by Liz Talley
His face darkened.
“Just before I turned eighteen, I was pregnant with your brother’s child.”
“Wait.” He held up a hand. “Pa always insisted it wasn’t Jared’s.”
“Yeah, that’s why after Jared’s death…”
“Murder,” he corrected in a chilling voice.
Her control slipped for a split second, but she would not be intimidated or stopped. Not this time.
“Asa’s goons kidnapped me a week before my due date and took me to the Bar C Ranch. Minnie Voltree, the midwife, gave me something to induce labor, and six hours later I gave birth. The baby was taken away. I never saw it and don’t even know if it was a boy or a girl. Your father came in and said to my face, ‘A life for a life, girlie. Now you’ll never pass that kid off as a Corbett. My advice to you is to get out of town as fast as you can because if I see you in Willow Creek, I’ll bury you so deep your body will never be found. And your mother and sister will join you.’”
She’d spoken the words in a cool and unemotional imitation of Carson’s father, but at the end her voice cracked. She hated that she couldn’t control that weakness.
“That’s a tall tale, Ms. Brooks, and I’m not sure why you’re telling it to me. This supposedly happened years ago.”
She reached into her purse and pulled out a business card. Placing it on his desk, she said, “I work for a criminal attorney in Dallas—a very good criminal attorney. He’s given me the courage to fight for what’s mine. I left here a broken, naïve girl, but I’ve come back a mature, strong woman. I want my child, and your father knows where my baby is. I intend to get that information.”
“Shouldn’t you be talking to the sheriff?”
She picked up her purse and stood. “Out of respect for my child and for my mother and my sister, who still live here, I’d rather do this discreetly. I’ll give you two days to question your father. After that, my attorney will be contacting the proper authorities.” Without another word, she walked out.
*
CARSON CURSED UNDER his breath, feeling as if he’d been sideswiped by a Mack truck going about ninety miles an hour. Was she telling the truth? His mind grappled with what she’d said. It didn’t make sense. He’d been in the Marines at the time, so he couldn’t be sure about anything. And he sure couldn’t imagine his father doing something so barbaric. But then again, Asa Corbett lived by his own rules.
He picked up the card. Blake Davenport and Associates, PC. Jena Brooks was one determined woman, and he couldn’t ignore that. He’d start by verifying some facts and take it from there.
Glancing at his watch, he got to his feet and headed for the door—time to pick up the kids. It was the end of May and the end of another school year. His kids were excited about the summer break. Trey, his son, more so than his daughter, Claire. At four, Claire was more excited about playing with her Barbie dolls or watching SpongeBob SquarePants.
Trey was an outdoor boy. He loved fishing, hunting, riding his horse, helping with the cows and basically just getting dirty. When he was five, Beth had died giving birth to Claire. Trey’d been sad for so long. They all had been.
Beth had been the love of Carson’s life, his high school sweetheart. Living without her was an indescribable heartache. But he had two kids to raise, and he had to be strong for them every day.
He couldn’t imagine someone taking one of his children. That would kill him. His thoughts turned to Ms. Brooks. He knew she’d been pregnant all those years ago. Beth had written him many times about her and about Asa’s wrath that she planned to pass her bastard child off as a Corbett. Then Jared, his brother, had been murdered by Lamar Brooks, and Carson had never given the pregnancy another thought. At the time, he’d wanted the whole Brooks family to rot in hell.
When he heard of his brother’s murder, he was devastated and soon made the decision to leave the Marines. His family needed him. Beth was about to give birth to their son, and he wanted to be there.
Jared’s body had been found on the side of the road next to his truck. He’d been shot with a shotgun at close range. The gun belonged to Lamar Brooks. Before Lamar could be arrested, he was found dead in his own driveway. The weapon used was also a shotgun. Asa owned one, but when the sheriff ran a ballistics test, it didn’t match.
Everyone thought Asa had killed Lamar to avenge the death of his son. It was never proved, though. To this day it remained the biggest crime and scandal to ever happen in Willow Creek. Now Jena Brooks was dredging it all up again.
