His Ordinary Life

by Linda Winfree

  “Because Rawlings will go there before he leaves.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Barbara buried her head in her hands. She couldn’t concentrate. Lifting her head, she stared at the laptop screen. The grades didn’t match up and she couldn’t figure out why.

  “This is so pointless.” She pushed away from the desk to pace the living room. Like she could think about quizzes and essays and percentages when every cell in her body still throbbed with the memory of Del’s touch. Or when every thought came back to the sorrowful anger, the sadness in his voice.

  You never really needed me, did you, Barb?

  His words pounded in her head. Of course she’d needed him. Why couldn’t he see that? She’d depended on him for so much—his support, his approval, his love. Having that taken away had shown her how needy she really was. She’d worked so hard at beginning to become a strong, independent woman instead of the weak, clingy girl she’d been. Go back?

  He’s given that power to you.

  She stopped at the window, staring into the rain, remembering. Del, holding her as she cried the night of the breakin. Letting her take the lead afterwards and make the decisions about where they’d stay. Making sure the mess was cleared so she didn’t have to deal with it. Consulting her about Blake. He’d been there when she needed him, taken a backseat when she needed to be in charge instead.

  If I haven’t already told you, Barbara Gail Calvert, I like the new you.

  He hadn’t tried to change her. Instead, he’d stepped back and accepted her as she was. Even the gun. She’d expected an ultimatum. Yes, he’d walked out to cool off, but he hadn’t said, “It’s me or the gun.” He hadn’t turned the issue into a power struggle. He’d never questioned her right to purchase the gun, merely the wisdom of having it in the house.

  He’d done everything she needed him to do.

  I’m still the same mistake you made that summer in the back of my truck, and you’re bound and determined not to make the same mistake twice, aren’t you?

  “Oh, Lord.” She pressed her fingers to her burning eyes. He was right. She’d spent sixteen years regretting that youthful folly and its consequences, even while loving her children and him. With everyone talking and passing judgment, proving herself, finishing college and gaining respect had lain underneath everything she did. She’d built her life around proving herself to others instead of the one person who mattered most. And he’d supported her the whole way.

  She didn’t want him thinking she regretted loving him any longer.

  She rested her forehead against the cool glass, the tears slipping free. He was still doing it, putting her first, taking none of the credit for his actions. He deserved so much more.

  He deserved everything.

  And when he returned, she meant to give it to him.

  With a deep breath, she dashed the tears from her face and turned from the window. What to do? He’d said he would have his cell. Maybe she should try to call him. Surely this burning need to talk to him was reason enough. Doubts crowded in. Maybe she should give him time to calm down. Maybe that was another excuse, another attempt at self-preservation.

  “Oh, just call him, Barbara Gail.” Nerves jumping in her stomach, she moved back to the desk and reached for the phone. Lights swept the front of the house, and she relaxed before the nerves rushed back in, stronger than before. Oh, Lord, he was here. What would she say?

  Footsteps sounded on the walkway, and she hurried to the front door to swing it open. Under the porch light, Brian Rawlings shook water from his hair and grinned at her.

  Disappointment filled her and she sagged, holding the door and trying to appear welcoming. “Brian. What a surprise.”

  His expression turned sheepish and apologetic. “I’m sorry for coming by so late, but I needed a favor.”

  A breeze gusted a sheet of rain onto the porch. Blinking, she stepped back. “Of course. Come in.”

  She closed the door behind him. He cast a glance around the living room, and she saw it through his eyes—her stacks of graded papers on the desk, Del’s open bag by the couch, one of his golf shirts tossed on the coffee table, the newspaper folded neatly on top of it. Quiet hovered, no television or radio on, none of the noise associated with her children, only the soft fall of rain smattering against the window.

  Tucking her bangs behind her ears, she smiled, the forced expression straining her face. “You said something about a favor?”

  “Yes.” He held out a manila folder. “I need to go out of town, and I thought I’d leave my sub plans with you.”

  “Of course.” She took the file. “Nothing’s wrong, I hope?”

  He shook his head, running a hand over his nape. “Not really. Just a family issue. I’m going to visit my mother for a few days is all.”

