Run to Me

by Lauren Nichols

  A ridiculing voice rose in his mind, questioning his motives. Any chance you’re just pissed off because she said no?

  “Good chance,” he muttered. Still, his uncertainties about her had to be considered.

  Mac rose from the bank, dusted the dried mud from his fingers and walked back to his granddad’s place, determined to find that list of references she’d given Amos. These days, no one could keep their lives secret for long. He would get answers to his questions, if not from her, from someone else. Because now that he thought about it, when she sprang back from him tonight, she’d looked almost…scared.

  Chapter 6

  Mac’s grim expression kept materializing on Erin’s windshield, superimposing itself over pine forests and blue skies as she drove Amos home from his Tuesday-afternoon PT session. He wasn’t much company today, snoozing beside her, his head lolled at an uncomfortable-looking angle against the side window. In the back seat, Christie was also asleep, Raggedy Ann wedged into the car seat in front of her. No company there, either.

  That gave her too much time to worry about Mac’s probing behavior these past few days. Ever since she’d bolted away from him on Friday night, he’d been asking very thinly veiled questions about her past again. And with each new lie and half-truth she’d offered, she could see more doubt in his eyes.

  She gave a nervous start as an unmarked police car suddenly swerved out of the secondary road she’d just passed and turned onto the highway, a portable strobe light flashing. With a short burst of his siren, the lone officer behind the wheel motioned her over to the side of the road.

  What had she done? She couldn’t have been speeding! These days she practically rode the brake, knowing it was risky to call attention to herself!

  Erin glanced quickly to the right. Amos was still sleeping with his face turned to the window, and she prayed fervently that he would stay that way. Christie, too.

  Pulling the van to the side of the road, she fumbled in her shoulder bag for her wallet, then with shaky fingers, managed to tug her driver’s license out of it. Cautiously she took her registration and insurance cards from the glove box, then put down her window.

  A nice-looking officer with sandy hair and an amiable smile walked up to her, peered in the back seat at Christie for a moment, then glanced briefly at Amos and brought his blue eyes back to her.

  “Afternoon, ma’am,” he said cordially.

  “Good afternoon, Officer—” she read his nametag “—Kendall.”

  “May I see your driver’s license and registration, please, ma’am?”

  Nodding, she handed them over, swallowing the bile rising in her throat. The fewer words spoken, the better; the less noise, the better. She wouldn’t even ask him what she’d done. She just wanted him to fine her and leave before Amos woke up!

  “Be right back,” he said in that same official tone.

  Erin watched in the side mirror as he returned to his vehicle, presumably to check the van’s ownership and search her records for outstanding warrants. No alarm bells would sound. She’d been a law-abiding citizen in Maine where she’d obtained her new driver’s license, and she’d still been a law-abiding citizen in Bangor when she’d traded the white Ford Windstar in on her Dodge Caravan. Millie’s brother had issued her a new plate and destroyed the old one.

  She just hadn’t been Terri Fletcher in either of those places.

  A nauseating fear had pooled in her stomach by the time Kendall ambled back and handed her credentials through the open window.

  “Ms. Fallon, the reason I pulled you over—”

  Quickly, Erin raised an index finger to her lips to stop his words, and at the same time, smiled weakly and nodded toward Christie in the back seat. Another lie joined the year-long string. “My daughter gets carsick,” she murmured. “I’d rather she didn’t wake up until we’re parked for the day.”

  The officer seemed to understand and lowered his voice. “There’s a brake light out on your van, Ms. Fallon.”

  Erin kept her tone low, too. “I wasn’t aware of that.”

  “No problem. It’s hard to know that unless someone sees and alerts you. Planning to be in High Hawk long?”

  Of course. With Maine plates, he would assume she was visiting or passing through. “A few weeks.”

  “Then you’ll need to get that light fixed soon,” Kendall said. “If you’re stopped again, we’ll have to fine you.”

