Secrets and Lies (Hearts Of Braden Book 4)

by Susanne Matthews

“If you say so, but the chair isn’t a problem. Call when you’re ready.”

  Emily nodded, closed the door and turned on the water. She washed her face and applied some makeup to hide the ravages of her crying jag. Her nose was a little red, but she looked better than she thought she would. The new face was growing on her.

  And it’s about time.

  Confession must be good for the soul because she felt better than she had in a long time. She began to hum her favorite tune…Don’t Worry, Be Happy.

  * * * *

  Carrying her crutches, Jackson reluctantly left the bedroom, hoping she would be fine in there without them. He went into the kitchen, turned off the coffee pot, and unplugged it. After placing the two empty mugs in the sink, he looked around to see if there was anything else that needed to be turned off. Picking up her cellphone, he dropped it, along with its charger, into the backpack she used as a purse, noting the Glock inside. Kevin had been lucky she didn’t shoot him the night he’d harassed her.

  Once he made sure the patio door was locked, he carried the bag and the crutches out to the truck. Coming back inside, he folded the wheelchair and then carried it out as well, securing it in the covered box where he’d placed the crutches. If she wasn’t in as much pain later, maybe he might be able to convince her to go into Waterloo for dinner and a movie, and if he did, she would probably prefer using the chair. Of course, Mother Nature would have to cooperate, too.

  Satisfied he had everything she needed for a day at the homestead, he folded the lap quilt for her to carry and grabbed her raincoat out of the closet. Once he’d done everything he could think to do, he went back into the bedroom and sat on the side of the bed, waiting for her to finish.

  He allowed his mind to dwell on what she told him, silently cursing the way he’d behaved on Wednesday night, regretting once more the accusations he’d flung at her. Understanding the pain fueling Mrs. Olsen’s fury against the sheriff, he’d taken his helplessness out on Emily, keenly aware that she was deceiving him somehow. The fact Cal had taken her back there when even the parents weren’t allowed in the room had meant she knew a lot more about what was happening than she’d let on, and after Naomi, the last thing he’d needed in his life was a woman with secrets.

  Five years ago, when Naomi had walked out on him, she’d crushed his dreams for the future, but at the same time, she’d destroyed his faith in women. He’d been hurt and angry, wallowing in his misery, but eventually, he realized his loss had been minor. And then Uncle Jack had died making the pain from his earlier loss negligible. While he missed his uncle every day, that ache could be nothing compared to what Emily had lost, and the pain she’d suffered—her face, her leg, her husband, her baby. Yet, she hadn’t given in to self-pity. No. She continued to fight the war that had already cost her so much. After losing a significant battle, she hadn’t quit. Instead, she’d forged ahead, on her own, determined to end this once and for all. His admiration for her was boundless.

  The image of her lying hurt and helpless on the riverbank while some idiot took pot shots at her filled his belly with righteous anger. The people running this operation needed to have their heads examined for sending her out on this case without a partner. Having an FBI agent in place as backup was only good if the son of a bitch was actually there to back her up. If Mike Reynolds had to go back home for some reason, then someone should’ve been sent to replace him right away.

  Cal and Kevin were good at their jobs, but the members of the sheriff’s department were stretched too thin as it was. When he spoke to this Kyle on Monday, he would make sure the man knew exactly what dangers Emily faced, but he needed to be careful, because the last thing he wanted was to see her taken off the case.

  Standing, he crossed the room and picked up the wedding picture. Now that he knew the bride was Emily, he could pick out other subtle similarities. With all the weight she’d lost, her face was thinner, her cheek bones more pronounced, but as she said, those cat’s eyes were the same, as were the plump lips he longed to kiss. The damage to her face must’ve been incredible and he could imagine the pain she’d gone through not only at the time it had happened, but during the reconstructive surgery that followed. He couldn’t imagine what it must be like to lose yourself so completely that the face in the mirror looking back at you wasn’t even your own.

