The words echoed through Damon’s head as he held Mickelle. He wanted to do a victory dance, but he refrained. Later, maybe, when Mickelle was up for teasing. The warmth of her in his arms, the smell of her hair and skin, the taste of her lips, was everything he had dreamed of this past week when they had been separated by her fear.
Her fear of losing me, he corrected. That made all the difference.
“When?” he asked between kisses. He knew he shouldn’t push, that it hadn’t been even a year since her husband had died, but he couldn’t resist.
“When, what?”
“When will you marry me?”
Her face went still, but her smile didn’t fade. “How about in December so we can spend Christmas together?”
He was relieved it wasn’t farther away, but at the same time he wondered how he could possibly wait any longer than another day.
“The ring!” She pulled away from him and disappeared into the hallway. When she returned, she was wearing the ring he had given her.
“It’s not too showy, is it?” he asked, bringing up her hand to look at the ring.
“Actually, it is, but I think I can force myself to get used to it.”
He laughed. “Good.” He brought his head down to kiss her hand, and it was then he noticed the dark marks around her wrist. “What’s this?” he asked, tracing the mottled area with a gentle forefinger. He was almost certain they hadn’t been there earlier.
Her eyes widened in surprise. “I didn’t notice . . .” She concentrated on the bruises, keeping her blue eyes averted. He took her other hand swiftly and examined it. Caught unaware, she had no choice but to allow him to see the single bruise on that wrist: a large thumbprint.
“Kelle?” he asked. Her face flushed, and she tried to pull away. He let her go, but he wasn’t finished. “Who did this to you?” These marks weren’t natural, and were obviously not self-inflicted.
She sighed and turned from him, sitting on one of the stools near the counter. “I’ve been so stupid. I didn’t see . . . Colton—”
“He did this to you?”
“Don’t sound so angry.”
He sat next to her, willing himself to be calm. “What happened?”
“He was mad at me today. He set up an appointment for me to talk to his financial wizard friend, and I turned him down. He was upset. I—I think he must get a commission or something.” She grimaced. “It seems you were right all along about him not being what he seemed.”
“Tell me exactly what happened . . . please.”
She sighed. “Okay.”
Damon’s anger grew as Mickelle recounted the scene with Colton. He felt her fury and helplessness as though it were his own. “What was the name of that guy he referred you to?” he asked. “And if you’ll give me his number I’ll call Mr. Cover Boy to make sure he won’t be coming over ever again.”
He did just that. As soon as he left Mickelle’s—even more reluctantly than usual—he placed the call to Colton Scofield on his cell phone. He let it ring a dozen times before hanging up in frustration. He hit his hand against the steering wheel, wincing with the pain and wishing it was Mr. Cover Boy’s face. How dare he treat Mickelle that way!
At his home in Alpine, he found Belle and Tanner in the game room playing pool, and he told them the good news of Mickelle’s acceptance of his marriage proposal. Belle squealed and hugged him. “I’m so happy, Daddy! I’m so happy!”
Tanner also appeared content, though a little worried. “What about that other guy? Bryan seems to think he’s there to stay. No offense, Dad, but Bryan likes that guy more than you.”
“You leave Mr. Cover Boy to me. As for Bry, he’s going to need a little time, but we’ll win him over yet.” Damon tried to sound confident, though Bryan’s attitude left him confused. He had done nothing but try to be a friend to that child. What more could he do? Mickelle had told him about the door he had kicked in, and Damon wondered silently at the anger building inside Bryan. What could he do to stop it before Bryan seriously hurt someone?
Life was certainly bound to become more complicated when Bryan learned of their pending marriage. Damon knew his love was strong enough to see the storm through, but was Mickelle’s? She was strong, and he knew she could survive anything, but he understood that their relationship would have to be secondary–at least for now—to her relationship with her son.
Damon grabbed his phone and punched in the numbers of his attorney. If Keith hadn’t found anything, maybe it was time to hire someone who could.
