Unbreak My Heart

by Teresa Hill

  And it seemed Stephen was right once again—annoyingly right—when he said there truly was danger here. She didn't understand why he would be so dead-set against her plans for the shelter, but the hard truth was she couldn't refute any of his impossibly logical objections. Every one she'd checked out so far had proven true.

  Allie swore softly and picked up a small, framed photo of her sister she'd placed on the table in the front hall. She might never understand Stephen Whittaker. She was tired and more confused than ever.

  But she wanted so much to make the shelter work. She hadn't been able to help her sister years ago, but Allie was here now, a grown woman with a big old house and a big dream.

  "Help me, Megan," she said. "Show me the way."

  Her sister didn't magically appear. No more memories flooded her mind.

  "Allie?" She jumped at the sound so close behind her, even though it was just Casey.

  "Sorry," he said, looking at the photograph. "Is that your sister?"

  Allie nodded.

  "I know you said she ran away...." He hesitated. "But some people..."

  Allie groaned. "What did people tell you?"

  "That real bad things must have happened to her here for her to take off like that and never come back."

  "What bad things?" Obviously, she and her family were the highlights of the gossipmongers once again. Maybe all she had to do was send Casey to town to gather information for her. Maybe they would tell him more than they'd ever tell Allie to her face.

  "I don't know." Casey shrugged and looked down at his big wide feet. "A couple of guys over at the pizza place told me your father must have... you know... gotten rid of her."

  "Really?"

  "Yeah. They said he strangled her and buried her body in the basement, and that's why the house's haunted."

  It was so sad and so outrageous, she just stared at him for a moment. Then she started to laugh. The sound tumbled out of her with a momentum all its own, an odd, uncontrollable, woman-losing-it laugh, and she couldn't stop. People were saying her father killed her sister and hid her body in the basement?

  "Sorry." Casey sat down beside her and awkwardly touched her arm. "I didn't mean to upset you."

  She clamped a hand over her mouth and worked hard to slow her breathing, to get herself under control. When she could, she told him, "My father didn't murder my sister. She died in a car accident in Georgia."

  Casey looked as if he didn't believe her.

  "Look." She grabbed the newspaper articles from the desk. "Photocopies of stories about my sister and the accident."

  Casey glanced at them, still looking skeptical.

  "You still don't believe me?" Allie asked.

  "No, it's just..."

  "The gossip's much more entertaining?"

  Casey sighed, looking old beyond his years and still confused. "Are you sure it was her? In that accident?"

  "I didn't want to believe it could be her, Casey. None of us did."

  "But you're sure? I mean... how could you be sure?"

  "I'm sure someone identified her body before we brought her back here and buried her," she said. "Casey, I really want to help you. I'm sorry for whatever I said that upset you yesterday. But I'm really worried about you. Please let me help."

  He looked wary once again. "I didn't want to come back here."

  "I'm glad you did."

  "I didn't know where else to go," he admitted. All of a sudden, his breathing was hard, shoulders heaving, and he looked heartbroken. "I get so sick of all the games, but I didn't know where else I could go, and I just wish somebody could be straight with me. Just once."

  "I have been, Casey. What makes you think I haven't?"

  He gave her a sullen stare, spoiled somewhat by the tears gathering in his eyes.

  "Do you know something about what happened here?" she asked. "Did you hear something around town you haven't told me?"

  "No," he cried.

  He looked absolutely heartbroken. Then he turned around and kicked his foot against the wall, hard enough to make Allie wince. Why would he think she was lying to him? And what could she have said to hurt him like this?

  "Casey, whatever it is, just tell me. We'll figure it out. I promise. I want to help you."

  "My mother always said that to me. Trust me, Casey. I'm doing what's best for you. I don't want to hurt you. I've heard it all my life, and it's a load of shit, Allie. Pure shit, and I don't want to hear it anymore. Especially not from you."

  "I wouldn't do that to you," she tried to explain. Never. After all, she'd been raised by a mother who'd done exactly the same thing. But Casey wasn't listening. He turned around and stormed out the door. She went after him. "Casey, please don't go like this."

  He kept right on walking, cutting through the backyard, crossing the creek and disappearing.

  "Oh, Casey," she whispered, wishing she'd insisted on knowing more about him. If he didn't come back, she didn't have any way to find him.

  She wondered where he would sleep tonight, wondered what he'd eat and whether he would be warm enough, even as she prayed he'd come back.

  * * *

  Allie stood there for a long time worrying about Casey. Then she came inside and stared at the photograph of her sister, then the flowers from Stephen. She was tired and restless and feeling antsy, like something was about to happen, something she wouldn't like.

  She wandered through the downstairs, trying not to think of the things that awaited her on the second floor, in the bedrooms she'd been too cowardly to enter at this point. It had to stop. She knew that. But they hadn't made a dent in the yard or the attic. It wasn't as if she was sitting here doing nothing but being scared of what was in the bedrooms. And there was certainly enough work to be done on the first floor to keep her busy for at least a week.

  She walked through the first-floor rooms one by one, just needing to move. There were furnishings here she would likely donate to charity, other pieces that were probably antiques. Which meant she needed someone to tell her what was valuable and what was not. She made a mental list. Antique dealer. Charitable organization. A truck to haul everything away. She was good with lists.

