Cold Hearts

by Sharon Sala

  She wiped it up, then dug around in the kitchen until she found his kibble, and filled his food and water bowls before letting him in.

  Bobo came bouncing in, then sniffed the air with a hopeful look in his eyes.

  Pinky guessed what that meant. Tears welled. “He’s not coming back, dog. Sorry.”

  Bobo looked at her, then walked over to his bowl, lapped up a little water and lay down beside the food with his chin on his paws.

  She could tell he was sad. Well, so was she.

  She headed for the bedroom where Louis had said the will would be located and dug through a conglomeration of boxes before she found the lockbox. She was a little stunned by the thoroughness with which Reece had covered his bases. She didn’t even notice that she was still thinking of them as separate people.

  The will would have to go through probate before she could claim Reece’s estate, even though she was named as sole heir, and she would have to bury his body. But the more she thought about it, the more she decided not to bury him at all. She would have him cremated. She would figure out later how to dispose of the ashes. All she knew was that she wasn’t taking him back to where her husband and little boy were buried. She didn’t think her little Louis would appreciate spending eternity beside the person who’d killed him.

  She found the computer and nearby a copy of the lease, and she was sitting on the side of the bed reading it—relieved to see that the rent had already been paid for the next couple of weeks—when Bobo trotted in. She saw movement from the corner of her eye and looked over just as the little dog plopped down beside her. Its long, heartfelt sigh broke her heart. The poor little thing was grieving. She leaned down and tentatively patted the top of its head, and was surprised by how soft the fur was beneath her fingertips.

  “I guess you’re not so bad,” she mumbled, and then she got up and started going through the dresser drawers, making sure she didn’t leave anything important behind when she left.

  When she found an extra set of car keys she dropped them in her pocket. As she did, it occurred to her that she needed to get another driver’s license. She hadn’t had a car in so long that she’d just let it lapse, but she still used her old one for a photo ID. Might as well find out what she needed to do to get a new one while she was here.

  By the time noon rolled around she was in the kitchen making a meal from more leftovers.

  “Bits and pieces,” she said, trying not to cry as she stirred some peas and carrots into leftover gravy, chopped up a piece of cold fried chicken she’d found, stirred it into the mix, scooped some mashed potatoes out of a storage container and spread them on top for a crust and put it in the oven to heat. “Shepherd’s pie, but with chicken not beef. Louis would have liked it,” she added. Then she set a timer and went into the living room to wait.

  She turned on the TV and then stared absently at the screen without registering what was playing. She heard a thump, and noticed Bobo had jumped up on the sofa and was sitting on the cushion at the far end, watching her intently. She had to admit the terrier’s fuzzy face was sort of cute, and when she looked closer, she imagined his dark beady eyes were full of tears.

  “Well, come on over if you want,” she said. “I won’t hurt you.”

  Bobo flopped down on his belly and watched her.

  She shrugged and then turned her attention back to the TV. The next time she sensed movement he was belly crawling toward her with his head down and his ears flat. She pretended not to see him as he crawled all the way to her leg and then stopped.

  Pinky sighed. “Oh, what the hell. At least I won’t be talking to myself anymore,” she said, and she reached down and gently stroked the top of his head.

  Within minutes he was in her lap, licking her fingers, and she was sobbing. Reece had left her more than money, as it turned out.

  And in the past hour she’d come to another decision. She was leaving town. The fewer people who knew her connection to a madman, the better off she would be.

  She would get the will to the lawyer, but since it would probably take ages for it to go through probate, she would send him her new contact information once she relocated, and they could go from there. She could leave orders for Reece’s body to be sent to the local funeral home for cremation. Thanks to him, she had the money to pay for that before she left, but what she wasn’t going to tell them was what she’d decided to do with the ashes, which was nothing. They could sit on a shelf at the funeral home for eternity and it would be all right with her because she didn’t ever want to be close to that much evil again.

  She looked down at the dog in her lap and patted his head. “You and me, Bobo. What do you say? Think we can get along?”

  Bobo whined and laid his head against her breasts. It was ironic that the only living thing left on this planet that was going to mourn Reece Parsons’ death was a dog.

  * * *

  It had taken a bit of doing and a couple of phone calls to the two men who used to work for his dad, but Mack finally got his SUV moved from the parking lot of the supermarket to the hospital. He thanked them profusely and took the opportunity to offer both of them jobs at his lumberyard if they were interested. To his surprise, Everett, the older employee, told Mack he was interested in buying the station if the price was right. The thought of someone local carrying on at the place his dad built made him happy, and he assured Everett that he would make sure the price was right.

  He walked back into the hospital with a lighter heart. Lots of details still had to be worked out and the place had to be appraised, but it felt right.

  He hurried down the hall to the elevator, ready to be free of this place, and walked up on a woman already waiting for it to arrive. When she turned and saw him, she broke into a wide smile.

  “Mack Jackson! It’s been ages.” Then the smile shifted to an expression of sympathy. “I’m so sorry about your father’s passing. He was a good man.”

  “Thanks,” Mack said, trying not to stare.

  She smiled again. “You don’t know who I am, do you?”

