A gum-snapping waitress brought over a menu and water. The front door opened again. Owen’s tall figure cast a long shadow across the dining room. The conversation stopped once more, but this time it resumed in hushed whispers. He slid behind a table on the far wall. The man sitting at the adjacent booth tossed a ten-dollar bill beside his plate and left. Several others shifted places to the opposite side of the room. Owen stared at his menu, brows lowered and jaw tensed. The blatant snub made my blood boil. I pushed back my chair, legs scraping loudly over the floor, went to Owen’s side, and tapped him on the shoulder.
“Yeah?” The deep growl of his voice might have intimidated a lesser person. He glanced over his shoulder at me, the lines between his eyes smoothing. “What?”
“May I join you?”
“No.” His terse refusal stung more than I cared to admit.
“I insist.” I gathered my things and claimed the chair across from him. He sighed heavily and shook his head.
“We shouldn’t be seen together like this.” He started to push away from the table. I placed my hand over his, intending to stop him. He flinched. The meeting of my palm with his skin sent a jolt of awareness up my arm. Our eyes connected over the top of a green plastic vase filled with daisies. I dropped my hand into my lap, curling and uncurling my fingers to dull the buzzing left by his warm skin.
“What can I get for you?” The waitress tossed her long ponytail over her shoulder and tapped her pen on the order pad.
“I’ll have the special and sweet tea with lemon,” I said.
“Me too.” Owen continued to stare at me. I wanted to look away but was trapped in the depths of those eyes with their inky lashes. It was so unfair to see lashes like that on a man. He shifted back in his chair, stretching his legs beneath the table, carefully avoiding my feet. When the waitress left, he said, “People are going to talk.”
“Calm down. It’s just lunch.”
“I don’t give two shits what people say about me, but you don’t want to be associated with an ex-convict.”
“You have no idea what I want.” I’d been on the wrong side of gossip my entire life. People judged me for my upbringing, my wardrobe, the stud in my nose, and my nomadic lifestyle—pretty much anything that made me different from them. “If anyone asks, I’ll say you’re working at my house, and we were discussing changes.” I paused to let the waitress drop off a plate of rolls and our iced tea. “What’s the deal with Officer Coley? Dad says that happens a lot.”
“He doesn’t like me. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not exactly Mr. Popularity in this town.” His mild tone belied the sparks in his eyes. “People don’t like having a murderer in their midst.”
“Then why did you come back here? You could have gone anywhere—started a new life in a new town.” At the narrowing of Owen’s eyes, I lowered my voice a notch and tried to loosen my grimace into something more pleasant. “You always hated this place.”
“You mean, why did I come back here and ruin your life?” This time, he didn’t try to hide the animosity in his voice. “I told you. I had no idea you lived in Corbett.” He picked up the butter knife beside his plate. Sunlight glinted off the silver blade, momentarily blinding me. I flinched at the sight of his fingers on the knife, remembering Chris and the way he’d died. “News flash, Stella. Not everything is about you.”
“Don’t blame me for your situation.” Of course, he blamed me. I blamed myself. “You confessed to killing Chris. You caused this situation. Not me.” The amount of anger bubbling up from my core caught me by surprise.
“You’re pissed?” He snorted and shook his head, like I’d said the most amusing thing in the world. “Go ahead. Get it off your chest. You won’t be the first or last person in line to take a poke at me.”
“I’m not pissed.” But it was a lie. I was angry with him—angry for going to prison, for dumping me, for showing up on my doorstep and threatening the fragile happiness I’d built. Because now I questioned everything—my feelings for him and for Michael and the sensibility of moving back to a place with so many turbulent memories. The selfishness of my thoughts brought a lump to my throat. “I just want answers. I need closure.”
“Don’t worry. I have no intention of screwing up your life.” The thick vein running up his tattooed arm pulsed with each beat of his heart.
