Reckless Hours: a Romantic Suspense novel (Heroes of Providence Book 3)

by Lisa Mondello

  Tammie turned away. The picture Beaumont’s words conjured up was too much to imagine. It had to have been horrible for those who lived through it.

  Dylan seemed to sense her unrest. “Mr. Beaumont, do you remember what caused the fire?”

  The old man drew in a deep breath and scratched his bald spot. “They’d been talking about that fire for weeks after it happened but I was long gone from town. I was still a young man, and didn’t pay it too much attention beyond what people were talking about. I don’t recall what started the fire, but with the fire, and the scandal with the pastor—”

  “Scandal? What kind of scandal?” Tammie asked.

  He pointed toward the center of town. “I’m talking about the pastor who used to serve at the white church on the hill here. I don’t remember what the big deal was, but it was news at the time. And when I came back a few months later, people were still talking. Whatever it was, folks around here weren’t too happy about what went down.”

  “Do you remember his name?” Dylan asked.

  He shook his head. “I meet so many people. It was a long time ago.” Beaumont chuckled. “My memory isn’t what it used to be.”

  Tammie pulled the photo of her parents out of her purse. “Have you ever seen these two people?” she asked.

  Mr. Beaumont looked at the picture and shook his head. He pulled the picture back for another look when Tammie started to put it away, but then dismissed it.

  “Like I said, it was a long time ago. I just don’t recall all the details.”.

  “Thank you for all your help.”

  “No problem.”

  It was hard for Tammie to squash her disappointment as they walked away from Mr. Beaumont’s tent. It didn’t seem possible that her parents had lived in this town, known these people, and never once mentioned it to her. “I think you’re right. We should split up,” Dylan said.

  “I thought you said we’d never find each other.”

  “We’ll meet back at the library—say, in an hour?”

  Tammie glanced at the rows and rows of tents laid out in the fields. “An hour isn’t going to do much.”

  “Do you have another picture of your parents?”

  “Yes.” She took the other photo out of her purse and handed it to Dylan.

  “You take one of Cash. We’ll show them both, see what we come up with, and then compare notes later. Maybe people will be more receptive to answering questions about Cash if you ask instead of me.”

  * * *

  Dylan walked through the tent area, looking for anyone who might be old enough to have been in the area during the time when the Davco mansion caught fire. He was sure it had nothing to do with Cash’s disappearance, but maybe it would shed some light on the family itself and the people surrounding them. One thing might not have anything to do with the other. But what did he have to lose?

  People were oblivious to his comings and goings, and that was okay by him. He didn’t want to rouse suspicion that he was looking for information. Experience taught him that this was a town that liked to hold its secrets close.

  He was just about to give up and walk back when he spotted two elderly men talking in the aisle.

  “Excuse me,” he said, interrupting them. “I was wondering if you could help me win an argument,” he said to the gentlemen. “A female friend of mine says that this couple used to work here at the auctions some years ago, and I think she’s wrong.”

  The men chuckled. “Leave it to a woman to get the facts all turned around,” one of the men said.

  Dylan couldn’t help but chuckle himself. Not because the remark was funny, but because he was thinking of the reaction his kid sister would have if she heard a man utter a blanket statement like that about women. If Sonny were here she’d be all over the man about it.

  “I’ve been living in this town my whole life,” the other man said. “Let me see the picture.”

  Dylan showed the picture, and the man’s smile changed to one of surprise, then recognition.

  “Well, I’ll be...” he said.

  “You know them?”

  “Sure do. Guess you lose the argument, young man. If I’m not mistaken, this is my old pastor and his wife.”

  Dylan blinked back his surprise. “Pastor?”

  “Yeah, he and his wife... Can’t remember their names now, but they used to work the auction. Right there on the common, across from the church.” He pointed back toward the common area, where the library and the church stood. “They raised a lot of money one year selling donated items from the locals and charging for parking on the church grounds. Don’t remember what the money was earmarked for, but it left a bitter taste when the church money went missing.”

  “What do you mean, it went missing?”

  “As in disappeared. No one could find the money. As far as I know, it was never recovered.” The man rubbed his chin. “Ended up being a big investigation. Big one. It was a shame they moved away, what with the scandal and all. The pastor was a likeable man. Always did like him.”

  “Thanks,” Dylan said, shaking the hands of both men. “Guess I owe the lady dinner.”

  The old man chuckled. “Sorry about that.”

  I am, too, Dylan thought as he walked away. If this man was correct, Tammie’s parents had suddenly disappeared from Eastmeadow carrying a whole lot of secrets with them—and left a scandal in their wake.

  #

  Chapter Seven

  Dylan didn’t have to check his watch to know whether they’d been walking around for an hour yet. He knew he hadn’t been out in the fields that long. But he figured Tammie would probably take every minute of that hour to flash those pictures around. He started searching for her where they’d split up earlier and glanced down each row to see if she was still there.

  She was determined to find the truth about her parents. But he wondered if she’d truly considered what kind of truth she might find.

