“Why didn’t you go to your dad?” He sounded closer, but she didn’t take her face out of the pillow.
“He’d remarried by then, and I was being a total bitch to his new wife. Dad and I were barely talking at that point. I was afraid I would get Cynthia in trouble or get in trouble myself.”
“You were still his daughter, no matter what had happened.”
His words resonated as only the truth from hindsight could. “Cynthia refused to go to a clinic. Said that she could quit whenever she wanted. That it was all for fun. I should have dragged her to the hospital.”
Tears crawled up her throat. His hand brushed her arm, but she jerked away, her skin as raw and sensitive as her feelings. “I found her the next night at Derrick’s. As soon as I saw her I knew but I tried to revive her. I screamed for help. Prayed. Didn’t matter. She was dead.”
“Is that why you ran?”
She shook her head. “I got mad. At myself. At Derrick. His parties were nothing more than a means of getting kids hooked and then feeding their addictions. It should have been me, not Cynthia. And if I didn’t do something, it would be another girl, another party. I took his stash so he couldn’t sell to anyone else. I buried everything in the middle of nowhere.” A sob escaped with a trickle of tears. That last image of her best friend was branded on her brain.
“I didn’t realize at the time how the supply chain worked and how low Derrick was on it. Some very pissed-off big-time dealers expected their money. Plus he had the police all over him about Cynthia. He threatened to kill me and my dad if I didn’t give him the drugs or give him money.
“Dad scared him off, but I knew he’d be back to make good on his threat. Either him or the police. My fingerprints were all over Derrick’s apartment. I promised Dad I’d tell him everything in the morning. I left that night, and I’ve been running ever since.”
“What happened to Derrick?”
“He ran too, but the police got him and found more drugs in his car. But there are men that still want their money. I thought I could keep my dad safe if he didn’t know where I was. So far it’s worked.”
“The man who showed up to collect Ford’s debt … You thought he’d come for you, didn’t you?”
She nodded. “Derrick or one of his suppliers will eventually find me.”
“You’re going to keep running? Until when?”
She hadn’t wanted to run in the first place and didn’t want to keep running. Especially now. Another sob broke free and another, a wave of grief over past and present.
“Do you hate me?” The words emerged on gasps.
A harsh muttered curse registered a second before his arms came around her. “Of course not. Jesus, you were in a terrible situation.”
She didn’t drop the pillow but allowed herself the weakness of leaning into his chest a few inches. Regret and guilt dogged her for many reasons, but one had become a recurring nightmare. “I left her, Jackson. Left her lying there, vulnerable and exposed.”
“You were in shock.” His chest rumbled the matter-of-fact response.
It sounded like a copout. “I should have stayed with her until the police got there.”
“Do you remember the day Pop died?”
The sudden veering of topic threw her. She’d been a horrified bystander to their father’s collapse. “Of course.”
“He died at 2:05 P.M., and I was on the track racing that night. Does that sound normal or rational?”
For a run-of-the-mill man, perhaps not, but he was anything but. “Racing is how you cope with … well, everything. Grief, stress, uncertainty.”
He stilled against her, not even his chest rising for a breath. “I should have been with my brothers.”
She loosened her death clutch on the pillow and turned fully into his body, her hand landing on his shoulder. “They understood.”
“Maybe.” He cleared his throat, but his voice was still roughened with emotion. “My point is that I can picture every detail of Pop’s death, but afterward, everything is fuzzy. I wasn’t making good decisions. It’s a wonder I didn’t get myself killed.”
Was he right? Had she been in shock? The hours and days after she’d found Cynthia were fuzzy. Her headlong drive into the woods to get rid of the drugs. The wait for either Derrick or the police to show up at her house. The shock of Cynthia’s death weaving through the town and the inevitable questions from her dad and Cynthia’s grief-stricken parents. Willa had borne it all without shedding a tear, ready to accept her fate. It was the threat against her dad that had prompted her into action.
