Through the Sheriff's Eyes

by Janice Kay Johnson

  Ben tried to be gentle the second time. He tried to hold her back, to make her look into his eyes as he caressed her with hands that learned and exploited all her weaknesses. He didn’t understand that she needed the thunder and lightning and whipping winds of the storm. This had to be all physical, a release as tumultuous as her wild, ineffectual attack on him earlier. She had to be swept away, so she pushed him with her hands and mouth until he broke and did the sweeping.

  They started with her astride him, and ended up with him on top again, his big hands gripping her hips, holding her so he could thrust deeper. Faith heard herself scream at the end, when her body imploded. This was like dying and being reborn all at the same time.

  “Faith,” he groaned, as his body went rigid and then bucked. “Faith.”

  She was shocked to realize there were tears on the face she had buried against his chest. She didn’t even know what they meant, didn’t want him to see them.

  When he rolled to take his weight off her, Faith slipped from his arms and scrambled from the bed, keeping her back to him as she swiped at her cheeks.

  “Dad will be home anytime.” She spotted her panties and jeans and pulled them on as one. Ignoring the silence behind her, she hunted for her bra and finally saw it draped over the back of the rocker.

  “All right,” Ben said slowly. “I can see why you wouldn’t want your father to walk in on us naked.”

  The bed creaked when he moved.

  Faith reached behind her to fasten her bra and her fingers bumped into others. Ben’s bare feet had been silent enough on the floorboards that she hadn’t known he was so close.

  He hooked her bra for her, then closed his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing’s wrong.” She wasn’t much of a liar, Faith realized, and her eyes closed in near defeat. “I didn’t mean for that to happen.”

  His fingers bit into her flesh. “I did,” he said in a voice that could have scraped bone. “You wanted me, too.”

  She wrenched free of his grip. “I lost control in more ways than one tonight. Do you think I feel good about that?”

  Was that hurt in his dark eyes? If so, he blanked it out quickly. “You should. Letting go isn’t always bad, Faith.”

  “I wasn’t ready.” She swallowed. “I’m not ready.”

  The muscles in his jaw spasmed. Without another word, he began to get dressed. He was sitting in the rocker putting on socks and athletic shoes when she left the bedroom and went down the hall to the bathroom.

  All she could think was that she had to braid her hair again before Daddy saw her like this and guessed what had happened. She couldn’t even bear to look at herself in the mirror until she’d run the brush through the tangles and begun the soothing, familiar act of braiding. It seemed essential that she restore her outer self to exactly what it had been before she’d begun to sob, before she’d beaten at Ben’s chest and then pressed her mouth to his.

  Fixing her hair wasn’t enough. She had to splash cold water on her face, pat it dry and rub lotion where his end-of-day stubble had reddened her skin. At last she could study the Faith in the mirror and see a self she knew, a self she could live with. Only then did she unlock the bathroom door and go downstairs, barely pausing to glance in the bedroom. She’d known he wouldn’t be there, that he’d have gone down ahead of her.

  But he wasn’t downstairs, either. He’d taken the shoe box from the table and was gone.

  Faith stood in the empty kitchen, so lost in desolation she didn’t know if she could make her body obey her enough to take even one step. She simply stood there, breathing in, then out, trying not to think, not to feel, not to wonder if she had finally driven Ben away once and for all. And then, at last, her muscles unlocked and she was able to walk across the kitchen to where she’d left off.

  She began carefully wrapping the miscellaneous glassware and vases in newspaper so nothing would get broken when she carried the packed boxes to the barn for the sale.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  IN ONE NIGHT, Faith had given herself to him and then rejected him with a cold finality that left Ben stunned.

  He went home to his empty house, knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep and decided to throw himself into a job that would give him something—anything—else to think about. He’d put off stripping the old, darkened varnish from the woodwork in the living room. That would work as well as anything else.

  Ben flung open the windows and let the cold night air leaven the fumes of the chemical stripper. He worked unceasingly, stroking the stuff on one stretch of molding with a paintbrush and, while it did its work, scraping up sodden, bubbling curls of varnish with his chisel in another spot where it had already sat long enough.

  He tried not to think about her and failed. Anguish, anger, bewilderment and devastation supplanted each other, circling around and around. It all came down to the same conclusion: she’d had a moment of weakness, but that was all it had been. He’d made love to a woman for the first time in his life instead of just having sex with her and all she could say afterward was that she hadn’t meant for it to happen. Right before she walked out of the bedroom without even a backward glance.

  Ben swore aloud, looked around and saw that he’d stripped every inch of woodwork in the living room, including the mantel.

  The place stank. He stank by the time he staggered upstairs as dawn was lightening the sky, dumped his clothes in the hamper and stood in the shower, letting it run over his head until the hot water was gone.