  Amos snuffled and smacked his lips as though his mouth were dry. A jolt of adrenaline hit, and Erin’s nerve endings responded. He couldn’t wake up now. Not yet. “I’ll take care of it first thing tomorrow, Officer,” she returned.

  Kendall smiled. “Good. Enjoy your stay, ma’am.”

  “Thank you.”

  Everything in her crumbled in relief when Kendall finally walked away.

  Slowly turning her head, Erin sent Amos a cautious look. He was still snoring softly, but now his chin rested on his chest.

  Blowing out a quiet blast of air, she dropped the van into gear again and drove, her stomach still quaking. She had to calm down. In two hours Mac would close the store and come home for supper, and he’d undoubtedly see any kind of anxiety as an excuse to ask more questions.

  “Where did you say you grew up?” he’d asked yesterday.

  “I didn’t. It was a small town in Illinois.”

  Then later, after he’d read about plans for the fall homecoming celebration at Arizona State: “I’ll probably make it this year. Do you ever go back for yours?”

  She’d never said she’d attended college, so it had been a good guess and a thoughtfully formed guess at that. No matter how she answered, it would open up a new flood of questions. She’d ended up admitting she had a masters degree in early childhood education, then lying again when he asked why she no longer taught. “Just decided to take a break and travel a while.”

  She couldn’t tell him that Charles had manipulated her into quitting, insisting that they didn’t need the money and that she was depriving someone else of employment. Relieving her of her profession had been just one more step in isolating her from her friends and making her dependent upon him. And she’d let him do it. Now her new occupation was lying for a living.

  Sighing, Erin flipped on her left-turn signal and bumped off the highway onto one of the secondary roads that would lead her back to Amos’s secluded little ranch.

  Thank heaven she’d kept her own savings account, or she never would’ve been able to run as far as she had. Not on the initial settlement installment she’d been awarded. Charles and his lawyers had made sure the money wouldn’t be surrendered in a lump sum, and she’d run before subsequent checks were sent.

  She still had no idea why she’d kept the account a secret from him. Intuition? Some vague signal that all wasn’t right with him? A signal she couldn’t admit on a conscious level?

  Strange, the places one found guidance. Years ago she’d seen a tag line on a tea bag that went something like, Always tell the truth. It takes a great memory to be a good liar.

  She yearned for the day when she could take that advice.

  The answering machine in Amos’s living room was playing when they walked through the kitchen door fifteen minutes later. His expression turned sheepish as a woman’s strident voice carried to them, soaring to new heights of aggravation.

  “…so you’d better call me back damn soon, old man, or I’m coming over there. It’s been two months! I’m tired of your pride and stubbornness, and I’m tired of getting information secondhand!”

  Amos winced as the woman slammed the receiver onto a cradle somewhere, then he caned his way to his recliner and flumped down into it. “Well,” he grumbled, “I s’pose I’d better call her.”

  “Lady friend?” Erin asked, briefly setting aside her anxiety at nearly being found out today. She was fairly certain she knew who the caller was, but she wondered what Amos would say. Across the room, Christie was already jabbering to the pile of stuffed animals she’d left near
the TV set.

  “Sophie Casselback,” Amos answered. “The bossiest woman on God’s green earth.”

  “But you like her.”

  Scowling, he pulled the phone from the end table onto his lap. “No, I put up with her.” A long moment passed while he paused with his hand on the receiver, then he jerked a look up at her. “You gonna monitor this conversation?”

  Erin grinned, pulling herself up short. “No, I’m going to start dinner.” She held out a hand to Christie. “Come on, sweetie. Let’s wash up. Mommy needs some help today.”

  “I’n a good helper!”

  “Yes, you are.”

  A few minutes later, as Erin scrubbed and oiled big russet potatoes to go with their baked haddock, and Christie tore lettuce for salads, she heard shreds of an argument, then the softer tones of a man who cared about a woman. She couldn’t hear much, and honestly wasn’t eavesdropping. But it was fairly clear from the few words she heard that Sophie would be paying a call on Amos in the next few days.

