Forever After

by Catherine Anderson

  “You did what you had to do to protect yourself and your baby. You weren’t responsible for Glen and Dan’s actions, and you weren’t elected to save the world. You couldn’t have, not without dying yourself. I want to hear you say it. ‘I wasn’t to blame.’ Come on. Say it!”

  “I wasn’t to blame,” she said faintly.

  “Louder. And look at me. Don’t hang your head as if you’re ashamed.”

  She raised her chin. “I wasn’t to blame! Is that loud enough?”

  He grinned at her. “It’ll do. Now, back to Peter Caldwell. He got knocked off, you knew and didn’t do anything, thank God, amen. Now give me details.”

  She laughed in spite of herself and drank in his smile. It was the most wonderful feeling, to have him here with her. She felt safe and happy for the first time in so long that she couldn’t remember when.

  There had been times in her life when she had wondered why so many bad things had happened to her—if, perhaps, she’d done something wrong, and it was all some kind of punishment. Now she realized that all along she’d been on a journey—sometimes a terrible journey—but every step she’d taken had been leading her to this man. It seemed so clear, in retrospect, that nothing had been left to chance. Something—or someone—had guided her in every move she made. She’d chosen to go to Wynema Falls by closing her eyes and stabbing her finger at a map of Oregon. Out of hundreds of towns, somehow her fingertip had landed on his town, in his county. And because of financial difficulties, she’d rented a rundown old house on a deserted country road, with only one other house in sight, his house. God, fate, something had arranged it all. They were meant to be together, had always been meant to be together.

  Heath Masters was the one man in the world for her, the only one. He filled her up where she was empty, and he healed her where she was wounded, and he was strong for her when she was weak. Home. Oh, how she had yearned all these years to be able to go home. And now, thousands of miles away from where she’d always believed home was, she had finally gotten there. Not back to the old farmhouse where she’d grown up, where the shade of the oaks cast lazy shadows over a world that moved in slow motion. Not back to her dad, with his pipe and his coveralls and his great big hugs. Or to her mom, with her loving smile and her dingy house dresses and a kitchen that always smelled of fresh baked bread. Home wasn’t a place at all.

  “Meredith? Hey, there? Come back down to earth.”

  She smiled. “I’m here.” She straightened in her chair. “Back to Peter Caldwell.”

  Five hours later, after a tense and grueling trip from the cabin to his father’s ranch on unpaved forestry roads, Heath parked the battered old pickup in a thick stand of pines about three-quarters of a mile from the main house. He had elected to avoid the more frequently used highway turn-off that led to the ranch, just in case law enforcement or Calendri’s thugs were keeping it under surveillance.

  Jerking loose the hot-wiring under the dash, he grinned at Meredith. “Ain’t it great? I don’t have to worry about where I left my keys.”

  She didn’t smile back. “Heath, please, won’t you change your mind? I’m not too hot on this idea, anyway. And I really hate for you to ask your father for anything. I know you wouldn’t do it for yourself. Why for me?”

  “You’re better lookin’.” He threw open his door and jumped out. As he reached to open the rear door to get Sammy and Goliath, he said, “My mind’s made up, Meredith. So stop arguing and start walking. It’s a bit of a hike to the house.”

  As Heath and Meredith set out on the road, Sammy and the dog ran ahead. Meredith gazed after them, her heart squeezing at the sound of her daughter’s laughter. “What if the things I know aren’t enough to convict any of them?” she asked. “What if we contact the FBI, they talk to me, and then they say, ‘Think again, lady. You’re going to jail, and your kid’s going back to her grandfather.’ It’s been almost five years. Maybe it’s too late to even do anything!”

  “There’s a seven-year statute of limitations on some crimes, but they track down murderers twenty years after the fact all the time and arrest them.”

  She trudged along beside him, her sneakers turning red from the powdery dust. “And the FBI? How do I know I can trust any of them? I heard what Charlie said last night on the radio. Glen has agents in his pocket! If I contact the bureau, tell them I’m willing to testify in exchange for getting the charges on me dropped, I might be calling the very men who have orders to kill me!”

