Monster Love

by Jeana E. Mann

  The appearance of a sleek Volvo cut short our goodbyes. The car stopped in front of Michael’s Mercedes. Owen exited the passenger side, and a slender blonde slid from behind the driver’s seat. The expensive cut of her cream suit accentuated large breasts and a tiny waist. Everything about her screamed wealth and class, from the flash of diamond earrings to the red soles of her designer shoes. She crossed around the front of the car to meet Owen and placed a kiss on his cheek, her palm resting on his chest. Jealousy boiled my blood.

  “Lisa?” Michael backed away from me. My hand dropped to my side. He knew this beautiful creature?

  “Michael. Hello.” She extended a hand and made a beeline for him. “What on earth are you doing here?” The distinctive hint of a Bostonian accent hovered in her throaty voice.

  “Visiting a friend.” He took her by the elbows and kissed her cheek. “I should ask you the same thing.”

  A flush of heat burned my face. Friend? There was that word, but this time it took on an entirely different meaning, like it was an excuse or a dismissal. Owen’s gaze caught mine across the hood of Lisa’s car. Even though we were separated by several yards of distance, he read my emotions. I saw it in his eyes, the flash of annoyance followed by empathy and understanding. I felt him in my head. The intrusion sent a shockwave of panic into my gut, followed by feelings of disloyalty. How could I be mad at Michael when I couldn’t stop thinking about Owen?

  “We had some business downtown.” Lisa’s gaze slid over my ponytail, naked face, and faded blue jeans shorts. With a polite smile, she turned back to Owen. She placed a hand on his arm. The way her fingers lingered on his bicep suggested intimacy. A second wave of jealousy swept through me, this time over a man I no longer had a claim on. “If you have any more problems, Owen, give me a call.”

  “Will do. Thanks again. I owe you.” His words were for her, but his eyes remained locked with mine. I couldn’t look away. Michael’s stare burned into me. I cleared my throat and slammed down a wall of protection between my feelings and the outside world.

  “I’ll see you back at the office, Michael,” Lisa said before climbing back into her car. “Let’s do lunch.”

  The three of us watched her drive away. After an uncomfortable minute, Owen nodded to us and took off for the back of the house, presumably to find Dad. I tried not to stare after his broad back or ogle the way his jeans hugged his ass.

  “Who is that guy?” Michael asked.

  “Um, that would be Owen, one of Dad’s crew.”

  “What’s he doing with Lisa? She’s a criminal defense attorney. Is he in some kind of trouble?”

  “I have no idea.” It wasn’t exactly a lie, but close enough to make me uncomfortable. “Why didn’t you introduce me to her?”

  “What?” Michael continued to stare after Owen, eyes narrowing. He slipped an arm around my waist, but something about his touch felt forced. I shrugged away. He caught me and drew me to his side before I could escape. “Hey, come back here.” A smile brightened his face but didn’t reach his eyes. It was his professional smile, the one he used to disarm business associates, one he’d never used with me before. “I’m sorry, babe. She has an office in the same building. We work together now and then. I never expected to see her here. It caught me off guard, and I forgot my manners.”

  “No worries.” To avoid his gaze, I buried my nose in the fabric of his shirt and inhaled the fresh, clean scent. A nagging sense of impending doom rocked my confidence. After a quick hug, he got in the car and drove away. Apparently, Michael had secrets too.

  8

  Owen

  Present Day

  From the garage, I watched Stella say goodbye to her boyfriend. Jealousy tweaked the iron bands around my heart. If things had been different, that might have been me with an arm around her waist. Me kissing her pouty mouth. Me sleeping in her bed. I shook off the fantasy before it found roots. Loving her had stolen my future and my past. I wouldn’t give her my dreams too.

  The crew buzzed around me, their voices and shapes blurring into a watercolor of movement. Stella and Michael came into sharp focus. I’d seen her boyfriend before. He had a reputation for fairness and unwavering ethics. After all the bullshit I’d been through, my confidence in the legal system had waned, but this man seemed to be one of the good guys.