  The door opened, and she leaned against the bathroom door, supporting herself on her leg, standing as proudly as he’d ever seen anyone stand. “If you’re determined to do this, I’m ready,” she said.

  He smiled. “I’ve got the crutches and your wheelchair in the truck. Your purse is in the cab. Here’s your jacket and that quilt. All you need now is your swimsuit, and we’ll be good to go.”

  “I don’t have a swimsuit,” she said turning pink. “I haven’t worn one since I got the prosthesis.”

  “Then grab an extra T-shirt—I know you have those—and a pair of shorts.”

  She shook her head. “No shorts either. I do have a pair of crop pants…”

  “They’ll have to do.”

  “Can you help me over to the dresser?”

  Jackson felt like a fool for not realizing she would have trouble getting around without the crutches. He picked her up and carried her over to the dresser.

  “There’s a carry-all in the closet,” she said. “Could you hand it to me?”

  Jackson opened the closet door and reached for the oversized beach bag, He saw the suit she’d worn yesterday in a bag on the closet floor. “Do you want to take your suit to be cleaned? We don’t have a dry cleaner in town, but a place in Waterloo does weekly pickups from Kessel’s.”

  “I wish I could. It needs to go to the forensic lab first. Some of the gunk on it most likely contains DNA from our floater. I think the clearing is where he was killed, and his death is what put the Chef in a panic.”

  Jackson handed her the bag.

  She quickly packed it. “I guess that’s it. I put in my jeans in case it gets cooler. The left leg may not feel the cold, but the right does. Can you hand me that slipper—the one for the right foot? Since you don’t want me to take the prosthesis, I don’t need the other.”

  He handed it to her and she zipped the bag close. As soon as she was done, he handed her the raincoat to put on, then the lap quilt and bag. Scooping her up into his arms, he carried her out to the living room, allowing her to pick up her keys, so she could lock the door before taking her out to the truck and settling her on the front seat.

  “So, do you make a habit of rescuing damsels in distress or just me?” she asked dropping her keys into her bag.

  “I only rescue those who are worthy of my efforts,” he answered and laughed at the surprised look on her face.

  She put on her seatbelt. “I’m not generally so helpless. I’ve asked Kyle to arrange for backup, but he may decide to pull me off the case. He was worried I might not be able to handle this, and I guess he was right. I’ve never been a quitter—”

  “Then don’t start now,” Jackson interjected as he pulled out of the parking lot and headed west.

  Emily didn’t comment, seemingly absorbed in the weather, no doubt noting the ditches filled to overflowing.

  He hoped the rain would stop soon before the roadways flooded, and someone got killed. There’d been enough tragedy in Braden. They didn’t need any more.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Emily stared out the window at the flooded fields, the crops looking as beaten down by the rain as she felt. She wished she could read Jackson’s mind and know how he was feeling. Since she’d shown him her stump, he’d been kind and friendly, offering to take her to the homestead to use the therapy pool, but he hadn’t said anything about her missing leg. The last thing she wanted was pity, especially from him.

  Turning her head to look ahead, she gasped at the sight of a small lake where the road should be.

  “It’s okay. The water’s never more than six or seven inches deep, and the truck can handle a puddle that size any day,
” he said in response to the sound she’d made. “I wouldn’t recommend going through it in your car though.”

  “I considered getting another type of vehicle, but getting in and out of some of them, even the smaller SUV’s was problematic, hence the sedan, but I can see it isn’t a good choice.”

  “We don’t usually get this much rain. The weather is all screwy this summer. Take the tornado. Braden hasn’t had one in over a hundred years, and this rain…we’ve set records. Heath Sloan, he’s the man who leases some of my land, says if it doesn’t stop soon, he might have to build an ark.”

  She giggled. “I hope it doesn’t come to that. The rain is supposed to clear up on Sunday.”

  Jackson drove through the puddle on the road and minutes later, turned down the laneway to the homestead.

  “I drove by here last weekend. There were boys painting the fences. It looks good.”

