by Jeannie Watt
Nightmares? How was she supposed to respond to that?
“All I want,” she said coldly, “is to be left alone.” Why did no one in this stupid valley understand that?
“You already mentioned that,” Zach said. “And I mentioned why you were going to get your wish.”
Tess watched him leave her cracked sidewalk and start walking toward the devastation that was once her barn, wanting very much to tell him she had a pretty damned good reason for being the way she was. But instead she yelled, “I’m sorry I scared your kid,” at his retreating back. She’d meant for it to sound sarcastic, but somehow it didn’t. It sounded almost like an actual apology.
CHAPTER SEVEN
ZACH STOPPED AT the unexpected apology, turned, met the woman’s gaze. He had no idea how to respond. “Oh, that’s okay,” wasn’t appropriate, because it wasn’t okay.
She stood staring at him, facing him full-on from the porch. She wasn’t wearing the glasses today, but he could no longer see the injured side of her face, since she had it tilted away from him. Zach studied her for a moment as he debated, allowing his gaze to travel over her face, taking in the wide green eyes, the high cheekbones, the pale skin.
What was it about her that seemed so oddly familiar? Who did he know that looked like her?
She was dressed, as always, in baggy jeans and a T-shirt, but there was no hiding the rather spectacular lines of her body. If she cared to be, Tess O’Neil could be stunning even with scars. Apparently she didn’t care to be.
She shifted her weight, uncomfortable under his scrutiny. “I take it my apology is not accepted.”
“Would it matter to you if it wasn’t?” Zach asked.
“Touché,” she said softly. “Well—” her full lips curved up slightly as she stepped back into her lair “—it’s been nice talking to you.”
“Can’t wait for the next time,” Zach replied. “I’ll be out back, you know, helping out a neighbor in need.” He touched his hat in a mocking salute, knowing he was being a total jerk. Not that she hadn’t been asking for it, but his mom had really hammered in that lesson about two wrongs not making a right.
Well, his mother didn’t need to know.
* * *
A WAVE OF shame washed over Tess as she leaned back against the kitchen counter, out of sight of the window—she hoped—and watched Zach shovel dirt at the edge of the burned area. Muscles flexing, expression taut, he worked, helping a neighbor in need. Despite the fact that he had every reason to consider her a cold bitch.
She’d closed the door in his face when he’d come over to discuss a business deal. Shortly after that, she’d chased his daughters off the path they took to school, and then, in a masterful coup de grâce, she’d managed to give his youngest daughter nightmares.
And he’d done what to her?
Not one thing.
Tess brought her half-finished bottle of water up to her forehead and pressed it against her aching head, wishing it was cooler, but she had no refrigeration. The power was off and would remain off until the electric company sent a repair person.
This isn’t how I want to live my life. This isn’t how I want to behave.
The thought struck her hard and she immediately rallied against it. This was how she had to live her life. Thanks to Eddie. Thanks to the attack.
She hated it, but that didn’t change things.
Tess set the bottle down on the counter and abruptly left the kitchen. She didn’t want to watch her neighbor be...well, neighborly...despite her poor behavior. And she didn’t like the way her thoughts kept drifting toward how damned attractive he was. A married man. Children.
Had she no shame?
Obviously not, judging from her recent behavior.
Zach stayed in her backyard for almost an hour before he walked back around the house and got into his truck without bothering to tell her he was leaving.
And then she was alone. Again. But for how long?
The power company had a troubleshooter coming by late that afternoon. She had no idea when the fire marshal was going to show up and either exonerate her and Eddie, or make her worst nightmare come true. As far as she was concerned, he couldn’t come soon enough. She needed answers. Now.
Tess sank down into her recliner and once again felt very much like crying. She was getting tired of her fear of Eddie coloring everything in her life.
Was it stupid and paranoid to think that her stepfather was responsible for the barn? If he was, then what would he do next?
Catch her unawares and then...?
Tess got up out of the chair and walked into the kitchen, where she dialed Detective Hiller’s number and extension from memory. After he answered, it didn’t take long to realize that she should have waited for the fire marshal’s assessment before calling.
He listened without interrupting as she told him how her barn had burned and then described how Eddie had once burned the house of someone who’d crossed him.
“You think Eddie started the fire?” He didn’t try to hide his incredulity. So much for the detective understanding her fears. He did not know Eddie like she did.
“He’s done stuff like this before,” she explained.
“Consider his resources,” the detective said, giving Tess the feeling that he wanted to reach out and shake her. “Your stepfather works in a car wash. He’s been out of the drug business for a decade. How many loyal associates could he have?”
“He was able to get someone to slash my face.”
“Allegedly slash your face...”
