“Damn right, you’re lucky to have me! You’d never survive without me. Just remember, Mary Beth, this is my house, my car, my money. And these are my kids.”
Heather started to rise. “Wrong. This is also my house, my car, my money. And these are definitely my kids. I’m not stupid, Hank.”
“Hank” loomed over Heather, and she fell back in the chair. “Don’t mess with me, Mary Beth. I’ll kill you if you mess with me or my job.”
“Kill me?” Heather whispered. She gripped the armrests. “Do you think you can get away with murder?”
“What do you think? I’m a cop, damn it! I am the police. And everyone knows you’re crazy.”
At that one moment, Heather believed the cop, and she wanted to strangle him. Then Mary Beth stumbled toward the sofa and fell, panting into it. The others were silent, all eyes on the heaving woman.
“Good Lord,” whispered Kimberly.
“Amen, sister,” said Tashika.
“Mary Beth,” said Heather softly, leaning over her on the couch. “You wanted to kill him, didn’t you?”
Mary Beth nodded. “Yes, God help me.” Tears flowed as the woman sat up and faced Heather. “He’s an abusive, worthless piece of dirt, and the thought of him having any kind of custody of the kids…” She shook her head.
“The police brushed the incidents away when Mary Beth reported them,” Heather explained to the others.
“It’s confusing,” said Kimberly, thoughtfully. “The police helped me get out of my situation. They were great…so patient with me…I couldn’t have done it without them.”
“Which means we shouldn’t generalize,” said Heather. McCoy flashed in her mind. All six feet of him, with a warm smile just for her. “We’ve got some dedicated police officers watching out for us right here.”
“I know,” said Mary Beth. “And that makes me feel better. My problem is that he’s still looking for me. And he’s bad.”
“We’re all in that same boat,” said Tashika. “We’re all scared ’cause our abusers are out there trying to find us.” Then she grinned. “The role-playing was great, but I don’t believe you really talked back like Ms. Heather was doing.” Tashika looked to Heather. “Nice job, counselor.”
But Heather disagreed. “If I sounded strong, I did Mary Beth an injustice. She was more frightened in real life than I showed, and that wasn’t fair.” She paused, her thoughts racing, her heart pounding.
“I have a story to share with y’all today. But it’s especially for Mary Beth.” She reached for the woman’s hand and squeezed it. “When I was growing up, my dad was the Deputy Sheriff of Dry Creek, Texas. And he was the biggest, meanest SOB in the whole town. Everyone called him Big George Marshall because of his size….”
The women stared at her in silence as she spoke. They shivered when she described him. And nodded in recognition at his hammering fists.
And she was committed to having dinner with the man that very evening. She wasn’t afraid of him any longer, but she had no intention of making this reunion easy for either George or Jolene.
HANK LANDERS HAD A PLAN for finding Mary Beth and the kids. It was a simple plan, requiring only time and patience. But he was running out of both. His stupid wife didn’t know what real trouble was, and when he got his hands on her again, she’d wish for a quick death.
Those same hands tightened on the wheel of his car. Easy, champ. Easy. Take a breath.
So far, he’d done everything right. He’d filed a missing persons report as soon as he realized she wasn’t coming back. He received the full support of the department and was able to access its resources. His buddies had immediately put the word out among their personal friends in the force all across the city. He’d been given latitude in his work schedule—and the detectives assigned to Mary Beth’s case were keeping him up-to-date with their progress. Which was none. Unless they were lying to him.
Most important, he conducted his own investigation. He used the official list of the city’s patrols and beats and went out on his own. Like now.
He’d started on the east side, close to his own division, and began to visit the street cops working the beats. They were the guys who knew the neighborhoods—the small safe houses, the larger shelters. He’d come across as a worried man. Hell, it was the truth. His wife was mentally ill, depressed. His kids were at risk, and he needed to find them quickly. The cops sympathized. He even brought along chocolate bars in appreciation. They’d remember him if he came around again.