  He spun to a stop and planted his hands on his hips. “Do you trust me?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Yes, of course, I do!”

  “Then trust me,” he said more gently. “Do you think I haven’t thought of all that? Merry, my dad is one sharp son of a bitch. He’s got connections coming out his ears, all across the country, particularly within the government. He’ll find out the names of the agents in Glen’s pocket. He’ll be able to find out which men are safe. And if he isn’t absolutely positive you know enough to bring about convictions, he won’t call anyone.”

  “How will he find out who’s in Glen’s pocket? Call good old Glen?”

  “Of course, not! It’s fairly elementary, sweetheart. Those guys called the department and threw their weight around. We’ve got ’em nailed. We keep records of stuff like that, and from the way Roy was shitting green apples last night, I’m sure they leaned on him, too. Getting their names will be a piece of cake.”

  Sammy and Goliath came running back along the road just then. Meredith glanced around just in time to see her daughter catch the toe of her shoe on a rock and pitch face first in the dust. The child came up squalling, her tears making muddy red trails on her cheeks. In a shrill voice, she cried, “Son of a bitch!”

  Meredith gasped. Heath froze with a dumbfounded expression on his face. He couldn’t have looked more shocked if a fire-breathing dragon had appeared before them.

  Meredith collected herself first. After checking her daughter for injury and finding only a scratch on the child’s chin, she hunkered down. “Sammy, you mustn’t ever say that word again. It’s a very bad word, and sweet little girls shouldn’t say it.”

  Heath came walking up just as Sammy said, “How come? Heef says it.”

  Meredith angled a glare at the man who loomed over her. Then she pushed to her feet, turned to him with a sugary sweet smile, and said, “I’ll let you handle this, Mr. Masters. I’m a firm believer that people should clean up their own messes.”

  He looked down at Sammy as if Meredith had just asked him to solve a nuclear physics equation. He rubbed his jaw and gazed off into the distance for a moment. Finally, he redirected his gaze at the child. She was watching him with an indignant expression on her muddy face, obviously convinced he was going to inform her mother that the word she’d said was perfectly acceptable. Meredith was fully prepared to kick him if he dared.

  Looking like innocence itself, he asked Sammy, “Are you sure you’ve heard me say that bad, icky, really awful word?”

  Sammy poked out her bottom lip and nodded emphatically. “Lots!”

  He arched one eyebrow. “Well, I’ll be da—” He coughed and scratched beside his nose. “I’ll be a horn-tailed tooter. You did? Lots?” He squatted and set Sammy on his knee. “Well, sweetcakes, I owe you an apology. That’s not a nice word at all, and if you ever hear me say it again, I want you to wash my mouth out with soap. Is it a deal? ‘Cause that’s a bad habit I need to break.”

  Sammy wrinkled her nose. “Heef, soap doesn’t taste very good.”

  “Did you taste it?”

  She nodded again. “Made me urp! Mommy had to run all new baff water.”

  “Well, even if it tastes bad, it’s about the only way I know to clean up a dirty mouth. I guess I’ll just have to try not to swallow any.” He tweaked her nose. “Same goes for you. Say that word again, and I’ll scrub your tongue.”

  She shuddered. “I won’t never say it!”

  “Good girl.” He set her down. As she ran of
f again with Goliath, he called, “Pick up your feet!” Glancing at Meredith, he said, “Damn. Are all little kids that accident prone?”

  “Do you like soap? I certainly hope so. You’re going to be eating lots!”

  He looked sheepish. “That bad, huh?”

  “Only every few words.”

  “Every few words? Oh, come on. That’s bullsh—” He broke off as if a fly had just flown in his mouth. “Bullcorn.”

  They laughed and fell back into step to follow the child and dog. Heath gazed after Sammy, a thoughtful frown on his face. “How is it that she mispronounces pillow, saying ‘piddle,’ and elbow, saying ‘ubble,’ and bath, saying ‘baff,’ and royal, saying ‘boil,’ but when she yells, ‘son of a bitch!’ she enunciates it as clear as polished crystal?”

