For All We Know (One Strike Away Book 3)

by Mary J. Williams

  Travis would have gleefully kicked Munch again—this time in the mouth. However, Pete beat him to the punch. Literally. Bending to one knee, he balled his hand into a fist, smashing Munch in the nose, producing another crunching noise, blood pouring from both nostrils.

  "Sick bastard," Pete spat out. "You want me to break his arm for good measure?"

  "Let me." Delaney held out her hand. With a shrug, a spark of admiration in his dark gaze—Pete handed her the board. "I think a broken leg will neutralize him longer. Don't you?"

  "Knock him in the head," Pete suggested, his tone matter of fact as if he discussed this kind of thing every day. "You might put him out of commission for good."

  "Self-defense?" Travis asked, just as casually. He might as well add his two cents worth. Though he didn't think Munch was worth more than a penny. If that.

  Pete nodded.

  "I don't think so," Delaney tossed the board as far as she could—out of temptation's way. "If we put him down, we'll be the ones who suffer."

  "Mm." Pete didn't sound one hundred percent convinced. "I guess."

  "Delaney has the smarts." Travis hugged her close. Damn, she felt good. "Thank you. You saved my ass. You too, Pete."

  Pete shrugged, but Delaney would have sworn the flush on his cheeks was more from pleased embarrassment than any amount of exertion.

  "Hear that?" Pete cocked his head to one side as the sound of sirens filled the alley. "Must have caught somebody's attention. Cops are coming."

  "You can go if you want."

  "Nah," Pete waved off Delaney's suggestion. "The law in this town is wonky. The more witnesses you have, the better."

  Without a backward glance, Travis, Delaney, and Pete left the two men where they lay, walking out to meet the police. Two cars pulled to a stop. Luck stayed with them. Sheriff Brill wasn't driving either one.

  "Travis didn't start the fight, Officer Stevens," Delaney said before any accusations could be handed out. Like Pete, she knew how this town worked. She wanted to get their side of the story told before the truth could be muddied by convenient lies. "Munch is the one you need to arrest."

  "Jake," Cory Stevens nodded toward the other deputy. "Go take a look in the alley." He placed a hand on Travis' shoulder, his expression grim. "I have bad news. Your father was in an accident."

  "Dad?" Travis felt his breath catch in his chest. "Is he okay? Where is he? At the hospital?"

  "I'm sorry, son." The deputy's eyes filled with sympathy. "He didn't make it. He's dead."

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  ● ≈ ● ≈ ●

  THE HOUSE FELT wrong. Empty. Cold. As if the memories of a lifetime were sucked out the second Alan Forsythe breathed his last breath.

  Alone, Travis sat in the living room and tried again to grasp what had happened. His father was gone. Dead. No mistake. He'd seen the body. Gone to the funeral. Listened while friends and neighbors offered the usual platitudes of sympathy.

  The truth couldn't be denied. His father wasn't coming back.

  So why didn't Travis feel…? Something? Where was the grief? The anger? From the moment he heard that his father was dead, a layer of ice had settled around him. The only crack had occurred when Delaney took his hand during the funeral. As her fingers closed over his while disapproving members of Munch's family looked on, her heartfelt concern reached past the cold—briefly.

  However, the warmth didn't last. A week later, Travis wondered if he'd ever feel anything again.

  "The house is mortgaged to the hilt." Davy Collins, pushing sixty, with a receding hairline and a paunch that hung over the waistband of his cheap three-piece suit, took a stack of papers from his briefcase. He was one of only three people who practiced law in Green Hills—and the only one not named Brill.

  "I'm aware."

  Travis was eighteen years old. What did he know about insurance and wills and probate? But what choice did he have? He had to cope. So, he did.

  One advantage to a heart encased in ice? Nothing fazed him.

  "Wisely, your father had set aside a little each month in case something like this happened."

  "You mean in case he was electrocuted on the job?"

  Davy Collins, nodded, clearing his throat. "The money covered the funeral costs. So, you don't have to worry."

  "I wasn't."