* * *
Jennie Anne was ready for bed. Not that she had to do anything in particular to get ready. She always slept in her clothes. Tonight she was looking forward to sleep because that meant tomorrow would come faster. Besides, now that her aunt had given her two more blankets, she wasn’t cold at night. Just in case, she was wearing three pairs of her new socks, and her feet were actually hot. She could barely contain her yawning.
In the summer she found it hard to sleep because of the light, and she had passed many late hours stuffing envelopes with her aunt or thumbing through one of the magazines in the stacks of stuff around the house. She had always wondered what the words said.
Now she could read! Or almost.
Upon arriving home from Mickelle’s, she had sounded out a few words in a magazine and many had made sense. The ones that didn’t, she would ask about. She couldn’t ask Mrs. Palmer because her aunt had warned her not to talk to the teacher, but Mickelle would know. A warm, wonderful feeling grew in Jennie Anne’s heart. For no reason she could fathom, Mickelle liked her, and Jennie Anne knew that she could be trusted, just like Belle had said.
Jennie Anne fingered her thick hair, still slightly damp from her bath. What fun she’d had! How good her hair felt! She had worried that Mickelle would make her change in front of them, and was relieved when she had let them change in her room instead. Belle had turned her back, and hadn’t seen the bruise on Jennie Anne’s shoulder. It still hurt, but not nearly as bad as before.
She grinned. Boy, she liked Mickelle. She could hardly believe that she could go over there every day.
I have to make sure I do everything exactly right. I don’t want them to hate me.
The happy feeling in her heart dulled slightly, but it was still strong. Jennie Anne straightened her new clothes and snuggled into her blankets.
When the knock came on the door, Jennie Anne was almost asleep, though it was still early. She heard her aunt come from the kitchen, muttering something. The overhead light went on, making her blink at the sudden brightness.
“Hi, Mom,” said a masculine voice that sent dread into Jennie Anne’s heart.
“What do you want, Troy?”
“I just come to visit.”
“I don’t have any money.”
“Just need a place to sleep.”
As he spoke, Jennie Anne was gathering up her things, trying to keep the panic from slowing her movements. She stored all her treasures except her backpack and her blankets in her special spot under the wooden-frame couch, blocking it from sight with several stacks of musty-smelling magazines. She would come back to move the stuff later, but this would do for now. Her throat felt dry and her heart beat crazily. Less than a week had passed since she had felt this pounding fear in her heart. Now, it seemed it had never left. She thought fleetingly of Mickelle and her promise to call her. Would this be reason enough?
No, it would make her aunt mad. Troy, too.
“We don’t have room for you,” Nedda whined.
“Sure you do. I’ll sleep on the couch.” There was silence for a few minutes, then a loud curse. “Mom, this place gets junkier every second. Why don’t you get rid of this stuff?”
“I may need it.”
“Yeah, right.” There was disgust in his tone.
Jennie Anne froze, knowing that they were coming closer to the path that led down to her couch. The couch where Troy would now sleep.
To her relief, Troy said, “G
ot something to eat?” Nedda mumbled a reply and they passed on into the kitchen.
If it were summer Jennie Anne would wait outside until he was asleep, and then settle herself under the table in the kitchen on a mound of comfortable blankets. But October got cold outside. She contemplated the risk of sneaking into her aunt’s room to wait until Troy was settled for the night. Troy might not even see her.
“What happened to your big deal?” Nedda was saying. “Thought you was gonna be gone a long time.”
“Had a change of plans,” Troy grunted, his mouth full.
Jennie Anne should have known. Troy always ended up back here sooner or later. It was just her luck that it was sooner this time.
“So you come back here.” There was a bitterness in her great-aunt’s voice that Jennie Anne hadn’t noticed before, perhaps wouldn’t have noticed at all if she hadn’t been listening so hard.
She crept down the hallway between the piles of stuff, nearly jumping when the doorbell rang again. She ducked back toward the couch as her aunt passed. “It better not be one of your friends.”
