Her Hopes and Dreams (Ardent Springs Book 4)

by Terri Osburn

  God, he hated cop talk. “What do you want to know, Deputy Dale?”

  His interrogator’s lips flattened, but he ignored the taunt. “Ms. Farmer says—”

  “Seriously,” Noah interrupted. “Just talk like a normal person. I know you know her, so call her Carrie.”

  “I’m here to do my job, Mr. Winchester,” Dale said, resting a hand on his holster. “I suggest you stick to answering the questions.”

  Rolling his eyes, Noah held his tongue.

  “Ms. Farmer . . . Oh, hell, Carrie, says Hawkins attacked her and his wife and you stepped in to save them.”

  “Is Hawkins the asshole who backhanded the hell out of Carrie?” Noah asked.

  “According to Carrie, yes.”

  “What do you mean, according to Carrie? If she tells you something happened, then it happened.”

  Dale sighed. “Mr. Winchester—”

  “Noah,” he corrected. “Otherwise it sounds like you’re talking to my dad.”

  “How about you just cooperate so we can get this over with?”

  Again, Noah kept his mouth shut, but he nodded for the cop to go on.

  “If Carrie says that Hawkins hit her, then I believe it. But for the record, did you see the assault?”

  “I saw him hit her, yeah.”

  “Where were you at the time?”

  “In my house. I heard what sounded like screaming and went to the window to check it out. That’s when this Hawkins guy dragged some woman out of Carrie’s trailer.” Tamping down the returning rage, Noah said, “When Carrie tried to break his hold on the woman, he swung and she went flying.” The same way she had in his damn dream.

  “And then what?” the officer prompted.

  “And the next thing I knew I had the asshole on the ground.”

  “Did he fight back?”

  Tilting his head, Noah said, “He threw a couple punches. I threw a couple back.”

  Brows high, Dale said, “You threw more than a couple.”

  Noah embraced his right to remain silent.

  The deputy stared him down. Noah didn’t flinch. Bigger men than Dale Lambdon had attempted the quiet intimidation tactic. And other than one drill sergeant fifteen years before, they’d all failed. Today would not be any different.

  The other man relaxed. “In case you’re wondering, Hawkins will live, but he’ll never match a picture taken before two days ago.”

  “I’m not real interested in his face,” Noah said, tipping his hard hat back off his forehead. “His fists are the problem, and who he used them on. Is that wife of his someplace he can’t find her?”

  Dale nodded. “I took her somewhere safe. And so far, she’s willing to press charges. The fact that he broke her arm should make it a pretty simple case.”

  At least something good came out of that mess. “I hope they put him away.” Noah tugged the tape measure off his belt. “So are we done here?”

  Chewing the inside of his cheek, the cop looked to be contemplating his next move. Didn’t take long for him to show his hand.

  “Are you going to ask about Carrie?”

  Noah tensed. “Why would I ask you about Carrie?”

  “I saw her at church yesterday,” he said. “Her eye is swollen and the gash might leave a scar, but she seemed to be doing well enough, considering.”

  Opening and closing the measuring tape, Noah said, “Considering what?”

  The officer backed up to lean against the doorframe. “Considering she was by far the most miserable person I’ve ever seen. And I’ve seen some real miserable shit.”

  “What’s your point, Deputy?”

  Ignoring the question, he continued. “I don’t know what women see in men like you. That whole bad boy thing, I guess. But I know Carrie, and if she says you’re a good guy, then I believe her. Do us both a favor and don’t prove her wrong.”

  Noah hadn’t given Fancy Pants any reason to be in his corner. In fact, the cop should have been hoping for the opposite, ready to offer Carrie a shoulder to cry on when her big, bad boyfriend proved himself the ultimate loser.

  “I’ll be damned,” Noah muttered as Lambdon turned to leave. “Hey?”

  Dale stopped a foot outside the room.

  “When I first saw you, I thought you were a politician. Sorry for the insult.”

  Mr. Law and Order flashed a grin and gestured toward Noah. “You really ought to get those hands checked out. Looks painful.” With a quick salute off his hat brim, the deputy disappeared out of sight.

