Shared Secrets

by Pam Mantovani

  “Taylor, calm down.”

  “Calm down?” She whirled around, all her fear finding a target for release. “How am I supposed to calm down? The two of them went off, with your blessing, and my daughter comes back with a busted lip. This wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t insisted we stay here in your home. You told me I don’t have to worry.” She flung out a hand, pointing at the young couple, throwing words right back at him. “This says otherwise.”

  “Don’t confuse the issue here,” he quietly countered. “Give Micah and Stephanie a chance to explain what happened.”

  Resenting his calm composure when she felt so scattered and out of sorts, Taylor drew in a deep breath. It took several tense moments for her to settle her emotions enough to talk. She turned to her daughter. “Are you all right?”

  Stephanie jutted her chin and nodded. “It was an accident. I kind of stepped between Micah and Tommy when it looked like they were going to get into a fight.”

  “What started the fight?” Lucas asked.

  “Everyone at the pizza place was ignoring him.” Stephanie barreled over Micah before he could explain. “Or they all said things, just low enough that we would hear. Micah wanted to leave and I didn’t.” She glanced at her mother. “I was taught to never back down from a fight.” Taylor felt she had little choice but to nod in agreement. Stephanie looked back at Lucas.

  “Tommy offered to give me a ride home since I obviously wanted to stay.”

  “I told him that she came with me,” Micah picked up, “and she would leave with me. That’s when Tommy made some snide comment about me not listening to another girl tell me no.”

  Taylor swore under her breath as she swiped at her bangs. “This isn’t going to help your case any, Micah.”

  “It was Tommy who made the first move,” Stephanie protested.

  “It doesn’t matter. The prosecution could call witnesses to what happened today in an attempt to show that Micah can’t control his temper.”

  “Then you’ll have to find a way to show that isn’t what happened,” Stephanie demanded.

  “It’s not that easy,” Taylor said.

  “You can do it. If anyone can, you can.”

  She could say nothing as she absorbed the shock of her daughter’s vote of confidence.

  “Taylor,” Lucas said. “Surely you can’t believe Micah would deliberately invite a fight.”

  “No.” She sighed as she caught the glimmer of delight in Stephanie’s eyes. “But,” she cautioned. “That is exactly the sort of conclusion a jury could jump to and hand down a guilty decision.”

  “I’ll try to be more careful, Ms. Adams,” Micah said.

  “You’ll have to do more than just try.” She turned to him, aware that Stephanie and Lucas listened to every word. “If you want to stay out of prison.”

  Taylor had been lying in bed awake for more than an hour the next morning when the chime of her cell phone interrupted the silence. She didn’t bother to glance at or answer the call. She knew who was on the phone, and she had a lousy feeling she knew why he was calling.

  She heard the electronic beep that signaled a voice message. Rolling on her side she stared out the open window, listening to the distant buzz of an electric saw, absently waiting for the phone to chime again.

  Dinner last night had pretty much been a quiet affair. Every time she looked at Stephanie her gaze zeroed in on the swollen lip and her mind pitched with images that did little to help her appetite. Stephanie had meekly agreed when Taylor insisted they do clean up duty. They’d managed to have a conversation that didn’t end in an argument before Stephanie went out to talk with Micah while he lifted weights.

  Lucas had gone to the workshop while Taylor had tried to concentrate on case papers. Finally, giving up, she’d sat on the front porch and had a glass of wine. While the quiet contentment of the surroundings had soothed her enough to get a few hours restful sleep, she’d also had dreams.

  Ignoring the latest beep of her cell phone she took a long hot shower and a double dose of aspirin. When her soft knock went unanswered, she chanced a quick peek in Stephanie’s room. Her daughter lay sprawled across the bed, prompting a fond smile. Stephanie had never been a restful sleeper. Nor did she keep a neat room, Taylor thought with a rueful glance at the scatter of clothes. She’d have to remind Stephanie they should respect the tidiness of Lucas’s home. Hoping that wouldn’t prompt another argument, she eased the door closed and went downstairs.

