Harlequin Superromance March 2014 - Bundle 2 of 2: The Secrets of Her PastA Real Live HeroIn Her Corner

by EMILIE ROSE

  “You need anything? We have extra blankets if you need,” Eddie asked.

  “I’m good,” Zed said, settling against the wall on his narrow bed. “Thanks for asking.”

  “No problem, Zed. You holler if you need anything. I’m sure you’re going to be let out soon enough.”

  Zed nodded and closed his eyes. He could feel the last trace of THC leaving his body, and total sobriety wouldn’t be far behind. How long had it been since he’d been completely sober? He couldn’t remember. He’d always enjoyed a little recreational marijuana use, which Jennelle had tolerated. But after Simone had died, he’d gone from using recreationally to using it to get through the day. And once he was stoned all the time, he couldn’t carve for shit and needed a new source of income. He rubbed at his eyes, wondering how things had gotten so sidewise so quickly. Shame and regret flooded his old bones, and he felt older than his actual years.

  He must’ve dozed off because he awoke with a start when a familiar voice started insulting him.

  “Look at you...you look like hell. Wake up, you sorry drug addict.” Rhett Fowler, a man he’d once considered his best friend, stood glaring at him from the other side of the bars, plainly disgusted with what he saw.

  “What do you want?” Zed asked, not interested in hearing Rhett’s opinion of the situation. “Come to gloat?”

  “Oh, get over yourself. I’ve come to bail your ass out.”

  Zed stared at his old friend. “What for?”

  “Damn if I know,” Rhett grumbled. “But I’ve come to bail you out just the same. Unless you’re enjoying your stay at the Homer Community Jail. If that’s the case, I’ll just collect my five grand and leave you be.” Rhett’s gaze swept the small jail cell, resting on the toilet, and he shuddered. “Make your choice.”

  A part of him was resigned to sitting in his cell as a penance for letting his family down, but another part of him was anxious to see just how bad the damage was to his pot garden. It was the latter that scared him. “I think I’ll stay,” he answered slowly, realizing it was the best, if not desirable, choice.

  Rhett narrowed his stare at his old friend. “Why?”

  “Because this is where I need to be right now.”

  “You don’t trust yourself, do you?” Rhett said with a sad shake of his head. “Zed, you’ve got yourself a real bad addiction. What are you going to do about it? You can’t stay locked in this cell forever. Your family needs you. Your wife needs you most.”

  “Jennelle ask you to bail me out?”

  “She did. What’s this about her getting kicked out of the house?”

  “I don’t know...something about the house being condemned until further notice,” Zed answered, shifting with guilt. He’d known how bad the conditions were, and yet he’d allowed his wife to continue living in it. “Jennelle has a problem with keeping stuff,” he admitted evasively, not wanting to go into detail. “I moved out of the main house several months ago, and I’ve been staying in the garage. I made a makeshift living quarters inside the garage.”

  “That’s not the only thing you made in your garage,” Rhett said, whistling. “Word is that the cops collected a pretty big pot garden from your garage.”

  What was the sense in lying? He nodded. “It’s true.”

  “What happened to you, Zed? We used to enjoy a toke now and then, but this? This is out of control. You know that, right?”

  “Yes, I know it,” he shot back, irritated. “I don’t need you to tell me how I’ve screwed up.”

  “Don’t be taking my head off. You’re the one sitting on the wrong side of the bars, my friend.”

  “I know.”

  “Jennelle’s in a tizzy. Never seen the old gal so worked up. She’s right mad at Miranda and Trace. The way I see it, Jennelle’s got an even bigger problem than you right now. You need to man up and help your woman. There ain’t no cause to be hammering on the kids she’s got left. Simone died, and it was a damn shame, but you all got three kids still living. Try to remember that, all right?”

  Zed felt the burn of anger starting to build again, but everything Rhett was saying was right. Didn’t make it any easier to hear, though. “You finished?” Zed asked.