“You screwed up my life when you refused to talk to me eighteen years ago.” We glared at each other. He hadn’t shaved this morning, and sparks of gold glistened in the dark stubble on the sharp line of his jaw. I searched for traces of the boy I’d once loved in the chiseled features of this man. A small scar nicked one thick eyebrow. That was new. His lips were fuller but still had the same sensitive Cupid’s bow. Once upon a time, I’d loved to kiss that mouth. The memory took the edge off my anger. Although I couldn’t condone what he’d done, I understood.
“Keep your voice down,” he growled and shoved his chair in reverse. “Peggy, I’ll take my lunch to go.” Our legs tangled beneath the table. His knee slid along the inside of my thigh. I hissed at the ensuing flutter of desire. The motion in the room ground to a halt. The voices dissipated until we were alone. Him. Me. And the fucked-up mess of our pasts.
“Go ahead. Leave.” My voice cracked on the words, catching on my dry lips. A relentless thirst burned the walls of my throat, one that couldn’t be quenched by water. I needed space and time away from him to regain my control before I did something stupid like kiss him.
At the counter, the waitress boxed up his meal. Her hands shook as she handed him the container. He slapped some money beside the cash register, and without a backward glance, strode out of the building. I watched him cross the street, saw the way pedestrians moved out of his path, parting like a school of fish around a shark.
A hand tapped my shoulder. I blinked away from Owen and up to the face of a twenty-something young woman with a blond ponytail and round blue eyes. “Hi. You’re Stella Valentine, right? I don’t mean to interrupt your meal, but I’m Velma Nixon. I work for The County Reporter. Do you have a minute?”
Ten
Owen
Eighteen Years Ago
On the last day of July, I met Stella at the covered bridge. It was midday, and the sun was high in the sky. She wore cute little cutoff denim shorts, and when she saw me, a smile brightened her face. Her smile gave a lightness to my heart that only existed when we were together. We’d spent every minute of every day exploring the countryside over the past few months. My addiction to her was so bad that I woke up an hour earlier every morning in anticipation of moments like this one. I tried not to think about leaving her for college in the fall. She still had a year of high school to complete.
“Hey. How was the contest?” I leaned down to give her a kiss on the cheek. At my urging, she’d entered a photograph in the county fair contest. Stan had filled out the paperwork, paid the entry fee, and helped her choose a picture for submission.
“Grand prize.” Her smile widened. The bright sun sparkled in the depths of her eyes. Thoughts of those eyes kept me awake at night. “I’ve never won anything before.”
“I knew you’d win. You’re amazing.” With the pad of my thumb, I traced the line of her jaw.
She rolled her eyes but kept smiling. “Oh, please.”
“Don’t be modest. Someday, you’re going to do great things.”
“I don’t know about that.” The happiness faded from her face. “I want to get a degree in journalism, but I’ll never be able to afford tuition.”
I sat beside her and threaded her fingers through mine. Her hands were small, the bones fragile and delicate. “If you want it badly enough, you’ll find a way. I’ll help you. Did you talk to the guidance counselor?”
She snorted. “Yeah. I did. He said I shouldn’t set my sights so high, that people like me don’t get scholarships.”
My temper began to simmer. “You’re kidding me. He did not say that.”
“Um, yes, he did. He also said ther
e’s no shame in working minimum wage jobs and ‘my kind’ hold a valuable place in society.” She drew air quotes around the offensive phrase.
“That’s bullshit.” This girl had been dealt so many rotten blows by fate. Where did this guy get off by ruining her dreams? “Maybe you can get accepted into my college, and you can stay with me.” The grip of her fingers loosened before sliding entirely from my grasp. She tucked her hair behind her ears and stared across the football field. I shifted to capture her attention. “What’s wrong?”
“You know, I’m probably not going to be around much longer.” Her statement stabbed fear into my heart. “We’ve never been with any family more than a few months, and we’ve been here eight months already. Marianne hasn’t been feeling well, and I know we’re a burden. I’ve been trying to help out around the house, but I can tell she’s exhausted.” Her next words twisted my insides into a painful knot. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to get too attached to each other.”