  Still feeling oddly out of sorts, Allie peeked into the formal living room, her gaze caught on the delicate, cream-colored chair in the corner.

  She stared at it for the longest time, and her vision blurred. She blinked to clear it, finding her eyes oddly drawn to that spot. And then she remembered her mother sitting there, weeping, the night they found out Megan was dead.

  Allie shuddered. She remembered hiding on the stairs, the stairs she absolutely hated climbing, and listening to her mother cry. It was the worst sound Allie had ever heard, nothing like the halfhearted, manipulative noises her mother made in the years that followed.

  She could hear it so clearly now, see it. Bright, late-afternoon sunlight streamed in the windows. Her mother sat in the shadows in the deepest corner of the room weeping, her face lined with pain, her arms wrapped tightly around her middle, her body curled inward, as if she'd been struck a mighty blow.

  "Janet..." Her father said. "Oh, God, Janet."

  Allie eased forward, so she could see more of the room, just as she'd done that night.

  She saw her father's hand reach out for her mother, saw her mother slap his hand away.

  "Are you happy now?" her mother said.

  "Happy?" he gasped. "She's dead, Janet. You think anybody could be happy about that?"

  "It's what you wanted," her mother sobbed. "You wanted her gone. Now she's gone forever."

  Allie gaped at the empty room, the image and the voices gone as abruptly as they'd come. She couldn't believe that of her father. She wouldn't.

  She ran down the hall, out the front door, down the front steps, and into the yard, until she couldn't hear her parents' voices or see her mother's face in her mind. She collapsed on the ground at the base of a massive willow tree. In spots, its heavy branches nearly dragged the ground, shielding her from
sight, protecting her. Megan had liked to hide here, she remembered. She had hidden among the willows, and now Allie did, too. She didn't ever remember hearing this conversation on the day Megan died, but maybe she'd blocked it out of her mind. It had been too painful to remember, to even consider. It still was.

  You wanted her gone.

  Allie hugged her knees to her chest. There was no way on earth she'd ever believe he wanted Megan dead. Or that he had anything to do with her sister's death.

  Mitch Wilson's words came back to her. She was terrified of someone back here. She thought he followed her all the way to Macon. She thought she saw him the day before she died.

  It was crazy. Her own father hunting down her sister? No way. It had to be a mistake. Mitch Wilson could be lying through his teeth, for all she knew.

  She thought about the letter. Who had sent it? Why were they playing these games with her? If someone knew something, why not just tell her? Why couldn't anyone just tell her what was going on?

  Allie sat there huddled against the base of the tree, staring at the house, not wanting to go back inside, feeling more alone than she ever had in her entire life. Maybe Stephen had been right all along. The truth might well be too painful, and nothing she was going to find out would change anything. Her entire family would still be gone. She'd still be all alone.

  Oh, Daddy, she sobbed. She had loved him. All her life, she'd loved him, despite everything. She'd always thought things would have been so different, so much better, if only she could be here with him. And he was gone now. Her mother was gone. Her sister was gone. Absolutely everyone was gone.

  "God," she said, absolutely aching. Every pore in her body ached. Everything inside. Every thought running through her head.

  She didn't want to be here, and yet she had no place to go. Even if she left now, she'd never escape what she'd seen and heard here, never forget. There would be no peace for her. She was trapped.

  Gazing at the house, Allie shuddered. It would be dark before long, and she didn't want to be inside that house. She was so sick of being alone. Even when her mother was alive, Allie had felt so lonely.

  Her gaze went unerringly to Stephen's house. Stephen, who might be lying to her, who was at the very least keeping things from her. Stephen, who it seemed might have been right about everything.

  She wanted him now, despite everything else. The mere idea of his presence seemed an incredible luxury to her. She wasn't afraid when he was nearby. Angry, perhaps, confused, but not afraid.

  She closed her eyes and sank back against the trunk of the big tree. He said he'd mourned her sister over the years, that he felt guilty for not doing more to save her, and Allie believed that.

  He was a complicated man. Strong, solid, so sure of himself, so determined. Sometimes frustrating, sometimes annoying, quite often incredibly kind, caring, gentle, sympathetic, protective, and very, very sexy. The kind of man a woman could count on? That was the question at the forefront at the moment. She was truly frightened now, so upset, feeling so horribly lost. It was crunch time. The time when she had to consider everything he'd told her, everything he'd shown her about himself and everything she believed about him.

  When it came right down to it, she knew if she called him, he would come to her. She had absolutely no doubts about that. She trusted him to make whatever was wrong better. Allie closed her eyes and felt her sense of panic receding. Just knowing she could call and he would come, made her feel so much better. She could only imagine having a man like that standing beside her all the days of her life. She would never be afraid of anything.

  He was a man capable of chasing away the darkness and all of her fears. With him, her loneliness dissolved away. He'd told her he knew all about being alone, and she believed he did. In the beginning, she'd judged him as he said so many women had—by appearance and family name alone. But just because his family appeared to be so much more stable than hers didn't mean it was.

