“Was he alive then?” Becky asked, her voice low.
She nodded. “I told him I couldn’t see him anymore. He said he understood. He knew it was the right thing to do. But while we were talking, one of the horses got really agitated. Neal turned off the lights so we could see outside, and we saw a figure run toward the barn.”
“Could he tell who it was?” Scott asked.
She shook her head. “It was too dark. I was afraid Nicky had followed me, that he had caught us just when I was trying to make things right. But instead of coming to the house, whoever it was went into the barn. We saw a dim light, like a flashlight. Neal thought it must have been someone breaking in.”
Becky was beginning to get the picture. “So Neal went out to surprise them, leaving Sam in the house to protect you.”
Fresh tears welled in her eyes as she nodded. “I waited a long time, but he never came back. Finally, I couldn’t stand the suspense anymore. I tiptoed out to the barn, and that’s when I saw his body.” She bent forward and buried her face in her hands. “He was dead. There was so much blood.”
Scott still eyed her with suspicion. “Why didn’t you call the police?”
Becky knew the answer before she gave it.
“I know I should have, but I panicked! Nicky would have to know, and what’s the point in that? The affair was over.” She looked from Becky to Scott, begging them understand. “You’re not going to tell him, are you? He’ll be devastated.”
Becky placed a hand on her arm. “Of course we’re not.”
“But you need to go to the police.” Scott’s voice was hard.
Leslie’s gaze flew to his face. “I can’t do that!”
“You really have to, Leslie.” Becky tried to infuse as much persuasion into her voice as possible. “They found the note and your footprints in the barn. It’s only a matter of time before they find out about your relationship with Neal, just as I did. Then they’ll come to question you, maybe in front of your husband.”
Leslie closed her eyes, her face a mask of pain. She drew a shuddering breath, and gave a single nod. “You’re right. I’ll call them this morning.”
TWENTY
“We should tell the police ourselves.”
Becky had never seen Scott so stubborn.
They sat at their desks in the office at the Pasture, Scott scowling across the room at her, his legs spread out before him. Becky struggled to control her rising temper. The man didn’t have a compassionate bone in his body.
“She said she’d call them. I believe her.”
His eyes rose to the ceiling. “You’re too trusting.”
“And you’re too suspicious.”
“She’s an adulterer and a liar. Her husband deserves to know. I don’t understand why you want to protect her.”
Becky winced. Maybe she was being a little too soft on Leslie. But Leslie had realized her mistake. She’d taken steps to end her affair. What was wrong with wanting to protect her marriage from a devastating blow? Becky understood. She’d suffered the devastation of a failed marriage herself. She certainly didn’t want to do anything to sabotage someone else’s.
“I’ll talk to Jeff at church on Sunday,” she promised. “If she hasn’t called them by then, I’ll tell him.”
Arms folded across his chest, Scott inhaled a long, slow breath. “I’ll tell you who I’m suspicious of. Jason Rawlins.”
Honestly, he seemed to have taken a real dislike to the poor guy. “Just because he doesn’t have a lot of experience is no reason to suspect him of murder.”
“How could someone with almost no experience land a job managing a breeding shed with someone as important as Nick Stevens?” He shook his head. “It just doesn’t make sense. I wonder if Nick even knows what an idiot the guy is. He seems to leave the day-to-day running of the farm to Leslie.”
“Well, Leslie is no dummy. If Jason didn’t know what he was doing, she would see it.”
Scott gave her a sad smile. “Some women are way too soft when it comes to men with a string of excuses.”
Becky looked down so he couldn’t see her cringe. So that’s what the foul mood was all about. “Scott, I’ve said I’m sorry. What more do you want from me? Do you want me to find another job?”
“Of course not.” He stood and strode across the room to the doorway, avoiding her gaze. “I’m probably not going to be around here much longer anyway.”
What did he mean by that? Would he actually quit because of her? She couldn’t let that happen.
“Scott, wait.”