  “Children pick up unsavory language very easily for some reason, possibly because the words are said with such emphasis, and they seemed to know, without being told, that they’re ‘bad’ words, maybe because their mothers never say them.”

  He chuckled again. “Don’t miss an opportunity to get your jabs in.”

  She winked at him. “If I had all the answers, I’d write a book and be a millionaire. The truth is, kids are a puzzle.”

  “They sure as hell are.”

  “That’s two. Do you prefer Dial? Or Ivory?”

  He winced. “Christ! I really have a problem, don’t I?”

  “That’s three. We should probably get one of those hypoallergenic brands, the clear bars. They might cause less irritation in your stomach and intestinal track. Taking the Lord’s name in vain is a more serious offense, punishable by two washes.”

  “Thank God. I thought you were gonna say punishable by death!”

  “That’s four, and another double wash, I’m afraid. Shall we buy soap by the case?”

  “My ass! I’ve heard you say ‘God.’” He jabbed a finger at her. “Be fair!”

  “You may wash my mouth with soap if you hear me say it again. And that’s two more, a single and a double.”

  He fell silent for several minutes, stomping along beside her, his boots raising clouds of red dust. “Am I going to make it?” he suddenly asked her.

  “To where?”

  He turned worried slate blue eyes on her. “As a father.”

  Meredith stopped and looped her arms around his waist, making him stop as well. “Are you applying for the job?”

  He narrowed one eye. “I’ve already been hired and have OJT. She’s mine. And so are you. Don’t you ever forget it. I love you both—so much.” He ran a hand into her hair. “I’m gonna need help, though, Merry. She doesn’t come with any instructions.”

  Meredith gazed up at him through a blur of tears. “Heath, even if you never break yourself of cursing, you’ll still be a sensational father. What you say isn’t nearly as important as what you do. You’ve been so good for her that I can’t begin to tell you. You’ve made her feel safe and loved, and you’ve helped her to forget. She isn’t timid and frightened anymore, and she’s learning to trust again. Have you any idea what a wonderful gift that is? She’ll remember you and Goliath and your love for her for the rest of her life. In the bad times, she’ll think of you, and it’ll be like a hug to comfort her. Believe me, I know. In the really bad times, the one thing that kept me from believing the whole world was evil was remembering my folks. You’re going to be a wonderful father. The very best.”

  His eyes darkened. “Going to be? Meredith, why do I get the feeling you’re telling me good-bye. Sammy won’t have to remember me when things get rough and she needs a hug. I’ll be there to give her one.”

  “Oh, Heath, I hope so.”

  “What do you mean, you hope so? Don’t you love me?”

  “Oh, yes. It’s just—”

  “Just what?”

  “Haven’t you stopped to think, Heath? You said if I testify to put Glen and his associates behind bars, that the government will protect me from retaliation by entering me and Sammy into the Protected Witness Program. That we’ll be given new identities and relocated where the mob and Glen will never be able to find us.”

  “Yeah. So?”

  She pressed her face against his shirt and clung to him. “You won’t be able to go with us.”

  She felt his body snap taut, and his arms vised around her. “Like hell,” he said gruffly. “We may be apart for a while, honey, but not forever. I’ll find a way, I promise you.”

  With all her heart, Meredith wanted to believe that. Even as he made the promise, though, she felt a tremor run through him, and by that she knew he was as worried about what the future might hold as she was.

  Ian Masters was an older and more refined version of Heath, tall, well-muscled, and darkly complected, with professionally styled, salt-and-pepper hair. Just back from horseback riding, he was wearing a denim shirt. Wrangler jeans, and dusty saddle boots, which made him look oddly out of place in the expensively furnished house. His hands were broad and thick through the palm like Heath’s, but Meredith saw no calluses to indicate he did any physical labor. She also noticed straightaway that his nails were neatly manicured and shone as if they’d been buffed, possibly even polished. She suspected that he usually dressed in rich casual while at home, sharply creased slacks, an expensive polo shirt, and spendy knock-around loafers. In the professional sphere, he was undoubtedly an icon of success who made semiannual flights to Hong Kong to be fitted for custom tailored suits and shirts. The cost of a pair of his shoes would probably feed an entire family in Africa for six months, if not for a year, with a large chunk of change left over.

