When I Found You

by Brenda Novak

  “Anya knows that if Natasha gets into trouble she could come to us and we’d be there for her. We care about Natasha. And you care about her a whole lot more than the rest of us.”

  Mack was done denying it. “So what? Why does that bother you so much?”

  He seemed surprised that Mack no longer denied the accusation. “It just...does.”

  That answer—or lack thereof—made Mack believe he was beginning to understand. “Wait a second. This isn’t about losing Dad. At least, it’s not only about losing Dad. It’s about change. You want your life to continue on just as it was. You don’t want me to get with Natasha because then you’ll be the only one who isn’t married.”

  “I’ve never planned on getting married.”

  Because of what’d happened with their mother? Because he was afraid of losing someone he loved that much? Mack could understand. That kind of loss was Mack’s worst fear, too—probably the only thing he was truly afraid of. “Sometimes you have to take a risk, Grady. Give love a chance no matter how much it scares you.”

  “That’s what you’re doing?”

  “It is.”

  “Well, that’s not my problem. It’s just that... I’ve always been the odd man out,” he said and left the room.

  Grady hadn’t been entirely convincing, but another thought crossed Mack’s mind, causing him to run after his brother. “Hey,” he said, grabbing him by the arm to stop him before he reached the ICU. “You don’t have a thing for Natasha, do you? You’ve always acted as though you like her less than all the rest of us. But maybe—”

  “No,” Grady broke in. “You’re heading down the wrong road there for sure. She’s beautiful. A guy would have to be blind not to see that. But I’m not attracted to her in that way.”

  Mack felt some of the tension leave his body. “Then why does it matter if I get with her?”

  Grady didn’t seem to have an answer. He stared at the floor for several seconds before lifting his gaze. “It doesn’t,” he said. “I hope you’ll both be happy.”

  * * *

  Natasha didn’t go right back to Little Mary’s. As difficult as her childhood had been, she’d had a much better life once she and her mother moved to Whiskey Creek, and she wanted to take a few minutes to see the town again.

  Stopping at the park, where they put the big Christmas tree every year for Victorian Days, she got out and walked around, trying to use the time to decompress after the move, sleeping with Mack again, the shocking way her mother had arrived at her house.

  She would never have known this place, or the Amos brothers, if her mother hadn’t found Mack’s father on a website where prisoners requested “pen pals.” Natasha remembered being furious when her mother said they’d be moving yet again, but this last move had, surprisingly, turned out to be the best thing for her. She doubted she would ever have gone to college without Mack and his brothers making sure she finished high school and encouraging her to continue.

  What am I going to do with you, Mom? she wondered and meandered over to a large statue of a miner with a gold pan filled with fake gold as she tried to call Ace.

  He didn’t pick up. That was frustrating, but it didn’t surprise her. She sent him a text.

  No matter how you feel about me, we have a child together. Please try to act like a decent human being and reassure me that my son is okay.

  She saw the three dots that indicated Ace was responding and held her breath. He’s okay.

  “You really outdid yourself. Thanks for that,” she muttered but was relieved to hear it. She missed Luke, wasn’t used to being away from him. With all that was going on, she craved the feel of his small body in her arms.

  When will you be bringing him home?

  She had to know when to be back, didn’t want the Grays to drive out to Silver Springs only to find her gone. She didn’t want to tell them she was out of town, though. She was afraid Ace would say he was bringing Luke back right away, just to put her in a bad situation. Besides, the last thing she wanted was to have them find out that her mother had probably shot her former husband. She’d tried so hard to live her life differently than Anya, but having to test her child to see who his father was made her look all too much the same.

  When I’m ready, came his response.

  Natasha cursed, startling two tourists. She’d been so focused on her phone she hadn’t heard them come up beside her. Giving her a scowl for the profanity, they moved farther away.

  “Sorry,” Natasha mumbled, but she wasn’t even sure they’d heard her apology.

  Give me the day and time, she wrote to Ace.

  I don’t know yet.

  Bring him on Sunday.

  Maybe.

  Sunday will be a week. That’s enough.

  I’ll be in touch later.

  With a sigh, she slipped her phone back in her purse and returned to her car.

  Once she reached the bed-and-breakfast, she was greeted by the day manager as soon as she walked in. “Hello, Ms. Gray. How are you today?”

  Natasha was startled to be addressed by name. She’d never met this woman, either, but she supposed the night manager had made notes so they could be more personable with their guests: Natasha Gray, young woman in #5 with long dark hair, checked in with her mother at 4:00 a.m. “I’m fine. Thank you.”

  “Would you like some tea and cookies?”

  Natasha looked into the sitting room to her right. It had six small tables, two chairs each, most of which were filled with other guests. “That sounds...good,” she said, slightly surprised to find it was the truth. She hadn’t had much interest in food lately. “Let me get my mother.”

  “Oh, I’m afraid your mother just left,” she said.

  “Left?” Natasha echoed. “Where’d she go?”

  The woman seemed, understandably, taken aback by the question. This faux intimacy extended only so far. “Um, I don’t know,” the woman said. “I just saw her walk out.”