  No matter who he was, I didn’t like the way his hand cupped Stella’s ass when she lifted on tiptoe to kiss him. Did she love him? Were they happy? At night, alone in my prison cell, I’d fantasized about her life, filled her days with laughter and smiles and her nights with blissful dreams. If this guy gave her all those things, then I’d figure out a way to deal with the jealousy.

  Dad clapped a hand on my shoulder and squeezed. “You okay?” His voice sounded far away, even though we were less than a foot apart.

  “Yeah.” I couldn’t tear my gaze from Stella. She looked different from the last time we were together. Her hair was longer and straighter, and she’d gained a few pounds in all the right places. Cut-off shorts showed off her tanned legs. My fingers twitched, remembering how soft the skin had been on her inner thighs.

  “Owen.” Dad’s bushy brows met over the bridge of his nose.

  I coughed. My throat felt rusty. I didn’t talk much. Sitting under the tree with Stella, I’d spoken more words in a row than I’d said in the past week. “What?”

  “You’re staring, son.” When his scrutiny intensified, I picked up my tool belt and strapped it on. “Wanna tell me about it?”

  “There’s nothing to tell.” I reached for my hammer, intending to slide it back into the leather loop on the belt, but it slipped from my hands and landed in the dirt.

  “She seemed really worried when Coley hauled you off.” Dad picked up the tool and handed it back to me.

  I grunted in response, taken aback by the swift heat of irritation in my guts. I’d taken precautions to erase her from my life eighteen years ago, and now, fate had thrown us together again. The girl of my dreams stood less than a dozen yards away, and I couldn’t have her.

  “Why don’t you take the afternoon off?” Sensing my prickliness, Dad resumed gathering supplies, avoiding my gaze. “You haven’t had a day off since you started working for me.”

  “I don’t need time off.” The thought of sitting alone in my rented room over his garage, staring at the ceiling, sounded worse than a day of hard labor. I needed to work. Building things gave me a sense of purpose and accomplishment. Strenuous activity meant I could sleep at night.

  “Suit yourself.” He shrugged before walking toward the back porch. “Take the boys some more nails, would you?”

  He didn’t wait for a reply, and I didn’t answer. Dad knew I’d take care of it, the way I always took care of things.

  The rest of the day passed with agonizing slowness. I reworked the wood steps on the back porch and replaced the rotted boards, fighting away memories of holding Stella’s hand in that very place. Now and then, I caught a flash of her through the open windows, a flutter of her long hair, the curve of her cheek.

  At the end of my shift, I paused at the living room window before loading my tools into the truck. She was humming to herself, a tune I didn’t recognize, but the sweet sound of her voice brought a lump to my throat. I shifted to get a glimpse of her. The sheen of humidity glistened on her arms and chest. The temperatures had climbed to the high nineties. With a bucket of water at her feet and a sponge in one hand, she scrubbed the dingy walls. When she bent over to rinse the sponge, the scoop neck of her tank top gaped open and revealed the upper swells of her breasts.

  “Jesus.” Perspiration gathered on my brow. I swiped the back of my arm across my forehead. The sultry air had me sweating buckets, and the sight of her perfect, round tits didn’t help the situation.

  “Go talk to her.” Dad paused on the return to his work truck, a few paces away from my spot on the sidewalk.

  “No.” After shaking my head to clear away the pipe dreams, I grabbed the handle of the
toolbox and headed to my vehicle. The time for words had passed years ago. Besides, what would I say? Everything I did was for you. I laughed aloud at the absurdity. The only way I could get through this was to hate her for making me care.

  9

  Stella

  Present Day

  The next day, I headed downtown for groceries and lunch. Thunder promised rain, but the clouds never delivered. Splotches of brown grass dotted the neighborhood lawns, and a thick coat of dust covered the cars parked along the street. I marveled at how very little the town had changed. Small independent shops lined the main street. A bubbling fountain splashed in the center of the town square. Pedestrians stared as I drove my Jeep along the tree-lined avenue. A wave of nostalgia brought a lump to my throat. I’d never been particularly sentimental, but the familiar sites awakened something dead inside me. My childhood had been full of upheaval and constant shuffling between foster homes. I’d spent my adult life circumventing the globe. During those years, I’d scoffed at the need to put down roots, and I couldn’t help wondering if I’d been wrong. This place felt like home.

