by Marta Perry
He wasn’t managing to do that, not where Caroline was concerned. She got under his skin in a way he’d never experienced before.
She wasn’t his type. Take that as a starting point. Sure, he was attracted to her. Any man would be. But this was about more than creamy skin and eyes so deep a green that a man could drown in them.
He was drawn by what he sensed beneath that—the creativity that sparked and sizzled in her, the gentle smile that didn’t come often enough, the hint of vulnerability mixed with strength and independence.
His arguments seemed to be heading him in the wrong direction. Against that, he stacked who he was. A cop. A family man. A father who wouldn’t bring a woman into his daughter’s life unless he was sure she was the right woman. A Christian woman.
He must have been silent too long, because Caroline turned her head to look at him.
“Aren’t you going to argue with me?”
“I guess I should.” He didn’t want to. He sympathized with her, maybe too much. She’d been through a tragedy that would be tough for anyone to handle, especially someone who didn’t have a relationship with Christ to see her through.
He looked up at the lofty barn roof, where dust motes danced in the stripes of sunlight. Something about the quiet, open space made him feel as if he was in church.
Lord, show me how to deal with this. Caroline is hurting. I want to help her, but I have to do my duty.
“I don’t see why I should do the police’s work for them.” Caroline’s tone was defensive, and she sent him a sidelong glance that was reminiscent of Ruthie when she was in a stubborn mood. “I haven’t done anything wrong, and even if Tony did, surely his liability died with him.”
He studied her averted face. “Is Tony dead?”
Her gaze flashed to him. “Yes. The police said he was. I buried him.”
“So the things that have happened since you came here—the letter, the coffee, the safe-deposit box—were they coincidences? Someone trying to make you think Tony is still alive?”
Her lips trembled for a moment, and she pressed them firmly together. She shook her head. “I don’t know. Nothing else has happened. Maybe nothing will. Maybe—”
“Do you really think that?” He was sorry for her, but he couldn’t let her convince herself that she could just walk away from this.
She shoved her hair back from her face in that characteristic gesture. “I’d like to, but I guess I can’t. Still, according to you I’m not Tony’s wife. So why should I be involved?”
He couldn’t tell her that Tony had been under investigation by the Santa Fe police—that was their business, and he couldn’t interfere unless they asked for his help. But she already suspected gambling, didn’t she?
“If Tony was involved in something that skirted the law, as his father said, that money could be important. The police should know.”
“Why should I be the one to tell them? It properly belongs to Mary Alice, doesn’t it? Let her tell them.”
“She doesn’t know about it. Come on, Caroline, stop evading the issue. Why won’t you go to the police?”
She swung to face him, anger flaring in her eyes. “You know the answer to that, don’t you? I don’t know what happens to other people who’ve been where I was, but I know what effect it had on me. I’ve spent the past eight years being so law abiding it’s painful—obeying every last little rule and regulation, never jay-walking, never so much as getting a parking ticket.”
“Because you learned respect for the law.” He was feeling his way, not sure what lay behind that vehemence.
“No! Because I can never put myself in that helpless position again. Because I learned I couldn’t trust anyone—not my family and not the police.”
She swung away from him, breathing hard, as if sorry she’d revealed that much of herself to him. He couldn’t let her stop, not when she was so close to letting him see what was going on inside her.
“What happened? Tell me. You got into trouble, but there’s more to it than that.”
She shook her head, mouth set, eyes shimmering with tears that she no doubt didn’t want him to see.
“You were riding around with two guys,” he said deliberately. “You stayed outside in the car as a lookout while they went into a convenience store and beat up the elderly proprietor.”
“No.” The word seemed torn from her. “I didn’t. I didn’t know what they were doing. I had no idea they were robbing that man.” Her voice trembled, the pain in it almost convincing him.
“Did your lawyer bring that up at the trial?”
“My lawyer didn’t believe anything I told him.” A touch of bitterness. “Or maybe he didn’t care.”
“Your family could have gotten different representation for you.” They hadn’t; he knew that. Why not?
For a moment she stared, eyes wide and clouded, as if she looked into the past. “The authorities couldn’t find my mother. Turned out she’d run off to Palm Springs with her latest boyfriend. You couldn’t expect her to pass up a trip like that just because her kid was in trouble, could you?”
The insight into what her life had been like with her mother shook him. He’d heard bits and pieces from time to time about Lily Hampton, none of it good.
“Your grandparents, your sisters—”
She shook her head. “I guess they tried to help, when they finally heard, but by then I was in the system. There wasn’t much they could do. Besides, my mother was my legal guardian.” Her voice shook a little. She might deny it, but that youthful betrayal had affected the rest of her life.
He understood, only too well. Once a juvenile was in the system, everything affecting them had to grind through the legal process. “Your grandmother must have been frantic.”
“I suppose.” Doubt touched her eyes. “At the time, all I could see was that they’d let me down.”
“You got through it.” He couldn’t imagine how much strength it must have taken for her to deal with that situation alone at her age.
“Not without scars.”