  He felt older than the house when he walked into the police station a few hours later, numbly determined to do his job. He’d had sleepless nights before and had functioned fine. Ben knew from experience that he could go up to three days with no more than a snatched nap here and there. This was nothing.

  And everything. He felt hollow, used up, hopeless in a way he couldn’t remember ever feeling before. Probably because he’d never before been stupid enough to let himself love anyone.

  DAD DIDN’T SEEM TO NOTICE a thing when he got home. His mood was genial, and after kissing her cheek and telling her not to stay up late, he’d gone upstairs to bed. The minute he was out of sight, Faith sank onto a kitchen chair and quit pretending, even to herself, that she cared which pans they kept and which they sold or gave to the Goodwill.

  After a minute, she stood up and turned out the lights, leaving everything where it lay. Climbing the stairs in the dark was easy, the faint glow from the bathroom light Dad had left on enough of a guide. How often as a teenager she’d come home from dates after everyone else was in bed! She would always hope Char’s light was still on beneath her door, so Faith could slip in and sit on the bed and they could talk and giggle quietly. Char would come to her room sometimes after her own dates, though less often than Faith. They hadn’t shut each other out completely, not then. Faith wasn’t sure how it had happened that, after they went in different directions to college, they’d quit talking at all.

  She brushed her teeth and changed into flannel pajamas, then stood and stared at the bed. He had just been in it. Swallowing, she made herself get in anyway, even though she’d swear the sheets held the musky scent of sex, that her pillow had retained the imprint of Ben’s head.

  She pressed her own cheek in that imprint and closed her eyes on a soft moan. She’d been so scared; scared of everything she’d felt. How could she have held herself together for so long, and then in a matter of an hour completely disintegrated? The rage had literally blinded her, the tears scalded her, the passion… Oh, Lord. Making love with Ben had undermined her self-control like nothing else ever had.

  Faith lay in her dark bedroom hugging the pillow, that everpresent fear holding her rigid. If she surrendered to all these feelings, she’d be taking the greatest risk of her life. That’s what you did when you fell in love; you made yourself vulnerable. But she was already too vulnerable to risk more. She didn’t know if she would ever dare.


  And, while Ben had been kind and patient with her, and persistent, too, he’d never actually said, “I love you,” or done more than imply that he was thinking about anything permanent.

  Yes, he had wanted her. Wanted her a whole lot, she thought, her face heating as she remembered the way he’d pinned her against the wall halfway up the stairs and kissed her as if he couldn’t make himself stop. As if he was desperate for her.

  He’d made love to her the same way, with shattering urgency. Not at all as if it was just sex.

  She’d been awful to him, afterward. Faith squeezed her eyes shut, remembering the expression on his face after she said, “I lost control in more ways than one tonight. Do you think I feel good about that?”

  Tonight he’d held her, comforted her, offered her explosive passion, and she had told him it was a mistake and walked out of the bedroom.

  Like a skim of frost, a new kind of fear crept over her. No matter how she’d pushed him away before, he had always come back. But this time…would he?

  The next day, as she walked around the classroom supervising her kids while they glued cotton balls on construction paper cutouts of Santa’s face, touching a shoulder here, guiding a hand there, smiling as she quieted an overexcited five-year-old boy, Faith realized she was only going through the motions, as she’d done all fall. She hadn’t invested herself in this current crop of students the way she usually did. She should have taken a leave of absence this year.

  Except, of course, she couldn’t have afforded to.

  New guilt and unhappiness froze her in place for a moment.

  “Miss Russell! Miss Russell!”

  She blinked and saw a frantically waving arm. Somehow she made herself focus on the little girl. “Yes, Carrie?”

  “Kieran’s gluing his beard on himself!”

  At a flurry of giggles, Faith turned. In another mood, she would have had a hard time not smiling herself. Skinny, bright-eyed Kieran had indeed taken advantage of her inattention and stuck white cotton balls all over his chin and jaw.

  Faith bent a stern look at Carrie, one of her least favorite students, and said, “Perhaps you should pay more attention to your own project and not so much to what your classmates are doing, Carrie.” And then she handed Kieran off to a grinning aide who led him to the sink at the back of the room. Kieran, Faith decided, had lost his glue privileges until after Christmas break.

  I haven’t been a bad teacher. Have I? Even if, perhaps, she hadn’t been able to give as much of herself as usual?

