“Are you sure you want me to publish that? Want to go down that road?” Rowena sank back into the chair, her hands landing on the top of her head.
“I do.” Darla sounded more confident than she felt. If she wanted to prove to Meghan she wasn’t a coward, she had to tell her story—not just to the governor, but to the whole state. “My gut tells me that I’m not the only girl he’s molested over the years. There was nothing special about me at age fifteen other than convenience. I worked cleaning his car dealership offices on Saturdays. Once I was gone, I’m sure he replaced me with another young girl. There could be many more out there.”
“And you’re hoping this story will bring them out of the woodwork.”
“Hopefully.”
“And if it doesn’t? If you’re the only one?”
“At least I can finally hold my head up high, no longer a victim.”
“Oh my God, why didn’t you tell us?” Andrea was on her feet, hovering over Darla as the color drained from her face. “You’ve kept this from us all these years?”
She’d invited her sisters and brother over for dinner a few hours after Rowena had gone, wanting to alert them to the news that would hit the papers tomorrow morning. Cassie, Jamie, and Andrea had enjoyed her savory lasagna and arugula salad before she’d hit them with the news that they had an eighteen-year-old niece.
“Did Mom and Dad know?” Jamie asked, looking at her as if she were a stranger.
“No.”
“You never told them?” Andrea seemed to be taking this harder than the others. She still hadn’t sat, choosing instead to lean on the table with her hands gripping the edge. “They died not knowing they had a granddaughter?”
“What about Marla?” Jamie asked.
“Nope, never told her.”
“I can’t believe this.” Cassie covered her face with her hands as she shook her head.
“Who knew? Patsy?” Jamie asked.
“Yes, only she and Tony knew. That’s why I lived with them that summer.”
“And several years after.” Cassie had unburied her face, visibly upset by the news. “You kept this all to yourself, bottled up inside.” She jumped from her chair, leaving it teetering on two legs, and rushed around the table to Darla. Cassie pulled her into her arms, crushing Darla’s face against the softness of her breasts. “I am so sorry. I wish you would’ve told me. That horrible, horrible man.”
“Cassie—” She was holding her so tight, Darla struggled to breathe.
“You went through all of that alone with no one to help you.”
“Well, Patsy—”
“We should’ve been there for you. Mom and Dad could’ve helped. Oh, Darla, why did you do that?” Cassie smothered her deeper into her bosom, totally cutting off Darla’s airway. She gripped her little sister’s arms and struggled out of her embrace.
“Cass, it’s okay.” Darla smoothed her ruffled hair back into place and smiled at her siblings, all looking at her with pity. “I had Patsy and Tony. They helped me. Sit down, Cass, and you, too, Andrea.”
Once they were all seated around the table again, Darla refilled their wine glasses, feeling like a huge weight had been lifted off her shoulders. Each time she revealed her truth to someone, she felt lighter, freer.
“I couldn’t tell them, not with all they were going through after Tim died. Besides, Clyde threatened to fire Dad if I told anyone.”
“I’d like to get my hands on him,” Jamie said, anger burning in his eyes.
“And get thrown in jail? I don’t think so.” Darla patted her brother’s arm, hoping the gentle gesture would settle him down. “He’ll get his punishment after the news comes out. It’ll be a public relations nightmare at the very least.”
“So what about your daughter?” Andrea asked, finally calm. “What’s her name?”
“Meghan. I’ve been going out to Ohio to see her.”
“Where in Ohio?” Jamie asked, taking a sip of wine.
“Outside Cleveland. I can’t wait for you to meet her.”
“Please tell me she doesn’t look anything like that bullfrog Fletcher.” Andrea may have settled down, but she was taking the news hard. Her face was flushed with red-rimmed eyes. She’d always been the feistiest of the bunch. It was a good thing Clyde was safely tucked away in the governor’s mansion because Andrea would be the most likely one to inflict physical harm. A bit ironic considering she was an elementary school teacher.