Tess felt as if she’d been slapped. “The guy said—”
“I know,” the detective replied in a weary voice. “Trust me, I’m not belittling what happened to you. It was heinous. But you’re a long way from L.A. A long way from your stepfather. If the fire marshal comes up with anything suspicious, give me a call. If he doesn’t...”
“What?”
“You need to get on with your life, Terry.”
Her old name sounded so harsh, as did his statement.
“Get on with my life?”
“I’m not trying to be flippant, but you’re not doing yourself any favors jumping at shadows.” He paused and his voice sounded slightly more gentle when he said, “You have continued counseling in your new locale, right?”
“Counseling?” Continued?
“You were offered counseling services after the attack, right?”
Maybe. She couldn’t remember. As soon as she’d been released from the hospital and finished talking to the police, she’d headed from L.A. to San Jose and holed up with William. That had been her way of dealing with the trauma of being slashed.
“I never saw a counselor,” she said. “I was in hiding.” There was no way she would have seen a counselor under those circumstances. She hadn’t even left the house until she moved to Nevada. Not once.
The detective cursed, softly but still audibly. “Post-traumatic stress is nothing to mess around with,” he said sternly.
Post-traumatic stress? She didn’t have post-traumatic stress. She was just trying to keep from being assaulted again. She was suffering from fear of something happening now or in the near future, not fear of something that had happened before.
“Find a counselor,” he repeated when Tess didn’t respond. “I’ll contact you if I feel you have any reason to be—”
Tess abruptly hung up the phone without a goodbye and then stood with her arms around her m
iddle, staring at the kitchen floor. She wasn’t seeing a counselor.
Post-traumatic stress. She let out a small snort at the thought. That was his way of explaining why she was nervous about things like her barn burning down.
She was frightened, yes, but that was a normal and realistic reaction to being assaulted. It wasn’t like she had nightmares or woke up in a sweat...because she didn’t sleep, but again, that was a reaction to the here and now.
Get on with your life.
Only three months had passed since the attack. She didn’t even have time to develop post-traumatic stress. Did she?
Tess put the flat of her palm against her cheek, pressing until she felt the pain. Get on with your life. Easy for him to say. His face was whole and his barn hadn’t been burned down.
The fact that he could so blithely give her such bullshit advice pissed her off.
* * *
ZACH’S COUSIN, JEFF, local deputy sheriff and known beer mooch, stopped by the ranch after going over the remains of Tess O’Neil’s barn with the fire marshal. He caught Zach as he came out of the barn, sweaty and tired after an afternoon searching for cattle that had strayed from the grazing land he leased from the government. Even though it was early May, it had been an unseasonably hot day.
“Verdict?” Zach asked as Jeff handed him a beer that had come out of his own fridge. They had to talk about shipping cattle, but right now he was more interested in whether or not Tess O’Neil was an arsonist as Irv had hinted when they’d talked a few hours ago.
“The fire marshal says lightning. I thought it was a no-brainer what with all the storms blowing through, but apparently Ms. O’Neil asked Irv how he thought the fire started, and he began to wonder if maybe she’d started it.”
“But she didn’t.” Zach sat down on the porch steps and Jeff leaned against the railing.
“Not according to the burn pattern.” Jeff gestured with his beer. “So what the hell you think happened to her face?”
Zach shrugged. “Maybe you should ask her.”
“No, I don’t think I’ll do that,” Jeff said. “She doesn’t seem like the friendly type.”
“So definitely not arson,” Zach said.
“You sound disappointed.”
“Maybe a little,” Zach answered with a half smile. He wouldn’t mind having a new neighbor. One that he understood.
Jeff laughed. “I heard she sent sweet Melba Morrison and her casserole packing this morning.”
“I was there for the aftermath.”
“Interesting woman.”
“Interesting isn’t the word I would use.”
Jeff turned to him with a mock serious expression. “What word would you use?” When Zach didn’t answer, because he couldn’t think of just one word, Jeff’s face relaxed into a smile and he shifted his gaze back to the ranch across the road. “She probably has good reason for acting the way she does. Most people do.”
“And the rest of us have good reason to stay away,” Zach said before taking a long drink. Why couldn’t someone more...normal...have leased the Anderson Ranch?
The door opened behind them and Beth Ann came out on the porch, carrying her laptop, which Darcy had borrowed the day before. “Everything okay across the road?” she asked Jeff.
“The barn’s gone.”
Beth Ann smirked at Jeff and then turned to Zach. “Do you know what she did to Melba?”
“I showed up just as Melba and Elaine were getting into their car.”
“You’re kidding.” Beth Ann sat on the porch between the two men. “So you can tell me if she really told Melba to get off the property and never come back?”
“I don’t know what she said. I arrived after the showdown.”