“It ain’t. Nobody knows I’m back.”
“Good, ’cause I’ll send ’em packing. I got enough to worry about.”
“Yeah, Donna May’s brat, you mean,” Troy supplied, his voice surly.
Nedda retorted, “You and her are two of a kind.”
Jennie Anne didn’t know if her great-aunt meant that her mother and Troy were two of a kind, or if she meant Jennie Anne was like her uncle. I won’t believe either one, she promised herself. I’m not like him, and my mother wasn’t either. She’d heard Nedda lie several times now, and no longer had to believe her. It gave her much consolation to allow herself not to believe. She would pretend to go along with what they said, but they could never see into her heart.
Only her best friend Belle might be able to do that.
“Hello,” said a voice at the door. “I was here earlier with a friend of mine. Dropped off a little girl.”
“Did she leave something?” Nedda asked.
“Well, not exactly, but . . . well, maybe she did. I found this twenty-dollar bill in the back where she was riding. Could it be hers?”
Jennie Anne stood on the couch, daring to peer over the stacks. She saw her great-aunt grab at the money she had never seen, much less left in the man’s car. “I told her not to leave it lying around,” Nedda said.
“Can I come in?”
Jennie Anne recognized the man from Mickelle’s. He was probably the most beautiful man she had ever seen.
“Well, my son’s home. I don’t think—”
“I’ve got a proposition for you. A way to earn a lot of money. Are you sure you don’t have a little time?” The voice was so sweet and convincing that Jennie Anne wanted to run to the door and let him in herself.
“It don’t hurt to listen, I suppose.” Nedda stepped back, and allowed him to enter.
The man’s eyes met Jennie Anne’s, and she felt herself color. He glanced away without acknowledging her. “Could we have a word in private?”
“Jennie Anne, get outside and wait,” her aunt ordered, her plump fingers raking through her curly hair, as though she were one of the preening robins that visited the weeping willow in the summer.
Jennie Anne needed no second invitation. She darted down the pathway, past the adults and out onto the solitary cement step, now crumbling at its edges. She rubbed her arms, clad only in a thin long-sleeved shirt. In dismay, she realized that she had forgotten a blanket.
Thoughts of Mickelle again came into her mind. Could she find her way there in the dark? Would it do any good?
Jennie Anne massaged her arms more vigorously before wrapping them around herself. The white car she had ridden in earlier sat outside by the curb, glinting in the moonlight. She sighed. How long would she have to wait?
Long minutes passed until she heard someone approaching the door from inside. She leapt to her feet and ran around the house, just in case. To her surprise, Troy and the beautiful man walked out to the white sports car and drove away.
Jennie Anne felt like dancing. Anyone who could take Troy away was all right!
“Jennie Anne?” her great-aunt’s voice called.
She hurried forward. “Good,” Nedda said. “Better come inside to bed. You got school in the morning.”
So she did! Jennie Anne loved school. School meant seeing Belle.
She started down the narrow pathway to her couch, nearly bumping into the tall stacks of boxes. Her aunt’s voice stopped her. “Better sleep in my room,” she said. “Troy might come back. Get what you need for tomorrow and clear out a place under the couch. He has to put his stuff somewhere.” She paused, her hand coming to grip Jennie Anne’s upper arm. “And don’t say nothin’ to your new friend about that guy coming over. If you do, you ain’t ever going there again. Got it?”
Jennie Anne nodded. She tried to maintain an outer calm, but inside she was singing. She got to go home with Belle again tomorrow!
As she snuggled in her blankets on the far side of her aunt’s bed, she recalled the way their beautiful visitor had stared right through her. Who was he and what did he want with her uncle?
Suddenly, Jennie Anne was afraid.
* * *
Brionney Hergarter glanced at the clock in the kitchen. It was nine, and her sister would soon drop by for the boys. Not that she minded having them over. They actually helped keep the older girls entertained. But Jesse had been home late from work and had only just relieved her of the twins. Once he had them asleep and Mickelle had come for her boys, he would help her get the others in bed. Then she could fill up the bath with lilac-scented oil and water so hot it would nearly scald her skin, and read a few chapters of the novel she’d received from Mickelle on her birthday.
