by Janet Eaves
Tom nodded and held the screened door open for her to leave. She turned back and smiled at him. “I hope you both enjoy the pie.”
“I’m sure we will. Thanks.”
Christina nodded, lowered the child to the ground, took her hand, and started walking back down the driveway. Apparently she had walked all the way from her own home to Winnie’s, which Tom found to be pretty incredible as the last driveway before Winnie’s was a good quarter of a mile back down the road, with Winnie’s driveway being nearly as long. It wouldn’t surprise him a bit to know her lane was long, too, as most of the local farms seemed to have their houses sitting way back off the road. From what he was learning, that was one of the perks of owning a lot of land. Country people seemed to like their privacy.
As the neighbor and her daughter disappeared from sight, Tom reentered the house, hoping to finish the task he’d started.
Chapter Seventeen
“What are you doing?” Winnie stood in her bedroom doorway and couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Tom was on his knees just inside her closet.
Tom smiled at her sheepishly. “I was trying to measure the length of this closet. I thought I’d build you a shoe-cubby as a surprise. I guess it won’t be a surprise now.”
Awww. Winnie smiled at him. “That is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me. Thank you. I would love that.” Tom nodded, looking uncomfortable now that his surprise was out of the bag. “You do realize though, I am moving out soon,” she added.
“I know. But you know these things can take a long time sometimes, unless your late husband left a will.”
With disgust, Winnie plopped down on her bed. “Look, there’s something you need to know. I hated the man I was married to. He wasn’t who I thought he was when I agreed to marry him. And I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t call him my late husband, or my husband, or anything else that includes me in the title when you talk about him.”
Tom was quiet for several seconds, making her realize how hateful her diatribe must have sounded. She didn’t care. Nor could she stand being called Mrs. Butler, or Ms. Butler, or anything at all to do with the Butler name. “I know this must sound terrible to you, Tom, but I can’t help that. Please just call me Winnie from now on. And if you must mention him, just call him Jack, or Jack Butler.”
Tom stood, closing the closet door behind him. “Is it something you want to talk about? I’m a good listener.”
Winnie sighed. Of course he wouldn’t know that she’d talked the subject to death already today, and the more she’d talked, the angrier she’d gotten, thus her outburst only seconds before. But it was nice of him to offer. He truly was a kind man.
She rose and approached him, surprising herself as much as him when she placed a gentle kiss upon his lips. Perhaps it was the dry air, but a tiny spark lightly zapped her lips. She stepped back and smiled at him. “Thank you.”
Tom furrowed his brows. “For what?”
“For restoring my faith in men.”
She could tell she’d embarrassed him, as he was speechless. “Come on. I’m in the mood to cook something hot and spicy for dinner and I think I might just try out my new blender, and the bottles of tequila and margarita mix I just picked up on my way back here. What do you say?”
“Sure…, uh, that sounds great.”
****
Winnie tuned the radio to a local Spanish station while she turned the gas heat up under her cast iron skillet. She’d already cleaned and sliced strips of the skinless, boneless chicken breast and marinated it in Italian dressing while she sliced even thinner strips of onions and green peppers, then chopped tomatoes, jalapeños, more onions, and some chili peppers Mr. McFarland at the Piggly Wiggly promised would “burn the roof off a building.” Of course she would keep those separate from everything else, giving Tom the choice of whether or not he was brave enough to try one.
She dumped the chicken, with the marinade, into the skillet, enjoying the sizzle as it hit the hot surface, then took a quick lick of the salted rim of her glass before sipping her frozen margarita through a straw. She glanced across the room to Tom as he separated the thin round corn-milled shells onto the wire baking rack. She would put them in the oven at the same time as she turned the microware on to heat the refried beans.
The recipe was one she had learned in Suzie’s cooking class but had never had the chance to use since the monster hadn’t wanted anything but pork chops, pork roast, bacon, and the like.
