The Troubles (The Jessica Trilogy Book 2)

by Connie Johnson Hambley

  “I’ve missed you,” he said as he pressed his lips to the top of her head.

  “You too.” She buried her face into his shoulder, happy his familiar scent surrounded her. “Finally.”

  The hours she had spent thinking of him and the time they spent apart evaporated. It didn’t matter to her that outsiders would judge their relationship as too new, untried, or ill-fated. With him, she shared the unspoken bond of the other half found. Instinct prevailed over logic. He knew her truths. She knew his lies. At least some of them.

  He took the reins from her hand and gave the bay a quick rub on her neck. “She looks good.”

  “Just goes to show what time and patience will do.” She shoved her hand into his back pocket as they walked to the barn. Another world immediately enveloped her and she felt complete with his presence. She picked up where they left off. “Thanks for the box of stuff. It’s kept me busy even with you being gone for so long.”

  He was distracted by thoughts that had not completely arrived with him. “What? Oh, I’m sorry. I wanted to be here sooner, but, other matters—”

  Jessica brought her mouth to his to stop him. Somehow, she knew she’d be hearing excuses and didn’t want to start then and there. “Forget it. Quiet works for me,” she said and continued walking to the barn.

  Their shoulders just touched. The sound of the horse’s hooves striking the packed earth and its breathing filled the air around them. The sated moments after a long day of training were blissful. Jessica lapsed into a contented quiet, no longer needing a steady stream of conversation. He cleared his throat and started to say something, stopped, and tried again. They had worked enough in the barn together to savor peaceful moments, but today he was agitated.

  He broke the silence, speaking more to himself than to her. “There’s a lot I need to bring you up to date on.”

  New details etched into his profile. Creases of worry edged his mouth and brow. His shoulders, broad with strength, rounded as if the world had settled on them. He was having trouble bearing the weight of it.

  “Are you okay?”

  The slight shift in his appearance could have been due to fatigue more than worry. Like her, he was a chameleon. He picked up cues from his environment and adapted to them without thinking. His colors gradually shifted from distracted to present. His eyes softened as he smoothed her hair behind her ear. “Right now? Yeah. Definitely.” His energy made her weak with yearning. “I’m where I want to be.”

  She blushed slightly, more at her thoughts than his words, and placed the horse into crossties. Brushing out the saddle marks, she focused on what she had to do in that moment, not what she wanted to do.

  They moved in an easy ballet of everyday tasks. He handed her an item before she asked. She brushed up against him before he moved toward her. Whether they were aware of this ease or not didn’t matter. It just was.

  Jessica kept her mind on her work until Michael stepped forward. He ran his hands under her shirt, fingers hot on her skin, and kissed her. The balance tipped and she responded, opening her mouth to his, exploring and tasting, then gently pulling his lower lip with her teeth.

  “Oh, Miss Wyeth. The power you have.”

  Her expression said she would not be patient one minute longer, and she began to untuck his shirt. With one eyebrow cocked up, she dared him to say no and pulled their bodies closer while backing into a stall.

  The door to the hayloft swung shut and clicked, and they looked up toward the sound. Michael’s smile faded almost as soon as it appeared. Tim stood silhouetted against the light. It was unclear how long he had been standing there.

  Jessica straightened her clothes, wary.

  Michael helped smooth Jessica back together and took a deep breath, reluctant to have the moment end. “Tim!” he welcomed.

  “Michael,” Tim responded, in a greeting more formal than necessary for a reunion that had been waiting for years. He did not look at Michael, instead seemed to search for something on the ground.

  “My God, man. How long has it been?” Michael asked with genuine enthusiasm.

  Tim paused for a moment. “Twelve years, four months and five days.” His eyes darted from Jessica to Michael and back to Jessica, lingering longer on her loosely buttoned shirt than necessary.

