by Lisa Jackson
“Would you like a fan, Ruthie?” he asked in that deep voice, which had grown sexier with age. “Once the place fills up, it’s going to be hot in there.”
“You remember me?” She accepted a fan, noticing the navy button-down shirt and khaki pants. Not quite the bronc rider she remembered.
“You were the ghost girl I passed every day as I was leaving the chem lab in senior year of high school. I could always count on you to say hello, but you disappeared pretty fast after that.”
She was surprised and tickled that he knew her. “You were a big rodeo star back then.”
He smiled. “I was out of my league.”
“Oh come on. You were hot. I didn’t think you’d notice a nobody like me.”
“Everybody’s somebody,” he said as Ruth’s mother touched her arm.
“We need to go,” Bev reminded. “Can’t be late.”
Ruth nodded at Ethan, reluctant to leave.
“There’s a lemonade social after the service,” he said, handing a fan to Bev before they walked in. “I hope to see you both there.”
Organ music filled the small, airy church as they slid into a pew in the second row.
“You know Coach Starr?” her mother asked under her breath.
Ruth leaned back against the cool wood of the pew. “From high school,” she answered, trying to keep it simple. “He’s a coach now?”
Bev shushed her and handed her a song book as a flourish of organ music signaled the first song.
There was comfort to be had in some church rituals, but during the first two songs and opening reading Ruth had trouble keeping her thoughts from straying. Thoughts of Ethan Starr were like mind candy, and she wondered if he was single, why he’d come back to town, what had become of his rodeo career. She longed to twist around in the pew like a five-year-old and search the congregation for his earnest blue eyes. Restraint, she reminded herself.
*
Ruth’s interest was drawn back to the moment when her father focused his sermon on the tragedies that had befallen Prairie Creek in the past few days. He intoned gravely, “I invite you to join me in praying for the safe return of Addie Donovan, a young lady from this congregation. Her parents, Debra and Jeremy, are here with us, and I pray that they’ll feel a groundswell of God’s love and support.”
It was more compassion than she had ever seen from Robert McFerron. He spoke of the importance of pulling together as a community to support families in crisis and maintain the safety of children and young people. “God bless Addie Donovan and her family.”
Would you have talked that way if I had been snatched away in high school? Would you have supported me if you found out I was raped?
Shifting on the pew, Ruth realized her father was a fine public speaker, but a lousy human being. Handsome, engaging, narcissistic, and quick to find fault, Rob McFerron had been a charming but harsh father. For a preacher looking to ward followers off sin, that quality could be helpful, but Ruth had learned the hard way that a hypercritical bent made a man a terrible father or husband. How had her mother put up with it all these years?
Ruth knew how unbearable a man like that could be; she’d been married to one too. So classic to marry a man like your father, warts and all. She had hooked up with Sterling Baker because he seemed so sure of right and wrong. But as she grew and learned to stand on her own two feet, she felt smothered by Sterling’s way of life. It was a relationship so tight, she could barely breathe.
Five years ago, when she asked for space, Sterling refused to let go. For a time, she worried that he would snap and get violent. She began making preparations to leave Santa Barbara, knowing that she was walking a tenuous line by taking their daughter out of state without having full custody. She began to take Penny to their favorite places in Santa Barbara—the palm-lined beach, the pier, the zoo. They went for pancakes at Sambos and ice cream at McConnell’s on State Street. In Ruth’s mind, they were saying good-bye before heading across the country to anonymity.
Thank God, Penny had proven to be the great equalizer. Sterling could be selfish and depraved, but even he would not knowingly harm their child. Besides, he’d started having an affair with Suki, so he had a woman to take Ruth’s place.
She had been grateful when he found Suki and started a family; he’d even lost interest in playing father to Penny, agreeing to let her move back to Wyoming with Ruth so that he could focus on his wife, and his twin sons, designer dogs, and sports cars.