Ahhh, hot water and silence—a kind of heaven for a mother of five. Of course, afterwards she would peek in on all the children, making sure they were breathing and covered . . . even Savannah, who insisted she was too old for such things. She wasn’t but a year older than Jeremy, who would have slept in his mother’s bed every night if she let him. That was the difference between an oldest child with an anxious foot pointed toward adulthood, and a youngest child with a foot clinging to babyhood.
She sighed again, and began picking up toys the twins had strewn throughout the house, following a trail to the entryway. A corner of a tiny black notebook caught her eye, half hidden behind the grandfather clock where someone must have kicked it. She knew what it was at once and hesitated only an instant before opening it. There she flipped through the pages she and Mickelle had seen before. And more.
Much more.
There was a page for Damon’s family—addresses, birthdays, even a list of household help. Mickelle’s neighbors each had a page, as did several of Mickelle’s friends, each complete with personal information and their observations of Mickelle. There was even a page for Brionney and her family.
Then followed a detailed list of Mickelle’s schedule, from church meetings to the time she had to pick up Tanner from the high school each day in Highland. Colton even knew what time her mail arrived. There were also three entire pages of notations about Riley’s insurance policy and names of people he had discussed it with in the neighborhood. Mickelle had only known Colton Scofield for less than a week, and yet he had collected an entire notebook full of information.
Like a stalker, Brionney thought. Her hand trembled. What did he want? Could he have been trying to impress Mickelle with his thoughtfulness?
She looked again on the page where the names and ages of her own children were written in a precise male hand. Next to the names of the twins, Forest and Gabriel, was the notation: Identical twins. Maybe use twin story with Mickelle? Brionney felt a sinking feeling as she remembered what Mickelle had told her about Colton’s boys and their death. Why would he tell such a story if it wasn’t true?
Even more curious were several pages of terms that were unique to religious cultur
e, like sacrament meeting, Relief Society, and home teaching. Another page of colloquialisms followed. Apparently he had done thorough research. But why would that be necessary for a man who worked in the insurance business?
Jesse was still in with the twins, so Brionney didn’t want to disturb him. Should she tell Mickelle? She retraced her steps to the kitchen and dialed her sister’s number. She let the phone ring repeatedly before remembering that Mickelle was still at the church.
She laughed a little at her mistake, reminding herself that her nephews were still in her family room with her girls, playing games and staying up later than they ordinarily would on a school night. Mickelle would be back any minute now and then she would give her the notebook.
But the odd feeling she had upon discovering the contents of the black notebook persisted.
She paced the kitchen floor, spying dirty spots on the ceramic tile beneath the two highchairs that she had missed during cleanup. Grabbing a rag, she crouched to remedy the situation. The little black notebook was still in her left hand, pressing into her palm, seeming to brand her with the contents.
Leaving the wet rag on the floor, she tiptoed down the hall and into the nursery. Jesse was sitting in the rocking chair, a sleeping twin over each shoulder. He sighed with relief when he saw her. “Thank heaven!” he whispered. “My muscles are cramping up. I didn’t dare move for fear of waking them. I was praying for you to come in and help me get them to the cribs.”
Brionney chuckled, a pleasant feeling replacing the odd fear she had felt only seconds before. “No matter how many times I show you the trick, you never seem to master it,” she teased. As she spoke, she deftly removed Gabriel from his father’s shoulder and laid him in his crib, tucking a quilt around him. His breathing pattern momentarily changed at the transfer but quickly resumed.
“Holding a kid while putting the other in bed is a talent I simply wasn’t given. Forest always wakes up when I try it, no matter who I put down first. At least I’ve learned how to rock the two of them to sleep.” He gingerly slid Forest under his own quilt, patting his stomach rhythmically until he was sure the child hadn’t awakened.
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