  “I figure I am, if you’re done listening.”

  Rhett exhaled with an expression of frustration at Zed’s stubbornness and turned to leave. Zed called after him with a reluctant thanks. “Means a lot that you’d come down and bail me out, even though we haven’t been tight for a few years now. Means even more that you’re looking out for my family still. You’re a good man, Rhett Fowler.”

  “Yeah, well don’t let too many people know that. I have a reputation to protect.” Rhett’s weathered face crinkled in a brief smile before he sobered and said, “You know, I’ve always envied you your family. I’ve never made it a secret that I thought Jennelle deserved better than you, but she didn’t never see no one but Zedediah Sinclair. Had stars in her eyes over you. And now, it’s up to you to get your family back on track. They need you. Be the man you used to be—the man who used to be my best friend.”

  “I don’t even know where to start looking for that man,” Zed answered, sinking a little deeper into morose self-pity. “Maybe there’s no going back to what was.”

  “You can’t go backward but you can move forward instead of sitting on your ass watching the world go by while stoned out of your gourd.”

  “I never meant for any of this to happen,” Zed said in his defense. “I certainly never imagined my baby girl would be taken and killed. Talk to me when you’ve suffered a loss like that. It changes you.”

  Rhett’s expression softened at the mention of Simone. “It was hell,” he acknowledged. “I loved her like a daughter, but I know that’s not the same. But she’s gone and you’re all still here. That ought to account for something. Your kids are practically begging you to snap out of it. You’re going to have an easier time of it than Jennelle. I fear that gal is lost and fighting the way back home, if you know what I mean.”

  He did. Jennelle’s favorite place to be was in that godforsaken room of Simone’s that was done up like a shrine. It was creepy and he hated it, but Jennelle screeched like a banshee when he suggested that they turn it into a sewing room or something. In the end, it’d been easier to let her have her way. “What am I supposed to do if she doesn’t want the help?” he asked.

  “Sometimes you have to take the reins away from a runaway coach, you know? I know Jennelle has a wicked temper, but I’ve never known you to be afraid of your wife’s sharp tongue. You could always handle Jennelle just fine. And she respected you for it. Stop tiptoeing around the situation and just start doing something to fix it before it’s too late.” Rhett let that sink in for a moment before adding, “You’ve been hiding for far too long, and maybe I should’ve said something earlier—not that you would’ve listened, but that’s no excuse—but things gotta change. While you were too busy shutting out the world, the world changed. You’ve left your kids and wife to twist in the wind, and that’s plain selfish. You know I always thought of your kids like my own, but the truth of the matter is there was no cause for me to step into your job when you’re still around. They need you, Zed. You’ve been putting a lot on Miranda’s shoulders, and it’s not fair. She’s got a boy of her own to tend and a new man in her life. All her free time shouldn’t be used up tending to your mess.”

  What could Zed say? It was all true. “I didn’t mean to put it all on Miranda’s shoulders. And besides, no one asked her to take on the world for me.”

  “That’s a chicken-shit response. Take responsibility, Zed. No more excuses. Man up, for crying out loud, and stop whining and hiding like a little girl behind her mama’s skirts.”

  The disgust in Rhett’s voice caused Zed to wince privately, but in a strange way he felt he needed it. He needed to feel the shame and th
e anger. The shame made him take stock, and the anger gave him the power to do something about it. Miranda had accused him of being apathetic; she’d been right.

  “I don’t know where to start,” he admitted.

  Rhett shrugged. “Start with ‘I’m sorry.’ I’m sure Miranda and Trace would be there for you if you showed an effort. You screwed up. That’s all. You can still fix this. I know you can.”

  Tears stung his eyes but he held back the tears. Rhett was a good friend and an even better man. Zed missed their friendship. “Thanks,” Zed said, knowing the word would convey much more than simple gratitude. Rhett smiled and waved goodbye as the awaiting officer let him out.