  Oh, yes. She had known Ian Masters’ kind, and she was extremely glad to have left that world behind her.

  When Heath introduced Meredith to him, Ian’s steel blue eyes seemed to miss nothing as he looked her over. He didn’t reply in kind when she said she was pleased to make his acquaintance. He simply turned his back and led the way to his study, glancing icily at Sammy when she and Goliath dared to run ahead of him. Meredith’s heart caught when she saw a Chinese vase perched on a spindle-legged table farther up the hallway, her child barreling directly toward it.

  “Sammy, be careful!” she cried.

  At the last second, the child veered around the obstacle. Heath smiled. “Merry, don’t worry about it. If she breaks something, I’ll pay for it.”

  Meredith wondered if he had any inkling how much the vase was probably worth. Thousands was her guess. She’d mixed with the affluent for less than a year, but in that time, she’d developed an eye for fine things. If that vase was a reproduction, she’d eat the shattered remains. As she thought that, she remembered this was Heath’s childhood home, the man leading them along the hall, his father. Heath was surely as aware of the vase’s value as she, if not more so.

  Once in the study, Meredith collected her daughter and sat stiffly on a proffered leather chair that felt as cold against her skin as its owner. The tension in the well-appointed room was almost palpable, sparks bouncing back and forth between the two men as they stood, feet spread and arms akimbo, facing each other.

  “I heard the news on the radio,” Ian said. He sent Meredith a searing glare. “I hope you realize what you’ve done to my son, Mrs. Kenyon. His career is shot. He may go to prison before it’s all said and done. How does it make you feel, knowing you’ve destroyed a man’s life?”

  Until that moment, Meredith had been playing judge and jury, and she’d found Ian Masters sorely lacking—a cold, self-centered man who was incapable of really loving anyone, even his children. But when he turned on her and she searched his face, that wasn’t what she saw at all. His expression looked exactly as Heath’s had last night when he scrambled into the Bronco, believing she or Sammy might have taken a bullet. Fear, panic, bitter rage. The man loved his son, and very deeply. He obviously hated Meredith for what she’d done to him. She couldn’t blame Ian for that. When she thought about it, she even hated herself.

  “Dad, please, don’t attack Merry. I di
dn’t come here to get in a pissing match, and that’s a damned good way to start one.”

  At Heath’s warning, Ian spun back, his face contorting. “A pissing match? I swear, if you were a kid again, I’d beat you within an inch of your life and lock you in your room until you were thirty! After all the sacrifices, and the worry, and working my tail off for you, and now you’re tossing it all away. It’s the height of stupidity.”

  A muscle along Heath’s jaw began to tick. “I’m asking you, Dad. Please, don’t do this.”

  Ian’s jaw muscle began to work as well. “Do what? Tell it like it is? She’s using you, and you’re too stupid to see it. My God, Heath. For once in your misbegotten life, stop and think.”

  Heath stabbed his fingers through his hair. “I can’t believe this. Is it an allergic reaction you have to me or something? All it takes is for me to be in the same room with you, and you start hurling insults. Why don’t you stop and think. Do you realize how long it’s been since I’ve darkened your doorstep?” He shook his head. “You were yelling and calling me names when you threw me out, and now, after all this time, you’re taking up where you left off. Aren’t you even glad I’m here?”

  “If I thought for a minute that you came only to see me, I might be glad. But that isn’t the case, is it? Like always, you want something.”

  “I have called you every Christmas and Father’s Day. I’ve never missed.”

  “Oh, yes, your obligatory phone calls. An icy greeting, comments on the weather, and a curt farewell. Thirty-eight one-minute conversations.”

  “At least I called.”

  “And now, suddenly, you’re here in the flesh. What is it you want this time? Money?” Ian glanced at Meredith again. Then he held up a staying hand, laughing bitterly. “Oh, no. Don’t say you want me to represent her. She can’t afford me, I assure you, and I’ll be damned if I’ll do it free of charge.”