“I didn’t hurt Dr. Martin or that sheriff.”
Nick studied the guileless face of his brother. “I believe you, Scott. We’ll find a way out of this mess.”
23
Tenth pew, middle of the row—Taylor took her seat beside her mom just as she had every Sunday morning of her childhood. She noted that when sunshine filtered through the stained-glass windows, it still splashed a rainbow of color on the pew in front of her. Just like when she was a child and believed God answered prayer.
Seeing Nick’s faith made her question if she might be wrong about God. But if God cared about her, wouldn’t he have answered her prayer about her dad? What would Nick say about that? She smoothed a wrinkle that creased her white linen skirt, then tucked a stray curl behind her ear, remembering how Nick had done the same thing. Right before he kissed her. She closed her eyes, savoring the memory of his kiss. She wanted to believe he was ready for a relationship, but maybe it was too soon, like Livy said.
The organ struck the first chord of the call to worship, and everyone stood. Chase and Abby sat two rows up with Kate. Taylor craned her neck around to find her uncle. “Where’s Jonathan?” she whispered to her mother.
“He came to the early service,” her mother whispered back.
Early service? There’d been no early service when she was a teenager. She opened the songbook her mother handed her. “Praise God from whom all blessings flow.” In spite of her resolve to do nothing more than sit, Taylor joined in on the familiar song. “Praise him all creatures here below.”
Taylor sensed someone to her right, and then a warm baritone joined in the song, and her heart fluttered in her throat. Nick.
“Praise him above ye heavenly hosts; praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.”
She cut her eyes to the right and gave him a shy smile. He winked, and Taylor reminded herself to breathe. The song ended, and as they sat, Taylor leaned over and whispered, “Who’s with Scott?”
“Kate’s husband, Charlie.”
Taylor tried not to react. Letting Charlie look after Scott was like putting the fox in charge of the henhouse, but she didn’t tell Nick. No need to worry him.
After several songs, some she remembered and some she didn’t, the pastor came to the pulpit. Taylor glanced at the bulletin. Reverend Carl Thompson, senior pastor. Not the same one who’d been here when she left.
The reverend directed the congregation to a passage in Luke. When Nick turned to the Scripture, she flushed. She hadn’t brought a Bible. Nick’s eyes flicked to her empty lap, and he placed his where she could read along with him.
The book was worn, and Nick had underlined some of the verses. She half attempted to focus on the sermon, but her thoughts kept wandering to Nick and how his leg was almost touching hers. He reached for a pen from the holder attached to the pew in front of them, and Taylor jerked her mind back to the pastor.
As Reverend Thompson spoke about lost sheep, her mind wandered again. Don’t think about Nick. Think about the meeting tomorrow. She needed to leave the house by nine to meet Livy at Rob Wilson’s house. She tried to imagine why some of the notes in the case file were missing. Hopefully, Wilson could find his personal notes on the case.
Her mother nudged her and looked pointedly toward Taylor’s left foot, which was swinging furiously. She stilled her foot, and finally it was time to sing the closing hymn.
Nick’s baritone and her mother’s alto blended, creating a sound so beautiful that chills ran down Taylor’s spine. “Come home. Ye who are weary, come home . . .”
As the last note ended, Taylor turned to leave, and her mother intercepted her. “Taylor, do you want to introduce me to your friend?”
Not really. Knowing her mom, she would read more into their relationship than what it was, even seeing it as a way to get Taylor back to Logan Point. But as she was trapped between the two, and Nick seemed to expect an introduction, she pasted a smile on her lips. “Uh, Nick, I’d like you to meet my mom, Allison Martin.”
He grasped her mom’s hand. “It’s my pleasure, Mrs. Martin.”
“Call me Allison. I’ve read all your books so I feel like I already know you.” She linked her arm in Nick’s. “And thank you so much for autographing my copy of your last one.”
“My pleasure.”
“Would you like to join us for Sunday dinner?” her mom asked. Taylor held her breath. As much as she’d like to spend time with him, Nick and her family and Sunday dinner wasn’t what she had in mind.