  After tucking the emotions deep inside my soul for inspection later, I parked in front of the post office. The bell tinkled above the door as I pushed inside. It was like rocketing back in time. Wrought iron scrollwork surrounded the clerk’s window. Dozens of tiny glass postal boxes stretched from floor to ceiling on either side, their doors adorned with antique combination locks. A round-faced woman with silver hair and enormous chandelier earrings appeared from the back room wearing a friendly smile.

  “Ah, our newest resident,” she said. “We were wondering when you’d pay us a visit, Stella Valentine. It’s good to meet you. I’m Marjorie.” I’d forgotten how quickly news raced around small towns. The residents probably had known my name before I’d first unlocked the front door of my house.

  A second woman, younger, with helmet-shaped brown hair, nudged between Marjorie and the counter. “Hi. I’m Karen Dowdy, from over by Parker’s Lake.” I had no idea where that was, but I nodded anyway. “My daughter loves your work.”

  “Thanks. It’s a pleasure to meet you both.”

  “She’s an amateur photographer herself. She got a camera for Christmas, and she’s been taking pictures nonstop ever since. Maybe you’d give her some pointers? She’d just love that,” Karen said.

  “Sure. Maybe.” The request gave me a sudden case of nerves. I’d been hoping to lay low for a few weeks before entering the town social life.

  “You’re kind of a celebrity around here,” Marjorie said. “The town could use a little good publicity.”

  “Well, I’m not a celebrity, but I’m happy to be here,” I said. Uncomfortable with the choice of subject matter, I cleared my throat and steered the topic back to business. “I believe I have a package.”

  “Let me check.” While Marjorie searched in the back for my delivery, I wandered the small lobby. According to the bulletin board, the local elementary school was holding a chili supper on Saturday. I made a mental note to stop by if I had time, mostly for the free food. Above the notice, a poster of a missing child caught my eye. A shiver ran down my back. With a fingertip, I traced the oval curve of the young girl’s face.

  “Here you go.” The woman hoisted the box onto the counter, catching me in the act. “Such a shame about the Cartwright girl. Her family never gave up looking for her.”

  “Did you know her?” I asked, withdrawing my hand. The girl’s fair skin and russet hair reminded me of Lanie at that age.

  “I’ve known her mother since third grade. The Cartwrights have been my neighbors for years.” The woman scanned the box then tapped the receipt for a signature.

  “She’s not the first to go missing.” Karen stared at me, taking in my tattered jeans and faded T-shirt. I smoothed a hand over the frizz around my temples. Compared to her loose flowered dress and smooth hair, I felt disheveled.

  “If you ask me, someone needs to question him about it.” I lifted my eyes to follow the tilt of Marjorie’s head. Across the street, Owen unfolded his long legs from the driver’s seat of his truck and headed into the hardware store. “That man’s a monster.”

  “He might be the devil himself, but he’s one fine-looking specimen,” Karen observed.

  “He killed his brother, you know,” Marjorie said.

  Bile burned the back of my throat. I placed a hand on my stomach to ease the wave of nausea. Karen nodded. “It’s hard to believe such a beautiful man could do something so horrific. His family disowned him—not that you can blame them—but they’re all criminals too, if you ask me. The sheriff’s been trying to run Owen out of town since he came back here, but Dad won’t let them.”

  “Dad’s a good man,” Marjorie added. “But he’s always taking in strays. He’s messed up in some program for rehabilitation of ex-convicts. I don’t know how his family lives with all those criminals in their midst. Especially one like Owen Henry. I’d be afraid he might slit my throat while I’m sleeping.”

  “I’m late. Thanks for the help.” I grabbed the package and sprinted out of the post office before I gave them a piece of my mind. Breaking my silence after so many years wasn’t an option. Instead, I shoved the box into my car and took a second to regain my composure. Of course, everyone in town knew about Owen. The story had been front page news for months. With shaking hands, I stuffed the front hem of my T-shirt into the waistband of my jeans and tried to tidy my wayward hair. If I was going to survive in this town, I needed to thicken my skin.