“Brothers and sisters, let us pray,” her father said, spreading his hands wide. “Father God, we ask that you grant the safe return of Addie Donovan.”
“Amen,” the congregants agreed.
“And God bless the soul of Courtney Pearson,” said the minister. “May she rest in peace.”
“Amen,” said Ruth softly, thinking: There but for the grace of God go I.
*
After the service, the Donovans were surrounded by congregants who lined up to offer support. Ruth went to the opposite end of the reception room, deciding to wait for now and avoid overwhelming the tense couple. She saw Jan Pearson, bent over and pressing a handkerchief to her mouth, being guided away by a man and woman, whom she believed were Rachel Byrd’s parents. Ruth’s heart ached. She wanted to offer them all comfort, but sensed that Jan, and maybe the Byrds as well, wanted to escape too much attention. Earlier she’d thought she’d recognized Erin Higgins’s parents, but they were nowhere to be seen now.
Then she saw Cal Haney in line with a short, doe-eyed woman, his wife, and her decision to back off from the man was affirmed, especially when he spotted her and gave her a wink.
She moved toward the refreshment table in the corner, saying hello to a few people who remembered her from high school as she passed. Her return to Prairie Creek had made her realize how isolated she had become in high school after the trauma. With no friends and no emotional access to her parents, she had spent the last two years of high school in a stoic zombie mode, pushing herself to survive, get her diploma, and escape this place.
As she sipped a glass of lemonade, she overheard people talking about the Prairie Creek football team, one man encouraging the other about a son who had been dropped from the roster last year because of grades.
“Wyatt’s a gifted player. He’s pretty tricky out there as a running back. Let him know that this is his time for a second chance. If he can apply himself and get the grades this year, I’d be thrilled to play him.” The coach’s voice was low and gravelly. She shot a glance over and saw that it was Ethan.
“I’ll let the boy know,” the player’s father said. “Coming from you, Coach, that’ll mean a lot to him.”
“And you tell him that we can get him with a tutor if he needs help with academics. It’s up to him. If he’s willing to apply himself, there’s no limit to where he can go.”
“Thanks, Coach. Much appreciated.”
As the player’s parent walked away, Ethan turned to Ruth. “And that would be the summer recruitment portion of my day.”
She laughed. “So you’re the football coach. You must be pretty popular.” Out here, high school football was the only thing happening on a Friday night. “Still competing in rodeo?”
“Not for years. That last bronc ride earned me a spinal injury, and I had to switch professions from entertainment to education.”
“Oh no.”
“Nah, it’s fine. I give horseback riding lessons out at the Dillinger ranch, but mostly I’ve moved on to teaching and coaching.”
“Do you miss the rodeo?”
“I’m pretty happy where I am. Though it appears I’m a disappointment to my father.”
“Really? He says that?”
“Not to me directly, but it’s there.”
“You two had a falling out?”
“More like the old man is disappointed that I didn’t follow in his footsteps.”
Ruth recalled that Patrick Starr used to be a detective. “He wanted you to have a career in law enfo
rcement? Isn’t that what Kat chose?”
“He’s still a little uncomfortable having a daughter in a traditionally male profession. I think it’s getting better. We all made our choices quite a while ago. But I’m definitely the outcast.”
“That’s a shame. It must be hard on you.”
“I don’t want to talk about it. Oh, wait—I just did.” He gave a casual smile. “See how you did that? You must be a kickass therapist, Dr. Ruth.”
They both chuckled, and Ruth realized it was the first light moment she’d experienced since the bad news had broken this week. It felt good to laugh, even if just for a moment.
“How is Kat doing?” she asked. “She must be busy with everything that went on this week.”
“I’d imagine. We have dinner together whenever we can, but she’s been canceling lately, blaming it on work, which, unfortunately, is probably the truth. She’s still single, like me. I don’t think there’s a man alive who could put up with her stubbornness.”
