by Remy Rose
I’m still driving, but my thoughts come to a screeching halt in front of this unexpected revelation. His...wife? Carlo had been married?
I feel my insides clench as I try to absorb this news.
“I am quite sure he hasn't told you about her, or what happened. He doesn't talk about it.”
“I think...I think he tried to tell me,” I manage. “He mentioned losing someone he loved, and that it was his fault. What did that mean? How did it—”
“It was an accident.” Gianna says quietly. “Three years ago, in the fall, Carlo was riding a motorcycle with his wife on the back. He doesn't remember what happened, but he believes he was going too fast and lost control of the bike, and the two of them were thrown off. He was knocked unconscious and came to in a cornfield. He broke his collarbone and cracked a couple of ribs, but his wife...” A long pause. “She broke her neck and was killed instantly.”
Oh, God. Carlo.
“The accident—her death—changed him. He became guarded and withdrawn. He had to be hurting so badly inside, but he didn't show it. After a long time had passed, I hoped he would date again—find someone special. But he wouldn't. He didn't think he deserved to love and continued to punish himself. And I think part of it was, he didn't dare to let himself fall in love again. It was too much of an emotional risk to put himself out there like that, after what had happened.”
He needed to have things within his control.
“But then you came along, and I saw a change in him—a lightness and joy that’s been missing for the past few years.” Gianna sighs deeply. “I want this for him, Cassandra. I just hope you'll take what I've told you into consideration. And again, please forgive me for invading your privacy, especially where we don't know each other well. But I'm just a girl worried about my big brother whom I love very much.”
My eyes are fixed on the dark, straight road ahead of me, but my thoughts are winding in all different directions. Carlo...married. The accident. His wife. The guilt, and torment...shaping him into what he had become...a man who needed to be in charge, in control, because if you lost control...horrible things could happen. People could get hurt. Including yourself.
The tears begin to work their way slowly down my cheeks. “I understand, Gianna. And I really appreciate you telling me all of this. Carlo’s very lucky to have a sister like you who loves him so much.” I hesitate. For some reason, I want to know. It would make this somehow more real if I knew. “What was her name?”
“Her name was Lauren.”
Lauren. I say the word silently, testing it out. “Thank you again for calling me. I—I have a lot to think about.”
“And thank you for listening, Cassandra. If you ever need to talk, please feel free to call me. I hope I'll see you again sometime.”
I end the call and drop the phone onto the passenger seat. Lauren Leone. Carlo's wife.
I turn on to 283, my heart and mind teeming with what I just heard. I’ll definitely need time to process it all.
And think about what it could mean.
chapter thirty-seven ~ Carlo
Gratitude is most definitely responsible for the turnaround in my mood these past few days, and today at work, I’m feeling more optimistic than I have in months. After two weeks in the hospital, Estelle was discharged over the weekend, and even though she said she felt fine and ready to return to work, I insisted she stay home and rest for the next several days, and if she felt well enough, come back to the office for half days only until she regained all of her strength. Reluctantly, she agreed. Martin and I are both going to keep a close eye on her.
I’m also grateful that Cassandra, for some reason, has been in more frequent contact. At first, I thought she was just checking on Estelle's condition, but even after she heard Estelle was doing well at home, she kept texting and calling every few days. We haven’t talked about anything major, but the important thing is, we’re talking. I’m trying like hell not to push it, although I did slip in a few flirty comments which she didn’t seem to mind. So this, at least, has given me some hope that I’ll see her again soon.
I leave my office and go down the long hallway to engineering. I need to speak to Chris about adapting one of our new products to meet a customer's application. His door is already open, and I go in to find my engineering manager hunched over a CAD document of one of our new valves.
“Mr. Butler. That wouldn't happen to be the valve for Harrington, would it?”
Chris looks up. “Hey, Carlo. Nah, it's the modifications for Lockheed Martin.” He grins. “I'm going to make the Harrington one my bitch after this.”
“Good man. I came to talk to you about some adjustments they wanted.”
“Okay.” Chris suddenly snaps his fingers, pointing at me. “Hey, you actually saved me a trip to your office, because I just remembered what I was going to tell you. Rodney and I were out bar hopping this weekend and ran into Brock.”
“How fortunate for you both. And how is the illustrious prick?”
“Still unemployed, and still an asshole. Especially as drunk as he was. And he was making threats.”
“Really. What kind of threats?”
“That he was going to get back at you for ruining his career, that you'd be sorry you'd fucked with him...and he also added that your little bitch was going to feel it, too.”
Fucking asshole. It’s a whole different ball game with him threatening Cassandra. I feel rage sinking its claws into me. If only I had Dall in front of me, right now…
“Did he give specifics?”
“No—just kept saying you'd both be sorry. But he was hammered, Carlo, so that was probably just the drink talking.”
“I'd like to believe that. I don't trust the bastard, though. I'm hoping he'll be convicted for company spying and thrown in jail, but until then...I'll be on my guard. Thanks, Chris. I appreciate the heads up.”
Even if Dall's threats were fueled by alcohol, Cassandra needs to know about them.
I will protect you as much as I am able, Cassandra. As much as you will allow.