  Probably not, he decided. He only knew that because, despite his conviction that Cash had been framed, he was afraid of what information he’d find that might go against his belief that his brother was innocent.

  And because of that, he’d keep the conversation he’d had with the old man to himself until he checked out whether or not it was fact. The last thing Dylan wanted to do was fill Tammie’s head with condemning information that proved to be unfounded.

  Tammie’s parents had supposedly lived here a long time ago. Memories fade, and people’s recollections of events could easily become skewed over the years. The old man had provided the first bit of detail that could lead Tammie to find out why she’d been taken to Oregon when her biological father and sister were still alive and living right here in Eastmeadow all this time.

  That meant two things. Tammie’s parents had probably known her biological parents. And although Byron Davco might not remember who Tammie was now that he was in the nursing home, he’d known his biological daughter was still alive up until Alzheimer’s took hold of him. How could he not? If Byron Davco hadn’t know, then why wouldn’t Serena have been as shocked to see Tammie as Tammie was to see Serena?

  The little girl in that picture with the pregnant woman looked too young to remember Tammie’s birth. Serena had insisted she’d heard a baby cry, and Aurore had quickly corrected her. But that doesn’t mean Serena was wrong. Still, someone might have simply told Serena about Tammie at some point. Most likely, it hadn’t been Aurore or Susan. The only person Dylan could think of was Byron Davco himself.

  But why all the pretense? Children were put up for adoption all the time for all kinds of reasons. If everything had been open and aboveboard, why wouldn’t the Gardners have told Tammie she was adopted? It seems very likely that Tammie should have grown up in that mansion with her sister all these years instead of moving clear across the country with people—a pastor in this town—and then never having contact with the family she had here in Massachusetts.

  Dylan turned the conversation with the men around in his mind
and wondered if Serena knew the reason. If she did, had she told Cash? Uncovering old secrets had a way of ruffling feathers with people who wanted those secrets to stay that way.

  If it weren’t such a serious situation, Dylan would actually have laughed. Cash was better at ruffling feathers to get the truth than anyone he knew. He not only excelled at it, he took pleasure in it.

  Cash’s disappearance was somehow connected to Serena and Tammie. Dylan was sure of it. The tough part would be figuring out how and why.

  Traffic was still bumper-to-bumper when Dylan got to the street. He weaved in between a car and a truck filled with furniture and darted into one of the aisles, then backtracked until he saw Tammie on a path deep into the field.

  She was walking with John Beaumont, and she was laughing. Something Beaumont had said to her had her throwing her head back and placing her hand over her heart as if she couldn’t breathe from laughing so hard. Dylan stood, rooted in place, just watching her face. She looked so carefree. So beautiful, as if none of the tension of heartbreak that had touched her life had ever happened to her. He watched how the light from the sun brought out gold and red highlights in her dark hair.

  Tammie was a beautiful woman, with her shiny hair, high cheekbones, and eyes that were lit up like fire. For a moment, the realization that he’d noticed so very much about Tammie in the short time they’d known each other took Dylan off guard. What was harder to ignore, was the way he felt when he was with her. The way his pulse kicked into overdrive when she looked up at him.

  Tammie cocked her head to one side and waved to Beaumont, then walked in the other direction away from Dylan. Trucks with furniture and crates lined both sides of the lane, making it difficult to pass. He didn’t want to lose her in the crowd, so he sprinted.

  “Tammie!” he called out to her. She turned around and stopped. She smiled when she saw him, her face like sunshine. What a change from this morning, when she’d been consumed with anxiety talking about her parents. It was as if just walking out into the fresh air and being with people had been enough to bring happiness back to her, help her forget how troubled she was.

  Dylan was happy for her. And he hated thinking of how learning that her father had been the pastor involved in the town’s scandal was going to distress her again.

  Tammie passed behind a large flatbed truck filled with crates. Maynard Burdett climbed into the back of it with a man Dylan didn’t recognize. He did, however, recognize that Maynard was going to great lengths to impress the man.

  Dylan was only half paying attention to Maynard talking to the man. Instead, he kept his eye on the truck until Tammie disappeared around the other side. The two men lifted one of large crates into their arms and began to move it to the side of the truck. He couldn’t see where they were placing it. What he could see was the large armoire teetering too close to the edge on the flatbed and the rope that was holding it in place suddenly snapping!

  The armoire went down over the side of the flatbed truck and crashed to the ground on the other side, out of view. The two men struggled with the weight of the crate as the back of the flatbed wobbled. Then they lost the battle to hold on to their load. People ran toward the side of the truck that was hidden from Dylan.

  “Tammie!” Dylan called out. He took off running to where he’d last seen her. When he got there, he found her flat on her back on the ground. The armoire lay in pieces, just inches from her tiny body. The crate the men had been holding had broken open and emptied its contents at Tammie’s feet. Dylan pushed through the crowd, his heart pounding in his chest, until he got to her.

  The fear on her face was unmistakable. “It missed me.”

  He wasn’t sure if she was trying to reassure him or herself.

  “Only by a split hair, child,” Trudie called out, running to Tammie’s side.