Mary Beth had left the car. The checkbook. She had no cash, he’d made sure of that. Even her parents didn’t know where she was. His mother-in-law started to cry genuine tears. So, Mary Beth had gotten no financial help from them. She and the kids still had to be in town.
At this point, he’d eliminated all the Houston shelters on the east side. His buddies had come up dry so far, no leads, no nothin’. But Hank didn’t believe in disappearing acts. And besides, Mary Beth was too dumb to figure one out. Too scared to even try. He’d find her. Three weeks was long enough. She couldn’t hide. Not from him.
He stepped on the accelerator and headed for I-10, the Katy Freeway. It might take another three weeks, but he’d work the west side until she was under his roof again.
SHE WOULDN’T MAKE IT easy for them. Heather paid the cashier at Spec’s Liquors, satisfied she’d purchased her parents’ favorites as well as the Shiraz she and Kathy enjoyed. She was glad Dave hadn’t been around when she left the shelter that evening. She definitely didn’t want to explain her detour. Her stomach tightened, however, at another thought. If Dave wasn’t with her, then he might be on a dangerous call. This was one of the reasons not to become involved with a cop. The work itself triggered problems in the relationship. Not that she and Dave had a relationship—romantically speaking.
She glanced inside the brown paper bag, then set it on the seat next to her. She exhaled deeply. She shouldn’t be putting temptation in the way of a couple who’d been sober for two years. If they were telling the truth, it wouldn’t be fair to them.
But, it was a big “if,” and she didn’t care. She knew exactly what she was doing and why, and her reasons had nothing to do with Kathy’s wedding. Simply, her anger still simmered. She’d never confronted them and hadn’t forgiven George and Jolene. She’d never made them account for her ravaged childhood that had been no childhood at all. For the beatings and the bruises, for making her ashamed to go to school. But most of all, for feeling so powerless. She’d been George’s punching bag in the pit.
Ten years away made no difference. Their simple reappearance awakened her resentment. Well, she’d never claimed to be a saint.
Heather let herself in the front door and followed the voices to the back of the house. The kitchen table was set. Kathy and their mother were making a salad at the sink, and George was outside on the patio.
Kathy looked up and smiled. “Just in time, Heather. Glad you’re home. Dad is out there lighting the grill. We’ve got some steaks.”
“Sounds great,” replied Heather, as she put her package down. She opened an upper cabinet and rooted for the appropriate glasses.
Her dad came in just as she put ice cubes into a short glass. He stopped when he saw her. “So you came back?”
“Don’t feel flattered, George. This is a command appearance for my sister.” She lifted the bottle of Jack Daniel’s from the bag. “See. I remembered what you like. Want you to feel at home.” Kathy gasped. Her dad looked at the other women, confused.
“Doesn’t she know about us?” He turned back to Heather. “We’re sober now. Look. See.” He dug into his pants pocket. “This is my two-year chip from A.A. Mama has one, too.”
Heather peered at the proof he’d offered. She knew that Alcoholics Anonymous provided a successful program for those who admitted they were alcoholics. That was the key. No one else could do it for them. She stared at her father—six feet and over two hundred pounds. His five o’clock stubble was half-white, the jo
wls slack. His eyes, however, were alert. And sane.
“Very nice, George,” Heather replied as she opened the whiskey, and splashed two fingers of it over the ice. She lifted the glass and offered it to him. He stepped back, his eyes wide, almost bulging.
“Don’t want it now?” asked Heather, placing the drink on the table. “We’ll just leave it here in case you change your mind.”
“Oh no, we won’t,” said Kathy, picking it up.
“Leave it!” George’s voice still held power, and Kathy paused. “If that’s what it takes for her to believe us, then so be it.”
Heather poured a similar amount for her mother. “For you, Jolene. Can’t play favorites, now, can I? I guess I’m an equal opportunity avenger.”
“Do whatever you want, Heather. It won’t make a difference.” Her mother’s voice sounded flat, her expression disappointed.
George walked toward his wife and gave her a hug. “It’ll be okay, honey. She’ll come around.”