I failed in this area, with the first woman I loved.
I’m not going to fail again.
chapter thirty-eight ~ Cassandra
I’m just pulling into the stable parking lot when he calls. Seeing Carlo's name on the screen, I feel the familiar little leaping sensation in my chest. I haven’t said anything to him about what Gianna told me. If Carlo knew I heard in detail about the accident, this would open a lot of doors, and honestly, I’m not sure I’m ready for that. So I’ll sit with it myself for a while, until the time feels right to talk to him about it.
“Hi, Carlo.”
“Hi. Everything all right?”
“Yes. Shouldn't it be?”
“It should be, but sometimes what should happen and what does happen are two completely different things.”
I turn off the ignition. “You're being kind of cryptic.”
“You're right. I was calling to check on you because I'm worried about you.”
“And that's different how...?” I can’t help but tease a little bit.
“Cassandra. I'm being serious. One of my employees told me he heard Brock making threats in a bar against the two of us.”
“What kind of threats?”
“Nothing specific, just that we'd both be sorry.”
“Was he drinking?
“Yes.”
Cradling the phone between my ear and shoulder, I reach into the back seat for my riding clothes and climb out of the car. “I'm betting that's the reason, then. Men are usually idiots when they've been drinking, and since Brock is an asshole even when he's sober, his idiot factor would be off the charts.”
“I agree, but I wouldn't put anything past him. Who knows what he's capable of.”
Should I tell him about the stalking? There’s been nothing for more than a month, so I’m hoping it’s over. Still...Carlo should probably hear it. “Well...I wasn't going to tell you, but I had a stalker, and I'm pret
ty sure it was Brock.”
Silence from Carlo, then his response in a low, tense voice. “What are you talking about?”
“He—Brock—would show up randomly and follow me after I got done work at Tucker's, and he left a note on my car when I came out of Windswept.”
“Cassandra...why in God's name wouldn't you tell me this?”
I bristle. Can’t help it. “Because honestly, it's none of your business.”
“How are you not my business? If a colleague of mine is stalking you, I want to fucking know about it.”
“Former colleague of yours. You couldn't have done anything about it. Plus it's not like we're a—a couple or anything, and I didn't want you stressing out, and I didn't want you to keep asking me about it because I wasn't even supposed to be talking to you...”
Okay, now I’m really pissed, and I’m not entirely sure why, because I should have figured he’d get upset hearing about me being stalked. I lower my voice—Josh's Jeep is here, and I don't want him overhearing any of this.
“There were a lot of reasons why I didn't tell you,” I finish.
“None of them particularly compelling. Cassandra, if you felt you were in danger, you needed to tell me. I can protect you. I can hire people to watch you, if needed.”
Jesus, is he not listening to me?
“Carlo. I did not feel I was in any real danger. It was annoying, and I was stressed at times, but all he did was turn on his stupid high beams and follow me around. He's not even doing it anymore. And like I explained, I didn't want you to know. Even if I felt like I was in danger, I wouldn't have turned to you.” All right, maybe that last part was a little harsh. But he needs to know that I’m my own person and not some wimpy, needy little thing he can own. And control.
“What did the note on your car say?”
Ughh, will he just stop? And the answer is no, he won’t—not until he gets an answer. “It said something like 'not yet, but soon.' And obviously, it was totally a bluff, because it's been weeks since he left it and nothing has happened. That's why I really don't think you have anything to worry about.”
“I always worry about you, Cassandra. I never want anything to happen to you. I’d never forgive myself if it did.”
It is both Carlo's words and the way his voice sounds when he said them that subdues the irritation in me. That, and knowing that he’s still tormented by his past.
“It's all right, Carlo. I'll be okay. But I've got to go...I'm heading into the stable. Don't worry—I can take care of myself.”
Picturing his brooding expression, his eyes full of emotion, I have an image of putting my arms around him and kissing his pain away. Instantly, there’s an unsettling tugging sensation in my belly. “I have to go,” I tell him again.
“Promise me you'll tell me if you feel unsafe at any time.”
“Yes. I promise.” I lock my car and go into the barn, planning to clean tack as Ingrid asked and then go for a short ride on Brownie—maybe ask Josh if he has time to join me. We’ve interacted multiple times since our impromptu make-out session, and I’m relieved that things aren’t weirds. Josh continues to be friendly and relaxed around me, flirty and fun with no pressure, which I definitely appreciate—although the last time we were working together, I caught him staring at my ass when I bent over to zip up my half-chaps. He didn’t act embarrassed that I’d seen him looking; he'd just grinned and started whistling as he walked away. And I had smiled in spite of myself.
I’m walking out of Ingrid's office with a clean rag and saddle soap when I see Josh coming into the far end of the barn from the door that leads to the pasture. He’s dressed in faded jeans and a blue plaid shirt, the sun from the windows glinting off his sandy hair and bathing him in a buttery glow. And he seems to be limping, wincing as he steps down on his right foot.
“Hey!” I call out, walking down the aisle toward him. “What did you do?”
He looks up and manages a grin. “Let's just say I should know better than to interfere with a female in love. I was getting Tango in the pasture, and you know how Sweet Surrender's in heat pretty much 24/7?”
