Seeds of Trust

by Cynthia Reese

  “I feel so stupid,” she muttered. “Just so stupid. I should have—”

  “What would you have done, honey? You against a grown man? You did the smart thing, and you’re here. And I’m here. I’m here. Shh. Shh. It’s gonna be okay.” He pulled her against him. The embrace was an awkward one as her arms were still under the blanket, but she didn’t care. She just wanted to get warm again, feel safe.

  “If anybody should feel stupid, it’s me. I should have never let you come back here.”

  “How—how’d you find out?” she asked him.

  “Brandon called me on his cell phone.”

  The deputy propped one foot on the bumper of the ambulance. “Hope you don’t mind, Miss Becca. But I figured you’d need somewhere to stay tonight.”

  “Oh, I do, don’t I? Because I am never going back in that motel again.”

  “Do you know if anything was missing?”

  Becca shook her head. “He—he didn’t touch anything but—but me.”

  “The reason I ask is that… Well, it’s strange that it was just a warning. I mean, I first thought maybe you had got hold of something they didn’t want you to have. Maybe some pictures you took? Or something someone gave you?”

  She considered Wilkes’s question. “No,” she said finally. “No. I think they wanted to scare me into giving up on the investigation.”

  “And…well, not to put too fine a point on it, but have they?” Wilkes asked her.

  “Honestly, I don’t know. Nothing like this has ever happened to me. But…but my dad always says never to make a decision when you’re upset.” She groaned and put her fingers to her throat. Already she could tell it would hurt, but it would be nothing compared to the chewing out she could expect from her dad. He would point out in excruciating detail all the security lapses she’d made. “My dad. I need to call him. He’s gonna be livid.”

  “Well, now, if you want me to talk to him and assure him that we are going to put all our resources behind this—”

  “No. I mean, he’s going to be livid with me. He’s…” She didn’t want to confess what a screwup her dad sometimes accused her of being.

  “No, ma’am, I don’t think so,” Wilkes assured her. “Really, this wasn’t any bit your fault. You didn’t— Don’t fall into the trap—” He broke off, obviously unaccustomed to offering solace or advice on matters like this.

  Ryan picked up where the deputy had left off. “He won’t be mad. How could he be mad? He’ll be worried, sure. But Brandon’s right. This wasn’t your fault, Becca. You did nothing to make this happen.”

  She wasn’t convinced. She could think of a million things—well, at least a good half dozen—she could have done to have made this harder for her attacker. Her dad would say she’d not watched her back, been unaware of her surroundings, shown incompetence. Her dad had never been the touchy-feely type. Scraped knees and skinned elbows were completely her mother’s—and after her mom passed away, her aunt’s—domain.

  Should she get the call to her dad over and done with, or put it off until daylight?

  Heads you win, tails I lose.

  “What about this? While the E.M.T.s are packing up, I’ll go get your stuff. You call your dad. Tell him you’re staying with me and Mee-Maw.” Ryan patted her arm and headed out the way he’d come.

  Right. Dad will be doubly thrilled that I’m staying with the target of an investigation. Whoopee. More great news.

  But Becca had no desire to stay in another motel room. It would be a long, long time before she’d ever want even to try. In any event, she had no choice but to stay with Ryan.

  She was still dickering with herself about whether to call now or later when Ryan came back with her cell phone. “Here. We’ll clear out, give you a little privacy. Remember—no dad is going to be mad that his daughter is safe.”

  Becca regarded the phone in her hand with all the warmth she’d display for a scorpion. Sighing, she punched in her dad’s speed-dial number and waited for him to pick up.

  Despite the early morning hour, he answered with crisp alertness, a legacy of his time in the military.

  “Yes?”

  Her story spilled out. She tried to keep it bare-bones, no emotion. Her voice, though croaky, held steady, and for that, she was proud of herself.

  A long silence followed. Finally, he said, “So you’re okay?”

  “Except for my throat, I’m okay.”