Jackson’s absolution didn’t magically wash away her guilt, but the burden felt lighter now it was shared. She wasn’t aware of time passing, but eventually, he worked the pillow from between them, maneuvered them down, and pulled the covers over them.
The cold nights of fitful sleep in the trailer plus the cathartic summoning of her demons had exhausted her. Wrapped in his arms, feeling truly safe for the first time in years, sleep claimed her fast and hard. Her last thought wasn’t narrowed to the sins of the past, but a new hope for the future.
Chapter Twelve
Jackson woke long before the sun rose. Moonlight shaded the darkness. With her face smoothed in sleep, the toll worry and exhaustion had taken the past few weeks was evident. He hated to think he’d been the cause of any of it.
The revelations from the night before rolled around in his head. It was easy to picture a younger, less worldly version of Willa caught up in something beyond her control. He ached for her losses, both real, like Cynthia and her innocence, and self-imposed, like her father.
Whether or not she wanted to admit it, her tendency was to believe the best of people. Life’s experiences may have dented her natural optimism, but why else had she stuck around Cottonbloom for so long?
His arms tightened at the stab of worry. She would need to confront her past and make peace with it before any sort of future was possible. He wanted to help her. Protect her. He would move mountains for her if he could. But he had a feeling her past was a mountain she would have to summit alone.
With his thoughts and emotions in turmoil, his body was distracted by something more primal. Covered by a thin white cotton bra, her full breasts were pressed against his bare chest. Her pants rode below her belly button. The curves of her waist and hips should have danger signs posted.
The natural morning inclination of his body was stoked by the sight of her in his bed and the feel of her body close. Their brief exploration had only whetted his appetite for more. For everything.
But the night before had revealed fault lines in her defenses, and he didn’t want to take advantage. After all, he wasn’t after a one-night stand. Or one-morning stand as the case may be.
Sunlight crept across the room, lighting the corners and dissipating the mystery and intimacy of the night. Her eyes fluttered open and she blinked a few times.
“Good morning.” He kept his voice low so as not to spook her.
A blush suffused the exposed curves of her breasts and crept into her cheeks. She touched her hair and tucked a piece behind her ear.
“I should go,” she whispered.
“You don’t have to.”
“Do you want me to stay?”
He was used to bold, brash Willa in the garage. The woman in his bed radiated uncertainty. He ran a hand up her arm, and she shivered. His gaze dropped to see her nipples peak against the thin cotton. He wanted to answer in the basest way possible and take the point in his mouth.
He took a breath to control the urge. “I want you to stay. I might have to handle a thing or two in the garage, but you can hang out and stay warm. Watch TV or read. Relax.”
He trailed his fingers down the valley of her spine to the hollow of her lower back, pressing lightly. Like a choreographed dance, she arched her back and twisted her hips closer. Her slight intake of air signaled her awareness of his erection.
“Are you sure?” Her voice was breathless. Their gazes
met and held, raw need on display in hers. The combination of bold and unsure was sexy as hell.
“No reason for you to freeze in your trailer. I’ve got plenty of room.”
Except there was hardly any room between them now. He smoothed his hand over her bottom and squeezed. Her moan crumbled his good intentions.
A dog’s bark and the scratch of nails on his door fractured the moment. Like she’d been given a shot of adrenaline straight to her heart, she scrambled away, grabbed her shirt off the floor and held it over her breasts. “River needs … I should…”
She disappeared and the door opened a second later followed by the patter of dog feet racing down the stairs. After she’d been gone for several minutes, it became clear she was using River as an excuse. He flopped onto his back and did his best to ignore his throbbing dick.
Hell, maybe it was for the best. The garage was officially closed until after Christmas, but afterward, they would still need to function as coworkers. How would having sex change their dynamic under a hood?
He dragged himself up and went to the window. The sun was already melting away any snow within its reach. River bounded through the scant patches under trees, but Willa wasn’t in sight. Finally, he gave up and headed for a cool shower. By the time he emerged, Willa and River were back. She had put out dog food, poured herself a bowl of cereal, and was talking to the dog.