Winnie pushed thoughts of her dead husband away and studied Tom, wondering as she had before just what her life would have been like if she’d met the average man rather than falling into the clutches of the monster. Not that Tom was average. He was, quite simply, gorgeous. More importantly he was nice. Kind even. Always helpful. Always attentive. And that tiny kiss of gratitude she’d given him earlier had sparked more in her than the shock to her lips.
It made her wonder. About kisses that weren’t meant to dominate. About hands that weren’t meant to harm. About the male anatomy when it wasn’t used to hurt. She realized she was staring at him when she realized he was staring back. She blinked and turned back to stir the green peppers, tomatoes, and onions into the browning meat. The aromas filling the air, the mellow mood of sipping on her second margarita, and the desire to experience real romance had her turning to him once more. “Can I ask you a personal question?”
Tom took a sip of his own drink, nodded. “Sure.”
Winnie slowly stirred the chicken fajita mixture, but kept her gaze on his. “Have you ever been married?” She almost smiled at the slight reaction of surprise. Apparently he hadn’t expected that to be her question.
Tom nodded. “Yes.”
Now it was her turn to be surprised and, if she was honest, disappointed. “Are you still?”
“Nope.”
Winnie got the message. He obviously didn’t want to talk about it. “Do you like chicken fajitas? I guess I should have asked before starting them.”
The change of subject obviously threw him. He frowned. “Yeah, I do like them.”
She wanted to tell him not to frown. She wanted, strangely, even felt compelled to kiss the frown off his lips. She didn’t move. Fantasizing about him and actually acting out that fantasy were completely different.
“My wife cheated on me.”
The information, volunteered, and said with no emotion, though she saw emotion in his eyes, propelled her to abandon the meal and stand before him. She placed her palm on his cheek, liking the feel of his emerging five o’clock shadow. “She must have been crazy.”
She didn’t know who moved first, but his lips were gently caressing hers, and his hands were slowly pulling her closer until her body fit snuggly against his. Instead of the terror she’d expected, contentment relaxed her, clouding her mind, making her dizzy, allowing her to open herself up to the pleasures he offered. He pulled back, looked into her eyes, his own dark with passion, yet the gentleness she needed was there, too. She smiled at him. “That was nice.”
****
Tom knew there was a pretty good chance he was going to Hell for what he was doing to Winnie. For what he wanted for himself.
He shouldn’t be kissing her, or wanting her, because he was being rewarded for being a nice guy when in fact all he’d done since meeting her was to lie to her. He hated to lie and he hated liars, but he didn’t let go. Instead, he took her lips again, somehow knowing she wanted, or maybe even needed him to be gentle. For the first time since meeting her he wasn’t acting.
At least the kiss was honest.
He loved to savor a woman. Or he had, once upon a time, when he’d dated several before settling on the only one who had wanted him to be wilder and rougher than he felt comfortable with. He lifted his head again, not able to stifle the smile that came to his lips. “I think the food is burning.”
Winnie smiled back then he witnessed his words sinking in as her face took on a look of horror. She sprang from his arms, ran to the stove, and stirred the cont
ents vigorously. She turned back to him, her eyes smiling as if she was laughing at herself. “It’s a good thing it’s fajitas. It’s always better when the meat is seared.”
Tom exhaled, mesmerized by her smile, feeling more than a little seared himself. He shook his head, unsure what to do. He was falling for her. Hook, line, and sinker. Which was a serious breach of ATF rules, as well as the ones he’d set for himself the day Teresa shot him.
Chapter Eighteen
“Hi. I hope you don’t mind my dropping in like this. I’m Christina Montgomery from next door.”
Winnie shook her head, happy for the distraction. After kissing her, and shoving down his supper like a starved man, Tom had made himself scarce last night, making an excuse that he needed to start what he’d come to do. Though she doubted anything on the farm was that urgent. She’d spent the rest of the evening cleaning up then went on to bed and to sleep, but this morning that kiss was still on her mind.