  “Good morning.”

  She came to an abrupt standstill in the kitchen doorway. It had been so quiet she’d assumed she would be alone. Instead, Micah sat at the pedestal table, the newspaper spread before him. The room welcomed her with the morning scents of brewed coffee and fried bacon.

  “There’s coffee,” Micah offered, half coming out of his chair.

  Taylor brushed at her bangs, feeling awkward on several levels. “I prefer tea if it isn’t too much trouble.”

  “No problem.”

  While Micah filled the tea kettle, she skimmed the front page. Stan Newman’s article began with the specifics of Micah’s arrest before detailing her appearance in court as his counsel and on to the press conference. He included a brief reference to her high school years in Prentiss and her friendship with Lucas. As she had come to expect, there was mention of her marriage to Stephen and his recent death.

  Stan ended the article, of course, with a brief report on the incident involving Stephanie. While careful to avoid phrases or descriptions that would open him to threat of slander, or could be used as an example of how potential jurors had been prejudiced, he was able to craft together the impression that Micah was a young man who resorted to violence when denied his wishes.

  “If you want to quit being my attorney,” Micah commented softly. “I understand.”

  Taylor glanced up to see his hands curling around the edge of the counter he leaned against. The muscles in his forearms stood out, once again reminding her of his size and strength.

  “I’ll tell Steph it’s my idea so it doesn’t create any trouble between you.”

  “Micah, yesterday you promised you would be completely honest with me so I think it’s only fair I be honest with you also.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” His knuckles turned white as he prepared to hear her verdict. Overhead, Taylor heard water running, surprising her that Stephanie had risen so early. She hurried on, hoping to finish this conversation uninterrupted. And maybe also convince Micah to agree to blood tests.

  “We have little or no defense at this time. While it’s circumstantial, the fact is you were found in Rebecca’s room, with her crying, obviously battered, and naming you as the man who raped her.” She gestured toward the newspaper. “I don’t have to tell you how much this hurt your image.”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “But I made a promise to your father. More importantly, Micah, I made a promise to you. As long as I feel you’re telling me the truth, as long as I feel you’re following my instructions, I’ll stay on as your legal counsel.”

  “What kind of instructions?”

  Taylor glanced over her shoulder. Lucas, his legs spread wide, hands planted on the waistband of the jeans that rode low on his hips, stood in the doorway. Flakes of mahogany sawdust clung to his white T-shirt. While Micah had developed an imposing set of muscles lifting weights, Lucas had earned an equally impressive set while working for a living.

  Something undeniably sensuous and powerful began to stir in the pit of her stomach. Before her, much as she had already guessed, was more than the boy of her past. Here was a man capable of supplanting the very memories she’d worked to forget. Only she really hadn’t forgotten anything. She’d only managed to ignore what her heart still recalled with vivid clarity.

  The whistle of the kettle broke the spell. Micah poured steaming water into a porcelain cup decorated with tiny violets. “Cream?”

  “Brown sugar,” Taylor and Lucas answered in tandem.

  “M
rs. Brewer?” Micah guessed with a small smile.

  “Yes,” Taylor answered, avoiding Lucas’s gaze. “Two spoonfuls, please.”

  Once she accepted the cup of tea from Micah, Lucas again asked, “What kind of instructions, Taylor?”

  “First, Micah has to let one of us know where he is at all times. In fact, it would be better if he doesn’t go anywhere alone. He is, under no circumstances, to speak with or be in the same general vicinity as Rebecca Whitfield. Based on yesterday’s events, I would also recommend he avoid Tommy Newman whenever possible.”

  “He does have a part-time job, Taylor.”

  “I’ll speak to Mrs. Brewer.”

  “Look, I don’t know if you remember what it’s like or not, but he’s working to save money for college.”

  Her spine stiffened. “I remember. And if we have any more incidents like yesterday it could well be a moot point because he’ll be in prison instead of a classroom.”

  Lucas swore under his breath but made no other argument.