  “No, I’m sorry but—”

  “Jessica York...used to be Jessica Shayne. We were in the same graduating class, remember?”

  His eyes narrowed and then he looked away. “Yes, I remember.”

  “I’ll bet you’re on the way to visit the same person I’m going to see. Melissa Sherman?”

  “No, you aren’t going to visit her. She isn’t going to want to see you,” he snapped.

  Jessica gasped at the insult. “I know you two were a thing years ago, but I’m certain you don’t speak for her.”

  “We’re still a thing, and the reason I know she isn’t going to want to see you is because she told me only a few days ago that it was you who started the rumor about her having an abortion back in high school, when you knew all along it was a miscarriage. It hurt her in more ways than you will ever imagine.”

  An angry red flush swept up Jessica’s throat and face. “Why, I never—”

  Mack poked a finger in her face, stopping only inches away from her nose.

  “Yes, you did, and if you ever start another ugly lie about her, I will make you sorry. Do we understand each other?”

  Her face went from red to a pale, pasty white as she turned on one heel and started walking toward the exit. Her stride was hurried. And she kept looking over her shoulder every few seconds, as if fearing he was on the attack.

  The elevator doors opened.

  Mack walked in, punched the number to the floor and watched Jessica York until the doors completely closed. The last glimpse he had of the woman, she was running.

  * * *

  It was midafternoon by the time Lissa was released from the hospital, and now she was waiting for Mack to come get her. He’d gone down to the parking lot a short while ago to meet some men who were bringing his car. She couldn’t wait to get home. It felt like she’d been gone for days instead of twenty-four hours.

  They’d cut off her clothes in the ER, so they�
��d found a pair of hospital scrubs for her to wear home. She was stiff and sore in almost every muscle and still battling a horrible headache, but she was no longer seeing double and had lost the need to fall asleep every ten minutes. The restrictions on what she could and could not do were enough for her to know she still couldn’t go back to the classroom, but as Mack kept telling her, they would figure all that out later.

  When she heard footsteps coming down the hall, she rolled over and sat up on the side of the bed. She would know that stride anywhere. Mack was back.

  “Hey, baby! Did you miss me?” he asked, and then gave her a quick kiss. “Nice duds,” he added.

  “I just want to go home,” she said.

  “Me, too. The nurse is coming with the wheelchair. I have all your paperwork, so we’re good to go.”

  They both turned as the sound of footsteps neared the open doorway, and were surprised when it was Chief Jakes who walked in and not the nurse.

  “Hey, Melissa. It’s good to see you up and smiling,” Trey said, and then he gave her the sack he was holding. “It’s your purse. It was still in your cart at the supermarket. One of the shoppers turned it in to the manager, and he brought it to the police department this morning.”

  Lissa sighed. “I hadn’t even thought of it, which tells you how rattled my head has been. Thank you so much.”

  Trey smiled. “Happy to help.”

  “Hey, Trey, I don’t suppose you have anything new on Dad’s death?” Mack asked.

  The smile disappeared. “I’m sorry to say I don’t. I sent that tassel to the state crime lab with a rush request, but I haven’t heard anything.”

  “I had to ask,” Mack said.

  “So where are you headed from here?” Trey asked.

  “Back to Dad’s house,” Mack said. “There’s still the memorial service to get through.”

  “If either of you needs anything, all you have to do is ask,” Trey said. He left just as a nurse pushed a wheelchair into the room.

  “There’s your ride,” Mack said as he helped Lissa down from the bed.

  “You go bring the car up to the door while I wheel her down,” the nurse said.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Mack said, and headed for the elevator as the nurse settled Lissa into the wheelchair.

  His shoulder was aching and the staples in his arm were beginning to pull, but he felt like he was walking on water.

  The danger to Lissa was over, and their life together was about to begin.

  The drive home was anticlimactic. Knowing Mack was beside her and her life was no longer in jeopardy was a gift. The simple pleasure of sunlight coming in through the windshield and someone waving at them as they passed put a smile on Lissa’s face.

  Mack went by the drive-through pharmacy and picked up a prescription that had been called in for her. The lady at the window had to take the time to tell Lissa that she’d heard all about her ordeal and wished her well before they could leave.

  Lissa was smiling as they drove away, but it did occur to her that she was once again without a car.

  “I hate to bring this up, but I need to make a decision about my car,” Lissa said.

  “I don’t know when Trey is going to release it,” Mack said.

  “Whenever he does, I’m going to trade it in and get a new one.”

  “Are you sure you—”

  Lissa held up a finger to make her point, just as she would have had done in the classroom. “I’m positive. I do not ever want to sit in that car again.”

  He nodded. “I totally understand. Look, if it’s okay with you, you can drive this SUV and I’ll drive Dad’s truck until we can arrange something else. That way we won’t be under any pressure to hurry.”

  “That sounds like a good idea, thank you,” she said.

  There was a lump in Lissa’s throat the size of her fist. She blew him a kiss and quickly looked away.

  Mack saw the tears in her eyes and knew what she was thinking. They would never get back the years that they’d lost, and they’d almost died before getting their second chance. It was enough to make anyone cry.