  Smiling a little, Erin popped the potatoes in the oven. She’d have to tell Mac that letting Sophie take a broom to Amos might not be necessary after all. Maybe a light conversation over dinner would clear some of the edginess from their mutual air, and get them back on friendlier footing.

  It didn’t. In fact, Mac seemed even more distant and preoccupied than usual when he came home. Even Amos noticed.

  “You get up on the wrong side o’ the bed this morning?” he asked as Mac left the table and carried his dishes to the sink.

  “The bed’s pushed against the wall,” Mac replied succinctly. “I can only get out of one side.”

  “Then we’d best move the bed,” Amos declared. Earlier he’d insisted that if he ate fish one more time he’d sprout fins, but from the way he shoveled it into his mouth, Erin suspected he’d only growled because it was expected of him.

  She watched Mac rinse his plate and silverware, then reach inside the cupboard to his left where mugs were stored. His broad shoulders strained the fabric of his burgundy shirt as he worked. “Sorry for my mood,” he muttered. “I got a disturbing phone call this afternoon at the store.”

  Amos jerked his attention up from his dinner. “If Vicki said I didn’t try hard enough today, she’s lyin’.”

  For the first time since he’d walked in, a slight smile tipped the corners of Mac’s mouth. “It wasn’t about you, Granddad. When I called this afternoon, Vicki said your session went exceptionally well.” He took the short pitcher of cream from the refrigerator, removed the lid. “I told you that Shane called the other day.”

  “To catch up, you said.”

  “To catch up, and to ask if I’d like to join him in a new business venture.”

  Amos stilled, chewed more slowly, then looked up. There was a hesitance, an uncertainty in his eyes and voice. “You goin’ back to New Hampshire?”

  “No, he’s coming here. Arizona’s still growing by leaps and bounds, and Shane believes the area’s ripe for another civil engineering firm. Supposedly, the state’s going to need to replace a few highways, bridges and viaducts that require professional engineers with experience. There are also a few dozen construction and manufacturing jobs going up for bid.”

  Erin blinked. “You build bridges?”

  “Bridges, shopping centers, water treatment plants…” The look he sent her couldn’t have been any more candid or straightforward. “My life’s an open book.”

  She stared back for a time, letting him know she’d gotten the message. Then she averted her gaze, pulled her chair closer to Christie’s booster seat and took her fork away. “Come on, honey,” she murmured, stabbing a piece of haddock, “you need to eat a little more before we have dessert.”

  “No! I don’t wike it!”

  “You liked it two minutes ago,” Erin reminded her, extending the fork. Christie slapped it away, and it bounced across the table.

  “Christie Lynn!”

  “I want ice cweam!”

  Sighing, mentally counting to ten, Erin retrieved the fork. She didn’t need a temper tantrum today. Not after being grilled for days by Mac and nearly found out by Amos this afternoon. “All right, you don’t have to eat the fish. Try some of the nice salad you made.”

  “No!”

  Amos chuckled. “Maybe her bed needs t’ be pulled away from the wall, too.”

  As Christie renewed her objections to healthy food, he spoke to Mac again. “Hope you told Shane you’d do it. You been away from the business too long. Time you got your feet wet again.”

  “It’s not an easy decision,” Mac replied, reaching for the pot. “Coffee?”

  “It ain’t coffee, it’s decaf, and don’t change the subject. Why is it a hard decision t’ make?”

  “Because I’m not ready yet, and he’s been approached by a colleague who got wind of his plan and wants in. Now, do you want a cup or don’t you?”

  “Yeah, I want a cup, and why ain’t you ready? It’s because of me, ain’t it? You think you can’t make plans till I get back to work.”

  Becoming more frustrated by the moment, Erin turned away from Christie’s bulging cheeks and thundercloud expression. She was now accepting food but refusing to swallow.

  Erin was surprised but touched when Mac set a mug down in front of her. Their relationship was a mess, but he’d still poured her coffee and added just the right amount of cream.

  She murmured a thank-you just as Christie opened her mouth wide and let the salad simply fall out of it.

