I shifted around so she could lean against me now that she seemed more relaxed.
“I acquired the bar from my Uncle Joe a year ago. He died and left everything he had to my brother and me. My brother got his house, and I got the bar. I’m not sure why he did it that way, but he made a stipulation in his will that I couldn’t sell the bar for at least ten years. I guess my uncle knew me better than I knew myself. I hated what I was doing, the investigative work. The little work we did find turned out to be in nearby cities, and was mostly spying on cheating spouses, and those weren’t frequent enough to pay any bills. This is a small, sleepy town, and everyone knows everyone, so there was never any P. I. work around here. I tried working the bar by myself, but I was more interested in playing with the band, so Brodie volunteered to do most of the bartending. Seems he needed something to do with his time too since our Private Investigating firm went belly-up. Plus he figured it was a great way to meet the ladies. Unfortunately for him, this is a small town, and there aren’t very many ladies around. But he’s okay with it. He claims that the ones that come passing through are perfect. No strings attached. He’s been sort of on these one night stand kicks now since … well, anyway, he’s not really in a good frame of mind for getting involved right now. That’s the way he likes it. So, we still have our P. I. license, but as I said, it’s not a thriving business. My friend, Luke, in Portland, specializes in family law. He can file the papers for you, and Troy will never know where you are.” When she remained silent, I grew concerned. “You do want a divorce don’t you?”
“Troy will never agree to a divorce.”
Chapter 18
Lena
“He doesn’t have to agree,” Jackson countered so quickly it was as if he’d had the words on the tip of his tongue before I had a chance to make the statement. “Oregon is a no fault divorce state, just like California. All you have to do is state irreconcilable differences. The fact that you want a divorce, and he doesn’t, is sufficient. It is considered an irreconcilable difference. He can’t object to a divorce. He can only dispute the terms, such as custody and property division.”
“Well, there’s no custody battle since we didn’t have any kids, and we didn’t own our house, but he’ll never sign the papers. He told me that.”
“He doesn’t need to sign the papers. If he won’t cooperate you can get a divorce by what’s called—defaulting your spouse.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means we file a divorce petition, and have him served. With or without his blessing, we get an order from the court barring him from objecting to the divorce, and then ninety days after that we’ll submit a final judgment of divorce, with or without his signature. Even if he objects and files a response, the judge can, and will, order a divorce over his objection.”
“You can really do this for me without him knowing where I am?”
“Yes.”
“My God, I’ve been so stupid.”
“No, you’ve been scared, that’s all.”
“Right. I was too scared to even investigate the possibility of divorce. I’ve been scared to breathe. It’s taken me a whole year to save money and get the courage to leave. If he hadn’t beaten me so badly the other morning, I would still be there.”
A shiver crawled up from the bottom of my toes and settled at the base of my skull.
“But you did get out. You had to endure hell first, but you did get out. That takes courage. You should be proud of yourself.”
“This all sounds great, and I really appreciate it. You've been … you are wonderful. But … he’ll never give up. He’ll never quit looking for me.”
Jackson straightened and turned to face me, taking my hands in his. “Lena, I’m not going to try to sugarcoat this. You’re right; he will look for you. That’s why we need to take every precaution we can to make sure that doesn’t happen, starting with you telling me every move you made from the time you stabbed him. I also need to take some pictures of your bruises. Is that okay?”
“Pictures, why?”
“We need to press charges and file a restraining order against him, that’s why. Not that that’s going to keep him from trying to get at you. If he’s anything like most abusers, he will keep trying. In his mind, you are his property, and he won’t stop hunting you.”
“I’m scared, Jackson. I don’t think I can do this.” I wanted to get in my car and drive. I didn’t know to where, just away. Away from anyone who knew anything about me.
“I promise I will do everything possible to protect you.”
“I don’t see how you can make such a promise.”
“I promise because I know the law. I know how jerks like him think.” He placed his hands on my shoulders and pressed his forehead against mine. I closed my eyes, breathing in the sweet smell of the haven he personified.
“Now, let’s get some pictures before that ice heals you too fast. Then you can start telling me every detail from the time you stabbed him until you walked into my bar.”
Jackson took several pictures of my face while I described my journey, complete with smashing the cell phone after calling the taxi, the bus, and buying the old Subaru. I told him where I left the SUV. He figured the SUV would be stolen or would eventually be impounded, and Troy would have to pay to get it out. He was impressed with the scheming and attention to detail I’d taken in order to hide my tracks. When he asked me to lift my top up a bit to reveal the bruising at my rib cage, I hesitated. I wanted to trust this man, needed to trust him more than anything, but no matter how nice Jackson was, or how much I knew deep down in my heart he wouldn’t hurt me, the tiniest speck of doubt continued to creep up the back of my neck and cloud my mind with fear.
“Just up a little and only your side,” Jackson said and gave me a reassuring smile.
I lifted the shirt up, just below my breasts, lowering it immediately after he took the pictures. He took some shots of the imprint of Troy’s hand on my wrist too. It was so ugly. I couldn’t wait for it to fade, which it actually had, some, but there was still enough of it left to show up in a picture.
