I was right. It was him in the truck. Those piercing blue eyes. There were so many questions in her head. “So he has his own business?”
“Yes. Your aunt worked hard to convince people that he could be trusted. She helped him a lot.” Jules drained her mug and looked at her watch. “I have to go. I’ll be here tomorrow at eight in the morning to get ready for a therapy session I’m giving. Two cute military guys with PTSD. The horses have done wonders for them so far.” She grinned.
“What about the feeding and all of that? Who takes care of it now that Randall’s gone?”
“Roberto knows what has to be done, and Jared’s been checking on him for free in his spare time.” She looked at her watch again. “He’ll be here soon. Roberto said there’s a problem with the well pump, something that happens a lot, and Jared has fixed it before. Are you gonna be okay if I leave? I have things to do.”
Jared’s coming here? No, I won’t be all right. I’ll never be all right again. “I’ll be okay, thanks, Jules.” She hoped Jules didn’t hear the tremor in her voice.
“Okay. Hasta la vista.” She took both mugs to the sink and left through the back door.
Tara couldn’t move. She was frozen in place. Jared was going to be there soon. She felt like something was pressing on her chest, suffocating her.
She put her hands up to her hair. Oh, no. It was frizzed even worse, and she didn’t have a stitch of makeup on. She stood up on shaky legs and went to the bathroom. She thought about hiding in her bedroom until he was gone, but she would have to face him sometime. He told Jules he’d been set up. But why? And by whom?
If that was true, who did it? Was the real killer still here in Hardship? She rubbed her temples in an attempt to calm the headache that had started and found that her hands were shaking.
She heard the truck coming in.
Holy shit. What am I going to say to him?
Jared was free and working here, and now he was right outside.
Chapter 5
Tara held her breath, waiting for the knock on the door, but it didn’t come. Her anger rose to the surface. She had dreamed about punching and hitting him and hitting him again and again, not only for the murders but for the betrayal of trust. She crept to the window and risked a peek, but she couldn’t see the parking lot unless she went outside.
She slipped on her flip-flops and went out the back door. The dogs ran up to her. She crouched down to pet them and stopped to stare, her heart beating wildly.
Jared stood beside his truck with his back to her, digging for something in his truck box. Unaware of her presence, he pulled his shirt over his head and hung it over the side of the truck. She swallowed. He had bulked up some since she last saw him. She couldn’t keep her eyes off the muscles in his back, the way they moved and tensed as he lifted something out of the box. And he had a tattoo on his shoulder and down his forearm. She couldn’t make out what it depicted. That had to come from prison.
Despite everything. Despite the fact she had fed on her anger for nine-plus years, that she had thought he’d taken away the two people she loved the most in this world, and that she had wanted him to rot in hell—in spite of all that, something inside her ignited. She had no control over it.
He must have felt her watching him. He turned suddenly, and a myriad of emotions flashed across his face. A smile, a scowl, and then he made his face impassive and she couldn’t read it. Piercing blue eyes, a sharp jaw, and high cheekbones. Prison hadn’t changed any of it and he was undeniably handsome. Head-turning, panty-wetting handsome. And he’d grown his sun-bleached brown hair long again. It touched his collar—or where his collar would have been if he wasn’t shirtless.
“Tara-Grace,” he said cautiously in that raspy voice she had once loved so much. He had often used her full name.
“Hello, Jared.” The last time she had seen him was in the courthouse, when she had told him what a repulsive human being he was to have taken her parents from her.
His gaze held hers.
She lifted her chin and took a step forward. “I heard you got off.”
He was silent. She could see a nerve jump in his cheek.
“Now that I’m here, you won’t need to come and check on the horses in the evenings anymore.” She wiped her sweaty hands on her jeans, cursing herself silently for wearing such a thin bra under the tight, travel-wrinkled white T-shirt that was clearly showing her arousal—or anger—by her fucking nipples.
“The well pump,” he said, his eyes flicking over them and moving up to her face. “It’s broken. You may not have noticed it in the house because there was some residual water in the pressure tank.”
Now she could see a hardness in the lines on his face that he never had before. “Oh. I— I guess you should go ahead and work on it. Thank you.” Her words came out all garbled and hasty. Why was she letting him have this effect on her? She had to get away where she could compose herself. She turned to go back into the house.
“Tara-Grace,” he called after her.
She stopped and turned back, feeling her stupid face go red.
“Welcome home.” He had that knowing grin and used the moment to scan her nipples one more time. She hated the effect he had on her. She tried not to notice the way his jeans hung low on his hips.
Holy shit. What in hell’s name was she thinking? For ten years, she had believed he’d killed her parents in a fit of rage. Now she didn’t know what to think. It had taken a lot to convince her that he could commit such a horrendous act. Had she really believed the evidence? She wasn’t sure now. She never wanted to think he could or would be capable of such evil, and now—and now . . . it was all so confusing. Her thoughts spun around in a giant tangle. She didn’t know how she felt—happy, excited, relieved maybe. Yes, perhaps it was relief that washed through her. She had feared his death—didn’t know how she would cope when he was executed.
