Tempest Rising: Episode 1 (Rising Storm)

by Julie Kenner

  Half a pint later, he saw her.

  It hadn’t taken him any time at all to realize that Joanne was a creature of routine. The Sheriff’s Department was housed in the courthouse that sat smack-dab in the middle of the town square. The annex—which the Sheriff’s Department shared with the local police—was on Pecan, right across from Pushing Up Daisies. All of which meant that Dillon spent a lot of time near Joanne’s workplace.

  Joanne parked in one of the city lots just off the square, and she daily made the walk north on Main Street, then left on Cedar—and that path put her in view of the annex, and sent her right past both the courthouse and Murphy’s Pub.

  Dillon hadn’t needed to stalk her. All he’d needed in order to know her routine was to not be blind or stupid.

  Since he was neither, he’d known that she’d be coming along soon enough.

  And now that she was here, he intended to have a word.

  He waited until she passed the doors of the bar, then said his good-byes to Aiden and Zeke before stepping onto the sidewalk himself and falling into a rhythm behind her.

  She wore a cotton blouse and a pale green skirt that moved around her lovely legs and clung enticingly to her rear. He wanted to hold her—hell, he wanted to protect her.

  And it pissed him off that not only did he not have that right, but that the man who did didn’t deserve her. Didn’t even come close.

  Hell, the only thing Hector Alvarez deserved was a long stint in a cold cell.

  She reached her car—an Oldsmobile so old he knew it didn’t have airbags—and shoved her key in the lock. She was pulling open the door when he said, slowly and gently, “Joanne.”

  She jumped, spinning toward him, her hand going to her throat, as she cringed back against the frame of the car.

  Dillon forced himself not to clench his hands into fists—but goddammit, he wanted to. Yeah, she should have been paying more attention to her surroundings, but this was a woman who was too jumpy by half.

  “Dillon! You about scared the life out of me.” The sweetest red blush started to creep up her neck, and although Dillon longed to believe that was a result of her proximity to him, he had to admit that it could be plain, old-fashioned embarrassment.

  “I’m sorry—I am. But a woman alone should pay more attention to her surroundings.”

  Her smile flickered like the sun peeking out from the clouds. “It’s Storm, Sheriff. And it’s hours before the sun goes down. If I’m not safe right now, then you must not be doing your job right.”

  He had to laugh. “Well, you’ve got a point there.”

  “Besides, I promise you that I’m very aware of my surroundings.”

  “Are you?”

  The bloom in her cheeks deepened. “For instance, just yesterday I was aware of you standing across the street from the shop, just looking at the windows. Or were you looking at me?”

  Was she flirting? Or was she pissed? It was probably a testament to how long it had been since he’d been on a date that he couldn’t tell the difference. But why date when there was only one woman he was interested in, and she was standing right in front of him?

  He took a step toward her, wanting her to understand how he felt even though he couldn’t tell her. Couldn’t cross that line. And yet she needed to know that she had a safety net. People who cared about her. Who loved her.

  And that if she would just walk away from Hector once and for all, she would survive.

  “You,” he answered simply. “I was looking at you.”

  “Oh.” She licked her lips. “Why?”

  Oh Christ. He felt his skin heat. His hands go clammy. He took another step toward her and saw the way that she nervously bit her lower lip. “You know why.” A beat, then another, but he couldn’t say it. Not so boldly. Not yet. Instead he said, “I worry about you.”

  Her smile was tremulous, and she didn’t meet his eyes.

  He wanted to yell. He wanted to curse. Instead he spoke softly and gently, just the way he would with any victim. “Joanne, sugar, I need to know. Does he hit you?”

  She looked at her hands. And she picked at her cuticles.

  “Joanne.”

  When she looked up, her eyes were defiant, and her lips were pressed tight together. She angrily held his gaze for a moment, then shifted to look at something over his shoulder.

  “Joanne. Does he hit you?”

  “Why are you doing this?”

  Her voice was so soft he almost couldn’t hear her.

  Tenderly, he took her chin in his hands and turned her head so that she had no choice but to look at him. “Because it kills me to think that he’s hurting you.”

