A nod was all he could manage. That moment had been more intimate than anything he and Karen had ever shared, and it rattled him to the core.
She stepped around him, walked to the end of the hall, and paused. She didn’t face him. “Don’t ever do that again, Hank. We’re not friends, you’re not my boyfriend, you’re just someone I used to know, who I made a huge mistake with. Now leave me alone.”
The command pierced through him. She was right, of course. He needed to leave her alone. She wasn’t his business anymore. Nothing but memories tethered them to one another now.
Chapter Eighteen
Charlie couldn’t wait to get home and drown her sorrows with multiple containers of Greek yogurt. Her first shift at Boon’s had not been a rousing success. The events of the night looped through her brain like one of those crash test dummy commercials—a series of horrible disasters in slow motion, the most dramatic of which was her running to puke three times.
Pod was in time-out, and she had a date with some non-fat, gluten-free, low-sugar dairy products. Lord, she was pitiful. She didn’t even know how to throw a proper pity party. Just one more thing she didn’t know how to do. Like sweep peanut shells, apparently.
Sweeping those freaking husks had been the worst thing Hailey could’ve made her do. The smell of peanut was permanently embedded in her nostrils. Just the thought of it caused her to blow little puffs of air from her mouth.
Then there’d been that stupid uniform. The shorts rode up her ass all night long. She’d pulled them out of her crack so many times that she had blisters forming on her thumb and forefinger. No idea why she bothered, because every time she yanked them free, her butt cheeks would gobble them back up. Humiliating, not to mention uncomfortable.
The top hadn’t been any better. She’d spent the entire shift trying to harness her pregnant boobs in the barely there neck. No small feat, considering they’d begun to take on a life of their own. Every time she moved, they looked like ocean buoys in rough seas. How had they gotten so big in such a short time?
She turned into her grandfather’s drive and rolled to a stop. The real reason for her crappy mood, though, was the encounter with Hank. He was a jumble of mixed messages that her inexperienced heart had no way of deciphering. What had he been thinking? They weren’t lovers. Hell, they weren’t even friends. That thought caused an ache beneath her ribs.
She switched off the car and was just about to open the door when a flash of light from the backyard caught her attention. What the hell? She blinked a couple of times. She must’ve imagined it. No. There it was again. The beam moved back and forth like a pendulum. Who could be in their backyard with a flashlight at one in the morning?
An intruder.
The two pieces of her broken heart began to beat double-time, each trying to out do the other.
Was Pops safe? She had to protect him. He was old and still recovering from his accident. This would scare him to death. She reached for her phone to dial 9-1-1, but the damn thing was dead.
Shit.
How far was it to the front door? Could she make it inside before whoever was in the backyard saw her? There wasn’t a back fence, so they’d have no trouble getting to her if they wanted to.
Even though it was a chilly fall night, sweat broke out around her hairline and on her neck. The baby hairs around her face stuck to her damp forehead. Each inhalation did less and less to fill her needy lungs until she was dizzy and lightheaded.
She needed a plan. The neighbor? No. They were a half a mile up the road. She couldn’t leave Pops alone with some bad guy toting a flashlight, and God knew what else.
From her vantage point, she could see around one side of the house and a small part of the backyard, where the light still swung back and forth.
Get inside and call the authorities. That was her only option. One attempt, then two to unbuckle her seatbelt, and finally, on the third try, her trembling fingers were able to manipulate the release. She flipped the switch so the interior lights wouldn’t blow her cover when she exited the vehicle. As quietly as she could, she opened the car door, thanking God for the lack of streetlights and that there wasn’t a full moon.
Her sweaty fingers slid under the door handle once she was out of the car and she gently closed it. She took just a second to make sure her nerve-rattled legs would hold her before she made a run for it, hoping like hell she could make it.
She never got a chance to find out. A scream ripped up her throat and died against the hand over her mouth.
“Don’t say a word.”
