The Complete Langley Park Series (Books 1-5)

by Krista Sandor

  “Understandable,” Michael said.

  “Really, Nick,” Em added, “it would be no trouble at all. You can stay as long as you need to.”

  “Thanks, guys,” Nick said. He turned to his longtime friend. “You know I love you, Sam. But with my new job and the crazy hours, it may be good to have a place all to myself.”

  “Whatever works, bud,” Sam said with a grin. “I’m just glad you’re making Langley Park your home.”

  Michael gestured to the door. “Let’s head inside. We can hammer out the details while we try to figure out how the hell to put this nursery together. Who writes these directions?”

  But just as the group was about to head inside, a sedan turned onto Foxglove Lane.

  A tremor shot through his spine.

  It couldn’t be.

  The car passed by the house.

  Nick was just about to shake off the strange déjà vu sensation when the car came back down the street and stopped in front of Em’s Foursquare. A woman sat in the driver’s seat wearing sunglasses and a ball cap. A long cascade of chestnut brown hair fell past her shoulders.

  The air left his body like a punch to the gut.

  “Do you think that’s Mrs. G’s goddaughter?” Em asked.

  Goddaughter.

  Nick knew they’d sold the house to a relative of Mrs. G’s, but until this moment, nobody had mentioned it was her goddaughter.

  “I’m not sure,” Michael answered. “I’ve never met her. Mrs. G said she spent a summer in Langley Park when she was sixteen. She worked at the Langley Park Community Center’s summer camp. Did you ever meet her, Sam? Mrs. G says you guys are the same age.”

  Sam shook his head. “No, I don’t think so.”

  A muscle ticked in Nick’s cheek. “I worked at the Langley Park Community Center’s summer camp when I was sixteen.”

  “You did?” Sam asked. “How the hell did I not know that?”

  “My mom sent me to stay with my aunt,” Nick answered, but he didn’t look at Sam. He couldn’t tear his gaze from the mysterious woman in the car.

  Things were starting to come together in his mind. It was like staring at one of those pictures where the image is hidden until your eyes fall just out of focus and then the picture jumps out at you, screaming its presence.

  Mrs. G’s first name was Rosemary. Lindsey’s godmother’s name was Rosemary. He’d never known her last name.

  The woman got out of the car and gazed up at the Foursquare. She hadn’t noticed them yet. She was wearing a baggy sweatshirt and worn jeans. Nothing about her said look at me, but Nick couldn’t take his eyes off of her. It was like watching a fantasy materialize into a reality right before his eyes.

  Em’s cheery voice broke his trance.

  “Hello,” she called out, stepping off the porch and crossing the yard.

  Michael and Sam followed, but it took him a second to move. It was her. It was Lindsey. It had to be. Every cell in his body remembered her touch, her scent, her smile.

  The woman let out a startled gasp, and her hands went up protectively.

  “I’m sorry! We didn’t mean to frighten you. I’m Em MacCaslin. This is Michael MacCarron. We’re your neighbors. This is Sam Sinclair and Nick Kincade. They’re our friends, and they live in Langley Park, too.”

  Lindsey’s hands trembled. She clasped them tightly and gave Em a tight, nervous smile. He had never seen her like this. This wasn’t who she was. But he hadn’t seen her in more than fifteen years. What the hell could have happened?

  “It’s nice to meet you all,” Lindsey said.

  He could hear the shake in her voice. It nearly killed him.

  “I’m Lindsey—”

  “Lindsey Hanlon,” he said. His mouth had gone dry. His words sounded cracked and broken. He had thought of her plenty over the years, but he hadn’t spoken her name. Not once. Not to anyone.

  She looked away. “It’s Lindsey Davies, now.”

  Nick’s gaze shot to her hand. No wedding ring.

  “Do you two know each other?” Em asked.

  “We worked at the Community Center’s summer camp. That summer I was just telling you about,” Nick said, his gaze still locked on Lindsey.

  Lindsey stilled, and a blush crept up her neck. He knew that blush. She took a step back and glanced at the Foursquare. “I hardly remember that summer. It was such a long time ago. I don’t mean to be rude, but I’ve had a long trip. I’d like to get settled inside.”