He stopped, but didn’t turn to face her.
“You need to know something. Christopher lives in Florida.” She bit her lip. She hated what she was about to say. “If we get back together, the boys and I will have to move there. So please don’t leave the Pasture because of me.”
She couldn’t see his face, but the muscles in his shoulders tensed. A red flush stained the skin on the back of his neck.
“Don’t worry. It won’t be because of you.”
What in the world did he mean by that? She didn’t get the chance to ask him to explain, because he hurried out of the room. At the sound of the back door slamming, Becky lowered her face into her hands and fought a wave of tears.
“He says he’s changed, Daddy.” Becky sliced into a piece of mail, the phone propped on her shoulder. “I think maybe he’s grown up.”
She’d sent him an e-mail first thing this morning, giving him the news of Christopher’s return. She wasn’t surprised when her phone rang at exactly eight-thirty California time.
“I don’t believe it.”
A check fluttered out of the envelope when she extracted a letter. She added it to a short pile of others. “You wouldn’t. You never liked Chris.”
“For very good reasons. He’s a troublemaker who got my little girl suspended from school.”
In the center of the room, Sam slept sprawled on the floor in a shaft of sunlight. He whimpered, his legs jerking in response to some dreamworld canine crisis.
She chuckled into the phone. “That was ten years ago, and I was just as guilty of skipping school as he was.” But Daddy would prefer to blame someone else than acknowledge that his only daughter used to have a wild streak.
“A leopard doesn’t change his spots, sweetheart. Especially a no-good, two-timing leopard.”
“I changed my spots,” she reminded him. “They’ve been washed clean.”
“Has he become a Christian?”
She thought of the way Chris’s face hardened last night when she told him she’d accepted the Lord. “No.”
“Well, then, he’s still a loser. Tell him to hit the road.”
She tsked in his ear. “That isn’t a very Christian attitude.”
“I’ll pray for him.” From his tone, Becky didn’t want to know what Daddy would ask the Lord to do with Christopher. “But that doesn’t mean I want him hanging around my little girl. Or my grandsons.”
She sobered. Laying down the letter opener, she rested a hand on the desk as she spoke into the phone. “He’s their father. All the books stress how important it is for kids to have a relationship with their fathers. Even men who are not especially good parents. Jamie and Tyler will have to learn to deal with him sooner or later.” Her voice became soft, remembering how the boys clung to Chris when he left last night. “But I think he could be a good father, given the opportunity. You should have seen them, Daddy. He got down on the floor and played with them, and they loved it.” Amber’s words came back to her. “They need a man around. They’re starved for male attention.”
“Then move them out here,” he bellowed.
Wincing, she jerked the phone away from her ear. “Even if they were all the way on the other side of the country, Christopher would still be their father.” She closed her eyes. “And my ex-husband.”
Cell phone static crackled during a long pause.
“You’re not thinking of going back to that jerk, are you?” His voice be
came stern. “Rebecca Ann, don’t you even consider it. I’ll come out there and turn you over my knee.”
She laughed. “I’d like to see you try. Listen, Daddy, I’ve got to go. We’ve got a tour scheduled at noon, and a car just pulled into the driveway.”
“I’ll call you tonight. We’re going to finish this conversation.”
“After nine, okay? Love you, Daddy.”
“Love you, sweetheart.”
Becky replaced the receiver. For a moment she didn’t move, just stared at the telephone. If she reconciled with Chris, Daddy would be furious.
But Tyler and Jamie deserved to have a relationship with both of their parents. And they were her first priority. As their mother, she had to put their welfare above her own. Didn’t she owe them the opportunity to grow up with a father who loved them? Who loved her, even if she wasn’t sure she returned his affection any longer?
After Chris left last night she had taken her Bible to bed and poured through the pages. The concordance in the back pointed her to the part that said an unbelieving husband could be won over by his wife, and her heart sank when she read it.