  "No. Well. Alan had two thousand sixty-three dollars in the bank. Taxes will take most of it. As for his insurance policy."

  Travis' senses sharpened, a bit of the fog lifting when he noticed the way Davy Collins squirmed, unable to look him directly in the eyes.

  "What about Dad's insurance? I know he kept up the premiums."

  "Oh, he did. Yes, indeed. Like clockwork. However…"

  "Here." From the box of tissues that always sat on the coffee table, Travis grabbed several, handing them Mr. Collins. "Wipe the sweat off your upper lip and spit the words out."

  "The final police report states your father was responsible for the accident." Collins cleared his throat. "I believe negligence was the final determination. As a result, the insurance company has marked the policy null and void. That means—"

  "I know the meaning of null and void." Travis slammed his hand down on the table. "My father wasn't negligent a day in his life. He'd never have put himself or anybody else in danger."

  Fire replaced ice. Anger like he'd never known burned through Travis' blood. His father always shut off the electricity before he did anything else. Somebody had to turn the breaker back on, thousands of volts combined with the standing water in the basement a deadly combination.

  Travis knew who was responsible. Mayor Detwiler's nephews. And by extension, the mayor himself.

  "The money—"

  "Screw the money. Detwiler. Sheriff Brill. For all I know, the entire Brill family, want to take the only thing I have left—my father's memory and reputation—and throw them under the bus? Dad isn't here to defend himself, so they make him the scapegoat."

  "Calm down." Davy Collins wisely thought twice before he patted Travis on the shoulder. He didn't want to go through the rest of his life with nothing but a stump where his hand once resided. "Maybe your dad was distracted. Or upset. You don't know what happened."

  "Yes. I do."

  "You have a bright future, Travis," Mr. Collins said, taking a different path. "The only thing you can do is to accept Sheriff Brill's report. Your father would want you to follow your dreams. Play baseball. Have a good life. Far, far away from Green Hills."

  "And what about the truth?"

  With a heavy sigh, Davy Collins closed his briefcase with a snap.

  "Take my word, young man. The truth—as I've learned from bitter experience—isn't everything it's cracked up to be. If you need anything, you have my number."

  Travis stood on the porch as the lawyer drove away, reeling. He wanted justice. Vengeance. He wanted the truth. But most of all, he wanted his father not to be dead.

  "I'm sorry to bother you. But I need your help."

  A slender, slightly stooped woman stepped from the shadows. Her dark hair was pulled into a tight bun that made her fine features stand out as sharp as glass. She wore a long, loose cotton dress, socks that ended at the ankles and flat loafers. A uniform much like her daughter's.

  Travis moved forward, his first thought that something had happened to Delaney. On top of everything else, he didn't think he could take another piece of bad news.

  "Is Delaney okay?"

  "She is. For now. But…" Alma's gaze darted around the yard and to the street. "May we go inside? Please?"

  "Of course."

  Once he closed the door, Travis led Alma into the living room.

  "Would you like something? Water? Tea?"

  In the face of Alma's obvious distress, Travis let go of his grief long enough to at least try to put the woman at ease.

  "Nothing. Thank you."

  Alma couldn't seem to settle, her hands clenching
and unclenching. From what Delaney had told him, and his own assessment, Travis got the feeling the woman ran on nerves and little else.

  "I'm so sorry about your father. How are you doing?"

  "Better." The lie slid easily from his tongue. "You said Delaney is okay. For now? What can I do for you, Mrs. Brill?"

  "Munch is laid up. You already know." Alma, eyes downcast, licked her lips. "He'll be up and about soon enough. Delaney needs to be gone before then."

  Travis hesitated. He didn't know how much Alma knew about Delaney's plans. If all went on schedule, Del would be headed for Hawaii in a few days.

  "He'll go after her," Alma said. "She's underage. His family has influence. She can't run far enough, not with Munch on her trail. After the way you helped her swat him down, he's more determined than ever."

  "But—"

  "Until she turns eighteen, she's vulnerable. Unless…" Alma finally raised her gaze to his. "The law won't let Munch have her if she's a married woman."

