by Angel Smits
“Give it a try before passing judgment.”
He was talking about burgers, she reminded herself. He held her gaze, and she wondered what was going on behind those deep blue eyes. She doubted he’d tell her, but oh, how she wanted to ask.
Katie came barreling into the kitchen, climbing up onto her chair at the new table, then patiently waiting. Amy frowned. Her daughter cooperative? Was this more of that hero worship? Or something else?
Moments passed, the kitchen filled with companionable silence and Katie’s anticipation. Finally, Jace served up the hamburgers, along with thick slices of bread and the lone bag of potato chips from the pantry. The ever-present bottle of ketchup appeared with the pickles.
“Eat up.” He settled into his own seat, filling his plate. When Katie didn’t reach for the ketchup bottle, Amy wondered what they were up to.
“Can Jace cook all the time?” Katie asked with a grin after downing her first bite.
The burger did taste amazing. Amy closed her eyes as she chewed. She liked the idea of having Jace around all the time—but not for his cooking skills. When she opened her eyes again, he was staring at her. She quickly put the hamburger down, her heart hammering in her chest.
He reached out and ran his napkin along the edge of her mouth and down her chin. “A little grease,” he whispered.
“Mama’s sloppy a lot.” Katie reminded them of her presence, and they all laughed. The rest of the meal passed with everyone keeping their hands to themselves, much to Amy’s disappointment.
Finally, once the last plate was washed and put away in the new cabinets, Amy spoke. “I’d like to go out to the house tonight.”
Jace paused, then frowned as he faced her. “Tonight? I’ll go with you.”
“Uh. No.” She put her hand on his arm. “I know you’ve worked all day, but if you want to do something for me, can you watch Katie? Just for a little while?”
Amy didn’t know how she’d react at the house, and she didn’t want Katie to see her fall apart. Nor Jace, for that matter. “Normally I’d ask Hank, but after last night...” She knew she was asking a lot. Too much, maybe.
“I’ll do anything you ask, you know that.” Jace leaned in close. “Anything.” He tried to smile reassuringly, but obviously, he wasn’t happy about this.
Amy smiled back, hiding the fear that had plagued her all day. And ignoring the voice in her head that said, “Maybe for now...”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
JACE KNEW AS SOON AS Amy left that he was in over his head. It was one thing to chat with Katie out by his bike, in the garage or kitchen. Her mother was ten feet away and available in an instant. This was two or more hours of him. Only him. No backup.
Okay, Lynne, if worse came to worst.
Obligations, even for a short time, were foreign to him. What had he been thinking? Too late, he realized he hadn’t. He’d just wanted to please Amy.
His experience with little girls was...limited. Hell, he hadn’t even had any sisters, growing up. He groaned. This was not good. Not good at all.
“Mr. Jace?” Katie stared up at him.
“Yeah?”
“What are we going to do now?”
“What do you normally do?”
“After supper? Homework.”
First graders had homework? “Well, you should do that.”
“But I don’t have any.”
Jace sighed. Why did he get the feeling she was lying? And what was he supposed to do if she was? He gave up. “What do you do after you finish your homework?”
“Watch TV sometimes.”
“Okay, what should we watch?”
“You have to fix the TV first. You unplugged it when you did the kitchen.”
“Uh, I think I can do that. Come on.” Jace led the way into the living room. Katie bounced on the couch before settling down in one corner.
“Put it on the Cartoon Network. Butcher loves that channel.” The dog settled down at Katie’s feet, his backside aimed at the TV. Yeah, he loved it.
And what the hell was the Cartoon Network, anyway? Jace hadn’t watched much television when he was a kid, and after he’d left home, he and Mac had never had money for a TV, let alone cable. He plugged the set and all its components back in, then handed Katie the remote.
“You know how to find the Cartoon Network?” She nodded eagerly, which made him frown.
“Does your mom let you have the remote?”
“Of course.” Katie rolled her eyes at him as if he were an idiot.
He had the distinct feeling the six-year-old was winning this match, but she found what she was looking for and settled in to stare almost unblinkingly at the screen. Maybe he’d survive this, after all.
Then she giggled. A sweet, little-girl sound he’d heard so seldom. He watched her watch the television. One show blended into another. Her eyes widened and her nose crinkled when some character made a funny noise. He wished...
Hell, what was the point in wishing? He stood and moved back into the kitchen. All the kids he’d seen in the shelters, all those homeless kids, deserved this kind of a life. He hadn’t had it. Had Amy? She couldn’t have. Not if the dread he’d read in her face was any indication.
He glanced at the clock he’d rehung earlier. She’d been gone over an hour. Was she okay? He cursed. He should have gone with her.
“Mr. Jace?”
“Yeah?” He found Katie standing in the doorway. “What’s up?”
“Did my mom go out to that old house?”
“Your grandma’s house? Yeah. Why?”
“How come Hank didn’t go? He always goes.” Before Jace could answer, she moved on to the next question. “Can I have a drink?”
“A drink? Like water?”
“Can I have a glass of milk?”
Milk was good for her, wasn’t it? It wasn’t as if she was asking for a soda or anything. He pulled the milk out and poured her half a glass, congratulating himself that he remembered not to fill it full. He’d mopped up one puddle already.