  “When I find out who he is, I’ll rip him apart. I’m getting in the car now to put an end to this mess. I’ll be there in—”

  Mortification sluiced over her. “No, Dad! You don’t have to come. I’m okay.”

  “Obviously you’re in over your head, sweetheart. I need to handle this myself.”

  Not me. The investigation. The job. A pang shot through her. One day maybe she and her dad could carry on a conversation like two equals, or at least with mutual respect. But that day wouldn’t be tonight.

  “No. No, you don’t have to come.”

  “Look, I put you in harm’s way, and I shouldn’t have. Clearly, we both miscalculated.”

  Did he really mean that, or was he just trying to soothe her?

  “Dad. Can we talk about this in the morning? That will be soon enough. I’m fine. I’m not hurt, not permanently anyway. I’m making headway on this job. There’s no need for you to leave now. Get some rest and we’ll talk tomorrow morning.”

  Her logic seemed to make him hesitate. “You’re sure?”

  “Yes. Yes, sir.”

  “Where will you stay?”

  Becca swallowed, the action painful in her sore, battered throat. “I’ll be staying with one of the farmers. Ryan MacIntosh and his grandmother. They’ve offered to put me up for the night.”

  “Becca, don’t you have sense even to come in out of the rain? How do you know it wasn’t this MacIntosh that attacked you?”

  At that moment, Ryan appeared at the open doors of the ambulance. He held up her one small suitcase and smiled in a reassuring way.

  Becca smiled back. To her father, she said, “I just know, Dad. The phone number to the MacIntosh farm should be in the file. Call me in the morning. I’m going to try to get some sleep now.”

  With that, she clicked the phone shut. She shrugged off the blanket and stepped down into Ryan’s embrace.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  FURY LIKE HE’D NEVER experienced before made it nearly impossible for Ryan to speak on the way out to the farm. He glanced at Becca sitting beside him in his truck. Her face was drawn and pale; the bruises on her neck stood out in stark contrast.

  The jerk. He’d kill Tate—it had to be Tate who sent the creep in. And he’d kill Murphy for setting all this in motion. Didn’t he have any clue what could have happened, or did Murphy just not even care?

  Becca cleared her throat. “It was nice of the deputy to call in a buddy to take my car out to the farm. I don’t think I could have driven tonight.”

  “Save your voice. Remember? The E.M.T.s said to treat it like laryngitis—easy on the talking, plenty of warm liquids.”

  Ryan tightened his grip on the wheel. He could have lost her. He could have lost her even before he’d had a chance to really get to know her. Now that he had this second chance, what was he doing? Nurse-maiding. She probably wanted to slap him.

  But Becca smiled at him. He would have killed for that smile. It gave him hope that she was okay, that things between them would be fine.

  This is all my fault. If I’d just gone to Ag-Sure from the get-go with what I knew—or even what I suspected…

  Another voice niggled at him—maybe Jack’s voice.

  Yeah, but what about Gramps? And Mee-Maw?

  Ryan hated this feeling of being caught in
the middle. Whatever he did—or didn’t do—people he cared about were bound to get hurt.

  “Mee-Maw’s making you some hot tea—I called her before we left. You feel up to talking when we get there? We really need to, Becca.”

  For a moment, he saw weariness flash across her face, but she nodded. “Yeah. I probably won’t sleep very well anyway.”

  “We’re going to put you in the house tonight. Tomorrow, if you want, we can move you out to the pond house. You’ll have more privacy there. But for tonight…I want you just down the hall from me, okay?”

  She nodded again. “That sounds great.”

  “Good.” He made the turn onto Mee-Maw’s rutted drive and stifled a yawn. 3:00 a.m. Wasn’t long before he’d have to be up feeding the cows and the chickens and getting on with the day. Might as well not even try going back to bed.

  Wilbur thumped his tail at the back door as Ryan led Becca in. Mee-Maw waited for them just inside the kitchen.

  “Becca, Becca, girl, come here! Let me see you! Let me be sure you’re okay!”