“Thank you.”
She retreated into the kitchen where she took a moment to breathe out and wait for her thumping heart to calm itself. “I need another cup of hot tea,” she said out loud. She stood in the kitchen and watched the kettle until it boiled. Memories of his touch, of the way he watched her with that intense passion in his eyes when they made love swirled in her head.
She made the tea and sank onto one of the kitchen chairs.
The last time she’d seen him was in court, and she’d spoken harsh words. He had watched her—held her gaze until she finished ranting and then he had shaken his head and said, “I didn’t kill your parents, Tara-Grace. You know I would never do that.”
She’d watched him being taken away, the shackles hindering his gait, and had said quietly through her teeth, “May you rot in hell, Jared White.” At the time, she thought she meant what she said, but now she wasn’t sure. Did she really feel the anger she had projected, or was she acting that way because it was expected of her? Or was she angry because she loved him so much and nothing—not even a heinous act like this could stop the feelings she had for him? That ache that welled up deep inside her whenever she thought of him and it had never gone away.
Now he was free, and she was glad for him. She couldn’t imagine his pain—the fear of death hanging over him for so many years.
If he didn’t murder her parents, then who did? And why?
She took a sip of the tea. The cops said the crime was committed by someone who knew them. They had done their job interviewing others who may have fit the profile. They interviewed everyone who was connected to her parents in any way, including herself, Cassie and Cory, and of course, Aunt Lacey. Then there was the DNA match. That was damning evidence. How could such a crucial piece of evidence be messed up?
How could this have happened to him? To be imprisoned for so many years for a crime he didn’t commit. How did he feel about it? He must harbor a lot of anger a
nd sadness, too. Looking back now, she knew in her heart that apart from the fact Jared wasn’t a murderer and didn’t have it in him to kill like that, he would never have subjected her to such trauma. He had loved her. Of that she was sure. He probably didn’t love her anymore after what she said in the courthouse. She should’ve believed him when he said he was innocent—should’ve supported him when he needed her the most, but she’d been so traumatized.
She sighed and drank more tea. That night had such a huge effect on her life—all their lives. There was life Before and then life After. She saw her therapist, Sally Fielding, for years afterward. Sometimes, she still had moments when she would grab her phone and want to call her. But recently, she had fought against the urge. She didn’t want to have to rely on someone else for emotional support for the rest of her life. She had to learn to handle the insecurity on her own without seeking help. The deep breathing exercises Sally had taught her were always her first strategy—slow, even breaths had a calming effect and slowed the rapid heartbeat a little. Then the grounding exercise—to think of five things she could see, four things she could touch, three things she could hear, two things she could smell, and one thing she could taste. She also practiced meditation and physically channeling her thoughts to a new subject—something uplifting that could be anything as simple as a beautiful sunset or a perfume or a flower.
First, there had been the nightmares she couldn’t handle, when she would relive the night of the murder and wake up sweating, trembling, and crying. Sally had listened and let her talk it out over and over again. It was Sally who suggested that she should stay away from Hardship for a while after the last visit for Aunt Lacey’s sixtieth birthday three years ago. That was when the dreams came back with such intensity that she had almost become addicted to the Zoloft Sally had prescribed to stop the shaking and fear
She didn’t like the side effects—the foggy head, and lack of coordination, even on low doses, but anything was preferable to being in a constant state of anxiety. When she finally admitted to herself that she was addicted to them, she had slowly reduced the dosage, with Sally’s guidance, and suffered through the head and muscle aches and sometimes almost manic mood swings. Sally had warned her she could have psychotic episodes, and without Sally’s help at those times, she would never have been able to keep going. Now she was no longer desperate for the drug-induced calmness they brought. She had kept the drugs handy for several months, though, as an emergency stopgap. She had thrown out the last batch of meds just a couple of days ago because she didn’t want the temptation; to go back to being reliant on them while she was here.
If she had known Jared would be here, she might have kept them.
Chapter 6
Jared couldn’t keep the grin off his face as Tara-Grace walked back into the house. She still had that pert, round ass that exuded attitude. And her nipples had always gone hard like that when she got excited. Or was she angry? She was even more beautiful now that she had matured and put on a little weight, which suited her.
He hated the desperate need for her inside him that made him feel like he was choking. Even though he had expected to see her again, the adrenaline rush made his knees tremble.
It had been her, from the day they met—the moment he first saw her in the distance walking with her friends in grade school. She was what he lived for, despite everything—the cruel things she said in court that day—her attitude was understandable.
He sighed and picked up his tool box. Tara-Grace was still unconvinced he was innocent. He could see it in her face, and he could understand.
There was only one way to clear his name for good in her mind, and all the others who still doubted him. Find the real killer. He had an all-consuming need to get him. He wanted to beat the crap out of him and shake him and ask him why.