“Here you go.” He set it on the table and settled across from her.
“Thanks. I don’t like that house. It’s creepy.”
“You’ve been there?”
“Only a couple times. Hank cries when he goes there. He doesn’t think I see, but he’s always wiping his eyes and blowing his nose.” Katie took a swig of the milk. “Do you think it’ll make Mama cry, too?”
Jace’s heart sank. He shouldn’t have let Amy go alone. He hadn’t even argued too strongly. He stood to pace, and raked his fingers through his hair, trying to figure out what to do.
He should go after her.
Taking Katie on the bike was so not going to work. The child would love it, he was sure. She laughed at the TV again and he could almost hear the sound in the wind. But Amy would kill him when he got there...and if anything happened to her child, he’d let her kill him.
No, taking Katie wasn’t an option.
* * *
THE OUTSIDE OF THE HOUSE looked simple, like any other adobe home in the Arizona desert. It was built in the traditional style around a center courtyard, with high, thick, earthen walls.
It looked exactly as it had the last time Amy’d been here. And every other time in her life.
The single door, wooden and worn, still showed the old carvings her grandfather had had custom made. Slowly, she lifted her hand and touched the wooden faces, leaves and blooms. It mimicked the storyteller jewelry her grandmother had loved. Amy had run her fingers over the carvings so often she could close her eyes and see them.
She took a deep breath. The keys jingled between her fingers, and she had to try three times to get the narrow strip of metal into the lock. Finally, she managed. She hesitated, then shoved the heavy door open
.
She’d always loved this house. It was home. She’d dreamed of marrying one day and raising her family here. But that was before... Now it was simply a house of living rooms, a kitchen and bedrooms. Nothing more.
But she knew there was more. She tried, but couldn’t ignore that fact. Too much more. Too much hurt, too many painful memories. Too much loss and sadness.
Maybe Hank was right. Maybe they should leave everything here and let the new owner—Gavin, or Eustace, or whoever—deal with it. But she refused to be a coward any longer.
Finally, she made herself look, for the first time in years, at her family home.
The front hall was just as she’d left it. She’d expected cobwebs and dust, but there was none. Hank must have taken good care.
Walking down the darkened hallways seemed so strange, yet comforting. It was familiar, but also like visiting a different house. All along this hall, artifacts from her grandfather’s travels sat on tables, hung on walls, decorated every surface. His old room was much the same. The familiar scent of his tobacco had faded. She missed it.
Her mother’s room was still closed up. She couldn’t go in there now. Maybe never.
Her own room was empty. When she’d moved into town to live with Hank, they’d taken her old bedroom set. It was the one Katie used now in the apartment.
Just beyond, the laundry room and mudroom joined at the rear corner of the house. The washer and dryer were gone. The folding table looked worse for wear and the scrub sink was dry. The back door was locked tight and for an instant she touched the worn knob. She should just go, walk out and do as she’d always intended. Leave it all and never come back.
Except she would never do that. Two irresponsible parents had carved duty deep into her soul. Instead, she turned away from the door and faced her past.
The kitchen was open concept, and while it was still huge, it had seemed even bigger as a kid. This was the first place she remembered coming to. The first place she recalled seeing.
She’d been three when they’d moved in. Few memories remained of that time. Just glimpses. Vague, shadowy thoughts, really. Tears. Arms outstretched. She remembered running to her grandfather, thinking he was welcoming her. A second later, she’d found herself crushed between her mother’s nylon-clad legs and her grandfather’s worn jeans. He hadn’t picked her up and swung her high as he’d always done before. He’d hugged her sobbing mother, as if Amy wasn’t even there.
She’d tugged herself loose, the rough fabric of his jeans burning her skin. That was the first time she’d felt invisible. Unimportant.
Shaking the memories loose, Amy backed out of the kitchen, her heels making a loud, hollow clicking noise against the tile floor. Coming here was a mistake. A very big mistake.
She continued backing up until she bumped against the door frame. Her surroundings blurred, distorted by the tears she suddenly realized were in her eyes. Why had that memory come to her? That first painful moment had been minor, just the beginning of so much pain.
Hank was right. It was time to let go. This sale was good.
“Goodbye,” she whispered. Who did she think would hear her? The house itself? The ghosts she was sure lurked here?
Turning to leave, she faced the one thing she’d avoided until now. Light from the overhead fixtures poured into the wide courtyard beyond the glass that made up an entire wall of the kitchen, bathing the weeds and dead garden in gold. The old-fashioned water pump stood dark against the pale, wasted plants.
Amy couldn’t breathe, nor could she pull her stare away from that horrid place.
Then, somehow, she found herself standing in the middle of the garden. All the words, all the anger, all the pain she’d kept bottled inside burst out. “Damn you!” she screamed.
The hot evening picked up the sound and carried it away. At first, that made her angry. She wanted to leave the emotions here, not have some wayward wind carry them back to her. The anger bubbled up, and she screamed even louder.
“Damn you,” she repeated. “I didn’t want a baby then. I didn’t want to fall in love with her. I wanted to hate your child.”