  Natasha left the manager standing in the hall and sprinted upstairs to her room. Where had her mother gone? And why had she left?

  Her heart knocked against her ribs as her mind supplied the most likely answer. She ran away. How would she explain that to the Amos brothers? And did this mean that her mother would be a wanted woman? That the police would chase her down? What would the ramifications be?

  Using the old-fashioned key she’d been given—there were no card keys in a place like this—she swung the door wide to find her mother’s bed rumpled. Anya hadn’t let the maid come in. She had, however, borrowed Natasha’s makeup and rummaged through the suitcase of clothes Natasha had brought for them to share. Most everything was spilled out onto the floor, which was so typical of her mother.

  Since Anya had left her phone when she “found” J.T., Natasha couldn’t call or text her. She felt a moment’s panic—then she saw her mother’s handwriting on the pad by the land phone between the two beds. “Tell me you didn’t run away, tell me you didn’t run away,” she chanted as she stepped over the mess, grabbed that paper and read:

  I must’ve shot him, Tash. You’re right—the Amos brothers are right. Who else could’ve done it? I don’t remember what happened. Just the blood. I’ll never forget that. But I would’ve remembered something if I hadn’t been using, so even that’s my fault. I’m going to turn myself in. I know I haven’t been a perfect mom. But I love you. I hope you know that. Go back to Silver Springs and your son and forget about me. My life is essentially over while you have so many wonderful things ahead of you. That’s all I care about now.

  Twenty-Five

  Natasha rushed to the police station. She couldn’t let her mother confess without first speaking to an attorney. Anya should at least have some counsel.

  But by the time she parked haphazardly and ran in, it was too late. Anya had already been taken into custody.

 
“Can I see her?” Natasha asked Officer Howton, who’d been on the force back when she lived here. She recognized him, even though he’d lost most of his hair since she’d last seen him and his smile lines had deepened dramatically.

  “I might be able to arrange that,” he said, but when he came back to where she waited in a small lobby, separated from him by a thick shield of bulletproof glass, he was wearing a frown. “I’m sorry. She says you’ve done enough for her and you should go home.”

  “What does that mean?” Natasha asked.

  He adjusted his gun belt as though it was cinched too tight and spoke through the small opening designed to make communication easier. “I’m afraid she doesn’t want to see you.”

  “Seriously?”

  He looked even more uncomfortable. “She said there’s nothing more you can do for her, and she’s done enough in her life to drag you down.”

  “But...but she doesn’t even have an attorney.”

  “The court will appoint one for her unless—” he lifted his eyebrows expectantly “—you prefer to hire someone?”

  Natasha considered her empty bank account. The only reason she’d been able to come to town in the first place was because of Mack. “I’ll look into it,” she mumbled and left, feeling numb.

  What did she do now? Call Mack and his brothers and tell them they no longer had to worry about her mother escaping justice?

  She was upset enough that she was tempted to let them continue to worry. But that was a purely emotional reaction. It was reasonable that they’d want justice. If J.T. had shot Anya, she’d feel the same. So she created a group text and sent a message to them all at once:

  My mother just confessed and turned herself in. Thought you’d want to know. I hope your father is going to be okay.

  She expected Grady to be the first to reply. He should be elated, she thought bitterly. But it was Mack. I’m so sorry. Are you okay?

  What hurt the most was that her mother was finally showing some signs of maturation, enough that Natasha was tempted to believe they might’ve been able to have a real relationship one day. She’d never been able to respect her mother, but she respected this decision.

  Still, she had to be fair.

  If Mom pulled that trigger, she deserves what’s coming. I understand that. I just wish she could remember doing it. That would make this easier on both of us.

  Dylan: What’s happened sucks all the way around. Thanks for letting us know.

  Rod: More bullshit for you to go through, Tash. I’m sorry she did this.

  Aaron: Hang in there, little one. You’re a tough chick. You’ve always been a tough chick.

  Little one. He used to call her that when she was in high school, and because she’d found it condescending and patronizing and wanted to be considered an equal—so that Mack would treat her like a viable option—it’d made her fighting mad. Aaron used to do it on purpose, just to set her off so they could all have a good laugh, but it had become an endearment, a fond memory, and it brought tears to her eyes to see it today.

  Surprisingly, she didn’t receive anything from Grady. Unable to resist, she wrote: Grady? Aren’t you happy? You got what you wanted.

  When no one answered, she felt small-minded and petty after they’d been so supportive.

  Sorry, she wrote. My bad.

  Then, because she didn’t feel as though she could be trusted with a phone right now, she powered it down and returned to Little Mary’s, where she spoke to the day manager to see what she owed on the room and when she needed to vacate it. She was hoping she wouldn’t have to drive back to Silver Springs right away—she didn’t think she had the fortitude to make the long drive—and was relieved to learn the room had been prepaid until tomorrow.

  What would she have done without Mack?