  “Dad, it’s no big deal.”

  Lucas continued to meet her gaze head-on as he spoke to his son. “To make sure you don’t do anything the least bit suspicious you can help me load Mrs. Henderson’s kitchen cabinets onto the truck.”

  “And help unload at her house,” Micah guessed as he turned toward the doorway, but there was more humor than spite in his voice. “Let me get my boots, and I’ll be right back.”

  “Bring me down a clean shirt, will you?”

  “Sure.” Micah stopped and looked at Taylor. “You’re going to talk to Becky today?”

  “Yes. Is there anything you can tell me about her that will help in my questioning?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know how some people respond better with kindness and others need a heavier hand? Which approach would you recommend with Rebecca?”

  Micah shrugged. “I dunno, just talk to her I guess.” Taylor nearly smiled. For the first time he sounded like a typical teenager—a male one at that.

  “That’s a lot of help. It’s all right,” she said, holding up a hand to forestall any excuses. “I think I’ll be able to figure out what to ask.”

  “Thanks, Ms. Adams.”

  “Taylor.” If they had a prayer of a chance of getting through this without every moment being strung tight with tension, they had to create some sort of civility. “We’re on the same team, Micah, there’s no reason to be so formal. Taylor will work just fine.”

  “Okay, thanks. So, can Steph come with us?”

  “Won’t she be in the way?”

  “There are plenty of small tasks she can do,” Lucas said. “And it seems like she’d be in your way more than she’ll be in mine.”

  Her headache resumed its pounding at her temples. Still, there was no argument she could come up with that would sound plausible. And he did have a valid point. “Fine.” She dredged up a smile for Micah. “Despite the fact that she’s apparently already awake, don’t expect her to be charming and sociable. She isn’t a morning person by any stretch of the imagination.”

  Lucas began walking toward her as Micah went upstairs. Taylor’s breath caught and held. His steps were sock silent, further proof of his habit of taking off his boots upon coming in the house. His eyes were shadowed by half-lowered lids, and he had an almost primitive look about him. A look that aroused her more, much more, than it had a right to do.

  He stopped, poured a cup of coffee, drank without waiting for it to cool.

  “I’ll keep an eye on Stephanie and make sure she isn’t in the way or in any danger of getting hurt,” he said.

  “I know you will.”

  “Will Micah have to go through an interview like the one you’re going to do with Rebecca?”

  “It’s called a deposition, and yes, he will. I’ll be with him to make sure he doesn’t incriminate himself in any way. You’re going to have to trust me, Lucas.”

  As soon as the words were out, Taylor realized their irony. Whatever the reason, whatever part she might have had in leading to his behavior that night, Micah represented the child Lucas had with another woman. And yet she was willing to work to keep the boy out of prison.

  It was more than simply her ingrained sense of right and wrong. She didn’t delude herself with any attempt at rationalization. For better or worse, smart or dumb, she was doing this for Lucas and the love she’d once felt for him.

  “Taylor.” He moved so he was all but pressed up against her. She considered moving, but decided to hold still rather than give away how his nearness affected her. “I want you to know how much I…” He shook his head. “I was never as good with words as you.” He reached out, cupped her chin in his hand.

  “This is getting to be a habit,” Stephanie declared from the doorway.

  It took no more than a single glance; one that zeroed in on her daughter’s swollen lip to stop Taylor’s biting reply. As casually as possible, she stepped away from Lucas. He crossed the room to slip on the shirt Micah held.

  “How does your lip feel this morning?”

  “Okay,” Stephanie answered, then sighed appreciatively. “Coffee.”

  Taylor watched, stunned, as her daughter poured a cup and swallowed a mouthful of the steaming liquid.

  “We’re going to load up the truck,” Micah informed Stephanie. “It’ll only take about ten minutes, and then we’ll be leaving.”

  Taylor nodded, her gaze not leaving Stephanie as she added more hot coffee to her cup. “When did you start doing that?”