  Noah examined his knuckles. “Painful as hell,” he said.

  “I can’t believe it’s been a year since Caleb proposed to Snow right here in this house,” Carrie said, determined to have a happy holiday.

  She hadn’t seen or heard from Noah. She knew he was working at the shelter, but he left for work before her in the mornings and came home much later. On Tuesday evening she’d heard his truck pull in and almost ran to the window to catch a glimpse of him, but she controlled the impulse and stayed on the couch. For two more seconds. Then she’d bolted for the window and, barely catching the swing of the screen door behind him, cursed herself for waiting too long.

  “Do you want to know a secret?” Lorelei said, setting a stack of plates on the table.

  “Of course,” Carrie replied.

  Lorelei leaned close and whispered, “They were already married.”

  Carrie hopped back. “No way.”

  “Yes way. They got married more than eighteen months before that, and like two months after the wedding, she left him. Didn’t even tell him she was leaving, let alone where she went.”

  Swatting his wife on the bottom, Spencer said, “Snow trusted you with that secret.” Pointing at Carrie, he added, “This is why you don’t tell her anything you don’t want everyone to know.”

  “Don’t listen to him,” she said. “I actually asked Snow if I could tell you because it’s been killing me to hold it in all this time.”

  Amazed at her stamina, Carrie said, “I can’t believe you held that in for a year. So what was the wedding we all attended at Miss Hattie’s house?”

  “Vow renewal, I guess.”

  “She’s lucky he came after her,” Spencer said, setting a glass next to the plates that Carrie spread around the table. “I’m not sure I’d do the same.”

  “Aw,” Lorelei trilled. “It’s cute that you’re worried I’ll leave you. Again,” she added with a saucy grin.

  “You’re a wicked woman, Mrs. Boyd.”

  “And you love me for it.” Dropping her voice once again, her friend whispered, “Have you talked to him yet?”

  Carrie faltered with the plates but saved them from hitting the floor. “No. I haven’t even seen him.”

  “Oh, honey. How are you holding up?”

  “I’m fine,” she said, trying not to twitch at the lie. “He needs to get help. Hopefully, he will.”

  Circling the table with napkins, Lorelei said, “Your cheek is looking better. Does it still hurt?”

  “Only when I smile or laugh,” Carrie replied. “Which means it hasn’t hurt much at all.” Catching herself, she shook her head. “No. I told myself I wasn’t going to do that. I am not going to ruin the holiday with a pity party.” Placing the last dinner plate, she asked, “What else can I do?”

  Lorelei surveyed the table. “The silverware is all that’s left.”

  “And I have that,” Spencer said, stepping in from the kitchen with a handful of forks, spoons, and knives. “You two go sit down. The turkey will be ready in fifteen minutes.”

  Kissing his cheek, Lorelei said, “You’re the bestest husband ever.”

  “For the record,” Carrie tossed in, “he never helped like this when we were married.”

  “I was young and untrained,” Spencer defended, continuing his work. “Lor got the new and improved version.”

  “Lucky Lor,” she said with a laugh, following said lucky woman into the living room, where Rosie had masterfully put Molly t
o sleep.

  The baby had been cranky for days, asking for Nowuh, as she pronounced it. Carrie had no idea how to make the child understand why he’d gone away. There were times she couldn’t explain it to herself. Knowing that she’d made the right choice and accepting the consequences were two very different things. Her head said one thing, while her heart said another. She couldn’t remember ever crying as much as she had in the last five days. Though after the deluge on Sunday, the tears had been relegated to the nights, when she lay awake for hours, sniffing his pillow.

  Last night, she’d found the will to throw the damn pillowcase in the washer.

  “The news said they’ve pressed charges against the horrible man who did that to you,” Rosie said, gently rocking Molly in her arms. “I hope they put him away for a long time.”

  “He’ll be in the hospital for a while yet,” Carrie said. “I believe they’re planning another surgery to rebuild his jaw next week.”

  Rosie huffed. “Got what he deserved, if you ask me. At least that poor wife of his is better off.”

