by Sharon Sala
Too tired to argue and aware it would be to her father’s detriment not to accept, she finished his bath, then began rubbing lotion all over his skin.
“Tell me when you’re ready and I’ll ease him back down,” Bowie said.
“You can do it now,” she said, and then proceeded to put lotion on the rest of his body, diaper him and cover him back up.
As she began gathering up the bath things, Bowie picked up the basin of water.
“Where do I pour this?”
“Bathroom is down the hall, first door on the left. Just pour it in the tub.”
“Okay,” he said, and started down the hall.
When he came back, she was gone. He followed the sounds of movement into the kitchen and then into the laundry room, where she was putting all the bath things and the dirty sheets she must have taken off the bed earlier into the washer.
“Is there anything else I can help you do?” he asked.
“I’m sorry I yelled at you,” she said.
He hurt for the tremble in her voice. He’d caused it, and it made him miserable.
“It’s okay. I didn’t know what I was talking about. I’ve been known to do that. I’m the one who’s sorry for thinking I could have fixed this for us.”
She shut the lid on the washing machine, and then took a deep breath and looked up. She needed to be looking at him when she said this. He deserved that much.
“I already knew before you proposed that I was his only option. I had priced available long-term care facilities for Alzheimer’s patients, only to discover they began at five thousand dollars a month. Then I looked into regular nursing homes. Most of them won’t take Alzheimer’s patients because they require too much care, and the ones who do are just as expensive as the others. They don’t all take Medicare, and I couldn’t afford to make up the difference at the ones that did. His retirement money wasn’t enough, not even with his Social Security check added in. There were some nursing homes that would have taken someone like Dad and settled for whatever Medicare paid, but they looked like something from a horror movie. I wouldn’t house a dog there, let alone my father. All I knew was that what I wanted had to take a backseat to what he needed. I was heartsick and didn’t know what to do.”
“And then I asked you to marry me,” Bowie said.
“I panicked. I was angry at fate and sick at heart that I was going to lose you. I just said no, and then you were gone, and I told myself it was for the best.”
Bowie didn’t know what to say, but he knew how he was feeling, and he needed to put some space between them before he said too much.
“I want to stay and talk more, but I have a carload of groceries for Mama, so I need to get back.”
Talia stifled a groan. Was this where he told her it was too late? Her heart began to hammer. God, was this going to hurt as much as it had last time?
“I understand. Seven years is a long time. I’m glad you came by, though. I’m glad you understand, and I hope you don’t hold it against me anymore.”
Bowie frowned.
Was she trying to get rid of him? Did this mean it was too late for them to try again? He wasn’t giving up on her yet.
“What would you say if I said I wanted to see you again?” he asked.
Talia’s heart skipped a beat. “I would ask you why?”
“Because I do.”
“That’s not an answer, Bowie.”
He was afraid to say what he was feeling, but when he saw the tears in her eyes, he took a chance that it wasn’t too late and blurted out what was in his heart.
“I want back what we lost,” he said.
Talia gasped, and then her gasp turned into a sob as she walked into his arms.
When Bowie pulled her close, the seven years apart disappeared. He knew the curves of her body, the catch of her breath and what turned her on. This was what had been missing from his life. This was why settling down had never mattered to him, and why he’d taken any job, wherever it was, without caring how far he had to travel.
He kissed the top of her head, then tilted her chin and brushed his mouth across her lips so sensuously that she turned to follow the motion, desperate not to lose the connection. The second kiss was a deliberate onslaught, filled with hunger for what they’d lost.
Talia leaned into him, remembering what it felt like when he was inside her, remembering how crazy they’d been making love. Seven long years of sadness and misery, and all it took to break the nightmare was his mouth on her lips.
The kiss lasted until they were both aching for more.
When Bowie finally let go, Talia was shaking.
“This happened so many times in my dreams,” she said.
He took her hand and pressed it against his heart.
“Can you feel that? My heart is racing. I came home to such heartache, only to find a joy I thought was lost.”
Before he could say more, her father let out a moan.
Talia flew out of Bowie’s arms and headed to the living room on the run. Bowie was right behind her.
She leaned over the bed to check her father’s pulse. It was the same, slow and faint. Relief settled her jumpy nerves as she leaned down to straighten his covers.
“He does this sometimes. Erin says he’s not in pain. It just happens,” she said.
“Who’s Erin?” Bowie asked.
“His hospice nurse. She’ll be here any time.”
Bowie took that as his cue to leave.
“I know your time isn’t your own, but may I have your phone number? As you can imagine, stuff is a mess at home right now, so I don’t know how often I can get back here, but I have to be able to at least hear your voice.”
Tears rolled down Talia’s face as she gave him the number.
Bowie could hardly bear to leave her and was troubled by her tears.
“Talia, sweetheart, why are you crying?”
She felt her cheeks, her brown eyes widening in surprise when she discovered the tears.