Really? “So, Jolene,” said Heather, “what did you expect coming here? That I’d fall all over you? Hug you tight like a loving daughter?” It was time to get it all out in the open.
Her mother looked stricken. “But when Kathy invited us to come…I thought…I thought…” Jolene’s hands dropped into her lap.
Heather glanced at her sister and saw her telltale color. Her invitation.
“Kathy wasn’t around for the worst.” Heather moved closer to her mother. “When she left town, you were my only hope. How many times did I beg you for help? You never once protected me from him.”
“I couldn’t protect myself from him.”
“Oh, please,” replied Heather. “Don’t make excuses. You drank together. And you rutted like animals. So, what do you expect from me now?”
Jolene looked into her eyes and said, “I want another chance, Heather. One more chance.”
CHAPTER NINE
ONE MORE CHANCE. Heather tossed in the unfamiliar bed at Welcome Home. Her parents were different from her memories of them. Subdued. Deferential. Sure, they looked older, but ten years would do that to anyone. They were quieter. Their bite was gone.
The two glasses of Jack Daniel’s had remained on the table the entire meal. Heather had drunk a full glass of wine, had sipped it slowly, making it last. She’d periodically raised her glass in a toast. To Kathy’s happiness. To her parents’ continued recovery. To the new van that she’d tried out that day. To anything she could think of. Kathy, disloyal, had chosen to drink a glass of cola, but had raised it in any toast Heather had devised.
Had she not known better, Heather would have thought her parents were an ordinary couple. And then she remembered—they weren’t “normal.” They were alcoholics. And always would be.
She punched her pillow. If only they had sobered up twenty years ago, her life would have been so different. So much better. And so would theirs have been. Maybe her dad would have been a good cop like McCoy.
McCoy was a good cop. And a good man. The truth hit her with such force, she held her breath. She rolled over slowly and made herself relax, allowing her thoughts to wander. She liked Dave. She liked his slow smile when he saw her. She was getting used to the man being around and was hoping to see him the next day, hoping he’d donate another Saturday to Girlfriends.
All pretense of sleep deserted her as she imagined herself with Dave McCoy, a lovely slow-motion daydream. Holding hands. Walking in the park under shady trees. She sighed, and reached for more dreams…until a shot rang out. McCoy pushed her to the dirt-packed ground and took off after the perps.
“For cryin’ out loud!” Heather switched on the bedside lamp and grabbed a pencil and sheet of paper. Might as well make better use of her time. She started lists for the new shelter. Living with a cop—good one included—was no way to live at all. Not even in her dreams.
DAVE’S PICKUP WAS OUTSIDE Welcome Home the next morning when Heather left the building. She got behind the wheel of the new van, which Gene had loaded with cleaning supplies and gardening tools the previous day. Her own vehicle remained in the parking lot.
She pulled in front of Dave’s truck when the gates closed behind her and waited for him. His dark hair curled over his collar and made her fingers itch to run through it. Those unruly waves would be thick and soft and clean and… What was she thinking? Maybe it was time for Sara or Mark to fix her up with someone.
“So why have you slept here the past couple of nights? Has something happened at home?”
Heather had to concentrate. Get her mind off his broad shoulders and how they filled out the jersey he wore.
Sure something had happened. But he didn’t have to know about Jolene and George. “Just thought I’d give Kathy privacy. Some time to herself…and Mark.”
He started to grin, then paused. “I thought Warner had a big place near the Galleria….” He shrugged. “Ah, well, everyone needs a change.”
Heather remained quiet, merely squirmed a bit. She was really getting very skilled at misdirecting people’s thoughts.
“By the way,” said Dave, “I already picked up bagels and kolaches for breakfast. Juice, too. So, let’s get started.”
“What? No doughnuts, Officer?”
His grin sent her pulse skyrocketing. “Watch it, lady,” he replied. “You’re treading on dangerous ground.”
An hour later, she’d wished the grounds they’d mowed were less dangerous. Many of the same volunteers had returned as well as some new ones, including her friend, Sara, who now stood on the front porch and yelled inside, “You’ve got fire ant mounds on the lawn.”