Nick hesitated. “I’d like to, but I better get back to the B and B and check on my brother. Maybe another time.”
She breathed again.
“We’ll see after your brother,” Kate said as she and Chase and Abby joined them.
Taylor introduced her brother to Nick.
“You visit with the Martins,” Kate said. “It’ll give you an opportunity to tell them about that camp.”
There was going to be no escaping it, she could feel it in her bones.
“I’ve made chicken and dressing,” Mom added.
“In that case, I accept.”
Oh, boy. Taylor’s emotions swung from one end of the spectrum to the other. She wasn’t ready to share Nick with her family. Now every time she talked to Mom, her mom would want to know what was going on with them. It was too early for that kind of pressure. Yet part of her wanted him there—the part that enjoyed torture.
Exactly as she expected, Nick was a big hit with the family. He and Chase connected right away. Jonathan joined the conversation when it turned to sports, and Nick even wowed little Abby. Taylor couldn’t deny feeling a little left out. She could understand him wanting to make a good impression, but to practically ignore her? Evidently, she had totally misread the kiss last night. Nothing new there.
Sometime during the meal, her mother left the table and returned with Nick’s other two books. She placed them on the buffet. “Would you mind autographing those before you leave?”
“Sure.”
Taylor noted a redness creep up his neck. It amused her that he was uncomfortable with his fame.
“When will your next book be out?” Mom asked as she sliced a chocolate cake.
“Publication date is set for November. I’ll see to it that you get an advance copy.”
Mom beamed. “Thank you. I’ll treasure it.”
“What did Kate mean about a camp?” Chase asked.
Nick turned to her brother. “It’s my dream to start a boys’ camp, and Kate thought I might find land around here.”
“How much land are you talking about?” Jonathan asked.
“At least twenty acres.” As Nick shared his dreams with her family, his words drew Taylor into his vision.
After the meal, when the men adjourned to the library, she wanted to join them but instead helped clear the table.
“It’s good to hear Chase laugh,” her mother commented. “And maybe Nick looking for a piece of land is an answer to my prayers.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Over the years, we’ve bought up several tracts of land at the lake. One of them has twenty acres. Doesn’t have much lake frontage, but it has a boathouse. Maybe if we all signed our part over to Jonathan . . .”
Taylor saw where her mom’s thoughts were going. That would be one answer. “Did Nick autograph your books?”
“Not yet, and if he forgets, something tells me Nick Sinclair will be returning.”
“What do you mean?”
“The way he looks at you—he’ll be back.”
“Really, Mom, he’s barely even spoken to me this afternoon.” And she wasn’t going to give him another opportunity to ignore her. Pleading a headache, Taylor escaped upstairs as soon as she could. She unbraided her hair and brushed it, letting it fall softly around her shoulders, then changed into shorts and a shirt and considered her running shoes. As tempting as running away was, it would be rude, and Southern hospitality was one thing Michael hadn’t drummed out of her. Bes
ide the fact she’d promised her mother she wouldn’t go out running alone.
She picked up her father’s file instead and sat on her bed, searching for the detective’s notes. Taylor frowned. Okay, where were they? She was certain she’d copied them. She flipped through the case file she’d profiled for Livy and found Wilson’s notes and the copy of the letter her father had mailed near the back. She didn’t remember putting them in the victim’s folder. As she perused the notes, a knock interrupted her. “Who is it?” she barked.
“It’s me, Abby.” Her niece’s voice sounded small.
“I’m sorry, honey, come on in.”
The door opened, and Abby peeked around the door frame, her blue eyes huge. “Are you mad, Aunt Tay?”
“No, not mad, just kind of busy. But never too busy for you. Climb up here with me.” Taylor set the files on the table beside her bed. “What’s that in your hands?”
“I colored a picture for you during church. Daddy says coloring keeps me still. It’s David and Goliath.”
“Let me see.” Taylor held the picture up. “Good job. I’ll take this back to Newton with me.”
“Why don’t you stay here?”