Since the day he was convicted, he’d been working on suspects in his mind. While he was inside and ever since he was released, he’d had a lot of time to think about who it might have been, but he’d never come up with anyone concrete who had motive and opportunity. The motive was an enigma to him, and even the cops hadn’t been able to come up with anything stronger than the dumb accusation that he murdered Tara’s parents for their money. It wasn’t like they were rolling in it.
He’d created a detailed database of potential suspects on Excel and been through the list of suspects that the cops had interviewed hundreds of times. A lot of them had strong alibis. He knew them all and he couldn’t see why any of them would want to kill Tara’s parents. There must have been someone the cops missed—someone who bore a huge grudge against him and Tara and was cunning enough to stay out of the limelight.
This person had set him up. Therefore, they had to have known him or known he was Tara’s boyfriend. Did that mean they wanted to move in on her? It couldn’t be that simple. Someone was intensely angry with him, Tara’s parents and Tara His lawyer and the Innocence Project’s people had questioned him over and over, and he had gone through dozens of names, going back to high school. He knew he was a hot-head and he’d been in fights with a lot of dudes, but usually for a good reason, like stopping them from hurting an animal. Surely none of them still held a grudge against him? He was sure he’d remembered all of them and added them to the list of potential suspects. The attorneys and the cops had cleared them all.
He had thought long and hard about the DNA. How could someone have a sample of his DNA in blood? How could it have gotten onto the murder weapon? How? Why? If only he find the fucking answers.
He selected a wrench and started to undo the cowling. He’d gone through every possible suspect in his mind. He grew up in this town, went to school in this town, and pretty much knew everyone who lived in Hardship—the population wasn’t much more than thirteen hundred. He gritted his teeth. He had to find the killer. No matter what, he had to find him—he figured it was a man, but he couldn’t even be sure of that.
He thought about Tara. There had been no crimes in Hardship other than drug possession and petty theft since the day her parents were murdered. He had spent hours on the computer, going through the history of crimes that had happened while he was locked away, and added every single perpetrator to his Excel database. The only other murder recorded in the last twenty years had been a jealous wife shooting her husband.
Random, unprovoked murders just weren’t the normal way of life here.
“Señor, señor!” Roberto yelled in a panicked voice. Jared dropped the wrench and ran around the corner into the barn.
“What the hell?” The chestnut mare’s stable door was open and the Mexican groom was staring at something. “Oh, shit.”
Six-year-old Kaitlyn Boone was standing in the stall holding the horse’s hind leg. Her long, blonde hair was braided into two braids, and she wore blue jeans, pink sneakers and a pink T-shirt with a picture of SpongeBob on it. An orphan who had a fascination for horses and an uncanny way of escaping from her foster home and finding her way to the Center.
“Kaitlyn, sweetheart, what are you doing in there?” Jared forced his voice to sound calm.
Tara rounded the corner. “What’s going on? I heard Roberto yelling.”
He made a pushing motion with his hands and shook his head, hoping to hell Tara would get the message. This kid didn’t respond well to strangers.
The child stood under the horse, hugging its back leg. And there was something wrong with the horse. Copper was usually bomb-proof. A kid could do just about anything to him, but now he was moving his head around in an agitated manner. The whites of his eyes were showing and it was only a matter of seconds before he would start to rear and kick out at the little girl.
Jared reached out very slowly for what seemed an age. The horse tossed its head up and snorted, and Jared lowered his hand and glanced at the child. If the horse started jumping around, Kaitlyn could be seriously injured.
“
Easy,” he said in a low voice. “Easy, Copper. I’m just gonna stroke you.”
Aware of the groom and Tara watching with bated breath, Jared tried again. He made contact with the horse’s neck and slid his hand toward its head. The horse snorted and flattened his ears against his head—a sure sign he was angry.
“Hand me a head collar,” he said quietly.
Tara grabbed one that hung on a hook outside the stall and held it out for him, her face pale.
Jared inched it along the animal’s neck. “Easy, boy. Easy, easy.” He stroked its face. He eased the head collar slowly across the horse’s neck, stroking and muttering soothing words. He didn’t dare to breathe as he slipped it over the horse’s head. “Hold this,” he said to Tara. She took the rope. “Don’t let him move.”
Jared held his hand out. “Come here, Kaitlyn. The horse needs to get out of the stall and you’re in the way.”
The child stared at his hand and then turned away and hugged the horse’s back leg again.
The horse shuffled its legs. “No, sweetheart. The horse doesn’t like that. Come on.”
“I have cookies in the house,” Tara said. “Would you like some?”
The child stared at her with wide eyes, and everyone waited. Then she left her place and took Jared’s hand. He blew out a long breath as he guided her out of the stall.
He wanted to pick her up and carry her, but he knew she didn’t like to be touched, and he was quite surprised she’d allowed him to hold her hand.
He glanced back and saw Tara hand the rope to Roberto as he led Kaitlyn toward the house. RJ, the border collie, approached the child and licked her face. She let go of Jared’s hand and hugged the dog.
“Take Copper out and walk him,” Jared said to Roberto in Spanish. “You know the drill.”
Tempestuous Taurus Page 3