“What’d you think of the snow?” A pause. “It’s going to melt soon, so you’d better enjoy it.”
“You always talk to her?” he asked.
She swiveled around to face him. “It’s slightly less weird to be talking to a dog than myself, right?”
The joke landed too close to his heart for comfort. She had suffered through her loneliness out of a mistaken sense of penance. A return smile was beyond him. “I need to talk to Mack and Wyatt about Ford. Make yourself at home.”
Without a car at her disposal, she was effectively trapped, which made him feel comfortable enough to leave her alone. The pocket of cold air at the top of the stairs was jolting even though the back doors of the barn were closed, leaving the interior dim.
He clomped down the steps, the cold still seeping through the sweatshirt he’d pulled on after his shower. Mack’s deep voice and Wyatt’s answering laughter drifted to him before his eyes had adjusted.
He followed the sound as if it were a beacon, his brothers coming into focus sharing the beat-up couch in the back.
“A family meeting and I wasn’t invited?” Jackson asked.
His brothers’ heads turned in synchronicity to greet him.
“Merry Christmas,” Wyatt said in a chirpy voice.
“River trotted over and dropped a deuce in my front yard, so I assumed you were busy—or getting busy—this morning.” Mack’s smile held an uncharacteristic tease. He’d shouldered more of the burden of the garage than any of them and it showed in the strain around his eyes and scarcity of smiles.
Which was one big reason Jackson’s knee-jerk refusal to contact their mother in order to find Ford was weighing heavily on him. But it was Willa’s story playing itself out over and over in his dreams that had highlighted his selfishness.
Ford was their brother and he was in trouble. One of them needed to extend a helping hand. If Ford chose not to take it, then at least his conscience would be appeased.
“You’re hiding Willa upstairs?” Wyatt’s feigned shock was ruined by the twinkle in his eye.
“Her trailer has a kerosene heater. She would have frozen last night.” Jackson grabbed a Coke from the fridge. “And nothing happened.” That was almost the truth.
“Well now, that’s disappointing,” Wyatt said with an eyebrow waggle.
Mack shoved Wyatt’s shoulder. “Are you going to tell him your news or what?”
Jackson’s gaze shot to Wyatt’s, and in a flash of intuition Jackson said, “You’re going to make an honest woman out of Sutton Mize, aren’t you?”
Mack muttered a curse. “How do you two do that?”
“Guess it’s the nine months we spent squished up together.” Wyatt grinned. “I asked her to marry me yesterday, and shockingly, she said yes.”
“She does know that she can do a sight better than you, right?” Jackson’s tease was all bluster. Truth was, Sutton was lucky to have Wyatt’s love and devotion.
“Don’t tell her until it’s official.” Wyatt stood up and hugged Jackson.
Jackson dropped his forehead to Wyatt’s shoulder for a moment before pulling back. “How was the ’Cuda?”
“Amazing. Perfect. I can’t thank you enough for helping Sutton. For being so good to us.”
Jackson tapped him once more on the back with his fist and stepped away. “Always, bro.”
“You know what this means, right?” Wyatt snapped his fingers. “The curse is broken.”
“Careful. You still have to make it legal,” Jackson said.
“But when I do, you’ll be next.” Wyatt’s lighthearted prediction didn’t feel so light in Jackson’s chest.
The three of them chatted a few minutes about the engagement and the reaction of her father, who was a well-off and well-connected judge in Cottonbloom, Mississippi.
“You’ll be the most useful relative that’s married into that family. Everyone needs a good car mechanic.” Mack stood up and clapped Wyatt on the shoulder. “I’m cold and need some coffee. Aunt Hazel is bringing the Crown Vic by in about an hour. I’ll take care of it since you have a visitor.”
“Let me handle it. I need to talk to Aunt Hazel anyway,” Jackson said.
“In that case, unless another emergency comes in, I’ll be at the house binge-watching all the Die Hard movies.”