What had happened to her baby? And was it Jared’s? Whatever the answers were, he was being dragged right into the middle of it. Their peaceful town would be abuzz with rumors and half-truths. And it was up to him to sort through it all.
He didn’t relish the task.
He’d just as soon never see Jena Brooks again.
*
JENA DROVE OVER the railroad tracks that ran through Willow Creek. She passed a trailer park and then took a right onto a gravel road. Another left and she rolled into the Brookses’ driveway. She turned off the engine of her Honda Accord and stared at the run-down frame house. It once was white, but it was hard to tell that now. The boards were almost bare. Several screens were missing. To the right was an old car with grass grown up around it.
She’d spent the first eighteen years of her life here on the wrong side of the tracks, living off welfare and food stamps. Her dad was a drunk who couldn’t hold down a job, and her mother was weak, putting up with a crappy way of life. They received bags of used clothes from different charities and food and toys during the holidays. It was mortifying for a young girl.
She used to dream of leaving Willow Creek and never coming back. Never again living on food stamps and welfare. And never being like her parents.
Her hands ached and she realized she had a death grip on the steering wheel. She hadn’t been home in nine years, and it was a bit unnerving. As was her visit with Carson Corbett. Since he was five years older than her and Jared, she’d never formally met him, but she’d seen him often around town with his girlfriend, Beth. Jena definitely knew who he was.
He had the same dark blond hair and green eyes as Jared, except Carson was taller and more muscular, probably because of his military training.
When she’d heard of Asa’s stroke from her sister, Hilary, she’d known if she was ever going to find her baby she’d have to do it quickly. If Asa died, he would take his secret with him. It had taken her nine years to get to this point, and no one was stopping her now. Not even Carson.
She got out of the car and walked through the grass to the front door. One of the things she remembered from her childhood was that the grass always needed cutting and they didn’t have a lawn mower. She and Hil used a Weedwacker to chop it down around the house to keep the mice away.
The boards creaked as she stepped up, but then, they always did. Not much had changed. Her mother’s rocker still sat on the front porch, where she used to wait for her daughters to walk home from school.
She hadn’t told her mom she was coming home, and she wasn’t sure how she was going to react. All these years, Norma Brooks had insisted that Jena stay away from Willow Creek. She was still afraid Asa Corbett would kill her daughter.
Opening the screen door, she called, “Mama.” She didn’t want to frighten her.
Norma appeared from the kitchen in jeans and a print blouse, shock etched across her aging face. Her dark eyes were dull and her dark hair was almost gray at fifty years of age. Jena stood in shock, hardly believing her mother’s health had deteriorated this much.
“Jena, what are you doing here?”
She closed the door and walked in. “Hi, Mama. Aren’t you glad to see me?”
“Oh, Jena, my beautiful daughter.” They hugged tightly, and Norma drew back, wiping away a tear. “Just look at you. All citified. I almost didn’t recognize you, but you have to go. You can’t stay here.”
She took her mother’s arm. “Mama, we have to tal
k.”
“Okay, but not too long.” Norma sank into an old worn recliner they’d gotten from Goodwill more than twenty years ago. Duct tape covered the threadbare arms.
Jena pulled a wooden chair close to her mother and noticed a bucket near the windows. Glancing up, she saw the brown stains. The roof was leaking. She’d sent Hilary money for a new roof. What had she done with it? She couldn’t think about that now.
“Mama, Asa Corbett has had a stroke. Hilary told you.”
Norma frowned. “I don’t remember.”
Hilary had said their mother had memory lapses and was out of it a lot these days. It was unsettling to witness.
“He has. He’s in a wheelchair, and he’s not going to hurt anyone. It’s been so long ago no one cares anymore.”
No one but me.
“I don’t know,” Norma murmured in a faraway voice.
“Mama, I’m going to be staying a few days, and you’ve got nothing to worry about.”
The screen door banged and Hilary breezed in with a Styrofoam takeout container in her hand. “Hey, sis, you made it.”
“Yeah.”
