It was the same argument that had convinced Matt to agree to the five-year lease. Still, something gnawed at him . . . “I don’t get why a bigwig from D.C. would choose a little New Hampshire town.”
“Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, Matt. The place has been empty for two years now. If Cameron Warshaw hadn’t come along, we may have had to settle for something less desirable, for less money.”
“I guess,” he replied doubtfully, but smiled. He wouldn’t let it bother him. The mill had been in the family for over a century. It had always played a big role in the family’s life, but it didn’t take priority over everything else. The uniform he wore was more important. The uniform his father still wore. It resembled any other small-town uniform, yet he wore it with as much pride as any cop from a big city. It represented a lot of heartache and honor.
Matt pulled out a chair and sat at the table across from his father. Little signs of his ex, Rachel, remained throughout the kitchen. Her sunflower curtains hung at the windows and her dishes took up space in the cabinets. He thought he’d get rid of them as soon as he had the chance. He didn’t keep them around for sentimental reasons. He simply didn’t have the time or inclination to replace them. No, sentimentality and Rachel didn’t go hand-in-hand. Not anymore.
“Got some other news for you.” Ed’s voice cut through his thoughts. His father’s tone took on a serious note.
Matt eyed him cautiously. Yeah, something was up. Usually a grinning, happy-go-lucky guy, tonight his dad’s brows furrowed, he chewed on his bottom lip, and stared at his soda can as if caught in some troubling thought.
“Go on,” Matt urged slowly, his hand tightening around the chilled aluminum can.
“Krista Faye is back in town.”
A cold pit that generally accompanied something particularly nasty formed in his gut. The last time he felt it, his then-fiancée had handed him back his engagement ring and told him she couldn’t marry him. Rachel had said he was ‘too much of a downer.’ That had been sixteen months ago.
“Crap.” He wanted to use a more colorful word, but his father wouldn’t approve, even if the situation called for it. Matt set the soda on the table with enough force to slosh the dark liquid onto the tablecloth. “Why is she back?” He stared at the growing brown stain on the white material.
“Don’t know. Not my business. Maybe she’s packing things up at her ma’s place.”
Matt could see it. “Hope that’s all. Although it’s kind of odd she couldn’t even make it to her mother’s funeral. Seems she would’ve let Emily sort through all the final details.”
“You got to move on, Matt,” Ed said evenly.
Matt turned a glare on his father. Move on? Apparently his parents were more forgiving, or maybe they were better people. Yeah, they were. Always. Sometimes that made him ashamed. No, he couldn’t move on.
“Things are fine,” he grumbled, deciding on the outcome in his mind. “When she leaves things will go back to being fine.”
Ed downed the last of his soda and crumpled the can. “We’ll see. You do what you need to. Just wanted to give you a heads-up, in case you bumped into her at the store or something.”
“Don’t worry, Dad. I won’t embarrass myself or say something rude.”
The older man got to his feet and patted him heavily on the shoulder. “I know you won’t. I’ve got to get going or else your mom’ll send out a search party. See you Tuesday for dinner, okay?”
“Yeah,” Matt responded distractedly. “Tell Mom I’ll take a look at the dryer while I’m there.”
He didn’t even hear his father walk out and close the door. Instead he stewed. He hated to think about that night nearly fifteen years ago.
It had been the first serious accident he had to deal with on the force. A defining moment, one that could make or break a cop.
It nearly broke him. No, it did break him, in a way more profound than anything else in his life before or after.
He’d been the first cop on the scene that chilly April night. A two-car accident on Route 168 leading into Quail Ridge. Not the best of roads even in broad daylight, full of tight curves, rises, and dips. A sharp incline on one side, made of granite ledges, dirt and shrubbery. On the other side, beyond a damned rickety guardrail, was a ten-foot fall into a river, which in the spring had a good flow to it.
One car’s front-end had been smashed up, windshield shattered, and smeared with something dark. The vehicle had come to a stop against the incline, in the wrong lane.
The other car had gone through the guardrail on the river’s side.
He hadn’t recognized the Chevette at first. Or what was left of it. When he did, he had to fight the nausea that gripped his gut like a rabid dog. Panic had turned his hands ice cold as he went down that steep embankment toward the battered remains. At the time he hadn’t known his younger brother had been involved. He should’ve suspected. Jay and Krista had been attached at the hip.
He hoped and prayed anyway.
A lot of good that had done him.
Chapter 2
Two days later Matt was willing to eat his words. He’d seen Krista from a distance, twice, at the grocery store in Milford and again at the bank in Quail Ridge. Each time, an ugly twist in his belly formed into a tight knot, reminiscent of how he’d felt fifteen years ago.
Despite the unpleasant sensation, Matt couldn’t fight his curiosity about Krista’s presence in town. He much preferred contempt to interest, yet he couldn’t ignore the questions that revolved in his head. At last curiosity won out.