Lord, help me to understand. “That’s not all, is it?” He knew, without questioning how, that there had been more. That something worse had happened to her when she was alone and vulnerable. “Locked up in a place like that—the other kids must have—”
“Not the other kids.” Her body tensed, as if she drew into herself. “I dealt with them.”
“Who?” He had to force the word out, because he thought he knew the answer, and he didn’t want to hear it.
She hugged herself, as if cold in spite of the warmth of the day. “I don’t want—”
“Who was it?” His voice was sharp to his ears. “A cop?”
She pressed her lips together. Nodded. “When I was arrested.” It came out in a whisper. “He took me into a room by myself at the police station. Left me there. I thought my mother would come, but she didn’t. He came back. He—” Her breath caught, as if she choked on the word.
“He attacked you.” He managed, somehow, through the red haze of fury that nearly choked him, to keep the words gentle.
The muscles in her neck worked. She nodded. “Someone came in, finally. He said I was faking, trying to get him in trouble. I didn’t care what he said, as long as I didn’t have to see him again.”
She should have filed a complaint, but he could understand why she hadn’t. She’d been alone, and she’d just had a harsh lesson in how helpless she was. Small wonder she didn’t trust the system or anyone involved in it.
If he’d been the one to walk into that room, he’d have been tempted to dispense some harsh justice of his own to the man who’d abused his position and shamed his badge. Even now he wanted to put his fist through the barn wall.
But that wouldn’t help Caroline. He was probably the last person who could help her, but he was the one she’d confided in, and he had to try.
“He was a criminal wearing a badge, and I’d like to see him get the justice that’s due him. But he was only one perso
n. You had the misfortune to have run up against him.”
To say nothing of the poor excuse for a mother she’d had. Seemed as if Caroline had been given the raw end of the deal too many times.
“I know.” She straightened, quickly blotting a tear that had escaped as if ashamed of it. “Intellectually, I know that. But that doesn’t keep me from wanting to stay as far away from the police as I possibly can.”
“Understandable.” It was a good thing she’d pulled herself together, because he longed to put his arm around her, pull her close, tell her—
No. There was nothing he could tell her. He might understand her better now, but that understanding had only served to emphasize the barrier between them.
She pushed herself off the bench, taking a few quick steps away from him. Maybe she sensed the feelings he was trying so hard to suppress.
“Look—about the money. You could tell the Santa Fe police about it, couldn’t you? Tell them it isn’t mine. That I don’t want anything to do with it.”
“I can tell them.” That wouldn’t end her involvement, but he didn’t have the heart to tell her that now. Push her too hard, and Caroline might just run again.
He could understand why she always seemed to perch on the edge of flight. Nothing in her life had given her the assurance that she could trust people, and running away had been her only defense.
“It’ll be okay.” He stood, went to her. Wanted to touch her, but he didn’t quite dare, knowing what he did. “You’re not a helpless kid any longer, and you have family to love and protect you.”
She had him to protect her, too, even though she probably didn’t believe that and wouldn’t welcome it. Still, he was the one she’d told. That had to mean something.
“Since you haven’t called me again, I realized the only way I’d find out how you’re doing is to call you.” Francine’s voice was clear and crisp over the cell phone. Possibly a little annoyed, as well.
“I’m sorry.” Caroline curled into the corner of the leather sofa. She’d closed the curtains against the darkness outside and told herself she was perfectly safe. Still, it was good to hear another person’s voice. “It’s been so hectic here, getting settled and trying to get into the craft-show circuit. That’s no excuse. I should have called.”
“Craft shows?” The words were dismissive. “Really, Caroline. You have a position waiting for you here. I’ve told you that. Why don’t you come back to Santa Fe where you belong?”
“I’m not sure I do belong there.” Odd, how far away that life seemed now. “Maybe what happened with Tony changed everything.”
“Nonsense. You had a good life here before you ever met Tony, didn’t you? There’s no reason why you can’t have that again.”
“I’ll think about it.” That was an evasion, but how could she know what she wanted? She’d been battered by one shock after another until it was impossible to do anything except tense up, waiting for the next one. “What’s going on with the gallery? Are you all right?”
“Never mind me. How are you?” Francine’s voice softened on the words. Caro could picture her, leaning back in her custom-made desk chair, her sleek blond hair shining under the indirect lighting she insisted upon. “I didn’t mean to snap, but I’ve been worried about you. So many people have asked how you are, and I don’t know what to tell them.”
“I’m fine. Really.” It was good to feel she had friends who cared about her. “It’s just—things have been a little crazy.” She could trust Francine, but it didn’t seem fair to unload all her worries on her.
“You’re not. I can hear it in your voice. What is it? Have you heard from Tony?”
The question had her sitting bolt upright. “Why would you ask that? Tony’s dead.”
Francine didn’t speak for a moment, but her very silence communicated her doubt. “I know that’s what the police said. What we all believed. But after you told me about the man who accosted you that day—”
“You’ve found out something.” She was shaken, but at some level she wasn’t surprised. Francine knew everyone who was anyone in Santa Fe, and she heard every rumor first.