  “Oh.” Silence stretched again, and she shifted from one foot to the other. “Well, have a good trip.”

  “You’re working on grades again, huh?” Brian gestured toward her laptop, the screen showing the web-based grading program the school system had adopted.

  “You could say that.” She sighed, the frustration returning. “They’re still not right, and I can’t figure out why.”

  “Not right?”

  She nodded. “Two or three in each class. According to this thing, Keimond Jones has an A, but I know his grade had slipped into the low C’s.”

  “Want me to take a look?” Brian moved toward the desk. “I’m pretty good with this system. Maybe your set-up percentages are off again.”

  She crossed to stand next to him. He clicked the menu button, receiving a server-not-found message. Barbara glanced at the toolbar running along the bottom of the screen. “Oh, wait, it’s disconnected. It does that automatically. I really need to invest in wireless instead of dial-up.”

  The red message light blinked on the phone handset next to the computer. She reached for the cordless phone. “Let me check this first. It could be Del calling about Blake.”

  His hand covered hers. “Let it wait. This will only take a second.”

  “Brian.” She disguised her sudden nervousness with a laugh. His damp palm against her skin sent shivers of alarm along her skin. She hadn’t thought twice about letting a trusted colleague into the house, but the quiet and isolation swamped her now. Suddenly, she wanted Del there with a vengeance. She’d take his steady presence over the piece of metal two rooms away any day. Brian stared at her, his eyes blank. Do what he wants. The little voice came from nowhere, murmuring at the back of her mind, and she smiled, relaxing her fingers. “Sure.”

  He looked at her a moment more before lifting his hand from hers and manipulating the mouse again. The modem clicked on, the sounds of dialing pinging in the heavy silence. She wanted to move away, but his waiting, watchful air frightened her. She stayed where she was.

  The front door opened, and simultaneously, a key turned in the back lock. Brian jerked as if shot, spinning toward the front door, and she took advantage of his surprise to back away, toward the kitchen.

  Tick stood in the front door, gun drawn, his face set in tense lines. Mark Cook brushed her shoulder as he moved from the kitchen into the room, his pistol in hand and pointed at Brian as well. Cookie’s sturdy frame stood between her and Brian, but even with the weapons directed away from her, the easy, confident way the men held them clenched her stomach. Tick marked Brian’s chest as easily as he’d shown her to mark a target on the range.

  Tick’s hard gaze pinned Brian. “On the floor, Rawlings.”

  She glanced at the three men in a wild arc, sure this was all some surreal dream. She took another shaky step backwards. Brian stared at Tick but didn’t move to obey. His hands twitched. His shoulder shifted.

  “Down.” Tick’s voice hardened, taking on a deeper edge of authority. “Now.”

  Barbara froze, afraid to move as the standoff stretched for long seconds more. Finally, Brian moved in slow motion to lie face down on the floor. Tick and Cook circled him, Tick moving b
ehind him. He holstered his gun and pulled his cuffs from his belt.

  “Brian Rawlings, you’re under arrest.” Metal snapped and rasped. Brian grunted. “You have the right to remain silent and refuse to answer questions. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney…”

  Tick’s voice faded into a dull buzzing in her ears. This wasn’t happening, was it? Who had she allowed into her home?

  Strong hands closed on her shoulders, pulling her into the kitchen, spinning her to allow someone to hold her close against a sturdy chest. A familiar male scent filled her nostrils. Del. Shaking, she threw her arms around his neck and held on tight.

  He pulled her closer, his face buried in the curve between her neck and shoulder. “Oh, God, Barb.”

  She couldn’t stop the tremors attacking her body, and her lungs didn’t want to work. “What’s happening?”

  He stroked her hair, lifting his head to rain kisses along her brow and temple. “It’s Rawlings. He’s the one, baby.”

  She shook her head, clinging to him. “No, he can’t be. I let him in the house, Del. He can’t—”

  His long fingers held her head still, his dark, anguished gaze staring into hers. “He is. It’s okay, honey. It’s okay. Everything’s going to be okay.” He pulled her against him once more, whispering, his voice cracking. “Oh, Lord, baby, I was so damned scared. We thought he’d come here, but when I saw his car in the drive…I didn’t know what was going on and all I could think of was you and the girls…sweet Jesus, Barb, I love you.”