“No, she’s beautiful. She’s tall and slim—thankfully, she didn’t inherit my thighs—and has long, dark hair.”
“What about her adoptive parents?”
“Parent. She only has a dad and he’s…”
“He’s what?” Jamie asked, sitting straighter in his chair. “What kind of guy is he?”
“A silver fox!” Cassie slapped her hand against the table and grabbed Andrea’s arm, who was sitting next to her. “I bet he was the silver fox from the Brass Rail. You know, the night of her birthday party.”
“Oh my God, was it? Is he?” Andrea turned her dark-brown eyes on Darla, and she couldn’t hold back her grin. She had told them everything—every gory detail. She might as well tell them the best part of the story.
“Jason Byrne, AKA Silver Fox, is Meghan’s adoptive dad. He just happened to come to Highland Springs the night of my birthday to find me.”
“And?” Jamie asked, wariness in his voice.
“And she’s in love with him, Doofus,” Cassie said, slapping Jamie on the shoulder. “Don’t you see that?”
“How the hell?” he said, scratching his head.
“Is she right?” Andrea asked. “Are you in love with Jason?”
“I am. Ironically, I’m in love with my biological daughter’s adoptive father. What are the chances?”
TWENTY-ONE
The smell of smoky bacon and sweet cinnamon French toast filled the kitchen, making Jason’s mouth water as he fixed Meghan’s favorite breakfast. If the pungent, yet comforting, aroma didn’t wake her, nothing would. It wasn’t exactly a heart-healthy breakfast, but they’d been assured she had no dietary restrictions. He just wanted to cheer her up in any way he could.
So far, her two nights of sleeping in the living room had worked out well enough. The downstairs was crowded, but they were making do. But after her dissatisfaction with an old-fashioned sink bath in the powder room, he promised to carry her upstairs this morning for a proper shower, putting all those early morning workouts to the test.
The scuffing of Meghan’s slippers drew his attention away from the thick, egg-soaked bread sizzling in the frying pan. “Morning,” Meghan mumbled with an enormous yawn.
“Good morning, sunshine. I’m making your favorite.”
“I’m going to get fat.” She dropped her elbows to the table, her straggly hair covering her shoulders.
“I thought you liked French toast.”
“I do, but all this sitting around with no exercise. I might as well apply it to my hips.”
Jason chuckled as he flipped the bread in the pan. “Fine. Tomorrow morning you’ll get Shredded Wheat and prunes. How does that sound?”
“Yuck! I’ll get the excess weight off once I get my new heart.”
“Good attitude.” He set the plate of golden French toast and bacon in front of her, and topped it off with a generous squirt of whipped cream—just the way she’d liked it as a child.
“You’re killing me, Dad.” Meghan shoveled a forkful into her mouth, ending all complaints.
Before he sat down to his own sweet, sticky, unhealthy breakfast, he clicked the remote control, turning on the small TV mounted under a wall cabinet. After switching to his favorite morning talk show, he settled at the table, digging in while he and Meghan ate in silence. The announcer reported on the usual headlines: the Middle East, the President’s trip to Europe, and the fluctuating stock market. He half-listened to the news as he scrolled through social media.
“Another in a long line of political leaders has
been accused of sexual misconduct, this time involving a fifteen-year-old girl resulting in pregnancy.” Jason’s fork hit the table with a clang, bouncing onto the floor. He surged to his feet, his heart beating erratically as he stared at the perky, blonde morning host.
“West Virginia Governor Clyde Fletcher has been accused by a former employee of sexual assault when she was a teenager. The story, which broke overnight by the Mountain Courier, states Darla Jean Heartwood, age thirty-three of Highland Springs, West Virginia, was employed at Fletcher Motors, a car dealership owned by Clyde Fletcher, in the spring and summer of 1999 when she was allegedly forced into a sexual relationship with the governor.”
“Oh my God!” Meghan fell back against her chair. “Dad?”
“Shh.” He held up his hand, silencing Meghan as he tried to wrap his mind around what he was seeing. Darla didn’t tell him she was going to announce it to the world.