  His response only added to the tension of his sudden appearance. Self-conscious, she fingered the front of her shirt closer to her neck. Michael walked up the barn corridor and grabbed Tim’s hand in both of his. He pumped it and slapped Tim on the back, harder than seemed necessary for a greeting between friends.

  “The last time I saw you was before I left for college. My uncle’s been keeping me up on you.”

  “Uncle? Your uncle? Liam?” Tim sputtered. His cheeks reddened as he grew more animated. “He’s been good to me. Good.”

  Michael forced a grin. “I’d guess he’s been keeping you under his wing. He’s told me you’re doing well.”

  Tim’s upper body pulsed slightly, in sync with his pounding heart. His eyes continued their constant flitting, from the stalls to the ceiling and to Jessica, never pausing for more than a moment.

  She hated being in his presence and needed to leave. “I’ll let you two catch up,” and moved to go the cottage.

  Michael stopped her, wrapping his arm around her waist and smiling at Tim at the same time. The motion instinctively proprietary. “The horses look good.”

  “Thank you. Thank you. Just like Nan said, she’s good. She’s good to have on the team here.” He tapped his feet, together and apart. He looked everywhere, but his eyes kept falling back to Jessica. She bristled.

  “The best,” Michael replied, placing another light kiss on her head. He let his lips linger for another moment and looked back at Tim. “We’ll talk tomorrow?”

  Tim’s rocking increased as he wrung his hands together, distressed. “She asked me not to come around the barn. It’s the groom’s day off. I was only gettin’ a few things.”

  Michael looked at the stricken looks on both of their faces. “Alright then. We’ll catch up tomorrow. In town?”

  “Tomorrow is fine. I’ll bed the animals for the night.” He coughed, almost choking on his words and hurried past them.

  Michael led Jessica out of the barn and retrieved a leather satchel and backpack from his BMW, the black coupe’s gleaming lines and tinted windows out of place in the cottage’s gravel drive. He swung his bags up in one easy motion, beeping the car locked as he went. He was silent as he approached the door, and paused long enough to run his fingers over the marking carved into the side of the house. He shrugged and pushed the door open with his back, tossing his bags through to the kitchen floor with an exhausted thump.

  Once inside, Jessica followed him with her eyes as the habits of a sheriff kicked in. He walked around checking doors and looking out the windows, testing their sashes for strength. She waited until he was ready to talk. After what seemed to be a very long time, the sound of truck tires on gravel signaled that Tim had finally left.

  Michael visibly relaxed and poured them each a glass of wine.

  Jessica noticed the change. “Tim picked some great horses.”

  Michael shifted uncomfortably and handed her a glass. “I’m glad you feel that way. My uncle said he was one of the best.”

  “Hmm. He knows his stuff, but he’s an asshole.”

  He suppressed a chuckle. “It’s good you can keep your opinions to yourself. But, what was all that tension I felt from you in the barn?”

  She recalled too vividly Tim’s hands on her, how forceful he was, how his strength crumbled into unabashed tears. Tim’s unreadable manner unnerved her, and she scoured her memories for anything she did that he may have misinterpreted as her attraction to him. His relationship with Michael was unknown territory. They were boyhood friends, and causing a rift between them was not something she wanted. His distraught apology seemed genuine, and she was confident she could handle the situation. Telling Michael would only complicate thi
ngs. “He’s full of himself,” was all she said, but a distinctive edge creased her voice, and she couldn’t hide the look of disgust as it rippled over her.

  “I know you too well to accept that. It’s not like you to dislike someone outright. What’s up?”

  Tim’s behavior was unacceptable, but she had something more important to discuss. “I saw the tattoo.” Her voice was flat, but her eyes rose to gauge his reaction.

  Michael took their wine glasses and set them on the table. Leaning against it, he drew her to him, folding her arms up between them. “I should have said something. I’m sorry. It must have terrified you.”

  “I, um, I just wasn’t prepared for it. It’s a symbol I learned to hate. Having it around me and pretending everything is A-OK is confusing.”