“Oh, I have a job there and things I have to do. How are things going with you?” she asked, wrapping her arms around the girl’s thin shoulders.
“Okay.”
“Really?”
“Most of the time.” Abby picked at a loose thread in the bedspread, and Taylor stroked her niece’s hair. After a few minutes, Abby took a deep breath. “Did you and Mommy play together when you were my age?”
“We sure did.”
“Did she look like me?”
Taylor grinned and poked Abby in the belly as she tickled her. “She looked a lot like you. She was skinny like you, and she had freckles like you.”
Abby giggled and tried to wriggle away. Taylor held her fast, and she giggled again. “No, really, Aunt Tay. Do I look like my mommy?”
Taylor hugged her. “Except for your hair, you do. Her hair was almost the color of carrots.”
Abby heaved a child-size sigh. “Why did she go away? Did I do something wrong?”
The questions echoed in Taylor’s heart. The same questions she’d asked about her dad for twenty years. And no matter how many times Taylor told herself that it wasn’t her fault her dad left, she never believed it, not down deep where it mattered. She had to do a better job convincing Abby.
“No, honey, you didn’t do anything wrong. Sometimes adults do really dumb things. I want you to always remember that it wasn’t your fault your mommy left.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.” Why couldn’t she claim that same promise? Why did she feel responsible for her father’s disappearance?
“Then why did she leave?”
“I’m not sure.” Taylor chose her words carefully. “Sometimes a person’s thinking gets messed up. They think that everything they do is wrong, and if they go away, everyone will be better off. That’s what might have happened to your mommy.”
“So, if her thinking gets better, she’ll come home?”
Taylor didn’t want to give Abby false hope. “I don’t know. I hope so. But you have your dad, and your two grannas, and me and Livy, Grandpa Charlie . . . and Uncle Jonathan. So don’t be sad.”
“I’m not, but I miss my mommy.” Abby turned so her face was even with Taylor’s. She cocked her head to the side. “Aunt Tay, are you sad?”
“Sometimes.”
“You shouldn’t be, not if you have Jesus in your heart. Did Daddy tell you I’m going to be baptized before school starts?” Abby placed her small hands on either side of Taylor’s face. Her blue eyes locked into Taylor’s. “Do you have Jesus in your heart? He doesn’t want you to be sad. He cares about you.”
She’d believed that once. Enough to walk down the aisle one Sunday morning with Livy. “I—”
Jonathan’s voice boomed through the closed door. “Abby, you in there? Time to go to play practice.”
She squeezed Abby’s hands. “We’ll have to finish talking about this later. Come on in, Jonathan.”
Jonathan cracked the door. “Y’all having a hen party?”
Abby giggled. “That’s funny, Uncle Jonathan.” She turned to Taylor. “Do you want to go with us? We’re doing The Wizard of Oz, and I’m Dorothy.”
“The Wizard of Oz?” She looked at Jonathan. “That’s an undertaking. What part do you play?”
“I am Professor Marvel, aka the Wizard,” Jonathan replied with a deep bow.
“Wow.”
“Will you come with us?” Abby pleaded.
Taylor glanced toward the papers on the bedside table.
“I think she has other plans,” her uncle said.
Taylor shot him a quizzical glance, but her uncle simply smiled.
“Another time,” she promised.
Jonathan turned to leave. “Oh, by the way, Nick’s looking for you. He’s waiting downstairs. That’s a nice young man you have there.”
“He’s not my nice young man.” Why did her heart have to betray her, fluttering like a canary on steroids? “Did he say what he wanted?”
Jonathan’s shoulders lifted in an exaggerated shrug. “Now why would he be telling me what he wanted?”
Taylor followed Jonathan and Abby down the stairs. Nick leaned by the door, sport coat slung over his shoulder and tie dangling from his hand. He straightened when he saw her. From the look in his eye, she knew he was remembering their kiss.
Abby stopped in front of Nick and cocked her head up at him. “Are you going to be Aunt Tay’s boyfriend?”