“Are you getting attached to me?” With a finger beneath her chin, I tilted her face up to mine. She blinked and tried to look away, but I held her in place. “Answer me, Stell.”
“Yes.” Her admission meant more to me than a touchdown after a tied score.
“Don’t be so thrilled about it.” I tried to be flippant but sounded like an arrogant ass instead. The amount of pain in her voice stirred my insecurities. She was too good for me. I was going to lose her.
“The thought of never seeing you again hurts,” she admitted. “But I think we both need to be prepared. It’s going to happen whether we like it or not.”
The wind shifted, blowing a strand of her ebony hair over her smooth forehead. I brushed the lock away from her eyes. She blinked up at me, trusting and fearful, and something broke inside me. I swallowed and looked away, desperate to evade my feelings. Love had no place in my future. Football and college were my tickets out of Corbett and the clutches of my family, but I couldn’t deny my need to have her any more than I could deny the need for oxygen in my lungs.
“There has to be a way, Stella. I’ll get a job—two jobs—we can make it work.” Desperation cracked my voice.
“I don’t know.” Her whispered reply held the threat of tears. “I still have a year of high school left. You’ll be there. I’ll be—somewhere else…” Her voice trailed away.
I’d been spending more and more time at the Hudgens’ house, helping Stan with chores, to be around Stella. At night, she sneaked out of the house and met me at the river. We’d been fooling around quite a bit, with each encounter getting more and more intense. Sooner or later, we were going to go all the way. Although the hormonal teenage guy inside me was ecstatic, a deeper part of me knew that once we did it, I’d be lost to her forever. Unlike Chris, who screwed any girl with a heartbeat, I’d only slept with one girl—Suzie—because I thought we were in love. After spending time with Stella, I recognized the difference between my feelings for her and my former girlfriend. Every minute away from Stella felt like an eternity. I wanted to be a better person for her.
At the edge of the road, she dropped to one knee to tie the straggling laces of her left boot. When her head bowed, the movement revealed a series of parallel bruises along the slender column of her neck. Catching the direction of my gaze, she quickly brushed her hair over her shoulder, but not before I saw the round, purple fingerprints beneath the collar of her jacket.
“Who did this?” I grabbed her by the elbow and hauled her to her feet. “Was it Stan?”
“What? No. Don’t be silly.” Her stubborn gaze turned away. “It’s nothing.”
“It looks like somebody tried to strangle you.” She yanked her elbow from my grasp and started walking toward the bridge where a group of our classmates had congregated. They turned to watch the spectacle of our argument. Up until this point, we’d been secretive about our relationship, only because it was private and special. I was so filled with rage that I didn’t care who saw or heard us. I caught up to her and yanked her around to face me. “I want to know who did this to you.”
“Keep your voice down. People are staring.”
“I don’t give a fuck who’s watching.” The thought that someone could hurt her made my brain short-circuit. “Give me a name. Right now.”
“It was Chris, all right?” Her gaze slid away to the horizon where the inky black sky met the cornfields.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I shoved my hands through my hair, overcome with frustration and fury. “What happened?”
“I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d react like this.” She sighed and shook her head. “I found Lanie with him again. They were…making out in the back of his car, and I don’t know what else.” A shudder ran down her body. The color drained from her already pale skin. “We argued. I told him I’d go to the police if he ever touched her again. I should’ve told you, but I knew you’d be pissed.”
As if on cue, Chris and his sleazy buddies pushed through the kids. My vision turned red. I’d put up with his shit for the past eighteen years, but he’d gone too far this time.
Chris caught my gaze and smirked. “What’s your problem?”
“You. You’re my problem.” I grabbed Stella and opened the collar of her shirt to expose the bruises. “Look what you did to her. What’s wrong with you?”