Jackson held up a hand. “One more thing. I’ll do what I can to find Ford, including calling our mother.”
A few beats of surprised silence ticked off.
“Why the change of heart?” Mack asked.
“Something Willa told me last night got me thinking. As much as Ford gets under our skin, he’s our brother and in trouble.”
Wyatt pulled at his chin hair, a smile playing at his lips. “Weren’t you the one that suggested stripping him naked and dumping him out in the swamps when he threatened to sell his stake?”
“Yeah, well, not saying he doesn’t deserve a hundred mosquito bites where the sun don’t shine, but he’s got to be scared and panicked about some bookie shaking him down for that much money.”
Mack’s expression turned darker and inward. Mack’s relationship with Ford had been poisonous since Jackson could remember. Less than eighteen months separated them, and a competitive fire burned in them both, stoked unintentionally by their pop. It made for a messy dynamic.
“Let me know what you find out.” Mack walked away, his shoulders more tensed than they had been. Jackson muttered a curse. His goal of lightening Mack’s worries had backfired.
“You need to talk about anything else?” Wyatt pointed at the ceiling.
“If you mean Willa, then no.”
“Are things progressing?”
Jackson considered telling Wyatt to mind his own business. Wyatt would take his brush-off in stride, but the truth was Jackson felt unusually adrift and fearful of the changes looming both personally and for the garage.
“She finally told me more about how she ended up here and what she’s running from.”
Wyatt gave a low whistle. “Is it bad?”
“Yes and no. She’s not a criminal, but it’s a sad story.” It’s all Jackson could say without betraying her trust.
“Are you going to help her?”
Jackson grimaced. “If she’ll let me.”
“She’s a mite independent.” They exchanged dry smiles at the understatement.
“She had to learn real quick what it took to survive.” At twenty, without a degree and growing up relatively sheltered, Willa must have been terrified setting off on her own. It was a miracle she’d come through the past five years with her humor and heart intact.
> “She trusts you now. Just don’t screw up.”
Jackson rolled a side-eye toward Wyatt. “No shit.”
“Go ask Dear Abby if you don’t like my advice. You’d better go open up the garage for Aunt Hazel.” Wyatt bumped his shoulder and shuffled backward, heading for the door. “If you don’t need help, I’m going to head over the river. Don’t forget, Sutton’s counting on you to come to her New Year’s party.”
“You know parties aren’t my thing.” He had zero desire to rub shoulders with the upper crust of Mississippi.
“If you really feel that way, I’ll send your regrets.” Wyatt’s smile signaled a kind of trouble that had baited Jackson into doing something stupid more times than he could count. “A shame though. I guess you’ll miss Willa’s big reveal.”
“Wait, what?” Jackson halved the distance between them. Close enough to see the puckish twinkle in his twin brother’s slate eyes.
“Sutton’s designing a dress for Willa to wear. Something super-sexy. She said Willa has a banging body and deserves a nice dress after wearing coveralls all day, every day. But you’re probably not interested in seeing Willa out of coveralls, are you? Or maybe you already have?”
Dammit, Wyatt was too good at navigating the rivers of emotion Jackson did his best to avoid. He narrowed his eyes, pointed a finger, and backed away. “I’ll be there.”
Wyatt’s laughter trailed after him and reverberated in Jackson’s head long after he’d left. Wyatt’s happiness was borderline nauseating, no matter how much Jackson liked Sutton.
Aunt Hazel turned into the parking lot, only the top half of her head visible over the steering wheel, just as he’d cleared out a bay. Every so often, he tried to talk his aunts into buying something smaller and with better gas mileage, but so far, neither had been willing to part with the Crown Victoria.
Even though Hazel was smaller and could barely see over the wheel, she was by far the more responsible driver. His aunt Hyacinth had gotten several speeding tickets over the years and considered them a point of pride. If car racing had been an acceptable pastime for women in Hyacinth’s youth, Jackson had no doubt that she would have smoked all comers.
When the Stars Come Out--A Cottonbloom Novel Page 15