But she wasn’t his wife anymore! If they hadn’t divorced, her choice would be clear. She would stay with Chris and pray that God would reach him through her. But they had divorced. Did God want her to reconcile with a spouse who wasn’t a Christian?
Her nails bit into the soft part of her hand as she banged a fist on the desk. It wasn’t fair! She had needs, too. Didn’t she deserve to be with someone she could love wholeheartedly? Would her mistakes of the past continue to reach into her future, to make her miserable?
Angry tears prickled in her eyes. In the old days, God sent an angel or a prophet so there was no question about what He wanted them to do. If only He would send a messenger to her now, to point her in the right direction.
She snatched a tissue from the box on her desk and scrubbed at her eyes.
It was the guessing that would drive her crazy.
“I don’t like those green things,” Jamie informed the server at the pizza restaurant.
He sat in the booth on Christopher’s right, Tyler on the left. Alone on the opposite bench, Becky glanced up at the woman, who stood with her pen poised over an order pad, then back down at Chris. “We usually get half with double cheese and half with pepperoni and sausage.”
With a grin, he slapped the menu closed. “Those are my two favorites. Bring us an extra large. And a pitcher of beer.”
Becky couldn’t believe her ears. What was he doing? She leveled a hard stare across the table, nodding toward Jamie.
“What?” Chris affected an injured expression. “Okay, fine. You can drive. Here.”
He tossed his car keys across the table. They slid off the edge and dropped into her lap.
“Chris, I don’t think it’s a good—”
He stopped her with a look. “Not a big deal, unless you turn it into one.”
She glanced at Tyler, who was watching her with a puzzled expression. All the parenting books said it was vital that parents not argue in front of the children, that it damaged their sense of security. So far she’d never had to heed that advice—there’d been no one to argue with. But she planned to discuss this with Christopher later, when the boys were in bed.
She smiled up at the woman. “I’ll have a Diet Coke, and they’ll each have a Sprite.”
Their order duly recorded, the server left. Chris leaned back, put a hand on each twin’s head and rumpled their hair. “So, what do you say we go to the ball field tomorrow and practice running the bases?”
“Yeah!” Tyler turned an eager face toward her. “Can we, Mommy?”
“I have to work until five, but after that we could.”
Chris shook his head. “It’ll have to be during the day. I’ve got plans tomorrow night.” He winked at her. “Can’t come to town and not get together with my old buds, can I? But I could pick up the boys after school and drop them off when you get home. You know, my first official visitation, like the court says I get.”
Becky shifted on the padded bench, not meeting Chris’s eyes. He was right. The court said he could have the boys one night a week and every other weekend. But he’d never exercised that right, not wanting the responsibility of caring for two babies. Still, if she agreed, she’d have to sign a form giving him permission to pick up the boys from school. She wasn’t ready to do that just yet.
The server arrived with their drinks and placed them on the table. Chris immediately poured beer into a frosty glass mug and chugged half of it. The pungent smell brought back a dozen memories of the old days. None of them good.
Becky toyed with the car keys and tried not to look disapproving. What did he have going on tomorrow night? Was he meeting up with one of his old girlfriends? Suspicion burned in her mind, and she hated it. When she was pregnant, she’d caught him with other women so often she’d been reduced to a raving maniac whenever he said he was going anywhere without her. That life had been long ago, but the old feelings resurfaced with surprising speed.
Would it be different this time around? It would have to be. Chris knew his sons now. Surely he’d want to be a positive influence in their lives. He probably was just going to see some of his old friends, as he said. She shouldn’t jump to conclusions.
“Hey, look, there’s one of those claw games.” Chris leaned against the back of the booth to straighten his legs so he could dig in his pocket. He dropped a handful of change on the table. “I’ve got some quarters. Let’s go play. I’ll show you how to win, guaranteed every time.”
Tyler took off across the restaurant at a gallop, Chris right behind him, the beer mug in his hand. Jamie slid out of the booth more slowly. Instead of following his brother and father, he stood at the edge of the table, his face solemn, staring at the pitcher.