“Nothing that I’d want to take to the police.” Francine sounded unsure of herself, and that was unusual. “People have been talking. People liked Tony. He was good at selling upscale real estate, probably because he was so likeable. But now there are rumors of gambling debts—enough rumors that there must be some basis in fact, I’d think. You had no idea?”
“No.” It was hard to look back and see how naive she’d been. “But now—” She didn’t want to tell Francine about the safe-deposit box stuffed with money, but if that didn’t indicate gambling, what else could it have been?
“Now it seems likely to you. Don’t bother to deny it. I can hear it in your voice.” Francine had become her usual brisk self. “Well, that increases the possibility that Tony is still alive. And if so, he’ll get in touch with you. You’re his wife, and he—”
“I’m not.” She couldn’t let Francine go on any longer making assumptions that weren’t true about her relationship with Tony. “I found out yesterday Tony had a wife in Philadelphia. He didn’t bother to divorce her before he married me.”
“I can’t believe it. Caroline, are you sure? He must have been divorced. He couldn’t hope to get away with anything else.”
“But he did, didn’t he? I had no idea the woman existed, any more than she knew about me.” Her throat tightened, and she had to force the words out. “He had a child with her.”
“Oh, my dear. I’m so sorry.”
Somehow the sympathy in Francine’s voice broke through the control Caroline had imposed on her emotions. A sob burst out before she could stop it, then another. She could only hold the phone like a lifeline and let the tears spill out, vaguely registering the soothing words Francine uttered.
Finally she managed to take a deep breath, mopping her face with her palm. “Sorry.” Her voice was still choked. “I didn’t mean to let go that way.”
“Well, it’s not surprising. But look, are you positive about this? How did you find out? Did your family help you, hire a private investigator?”
“No, nothing like that. I haven’t told them about it yet. The local police chief got involved. He’s the one who found the record of Tony’s marriage, and no record of any divorce.”
“A country cop?” That was Francine at her most superior. “My dear, if you’re depending on someone like that, you’re really in trouble. It sounds as if what you need right now is a friend you can count on.”
She pressed her palm over her burning eyes. “I know how lucky I am to have you.”
“Well, I’m not much use to you when I’m way out here. Let’s see—” she could hear the tapping of computer keys “—there are a few things on my calendar I can’t rearrange, but I ought to be free in a couple of days. I’ll let you know when my flight gets in.”
Her mind grappled to keep up. “You’re coming here?”
“Why not? I suppose that inn of yours can rent me a room, can’t it?”
“But I can’t let you do that. You have so much to do. The gallery—”
“I own the gallery, remember? I can give myself a vacation whenever I want to.”
“Francine, I appreciate it.” Her voice choked again. “I can’t tell you how much. But I can’t let you change your plans for me.”
“There’s no point in arguing about it. I’m sure you think you can handle things by yourself, but right now it sounds as if you can use a friend.”
She’d make another attempt to dissuade her, but Francine was right. She did need a friend, and it was far better to rely on someone she’d known for over two years than someone she’d known for less than two weeks.
An image of Zach’s frowning face formed in her mind. What did she know about him, really? And what had made her trust him with secrets she hadn’t told another soul?
TEN
Caroline folded the tortilla over the chicken-and-pepper-j
ack-cheese filling. She’d come over to the house to show Grams how the quilt looked after its initial cleaning, and ended up offering to cook supper. She just hoped they’d like her chicken enchiladas. There weren’t too many recipes in her repertoire. She’d had to make some substitutions, since Snyder’s Grocery apparently considered that one kind of pepper was sufficient for anyone’s needs.
Grams came into the kitchen, carrying a large document box—that sort that was used to store fragile paper and photographs. “Here it is. I’m sure you’ll find something in this batch of papers and letters about the quilt.”
Caro gestured with the tortilla she’d just warmed in the microwave. “Great. I don’t dare touch them now, but I’ll look through them after supper.”
Grams found nothing unusual about her interest in the quilt, attributing it to a natural desire to learn about her family history. Caro didn’t think it was that, exactly, but she couldn’t explain, even to herself, the fascination the old quilt held for her.
“There’s no hurry. You can take the box back to the apartment with you.”
Grams turned to set it on the end of the counter, her earrings swinging. Caro couldn’t help a smile. Grams wore the earrings she’d made for her almost every day.
“I’ll be careful with it,” she promised.
“I know you will, dear. And after all, family documents belong to you as much as anyone.”
That calm assumption that she had a place here still took her aback, even though she’d already encountered it several times. To Grams, it was as if Caroline’s time away was just a visit to another world, and now she was back where she belonged.
“Your grandfather started collecting family papers and letters after he retired, with some idea of writing a family history.” Grams’s smile was reminiscent. “He should have known he wouldn’t be content with something that sedentary. He loved to be out and about, meeting with his friends and taking an interest in civic affairs.”
“I wish I had more memories of him.” She’d been too young when Mom took them away, and time had blurred whatever memories had been left.