“You did great in covering your tracks, Lena. I don’t think he’ll have an easy time locating you, but just for extra precautions, you should probably dye your hair a different color. I have a friend who can help with that. I’ll arrange for her to come here. One more thing,” he set the camera down, “what name did you use when you bought the car?”
“Lana Martin. Martin was my mother’s maiden name.”
He frowned. “Did Troy know that?”
“I don’t think so. He knew mine was Benton, but we never discussed families. I guess that was one of my mistakes. Maybe if I’d found out more about his family, I would have realized he had the potential for violence. I later found out that his father was in and out of jail for most of Troy’s childhood.”
“Don’t beat yourself up about that one. Not all perpetrators had criminals for parents, and not all victims become perps. For now, go ahead and relax back on the sofa again. I’ll get you some more ice, and you can try to sleep while I send these pictures to Luke so he can start the ball rolling on the restraining order.”
I slowly sank against the back of the daybed, and waited for him to bring me the ice. I wasn't tired anymore, and I didn't want to be alone. I was scared. I didn’t want to be a burden, but for some reason I felt safer with Jackson around. I guess I was beginning to trust him. “Jackson, I don’t think I could sleep right at the moment. Do you have any tea or coffee?”
“Oh, of course. Sorry, I got so caught up in helping you, I didn’t think about what you might need or want. Which is sort of confusing when you think about it. Are you hungry? I’ll make you a sandwich. What kind of sandwich would you like? What kind of tea do you want? I think I have some of that Chamomile tea women like, or would you rather have just plain old Lipton tea or coffee?”
“You’re rambling, but it’s sweet. The coffee sounds great, and I’ll have a sandwich if you’ll joi
n me. Any kind will be fine.”
“Yeah, be back in a flash. I’ll start the upload of the pictures while I wait for the coffee to brew...” he stopped, turned toward me, pulled his hand through his hair. “Actually, this is really ridiculous.”
“What?”
“Me running up and down these stairs, cooking down there and bringing stuff up here. How about if you just come down there and rest? My sofa’s much more comfortable than that old daybed anyway, and we have a spare bedroom you can stay in at night. That way I can keep an eye on you while I upload these pictures and start the necessary paperwork for everything.”
Chapter 19
Jackson
I couldn't believe what I was suggesting, bringing a strange woman into my home. Brodie's home. That was another issue I'd need to deal with before the afternoon was over. It was one thing having her up here, but Brodie might not like the idea of having her down in the same house, even though Lena didn't strike me as a thief or anything. Besides, she could barely walk, let alone steal anything.
She didn't move to get up, just stared at me as if I just appeared out of nowhere.
“Trust me. It will be alright.”
“I don’t want to be a burden.”
“Lena, you’re not a burden, and there’s something else you don’t know about me.”
“What’s that?”
“I have a soft spot for injured creatures, and you are injured. I can’t help myself, and there’s nothing you can say or do to keep me from helping you right now, so you’ll just have to give yourself over to me.” As I said those last words, her eyes grew huge, and I realized the significance they held. I wished I could take them back. “I’m sorry, that didn’t come out right.”
“Hope not. One tyrant in my life at a time.”
“Good thing for you I’m not into oppression. So, now that that’s settled, let’s go down to my house. It will be easier on me.” Easier and safer, I thought. I could keep a better eye on her, and at least the main house had a security system. I wasn’t sure how intelligent this jerk of a husband of hers was, but I didn’t want to take any chances.
She didn’t move, just continued to stare at me. I held out my hand. “There’s a security system down at the house. You’ll be safer there.” I decided to throw that in to help convince her. “Come on, come down, see if you feel comfortable; if not, you can come back up here tonight if you want. Just come down for now.”
Chapter 20
Lena
Reluctantly, I agreed to go down to the main house. I figured being around people might be good for me. God knows I’d been deprived of that privilege long enough. The only people I ever got to see were the clerks at the grocery store or occasionally, the mailman, if I happened to be outside during the mail delivery, but he never left his truck, and only waved from his seat if he happened to notice me.
Jackson helped me down the long stairway leading from the cottage to the house. Once inside he helped make me comfortable on the huge, buttery soft, brown-leather sofa positioned between two dark wooden tables, each sporting the most intricately carved wooden lamps. Across from the sofa stood a tan and light brown stone fireplace sizzling with the scent of burning pine. The two-inch thick slats on the brown shutters of the windows allowed just the right amount of sun in to warm my arms. There was a painting of roaring ocean waves breaking against the side of a steep mountain cliff on the wall behind my head, positioned just a few inches above the sofa. Another picture with scenes of pastoral fields hung above a very old looking cabinet with two doors made of metal slates framed with wood casings. Each door had a series of tiny nail holes making some sort of intricate design. As I looked closer, I realized there was a date etched in the middle of the design: 1861. Jackson must have noticed me staring at the large, beautiful piece of furniture.