  “Of course,” Em said. “Were you able to get the key from Mrs. G? She’s your godmother, right?”

  Another tight smile. Another quick nod. Lindsey looked ready to bolt.

  “Are your things being delivered today?” Michael asked. “If you need any help carrying boxes or moving furniture, just let us know. We’re happy to help.”

  Lindsey took another step back. “There’s no moving truck.”

  The mountain of tension morphed into awkward, pregnant silence.

  “Well,” Em said. “You know where we’ll be. You’re welcome at our place anytime.”

  Same tight smile. Same quick nod. Before Em had finished speaking, Lindsey was halfway up the porch steps.

  The door to the Foursquare slammed shut. The sharp click of the deadbolt might as well have been a shot to his heart.

  The four of them stared up at the house. Nobody said a word.

  Sam put a hand on Nick’s shoulder. “Dude, I don’t think she remembers you.”

  Nick’s heart was pounding. “No, I know she remembers me. She only wishes she didn’t.”

  “Let’s give her some time. Moving is stressful,” Michael said, taking Em’s hand and heading toward their Foursquare.

  Nick was just about to join Sam, Em, and Michael, when he froze. “I’ll meet you guys inside. I need to…” He looked at the house that was now Lindsey’s home. “I need a minute.”

  A frown pulled at Em’s lips. “Are you sure that’s a good idea, Nick?”

  “Just a minute,” he repeated. The pull of having Lindsey so close was almost too much for him to bear.

  He needed to see her.

  He needed…

  Christ, he didn’t know what he needed, but he knew it started with talking to her.

  He pounded on the door with the side of his fist. He hadn’t meant it to sound so menacing, but adrenaline was coursing through his veins. What had happened to her? Where was the girl who had carried herself with such strength and purpose?

  He waited for a beat, then two and knocked again. “Come on, Lindsey! It’s me. It’s Nick. I only want to talk.”

  He listened. A muffled sound traveled through the door. A heartbreaking whimper that cut him to the bone.

  Nick went to the window, cupped his hands over his eyes, and peered inside the house. Most of the furniture had been sold with the house. Em had only taken her piano and a few other sentimental pieces. The rest of the items in the home now belonged to Lindsey.

  He scanned the front living room. Lindsey wasn’t there. He ran to the other side of the porch and looked into the adjacent room. He was just about to pound on the door again when he caught sight of her. The Foursquare was essentially a large two-story, square-shaped structure. The first floor consisted of two front rooms and a staircase in the center. A kitchen and a dining area made up the back of the house. From his limited vantage point, he had almost missed her. She was sitting on the staircase, clutching at the banister like it was the only thing keeping her from being blown away.

  She was crying. He’d never seen her cry before. The sound tore through him like a million tiny razor blades.

  He went back to the door. She was sitting on the steps only a few feet away from him. He crouched down and rested his forehead against the hard wood. “Linds, I know you can hear me. Please, open the door.”

  A tangle of sobs vibrated through the door. She was there. Only an inch or so separated them. He remembered holding his hand up against the window screen of her cabin and how she would run
her finger down the length of his palm. His body had never forgotten her touch. Even through a bolted door, he could feel her. He closed his eyes and listened to the muffled cries of the only girl he had ever loved.

  “Nick.”

  That was her—barely a whisper. He knew it. It wasn’t a trick of his mind, or someone else’s voice carried from far away on the breeze. She had just said his name. He needed to see her. He needed to look into those blue-green eyes.

  He swallowed hard, blinked back tears, and pounded his palm against the door in one last desperate clap. “Please, Linds, open the door.”

  “Excuse me,” came a woman’s voice from the street. She didn’t sound happy. “What are you doing?”

  Nick shot up and spun around. It was Mrs. G.

  “Nick, why are you…” She stopped and shook her head. “No, no, no. How could I have not put it together?”

  Nick left the porch and joined her on the sidewalk. “Mrs. G, I know Lindsey, I’m—”

  “You’re the Nick from the summer she stayed with me. I knew you looked familiar. But I couldn’t place you—until now.”