I nod, smiling. It’s so true.
“Well, she was basically right up my boy's ass and wanted to follow him out. I said no, she had other ideas, and I rolled my damned ankle when she came into me.”
“The pressure and release thing didn't quite take, huh?” I can’t resist teasing.
“Only because I haven't worked with her yet.” He winks as he shuffles over to the row of stalls and rests his arm on top of one of the doors. “Damn mare got her way, too, because I put Tango right back in the pasture after I got hurt.”
“Seriously, I'm really sorry. Females can be such pushy bitches. Let me help you get to the office so you can sit down. I can help you take off your boot, and we can put some ice on it.”
He grins at me, shifting his weight. “The office? You sure you dare to go in there again with me?”
“Very funny. You're basically crippled, so I feel quite comfortable.”
I stand next to Josh, and he slings his arm around my shoulders. I take his hand and wrap my other arm around his waist, supporting him the best I can as we make our way slowly to the office.
I help Josh lower himself into Ingrid's chair, empty out a crate of horse magazines and flip it over for him to prop his foot on. Grasping his calf, I lift his leg and set his booted foot down gently on the crate. “Do you feel like it's swelling?”
“Are we still talking about my ankle?”
“Stop. You're supposed to be in pain, remember?”
“You're distracting me from it, which is a good thing.”
“Let me make sure we have ice, and then I'm going to help you slide your boot off.”
“Jesus, that's gonna be a good time. Do we have to?”
“Yes. Unless you want me to cut it off?”
“No, ma'am. Not my cowboy boot. I'll suck it up.”
I go to the refrigerator for a bag of loose ice and a cold pack. Say what you want about Ingrid (and I do), but she’s always prepared for anything.
“Okay, let's see if we can get this boot off. I'll be as careful as I can.” I kneel down in front of him, cupping the heel of his boot in one hand, the other hand on the toe, and begin to ease the boot off gingerly. Glancing up, I see him wince in pain, his face whitening. Even the freckles across his nose look pale. “You okay?”
“Yeah. Better to get it off before it swells up any more.”
“I'll go slow.” I work the boot lower, trying to keep his ankle as still as I can, and finally, the boot is off.
Sighing with relief, Josh leans forward to slip off his sock. There is already some swelling and the beginning of a faint bruise. I reach for the cold pack and wait while Josh rolls up his pant leg. There’s a jagged-looking scar on his shin, gouged deep into his skin and snaking up his leg, looking kind of like a lightning bolt.
I look up at him. “Ouch. That looks like it hurt.”
“Oh, yeah. It did.”
“Is there an exciting story to go with it? Or did you cut yourself shaving?” I grin as I wrap the ice pack gently around his ankle.
It takes me by surprise when Josh doesn’t smile back.
“I'm sorry,” I say quickly. “Kind of rude of me, when I don't know what happened.”
“No worries. It's been a while. I was on my bike and got forced off the road by some idiot coming the other way. Scared the shit out of me, and I didn't ride again for a long while. I was pretty banged up, but I was lucky, compared to the other people.”
“Oh, no...what happened?”
“There was a bike in front of me with two people on it. I liked to go fast—that fearless thing again—so I passed them and pulled in front, and right after that, there was this car that came screaming at me from the other direction—right into my lane. Forced me off the road, and did the same to the guy who was a little ways behind me. I was able to escape with some bumps and bruises, and this scar from catching my le
g underneath the bike, but the guy was knocked out, and the woman was killed—I saw on the news she was his wife.”
Oh. My. God. I slump back on my heels, my mouth dry and the blood pounding in my ears. My voice is barely more than a whisper. “Where was this?”
“Lititz, when I used to live here.”
“And when?”
“It happened in October, so almost three and a half years ago.” Josh shifted the ice pack slightly, grimacing. “I always felt guilty because I left the scene, like a coward. But I was driving with a suspended license, so I didn't want to get caught when the police showed up. I got my bike upright and took off out of there. Called 911 and said I'd driven by the accident. I never got the license number of the car that caused it. I'm always going to wish I did more, and I'm always going to feel guilty for leaving. Shit, I guess I've grown up some over the past three years.” He shrugs, smiling apologetically. “Don't know why I'm telling you all this. I usually keep stuff to myself.”
I stand up slowly. My mind is pulled in another direction, the voices of Carlo and Gianna echoing in my head.
I lost someone I loved very much. It was my fault.
He doesn't remember what happened, but he believes he was going too fast and lost control of the bike.
It was my fault.
“Cassandra—everything okay? You look like you're a million miles away.”
I come back into the moment. “Sorry. Do you want to have your ankle looked at? I can drive you to walk-in care or something.”
“I'm pretty sure it's just a sprain. Ice and elevation for now, and I'll see how it goes. But thanks for the offer.”
“At least let me drive you home. You can leave your car here for now.”
He hesitates, then nods. “Yeah, I guess I won't be of much use here.”
“And if you haven't done your stalls yet, I'll do them.”
His eyes are full of gratitude. “I really appreciate it. I'll owe you.” He winks. “Whatever you want me to do.”