“According to the Mountain Courier, Ms. Heartwood gave birth to a baby girl in January of 2000, subsequently giving her up for adoption. Until now, none of her family or friends knew of the child’s birth. We’ve reached out to Ms. Heartwood for comment but have not heard back. A spokesperson for the governor said, ‘Governor Fletcher vehemently denies these charges and stands by his personal belief in God, family, and country.’ ”
Jason couldn’t listen another second. He clicked off the TV and turned to his daughter, whose face was alabaster, her hands shaking. News like this could make her blood pressure plunge. Why the hell didn’t Darla warn him?
“Sweetheart, I’m so sorry.” He laid his hands on her shoulders, ready to catch her if she fainted. “Are you all right?”
“I can’t believe she did it,” Meghan whispered.
Anger boiled in his gut. This could have waited—indefinitely. Didn’t Darla consider how this would affect Meghan? Or him? He thought they’d started something special, thought he could trust her. Instead, she went off half-cocked and exposed them to embarrassment, public scrutiny, possibly threatening his chances for tenure. “She should’ve asked you first, should’ve warned us.”
Darla had said she was going to make things right with Meghan, but was this the best way to go about it? Knowing how relentless the press can be, they could easily figure out where her daughter was now. He couldn’t allow Meghan to be hounded when she was in such a delicate condition. Darla’s selfish need to cleanse her conscience might cause more harm than good. “I’ll let her know this is NOT all right with you.”
“What are you talking about? This is amazing! She’s a freaking rock star!” Meghan shrugged off his hands and jumped to her feet. “Don’t you see, Dad?”
“I see that you’re getting worked up, and that’s not good for your heart.”
“Darla—my mother—made national news by standing up to that sick pedophile.”
“Meghan, please sit down.”
“I’ve got to call her. She’s my freaking hero.” She spun around, wobbling, sending Jason’s heart to his throat, but righted herself and hurried into the living room where she plopped on her bed.
“Meg, you need to take it easy. This isn’t good for your condition.”
“The hell with my condition, Dad, I need to talk to her.” Dismissing her father’s advice, she scrolled through her phone, tapped the screen, and put the phone on speaker. Jason dropped into the arm chair, sinking his head in his hands. Meghan’s heart couldn’t handle this kind of stress, happy and excited as she may be. She needed quiet calm. What the hell was Darla thinking?
After the fourth ring, the call went to voice mail, but Meghan didn’t leave a message. “I’ll call her later. I bet every network in the country is trying to talk to her.”
“Meghan, listen to me—”
“I know, I know, it’s not good for my heart to get all wound up. I get it.” She tossed her phone on the bedside table and crawled to the end of the bed, folding her legs under her. “I promise I’ll try to stay calm, but Dad, this is phenomenal. After all these years, Darla is telling the world what happened to her. This is going to help so many other young girls.”
“I know.” Rubbing the tension from his neck, Jason blew out a sigh and smiled at his daughter. It was good to see color brightening her cheeks, but not like this. “I just don’t want the press to find out it’s you. Can you imagine? They’ll harass you for a statement or some photos.”
“As long as I can get a shower and fix my hair, I’ll be happy to let them take a picture.”
Jason chuckled, wishing he could absorb that devil-may-care attitude of hers and not worry so much. Maybe Darla needed to speak her truth, but not at the expense of his daughter’s well-being. He had a gut feeling things would get much worse before they got better.
***
Jamie slammed the front door, falling against it as he caught his breath. Darla had watched him through a slit in the heavy drapes as he’d fought his way through the members of the press camped outside her house. They had been there since before dawn. Not long after, her phone began to ring, shocking her out of bed, and it hadn’t stopped yet. On the tenth ring, she silenced the phone and left it face down on the kitchen table.
She clutched Jamie’s shoulders in her hands and pulled him for a hug. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
“I’ve been calling you for over an hour. Why didn’t you answer?”