  “When Uncle Jack got sick a couple of years ago, I kind of let some things go. The hired men looked after the farm and the animals, but I was working at the school and going back and forth to Waterloo to see him. I didn’t have time for the routine maintenance he’d always looked after. I guess I didn’t care that things needed to be spruced up. I was too worried about him to bother about stuff like that. When I brought him home at the end, like he wanted, I don’t think he saw that things needed paint. He just wanted to pass on in his own home.”

  Emily reached out her hand to touch his arm, feeling the jolt of awareness that heated her each time they touched. “You must’ve loved him very much. I can hear it in the way you talk about him.”

  Jackson smiled. “Uncle Jack was the most wonderful man I’ve ever known, with a heart as big as the Grand Canyon. He was my father’s twin brother. My dad loved the farm where he’d grown up, but farming wasn’t in his blood as he’d say, so when Grandpa passed on, Uncle Jack took over the farm, giving Dad the stake he needed to start his own company.”

  “What kind of company?”

  “Dad liked to build things—big things. He was an architectural engineer, specializing in dams and power projects. He met Mom on the job, and they got married. When I came along, I was a bit of a surprise, but I was loved. I never doubted that. Dad traveled all over the world for his work, and Mom and I went with him. I’ve lived in Australia, New Zealand, Canada, Africa, you name it. Sometimes, Dad was there to build a new dam or power plant; at other times, it was to make sure the one in place was still sound.”

  “How did you end up here with your Uncle Jack?” She knew his parents had died when he was only a child.

  “When I was almost eight, Dad’s company was contracted to build a new dam in the Philippines, and he and mom were on a reconnaissance trip. It was the end of the school year, and I wanted to visit Uncle Jack. It was something I’d looked forward to all year, and while Mom wanted me to go with them, I held out, and they left me here. Their plane went down in a storm just off the coast of Malaysia. Uncle Jack took me in and raised me as his own. He was all the family I had.”

  “And he named the place after the two of you?”

  “No, my grandfather did that. My dad’s name was Jacob. My name is Jackson, after my uncle, Jacob, after my dad. The Double J got its new name after the twins were born.”

  “I wish I’d met your uncle. He sounds like a wonderful man. What about your aunt? You never mention her.”

  Jackson chuckled. “That’s because I didn’t have one. Uncle Jack never married.”

  “How tragic. A man with so much love to give should’ve been able to pass it along. I’m glad he had you to keep him company.”

  Jackson cocked his head and looked at her strangely. “We’re here. Sit tight while I open the door, and then I’ll come and get you.”

  Emily nodded, too surprised to say anything. From a distance, the house hadn’t looked as large as it was. When she’d seen the kids painting, she had no idea how much they’d had to do.

  The homestead, as Jackson called it, was primarily a large one story white clapboard structure, well over a hundred years old, well-maintained, and sporting a new metal roof. There was a second floor, but it was probably primarily attic space. The covered wraparound veranda, complete with an old-fashion swing hanging from the ceiling, featured a decorative gingerbread trim. Like the many fences and rails, it had all been newly painted. Unlike a lot of barns she’d seen painted red, the one she could see closest to the house matched it with white walls, black trim and a similar new red metal roof. A smaller house about a hundred feet away, still needed painting, as did a bunkhouse nearby.

  It must cost a fortune to maintain the property, especially when it wasn’t producing anymore. A farm that wasn’t a farm was a liability. How long would Jackson be able to hold onto it on his principal’s salary? Of course, Lisa had mentioned insurance, but there would’ve been death taxes—

  The door opened, yanking her back to the present. She undid her seat belt, grabbed her purse, bag, and lap quilt, and let Jackson carry her into the house. He walked right in, muddy shoes and all and deposited her on the beautiful brown leather sofa.

  The room was a man’s room without the frilly touches one would associate with a woman in the house.

  “I’ll be right back,” Jackson said hurrying out before she could stop him and coming back in moments later with her wheelchair. He disappeared out the door again, and when he returned, he carried her crutches and a picnic hamper. He set them down and removed his shoes and raincoat.