“I didn’t know I was,” she said, and swiped her hands across her face.
“Where’s your phone?” he asked.
She pulled it out of her hip pocket.
“Put my number in your contacts,” he said. “And will you promise to call me anytime, for any reason?”
Tears rolled again.
Bowie couldn’t bear to see her like this and once more took her in his arms.
“Baby...why?” he asked.
“I never had any backup before. I guess I’m just overwhelmed.”
That hurt. He hadn’t meant to, but the happiness she’d sacrificed had led to him abandoning her at her darkest time. All he’d known was that she’d shot down his dreams. There weren’t enough years left in their lives to make up for what she’d suffered alone.
“We’re both up to our necks with grief. Just know that whenever this is behind us, I’ll still be here,” he said.
Someone knocked at the door.
“That will be Erin,” Talia said.
“I’ll let her in on my way out,” Bowie said, and then leaned in for one last kiss. Her lips were soft and a little damp from recent tears. It felt like he was walking away just as he’d found her again. He so didn’t want to leave, but the nurse was at the door and the groceries were in the truck. “I’ll call,” he said, but Talia wouldn’t let go.
“What?” he said.
“Thank you,” she said.
He frowned. “For what?”
Her fingers tightened around his wrist.
“I’ve loved you forever, Bowie. Even when you were gone. Thank you for still caring enough to do this again.”
“I guess I buried the memories so far down I forgot that caring was there. This feels damn good to me, too,” he s
aid softly.
It was the second round of knocking that ended the moment.
“Damn it,” he muttered, and headed for the door.
The tall blonde looked startled to see a man in the house.
“I’m just leaving,” Bowie said, then held out a hand. “I’m Bowie Youngblood.”
“Erin McClune.” She shook his hand.
“Nice to meet you,” Bowie said, then looked back at Talia. “Remember what I said...call me anytime.”
She nodded, and then he was gone.
Erin shut the door behind her and then stood there a moment with her hands on her hips.
“Spill it,” she said.
Talia sighed.
“The love of my life. I didn’t think I’d ever see him again.” Tears were rolling again, but she didn’t care. “He came back.”
Erin sighed. “Come talk to me while I check on your dad, and I’ll try not to hate your guts that he’s already taken.”
Talia followed her to the bed and then brushed her hand across her father’s forehead. He didn’t respond to the touch.
She looked at Erin. “He moaned a few minutes ago.”
Erin was taking his pulse. When she finished, she made notes on his chart.
“He’s getting weaker, isn’t he?” Talia whispered.
Erin nodded.
Talia looked at her father and then leaned down and whispered in his ear, “Dad, you don’t have to worry that I’ll be alone anymore. Bowie came back for me.”
* * *
The wind had come up while Bowie was at Talia’s house. He could see storm clouds building over the mountain as he drove through Eden and knew it would be raining soon.
He stopped off at the police precinct to talk to Chief Clayton. His dad and Clayton had gone to school together, and despite the gossip about Clayton being in the Wayne family’s pocket, it didn’t deter him from believing the chief would be fair. It wouldn’t take long to get an update, and he wanted to take any news home to his mother.
The receptionist looked up as Bowie entered. She knew before he got to her desk what he wanted, because she recognized him as one of Leigh Youngblood’s sons.
“Is Chief Clayton in his office?” Bowie asked.
“Yes, but he was on a conference call. I’ll have to check and see if he’s finished. One moment, please.”
Bowie watched her walk out of the lobby, heard a door open and close down the hall, and then the murmur of voices. She hadn’t asked for his name, so he assumed she recognized him.
She came back a few moments later and stopped in the doorway.
“Chief Clayton will see you now. Follow me.” Then she led the way to the chief’s office and opened the door.
“Thank you,” Bowie said, and walked in.
Henry Clayton was already on his feet and coming forward with his hand outstretched.
“Bowie, it’s good to see you, though I’m sorry it’s under these circumstances. It’s a little bit disconcerting. You look so much like Stanton, it’s eerie.”
“So they tell me,” Bowie said, and grasped the chief’s hand.
“Take a seat,” Clayton said.
Bowie eased into the chair across from the chief’s desk, looked up at the framed photo of Clayton and Mad Jack Wayne, then shifted focus and leaned forward, his hands resting on his knees.
“I’ll get right to it,” Bowie said. “Our family is wondering where the investigation into our father’s murder stands?”
Clayton flushed. He felt the heat rushing up his neck and on to his cheeks, and knew how that was going to read.
“Well, I can’t really say, Bowie, because it’s not my case. My authority and responsibilities end at the city limits of Eden, so—”
“But since the suspects live here, you surely know the status of the interrogations, right?”
“Yes, I would be kept informed of that, but to my knowledge they haven’t begun that part of—”
The shock of hearing that sent Bowie to his feet. He was so angry, it was all he could do to keep from shouting.
“A dying man spent his last seconds leaving the family name of the man who killed him. That was a day ago, and no one’s even bothered to talk to them?”