“Underneath that shell, there’s a heart of gold.” Kat had been kind to her, but they were both too young and immature to help each other through the trauma of that night.
“Does she know you’re in town?” he asked. “You two used to be friends, right?”
Ruth thought of the recent phone calls and texts she’d ignored. “That was fifteen years ago. A lot of things have changed.”
“True, but you didn’t turn into an asshole, and neither did Kat. You two could meet on common ground.” He held up a finger and glanced in both directions. “Okay, I’ve got to stop with the potty mouth. This is a place of worship.”
“Right. Save it for the sidelines, Coach.”
“We should get together,” he suggested. “The three of us. Kat will want to see you.”
“Oh, I don’t know.”
“Am I being too pushy?”
“No. It’s not you. It’s—it’s me.”
“That is the oldest blow-off in the book, Ruth. You’ve got to come up with something more original than that.”
He scared a laugh out of her. “Sorry, I just … can’t do it now. Building a business, settling in with my daughter.”
“Fair enough. So I’ll give you some time. How does two weeks sound?”
She looked away in regret. She couldn’t tell him that it was his sister she was avoiding. She saw that the group of people on the other side of the room was dispersing and said, “I need to go over and speak with the Donovans. It’s been great talking with you, Ethan. I hope to see you around.”
“Same.” The glimmer in his eyes made her want to stick around, and it had been a long time since she’d felt this way about any man.
A long, long time.
*
The sun blazed low in the sky as the two lovers peeled their naked bodies apart and began to pull their clothes on. Through the field glasses he had watched the two of them, Shiloh Silva and Beau Tate, mating like pigs in spring at their favorite spot by the river where they thought they were hidden from view.
Wrong.
Sunday was supposed to be a day of rest, but they’d gotten their rocks off. He’d gotten off too, but barely. The new girl was too young and inexperienced. Stiff as a board and always whimpering like a puppy.
His cock hardened at the memory of Courtney. She’d had a reputation, that girl, but it had been all talk. She hadn’t known what to do with a man at all. But he’d taught her. He’d taught her good. Her body had ripened into a fine specimen of a woman, with round breasts and hands that he’d trained to service him. She’d learned where to stroke and when to let go, schooled her in all the tricks of a whore, things no decent woman should know. With Courtney, he had been able to get it all out, all the rage and roaring sexual desire that drove him stir-crazy when it was pent up inside.
And he’d loved her husky voice when he prodded her to say, “Only you can do it for me, Lover.”
Damn, but he missed her. He’d actually teared up when he found her body; getting soft as an old hag, he was. He’d had to get rid of the body, and his plan had been to burn her remains, remove any trace of possible DNA he might have left on her. But the damn fire starter hadn’t sparked, and he’d run out of time, and now he was fucked if they found something that would give him away. Maybe the gasoline would destroy evidence. He’d even gone so far as to put some inside her.
But it was all wrong anyway. The police were beating bushes and buzzing through the sky in their helicopters like pesky overgrown insects, but they didn’t get it. They kept saying she’d been murdered, but it wasn’t true. He would have never killed her. Killing wasn’t his thing … as a rule. Sure, he’d killed once, but only because he had to. That bitch had tried to kill him, so he’d had to stop her. That was the one and only reason. Well, that and the fact that she planned to run home to tell the cops everything. RIP, little bitch.
But she was gone too. Long gone. And now clumsy, simpering Addie was a poor substitute.
He needed another. A ripe, experienced woman.
Shiloh Silva would fit him just fine. Or Ruth Baker … but with Shiloh back in town …
She could teach the younger one a thing or two, bring her from an awkward filly to a galloping mare. He’d had two at the same time before. Double the pleasure. And he had no trouble handling them.
Thinking of her caused his cock to go hard, despite the pounding he’d given Addie earlier.
He needed more.