  Zed sighed. He used to have so much pride, so much zest for life. Now, he lived like a hermit, tending his garden, selling enough to get by and getting stoned the rest of the time. He never saw his kids. Never saw his grandson. Hell, by this time, he should’ve been teaching Talen how to track just as he had all his kids. Could’ve been teaching the boy some carving tricks. He remembered Miranda saying something about the boy having some talent in that area. As far as his wife? He’d let her down the worst. There was so much damage between them that he didn’t know if he had what it took to fix what’d been broken.

  What a mess.

  Well, his court date was in a week and a half. He’d better have things figured out by then, because things had to change. They just had to.

  * * *

  JENNELLE’S HANDS SHOOK with anger as she tried to sip her tea. It took two tries to lift the dainty cup to her lips before she could do so without spilling.

  “The nerve,” she muttered, unable to stop herself. Florence, a good friend with a sweet disposition, had seemed appalled and unsure of how to help, which was why she’d rushed to put on a pot of tea. In her opinion, tea helped everything. “I never imagined my children to be so wretched and self-absorbed. Where’d I go wrong, Flo?”

  “Oh, dear, I don’t know that you did anything wrong, Jenny,” Flo said, sitting in her floral-backed chair with a frown. “Maybe this is all a misunderstanding?”

  Jennelle snorted. “A misunderstanding? I’ve been kicked out of my home and my husband was arrested like a common criminal. How could that be a misunderstanding?”

  Florence fluttered her hands in a helpless gesture. “I don’t know. But why would Zed be arrested if he hadn’t done anything wrong?” she asked timidly, as if she were afraid to point out the obvious.

  Jennelle sniffed and sipped her tea. “It was an overreaction. Zed grows some herbs for medicinal purposes...” she started, but then her throat choked up as if her own body were trying to prevent her from uttering a blatant lie. Her cheeks heated as she took another sip to clear her throat. When she could safely speak again, she said, “Well, in any case, kicking me from my home was unforgivable.”

  “I don’t understand what happened. How could they kick you from your home?” Flo asked, confused. “How bad could it have been?”

  Jennelle hadn’t let any of her friends visit in years. No one knew just how things had changed. Jennelle tried for a variation of the truth. “Over the years, I’ve been collecting a few things. It helps to keep me occupied. Zed is so busy with his own thing, and for reasons that I cannot fathom Miranda refuses to let me have a real relationship with my grandson. And my sons never visit. So I found my own hobbies. Now I’m being penalized for my interest in collections. What was I supposed to do? Sit in a corner and twiddle my thumbs? Would that have been acceptable?”

  “Of course not,” Flo said, disagreeing. “Surely, that’s not what they were thinking. You have the right to your own life. And there’s nothing wrong with a collection or two. I collect Gone with the Wind plates, and I cherish them. I’d be appalled if someone came along and told me what I could and couldn’t purchase with my own money.”

  “Exactly,” Jennelle said, feeling somewhat validated. Of course, she left out the part where she’d not only started collecting but she’d discovered an odd aversion to throwing anything away, too. “Miranda has always found fault with everything I do. She has since she was a child, and now she’s found the perfect way to get back at me for some imagined faults. As for Trace, I cannot believe he would betray me this way.” She exhaled a shaky breath before finishing her tea. “I don’t know what to think anymore. If only Simone were here,” she added with a watery sniff.

  “Maybe things will look better in the morning,” Flo suggested with a kind expression. “Right now, you’re angry and hurt...”

  “Tomorrow will look the same as today. A new dawn isn’t going to change the fact that two of my children betrayed me. Do you realize Trace wouldn’t even put up the five thousand for bail? His own father! Tell me again how I didn’t go wrong in raising them?”

  “Five thousand is a lot of money. Maybe he didn’t have it to give,” Flo offered, to which Jennelle waved away her suggestion.

  “Oh, he had it. Trace has plenty of money to spare. He didn’t offer it up because he’s angry with his father and siding with Miranda. It’s practically a coup.”