He pulled his cruiser into the short dirt drive at the Fayes’ white farmhouse, then sat in the car for a long moment, staring at the overgrown lawn. The hedges hadn’t been trimmed in ages, probably since before Mrs. Faye had begun to lose her battle with cancer. The place looked nearly lifeless.
A Jeep Wrangler was parked next to the garage. A haze of dust and a spattering of dry mud diminished its silver-blue paint. Its abused exterior made him wonder where life had taken Krista after that fateful night. She’d done a stint in the Women’s State Prison. After that, he had no clue. He’d never cared. Now he wanted to know. The wanting pressed at his head like a nagging ache. Once satisfied, he planned on going back to not caring.
More important than finding out where she’d been for the past fifteen years, he wanted to know when she was leaving. He pushed the door open and climbed out.
A big dog trotted out from behind the house, his thick black and tan tail whipping back and forth and his tongue lolling out the side of his mouth. Matt could’ve sworn the dog grinned. The animal gave a throaty, deep woof that wasn’t one bit threatening.
“Gus, get back here. I’m sorry, I know he should be on a leash—”
The woman stopped short, her mouth open as the rest of her sentence remained unsaid.
The whole world fell silent. Matt glared at Krista as she struggled to regain her composure, shutting her mouth tightly so it formed a thin line.
He looked her up and down, assessing her physical condition. She appeared healthy anyway. A baggy green T-shirt hid most of her figure down to her hips. The lower portion of her body was clothed in faded blue jeans. She wore her baseball hat backward, giving him a clear view of her face. No make-up, just a fair complexion with a smattering of light freckles across her nose. Her eyes were bluer than he’d remembered, but he hadn’t been the one gazing into them fifteen years ago.
Only the scar that ran from the left corner of her lip to her cheekbone, and the other between her dark golden blond brows to her hairline, marred her pretty face. These weren’t thin lines. No, the accident had taken its toll on her as well.
It had left her alive, though. He wished he could say the same about Jay, Liz, or the out-of-towner from Rhode Island, the unfortunate passenger in the second car.
“Matt,” she acknowledged through a tense jaw.
“Krista.” He nearly said she looked well, but he didn’t want to start making polite small talk. Best to get right to the heart of the matter. “How long are you here for?”
Krista laughed shortly. “Well, if I was expecting a warm welcome in this town, I would’ve been disappointed. Good thing I’m a realist.” The smile on her face matched her frigid tone of voice.
“Small towns remember things for a long time. Some things we never forget,” he replied as coldly.
The trace of a cynical smile on her lips disappeared. “Neither do I. Sorry to disappoint you, Matt, I’ll be here for a while. I’ll try to stay out of your way while I’m around.”
With a grip on her dog’s collar, Krista turned and walked toward the back of the house without so much as a goodbye.
For a long moment, Matt stared in the direction they’d gone, not sure if he was more angry or puzzled at the confrontation. He settled for both.
The last time he and Krista had words, she’d been in tears, begging for him to believe her, that the accident hadn’t been just her fault. She’d been a scared, hurt girl, the damage to her face and body fresh, and he hadn’t cared a bit for her because she’d been the one behind the wheel. She had taken away three lives, one his own flesh and blood.
Now she was a woman. A strong woman not searching for any forgiveness from him. Now it seemed she was the one who didn’t care.
Krista landed hard in the kitchen chair, sending the legs scraping across the pale green tile floor in shrieking protest. She grabbed for the new pack of cigarettes that lay in the center of the table and then the lighter. Her hands shook badly as she put the flame to the tip, inhaling deeply until the smoke curled into her lungs. She’d wanted to give the damned things up, but that wouldn’t happen as long as she had run-ins like the one she’d just turned her back on.
Well, better than drinking. She hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol since she took a pregnancy test at the age of seventeen. Ever since the accident, she couldn’t bear the taste of alcohol. She wished she could’ve said the same about cigarettes. At least one cigarette every few days wouldn’t kill her. On the contrary, they eased her frayed nerves, otherwise she might have a breakdown.
She hadn’t expected Matt to be her first encounter in Quail Ridge. She’d been careful not to go to any of the local stores, not quite ready to deal with questions and accusations.
Not everyone had been as hostile as Matt back then. Some believed her story about what had happened that night. More didn’t. She hoped time had mellowed their sentiments. She never doubted how Matt would react. After all, Jay was his little brother. They may have been direct opposites, but fraternal bonds were stronger than those differences.
She just had to depend on the others to make her stay bearable.
Matt and his father were the people she’d have to deal with more often. And if her return made him this ticked off when he didn’t know the truth behind it, how would he react when he found out she was leasing his mill?
Krista drew in another long drag off the cigarette. She’d really have to find another way to calm her nerves or else she’d be smoking a pack a day.
She remained there in the neat kitchen for a long time after she’d finished the cigarette, examining the room and trying to reclaim the warmth she’d once felt there. Not an easy thing to do, with her mother gone and her sister living in Boston. Even after her father had passed away, the Faye household had been a typical home sweet home. Krista realized wearily that a house filled with all her family’s treasures wouldn’t change the emptiness she’d brought with her.