People said they looked alike, and Jena supposed they did with the same dark eyes and hair and similar facial features. But the resemblance ended there. They were totally different in personality. Hilary was a bubbly scatterbrain who talked constantly. Jena, on the other hand, was reserved and quiet. She’d been called uptight more than once. Jared was the only one who’d seen she was a warm, compassionate person in need of love. Desperate for love.
“Did you bring my dinner?” Norma asked.
“Sure did, Mama. I’ll put it on the kitchen table. It’s Mabel’s pot roast with mashed potatoes, gravy and homemade rolls. Peach cobbler for dessert. You better eat it while it’s warm.” Hil hurried into the kitchen.
“Okay.” Norma followed her and so did Jena.
Hil fixed a glass of iced tea and placed it and a napkin on the table.
Jena watched this, rather mystified. Her mom was a wonderful cook and was capable of making delicious meals with the little food they’d had. Why wasn’t she cooking?
Jena went back into the living room, and soon Hilary joined her. “I had no idea Mama was this bad.”
“Ever since Dad was murdered and Mama got you out of town so quick, she hasn’t been the same. Every day she gets a little worse.”
“Did she just stop cooking?”
“She left grease on the burner twice, and it caught fire. I just happened to be home or our—” she glanced around the drab room “—mansion would have burned down. I had one of the guys turn off the gas to the stove. I can turn it on if I need to, but since I work at the café I bring her food.”
Hilary had worked at Mabel’s Café ever since she was sixteen. There weren’t many jobs in Willow Creek, a town of four hundred. Her sister would be stuck here for the rest of her life, taking care of their mother.
She reached out and hugged her. “Thank you, baby sis, for all you do.”
“Aw.” Hil pulled away. “You gonna make me cry.”
“I know it’s not easy dealing with Mama.”
“It’s like dealing with a child.”
“I know we talked about her doctor visits. Is there nothing else he can do?”
Hil shook her head. “He said severe trauma from the murders has altered her personality, and dementia has set in, but I know her moods. We’re okay.”
The bucket caught Jena’s attention. “I hate to sound critical when I’m so appreciative, but what happened to the money for the roof?”
“Oh, that. Don’t get upset. Wait till you see.”
Jena followed her sister through the kitchen and suddenly stopped. There was a utility room off the kitchen—a bright cheery room painted a soft yellow with a white washer and dryer. One wall had a mural of a rainbow, clouds and birds.
Jena was speechless.
Growing up, they hadn’t had a washer or a dryer. On Saturdays, they usually went into Dripping Springs to a Laundromat. But if they didn’t have money, their mother washed their clothes in the bathtub—a backward way of life for the poor people who lived across the tracks. A stigma that would be with her for the rest of her life, as would so many other things from her childhood.
“You built a utility room?”
“Fresh, isn’t it?” She pointed to the mural. “It would have cost more money to put a window in, so I painted a scene to liven up the place.”
“Who built this?”
“The guys. I bought all the supplies, and they did the rest.”
“What guys?”
“The ones who come into the café: Billy Jack, Clem, Bobby Joe, Bruce, Lenny and…”
“The labor was free?”
“Yes. Bruce is a carpenter, Lenny a plumber, Clem a Sheetrock guy, Billy Jack a painter and Bobby Joe a roofer. They had it up in two days.”
“For free?”
Hil grinned. “I just promised to cut their piece of pie a little bigger at the café. They’ll do anything for an extra piece of pie.”
Jena believed they did it for Hilary. She had a way with people.
She looked at the white ceiling. “I’m assuming this has a roof on it.”
“Of course.”
“Then why didn’t you roof the whole house?”
“Well—” she tilted her head slightly “—I ran out of money. I can get the guys to do hard labor, but I can’t get them to fork over any cash. So Bobby Joe put tar on it, and he’s coming back to repair that one spot that’s still leaking.”
“If you’re happy…”
“I am.” She did a dance, swung around in a quick move and did a ta-da with her hands pointed toward the washer and dryer in a typical Vanna White gesture. “I can wash clothes anytime I want. I feel empowered.”