  Right, Carrie thought. No money. No job. No home. No family. Much better off.

  Roberta would be struggling for years to rebuild what Wayne had taken away from her. And she would always live in fear of him coming after her. Though he could get as much as fifteen years behind bars, Hawkins could also be out in three, and there was no way to know what he would do when released.

  Carrie felt guilty every time she thought of herself as lucky that Patch had gotten himself killed, but that was her reality. She was lucky. Just in a very different way from Lorelei.

  “I hope Snow and Caleb made it to Birmingham all right today,” Rosie said, pulling Carrie from her wayward thoughts. “They had some serious storms down that way.”

  “She sent me a text,” Lorelei assured her. “They got in before the worst of it hit.”

  “Speaking of storms,” Carrie said, “I can’t believe you’re running the store tomorrow.”

  Lorelei popped a cashew in her mouth. “I’m not running it alone. Granny and Pearl are helping out. And Cooper’s mom volunteered. Basically, we have the old lady crew ready to go.”

  “We aren’t old,” Rosie corrected. “We’re experienced.”

  “You keep telling yourself that, old lady.”

  “You want me to whip up on her for you, Rose?” Spencer asked, leaning over the older woman’s shoulder to place a kiss on Molly’s forehead.

  “I’m still young enough to whip up on her myself. She’s lucky I’m holding this precious thing.”

  “Well, it’s time to lay her down because this bird is cooked,” Spencer said, stepping around the rocker to smack another cashew out of Lorelei’s hand. “It’s time to eat, woman. Stop snacking.”

  Carrie took Molly to the playpen in the far corner and covered her with a blanket that Noah had bought her. Straightening her back, she took a moment to wipe a tear before joining the others.

  Chapter 26

  His bag was packed. There was only one thing left to do.

  Noah had waited until he knew Molly would be in bed. Seeing Carrie was going to be hard enough. Tossing in a good-bye to the little princess would send him back to the liquor store. Dealing with Ma all day had already worn his nerves thin. If he’d heard one more time how he was about to lose the best thing that ever happened to him . . . Tell him something he didn’t know.

  Shoving his mostly healed hands into his pockets, Noah tapped lightly on Carrie’s front door, careful not to wake the baby. Wilson appeared in the window behind the couch, as if running lookout for his owner. As the cold night air settled into his bones, he waited for the door to open. Half a minute later, he still waited.

  Finally, the porch light cut through the darkness, but the door remained closed.

  Come on, honey. Open up.

  As if she’d heard him, Carrie answered his plea. Though her greeting didn’t inspire confidence.

  “What do you want, Noah?”

  “I, uh . . .” he stuttered, running a hand through his hair. “I came to say good-bye.”

  “Oh,” she whispered, pulling her robe tighter. “Where are you going?”

  “Back to Bethesda. I joined the study.”

  Carrie opened the door farther and stepped into the light. A nasty scab slashed her cheekbone, and traces of yellow bruising still lingered around her eye. Noah balled his fists to keep from touching her.

  “You shaved your beard,” she said.

  Noah rubbed his chin. “Most of it. Yeah.” Skipping the real reason, he said, “It was time.”

  “Your knuckles still look painful.”

  Flexing a hand, he shook his head. “Not bad. They bend all the way now.”

  What a pair they made. Battered and bruised. Two lost souls who’d been crazy to think they could make it work.

  “Anyway,” Noah said, clearing his throat. “I didn’t want you to worry when you didn’t see me around.”

  “What about the shelter?” she asked. “Who’s going to run the project?”

  The shelter. Right. Good to see she hadn’t changed her priorities.

  “Mike will keep an eye on the guys, but Jordan knows the plans as well as I do. He can handle it for a week.”

  Carrie blinked. “A week? You mean you aren’t leaving for good?”

  Unsure which answer she’d prefer, Noah said, “I’m only going for the initial evaluation and a few tests that will give baseline readings. Then they’ll fly me out for a couple days each month, but I’ll still be living here.”

  Her eyes dropped to his toes, but she didn’t say anything. The response—or lack thereof—told him everything he needed to know.