She sank to the ground, feeling rough blades of vegetation scrape against her jeans. She gathered two clumps of the sweetgrass and ripped them from the earth. She remembered the smell of it—at first a welcome scent as he lay down beside her. Then as a bitter odor that threatened to engulf her.
“No!” She screamed again. She could almost feel the heat of Matt crushing her down into the sweetgrass that terrible day, the pain she’d felt in her body as he’d forced her to accept him, and in her heart as he’d shredded the love she’d had for him.
“Katie is no part of you.” She spit the words to an unseen ghost. “Never. She’s mine.” Amy flung the grass away and let her hands curl back into fists. Memories washed over her as she sat in the growing darkness.
His forearm had pushed against her throat, and the more he’d moved, the less she could breathe. Her vision had blurred, the edges glowing and flashing. Blackness had crept in.
Oh, God. She’d thought she was going to die. Her tears had intensified and she’d choked, fighting to live.
The last thing she remembered was a hard fist slamming into the side of her head. And then nothing.
She’d awakened when the hot, blistering sun was high enough to reach the courtyard.
She’d been alone.
Naked and alone.
Sitting up, she’d found her torn blouse caught in the weeds, and had clasped it to her breasts. She’d tried to rise to her feet, but stumbled, landing on her knees in the dirt.
She remembered panicking until she’d staggered to the front door and yanked open the tiny wooden panel in the top to look out at the yard. The spot where Matt’s truck had been parked stood empty. Blessedly, frighteningly empty.
Amy had nearly retched at the thought of him coming back. She’d turned to search for a weapon, just in case. Her jeans were tossed carelessly aside and she saw her purse a few feet away on the ground. She scrambled to it and pulled it open. Everything looked the same. Everything was there.
Including her keys. She’d sagged in relief, then hurried back to the door and turned the heavy dead bolt. She’d thrown the old, wooden bar across for good measure. This place was a fortress—her great-grandfather had built it to keep marauding outlaws at bay.
It could certainly keep out a disgusting rapist.
Before she could crumble again, she’d pulled herself to her feet and inched along the walls. She wanted to die. Had Matt thought she was dead when he’d left?
Back then the utilities had been turned off. She’d wanted to get clean. Needed to get clean. She’d needed to get him off her. Out of her.
She’d reached the old metal water pump in the center of the courtyard. The one her mother and grandmother had used to water the plants.
She’d pumped the handle. Cold water spilled out. She’d pumped and pumped, using her ruined shirt as a washcloth to scrub at her skin. The sun had burned her, but she’d scrubbed until every inch of her body stung with the chafing.
Finally she’d stood there, shivering in the hot desert heat.
She’d fought giving in to the emotions boiling inside her. Anger. Shame. Disgust. Betrayal.
The wide double doors to her mother’s room had beckoned. She’d needed to find clothes. None of hers were here, but there were others.
She’d pulled open the doors that led into her mom’s old room. She hadn’t been there since she’d said goodbye to her mother that last time.
It was dusty, but otherwise the same. The quilt her mother had always kept still covered the bed.
Amy had grabbed it and pulled it around her shoulders. Climbing up onto the bed, she’d curled in on herself and finally found a place to hide.
“Mommy,” she�
��d whispered twice before the first sob shook her and the entire bed. There’d been no one to answer her. Or hold her. Or comfort her. Nothing but a blanket and a ghost of a memory.
Footsteps in the present startled her. Amy spun around and screamed before realizing it wasn’t Matt. Jace stood there, silhouetted against the evening sky. Keeping his distance. Staying away from her. Probably convinced she was crazy. Maybe she was.
“Amy?” Jace asked carefully, as if he didn’t want to startle her. “It’s getting late.”
That’s when she realized the stars were out. How long had she been here?
Startled, she sat there in the desecrated grass, staring up at him, wanting to scream at him, too, just because he was a man—a big, strong man. He could as easily do to her what Matt had done. He could come over here, shove her to the ground and tear her clothing with hands she knew were stronger than hers.
But he didn’t. He wouldn’t. He didn’t move, didn’t even seem to breathe.
“Where’s Katie?” Oh, God. He hadn’t brought Katie out here, had he? She hadn’t seen Amy break down.
“Lynne’s there. You were gone too long.”
Relief washed over Amy. “How long have you been here?”
It took him a minute to answer. “Long enough,” he murmured.
She couldn’t make out his expression in the shadows, but the wicked wind caught his scent, the spicy tang of aftershave she remembered. It taunted her, wrapping around her, pulling her more solidly to the here and now.
He didn’t back away, but didn’t approach her, either. She slowly stood and walked toward him, reaching out to touch him, to see if he was even real. She realized her fingers were dirty from the sweetgrass. She’d broken two fingernails and hadn’t even noticed.
“I’ll wait outside if you’d rather. But I’m not leaving.” He stood his ground, his feet wide, his shoulders braced.
Did she want him to leave? The answer was easy. No. But what did she want? She didn’t know.
Looking up at him, she saw more than a man who was rough on the outside. Yeah, he rode a Harley with full leathers, but he’d helped Katie make hamburgers, built Amy a new kitchen, and stepped in to protect her several times.