  Ryan watched as Becca collapsed into the older woman’s embrace. He wouldn’t blame Becca if she did pack up her few things and head for Atlanta when day broke.

  Mee-Maw fussed over her, pouring her a cup of steaming tea and fixing her a piece of toast with homemade strawberry preserves. Ryan recalled picking those strawberries for his grandmother—it seemed like a completely different lifetime. Had he really been that optimistic? That energetic? That sure he could save this farm for Mee-Maw?

  Yes. With Becca’s help, he could do it again.

  Fine thing for you to do, asking a woman to rescue you after she’s been nearly killed because you kept your trap shut.

  The thought reminded him of Jack’s warning. He left Becca in Mee-Maw’s care, stepped out onto the back porch and used his cell phone to dial Jack’s.

  Marla answered the phone with the waspish grouch of the awakened and promptly handed the phone over to Jack.

  “What is—”

  “Somebody broke into Becca’s motel room, roughed her up, scared her to death. Still think least said’s easiest mended?”

  “What?” Jack seemed more alert. “Hold on. Let me go into the kitchen.”

  A minute later, Jack was back on the line with a volley of questions. Ryan filled him in, then waited for his reply.

  “What did you tell Brandon? Did you tell him about Tate?”

  “I started to. But…I’ve got no proof. Just something he could blow off. Look, I don’t know what to do. We can’t continue to keep our mouths shut if somebody—Tate or whoever it was who sent that goon—is that desperate and dumb. This changes things.”

  “Man…you’re right. Of course she’s gonna dig in her heels now.”

  For a moment, Ryan was irritated with Jack’s apparent self-serving interest. “Well, she is here. At the farm. No way was I gonna let her stay there.”

  “I don’t like it… Murphy’s gonna crap a brick when he finds out.” Before Ryan could say anything, Jack continued, “But at least she’s safe there with you. And you’ve got the room—I got every bed filled here with our crew. Just…try to talk her out of anything rash before we can decide what to do, okay? And don’t go thinking confession is good for the soul. Think of Mee-Maw. For now, we watch out for Becca, but we keep our mouths shut until…until we decide what to say.”

  Ryan felt like it was a fair enough deal. He ended the call and slipped back inside. He was pleased to see the tea and toast had bucked up Becca. If there was one thing Mee-Maw knew how to do, it was mothering.

  When Ryan went to double-check the locks on the doors, Mee-Maw followed him. She whispered, “Is this because of that investigation? That infernal vine?”

  Ryan dipped his head in confirmation. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Her lips thinned and her face tightened. “That Murphy has a special place in hell. I’ll believe to my dying day he had something to do with it.”

  Ryan hesitated. “Murphy’s too smart for that. He’d know it would attract suspicion. But I wouldn’t put it past dumb lugs like Tate or Oliver.”

  “Well? What are you going to do about it, young man? Are you going to help her? Isn’t that what she came to you for?”

  “I— Yes, ma’am,” he repeated. Sometimes that’s all that was really wise to say to a woman like Mee-Maw.

  “Well, then.” She looked satisfied. “I’ll go on to bed. Leave you two to talk. I expect…I expect she might talk more to you than to me. I have her bed ready. You holler if you need me.”

  He followed her back to the kitchen table, where Mee-Maw gave Becca a peck on the cheek. “You get some rest now. In the morning, you sleep as late as you like. I’ll fix you some nice hot grits that’ll be soothing to your throat, okay?”

  Alone with Becca, Ryan sat down in the ladder-backed dining chair next to her. He folded a hand over hers. “Becca…I’m so sorry about all this. I feel like so much of it is my fault.”

  “It wasn’t you who didn’t make sure the door was barricaded with a handy dresser.”

  “But I should have known how sorry the locks were on those motel doors—Brandon said the guy used a credit card or a knife, then used bolt cutters on the chain. I could have at least told you to stay with us. You could have.”