  “’Bout a year ago.” Stephanie wrinkled her nose and drained the cup. “I remember the first time Daddy had breakfast with me and saw me drink coffee.”

  Her smile reminded Taylor of Stephanie as a sweet-natured little girl, eager to share moments of her life.

  “He told me that before long I’d be too old to want to sit and have breakfast with him.” Her breath shuddered out as she struggled to keep the pain to herself, even as some of it tumbled out.

  “That’s what I thought that morning—that I didn’t want to stay there with him when I had friends waiting for me. I didn’t even bother to say goodbye. I just grabbed a cup of coffee and headed out the back door. If I had known.” Stephanie lifted her gaze, obviously uncomfortable with confessing to her mother, and needing something she didn’t know how to ask for.

  “You couldn’t have known, Stephanie. It was an accident.”

  “Maybe if I had taken the time he wouldn’t have left when he did.” She sniffed back tears. “Then he wouldn’t have been on the road when he was. That truck wouldn’t have hit him.”

  “Oh, baby.”

  Taylor’s heart ached with the pain and guilt her daughter had obviously been harboring these months. No wonder Stephanie had been acting so defiantly—she was trying to punish herself for what she saw as her selfishness. Not stopping to think of how her actions would be received, or rejected, she wrapped her arms around Stephanie. The feel of Stephanie’s returning embrace chased away all manner of hurt.

  “Don’t do this to yourself.” Taylor stroked a hand over the short strands of Stephanie’s dark hair. “If anyone deserves to be blamed it should be me. Stephen and I fought that morning,” she added in a whisper as images of the past clouded her mind.

  “Fought? You and Daddy never fought.”

  Taylor blinked, realizing Stephanie had stepped free of her embrace. Her daughter stared at her, defiance running along every line of her body as she waited for her mother’s reply. “What did you fight about?”

  Taylor brushed at her bangs as her thoughts searched for an explanation. The guilt for lying to her daughter was tempered by the belief that what she was doing, and had done so often in the past, was for Stephanie’s own good.

  “The party wanted Stephen to run for the U.S. Senate. They believed the position would pave the way for him to eventually run for President.”

  “Let me guess.” Stephanie backed away another few steps. “You didn’t want him to ru
n because if he won, and we both know he would, a move to Washington would mean leaving your precious position at the law firm.”

  “How can you believe that?”

  “I can’t remember the last time you made a decision without thinking how it affected your career. All you’ve ever cared about is your career. Daddy told me that you never loved anything or anyone as much as you love the law.”

  The blinding sense of betrayal struck hard, robbing her of breath. She wondered how much of this charge was true and how much was exaggerated by Stephanie’s grief.

  “That’s not true, Stephanie. Stephen encouraged me, he was proud of my accomplishments.”

  Green eyes blazing, her chin tilted, Stephanie braced fists on her hips and faced her mother. Taylor was terribly afraid that whatever pain Stephanie had already flung her way was minor compared to what was coming. She did nothing to deflect it. Perhaps it would do them both good to air as much as possible in the open.

  And a long-buried part of her questioned if she deserved whatever came her way.

  “And how do you repay him? Daddy’s barely been dead seven months and already you’re hot to jump into another man’s bed. You’re such a hypocrite.”

  Lucas lunged forward, wedging between mother and daughter.

  “Don’t you let me hear you speak to your mother like that again,” he ground out between clenched teeth. “Not as long as you’re a guest in my house. Do you understand me?”

  “I’m not a guest, I’m a prisoner. And you can’t tell me what to do. You’re not my father. I no longer have a father.”

  Taylor gasped, stunned by the vehemence and fury in her daughter’s outburst. She felt the tension press against her chest while tears she couldn’t afford burned her eyes. “Lucas, please step away from Staphanie.”

  When he finally stepped back, Stephanie held her ground. “Don’t worry, Mr. Black, I won’t be speaking to my mother at all any time soon.” Skirting around him, without a backward glance, she left the room.

  “How could you just stand there and let her rip you into shreds like that?” Lucas demanded.