  She was also starting to believe he might well want the same thing she did. A place to belong. A haven. Just one person she could count on.

  Allie sighed and pulled out the cordless phone he'd insisted she tuck into her back pocket, when he'd been worried about Casey being here with her. He'd lectured her, sounding like a man who cared deeply about her safety, and it had brought on an odd tugging sensation in the region of her heart. She wanted him to care, she realized. She'd be happy to have anyone in the world to care about her, but most of all, she wanted it to be him.

  The shadows were deepening around her, her tears finally dried, when she picked up the phone and called. He answered right away, speaking curtly, practically barking his last name into her ear. She'd never heard him like that.

  "Am I catching you at a bad time," she asked.

  "Allie? What's wrong? Did something happen with that boy?"

  "No. He hasn't done anything, except work hard and eat enough for three grown men."

  "You're sure? When I heard your voice like that, I was worried."

  "I'm okay," she insisted.

  "Allie? About this morning... I'm sorry."

  "I know."

  "You got the flowers?"

  "Yes. They're beautiful. Thank you," she said. "I'm sorry, too. I hit you—"

  "It's all right."

  Allie wasn't sure it was. But she didn't want to argue, didn't want to run through the whole thing again. She wasn't sure what she wanted, except to hear his voice.

  "Is everything okay there?" she said. "You don't sound like yourself, either."

  "Okay, I'm busted. This is the work me. The bad-tempered businessman me."

  "Oh. I'm interrupting, aren't I?"

  "Everyone else has been interrupting me today, but not you. I'm really sorry about this morning, Allie. I'm sorry about everything."

  "Me, too."

  "Now... what can I do for you?"

  He said it like an invitation, like she could ask him for anything, and he would give it to her. That was what she wanted; it was why she'd called. She'd had an awful day. She was scared, tired, confused and so very alone, and she just wanted to put it behind her for a little while. She wanted him to make it all go away, had no doubt that he could.

  "I don't want to be alone tonight," she said.

  "Allie, what happened?"

  "Nothing. I just don't want to think about my sister or anything to do with her disappearance or the shelter. I want to forget all of it tonight."

  "With me," he suggested.

  "Yes," she admitted. No one but him would do.

  "Done," he said.

  "Just like that?"

  "Just like that. What would you like to do?"

  "I was wondering if you were free for dinner?"

  "That sounds promising," he said.

  "You don't know what kind of cook I am," she warned.

  "Food isn't the attraction, as far as I'm concerned."

  "Oh."

  He could be so smooth. Stephen the ladies' man. She'd never been the focus of the attentions of a man like him before. Not that there had been a lot of men in her life; there simply hadn't been time. It seemed she'd never truly been young and carefree and in love—that giddy, the-whole-world-is-beautiful kind of love that comes with youth and optimism and a reckless notion that nothing really bad will ever happen. She hadn't missed it until now.

  "Hey?" Stephen teased easily. "Don't get scared on me now. We're just talking about dinner."

  "Okay."

  "You and me," he said. "Here and now. No past. Just us. Just for tonight."

  "Yes." That was what she wanted.

  "Let's go out," he suggested.

  "If you'd rather."

  "I would. I know just the place. I'll pick you up at eight."

  Chapter 11

  He rang the bell at eight on the dot. Allie was in the kitchen, sipping nervously from a glass of sherry. She'd made a frantic rim through town to buy a dress and shoes and perfume, her nerves and doubts warring with an undeniable sense of excite
ment. She was going on a date. With Stephen.

  She opened the front door, and her kitten promptly tried to escape.

  Stephen snatched it before it got too far. "Hey, who's this?"

  "We found each other one night. She doesn't have a name yet," Allie said, and it did something funny to her insides to see her kitten cradled so gently against his chest, to see him stroking it with his big, gentle hands.

  "You make a habit of taking in strays?"

  "Not until now, but I think I will." It was one way to keep from being alone.

  Stephen put the kitten down on the floor. He straightened, and she got her first good look at him, wearing a beautifully tailored navy suit that made his eyes look more blue than green and a white shirt that contrasted with his sun-browned skin. He looked impossibly tall and lean and polished, the man she'd come to know, but more imposing, more powerful, even more overwhelming.

  Her heart started to thud inside her chest. Little shivers of sheer pleasure ran through her. She wanted him, for reasons that had nothing to do with needing to forget her troubles. It seemed she'd traded one dangerous situation for another.

  "You look beautiful," he said with just the right touch of sincerity that she believed every word. He really was good at this.

  "Thank you," she said.

  "Ready to go?"

  She nodded. They walked outside, and she found a tiny convertible in a deep, dark green with caramel-colored leather interior parked in her driveway.

  "It looks like a toy."

  "It is," he said unapologetically, holding open her door and stepping back so she could sink into the buttery soft seat.

  They headed away from town, down a twisting, turning road that followed the river, slipping through a cascade made by the broad, full trees lining the water. The road wound down, closer to the water, the night pleasantly warm, the stars shining brightly overhead. He'd turned on the music, something with a thrumming guitar playing a cross between the blues, rock and roll, and country, the male vocalist crooning in a deep, husky baritone.