  He took the next left and fixed his eyes on the third house on the right.

  “And we’re here,” he said, as he pulled up into the driveway and parked beneath the carport.

  Lissa got out without saying much, but she clasped his hand tightly as he walked her up the steps and then to the door.

  The click of a turning lock had never sounded so good.

  Mack felt blessed. The familiarity of comfortable surroundings and the woman at his side gave him a sense of peace. He hadn’t felt this at ease since he’d gotten the call about his father’s death.

  Lissa was just as relieved to still be alive and was grateful for Mack’s presence.

  “I just want to lie down,” she said.

  “Sure thing, honey,” he said, and he helped her to the bedroom. He pulled back the covers as she kicked off her shoes and eased down onto the mattress.

  “Oh, dear God, every muscle in my body aches,” she whispered, then rolled over and closed her eyes. The pillow was cool against her cheek as Mack pulled up the covers.

  “You need to rest, too,” she said.

  “Don’t worry about me, honey. I’m a couple of days ahead of you on healing. I’ll be back shortly. I just have a few phone calls to make.”

  Mack’s steps were long and measured as he headed for his dad’s office. It was time to make arrangements for the memorial service. He sat down at the desk, and as he did, he felt his father’s presence so strongly it made him ache.

  “I miss you,” he said, then he called Pastor Farley.

  The church secretary answered, then transferred his call. Pastor Farley answered immediately.

  “Pastor Farley speaking,” he said.

  “It’s me, sir. Mack Jackson. You told me to give you a call when I was ready to schedule the memorial service.”

  “Yes. Of course,” the pastor said. “What did you have in mind?”

  Mack went through the list of things he wanted to include. After a brief discussion regarding dates and times, they settled on the day after next at 2:00 p.m.

  “Wednesday at two,” Pastor Farley repeated. “I’ll have my secretary get it in the daily paper, and we’ll need a eulogy from you.”

  Mack sighed. “I’ll get it to you tomorrow. I just got Melissa home from the hospital, and we’re both beat.”

  “Is there anything I can do for you? Do you want flowers at the church?”

  Mack sighed. “Yes. I forgot about that. I’ll call them now.” He disconnected, then found the number and called the florist.

  A few minutes later he hung up again and got up to take his pain meds. There were other things he probably should do, like check in at the lumberyard. Maybe get one of the casseroles from the church ladies out of the freezer. Check to see if he had any messages. But all he could think about was getting to his bedroom and lying down beside the woman he loved. He’d lost her ten years ago and by the grace of God had her back. He would tend to business later.

  He downed the meds and headed back to his bedroom, where he stopped in the doorway. All he could see was the back of her head and a tangle of honey-colored curls. She looked so small beneath the covers, but her heart and courage made up for her lack of height.

  He stripped off clothes as he went until he was down to undershorts and a T-shirt, and then he eased into bed, being careful not to jostle her awake.

  Thick golden eyelashes rested lightly on the bruise around her eye. The bruise would fade, but his love never would. He leaned over just far enough to kiss her cheek, then stretched out beside her and closed his eyes.

  Seventeen

  Lissa woke up to the sound of rain on the roof. The first thought that went through her head was that the students wouldn’t be allowed to go out at recess, which meant she would be penned in with a room full of antsy six-year-olds.

  And then she remembered and rolled over.

  Mack was
asleep beside her, still her Mack, just a little older and a whole lot sexier. He wore maturity well, but he looked as battered as she felt. There were so many staples in his left arm it looked like he had a zipper, and she knew his back was bandaged again because the doctor had needed to repair what he’d done to himself in getting her to safety. They were both wrecks, but still here and still together. It was enough.

  She slipped out of bed and then hobbled her way to the bathroom. She came out a few minutes later feeling better for having slept and slightly surprised it was only a little after 5:00 p.m. She’d thought she’d slept all night, not just through the afternoon.

  When she got back to the bedroom she changed out of the scrubs she’d come home in and into sweatpants and a long-sleeved T-shirt. After pulling the shirt over her head, she reached up to finger comb her curls back into place and, as she did, accidentally touched the cut the doctors had fixed.

  Then she wondered if her hair was bloody and had to go back to the bathroom to look. To her surprise, it wasn’t, and she could only assume that when they flushed the cut to clean it, they must have rinsed the blood from her hair, as well. What she did see was a small circle about the size of a half-dollar that had been shaved before they had glued the edges of the cut back together again. But when she fluffed the curls back around the spot, it disappeared. So there was a reason for thick, curly hair after all.

  She put on a pair of warm socks and some slippers, and headed for the kitchen. She was hungry and thirsty, and guessed Mack would wake up the same way.

  She got a drink and then started to dig through the refrigerator before she remembered the donated food he’d put in the freezer. She looked until she found a casserole full of meat and vegetables, then put it in the oven to heat. A little too hungry to wait for it to be ready, she got a couple of Frieda Sanford’s cookies and sat down at the kitchen table with those and a glass of milk.

  She had just taken the first bite of her last cookie when she heard Mack’s footsteps.