  “I won’t bother you again.” He backed away from the door. “I hope Molly has a good birthday. And don’t forget to have Cooper put those tires on your car. It’s supposed to snow here next week.”

  Stomping down the steps, he forced himself not to look back. He’d done what he came to do. Noah had said his good-bye.

  Time to move on.

  Carrie knew the moment he’d pulled out of the drive on Friday morning, because she’d been watching from her window, desperate to see him again. When he’d knocked on her door Thanksgiving night, she’d experienced joy, panic, annoyance, and trepidation—all before opening the door. And then she’d laid eyes on his beautiful face, and every nerve ending in her body demanded that she drag him inside. Until he’d said that one, scary word.

  Good-bye.

  How dare he make her think that he was leaving for good? It hadn’t been easy to act normal while her lungs seized in her chest. The relief when he’d casually added the only for a week part had been so acute, Carrie had been struck dumb. And then he’d walked away. I won’t bother you again. Had he really meant that? Did he truly believe that when he came home in a week, they would go on living next to each other, pretending that the other wasn’t there? That they’d never planned a future together? That they had never been in love?

  After pacing her trailer for more than an hour, she’d come to a conclusion. If he could do it, so could she. And then, two days later, his mother had called, which was how Carrie ended up spending her Sunday afternoon sipping lemonade on the enclosed veranda of the Winchester home.

  “My boy is in love with you,” Lydia said, snapping out each word individually. “What are you going to do about that?”

  Carrie didn’t know how to answer.

  “I don’t think there’s anything I can do. I’ve already scared him half to death, put him in a position to nearly kill a man, and then screamed at him to stay away from me. If he still loves me after all that, then there’s something wrong with him.”

  Lydia twirled her drink. “You and I both know what’s wrong with Noah, and he’s off getting that part fixed.” She said this as if he were having a new muffler installed. “You two should be together. I understand that what happened last weekend shook you both up. You screwed up. He screwed up. Hell, if Duke and I had given up every
time one of us did something stupid, Noah wouldn’t even exist. That’s part of loving, honey. Forgiving. Gettin’ on with things.”

  “I’m not sure you and I are talking about the same version of this story,” Carrie said. “I told Noah that until he got help, we were through. I didn’t say that I never wanted to see him again or that I didn’t love him anymore. That was Noah’s call. When he told me good-bye on Thursday night, he said he wouldn’t bother me again and walked off. The not gettin’ on with things is his doing, not mine.”

  The older woman set her glass on a coaster. “You didn’t end it for good?”

  Carrie shook her head. “I was mad. He was drunk, and he’d hit me in the mouth—”

  “Noah did what?” Lydia squawked, bursting from her chair. “I will beat that boy senseless.”

  “No. Not like that,” she said. “I tried to take the bottle of Jim Beam out of his hand, and when he moved it out of my reach, he elbowed me. He didn’t even realize he’d gotten me in the mouth. But then he knocked me down the stairs—”

  “Good Lord, child, why are you trying to defend him?”

  “None of this is coming out right.” Carrie took a deep breath. “He didn’t knock me down the stairs. Noah grabbed my arm when I tried to leave, but he was too drunk to even stand up at that point. When he lost his footing, he accidentally nudged me down the stairs.”

  Lydia returned to her seat. “That’s a lot of accidents for one night. Duke had a habit of tying one on every now and then, but he was a harmless drunk. The most annoying thing he ever did was pass out on the front porch. I couldn’t tell you how many times I carried him up the stairs.”

  Certain she’d misheard, Carrie said, “You carried Noah’s father up the stairs?”

  “He wasn’t very big,” she said, retrieving her drink. “I’m sure you’ve noticed that Noah is built more like me. His father barely came up to my shoulder. Duke Winchester was smart, charming, and one hell of a lover. But the poor man could hardly lift a spare tire. I was so relieved when Noah reached six foot that I almost threw a party.”

  While Carrie attempted to process this new information, Lydia said, “Now I’ve gotten all off track. The point is, how are we going to get the two of you back together? Noah will be home in five days. We need a plan.”