by Susan Stoker
She laughed.
See you at 4.
She was about five minutes early and the clerk told her to go on back. She knocked and walked in. Shade Gruber, a lieutenant with the state police who she’d met the previous week during the investigation, sat in one of the chairs.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know you have someone in here. I’ll wait until you’re done.”
“No, no. Come on in, Tess. Gruber is here to talk to both of us.”
“Oh, okay. Lieutenant Gruber. Nice to see you again.”
Gruber shook her hand. “You too, Dr. Sweeney.”
Tess took the seat next to Gruber. “What’s up?”
“We’re closing the investigation into Lloyd’s death,” Gruber said. “There’ll be a press conference tomorrow, but I thought you deserved to hear our findings first hand.”
She nodded. “Okay. Shoot.” She winced. “Bad choice of words. Sorry.”
Gruber chuckled. “From the evidence found on the scene as well as in Lloyd’s house, we are pretty sure his plan was to shoot Mrs. McCall and frame you.”
“That’s insane,” she replied.
Gruber nodded. “Seems like Lloyd had been acting strangely since the death of his son. He blamed you for that and wanted to make sure you paid.”
“And Lloyd? Who shot him?”
“His wife.”
“Constance? I would have never thought she had it in her. Why my house?”
“I think it was a matter of time and place. She’d installed an app on her phone that routed a copy of all her husband’s texts to her phone. From the letter she left behind, she blames her husband for the death of their son. He’d been driving drunk and crossed the centerline. She might have been able to tolerate his numerous affairs but the death of her son seems to have tipped the scales for her.”
“Have you found Constance yet?”
“Nope, and I doubt we ever will. We’ve traced her to a private plane that left Dallas shortly after she shot Lloyd. We’re pretty sure she’s gone to Italy. She has family there, family that’s well-known within the organized crime community.”
“I guess, for her, she got Texas justice for her son.”
“Probably.”
“So it’s over?”
“As far as we are concerned. Constance Lloyd shot her husband. Preston Lloyd shot Mrs. McCall. Lloyd was responsible for the death of his son. That about sums it up,” Gruber said.
“Appreciate your stopping by and filling us in,” Kyle said.
Gruber stood. “Glad to.” He held out his hand. “Let’s get together for dinner soon.”
Kyle shook his hand. “I’ll look forward to it.”
After Gruber left, Tess and Kyle stared at each other.
“It’s over,” Tess said. “Really over.”
“Yep. That chapter of your life is closed. Hell, we’ll call it that book. Slam the cover shut and toss it away. It’s time to start a whole new book.”
She laughed. “Sounds like a great idea.”
“Great. I have another one.”
“Idea?”
“Yeah.” Kyle unlocked the bottom drawer of his desk. He pulled out a black velvet box and popped open the lid. “This is my idea.” He walked around his desk, the obscenely large diamond in the ring catching the late afternoon sun. “We start the next book in your life together.”
Tess felt her mouth gape. “Kyle?”
He took the seat that Gruber had vacated. He turned her chair until they were facing each other.
“Marry me, Tess. You can’t be surprised. You know how I feel about you. I love you. You love me. I want to spend the rest of my life loving you.”
Her vision became watery as tears built. “Are you sure, Kyle? You know the odds of my having children are not good.”
“Don’t care if we have kids, adopt kids or never have children. What I know is that without you, my life will be less that it could be.” He pulled the ring from the box and slid it on her finger. “Okay?”
She smiled. “Okay.”
He leaned forward and kissed her.
“Hey, Sheriff.” Deputy Anderson’s head popped through Kyle’ ajar door. “There’s a three-car pileup on Route Seventy. Oops. Sorry.”
Kyle rested his forehead on Tess’s. “New book. Page one. Romantic hero pulled away by work.”
Tess laughed. “Go. We’ll celebrate at home later.”
“Love you.”
“I love you too.”
After Kyle left, Tess studied the ring on her finger. On the darkest night of her life in Memphis, the night her precious baby died, she’d believed she’d never find joy again. Now, such joy filled her soul, she felt like she would explode.
She gathered her things to head home when her phone rang.
“Dr. Sweeney,” she answered.
“Hi, Dr. Sweeney. This is Martha from the ER. There’s a three-car accident with injuries. Dr. Monroe is in house and asked that you come in.”
“On my way.”
No matter what fate threw at her, she knew she’d never have to face it alone. She smiled. It might have taken her thirty-four years, but she’d met her soulmate in Kyle Monroe. Her new ring sparkled, just like her future.
The End
About the Author
New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author Cynthia D’Alba started writing on a challenge from her husband in 2006 and discovered having imaginary sex with lots of hunky men was fun. She was born and raised in a small Arkansas town. After being gone for a number of years, she’s thrilled to be making her home back in Arkansas living in a vine-covered cottage on the banks of an eight-thousand acre lake. When she’s not reading or writing or plotting, she’s doorman for her two dogs, cook, housekeeper and chief bottle washer for her husband and slave to a noisy, messy parrot. She loves to chat online with friends and fans.