“My phone won’t stop ringing.” She released her death grip around his neck and stepped back, raking her fingers through her hair. “They were out there when I got up. In fact…” She lifted the lace curtain from the sidelight window and set off an explosion of flashbulbs. “My God, now they’re up on my porch.”
“They followed me up the sidewalk.”
“Isn’t that against the law? Aren’t they trespassing?”
“I’ll call Pete down at the police station. See if he can get these people out of here.”
While Jamie called the police, Darla wandered down the hall toward the kitchen, wringing her hands against her stomach, sick at how quickly the news spread from little old Highland Springs to the world. She’d never dreamed an interview with the local paper would draw dozens of reporters to her front door. Realization hit like a brick wall.
“Meghan!” She fell against the kitchen counter.
“Pete’s bringing some officers over in a few minutes,” Jamie said as he came down the hall. “He’ll have them—hey, what’s wrong?”
“If all those reporters are out there, it’s possible Meghan knows what I’ve done.”
“I’m sure she does. It’s all over TV.”
“What?” She rushed back to the living room and clicked the remote.
“What the hell have you been doing around here this morning?”
“Freaking out, what do you think?” Darla’s bottom hit the sofa with a bounce, too weak to stand as she switched channels until she found an all-news station.
“We have an update on that story we reported earlier about the accusations lodged against Governor Clyde Fletcher of West Virginia.” The reporter stood outside the state capitol building near the same steps Darla had taken on her way to confront Clyde. It seemed like a year ago, but in just a few short days, the secret she’d kept bottled up was pouring out on the national news. “The Charleston Gazette is reporting that they’ve had five unconfirmed calls from women stating they, too, had been molested by the governor. Three of the five women promised to come forward in the next few days.”
“I knew it.” Jamie punched his fist into his hand. “I knew Clyde Fletcher was a child molester even back when I was young.” He plopped down beside Darla and gripped her arm. “Remember when he first ran for the state senate? He had that float in the Raspberry Festival Parade, surrounded by teenaged girls. One was sitting on his lap, but not looking too happy.”
“No, I don’t.”
“It might’ve been while you were still living with Patsy. Even then, I thought it was creepy.”
“Why didn’t anyone say anything?”
“I remember Mom said he should be ashamed of himself. I was maybe twelve, thirteen at the time, but even I thought it was sick.” Jamie grabbed the remote from Darla’s limp hand. “Back it up. We’re missing this.”
“A spokesperson for the governor announced he would make a public statement this afternoon from his office inside the capitol building, but wouldn’t answer any questions at this time. Efforts to reach Darla Jean Heartwood, the woman who accused Governor Fletcher, have been unsuccessful.” The reporter ended his segment, and the program moved on to another story.
“I’ve got to get out of here. Someplace the press won’t find me until this all dies down.”
“How the hell are you going anywhere? An army of reporters is on your front lawn.”
“I can’t sit here. I can’t work or sleep. There has to be someplace I can go.”
“How will you get out without them following you?”
Darla rocked back and forth on the couch, chewing her thumbnail. There had to be a way out. Most of the press outside was from out of town, so surely she could lose them on an old country road. Her car was parked out back in the garage. She could sneak out when it turned dark, idle down the alley in the back, and weave her way out of town, losing any tail that may have spotted her escape.
“You can help me.” She stopped her rocking and grabbed Jamie’s hand.
“How?”
“Tonight, around ten o’clock, you stop by for a visit, maybe even talk to the press if they’re still out there.”
“And tell them what?”
“I don’t know. Just stall. I’ll sneak out the back door and drive away. They’ll never know I’m gone.”
For the first time all morning, Darla was hopeful. This covert escape plan of hers could work. She’d drive into Cash’s Holler and hide out at Clara’s for a couple of days. By then, the other women will have come forward and the heat would be off her.
“Where will you go?”
“Aunt Clara’s.”
“That crazy, old coot?”
Whatever It Takes: A Highland Springs Romance (Whatever Series Book 4) Page 17