  Tears spilling over, she lifted her face and pressed her lips to his. He cradled her nape and kissed her, a fierce kiss of affirmation and longing, void of desire and passion, but filled with a need so strong it consumed them both.

  Finally, he straightened and smoothed her hair from her face again. “I shouldn’t have walked out like I did. I should have stayed, listened to you, talked to you.”

  “No.” She touched his dimple with trembling fingers and tried to smile, eager to ease the wary anguish in his gaze. “You were right. I’ve been so selfish, only thinking of myself, my wishes and what I wanted—”

  “Hush.” He shook his head. “You don’t have to—”

  “Yes, I do.” She caressed the curve of his lips again. “All I’ve ever seen is how everything affected me, what I gave up. I never thought about what our decisions cost you.”

  A crooked grin lifted the right corner of his mouth. “I didn’t give anything up. I got you. And three pretty darn good kids.”

  A surge of love washed through her, bringing a fresh wave of weeping. He groaned, catching her tears on his thumbs, smoothing the moisture from her skin.

  “Don’t do that,” he murmured, kissing her temple. “We both made mistakes, hurt each other, but we can’t change that, can’t live in the past.”

  He feathered his lips down her jaw, and her sharp inhalation filled her with his scent. Male voices drifted from the living room, blending with Cookie’s cynical chuckle. She remained focused on the man holding her. She stroked her hands along his arms, loving the feel of him, warm and alive and steady.

  Tilting her head back, she met his gaze. “You were wrong. I do need you. I’ve always needed you.” She blinked against more tears. “I love you.”

  His eyes darkened, grew more intent. “Tell me what you want.”

  She didn’t smile, but let her fingers travel up his arms and over his shoulders to the hot skin of his throat. His pulse thudded against her fingertips. “I want everything.”

  He grinned and lowered his head. His breath whispered across her lips. She closed her eyes, anticipating the touch of his mouth on hers.

  “Mama?” Anna’s frightened voice quavered. Barbara’s eyes flew open. She straightened, trying to step away from Del, but he refused to let go. Both girls hovered in the doorway, their eyes wide and hair rumpled from sleep. “The front door’s open, and Uncle Tick’s outside with a bunch of deputies. What’s going on?”

  “And why are you kissing Daddy?” Lyssa’s tone held more gleeful curiosity than fear. “Does this mean y’all really are getting back together?”

  Del chuckled, caressing the small of her back. “I think we’re busted. Come on, Barb, our real life calls.”

  *

  A brisk breeze tossed stray pecan leaves across the street. Tick leaned against his dusty pickup, parked at the curb, and Del lifted a hand in a wave as he pulled into the driveway. He pushed the door open and stepped out of the SUV, stretching to work the kinks out of his spine.

  “Sorry I’m late,” he called, moving to open the hatch. “Traffic was backed up on the interstate. You been here long?”

  “Ten or fifteen minutes.” Tick levered away from the bed of his truck. “Get everything taken care of?”

  “Yeah.” Del pulled the first of the cardboard boxes taking up the cargo area. Pretty sad that he’d packed up his apartment in one truckload and ninety percent of the stuff was clothes and insurance manuals. Balancing the box on his hip, he sorted through his keys to find the shiny new one that opened the kitchen door.

  Tick glanced at his watch. “We don’t have a lot of time.”

  “It’s Thursday.” Del grinned and headed up the walk to the back of the house. “Gymnastics, karate and a trip to the grocery store. We have plenty of time.”

  The kitchen door swung open and home enveloped him. He took a deep breath, the scents of citrus and roses mingling with the aroma of freshly ground coffee beans. The house sat silent, waiting, but sunlight streamed through leaded glass and sparkled on the white countertops. He closed his eyes. He’d missed this the last four days while he’d tied up everything in Atlanta, so much that he was home a whole twenty-four hours earlier than he’d planned.