  “I only knew you as Rosemary when Lindsey would talk about you. Nobody calls you that around here. Around here you’re—”

  “I’m simply Mrs. G,” she answered with a sympathetic smile.

  Nick ran a hand over his face. “What happened to her? Why is she so scared? I know she remembers me, but she won’t open the door.”

  Mrs. G squeezed his forearm. Her grip was warm and solid, but her words nearly killed him.

  “Lindsey’s story isn’t mine to tell. But the fact that she’s made it here, and she’s alive is a testament to her strength.” She paused and glanced up at the house. “I know you two have history, but I don’t know how much more heartache she can take. If there’s one piece of advice that I can offer you, it’s just to let her be, Nick. Let her heal.”

  “But—” Nick began when the soft howl of Lindsey’s sob carried over the breeze.

  “Nick,” Mrs. G said, cutting him off. “I need to go to her. I’m all she has. I’m sorry, dear.” She released her grip on his arm and hurried past him up the porch steps.

  She tapped the door twice. “Lindsey, it’s me. It’s Rosemary. Can I come in?”

  Nick stared at the sidewalk. Guilt wound tight around his heart. He’d never looked for her—never tried to contact her. After his parents had met the bus from Camp Clem and whisked him back to Kentucky, he could have called the community center. He could have tried to see if someone there could put him in touch with her.

  But he didn’t.

  He had sunk back into the routine of living with his father’s temper, his mother’s empty promises, and the hopelessness he’d known for so very long. The love and happiness he had found with Lindsey didn’t even seem real. That time with her became nothing but a brief respite from a life composed of beatings and disappointment.

  Mrs. G tapped lightly on the door again, and the click of the lock disengaging sent a shudder down his spine.

  “The deadbolt isn’t secure enough,” Lindsey said, voice shaking as she opened the door. “And the windows, anyone can see inside.”

  Nick could hear the tears choking her words.

  “Those are all things we can take care of, dear,” Mrs. G said. She glanced back at him then closed the door and locked him out.

  9

  Rosemary led Lindsey into the kitchen. “Let’s have some tea. I brought some groceries over a few days ago. I wasn’t sure exactly when you’d make it here.”

  Lindsey sat down on a bar stool and wrapped her arms around her body. “You weren’t sure if I’d make it.”

  Rosemary filled the kettle with water and set it on the stove. “I knew you’d make it. I know you, Lindsey. I know your strength.”

  “I don’t feel very strong.” She met her godmother’s gaze. “And why didn’t you tell me Nick Kincade was here? What’s he even doing back in Langley Park?”

  “I didn’t put it together until just now, dear. I never knew your Nick’s last name. I thought Nick Kincade was just an old friend of one of my former students, Sam Sinclair, but it seems he has more of a connection to Langley Park than I ever knew.”

  “He was never my Nick,” Lindsey said, balling her hands into fists, trying to stop them from shaking. She let out a ragged breath. “I’m sorry, Rosemary. You’ve shown me nothing but kindness. I just never expected to see him again.”

  Lindsey hadn’t told Rosemary about what had happened with Nick after she had gotten back from Camp Clem. But her perceptive godmother had known something was wrong.

  Lindsey had spent her last few days in Langley Park at the botanic gardens near Lake Boley, sitting on the steps of the pavilion, reading the letter from Nick over and over. That’s where Rosemary had found her, and she’d shown her the letter. Her godmother hadn’t offered any trite words of comfort. She only held her hand and sat with her as she cried.

  That was the last time she had spoken his name—until today.

  Nick.

  Her lips wanted to repeat it. They trembled with the need to whisper the one, single syllable that had crushed her heart sixteen years ago.

  The kettle whistled, and Rosemary poured hot water into a mug. “I got you some chamomile tea. It’s caffeine-free and safe for…”

  Lindsey nodded and dunked the teabag into the steaming cup. Rosemary didn’t need to finish her sentence. There were more important things to focus on now. She was going to be a mother, and she needed to do everything in her power to protect herself and her unborn child from the monster she’d been living with for the last three years.