Kissing him had made those romance novels she’d read seem more plausible. Her heart had stuttered, her breath had first left her then she couldn’t get enough air. Her body had wanted to curl into his as her knees turned to cooked noodles. But his reaction afterward had made it clear to her that he’d thought the kiss a mistake.
Determined to push him from her mind, she held out her hand. “I’m Winnie. Please come in.”
The woman was lovely. Curly brown hair surrounded delicately pale skin, long black lashes framed blue eyes. Her smile was friendly, yet seemed just a little sad. She preceded Winnie to the parlor and looked around. “Wow, you have really made this place look great.”
Winnie smiled, delighted with the reaction of her first real guest since moving in. Tom didn’t count as he was now a resident and not a guest–and he’d been more interested in how much she’d spent rather than what she’d bought. “Thanks. I just did it. I couldn’t stand the way it all looked before.” Realizing how that sounded, Winnie rushed on. “I mean, it wasn’t to my taste.”
Christina nodded. “I know what you mean. Betty had some beautiful things, but they were as old, or older, than her.” She paused then continued. “I’m sorry I didn’t make it to your husband’s funeral. We, my daughter and I, would have been there except it was a hard anniversary for us.”
Winnie shrugged. “Don’t apologize.” I would have skipped it myself if I could have. “It’s fine.”
Christina smiled a tight little smile. “It’s just that my husband is an MIA. Two years now. It was the same date he went missing.” She glanced at the room then back at Winnie. “Maybe I should redecorate. Prove to myself as well as our daughter that life goes on.”
Winnie didn’t know what to say. The woman was so dignified in her grief, yet there was grief. “I’m so sorry.”
Christina took a large breath and forced a smile. “There is some doubt.” She looked miserable. “There are some who say he deserted. But I know him. Johnny would never have done that. He loved this country. He loved the Marines. I know he died over there. I’ve buried him in my heart.”
Again, speechless, Winnie just took Christina’s cold hand. “Again, I’m sorry. How do you stand it?”
Apparently mistaking the question, Christina gave her a glassy-eyed smile. “It gets easier. I promise. Time. It hasn’t healed the wound, but it has softened it. I know I can’t grieve forever. Johnny would have hated that. And my daughter, Lisa, she needs me to be strong and focus on our lives, not on what we’ve lost.”
Winnie felt like a fraud, but she couldn’t tell this lovely woman that there wasn’t a grieving bone in her body. She was so happy Jack was dead that she wanted to throw a party. But that would bring raised eyebrows and questions she had no intention of ever answering. She would have to play the grieving widow for a while. Legend was a small community where the people believed in God, family, and country. Celebrating the death of a husband would freak them out.
Winnie felt herself smile and had to fold her lips back between her teeth to stop it from showing.
“Can I offer you anything? A drink? A snack?”
Christina shook her head. “No. Actually, I need to get back home. My daughter will be back from school soon and I always meet her bus at the end of our driveway. But I hope you’ll come over and visit sometime.”
Winnie smiled. “I’d like that. Thanks.”
With that, Christina left and Winnie watched her walk down the driveway until she was out of sight. How neat was that? I have a new friend.
Chapter Nineteen
Everything is gone.
Tom shook his head, furious that she was playing him for a fool. She’d led him to believe there was nothing in the barn. And she’d been right. What she hadn’t told him was that there once had been a lot of things, but those items had been removed. Only the imprints into the dirt floor bore evidence they’d ever been there.
He should have looked closer weeks before instead of allowing Winnie to distract him at every turn. Now what he might have found was gone. But his training had him looking anyway, so he opened the small black crime scene case he’d brought in the hopes there would be something to document. The small digital camera, the ninety-degree angle ruler, the glass tubes with their cork stoppers, the long cotton tipped sticks, the chemicals, and the rest. But none of them would do much good now. Taking pictures in the dark building against the dirt floor wouldn’t yield the best of pictures. Certainly not of the indentions made by the legs of whatever heavy machinery had recently been removed.