She tried to fight, but he was too big.
“Charlie, it’s me, Hank. Stop fightin’.” He barely breathed the words into her ear.
As soon as the meaning of his whispered command reached her brain, she immediately relaxed. They were saved. Hank was here, and he’d protect them.
“Are you going to scream?” It was wrong that his soft words would cause goosebumps to break out on her skin. She blamed the pregnancy hormones. She shook her head as much as she could with his big paw over her mouth.
“Okay, I’m going to take my hand off your mouth.”
As soon as he did, she spun to face him, and spotted the glint of his service revolver in his hand, pointed at the ground. “Hank, what are you doing here?” She kept her voice as low as he had.
“I followed you home to make sure you made it without any trouble.” He never took his eyes from where the beam of light still roamed the backyard. She didn’t know if that was because he was a good cop, or because he was embarrassed about having admitted he followed her home.
She slid her arms around his middle and squeezed as hard as she could. “Thank you.” The hand not holding his gun went to the back of her head. She took a tiny second to burrow into the safety his big body provided. Not too long, and she tried not to enjoy it too much. Her high susceptibility to the addictive powers of his scent forced her to use restraint.
His mouth came to her ear again. “I need you to get to the house and make sure Wardell is alright.”
Her fingers curled into the folds of his shirt and she held on tight. “I’m not leaving you out here alone.”
He did look at her then, and she glimpsed a flash of white teeth. “Sheriff. Remember?”
A puff of nervous laughter popped from her mouth. “Oh, yeah, right.” Even clinging to him, her whole body trembled and shook.
There was a gunshot and a curse from the backyard. “Hold still, you son of a bitch. I’ve got you now.”
She glanced at Hank, who was staring at where the suspect was located. “Is that…”
“Wardell?”
Was her grandfather fighting with the robber?
Hank took off at a dead run for the backyard. She took off for the house.
As soon as she was inside, she ran to the back porch, flipped on the floodlights, grabbed the landline, and stretched the cord across the kitchen to look out the back window. Thank heaven she did.
Hank was in his cop stance, with his gun drawn on Wardell, who stood in nothing but his thin cotton boxers and cowboy boots. In his hands was a shotgun pointed at the ground. Her grandfather squinted against the floodlights, and his wispy white hair blew in the breeze. He looked like a blinded dandelion.
Ho-lee crap.
Chapter Nineteen
Even with all his training, nothing had quite prepared Hank for the sight of Wardell Pritchett in his underwear toting a shotgun. His spindly bird legs, rising out of old, worn cowboy boots, looked like a couple of white, fuzzy pipe cleaners. “Wardell, what in the hell are you doing? Put down that gun, right now.” He still had his gun trained on the old man, but his finger wasn’t on the trigger.
Wardell let go of the shotgun with one hand to shade his eyes. “Hank?”
“Yes. Put down the gun.”
The screen door screeched, and Charlie walked onto the porch. “Pops?”
Wardell dropped his weapon. “Oh, for the love of… What are you two doing here? Hank,
put that fool thing away.” The man sounded downright testy.
Charlie stepped off the porch and went to Wardell. “I came home from work and saw the flashlight in the backyard. I thought someone was breaking in.” She placed her hand on the old man’s arm. “Why were you out here with a shotgun, Pops?”
Hank could tell by her tone that she thought the old guy was having some kind of episode. He knew better. “Racoons?” His weapon went into the holster under his arm.
“Hell, yeah.” Wardell shook off Charlie’s touch, and his hands went to his hips. “They get in my dadgum garbage, eat my garden, and shit everywhere. I’ve had it with ’em.”
“So you were going to shoot them?” Charlie rolled the whole question around in disbelief, before serving it to Wardell.
“I sure as hell was. I’d have had him too if the little bastard hadn’t come at me.” He waved to the side of the porch where there were buckshot holes.