There wasn’t as much to do around the house as she’d first thought. Her mother, ever the organization queen, had left everything in order. The place really hadn’t changed over the past fifteen years. A few new pieces of furniture, new dishes, but overall the place was still the same.
Krista had set up her sleeping quarters in her old room. It seemed empty. Boxes of her posters, knick-knacks and books were stacked neatly in plastic tubs in the back of her closet. Things she’d left behind when she went off to serve her sentence. Things that didn’t seem important to her after she left prison. She let them be for now.
She had no interest in going down memory lane. She had enough of that when she’d driven into town for the first time on Route 168 and came to the stretch of road where the accident had occurred. Like someone else had control of the steering wheel, Krista found herself pulling over to the side when she found the spot. She’d remained in the Jeep for a long moment and stared at it, mentally pressing back at the anguish that rose as far as her throat and pushed sickly at her chest.
The guardrail had been changed, but the years and elements had weathered it. The only indication there had been a death was the three worn white crosses planted in the rocky ground just before it fell away the ten feet to the river below.
Fresh flowers lay beside two of the crosses. It was nice that someone still remembered, still cared. She’d made a mental note to come back at some point with her own flowers. The third one had no trace of remembrance. That person hadn’t been from the area. Still, she’d decided that she’d bring flowers for him as well.
Maybe forcing herself to face these things would help her deal with her own demons. A visit to the cemetery would be her next challenge. She had been in the hospital when Liz and Jay had been buried. Now it was time for her to pay her respects.
The shrill ring of the phone brought her out of her thoughts. She crunched out the remnants of her cigarette and pushed the chair away from the table.
“Hello,” she greeted wearily.
“You sound like a bundle of energy.”
“Cam,” she said with a laugh. “What’s up?”
“Just thought I’d give you an update. Sam Nielsen finished with the last floor. It’s ready for the painters on Monday. If they’re as good as I’ve been told, they should have the place bright and shiny in two weeks, less if they really push. They’ll be working on the dance studio first so we can get the flooring done.”
“I really need to go take a look.” Krista pulled the ball cap off her head and released her hair from its ponytail. She felt a headache coming on.
“You take your time. Get settled. Things are moving fine without you there. Mike Gibbons is doing a super job of overseeing the construction. You need to step in when all the renovations are complete.”
“Yeah, I know, but I really wanted to be involved with them. I’ll be in there when the painting starts. I placed the ads for the positions in last week’s paper. I already have a handful of resumes.” Krista eyed the pile of envelopes in the basket on the counter. She recognized a few names on the headers, blasts from the past. How would they react when they found out she would be their boss?
“You sound really down,” Cam noted. He always picked up on her moods. “Are you having any problems settling in?”
Krista reached for another cigarette. One hadn’t done the trick. “Well, the villagers haven’t come after me with pitchforks and torches yet,” she replied dryly. “But I did have a visit from the local constabulary a while ago.”
“Why? They giving you a hard time? I could make a call to the chief . . .”
“Relax, it wasn’t an official visit. Matt Burgess stopped in. He’s Jay’s big brother. Just wanted to find out when I was leaving.”
“Shit, Krista, you didn’t tell me the guy we’re doing business with was related to your late boyfriend. And a cop to boot.”
Krista shrugged and examined the glowing tip of the cigarette. “What difference does it make? We’re not doing anything illegal, and this is purely professional. I’m not going to try to win their affections back. I don’t need it. His dad is a cop too. Their occupation shouldn’t affect business.” She crushed the cigarette out in t
he black ashtray. The ache in her temples had begun to migrate to the center of her forehead. Pressing her fingers into that spot, she willed the pain to dissipate.
“Still, it’s good to know the players.”
“Listen, don’t worry about me. Go make lots of money so we can make this place work. I’ll deal with the locals some way or another, or I’ll skulk back and forth between the house and the mill. Maybe I’ll get a disguise.”
“That’s my fearless girl. Hard to believe that you stood in hurricane winds when Rita struck, or took on insurgents in Iraq.”
Krista laughed again. “Stop exaggerating. You make me sound like Superwoman. Couldn’t be further from the truth, Cam.”
Matt leaned over the pool table, the tip of the cue pointed at the white ball. He tried to concentrate, but his mind kept going back to his visit with Krista. Totally unsatisfying. He certainly hadn’t gotten the information he needed from her. To make things worse, she definitely wasn’t what he expected her to be.
He made his play. The ball missed the one he aimed for by several inches.
“You suck, man,” Dean said gleefully.
Matt let the insult go right past him. Instead, he stepped back and took a swig from the long neck on the table behind him and waited while his friend took his turn.
He wasn’t much in the mood for the game anyway. Playing pool with Dean was his weekly ritual and he would be damned if he’d break it because Krista’s return bugged him. He should’ve been able to drop the anger like other people had. He’d become too used to it. The resentment fit like a glove.
Where One Road Leads Page 2