He spoke in a quiet voice. “Mommy, is that drugs?”
Startled, Becky’s gaze flew to his face. Where had her five-year-old heard about drugs? Were they already teaching drug prevention in kindergarten?
And how should she answer? He’d just seen his father take a big drink. She jingled the keys in her lap, uncomfortable, and forced a smile to her face. “No, sweetie, that’s not drugs. It’s beer. Grown-ups sometimes drink beer.”
“Do you?”
She shook her head. “No, I don’t.”
Thank goodness Jamie didn’t press the matter. He nodded slowly, then turned toward the claw machine.
His face lit up. “Hey, there’s Mr. Lewis!”
Becky’s heart thudded in her chest as Jamie took off at a run. Scott, here?
“Mr. Lewis!”
A dark-haired missile darted toward him and tackled his thighs. Startled, Scott looked down at Jamie Dennison, then up at the man standing next to a toy machine. Becky’s ex-husband. Just his luck to run into Dennison at the town’s only pizza restaurant. Next time, he’d let them deliver.
“Hey, Jamie, what are you doing here?”
The little boy tilted his head back to look up at Scott. “We’re getting pizza. Cheese for me, and pepperoni for Tyler.”
Focused on the game, Tyler said, “Hi, Mr. Lewis,” but didn’t take his hands off the controls.
“Well, if it isn’t my wife’s boss.” Becky’s ex straightened and put an arm on the top of the machine. He leaned against it, a smirk on his face. Instead of washing his hair, he’d pulled it back in a ponytail tonight, not a nice look, in Scott’s opinion. His other hand held a mug of beer. Startled, Scott eyed him carefully. Surely the idiot wasn’t planning to drive his sons home after drinking beer. Maybe he should make a phone call to Trooper Whitley to tip him off.
A movement in the center of the restaurant drew his attention. Becky rose from a booth and turned slowly. Tension tightened her features, but as she locked eyes with him, he thought he saw a flicker of relief. His throat constricted as she gave him a hesitant smile.
Lord, she’s so pretty, so sweet. What’s she doing with a jerk like thi
s?
“Is Sam here?”
Scott tore his gaze away from Becky and looked down at her son. Jamie searched behind him, as though expecting to find the dog following along.
“He’s waiting in the truck.”
“Can I go see him?”
Dennison put a hand on the boy’s shoulder, his gaze fixed on Scott. “Not right now, son.”
Scott ignored him and smiled into Jamie’s disappointed face. “Another time.”
He went to the counter and gave the cashier his name. Thank goodness, his pizza was ready and waiting. He tossed a twenty toward the woman. Just get him out of there fast.
Becky stepped up beside him. He didn’t look at her, but out of the corner of his eye he saw her hands clutching at each other.
“Scott, I’m so sorry.”
The woman counting out his change was taking way too long. He watched as she peeled open a new roll of pennies with agonizing precision.
“Sorry for what? For wanting a pizza?”
“No, for…” She glanced over her shoulder.
Scott followed her gaze in time to see Dennison drain his beer mug. He turned a hard look on Becky. “I hope you’re not drinking, too.”
She stiffened. “Of course I’m not.”
Finally, the cashier held his change toward him. He shoved it into his pocket without looking at it, picked up the pizza box and turned toward the door.
Dennison stepped into his path. “What’s your hurry, Lewis? Why don’t you join us for a beer?”
Excitement lit Jamie’s and Tyler’s faces. Beside him, Becky uttered a sound of protest.
Scott clamped his jaw shut against a sharp retort, but managed a stiff, “Thanks anyway.”
Dennison lifted his empty mug in farewell. “Another time, then.”
Yeah. Next time a mule wins the Derby.
Vowing to give up pizza for as long as he lived in this small town, Scott made his escape.
Bluegrass Peril Page 15