  “He’s my husband,” she said, the word seeming vile on her lips.

  “That’s not what I asked.”

  She shook her head, and the single tear that trickled down her cheek was answer enough for Dillon.

  “He’s my husband,” she repeated, and her next words cut him to the core. “And I love him.”

  Chapter Nine

  The Morenos lived only a few blocks off of Main Street in a small, blue-trimmed bungalow. The house had a tin roof and a wooden porch that boasted two rocking chairs that Ginny and Marisol had refinished together the summer before Ginny left for college.

  Honestly, Ginny couldn’t wait to see it. The porch, the tiny kitchen, and the bedroom she’d painted pink in a fit of middle school insanity, and then never bothered to repaint.

  Soon, she thought as Nurse Francine pushed her in the wheelchair to the small receiving area for the hospital, where Marisol waited by the car, ready to take her home.

  “I can walk, you know.”

  “Two things about that,” Francine said. “Rules, and I’m a stickler for rules. And even more, there are only so many times in life when people pamper you. Being rolled out of a hospital is one of them. Sit back and enjoy it.”

  Ginny grinned. She liked Francine. The nurse was probably in her fifties, but she had a youth to her that made her seem younger. More than that, she really cared about her patients, and Ginny had been so appreciative of the times Francine would come into her room just to chat and check on her, even after Ginny had left the ICU and Francine wasn’t officially assigned to her anymore. “Thanks for everything.”

  “You’re going to be just fine, honey,” Francine said as they moved out through the automatic doors to where Marisol stood, practically vibrating with emotion.

  “Oh, sweetheart!” She helped Ginny out of the wheelchair, then hugged her so tightly that Ginny had to hold her breath. “Let’s get you home.”

  “Good-bye, sugar. Don’t be coming back until that baby’s ready, okay?”

  Ginny grinned. “Deal.”

  Marisol bustled her into the car, then actually leaned over and checked Ginny’s seatbelt. Normally, Ginny would have rolled her eyes and slapped her hand away. Today, she put up with it. She knew that Marisol was a little freaked.

  And the truth was that Ginny was about to freak her out a little bit more.

  Once they were in the car, Marisol headed down Main Street toward her bakery, Cuppa Joe, and the square. “Can we stop?”

  “At the shop? I just came from there, and although I need to get back pretty soon, I’d rather not make folks think we’re open right now.”

  “You’re closed? What about Lacey?”

  Marisol turned sad eyes to her. “I gave her the week off, honey. If she’s at work, everyone’s going to just come in to give her condolences. She’ll have to think about it—remember it—all the more.”

  Ginny nodded, feeling stupid, because of course Lacey would be beat up, too. Jacob was her brother, and she was probably feeling as numb as Ginny was.

  “I wasn’t actually talking about the shop. I wanted to go to the square.”

  Marisol’s brows lifted.

  “Just for a minute. We used to—you know—hang out there.” Now that she was saying it out loud, she felt stupid. But she and Jacob used to bring blankets and homework and s
pread out under Storm Oak, the massive five-hundred-year-old oak tree. Or they’d hang out on the gazebo and watch the tourists and locals go in and out of the shops. They’d had all their best conversations there, and maybe it was sentimental and strange, but Ginny was sure that if she went, she’d feel Jacob.

  And then maybe she could decide what she should do. If she should keep her secret. If she should move in with Celeste. If it made her a horrible person because she so desperately wanted to just hold the baby—hold Jacob—tight and pretend like Senator Rush never even existed.

  More than that, she wanted to talk to Marisol on neutral territory.

  For a second, she thought that Marisol would argue. She’d say she needed to get to work. That she wished she didn’t have to, but that they needed the money and she couldn’t afford to keep the shop closed over the lunch hour, which meant she had to be back and behind the counter in just over ninety minutes.

  But her sister surprised her. She gave a quick nod, then pulled into one of the fifteen-minute slots. “We can’t stay long,” she said, and Ginny could hear the apology in her voice.

  “That’s okay. Come with me to the gazebo?”