  The men on the back of the truck jumped to the ground. Dylan heard the truck’s door slam as Maynard came around the corner to survey the damage.

  With a deep scowl, the driver said, “Hey, someone is going to pay for this.”

  “It ain’t gonna be me,” Maynard said, looking at him.

  Trudie scowled. “You almost flattened the girl, and you’re worried about your paycheck? Shame on you both. You’ve got your priorities screwed up!”

  Maynard took in a harsh breath at his grandmother’s words.

  “Are you okay, sweetie?” Trudie asked Tammie.

  “I’m fine,” she said, but when Dylan took her by the arm to help her up, he felt her trembling as much as he was. The fear at seeing the armoire fall over the side of the truck, knowing Tammie was there, had his heart racing faster than a locomotive.

  “What happened here?” Trudie asked, glaring at the men.

  “It was an accident, Grandma,” Maynard said.

  “I don’t care if it was an accident. I’ve just lost a crate of statues, and that armoire is over a hundred years old,” the driver said.

  “If you cared so much about your goods, why did you allow strangers to handle them?” Trudie shot back.

  As the driver and Maynard argued, two workmen struggled to pick up the armoire, now mangled and pulling apart, and carry it out of the aisle. Another man started picking up broken pieces of statues and separating them from the statues that had survived the fall.

  The broken armoire and smashed clay told Dylan exactly what kind of damage Tammie had averted by jumping out of the way. She could have been seriously hurt—or worse.

  Without thinking, Dylan brushed back the tangled hair that had fallen in front of Tammie’s face. Her eyes were bright with fear, and the sight hit him like the blade of a knife. The need to protect her consumed him. He crushed her against his chest, more for his own comfort than anything he could offer her.

  “I’m fine,” she said again. Her hands were flat on his chest as she looked up at him. Their eyes locked in a gaze that he found hard to break free of. It was then that he caught the slight tremor of her bottom lip. She quickly averted her gaze and gave her attention to the dirt on her hands.

  “I got your shirt dirty,” she said, her voice shaky.

  “Never mind about the shirt,” he said with a slight chuckle that was more relief from nerves than anything.

  Voices arguing behind him pulled his attention away from Tammie.

  “If you’d moved your truck quick enough, I could have unloaded my pieces myself,” the man who’d been on the back of the truck was saying to Maynard.

  Maynard Burdett threw up his hands and took a step back. “Hey, next time, don’t ask a stranger to help you. It’s your shit. You can do it yourself.”

  “You call that helping? You lost me a few thousand dollars.”

  “It wasn’t my fault! Who sits a piece of furniture that large on the edge of a truck like that, anyway?”

  The driver pointed a finger at Maynard. “Those statues are worth more than you’ll make this entire week.”

  Trudie was standing now, fists by her side. “Common courtesy says you should have waited until I unloaded my trucks before moving in, young man.”

  “I don’t have all month, lady. The auction starts tomorrow.”

  “Don’t you think we know that?” Maynard snapped.

  Trudie huffed. “You two are a fine pair. You could have killed the girl, and all you’re doing is worrying about your load and your paychecks.”

  “Good point, Trudie,” Dylan said, holding Tammie’s hand as he brought her to her feet. “Not one of you has asked how the lady is.”

  The driver of the truck glowered at them both. “I should be asking what you’re doing nosing around these grounds in the first place, when only the dealers are allowed out here to set up. It’s against auction rules to make deals before the market opens. Accidents like this don’t happen when—”

  “I was just asking some questions,” Tammie said.

  The man looked at Tammie, his eyes cold. “If you don’t want to get hurt, maybe you shouldn’t go asking so many questions.”
<
br />   With the back of his truck now empty, he climbed back into the cab, fired the engine and drove the short distance to the next aisle. Dylan watched as he drove away, making note of where he was going—and the name on the side of the truck.

  Aztec Corporation. He’d seen that name before, but for the life of him he couldn’t figure out where. The truck took a right turn, heading back toward the street.

  Dylan looked at the tent where they’d been unloading. None of the crates were opened. No displays were set up. The only piece of actual furniture the truck had held was that armoire, which was now broken. Strange. Making a mental note to look into the vendor’s tent later, he turned his attention back to Tammie.

  “My jeans are wrecked,” she said with a shrug and a quick smile. Her knee was visible through the tear in the denim. “Does it hurt?” he asked.

  “My knee? It’ll be fine.”

  Answering the worried look he knew was on his face, Tammie rolled her eyes and smiled. “If I said I only had a hangnail, would that make you happy?”

  He brushed his fingers down her cheek and felt a tingle run through his hand. “No. I don’t want you hurt at all.”

  Her gaze met his and held it for a long moment. ‘Too late,” she said.

  His face must have shown panic, because Tammie quickly added, “I’m only talking about my ego. It wasn’t a very ladylike fall, if you know what I mean.”

  Trudie burst out laughing. “One can’t be graceful while making a quick getaway, dear. As I said, priorities.”

  Dylan chuckled at that, more out of nervous energy than anything else.

  Trudie touched Tammie’s shoulder. “You best be going home to check that knee out.”