  “Thank you,” she said politely and somehow managed to climb the stairs even though her legs suddenly felt like lead weights. All she wanted to do was go back to bed. She figured she had a lot of missed sleep to catch up on. Maybe by morning her mother would change her mind about seeing her and she’d at least be able to say goodbye and promise to stay in touch.

  * * *

  When Mack couldn’t reach Natasha, he left the hospital and went out to find her. He was afraid she’d already left for Silver Springs and didn’t want her to drive unless she was feeling up to it. She’d been under so much stress for so long she looked like a strong breeze would blow her over.

  Fortunately, he found her car parked at Little Mary’s.

  Taking the slot next to her Jetta, he went in and approached the front desk, suddenly glad he’d been the one to pay for the room. Otherwise, the manager wouldn’t be able to give him any information.

  “Is everything okay?” Doris asked when she saw him.

  Mack recognized her from when she’d brought her Lincoln SUV into the shop to have a dent buffed out of the door before her husband could get home from deer hunting and see that she’d hit a telephone pole. “I think so. Why?”

  Had she heard about Natasha’s mother shooting his father? Did she know who Natasha and Anya were? An article had appeared in the local paper this morning. Maybe she’d seen it and recognized Anya.

  “Ms. Gray didn’t look too well when she came in a while ago,” she replied. “I tried to bring her a tray with some tea and biscuits, but she never answered the door.”

  “I’ll check on her,” he said. “Can I get a key?”

  “Of course. You’re on the room.”

  A moment later, he took the stairs two at a time.

  He knocked, but when he didn’t get an answer, he didn’t hesitate to let himself in.

  The drapes had been pulled. After the brightness of the afternoon sun streaming in the windows downstairs, he couldn’t see anything until his eyes adjusted to the darkness. Then he could make out a small figure in the bed on the right.

  “Tash?” he murmured.

  She lifted her head. “What are you doing here?” She sounded both groggy and surprised, as if she’d been sleeping too soundly to hear the door. He almost felt guilty for waking her.

  “I was worried about you.”

  “How’s your father?”

  “We still don’t know.”

  “Go back to the hospital. I’m okay,” she said and dropped her head back on the pillow, but he wasn’t going to leave her. She meant more to him than J.T. did. She meant more to him than anyone did.

  He kicked off his shoes, climbed into bed and pulled her into his arms. When he realized she wasn’t wearing much, he wished he’d taken off his clothes, too. He wanted to feel her skin next to his. But he didn’t do anything to change that; he didn’t want her to think he’d come for something else.

  She didn’t make a sound, but he knew she was crying when he felt teardrops soak through his shirt.

  * * *

  Natasha didn’t know how long she’d been sleeping. It felt like several hours. But when she woke up, she could tell Mack was awake, too. Having his arms around her made her feel completely different—better, oddly satisfied, despite everything, as though she would survive the nadir of her life and be just fine.

  When she turned to face him and lifted a hand to touch his cheek, he hauled her closer.

  “You get enough sleep?” he murmured as they entwined their legs. “I’m so worried about you.”

  “I’ll be fine.” She didn’t add that having him with her made a huge difference. She wasn’t going to put any pressure on him. She’d been disappointed about the paternity test, but the one good thing that came out of it was that she could rest assured that obligation would never be the basis of whatever relationship they had.

  “We’ll get through this.”

  She didn’t respond. She wasn’t in the mood to talk. She just wanted to feel him—everywhere.

  Once she’d unbuttoned his shirt, h
e slipped out of it and tossed it on the floor. But he caught her hand when she unfastened his shorts. “I know you must feel like shit. We don’t have to do this.”

  Except that this was how she planned to feel better. She was going to take advantage of every minute they had together before she returned to Silver Springs and left him in Whiskey Creek, to stockpile as many memories as possible to sustain her in the coming months. “I want to feel you inside me,” she said simply.

  Her response was all the encouragement he needed. He removed his shorts while she peeled off her panties. When their bare chests touched, she closed her eyes and wished she could capture and hold that sensation forever.

  He was extra gentle in the way he touched her and kissed her, and when he rolled her beneath him, it seemed as though he was more interested in the shared experience, the togetherness, than anything else.

  Neither of them spoke as they began to make love. They touched and tasted and simply enjoyed the intimacy. They were growing so familiar with each other in a physical sense, after knowing each other and caring about each other for so long in an emotional sense, that sex only built a stronger bond. Because she couldn’t get over him, she knew she was probably making a mistake, but she couldn’t deny herself right now.

  “What is it?” she asked when he paused and smoothed the hair from her face.

  “You’re so beautiful. I can’t believe I’m lucky enough to have another chance.”

  This frightened her. She didn’t want to get her hopes up only to be disappointed again. “Who said you have another chance?” she asked, leery.

  He pinned her hands above her head as he began to move in a more deliberate way, with powerful thrusts that also felt slightly possessive. “Are you going to turn me away?”

  “I have to,” she replied. “You’re not wearing a condom.” She was avoiding the real question by making it about this very moment and not their relationship as a whole, but he didn’t call her on that. Neither did he withdraw.

  “I don’t care.”