“It’s an antique pie safe. It belonged to my mom’s grandmother. That’s where they stored their pies to keep them fresh and safe from critters and bugs. The design on the doors is from the Freemasons society, the fraternal religious organization dating back several centuries. The compass, the square and the trowel are supposed to represent a moral lesson or something. I’m guessing maybe it was something my great grandfather was involved in. To me, it’s just a nice piece of furniture. Since I don’t bake many pies, it’s where I keep my music sheets and some other odds and ends that I have no idea where to put.”
He smiled, and I smiled back. I’d heard of the freemasons, though I didn’t know much about them. I was grateful for the history lesson, brief as it was. “Maybe I could bake you one someday as a thank you.”
“You have a deal,” he said with raised eyebrows. I settled back against the sofa and studied the rest of the room. On the opposite wall hung photographs of people, most likely Jackson’s parents and his aunt and uncle among other relatives. Some very old timey photos that might have been pictures of the great grandfather he’d mentioned. A few pictures of Brodie and Jackson were mixed in. It seemed strange to me that guys their age would have so many family pictures on the wall. Maybe it was just something left from their aunt and uncle since this had been their house. My question was answered almost as if Jackson had read my mind.
“The family display of pictures belonged to my aunt. Brodie didn’t have the heart to remove them since those are all the people she loved. He said it gave the place a personality and some history. Underneath the macho exterior, my little brother does have a bit of a soft side, though don’t tell him I said that.”
“No worries,” I said. Other than the family pictures, the whole room screamed of masculinity. Glancing through the doorway, I spied the corner of a pool table. This was a house begging for excitement and perfect for social entertaining. I wondered if they did much of that.
Jackson retreated to the kitchen, and I heard the refrigerator open along with the sounds of him placing things on the counter. I felt so helpless and wished I had the strength to give him a hand. My side still ached too much to stand for more than a few minutes. As I rested on the sofa, I considered this man bent on rescuing me. What made him tick? Jackson was a strong name. He was incredibly handsome. I loved the way his hair fell to the bottom of his neck. He hadn’t shaved in a couple of days, and the dark stubble made him look a little older. His lips were thick and tender looking. And God, he smelled delicious, something that caught my senses more than once. I wished I had met him under different circumstances, and I suddenly wished I looked and felt better. How could I be attracted to a man so soon after another had treated me so badly?
He came back in carrying a tray with two glasses of milk, a couple of sandwiches and two cups of coffee on it. I had a ton of questions I wanted to ask him, and couldn’t help myself as the first one poured out of my mouth as though it couldn’t wait to ruin the perfect relationship.
“Jackson, have you ever been married?”
He turned, his face showing surprise at the question. “No.”
“Girlfriend?”
“No. Not at the moment.” He chuckled softly. “Why do you ask?”
“Well, you’re a very attractive guy. I would think girls would be knocking down your door to have you on their arm. Plus, I wanted to make sure I wasn’t intruding on anyone. If you did have a girlfriend, I’d hate to have her think the worst.”
“Well, any girlfriend of mine would just have to accept the part of me that likes to protect the innocent.”
I thought about that, and wondered if he would indeed be helping me if he did have a girlfriend. In some way or another, I bet he would.
“Protecting the innocent and rescuing the wounded is what I do, remember?”
“Yeah. I remember. Jackson …” I hesitated, so many thoughts were running rampant in my head, and I didn’t want him to think I was prying. “You said you graduated from college, and then went on to became a cop, then a private investigator.” I wanted to be delicate here because he seemed so much younger than someone who could have achieved so much already in life. “I mean,
you don’t really look old enough to have done all that.”
Jackson set the coffee and sandwiches down on the table in front of the sofa and laughed. “Thanks for that. If you wanted to know how old I was you could have just asked.”
“Sorry. I’m not used to being so open with anyone. Okay, then how old are you?”
“I’ll be twenty-three in a couple of months.” When I simply stared at him and frowned, he added, “I graduated high school at sixteen, and went directly into Berkeley. I did my four years in pre-law, but always kept music as a minor. I guess you might say I was an over-achiever back then.” He sat down on the sofa beside me and handed me a plate with a sandwich on it.
“Thanks,” I said. “It looks good.”
Without looking at me, he asked, “Uh ... how long were you married to him?”
“A little less than a year ... it was stupid to marry him. I only knew him a few weeks. He was a bit over-protective, but never did anything that made me think he would hurt me until after we were married. Aside from that night after dancing with Weezer, which, at the time, I’d figured I’d deserved, that first couple of weeks was O.K, at least until the episode when he hit me during dinner. Everything was wonderful.” I took a bite of the sandwich, chewed, and swallowed, “Mmmm … turkey. It’s funny, you know, I never thought of myself as being weak, but now, I don’t know what I am. I planned to leave him after the first time. I just needed to find a way out, but as time progressed, it seemed to get harder and harder. He kept tabs on everything I did and everywhere I went. Escape seemed impossible.”
Beautifully Wounded (The Beaumont Brothers) Page 9