  “You going to stand there fantasizing all afternoon, or are we going to get this done before Barbara gets home?” Tick’s wry voice pulled him back to reality.

  Setting the box beside the island, he shook his head. “Just help me unload this stuff, would you?”

  Del glanced at his brother as they ambled back to the SUV. “How did the arraignment go?”

  “Nothing surprising.” Tick shrugged. “Both of them put in a not guilty plea. McMillian offered Monroe a plea bargain if he’d roll on Rawlings, but no deal. Can’t get a statement out of either one of them.”

  “You really need one?”

  “Not with the way this case is falling together. Between Keimond Jones’s statement and what the GBI’s computer forensics guy pulled out of the school computer, we’ve got motive for Cassie Howard’s death and the attack on Jones.”

  “So Rawlings really was fixing grades for money?”

  Tick nodded. “And not just Barbara’s classes either. Chemistry, trig, you name it, and we found it. The Howard girl’s attendance record had been altered, too. According to Jones, Rawlings had gotten involved with her sexually. When he tried to break it off, she threatened to tell.”

  Del grabbed the next box and tugged. “So they killed her.”

  “Yeah. And blackmailed or intimidated Jones into helping Monroe dump the body. Only problem was Blake showed up, looking for Jamie Reese to go hang out, and scared them. They needed him quiet.”

  Nausea pushed into Del’s throat, his stomach turning over. He still had a hard time thinking about how close they’d come to losing Blake. He let the box rest on the bumper and ran a hand over his face. “We’re lucky they didn’t just kill him, too.”

  “You have no idea.” Tick’s mouth thinned to a tight line. “But you shouldn’t have to worry about either of them for a long, long time. McMillian is prosecuting Monroe as an adult, and without their cooperation, he’s going for the maximum sentence. He’ll get it, too.”

  “Good.” Del didn’t have room for forgiveness yet, even knowing the circumstances of Monroe and Rawlings’s childhood. It didn’t excuse what they’d done to his son, to Keimond Jones, to Cassie Howard. Maybe when the angry red surgical scar faded on Blake’s body. But he do
ubted it.

  “Does Jay know Blake went back to school today?”

  Del nodded. “He said Blake obviously took after you.” A pleased grin flashed across Tick’s face and Del smirked. “Stubborn as hell.”

  Hauling another cardboard carton out of the cargo area, Tick eyed Del. “You better hope Barbara still likes surprises.”

  Grinning, Del grabbed his box again and moved toward the house. “Trust me. She’s gonna love it.”

  *

  “Give me that!” Lyssa’s indignant screech bounced within the confines of the 4-Runner and Barbara winced. A low ache pulsing at her temples, she glanced in the rearview mirror, in time to see her older-by-seven-minutes daughter make a grab for the note Anna held. “Anna, I mean it. Give it back, right now.”

  “Oooh, I’m scared.” Anna giggled, making googly-eyes at her sister and dancing the intricately folded piece of paper in the air. “Who’s it from? Kevin?”

  “Mama, make her give it back!” Lyssa’s voice deteriorated to a plaintive whine.

  “Mama, please.” Blake stirred in the front seat, lifting his head from the headrest. Exhaustion dragged at his pale features and a spurt of guilt pinched Barbara. She shouldn’t have given in to his insistence that he was ready to return to school, just a week after his release from the hospital, although she’d understood his desire for his life to return to normal. “Tell ’em to be quiet.”

  Braking for a stoplight, Barbara lifted her gaze to the mirror again. “Anna, give back the note. Lyssa, stop screaming.”

  Anna flicked the note into her sister’s lap with a disgusted movement. Face set in an expression of extreme satisfaction, Lyssa poked her tongue out at Anna. Huffing, Anna turned away, staring out the window.

  Quiet descended. The light turned green, and Barbara breathed a sigh of relief, easing into her left turn. Three miles to the house. Three minutes and she could turn them loose. Or send them to their rooms and forbid them to set foot out until dinner. Oh, that sounded good.

  “When’s Daddy coming home?” Lyssa kicked the back of Blake’s seat.

  He yelped and jerked upright, holding his side. “Brat! Mama, she did that on purpose—”