  From where they’d parked, they couldn’t see the structure, hidden as it was on the other side of the courthouse. But as they walked toward the ancient oak, past the courthouse on their left, it came into view. They turned to the left, then strolled over the well-tended lawn. The sun shone down on them, making the gazebo’s white paint gleam and the courthouse sparkle just a bit from the granite that made up most of its facade.

  “Celeste came to see me,” Ginny said as they walked.

  “Of course she did. She misses Jacob, but she’s always adored you, and I know she’s happy that you’re safe. And there’s the baby, of course.”

  “That’s mostly why she came.” She chewed on her lower lip as they climbed up the gazebo steps, then sat in the shade that did little to fight the Texas heat that would only get worse as summer progressed. “She asked if I wanted to move in with her.”

  “Oh.”

  Ginny tried to read Marisol’s tone and face, but couldn’t quite manage it.

  “She said I’d have a room and the baby’d have a nursery, and they wanted to be close to their grandson. She said that we’re family now.” Ginny didn’t look straight at her sister. She was simmering in a stew of guilt, and not just about claiming the baby was Jacob’s, but now making it seem like poor Marisol hadn’t been family enough.

  “Marisol—”

  Her sister turned to her with a big smile that looked a little too forced. “Honey, no. It’s okay. She’s right. We are all family now. I think it’s sweet of them to suggest it.” She rubbed her palms down her jeans, a sure sign that she was uncomfortable. “What are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know. I—I wanted to know what you thought.”

  For a second, she thought Marisol would really talk to her. That she’d give her the kind of advice that their mother might have shared. But then Marisol just smiled again and hugged her tight and said, “Baby, whatever you decide, you know that I’m there for you.”

  Ginny looked down at the whitewashed planks under her feet. “You don’t think I should?” Was that good? Did that lessen the lie if she didn’t move in with them?

  Marisol stood up. “I’m sorry, but I have to get back to the shop.”

  Ginny grabbed her sister’s hand and held her in place. “Marisol—come on. Talk to me.”

  Her sister tugged her hand away, then shoved both into the back pockets of her jeans as she studied one of the gazebo’s posts. “I’ll just miss you if you go,” she said.

  And while Ginny knew that was true—and that she’d miss Marisol, too—she still didn’t know what to do.

  * * * *

  Marisol squirted some Windex on the glass case inside Cuppa Joe and started to shine the glass. As she did, she caught Mallory’s reflection, hovering somewhere over the pumpkin spice cupcakes. “There’s still a little coffee in the pot, Mallory, if you want it. But drink up because once I’m finished doing this and tomorrow’s prep work, I’m out of here.”

  “Thanks for letting me hang, Ms. Moreno.”

  “Marisol, and you’re welcome.” She glanced at the case, saw that an even dozen assorted cupcakes were left over to end the day. And she knew just how tight money was at the Alvarez house. “You want to do me a favor and take eight of these home with you? If I take them all, we’ll just eat them, and trust me when I say that my family gets more than enough in the way of cupcakes and muffins.”

  “Really?”

  “Come pick your flavors.” She put together a pastry box, lined it with tissue, and gestured for Mallory to go behind the counter and help herself.

  “Okay. That’s really awesome of you. Thanks.”

  “You’re very welcome.” She’d already locked the door, and was surprised to hear a tap on the glass. Cuppa Joe was popular, but people rarely demanded entrance.

  She headed that way and opened the blinds, then hurried to unlock the door when she saw who it was—Celeste Salt.

  “Celeste. Come in.” She ushered her inside, and the two women hugged, and Marisol was struck by how easy it was to bond over shared grief. She’d known Celeste forever, of course, but it had been Ginny and Jacob who were tight. The rest of the family members had drifted along casually.

  Until now.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “No, no. Am I interrupting?”

  Marisol shook her head. “I’m just cleaning. I close the shop at five on Tuesdays. The crowds thin out during the evenings until the weekend.”

  “Of course,” said Celeste, though it was clear she couldn’t care less. “I was just—well, I wanted to talk to you about something.”

  Marisol froze because she knew what was coming. But she pretended she didn’t. “Sure,” she said brightly. “Of course. Do you want coffee?”