You can find her most days at one of the following online homes:
Website:
cynthiadalba.com
Facebook:
Facebook/cynthiadalba
Twitter:
@cynthiadalba
Pinterest:
Pinterest/CynthiaDAlba
Newsletter:
NewsletterSign-Up
Street Team:
D’Alba Diamonds
Or drop her a line at:
[email protected]
Or send snail mail to:
Cynthia D’Alba PO Box 2116 Hot Springs, AR 71914
Look for these titles by Cynthia D’Alba
Now Available:
A Cowboy’s Seduction
Saddles and Soot
Texas Montgomery Mavericks
Texas Two Step
Texas Tango
Texas Fandango
Texas Twist
Texas Bossa Nova
Texas Hustle
Texas Lullaby
Texas Lonestar
Texas Heroes 4
Sable Hunter
‡
(Hot, standalone novels about Texas men who live a life of service and love their women with their whole hearts.)
Chapter One – Prologue
‡
William – before he became Dallas
“Sit right here and don’t move, Will. I’ll be through with John in about an hour.” His mother smiled at him. “Afterward, we’ll go out for pizza. Okay?”
William nodded, he didn’t mind waiting while his mother worked. Leaning back on the dingy sheetrock wall next to her room, he lost track of time. Playing Super Mario Brothers on his Game Boy always made him happy. Noises he didn’t really understand filtered through the wall. William tried to ignore them. He didn’t really understand what kind of work his mother did, but he knew it involved a lot of different men and they all seemed to be named John. Sometimes they were nice to him, giving him a dollar if he’d go outside and play. One hadn’t been so nice, boxing William in the ear just because he’d knocked on the door to tell his mother he felt sick to his stomach after eating
too many grapes.
Sometimes William wondered why he didn’t live in a regular house or apartment with a Daddy like other boys and girls. Even school was more fun than being by himself all of the time, while his mother earned money for them. They didn’t have a lot of time alone, but his mother was good to him when she wasn’t entertaining. William wasn’t sure what entertaining meant, but he knew it was very important. His mother, Esther McClain, said it was serious business and that he must never get in the way. But when they were together, his mother made him laugh and she hugged him really tight. He felt safe with her and there was no doubt in his mind that he was loved.
A smile came to his face when he managed to save Princess Peach from King Koopa. “Gotcha!” He laughed, then he jumped, slamming his back against the wall when a loud noise exploded in the room and he heard his mother scream. William threw down his toy and jumped up, going to the door and jerking on the doorknob. “Mama! Mama!”
William was knocked flat to the floor when the door was slung open and John came out. He shirt had been white, but now it was covered with something dark red. “Get out of my way, brat!”
Crawling backwards like a crab, William stared at the gun pointed at his face. “What did you do to my mama?” Was she hurt? Would they have to leave town again?
“I killed the whore, just like I’m gonna kill you!”
Terror stole William’s voice. “No! I want my mama!” He didn’t understand all the words the man said, but he understood enough to be afraid. Closing his eyes, he winced, waiting for the man to hit him.
The sound of another gun blast shattered the air and William forgot to breathe, expecting pain to rip through his body. A commotion around him brought his eyes open. People were crowding around John, holding him by the arms. One man had gone into his mother’s room. “Mama!” he cried. From where he was standing, he could see her lying on the bed in a pool of red blood. “No!”
“Your mama’s dead,” a cruel voice sounded. “There’s no ID on her,” the same man yelled. Turning to William he asked. “What’s your name, boy? What’s your mother’s name?”
William remembered what his mother said, “Don’t tell people who you are. Don’t give them your real name. We have to hide. People would hurt us if they found out who we really are.” Shaking his head, he refused to answer.
“All right, have it your way.” He jerked William to his feet. “For now, we’ll call you after the town we found you in. You’ll tell someone your name and your story if you want to eat tonight, Dallas.”
Looking back over his shoulder, William could see his mother’s long beautiful dark hair hanging over the side of the bed. He didn’t know it then, but that glimpse would be the last time he ever saw her. “What’s gonna happen to me? What’s going to happen to my mom?” He began to cry.
The policeman snorted. “Shut up! Sons of whores don’t have a right to cry. Forget your Mama, boy. You’ll go into the system and she’ll go to the pauper’s field.”
William didn’t know what the system was or where the pauper’s field was located. Wiping his eyes, he took a deep breath. He wouldn’t cry, but he’d always remember. “I’ll never forget you, Mama. Never.”
*
Twenty-five years later.
Dallas McClain always thought rain was appropriate for a funeral. He’d been to so many where it seemed the very sky was weeping right along with the heartbroken. Today, there was no rain falling. The land was so dry and burnt, that the grass beneath his feet crunched with every footfall.
Dead. Just like his heart.
“O, Death where is thy victory? O, Grave where is thy sting?”
The words the preacher spoke didn’t penetrate his sorrow. Why had Carly been on the road so late? Where had she been going? He cursed the trip that had taken him out of town. If he’d been there with her, none of this would’ve happened.
He kept his eyes averted from the casket. Instead, Dallas let his gaze wander over the old country cemetery. Some of the gray headstones dated back to the Civil War. Carly didn’t belong here. She’d had so much to live for. A sob lodged in his throat when he thought about their unborn child who’d never have a chance to live.