Jena laughed, something she hadn’t done in a long time, but in her heart she felt guilty. She had those conveniences in Dallas and more, while her mother and sister lived in poverty. While she was here she would try to improve things as much as she could.
Arm in arm they walked into the kitchen. Their mother sat at the table, staring off into space, her food barely touched.
Hilary went to her. “Hey, Mama, why aren’t you eating?”
“What? Oh.” Norma looked up, her eyes blank. “I’m not hungry. You can—” She stared at Jena. “What are you doing here? You have to go. They’ll hurt you. C’mon.” She stood up so fast the chair went flying into the stove.
Hilary immediately hugged their mother, motioning for Jena to go into the other room. Her legs trembled, but she did what her sister asked.
“It’s okay, Mama,” Hil was saying. “A little nap and you’ll feel much better.”
“Why do I keep seeing her?”
“Because you’re worried about her, but Jena is fine. Remember I told you she’s coming for a visit.”
“No. They’ll hurt her again.”
“That was in the past. Things are different now.”
“I’m so cold.”
“Lie down and I’ll get a blanket.” In a few minutes Hilary was back in the living room.
“Is she always like that?” Jena asked.
“It comes and goes. Today’s a bad day. She’ll wake up and be almost normal. It’s strange.”
“She shouldn’t be left by herself.”
Hilary shrugged. “I don’t have much choice. I have to work, but I check on her all the time. It’s not that far to the café, and the good thing is she won’t leave the house. This is familiar, and if I force her outside for fresh air she gets all nervous.”
“We have to talk about this, Hil.”
“I’m not putting her in a home,” Hilary said with a stubborn lift of her chin.
Jena didn’t want to do that, either, but they’d have to have a serious conversation soon.
“Enough with the depressing thoughts.” Hil jerked off her boots and socks. “I want to try on those shoes. Off with them.”
Jena smiled and really
looked at her sister’s attire for the first time. She wore a denim skirt that flared out around her thighs, a red-and-white-check blouse and cowgirl boots with red tops. Bracelets dangled on her wrist; large silver earrings hung from her ears. She looked as if she was going square dancing.
Undoing the tiny strap around her ankles, Jena said, “Love the outfit.”
“I make sure no one forgets me.” Hilary slipped on the four-inch heels. “Wow.” She tottered across the living room and then mimicked the walk of a runway model, tripped and fell onto the sofa, laughing. “How do you walk in these things?”
“You get used to it, and I have to dress nice for my job.”
“Oh, yeah, the big attorney.”
Jena didn’t miss the sarcastic tone. “He’s been nice to me, Hil.”
“You deserve it, Jen-Jen.”
She felt a warm glow at the nickname her sister had given her.
Hilary placed the shoes on the coffee table. “I saw the Accord parked at Carson’s. A lot of people did and wondered who you were. I didn’t say anything.”
“I don’t care who knows I’m back.”
Hilary played with the hem of her skirt. “They’ll wonder about the baby.”
Hearing the fear in her sister’s voice, she got up and sat by her on the sofa. “It doesn’t matter. The truth is going to come out.”
“What did Carson say?”
“Not much. I told him I want to see my child and he could either get the information from his father or the authorities would. I’m not afraid of them anymore.”
Hilary continued to pick at the hem. “Sometimes I have nightmares about that night.”
“Me, too,” she murmured as her stomach cramped.
“Mama and I were so worried. You didn’t come home from your shift at the convenience store. Just as we were getting ready to go look for you, Roland Stubbs and Curly Sanders dragged you into the house. Your clothes were bloody. Roland said, ‘Get her out of town before Asa kills her.’”
Hilary took a breath. “Then you told us what had happened, and Mama was furious. She put you to bed and borrowed Mrs. Carter’s car because the sheriff had seized Dad’s truck for evidence. She and I went to the Bar C. She demanded the baby, and Asa pushed her against one of those huge pillars on the porch and threatened to kill all of us. He didn’t care, he said. His son was dead.”