  “All right,” Erin said standing abruptly, “somebody’s going to bed.”

  “No!” Christie screeched, and started to cry.

  “Yes.”

  Mac stared, obviously bewildered. “Is she sick?”

  “No, she’s not three yet.” Lifting Christie out of the booster chair, Erin strode toward the bathroom to wash her face and hands and have a much-needed discussion with her daughter about acceptable behavior. “You’ve heard of the terrible twos?” she called over Christie’s bellowing. “This is it.”

  When she returned to the kitchen a few minutes later, Christie was snuffling but had finally calmed down, so Erin relaxed her ruling on early bedtime. After sitting her in her booster chair, she gave her a container of fruited yogurt for dessert, then started the dishes.

  Mac and Amos had cleared the table and gone into the living room. Fitting the plug into the drain, Erin turned on the taps and squirted lemon dishwashing liquid into the water.

  A minute later Mac ambled back into the kitchen. She felt his warmth along her back as he slid his coffee cup into the sink. His voice was another matter. It wasn’t brusque, but it wasn’t friendly, either.

  “Go ahead and take Christie home.”

  “I will. As soon as I finish straightening the kitchen.”

  “I’ll do the dishes tonight.”

  “This is my job,” she returned, keeping her gaze on the bubbles and the glasses she was washing. “I’ll do them.”

  Christie let out another wail.

  Briefly closing her eyes, then wiping her wet hands on her jeans, Erin strode to the table. Somehow Christie’d gotten yogurt in her hair. Grabbing a napkin, she daubed it away. “Honey,” she said through a sigh, “I thought you were going to be a happy girl now.”

  “I don’t wike da fwoot! I wike peaches!”

  “Christie, those are peaches.”

  Mac came to the table, his tone finally softening. “Take her home and get her ready for bed. Maybe playing with her toys in the bathtub will help.”

  “When I’m finished.”

  “Terri—”

  “Mac,” she returned, glaring now.

  He sighed in annoyance. “All right, do the dishes. But let me take Christie for a walk. I need to use my computer for a few minutes—check my e-mail and get Shane’s phone number from my files.” His gaze shifted to Christie’s pouting expression. “I’m pretty sure she’s had it with the yogurt.”

  Suddenly, having someone else de
al with Christie seemed like a very good idea. For the past few days she’d been an absolute angel. But today, when Erin was still wired from her encounter with Officer Kendall, Christie just had to sprout horns.

  “Thank you,” she said, grateful for the help. “I’d love it if you took her for a walk. Just let me wash her hands and face again.”

  She was a model child by the time they passed the pond, talking nonstop about swimming and playing there yesterday. “My Bobbies got too wet!”

  “I know. I saw them.” Mac grinned down at her. “Guess what, Christie?”

  “What?”

  “In a few days I think there’s going to be a surprise down at the barn.”

  “Candy?”

  “No, kitties. One of our mommy cats is going to have some babies.”

  She shrieked excitedly, and he promised to show her when they arrived. Then they were entering the house, and Christie was running into the great room off the foyer to see if her Barbie dolls had dried. Mac watched her drop to her knees on one of the woven Navajo rugs covering his hardwood floor, then open a small suitcase bulging with dolls and clothes. “Christie, I’ll be in the computer room. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  He checked and answered his e-mail, except for a message from a friend who wanted him to participate in a charity softball game. That, like Shane’s offer, required some thought. Then he carefully examined his junk mail before he deleted them.

  Mac frowned. Funny. For someone who’d wanted to e-mail her friends, Terri wasn’t receiving any replies. Or maybe she’d already deleted their messages. He stared a few moments longer, thinking about how secretive she was…half hearing Christie singing nursery rhymes across the hall. One click of his mouse could take him to his computer’s trash bin to check the messages that had been deleted. Unless she’d deleted them from the trash bin, too.

  His index finger stroked the mouse, struggling with temptation. He’d looked high and low for that slip of paper listing her references but hadn’t been able to find it. He’d finally asked Amos, but the old man denied knowing what had happened to it.