  She’d removed hers while he’d been out the second time.

  Moving over to the fireplace, he flipped a switch bringing almost instant heat into the room, and took her raincoat back to the vestibule.

  When he rejoined her, she indicated the wood box full of logs. “So those are just for show?”

  Jackson nodded. “Uncle Jack and I converted all the fireplaces in the house to gas about four years ago. Carrying wood inside was too hard on him, and while the hands did the cutting and stacking, it didn’t seem worth the bother. I’ll just get the mop and clean my mess,” he added.

  Emily looked around the room. This was a formal sitting room, probably rarely used, but immaculate. The lower half of the walls were solid oak as was the floor, but the ceilings and the upper walls were painted off-white, and it had been done recently. Antiques, no doubt pieces as old as the house itself, fit perfectly with the new items which included the leather sofa on which she sat, the matching chair and ottoman that could he used as a table, and a recliner. A beautiful hand-braided rug decorated the floor in front of the fireplace. She could almost picture a young boy sitting there reading at an older man’s feet on a cold winter night. The only thing missing was a dog. Did Jackson have a dog? He hadn’t mentioned one.

  Above the mantel hung a picture of two young boys and a woman who could only be their mother. The artist had captured the love and pride on her face so realistically, that you expected her to step out of the painting at any moment. The boys, a set of bookends, as her dad would say, had to be Jackson’s father and uncle. They looked to be three or four years old in the painting, and her heart ached for the son she’d lost whose image no artist would ever capture.

  Continuing her perusal of the room, she noticed several smaller photographs atop the mantel, but from this distance, she couldn’t identify who might be in them. As soon as she got up on her crutches, she would take a closer look.

  Jackson reentered the room with a modern floor cleaning mop that quickly took care of the muddy footprints. “Can I get you something to drink?” he asked, after he put away the mop. “I have one of those single brew coffee machines and a dozen different flavors.”

  “Coffee sounds great. Pick one and surprise me.”

  “Uh-uh,” he said. “I’m not falling into that trap.” He picked her up and carried her down the hall to the most magnificent country kitchen she’d ever seen, complete with gleaming stainless steel appliances. It was a homemaker’s dream. She’d often looked at pictures of kitchen’s lik
e this, imagining what it would be like to prepare meals in it, but the one she’d had in El Paso had been small and cramped by comparison. When she’d asked if it could be enlarged and modernized, Alex had paid lip service to her request, saying they could work on it after the baby was born, but she was fairly certain nothing would’ve changed. It’d taken weeks for her to get him to let her repaint the nursery from the institutional white, common throughout the house, to the pale blue and green she’d chosen.

  “This is fantastic,” she said as he stood her next to the counter. “It all looks new, too.”

  “The appliances are,” he said sheepishly. “I ordered them from the supplier who brought the ones at the school. This place needed work, and since I’m hoping to find a housekeeper who’ll cook for me, I thought new appliances would make a suitable bribe.”

  “Who cooked and cleaned before?”

  “Heath’s wife looked after things, but she had a baby just after Uncle Jack died, and has enough to look after helping Heath get their new farm up and running. I sold him the animals and some of the land, but I’ve hung on to the original farm. He leases those fields from me for a nominal amount. Heath was a big help to Uncle Jack when I was away, and I owed him.”

  “So that big barn only has two horses and a cow in it?”

  “And a half-dozen chickens. When I retire from teaching, I’m hoping I can raise horses the way Uncle Jack and I dreamed of doing.” He smiled at her. “The various coffees are on the display rack. What kind would you like before I carry you over to the therapy pool and let you soak?”

  Emily selected a vanilla cappuccino.

  Jackson set her down in a chair at the butcher-block table, and as soon as her coffee was ready he handed it to her.

  Sipping their warm drinks, Jackson talked about what it was like to be the new kid in Braden after he’d come to live with Uncle Jack and slowly, piece by piece, there emerged the picture of a man who loved his home.

  “Would you ever consider selling the rest of the land and this house?”