  After a mental lecture, I entered Etta Mae’s Café, head held high and shoulders back. Comforting aromas wrapped around me—freshly baked pies, grilling meats, and spices. The hum of conversation stopped. My sandals clicked across the worn linoleum floor. It was like being the new kid in school all over again, something I’d done dozens of times. I chose a seat by the window where I could peer through the red gingham curtains onto the street. After a few seconds, people lost interest in me and resumed eating.

  A gum-snapping waitress brought over a menu and water. The front door opened again. Owen’s tall figure cast a long shadow across the dining room. The conversation stopped once more, but this time it resumed in hushed whispers. He slid behind a table on the far wall. The man sitting at the adjacent booth tossed a ten-dollar bill beside his plate and left. Several others shifted places to the opposite side of the room. Owen stared at his menu, brows lowered and jaw tensed. The blatant snub made my blood boil. I pushed back my chair, legs scraping loudly over the floor, went to Owen’s side, and tapped him on the shoulder.

  “Yeah?” The deep growl of his voice might have intimidated a lesser person. He glanced over his shoulder at me, the lines between his eyes smoothing. “What?”

  “May I join you?”

  “No.” His terse refusal stung more than I cared to admit.

  “I insist.” I gathered my things and claimed the chair across from him. He sighed heavily and shook his head.

  “We shouldn’t be seen together like this.” He started to push away from the table. I placed my hand over his, intending to stop him. He flinched. The meeting of my palm with his skin sent a jolt of awareness up my arm. Our eyes connected over the top of a green plastic vase filled with daisies. I dropped my hand into my lap, curling and uncurling my fingers to dull the buzzing.

  “What can I get for you?” The waitress tossed her long ponytail over her shoulder and tapped her pen on the order pad.

  “I’ll have the special and sweet iced tea with lemon,” I said.

  “Me too.” Owen continued to stare at me. I wanted to look away but was trapped in the depths of those eyes with their inky lashes. It was so unfair to see lashes like that on a man. He shifted back in his chair, stretching his legs beneath the table, carefully avoiding my feet. When the waitress left, he said, “People are going to talk.”

  “Calm down. It’s just lunch.”

  “I don’t give two shits what people say about me, but you don’t want to be
associated with an ex-convict.”

  “You have no idea what I want.” I’d been on the wrong side of gossip my entire life. People judged me for my upbringing, my wardrobe, the stud in my nose and my nomadic lifestyle—pretty much anything that made me different from them. “If anyone asks, I’ll say you’re working at my house, and we were discussing changes.” I paused to let the waitress drop off a plate of rolls and our iced tea. “What’s the deal with Officer Coley? Dad says that happens a lot.”

  “He doesn’t like me. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not exactly Mr. Popularity in this town.” His mild tone belied the sparks in his eyes. “People don’t like having a convicted murderer in their midst.”

  “Then why did you come back here? You could have gone anywhere—started a new life in a new town.” At the narrowing of Owen’s eyes, I lowered my voice a notch and tried to loosen my grimace into something more pleasant. “You always hated this place.”

  “You mean why did I come back here and ruin your life?” This time, he didn’t try to hide the animosity in his voice. “I told you. I had no idea you lived in Corbett.” He picked up the butter knife beside his plate. Sunlight glinted off the silver blade, momentarily blinding me. I flinched at the sight of his fingers on the knife, remembering Chris and the way he’d died. “News flash, Stella. Not everything is about you.”

  “Don’t you blame me for your situation.” Of course, he blamed me. I blamed myself. “You confessed to killing Chris. You caused this situation. Not me.” The amount of anger bubbling up from my core caught me by surprise.

  “You’re pissed?” He snorted and shook his head, like I’d said the most amusing thing in the world. “Go ahead. Get it off your chest. You won’t be the first or last person in line to take a poke at me.”

  “I’m not pissed.” But it was a lie. I was angry with him—angry for going to prison, for dumping me, for showing up on my doorstep and threatening the fragile happiness I’d built. Because now I questioned everything—my feelings for him and for Michael and the sensibility of moving back to a place with so many turbulent memories. The selfishness of my thoughts brought a lump to my throat. “I just want answers. I need closure.”