“She stuck her nose where it doesn’t belong. The bitch deserved it if you ask me.” Even though he was ten months older, I had a good three inches in height and twenty pounds of muscle over him. I shoved him backward until he stumbled. He rubbed his shoulder, still wearing his trademark smirk. “Easy, bro.”
“If you ever touch her again, I will fucking kill you,” I said and meant it.
Eleven
Stella
Present Day
The strains of a country song drifted from the jukebox to my table at the diner. The young woman in front of me smiled. She looked too young to be a serious journalist, but then I’d been young once too. Without waiting for an invitation, she pulled out Owen’s chair and took a seat. The ends of her ponytail swayed with the momentum of her actions. “I hope you don’t mind the interruption.”
The waitress plopped a plate of food on the table in front of me. Gravy sloshed over the edges and made brown circles on the white paper placemat. I waited for her to leave before I met Velma’s gaze. “If you don’t mind watching me eat, then you’re welcome to stay.” Something about the brightness in her eyes lifted the hairs on the back of my neck. I’d seen that same look in a female lion stalking prey. My instincts, honed by years of self-preservation, kicked into high gear. “What can I do for you?”
She slid a business card beside my plate. “I was passing through on my way home. I’ve been over to the next town to interview a woman who just gave birth to quadruplets. That’s probably pretty dull compared to the topics you’re used to covering.” When I didn’t comment, she kept talking. “Anyway, I recognized you and thought I’d come over and say hi. I loved your article in last month’s National Geographic. It must be great to travel the world like that.”
Her bubbly enthusiasm rubbed me the wrong way. Had I ever been that shiny and bright? Maybe I was too damn jaded for my own good. I sucked in a cleansing breath and tried to smile. “Living out of a suitcase gets old after a while.” My answer gave me pause. I held my fork in midair. Is that really how I felt? I loved the thrill of landing in a new country, meeting new people, and navigating unfamiliar cultures. Since coming back to Corbett, however, the thought of taking my clothes from a suitcase and putting them into a dresser drawer had taken on a new appeal.
She nodded, but I could tell she didn’t believe me. “Do you have any words of advice for someone new to the business?”
The roast beef was delicious, perfectly seasoned, and tender. I dipped a forkful into the mashed potatoes and gravy and chewed thoughtfully before answering her question. “Work hard. Choose your subject matter carefully. Never take no for an answer. Oh, and patience is your
best friend.”
“I don’t suppose you’d let me do an interview about you?” The space between us narrowed as she leaned forward. Too eager and too nice for my liking.
“Not right now. I just moved into my house, and I’ve got a lot going on. Maybe another time.” The best part about my job was hiding behind the lens of a camera and expressing my thoughts through words on a page. I had no interest in claiming the spotlight.
“Okay. Sure.” She stood but hovered next to the table, like I might change my mind. Her gaze went to the spot where Owen’s truck had been parked across the street. “That guy you were talking to. He looks familiar. Who is he?”
“Um, he’s part of the construction crew working on my house.” She waited for me to continue. I stared back at her. “Other than that, I can’t tell you much.”
“Oh, well.” Cotton candy perfume followed the wave of her hand through the air. “Sorry to have bothered you. It was nice meeting you. Enjoy your lunch. I’ll catch up with you soon.”
Michael called a few minutes after I turned out the lights that night. I snuggled deeper into the smooth sheets and let the stress of the day float away on the soothing purr of his voice. Outside the open window, crickets chirped, and a dry wind rustled through the trees. It was so dark here without street lights to brighten the neighborhood or stars to illuminate the sky. Normally, the quiet lulled me to sleep. Not tonight.
“Did I wake you?” he asked.
“No. I’m up. Can’t sleep.” Constant thoughts of Owen kept my mind in turmoil. I rolled onto my back and kicked off the sheets. My body ached in places I hadn’t known possible after dozens of trips up and down ladders and holding a paint roller all afternoon. “It’s so hot here.” Sweat trickled between my breasts and beaded on my forehead. “I need to buy a fan.”
Lies We Tell Page 7
