed on campus, but sometimes, like today, it was deserted. With shaking hands, she shoved the key back in the ignition. She had to get out of there. Go—
“Stop. Oh, please stop,” she begged. “Just let me live.”
There was no one out to get her except the demons in her own mind. Tory was dead.
She drew in a shuddering breath, gathered up her leather satchel and purse, placed her fing
er firmly over the trigger on her can of pepper spray and got out of the car. But not without a quick glance behind her. She could never be too sure.
Practically running to her 9 a.m. class, Tory told herself the rush was to avoid being late. And maybe it was, at least partially. But she’d never run like this—as though the devil was on her heels—just because she was late.
She made it to the room as the preceding class was dismissed. Slowing her step, she took a deep breath, mentally collected herself and walked to the front of the room.
She could do this. She knew the routine. She was fine.
If you could call letting panic propel you fine.
Tory removed the books and papers she needed for class from her satchel and mentally reviewed the lesson ahead of her. She would be introducing Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. With her breathing almost normal again—although her heart rate wasn’t as quick to recover—Tory methodically coached herself back to relative sanity.
As of that afternoon, she’d been in Shelter Valley a month. In the past couple of years, Tory had never stayed in any one place for more than a few weeks. That was all her panic meant, she told herself. Her instincts didn’t know yet that she was safe in this place, that she was no longer on the run.
“You okay?” Ben Sanders was standing by her desk, blocking her view of the classroom.
“Yes,” she said, fidgeting with her notes. “Fine.”
“You sure?” he asked softly.
He didn’t touch her, didn’t move, yet he compelled Tory to look up at him. In his eyes was the most comforting mixture of understanding and compassion Tory had ever seen. It took her breath away.
He couldn’t know. Had no way of knowing.
“Yes,” she answered him again, surprised to find that she was almost telling the truth. “I’m fine.”
Knocking once on the top of her desk, Ben gave her a last searching look and proceeded to his seat.
“Ben?” Tory called after him.
“Yeah?” He turned to face her.
“Can you stay after class today, just for a minute?”
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