“Damn.” Beth Ann practically radiated disappointment.
“Does it matter?” Zach asked with a slight frown.
“To most of the gossips in town, it matters. I want to be accurate,” she said with a smile.
Zach simply shook his head and stared into the distance. He wasn’t getting sucked into the fray.
“Interesting woman,” Beth Ann said darkly.
“That’s not the word Zach would use,” Jeff added helpfully.
“What word would you use?” Beth Ann asked.
Zach simply shook his head, staring off into the distance. He was still working on Jeff’s good reason remark. Of course Tess had a reason for acting the way she did, but what made a person that rude and personally defensive?
Anger. Bitterness.
Fear.
Zach turned his attention back to his cousin. “We need to talk about the cattle,” he said. “Now or after dinner?”
“Now,” Jeff said. Beth Ann got to her feet.
“I’ll leave you two to it,” she said. “I’ll be back after dinner to help with math.” She headed back to her trailer, leaving Zach to ponder the irony of her being the math tutor when he was the one who spent most of his time dealing with numbers.
* * *
ANGER HELPED. BEING totally pissed at Detective Hiller got Tess through the days after the barn burned and in an odd way gave her a sense of purpose. She needed to be angry and she needed to digest what he’d told her. After the anger finally started to fade, she’d had enough time to understand how crazy it must have sounded for her to suspect Eddie of starting the barn fire. Eddie, who never missed a day of work.
Her stepfather was nowhere near Barlow Ridge, nor were any of his minions—if he even had minions. She was suffering from post-traumatic stress, just as Hiller had said, and because of it, jumping at shadows.
At least she’d finally identified the problem, thanks to the brusque detective, and had started to realize how overblown some of her fears were. No, she didn’t want anyone to recognize her, was still afraid of the off chance that if her identity leaked out, the media might pick it up as a human interest story. Slashed model makes new life in rural community. Was that as crazy as believing Eddie had ways of finding her?
Maybe. But she was working on deciphering what was a reasonable danger, what was not. She had a very long, slow road ahead of her, but at least she’d started the journey.
Tess did not believe for one second that Eddie had fully given up on her. As long as he thought she had money that belonged to him, she’d be on his radar, but at least she was far away from where he was so industriously working in the car wash. And how long was that going to last? Eddie hated physical labor. He’d be looking for an easier way to make money and one of these days he’d screw up—hopefully—go back to prison and maybe then she could have a normal life. A less lonely life.
For the first time since the attack, she was starting to miss human companionship. Because of her talk with Detective Hiller?
Or was it the fact that she was effectively being shunned? When she’d gone to the mercantile yesterday, Ann did little more than grunt at her, and the pleasant postmistress became very busy behind the counter when she’d checked her mail. The surly postmistress, who had also been there, made eye contact, but it was not of the friendly variety.
You asked to be left alone and now you’ve gotten your wish...
From now on she was going to be more careful about what she wished for. And she wouldn’t kick grandmothers bearing casseroles off her property.
Her sketch pad lay on the table, every page covered—she’d filled the last half of it since the barn had burned, drawing the dogs, still life and the mountains, in addition t
o the Art Deco-ish figures she loved. Drawing helped her cope—it always had—but after refinishing the table, Tess had come to realize that she also wanted to create more practical items. Something she could use instead of hanging on a wall. Refinishing furniture was out. She had no old furniture and she had no place to work, since the barn had been the only outbuilding on the property.
So what could she, who’d never made anything in her life, make? What craft could she learn all by herself?
Tess had been thinking about the bolts of beautiful fabric in the hobby store, the dress that had been displayed in the clothing store window. Maybe she could make a dress. What a kick that would be.
She’d had a roommate in the early days of her career who’d designed and draped dresses, selling them to a boutique. Tess had been fascinated—and certain that she could never do anything like that. When one had spent most of their early life in an environment where people simply did not create, the idea of making something from scratch seemed as if it were a magical ability or something.
But it wasn’t—she had refinished a table using instructions on the internet and, what’s more, she had done a reasonable job turning a hideous piece of painted wood into what was supposed to have been a gorgeous addition to her nearly empty living room.
The more she considered the idea, the more she liked it. Making a dress might not be the answer to her career problems, or post-traumatic stress, but it could be a remedy for long empty hours. Fabric and sewing supplies she could get online—she wouldn’t even have to go out in public.
There was only one small problem.
Tess didn’t know one end of a needle from the other.
How hard could it be to learn? The quilting lady had said it was easy to quilt, so it was probably fairly easy to sew. Just a matter of getting a machine and following seam lines.
“Crazy talk,” she muttered to Mac, who snuggled up on her other side, his injured leg still wrapped in pink vet wrap. But Tess felt a twinge of excitement.