  Rosemary took a sip of tea. “I have a few things for you.” She reached into her purse and pulled out a checkbook and two credit cards all bearing her new name, Lindsey Davies. “I’ve added you to my accounts. Everything is under my name as the primary account holder, so it can’t be traced to you.”

  Lindsey picked up the cards and stared down at them.

  Mrs. G tapped the checkbook. “The money in the trust is all yours. I may be the executor, but if you decided you wanted to invest it all into a llama farm in Ecuador, I wouldn’t stop you.”

  The hint of a grin appeared on Lindsey’s lips. “I don’t know anything about farms or llamas, and I don’t speak Spanish. It’s a pretty safe bet I won’t be purchasing anything in Ecuador anytime soon.”

  “There’s that smile,” Rosemary said, patting her hand. “Now, let me see, there’s more.” Her godmother rooted around her purse and placed two business cards on the table. One was for the Rose Brooks Women’s Shelter and Counseling Center, and the other was for the Kansas City Chamber of Commerce.

  Lindsey picked up the card for the shelter.

  “Have I told you about my job working part-time as an office manager for one of my former student’s architecture firm?” Rosemary asked, sipping her tea.

  Lindsey ran her thumb along the edge of the card. “What does that have to do with the women’s shelter?”

  “My student’s name is Ben Fisher. His wife, Jenna, is very active in supporting the work they do there. It’s a good place. They help lots of women and children. I don’t think it would hurt to attend one of their support groups.”

  Lindsey nodded. As grateful as she was for the help she had received from the shelter in Houston, she wanted that part of her life gone, locked away like a bad dream. She pointed to the Chamber of Commerce card. “Another past student?”

  Her godmother chuckled. “My goodness, I’m feeling awfully old, but, yes, I taught several current members of the Kansas City Chamber of Commerce.”

  Lindsey could see why everyone loved her godmother. She had such an open, empathetic way about her that was almost intoxicating.

  “I’d mentioned that my photographer goddaughter was moving to the area and learned that the Chamber was looking to hire a full-time photographer. They’ve got a whole campaign planned. It seems the city is trying to woo families and millennials�
�whatever millennials are.”

  Another hint of a smile. Being around Rosemary was the best medicine.

  “I showed them your work. It’s still online.”

  Lindsey’s expression darkened. “But it’s all under Lindsey Hanlon. Won’t they wonder why I’m Lindsey Davies now?”

  “I just told them you were going back to your maiden name. Nowadays, you should see what people do with their last names. I just attended a wedding, and the bride had a hyphenated last name and so did the groom. They’re now Amanda and Roger Baton-Campbell-Carry-Morgan.” Rosemary gave her a mischievous smile. “As long as you don’t have four last names, I don’t think anyone cares what you would like to be called.”

  Something warmed inside her heart. That part of her that craved independence. That part that loved exploring the world through a camera lens. Three years ago, she was a successful freelance photographer, photographing nature as well as cityscapes all over the world. She had lived for those moments when the light would shift, and she’d capture an image so unique, so mesmerizing, it would stop you right in your tracks. Her work had been featured in publications all over the world, and, while it was a solitary life, it had been her life to live as she pleased. A shudder passed through her body, thinking of what she’d given up and what she had endured all in the name of what she thought was love.

  Rosemary touched her hand. “Don’t go there, Lindsey.”

  Lindsey blinked and met her godmother’s gaze. “Go where?”

  “To that place where you blame yourself for what happened in Texas.”

  She nodded, but the echoes of Houston and Brett’s abuse followed her like a looming shadow. It haunted her like a ghost. It lurked in the darkest corners of her mind. She’d escaped three months ago, but the nightmares still found her every time she succumbed to sleep.

  “One last thing,” her godmother said, retrieving a smartphone from her purse, “this is yours, too.”

  Lindsey picked up the phone. She had only been using pay phones as a precaution for the last three months, and the women’s shelter had allowed her to use them as a go-between. Her godmother or attorney could leave messages for her there, and then Lindsey could call in to retrieve the messages.