  “That sounds terribly harsh,” Flo said, shaking her head and sipping her own tea. “I’ve never known your children to be that sort of people. I think perhaps you’re looking at things through a clouded lens.”

  “If Simone were here, she wouldn’t have let them do this to me,” Jennelle said, placing her cup in her lap so she could wipe at the tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. “If Simone were here...she’d be appalled at what her siblings have done. Simply shameful.”

  “Simone was a dear girl and you were so close. Her death was such a tragedy,” Flo murmured.

  Jennelle often wondered if people said those things only because they felt it was appropriate given the circumstance and not because they felt any true emotion. How could they possibly understand the pain of losing a child unless they’d gone through it themselves?

  “But I do wonder... Simone and Miranda had been very close as I recall,” Flo added. “I don’t know that she would’ve sided with Miranda.”

  Jennelle stared at her friend, irritated at her recollection at such an inopportune moment. “Yes, well be that as it may, Simone would’ve been outraged at everything that’s happened.”

  “Something tells me that if Simone were here, none of it would’ve happened,” Flo said quietly.

  Jennelle struggled with that small bit of wisdom. So much had changed the day Simone was taken from their lives. What would life have been like if that incident hadn’t happened? She blinked at the pain in her heart. Simone had been such a bright, happy girl, and she’d adored her older sister and brothers. They’d all been so happy. Why had fate been so cruel to the Sinclairs? “Yes, you’re probably right,” she admitted against the anguish building in her chest. “Everything changed when she died.”

  Jennelle couldn’t hold back any longer and sobbed into her hands. Everything was ruined. Life would never be the same, and it had nothing to do with a messy house. She longed for the safety of her special room; it was the closest she came to happiness these days—and Miranda and Trace had taken it from her.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  DELAINEY SETTLED INTO her plane seat and closed her eyes, shutting out the murmurs of the passengers around her. It felt hard to breathe, but she knew why and didn’t fight it. This too shall pass, she reminded herself, steeling her nerves against the overwhelming urge to jump from her seat and run back to Trace before he left the terminal. She knew it’d been risky to have Trace drive her to the airport, but he’d insisted and she hadn’t had the willpower to refuse him.

  Besides, it was good closure, she’d told herself. But now as she sat, rigid and feeling sick for leaving him, she realized it’d been a mistake. She should’ve taken a cab. Goodbyes weren’t good for anyone, much less someone who was fairly certain she was saying goodbye to the one person who w
as her other half. She signaled the stewardess and ordered a vodka tonic, not caring about the expense of a watered-down alcoholic beverage, just desperate for something to settle her thoughts.

  “We haven’t even been in the air for fifteen minutes and you’re already tossing them back?”

  The irritation of Trevor’s voice caused her to open her eyes and stare crossly. “Excuse me?” she asked. “Is it any business of yours?”

  “Not a bit. Just sharing an observation.”

  “Well, unless you’re sharing information about a camera that I will care about, please keep your observations private.”

  Trevor shrugged, her curt reply bouncing from his shoulders as he tossed a peanut into his mouth. “I can see why you wouldn’t want to stay. Alaska is b-o-r-i-n-g,” he said by way of conversation, and she wondered why she hadn’t switched around the seating to avoid sharing proximity with Trevor. He was such an obnoxious ass. “Nothing like the excitement of L.A.”

  “That’s not a glowing endorsement,” she muttered before she could censor herself.

  “Not a fan? That’s a surprise.”

  “Why is that surprising?” she asked, grudgingly curious.

  “Because it’s the opposite of Alaska and you seem to hate Alaska.”

  “I don’t hate Alaska,” she corrected him irritably. “I just couldn’t follow my dreams there.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because the film industry is in Los Angeles,” she answered. “And why are we having this conversation?”

  “Seems someone ought to have it with you.”

  “And that person should be you?”

  “I guess.”