“Abby!” Mortified, Taylor tried to avoid Nick’s gaze.
“And on that note, we’ll take our leave,” Jonathan said with a chuckle. “Out the door, young lady, before your aunt skins you.”
“Sorry about that,” Taylor said. She almost wished she could follow Jonathan and Abby. “You were looking for me?”
“Would you like to drive down to the lake with me?” A smile teased at Nick’s mouth. “That’s if your headache is gone, or you don’t have something else you need to do.”
Her heart skipped a beat. “The lake?”
“Yep.” The smile spread to his eyes, and the green flecks deepened. “The rest of your family said they would consider selling me twenty acres on the other side of the picnic area. Of course, you’d have to agree.”
“You’re kidding. That’s great! Which piece of property?”
“Jonathan said something about it being part of the Roberts’s place. Starts at an old oak tree?”
“I know where it is. We’ll take the farm truck, but let me get my sneakers. Be right back.”
Humming, she hurried upstairs to change shoes and put her hair into a ponytail.
Nick wanted her to go with him . . .
Scott forced another spoon of potato salad down his throat. If he didn’t eat at least some of the food Kate Adams had brought, she’d stand over him until he did. A ceiling fan whirred softly, stirring the air on the porch. On the wall, an oversized weather gauge hovered at the ninety degree mark. Even so, he shivered as he sipped sweet tea and wished for whiskey.
“Scott, can I get you anything else?” Kate asked, swinging open the screen door. Her nose wrinkled when she noticed the tiny amount he’d eaten.
“No, ma’am. I think this is enough. Thank you,” he added politely. His mama would be proud. He slouched in the swing, wishing Kate would leave. Where was the old man? Charlie. That was his name. He was a drinker. Scott could tell. “Where’d your husband go?”
Kate sat in the chair by the swing, her black eyes boring into his. Now he knew how a grasshopper felt pinned to a board.
“Won’t do you any good to find him,” she said. “He’s not drinking now.”
A slow flush burned up his neck. “It’s not easy, stopping like this.”
“I know, but do you want to be like my Charlie? Struggling to stay sober at his age?”
He shifted his gaze beyond Kate Adams to a nearby field.
“Do you want to get clean and stay that way?”
“Sure.” He turned back to her, the word slipping easily from his mouth. Immediately, her eyes pinned him again. Sweat beaded his upper lip. “Everybody expects me to.”
“No,” Kate corrected him. “Everyone wants you sober. There’s a difference. The question is what do you want?”
Scott’s mind scrambled for an answer. Instinctively, he knew his glib replies wouldn’t work with this woman. He swallowed hard. Did he want to be sober, or did he want to keep living like this? He searched his heart. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d stayed sober for a whole week. “I . . . don’t know if I can.”
“I won’t tell you it’ll be easy, but you can do it. God will help you.”
“God? After everything I’ve done? No way.” He wanted to look away again, but her gaze held him fast.
“We’ve all done terrible things, Scott. You don’t get cleaned up to come to him. He cleans you up afterward.”
Her words sparked a glimmering from the past. He’d learned all about God in Sunday school when he was a kid, but . . . “Would he really forgive me?”
The phone rang, and Scott jumped.
“Yes.” Kate squeezed his hand. “We’ll talk about this later. I better get that before it wakes Charlie.”
Scott leaned back in the swing as Kate went to answer the phone.
“Yes, he’s awake and doing fine.” There was a pause. Her voice changed. “I’ll tell him.”
24
About last night . . .” Nick’s voice trailed off as the farm truck hit a rut in the road.
She knew that tone of voice. Had heard it before with Michael, and the boyfriend before him . . . she’d expected it all along. She rocked forward as the truck hit another rut. “Look, it was just a kiss or two. Don’t put too much spin on it. I understand—we live in different worlds.”
He shot her a startled look.
She pointed to herself then to him as she tried to hold her heart together. “You didn’t think I thought you . . .”
“No, of course not,” he said a little too quickly. “I—”
Shadows of the Past (Logan Point Book #1): A Novel Page 22