Heather hurried to the porch. “Were you bitten?”
Sara shook her head.
“We’re taking care of them right now,” said Patrick, a bag of ant killer in his hand. “By the end of today, front and back will be treated for insects and weeds. You’ll only need weekly mowing and trimming.”
Heather gazed at the front yard. “Thanks a lot, Mr. McCoy. You’ve really helped.”
“Isn’t that what I’m here for?” He started down the porch steps, then said over his shoulder, “I called your contractor yesterday. He’ll ask for me when he gets here. I want to make sure he knows what he’s doing.”
And suddenly, Heather felt her control of the project slipping away. “I would have gladly included you in my discussions, Mr. McCoy, but please remember that there’s only one point man on this project, and that’s me.”
A familiar McCoy grin slowly crossed his face. “No problem.” He went back to what he was doing. Heather’s tension dissipated, and she felt silly. She was sure Dave’s father knew a thousand percent more about construction than she did. But she was responsible for the funds and was counting on Gene being here to help her with the contractor.
Sara gazed after Patrick. “You’d sure have great-looking kids.”
“What?”
“Oh, not him. But his son is the image—” Suddenly, Sara stopped speaking.
Heather glanced up. Her friend’s eyes were wide, her mouth gaped. She grabbed Heather’s arm and squeezed. “Oh, my God, Heather. Am I seeing things, or is that Kathy with—with—holy moly—with your most loving parents?”
Heather turned her head so fast, she felt dizzy.
“Will you look at that?” continued Sara in amazement. “They actually came all the way to Houston without falling down.”
“They’re on the wagon,” said Heather. “A.A.”
Sara shrugged. “It works for some. Not for my happily drinking folks, though.”
This was the first time Sara had mentioned her parents in a long while. “Have they tried it?” asked Heather.
“Oh, yeah. Not that it helped. You have to really want to stop drinking for it to work. I guess my folks don’t really want to sober up.”
“And I,” said Heather, “really don’t want my folks here.” She gave Sara a push. “Why don’t you go talk to them for a few hours? Make my life easier. And whatever you do, don’t intro
duce them to the McCoys—father, son or mother, if she shows.”
Sara eyed her. “Jolene and George can’t influence a guy in love—”
“Sara, forget love. I’m in charge of a whopping amount of money here. I can’t let any of these volunteers think I come from an irresponsible family. They’ll lose faith in me, and then what will the kids do?”
“Gotcha.”
Heather bit her lip as she watched Sara greet George and Jolene and make a big fuss over them. Then she went back inside the first-floor apartment where she’d been pulling up worn-out filthy carpeting. She hoped Kathy would give their parents a quick tour, a sampling of their lives in Houston. She shook her head in disbelief as she thought about how complicated her life had become.
In the past, everything had been simple and manageable: Welcome Home during the day, her Master’s program at night and outreach to the kids on alternate evenings. She’d been happily in control.
A tap on the door interrupted her. Sara. “If you don’t put Jolene and George to work, the senior McCoy will. From what I can tell, he’s organized the whole shootin’ match out there.”
Heather hurried toward the front of the house.
“Nothing to worry about,” continued Sara. “He’s a natural leader, and a lot’s getting done. He’s the kind of person people enjoy working with. Let him direct the group. But your folks want to be a part of it.”
Heather was surprised to see Gene talking to Patrick and Dave near the front corner of the building. As if she were a magnet, Dave’s eyes were drawn to her. He waved her over and pointed to the side of the house. “We’re focusing on the outside only because the inside will be changing. Right now, we’re taking down rotten siding and replacing the slats.”
“Replacing them? With what? The new siding hasn’t been delivered yet.”
“I picked up some precut pieces with my truck before I came,” said Gene. “Lieutenant McCoy called and said we were ready. And I told the store you’d be in touch with their tax deduction letter for their donation.”
A Man of Honor (Harlequin Super Romance) Page 11