  “He’s trusted or he wouldn’t be here.”

  Jessica rested her cheek on his chest, only slightly soothed by his words. “I have a job to do and not a lot of time to do it. I need his help but only want him here when someone else is around.”

  He looked puzzled. “I’m staying for a while, but is there something I’m missing?”

  She weighed how much to say. How much mucking about did she want to risk? “He said your fathers were friends and that he’s known you since you were boys. You know, buddies.”

  “I wouldn’t call him a ‘buddy’ as much as a convenient playmate. His father was one of my father’s men. On trips to Ireland, Tim and I would be thrust together while they conducted business. It’s been years since I’ve seen him.” When she remained quiet, he continued. “You’re safe here. We’ve all taken great care to make sure it stays that way.”

  She nodded weakly. “Well, Nan’s been tough to figure out, and that tattoo definitely threw me off. I guess I’d feel better about being surrounded by the Charity if I knew your uncle better.” She hesitated. “How close was he to your father?”

  “Liam was the only connection to family I had after my mother died, and I refused to communicate with my father. I’m closer to him than anyone.”

  Keeping a connection with family was something she understood and envied. Family helped shape and define you, even if estranged. In many ways, Michael was as adrift as she was. Becoming more familiar with Liam would give her insight into Michael. “Why doesn’t he run the Charity? He’s much more familiar with it than you are.”

  “I’ve asked him that. He flat out refuses. He says saying he’s too old to take on an enterprise as sprawling as it’s become. I have to agree with him. It’s more than anything I imagined. Even Liam’s been surprised at its breadth. He said he never worked intimately with Magnus because he never wanted to support violent groups. He didn’t grasp how to stop it. A complete change in leadership makes sense.

  With Magnus dead, the fissures in the organization are surfacing. Liam knows the players well enough to keep things together for a while. As for the money side, people who knew my father,” his voice trailed off in search of the right words, “expect me to be like him. And what’s worse is they expect me to know everything he knew. They want a seamless transition, but I just can’t give them that. Magnus was old school. He kept everything in his head. When he died, the knowledge died with him.”

  “You’re expected to be in control.”

  “Yes.”

  “And Liam expects you to lead like Magnus.”

  “I won’t lead as ruthlessly as Magnus, that’s for sure. But, yes, Liam expects me to take hold of an organization I barely know filled with people who are strangers to me. This transition would be hard even if I had been at my father’s knee all these years—and I wasn’t. I’m just as unknown to them as they are to me.” He stopped talking and rummaged through the cupboards. Eventually he returned to the table with a plate filled with food left by Nan earlier in the day.

  “The more I dig into the business, the more I find that it’s a self-sustaining machine. All the pieces interconnect. I don’t want to tip over one domino until I understand how it impacts the whole. I thought it would be easier.”

  “And now you’re stuck.”

  “No. Not stuck. I feel like a lab rat thrown into the middle of a maze,” he said, grimacing at the thought. He moved to look out the window. “Lots of turns but only one clear path.”

  Returning to the table, he stood while he took a sip of wine. Then he placed a slice of cheese and cold lamb on a crust of bread, using the actions to indicate he no longer wanted to talk about himself. He handed the food to her, then made another for himself. “I needed some time away. This is the perfect place to unplug.”

  “So I noticed. No phone. No newspapers. No computer.”

  “Computer?” he said with a small laugh. “I doubt they have Internet access this far into the country anyway. Ireland is coming along, but it lags behind the U.S.”

  The issue of being unreachable was different. She used the moment to ask something that had been bothering her. “Nan said you gave strict orders that I was not to have any outside communication. Is that true?”

  He held a chair, motioned for her to sit, and sat down opposite her. “Not exactly. What I told her was to make sure no one came around the farm. I didn’t want to take the chance that someone would recognize you and then run off to tell the whole town that they have a famous American in their midst. Besides, while I’m here, her responsibilities are less. She won’t be around as much.”