  “No, no.” She pointed to a table. “Can we sit?”

  “Oh. Sure. Yeah.” They each took a chair at a small round table, and Celeste clasped her hands together.

  “Well.” She cleared her throat. “I suppose I should just dive right in,” she said with a small laugh. “You see, Travis and I would like Ginny to move into our home.”

  “Oh. I see.” Marisol licked her lips, not sure why she was pretending like Ginny hadn’t already told her. Maybe she wanted to hear it from Celeste. The what and the why of it. Maybe if Celeste wanted to take away Marisol’s little sister, then Marisol wanted to hear all of it straight from Celeste.

  She wasn’t sure, but she said nothing else as Celeste continued, talking about having someone at home to take care of Ginny during the pregnancy, about Jacob and wanting to feel close to him, about being part of the family now and the baby having a nursery and how Celeste had already talked to Ginny but feared that Ginny didn’t want to hurt Marisol. And on and on and on until Marisol was just sitting there feeling numb.

  “I’ve overwhelmed you.”

  “No. No.”

  “I’ve angered you.”

  “No! Really. I’m just—” What? What was she?

  She blinked, then grappled for something to say. “What about Lacey? Won’t it be strange having Jacob’s best friend in the house?”

  Celeste sat back. “Well, this has all been hard on her, of course. But she’s my steady one. And the truth is that she’s always felt like she was part of your family—you’ve always been so sweet to her that I know she thinks of you as a big sister.”

  “Really? She’s a great kid.”

  “She is,” Celeste agreed. “And she adores Ginny.”

  “She wouldn’t resent her? Or the baby? Lacey is going to need you and Travis and Sara Jane now more than ever.”

  “I promise you there’s no resentment. And Travis and I have enough love to go around. Lacey’s always been such an adult. You know. Responsible. Smart.” She nodded firmly, almost as if she was sealing a bargain—or maybe convincing hersel
f. “This is a good decision, for the entire family. And you, Marisol, are part of our family too now.”

  Marisol drew in a long, slow breath, trying to process it all. Everything Celeste said about Lacey was true. Goodness knew Marisol had known the girl for years, both through Jacob and from the part-time work she did at Cuppa Joe. And although Marisol had always feared that Lacey Salt was the kind of girl who might go a little wild when given the chance—like when she finally went away for college—Marisol knew that maybe she was just projecting her own life onto the seventeen-year-old. Because Marisol had never had the chance to go wild, and there were times when, in her fantasies, she pretended that she hadn’t shouldered the world. That she’d shrugged instead and let the responsibilities roll off her.

  But she hadn’t. She’d survived—hell, she’d thrived. And Lacey would too.

  Still, as hard as Marisol had worked, it had never been enough for her shattered family. Wasn’t the fact that Celeste was sitting there now proof of that? She felt her throat thicken and cursed, because she’d done enough crying over the last few days to last a lifetime. “I’ve tried so hard to give Ginny and Luis everything, but I can’t give them what you’re offering.” She felt the tears sting her eyes. “And I know I should be grateful to you and Travis—I do. But at the same time, I just can’t help but feel like I failed.”

  She blinked hard, determined not to cry.

  “Oh, Marisol, no.” Celeste was on her feet and pulling Marisol up from her chair in an instant, her arms going tight around Marisol. “I told you—we’re family now, too. And as family, I think I’m allowed to say that you’ve done an amazing job with both the kids. Carried a terrible burden. And now it’s time to let someone else help shoulder the load.”

  And that was all it took. The tears flowed like a faucet. And for the first time in a long time, Marisol felt like a child again, being held in the arms of her mother.

  “I’ll talk to her,” Marisol said when the tears slowed enough that she could speak. “It’s up to Ginny, but I’ll tell her that I don’t mind. And that I think it’s probably even a good idea.”

  “Do you?” Celeste pulled away, her brow furrowing as she looked Marisol over.

  “I’ll miss having her at home, but now it’s not just about Ginny. It’s about the baby, too. So yeah. I do.” She reached out and took Celeste’s hand and squeezed hard. “Jacob adored you and Travis, you know. I guess—well, I guess now I see why.”