  “It’s going to be okay, Ryan. Eventually. I’ll be okay. I won’t lie—it scared the life out of me. I thought…” She looked as though she might cry again. She went on, though, with calm deliberation. “My dad…my dad wants to come down here and take over the investigation.”

  “Maybe that’s the wise thing to do.”

  She shrugged her shoulders. “Yeah. Maybe. But that will be two failures back to back on my part. Besides…”

  Becca’s face pinched with misery. She wanted to say something else, something that pained her, he could tell. Whatever it was, she didn’t reveal it. She simply shook her head as if to clear it.

  “You don’t want to let him down.”

  “No. But more importantly—and this is really stupid of me, you know—I don’t want to let myself down. I can do this. I can figure out what’s going on here. I already have a bunch of it figured out. If I can just get some proof, hard evidence.”

  “I’ll help you. I don’t—” Ryan closed his eyes and thought about Mee-Maw. He made a decision. Looking Becca straight in the face, he said, “I don’t know what I can do, what I’m able to do—even what I’m willing to do. But whatever I can, I’ll do it. Okay?”

  She smiled again, and the sheer megawatt power of that smile dazzled him. Whatever it took to make her smile like that, he’d do. Whatever it took to keep her safe—keep his whole family safe—he’d do.

  Or die trying.

  * * *

  BECCA CAME AWAKE in a jolt. The rising sun shone pink and gold through white eyelet curtains, spilling onto a wedding-ring quilt.

  Safe. She was safe.

  She traced the pattern of the interlocking rings on the quilt and wondered idly if Mee-Maw had stitched it.

  The rings were like this problem Becca faced now. Pull one and the whole thing jangled. You just had to figure out which was the loose one.

  Think. Go back to the basics.

  Her father’s voice again, this time from tenth-grade geometry when he sat beside her, trying to get her to grasp how to do proofs. “What do you know? What can you postulate from that?” he’d ask her.

  She knew that last night’s attack would be enough to make the insurance company tie up the settlements until future lawsuits could decide how it would all turn out.

  But Ag-Sure was after more. They wanted the smoking gun—enough to prevent any lawsuit from even being filed in the first place. That’s what they’d hoped for with the case she’d blown.


  What do you know?

  The vine just hadn’t hopped across the Mississippi. It had help. Help that the Hispanic workers hadn’t provided.

  Somebody had planted it. Somebody had allowed it to take root and spread.

  And it had spread. In the early days, it would have been small enough to go unnoticed, but surely herbicides would have—

  Her finger paused in its trace around a lavender ring. Another plan of attack occurred to her.

  She’d need to follow up on the threads she’d unraveled, yes, but this one might be enough to satisfy Ag-Sure…or at the least, pry information loose that could be used for more leverage.

  The only thing—she’d need Ryan’s help. So, was his promise good? Would this be one of those things he’d be willing to do?

  She had the day to convince him—and to convince her father that she had a Plan B.

  Assuming, of course, that her dad wasn’t already halfway down I-75.

  Becca padded along cool heart-pine flooring to her suitcase. She pulled on some clothes and rummaged until she found where Ryan had stuck her toothbrush and toothpaste the night before. Time to get moving.

  Ryan startled her as he stole out of the bathroom on tiptoe. She couldn’t help the small shriek she made.

  “Are you— We were planning on letting you sleep.” He frowned. “Are you okay? Did you need something?”

  She took in his damp hair, the steam wafting out of the bathroom and the way his T-shirt clung to his chest. She stammered, “Um…I couldn’t sleep anymore.”

  “I wish I could sleep a little longer. I made the mistake of thinking I could catch an hour or so and now I’ve slept late. But Mee-Maw’s got some breakfast done. How’s your throat?”

  Becca put a hand to it. “Sore. But pain’s…pain’s definitely better than the alternative, right?”

  “Definitely. Well, uh, I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

  She closed the door to the bathroom and looked in the mirror. The bruises on her throat looked like a vile necklace. Her hair was a mess because she’d gone to bed with it wet. No way she could have slept without scrubbing off every vestige of her attacker’s touch.