  "Married…?" Travis sighed. He didn't have any difficulty connecting the rest of the dots. "You want me to marry Delaney?"

  Alma nodded, the dullness that lived in her eyes suddenly brightened with hope.

  "If you and Laney are husband and wife, you'll be able to protect each other."

  "Why do I need protection?" Travis asked.

  "I overheard Munch talking to his brother. He's determined to make you pay. For breaking his ribs, but mainly for touching Delaney."

  "We didn't—"

  "I know. So does Munch. But you touched her. In here." Alma tapped her chest. "I watched her bloom since she's known you. Especially over the past month."

  "She means a lot to me." More than Travis knew how to express—even to himself.

  "Laney will never forgive herself if Munch hurts you." Alma clutched at Travis' arm, the grip of her slender fingers surprisingly strong. "The sheriff is going to arrest you for statutory rape. He'll throw you in jail until the trial. And Munch will keep Laney locked in her room so she can't testify on your behalf."

  "However, if Delaney and I are married, they can't charge me with rape."

  "You understand," Alma said, almost wilting with relief. "In two years, you can have the marriage annulled. Until then, Laney can live her life without looking over her shoulder."

  His mind raced. Somewhere, he knew another solution had to exist. His father would think of something. But turning to Alan for a dose of wise, down-to-earth advice was no longer an option. From now on—good, bad, or disastrous—he was on his own.

  "Can we even get married?" Travis realized the second he asked the question, he knew what he would do. "Delaney hasn't turned sixteen."

  "All you need is parental consent." Alma raised her chin, a glimpse of her former self, shining through. "I haven't been a very good mother. I was so afraid that she'd leave me, I almost sacrificed her to that monster."

  "You can go with Delaney. I know she wants you to."

  Sadly, Alma shook her head. "Once. Maybe. But, I don't have Laney's strength. Not anymore. I'll live with my choices, as long as she gets away."

  Why stay when she had a choice? Travis would never understand. However, like Delaney, he knew he couldn't force Alma to leave Munch.

  "Are you going to marry my daughter?"

  "For Delaney? Yes. Definitely." Travis nodded. "Have you asked her?"

  "She'll agree."

  "How can you be so certain?"

  "She'll say yes. For you."

  "YOU LOOK PRETTY. And nervous. And a little nauseous."

  "You, too," Delaney said, her smile forced.

  Travis adjusted his tie. He figured a man only got married once—for the first time. He should dress up for the occasion.

  "Substitute handsome for pretty," he corrected.

  Delaney gave him a considering look, shaking her head.

  "Nope. I'd say you're pretty. In a rugged kind of way."

  The fact that they could tease each other had to be a good thing—given the circumstances. They'd become engaged yesterday. Less than twenty-four hours later, they were about to say I do. Neither of them had a chance to catch their breath.

  They stood in front of a little yellow house, twenty-three miles west of Green Hills, and just over the border into North Carolina where there was no waiting period—few questions asked.

  All they needed were their birth certificates—and in Delaney's case, a legal guardian. Plus, the twenty-five-dollar fee for the justice of the peace.

  Afraid they might draw attention if they traveled together, Travis hadn't seen Delaney since his father's funeral.

  "We haven't had a chance to talk, Del."

  "What is there to say?" she asked. "Either we get married, or you go to prison. End of story."

  "Not exactly the romantic wedding most girls dream about."

  "I—in case you haven't noticed—am not most girls."

  No, Travis thought. Delaney had never been able to enjoy the flights of fancy most young women her age indulged in. She had a practical outlook that he admired. Still, today shouldn't be all gloom and doom. Del deserved something nice to look back on.

  "These are for you." From behind his back, Travis handed her a bouquet of wildflowers. "I know they aren't fancy, but—"

  "I didn't expect. I…" Delaney sighed, her eyes sparkling as she raised the blooms to her nose. "They're perfect. Thank you."

  "They look good with your dress."