He wanted Shiloh, the wild girl. She owed him for leaving a wound on his flesh, the little bitch. He would tease her and pin her and give her more of a pounding than Beau Tate would ever deliver. He would get her, and good.
Soon enough, she’d get her invitation. After that, it was just a waiting game until he could pounce on her when she was alone.
Just a matter of time.
Chapter 15
“That’s the latest news, right there.” Jimmy Woodcock motioned Ruth to come around his desk so that she could see the monitor he was turning her way.
Although she had been avoiding the office of the Prairie Winds for weeks, Ruth’s encounter with Woodcock at the diner had reminded her that it was high time to buy advertising for the rape hotline in his newspaper and on his media website. This shell of a storefront with a handful of abandoned desks was emptied of full-time reporters and photographers after the last economic downturn had hit town, and she found it a little creepy that Jimmy worked in a desk set at the dark back of the cave. Reluctantly, Ruth came around behind him and squinted at the screen to avoid getting too close to him. Although Woodcock was smooth and attractive in a lost cowboy sort of way, something about him repelled her.
Her jaw dropped at the headline: COURTNEY PEARSON 15-YEAR SEX SLAVE.
It was a confirmation of the fear that had shadowed her all these years. There was a brutal predator out there, and he was a monster.
Woodcock pointed to the screen. “The police think Courtney spent the last fifteen years as a prisoner. Someone’s sex slave, right here in our own backyard. Ha!” He swiveled his chair toward Ruth, causing her to take a step back. “That’s a story if there ever was one.”
“That’s absolutely horrific.” Ruth found his enjoyment despicable.
“A terrible thing,” he agreed, “but tragedy sells papers. I was just polishing off this draft to get it online. I’ll fill out the story for tomorrow morning’s edition of the paper.”
“What are the police basing their theory on?”
“Some wounds and long-term scarring around the wrists and ankles. The girl was kept shackled up. Some malnutrition, too. Some of her teeth went bad.” He shook his head. “Did you know her, back in the day?”
“I knew who she was. She seemed so tough and determined. When she disappeared, I wanted to believe that she went to Vegas or Dallas and found the excitement she craved.”
“Well, isn’t that a sunny point of view,” he said with a flirtatious grin.
Ruth frowned, kicking herself for opening up to him at al
l. “That’s highly disturbing news, but I stopped in for something else. I tried to book some advertising on your website, but I couldn’t find any way to do it.”
“Yeah, well, we’re not as tech savvy as those bigger papers over in California. It’s just me here at the helm. But I can do that for you. Have a seat,” he said, turning his computer monitor back toward the corner as she sat down on a hard wooden chair and found the notes in her bag.
“I want to run some advertising for my hotline.” She handed him a typed sheet with the details, and they discussed the logistics. When he gave her the price, she bit her lower lip.
“Any chance you could do it as a donation? We’re a non-profit, and need to keep our overhead low. Doc Farley is donating his service, and I’m not compensated for my time.”
He was shaking his head. “Sorry. I’m a businessman, not a philanthropist.”
“Then how about a discount?”
“I’ll think on it and get back to you.” He found a pen amid the cluttered mound of papers, protein bar wrappers, and dirty mugs that consumed his desk. “What’s your cell phone number?”
She reluctantly gave it to him. She’d rather not, but this was business.
He punched her number in on the keyboard and clicked a few items. “There we go. I’ll text you the information. In the meantime, let me get you a printed form.” He rose from the computer, stroking his mustache. “I think they’re in the back. Hold on.” He grabbed something from a shelf in the hall and continued into the darkness.
As he disappeared into the dank, narrow hallway, Ruth got out of the chair and paced toward the front of the office, eager to get out of there. She had appointments, and her instincts told her that it wasn’t wise to be alone with Jimmy Woodcock. There was something feral about him, like a hungry animal ready to snap. Was it any surprise that all these desks were empty? This man did not breed employee loyalty.
“Jimmy?” she called, walking toward the back. “I need to get going.”