“Pops! You shot at the house. Did it ever occur to you to just set a trap?” Now her hands were on her hips, and Hank let out a bark of laughter. She pointed her finger at him. “You, be quiet.”
He bit his lip and held his hands up in surrender. “Yes, ma’am.”
Wardell shuffled his feet and wouldn’t look either of them in the face. “I…um…I guess I could get a couple of traps and set them out. I hadn’t actually thought of that.”
Charlie wrapped him in a hug. “We’ll get some tomorrow. You need to get inside before you catch your death of cold. It’s damp and chilly out here.” She began to lead him toward the back door.
The old man stopped and pointed at Hank. “Good to see you, Hank.”
“Good to see you, Wardell.”
“And stay off my roof,” the old man said.
Hank chuckled and watched them make their way across the porch, wanting more than anything to follow them inside and make himself at home.
He should go.
She glanced back at him and mouthed, stay.
That one word kept him rooted to the spot. It was a mistake, but he wanted to try to make things right after he’d behaved like an idiot at the club. He grabbed Wardell’s shotgun from the ground, checked the chamber to make sure it wasn’t loaded, then propped it against the wall of the house, next to the back door.
A light fall breeze cooled the stress sweat that had his shirt plastered to his back. The crisp air carried the earthy smell of damp leaves and dirt along with the slightest hint of wood smoke. With his shoulder against the porch rail, his hands in his pockets, he examined the old oak tree he used to climb to get to Charlie’s window. A warm glow of happiness tucked in around his chest. They’d had the best times together…until they hadn’t. He dropped his chin to his chest. The back of his boot heel tapped against the front of the top step. She’d gone and never come back.
The sound of the refrigerator opening made him glance over his shoulder. Through the open back door, he could see her. She was standing with her hair piled on top of her head, the light of the appliance illuminating her lovely face. Pressure built in his chest until air could barely squeeze through his lungs. He didn’t want to want her. Hated the war of emotion her presence inflicted on his resolve to do the right thing. But there was something so basic about their connection that he didn’t know if he’d ever be able to fully extricate it from his life.
“Wanna come in?” She stood with the screen door open, two bottles of water dangling from her fingers.
He shook his head then cleared his throat. “Better not.”
She nodded like she’d known what his answer would be. She handed him the drink and took a seat at the patio table.
“Thanks.” He took the chair opposite her.
They drank their water in silence until he shook his head and chuckled. When she snorted water out of her nose, they both cracked up laughing.
They laughed until his sides hurt. Every time he thought he’d gotten a hold of himself, they’d make eye contact, and he’d lose it all over again. “What the hell just happened?”
She wiped her moist eyes with the sleeve of her shirt. “I have no idea.”
“His boxers were so thin, I saw his junk.” He scrubbed his hand over his face. “I’ll have nightmares about that forever.”
She frantically waved her hands in front of her face. “TMI! TMI! TMI!” She dissolved into a fit of giggles again.
The air backed up in his lungs at the sight of her flushed face and dancing eyes. He wanted it to be like this between them all the time. Not like the ugly scene at the bar. “I’m sorry, Charlie.”
Her laughter dried up like the dead leaves in the yard, and her back went straight as a board. “For?”
“Tonight. Hell, for everything.” He crossed his arms on the table top. “But most recently for tonight. I was a jackass. We have no tie to each other, what you do is your business. Will you accept my apology?”
The strangest look passed over her face, then she nodded.
“Thank you.” He tapped his fingers on the tabletop. “I’d like us to be friends if we can.”
She cocked her head. “Friends?”
“Yes.”
“And how would we go about doing that, Hank?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. We talk to each other. I won’t act like an ass, and you won’t get mad at me.” He took her smirk as acceptance of his terms. “Why don’t you tell me a little about Hollywood?” There was so much about her that he wanted to know. He reached for his water, then leaned back in his chair. “When do you have to go back?”