  “I won’t say I’m sad to hear that. It’s worked out well enough. Without any distractions, I took some time to learn about my mother.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I mean, what kid would question whether her parents really were her parents? All that stuff about where they were born and who they were never got answered for me. Any time I asked any questions they would wall over,” she said, moving the palm of her hand across her expressionless face, “and I gave up trying after a while.”

  “So, now you’re interested in learning about Bridget?”

  “I sure as hell am,” she said jabbing a knife into the hunk of cheese. “Both Margaret and Bridget were born in Ireland. They never talked about it, and I never asked. I was a typical kid thinking that her here-and-now was way more important than her that-was-then.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Margaret worked hard at being the perfect American suburban mom including losing the brogue and cultivating a Bostonian accent. She volunteered in my elementary school, worked on all of the right volunteer committees, and joined the right clubs. She was very private and seemed quite happy. She loved me with a fierceness that I marvel at when I look back.”

  “What’s not to love?” he asked, trying to lighten her mood.

  She softened. “I was a wild child from the start. I wasn’t a good country club brat. I loved the barns over the clubhouse, ignoring the rules Margaret and Jim tried to have me live by. Pretty typical for a fledgling rebel. Up until the accident, Bridget had only visited once in a while and was completely unprepared to manage an unmanageable kid. She finally had to send me to private school and a couple of wilderness camps. I was really focused on what I wanted and what I needed. I could have given a hoot about a sick old widowed aunt.”

  “And that was Bridget?”

  “She never told me she was my mother.” The anger and confusion Jessica felt rose to the surface. Hunks of cheese littered the platter as she continued to stab away at them. “I can’t even begin to wrap my head around why. She gave me away to be raised by her sister. I lived with Bridget for ten years after they were killed. She kept her mouth so tightly shut I never even questioned the crap story I was being fed.”

  “What did you think happened?”

  Jessica gulped her wine and gathered her thoughts. “I had a sister named Erin, who was born with special needs, but she turned out to be my cousin that one of your father’s goons hurt as an infant in order to keep everyone afraid and in line. I was so clueless I even thought the car accident was just an accident.”

  Michael stiffened into s
tone. Had Jessica been looking at him, she may have quelled. Instead, she stared at the growing pile of cheese and listened to his smooth tone. “It’s hard, Jessica. I’m sorry. Just so damned sorry.”

  She shook her head in amazement. “I’ve been in a bubble here these past few of weeks, riding and thinking. I’m trying to settle into being the new me but I don’t have all of the pieces to my puzzle yet.”

  “Then you’re saying that I was right to leave you here alone while I tended to business?”

  “For the most part,” she answered playfully, evading bringing up Nan or Tim. “You were definitely smart to have me engrossed with horses and the papers. My mind has been off my troubles.”

  They turned the conversation to other topics and slipped into the uncomplicated ease of simply being with one another. The edges of the world blurred leaving only each other in focus. Learning that Michael had spent much of his childhood in Northern Ireland opened up a trove of hysterical stories about being a New England Yankee trying to figure out the culture and customs of the Irish. Then he stumbled through the culture shock of being a Yankee in Kentucky as he tried to conduct business on behalf of the schools he chartered. Laughter melded them together as one.

  At nearly ten o’clock, the sun began to set behind the rolling hills. Jessica noticed the lines on Michael’s face had sunk deeper with fatigue.

  “You must be exhausted. It’s later than I thought.”

  “It’s nice now, but when you only have seven hours of daylight in the winter, you feel that these evenings are well earned.”

  “Still, there’s something special about the night,” she said. They cleared the dinner dishes and Michael came up behind her, brushed her hair aside and kissed her where her neck and shoulder curved together. He moved his hands down her shoulders and up under her shirt.

  She let the plates clatter into the sink and turned to him.