He conceded that it was entirely possible she hadn’t known about any of it. The barn was a mess. But it was getting harder and harder to believe she was entirely innocent. She was spending money like there was no tomorrow. She was incredibly happy to be rid of the husband, so her relationship with him hadn’t been one of love. So they must have just been business partners, and now she didn’t have to split the illegally gotten gains with him.
Then there was the house. For someone who was determined to leave as soon as possible, she was going to a ridiculous amount of trouble to make it a home. Though he had to admit she did a great job of it. The house was looking like a young couple lived there.
He ran his fingers through his hair in frustration.
It would be so easy to believe she was a criminal. But he still didn’t want to. There was something about her that touched him. It wasn’t anything he could pinpoint, but it was there. Maybe her innocent eyes? Or her sweet smile? Or the fact that she seemed like a butterfly immerging from a cocoon?
Or, damn it, that kiss that never should have happened?
He closed the case and stood. What to do now? He looked around the barn again but there was nothing to see. Which meant he had to get back to the house and really tear it apart. He hadn’t gotten a chance to get back to the boxes in Winnie’s closet, nor had he examined the other upstairs rooms since his boss called immediately following Christina Montgomery’s visit. After he’d gotten off of what had turned into a conference call, he’d returned to Winnie’s room, only to have her surprise him by arriving immediately upon his opening her closet door. All he’d had time to do was drop to his knees and pretend to surprise her with the gift of a shoe-caddie. It was quick thinking on his part, but he still felt like a heel after her reaction to his lie. And apparently she hadn’t noticed that he’d messed with the boxes yet, unless she had and just decided it was safer not to mention it.
Damn! She confused him. She seemed so innocent. So fun. So free with her emotions. She didn’t seem like the type of person who sold tobacco and drugs on the black market to buy guns for the terrorist Uncle Sam was fighting in the Middle East.
Teresa hadn’t seemed dangerous either. He’d met her at a bar, been wowed by her beauty and confidence, and mostly by her interest in him. It was a healing balm to the bruises Alice had left on his heart the year before when she’d taken one of his best friends to their bed, and had in turn ended what he’d thought of as a stable marriage. He’d dated Teresa for almost a year wit
hout knowing that she was playing him. She’d moved in with him two months after their first date and had, unbeknownst to him, used his position with the Department of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives to get secured information to people his department was watching.
He hadn’t suspected a thing. She never once showed any interest in his job. Had never asked questions, or made comments on what he was working on. All she ever wanted from him was him. So it hadn’t occurred to him to lock anything up. They were open and free with each other. Nothing was taboo with her. If anything, he’d been the prude when it came to some of her kinkier suggestions. Each night after dinner they’d had mind-blowing sex, and then he’d sleep like he’d never slept in his life.
It wasn’t until eleven months into the relationship he’d awakened in the middle of the night, certain he’d been drugged, and found her deep into layers of encrypted files on the computer he carried home from work each afternoon.
Even in his drugged state, he knew he’d been had. The drugs had dulled his sense of self-preservation and he’d confronted her. She had laughed at him before pulling his own firearm on him and pulling the trigger.
It had damned near cost him his job. It had almost cost him his life.
Being assigned the Jack Butler case following his recovery had been a slap on the wrist. One he felt he deserved. But the iffy information on the man had solidified into something substantial when an agency informant had handed over a recorded transmission, placing Butler squarely in the middle of the illegal arms trade. The question was, just who was the other person mentioned in the recording? Was it Winnie? Was it someone else?
He didn’t know, but was determined to find out. He wouldn’t fail his government again. He wouldn’t allow an attraction to Winnie, or any other woman, to stop him from doing his job.
Innocent or not.
Chapter Twenty
“I’m not really comfortable with this, Mr. Stevens.”