“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death…”
Carnations. He hated the smell. He’d been to enough funerals in his time to associate the scent with death. And now it was his wife–his child… How in God’s name was he supposed to go on? Dallas bowed his shoulders, trying to command his lungs to take a full breath. At least this wasn’t the pauper’s field. Just remembering the term hurt his heart. For years he’d tried to find out where they’d buried his mother. It was only after a real estate deal fell through in the city of Dallas, when a contractor’s backhoe unearthed a casket, that it came to light where thousands of the unwanted were buried. The graves had been hastily covered over, but Dallas still couldn’t be certain exactly where his mother lay. There was no headstone. No way to remember.
Sometimes he wanted to forget. For decades he’d hidden the truth of who he was and where he’d come from. The facts of his birth and early life were literally buried, the only evidence being a few mementos he’d stored in a locked box in the top of his closet–one solitary photograph of his mother, a red hair ribbon and a newspaper article detailing the tragedy of her life and death. The foster homes where Dallas grew up taught him how important it was to hide his past. They’d much rather think of him as a regular orphan or a runaway. It was only when they found out his mother was a whore and that he had no idea who his father was that things would get ugly for him. Somehow his mother’s sins had tainted him.
As much as those memories pained him, they were nothing compared to the hurt he endured now. Sympathetic touches from well-meaning friends and neighbors made his skin crawl. “We understand.” “We’ll be here for you.” “She’s in a better place.” Goddammit! That was the phrase that made him angriest. Better place? The ultimate cop-out.
The best place for them to be was home–with him!
Strains of Amazing Grace assaulted his ears. There had been no grace for his family–for him. The sound of the music didn’t cover up the creak of the chains as the casket containing his life was lowered into the ground.
“God, I’ve got to get out of here!” he whispered.
When the last ‘amen’ was voiced, he turned, determined to avoid the consolation of the ones who’d come to say good-bye to Carly and their baby. Now, he’d go home to an empty, lonely house. Once again his life was torn asunder. He’d painstakingly built himself up from the ashes of his childhood, carefully protecting the ones he loved from his ugly, unfortunate past. To Carly, he’d been respectable, upstanding. Yes, she’d known he grew up in foster care, but he’d been selfish and hidden the truth. He’d jealously longed for a family, for normalcy. And he’d found that with Carly. Yes, they’d had their troubles. What couple didn’t? The pregnancy had taken Carly by surprise–but they were working it out. Everything would’ve been all right–if only… He didn’t get very far until a strong hand stopped him.
“Dallas, wait!” Dan Randolph, the town doctor, gripped his arm tightly. “I’ve got to tell you something.”
Dan’s voice was cracking. Dallas appreciated his empathy, but he needed to be alone. “Not now, Dan. I just want to go home.” Home–it would never be home again.
“Carly came to see me a few days ago.”
Dallas froze. “Why?”
Shaking his head, Dan leaned closer. “I don’t think we should talk about it here. The results of the autopsy didn’t change…but…”
Dallas didn’t understand. His friend was speaking a language he didn’t comprehend. “What?”
“Let me come see you later. After you’ve had a chance to rest.”
“I don’t need to rest.” Dallas raised his voice. “If there’s something I should know about my wife’s death, tell me now!”
Dallas allowed himself to be pulled to one side by his friend. “I starte
d not to tell you, but I thought you ought to know. Carly asked me to help her, but I refused. So, she went to a women’s clinic in Houston. The only reason I know is because the clinic called me to verify her allergy to pain meds. Carly got an abortion, Dallas. The day she died, she’d been to get an abortion.”
Every word flowing from Dan’s mouth lacerated Dallas’s heart. The world as he knew it was no more, pulverized by the dawning of an inconceivable reality. “I don’t believe you.”
They were drawing a crowd and Dallas wished he were anywhere else but here. Mars. Tibet. Hell. “Just get out of my way!” He pushed away from Dan.
Rage poured over him like a storm. Dallas jammed his fists into his pockets and strode out of the graveyard. Blindly he found his truck and drove to their small home on the outskirts of Waco, Texas. He hadn’t been here but to take a shower in days. The night he’d arrived home from a case in Marshall, he’d no more than walked into the house when the DPS officer had arrived to tell him about the wreck. Now he wandered around, reliving their life together, trying to figure out what had gone wrong. Finally, he sat down on the bed, holding his head in his hands. And that was when he saw it–a note. A note propped up on the bedside table…lying on the mahogany box he’d always kept in the top of the closet.
Bile rose in his throat. With a shaking hand, he lifted the familiar stationary, unfolded it and began to read the words Carly had written in a seemingly shaking hand.
William? Is that your name? I don’t really know who you are. I was searching in the top of the closet for a scarf I couldn’t remember putting away and this is what I found. The truth. The ugly, dirty truth about the man I married. Why did you lie to me? You must know that I’d never have married you had I known about your past. I was raised to be respectable and that’s something you’ll never be.
I can’t do this, Dallas. I can’t have your child. I’d never be able to look at it or love it. I don’t want to have anything else to do with you and I certainly don’t want to carry this child for nine months, hating every minute of it and hating you.