She glanced away, and there was a real danger she’d chew off her gorgeous bottom lip. “I’m…um…” She blew out a breath and sat up straighter. “I’m not going back. I’m staying in Zachsville.”
The bottle halted halfway to his mouth. “I don’t understand.”
“I’ve retired. Surely you heard about me firing my management team? I’m done.”
“Yeah, but I thought that was… Won’t you miss it? I mean, all that fame and fortune would be hard to walk away from.” Some bizarre combination of panic and joy gripped him. This was the best and worst news he’d ever heard.
“Will I miss it?” She shrugged and picked at the label on her water bottle. “Some of it, maybe, but if I’m honest, it’s a huge relief. Stardom isn’t what it’s cut out to be. Or it wasn’t for me anyway.”
That wasn’t what he’d expected her to say at all. He’d always assumed that she’d never gotten in touch with him because she loved her life in LA. That she’d had no place for a country bumpkin like him. “Really? I thought you were happy there.” He propped the statement up with as much nonchalance as he could pull together.
“No.” Her face reflected all the regret he’d lived with since she left. “I missed home. I missed my family. I missed…you.”
He was about to lose his freakin’ mind. He’d given up on her when she turned eighteen and hadn’t come back to him. When she was old enough to make her own choices, and didn’t choose him. “But you never came back or reached out to me. I thought you didn’t want…” He had to get more moisture to his throat. Another swig of water, then another. “I thought you were happy.”
Both lips disappeared between her teeth, and she shook her head. “My mom wouldn’t let me have contact with anyone here in Zachsville, even Pops and Grams.” The pain etched in her expression gutted him. “She didn’t even let me come back for Grams’ funeral.” One shoulder rose then fell. “After so much time had passed, I figured you’d moved on without me.”
Shit. Shit. SHIT.
“Charlie, I called all the time, then your number changed, and I couldn’t get in touch with you. I waited for you to come back when you turned eighteen, but you never did.”
“And you moved on.”
“Yeah.” He could hardly believe his own answer. “Karen and I started dating about nine months after your eighteenth birthday. We got married a couple of years later.” What a massively screwed up situation.
A sad
smile pushed at the corners of her mouth. “I understand, Hank. It wasn’t your fault. I made an assumption about you, about us, and it was wrong. I shouldn’t have done that. I should’ve called or come to see you when I was no longer under her control. That’s on me.”
His whole relationship with Karen was based on his belief that Charlie hadn’t wanted him. The house of cards that was his marriage began to wobble under the weight of this revelation. He strained to keep it upright.
“Wait. If you’ve retired, then why are you working at Boon’s? You said you were studying for a role.”
Two pink spots appeared on her cheeks. “I never said that.”
“Yes, you did. I asked if you were studying for a role, and you said you were.”
“No.” A little mischief crept back into her voice. “You just thought that’s what I was doing, and I didn’t correct you.”
“Then why?”
She eyed the door, then chewed on her thumbnail.
What was going on? “Charlie?”
When she looked at him, her eyes were blue ice. “I’m broke.”
“Broke? How?”
Her slender fingers massaged her temples. “My mother.”
“What did that bitch do?” Shelly Klein was the worst, most vindictive, self-serving person he’d ever met. And considering he was in law enforcement, that was saying something.
A humorless huff shot from her mouth. “Now that is a long story. I’m tired, and not in the mood to tell it.” She stood and took both their empty bottles.
His head spun with all of the information that had just come his way. “What will you do?”
She smiled like a woman who’d just broken out of prison. “Whatever the hell I want to do.” Her eyes dropped away from him briefly. “I’m going to bed. You’ll understand if I don’t walk you to your car.”
“Sure.” It was about the only thing he’d understood in the last fifteen minutes. She was done with Hollywood. She hadn’t rejected him. And she was in Zachsville for good. How was he supposed to move on now?
He thought of his wife. His vow. And solidified his resolve.
Running From the Law Page 11