  "Something borrowed and blue," Delaney did a quick turn, the skirt of the turquoise-colored dress swirling around her knees. "Our neighbor, Mrs. Thomas' contribution to the day. Your flowers are new. And I guess my underwear qualifies as old."

  Travis chuckled. Though the day was hardly an occasion for celebration, Delaney could have passed for a real bride. Somebody had trimmed off the ragged bits of her hair, the curling ends held back by a white satin ribbon. Skin glowing, her cheeks held a slight blush of pink, the same color as her full, smiling lips.

  Travis' earlier assessment hadn't done Delaney justice. She was more than pretty. Much, much more. And he knew he'd forever carry the memory of how she looked as they stepped up to say their vows.

  The ceremony took less than five minutes—start to finish. All Travis and Delaney had to do was agree to honor each other and swear there was no legal impediment to their union.

  "You may kiss the bride."

  "Don't panic," Travis whispered when Delaney stiffened. "We did this before. Remember?"

  Delaney nodded. She rested her hand on his chest as she lifted her lips. So sweet. So warm. Travis savored the feel of her mouth on his as he realized this could be the last time they kissed.

  Travis raised his head, his arms holding Delaney's body close to his.

  "Promise me two things. I'm going to send you money. However much I can, whenever I can."

  "But—"

  "I won't hear an argument," he said, staying her words with one finger, gently placed against her lips. "Promise you'll never try to pay me back."

  Delaney hesitated, frowning. But the look in Travis' eyes must have told her he wouldn't change his mind. Reluctantly, she nodded.

  "You said two promises?"

  "Your bags are packed. You have your airplane ticket. Promise me you will never ever go back to Green Hills."

  This time, Delaney didn't wait to give him her answer.

  "Don't worry." When her gaze met Travis', he was reminded of deep, velvety violets. "This is one promise I will never break."

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  ● ≈ ● ≈ ●

  ELEVEN YEARS LATER—PRESENT DAY

  DELANEY WONDERED IF her hearing had gone on the fritz. Travis Forsythe. Annoyingly handsome. Undeniably sexy. Once her best—her only—friend. Who for eleven years hadn't bothered to communicate with her unless a lawyer was involved?

  This man? After all this time? After breezing in here as if he were the injured party? He actual
ly had the nerve to pull the husband card?

  "What did you say?" Delaney asked, just in case she'd heard wrong. Above all, she wanted to be fair before reacting.

  "You heard me. I'm your husband, so I have certain rights."

  Of all the arrogant. Egotistical... Delaney waited for her head to explode. She should be angry. Incensed. Instead—inexplicably—she burst out laughing.

  Not a scoff. Of a titter. Or even a guffaw. But a full-blown, no doubt, eye-watering, belly-clutching laugh. And the longer Delaney continued—she really did try to stop—Travis turned out to be the one whose head appeared to be in danger of blowing off.

  "I'd love to know what's so funny," he said, his long legs planted firmly in front of her desk, his deep-blue eyes narrowed. "I could use a laugh about now."

  Delaney hiccupped, then coughed as another chuckle erupted. Her first inclination was to apologize. Which she might have done if Travis actually deserved a single ounce of atonement. Not from her, he didn't.

  "Give me a second," she said, searching the top drawer for a tissue.

  As usual, nothing was where she expected it to be. She'd left the organization of her office in Trina's hands. Big mistake. The teenager was great at reading while lackadaisically manning the cash register. If showing up for work each day with a different fluorescent color streaked through her hair were an Olympic sport, the girl would have nothing but gold hanging around her neck.

  "Finished?" Travis inquired as he watched Delaney toss the wet tissue into the trash.

  "I think so." As she took a deep breath, Delaney nodded toward the metal gray folding chair to Travis' right. "Why don't you sit down?"

  When he hesitated, Delaney turned on the charm—an ability she'd acquired since the last time they met. However, if Travis looked closely, he'd recognize her technique.

  The slow curving of her lips. The twinkle in her eyes. The way she turned her head a little to the side, drawing him in. Delaney had learned each move from the master.

  None other than Travis Forsythe. However, unlike Travis, she wasn't a natural-born charmer.