Clayton sighed.
“I’m really sorry, Bowie. I wish I had better news for you, but—”
“Save it,” Bowie said. “Sorry to bother you.”
He was gone before Clayton could get out of his chair. He looked up at his framed credentials and then at the picture of him standing beside Mad Jack Wayne at a ribbon-cutting ceremony for the new jail, then picked up the phone and called Constable Riordan’s private number.
Riordan answered on the second ring.
“Riordan, this is Henry Clayton. I have some information for you regarding the Youngblood murder.”
“Anything you can tell me would be appreciated,” Riordan said.
“Bowie Youngblood was just here and hot under the collar because no one had interviewed any of the Wayne family. That’s an FYI, in case you get a call. Also, I got a call from Blake Wayne last night, demanding I run off the people who were picketing outside their property. When I got there, it turned out to be about a dozen or so people who’d lost their homes to that investment group that’s putting up a resort down by the lake. I didn’t get the connection, but there must be one. You should look into who the investors actually were. They said they all lost their homes to sudden bank foreclosures. I asked them what that had to do with Stanton’s murder, and one man said, and I quote, ‘Polly and Carl Cyrus. Thomas and Beth Youngblood.’”
“I don’t get it,” Riordan said.
“Well, just so you know, Polly Cyrus and Thomas Youngblood are Stanton’s siblings. You might talk to them and see what they have to say. It could lead to some kind of motive.”
“Okay, thanks for the info and for the heads-up,” Riordan said.
“Hope it helps,” Henry said. “I grew up with Stanton. He was a good man.”
* * *
While Bowie was inside the police precinct, the wind had risen to storm-like proportions, matching the tumult of his own rage. He was nearing the city limits when he saw the looming roof of the Wayne estate off to the right, a visual reminder of the hold the family had on this town. The sight of his mother’s grief-stricken face flashed before him, and on impulse he turned off the main road and drove down the street leading to the main gates.
He’d seen the three-story mansion many times but had never been able to picture his mother growing up there. He didn’t intend to stop, but as he drove past, he saw a man and two women standing beneath the portico at the far end of the driveway, and he hit the brakes. He put the truck in Park and leaped out, heading toward the open gates with a long, steady stride. The wind tore through his hair and flattened his shirt against his torso.
He stopped only inches away from the property line and waited for the moment when they saw him, and when they did, he pulled the tie from his hair so they’d know who he belonged to, braced himself against the rising wind and stared at them in a gesture of defiance. A cold rage swept through him. His father was gone, and they were going about their business, seemingly without concern that one of their own was a murderer.
He watched the man take a few steps forward, and then both women grabbed him and pulled him back.
The man was shouting now, but the wind carried away the words. While Bowie couldn’t hear what he was saying, from the way the man was behaving, he guessed it was a challenge.
Bowie sent back his own challenge, raising his arms, holding them level with his shoulders, as if to say, “Here I am. Come and get me.”
That sent the man into a rage. He began waving his arms as both women grabbed him again and held him back.
Bowie h
adn’t accomplished anything, but he felt better for confronting the monsters, even in such a small way. Then he turned his back to the house with his arms still outspread while the wind tore through his hair. He stood there long enough for them to get the point, that while they’d shot his father in the back, he was making himself vulnerable to prove they didn’t scare him.
After a few moments he dropped his arms, got back in the truck and drove away.
* * *
Justin knew the moment he saw the man at the gate and that long hair blowing in the wind that he was one of Leigh’s sons. It pissed him off that he was there at all, and made him even angrier that his presence felt like a threat.
Justin shouted at him, and when the man didn’t even budge, he began shouting louder. When the man suddenly turned his back and stood there in an obvious reference to his father being shot in the back, Justin lost it. He was screaming curses, damning every Youngblood on the mountain and wishing them to hell, when the man left as abruptly as he’d appeared.
Nita and Fiona were vacillating between letting Justin make a fool of himself, and slapping some sense into him and dragging him inside. But they were saved the trouble of making the decision when Uncle Jack came storming out the front door in a rage. He grabbed Justin by the arm and yanked him around to face him.
Spittle was running from the corner of Justin’s mouth, and he was so out of control it was unsettling. There was a moment when Jack hesitated to confront him, but then he remembered that he was the one in charge.
“There’s a storm coming. Shut the fuck up and get inside. Now!”
Justin pointed up the drive.
“You don’t fucking tell me what to do. You didn’t see him! You didn’t see what he did!” he screamed.
Jack slapped him across the face.
The shock of the blow sent Justin staggering backward.
“Don’t ever raise your voice to me again,” Jack said softly, then pointed to the door. “Get inside.” Then he pointed at his nieces. “Whatever you’re doing, do it somewhere else,” he said, and followed Justin toward the house.
Nita and Fiona hurried inside before the rain began to fall, still pissed at being treated like children.