  Something relaxed inside her, although her depression remained. No, she wasn’t a bad teacher. In fact, she thought she was a good one, even when she’d been so sad inside that she’d sometimes imagined herself seeping blood from a thousand wounds. She hadn’t lost patience, even with Jakob whose Ritalin tended to wear off before the end of the day. Delia, who it seemed no one had ever read a story to in her life, was learning her letters, and look how quiet and absorbed they all were right now. At the beginning of the school year—not so long ago—Jakob would already have knocked over the glue twice, Walter would have torn up his Santa in frustration over his own inability to achieve perfection and Eden would have vanished from her chair to be found at some point later, humming to herself under the table.

  Mrs. Marshall two classrooms over would have lost patience. From the hall, Faith sometimes heard her raised voice with an edge in it that didn’t belong in a kindergarten classroom.

  I’m a good teacher, Faith thought defiantly. I am. Even when I’m not at my best. There were enough things for her to feel guilty about. This wasn’t going to be one of them.

  Nonetheless, it was a relief when the lunch bell rang. Although she had very little appetite, Faith took her sandwich, apple and bottled water from the bottom drawer of her desk where she had stashed it. She’d eat right here. Not that she expected Ben to come by, but if he did, she would be here. And she could at least say, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.

  Of course, he wasn’t coming today. He’d have already been there, filling the doorway as soon as the bell rang. Blocking her escape, Faith knew.

  He didn’t come the next day, either, or the one after that. Not all week. He didn’t come by the farm that weekend, either. The icy hollow inside Faith expanded with each day that passed, until she knew she couldn’t bear it any longer.

  BEN HAD JUST FINISHED his pitiful excuse for a dinner—boxed macaroni and cheese and a hot dog, which was bound to upset his nearly middle-aged stomach—when he heard the knock on his door. His bad-tempered gaze found the clock on the microwave. 7:46. Who the hell…?

  He expected to find a neighbor on his doorstep. The way he’d been working on his house, Barton with his perfectly edged flowerbeds and the inflatable reindeer on his putting green of a lawn was probably here to complain about toxic fumes.

  Ben was not in the mood for complaints of any kind.

  He flung open the door without looking through the sidelight to see who was actually here. He wasn’t scowling because, goddamn it, he was the police chief and as such had to be polite whether he felt like it or not. Whatever expression he had on his face vanished when he saw Faith.

  A nervous Faith. She was wringing her hands, although she stilled them when she saw his gaze touch on them.

  She looked good. He hadn’t set eyes on her in eight days, and he was hungrier than he liked to admit, even to himself, just for a look at her. The night was cold, frost already shimmering on lawns and windshields under the streetlight. She wore jeans tucked into boots with sturdy soles and a fleece lining turned over at the top, a turtleneck and a quilted vest. Under his silent scrutiny, she curled her hands into fists and stuck them in the pockets of the vest.

  “Um…I was hoping to talk to you.”

  He didn’t know if he could talk. Not reasonably. But maybe he wouldn’t have to. She’d come to say something, and who knew what she expected in return?

  Ruthlessly suppressing the hope that had risen despite himself, Ben nodded and stepped back.

  Faith edged past him into the entry. He shut the front door behind her.

  She peered into the living room. “You’ve been working in here.”

  “Yes, and it reeks,” he said brusquely. “We’d better go back to the kitchen.”

  He led the way, wondering if he looked anywhere near as ragged as he felt. Probably. When he’d shaved that morning, his face had seemed gaunt, his eyes red-rimmed.

  “Coffee?” he felt obliged to offer.

  “Only if you were going to have some.”

  He reached for the coffeepot and then changed his mind. “No.”

  Faith stopped in the middle of the kitchen. “I just…came to say I’m sorry.”

  He looked back at her as unemotionally as he could make himself. “For?”

  “Saying what I did.”

  “That you didn’t mean to make love with me?”

  She nodded. “And that I didn’t feel very good about it.”

  “Was it true?” His voice was harsh.

  Her gaze slid from his. “I was…scared.” Her shoulders made a helpless shrug even as she reluctantly met his eyes again. Her hands, still balled in her pockets, made lumps over her stomach. “Do you know how hard it’s been to keep myself together? And then—wow—I just fell apart. I totally lost it. So no, what we did wasn’t because of a conscious decision on my part. If that hurts you, I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah, it hurt me.” It didn’t feel good admitting how low she’d brought him. But what was he going to do? Pretend he didn’t give a damn? “You made me realize you don’t actually want anything I have to give. I’ve been kidding myself, haven’t I, Faith?”

  “I…” Her voice a mere whisper of sound, it faded entirely. She tried again. “I don’t know. I don’t know what you want.”

  “How can you not know?” When she only stared, he said hoarsely, “You. I want you, Faith.”

  Her face was startlingly pale, her eyes dilated. “You had me
.”

  Ben shook his head. “I’m in love with you.” That didn’t seem to be enough; he said, “I love you.”

  She actually flinched, as though he’d announced that he intended to discard her after a few steamy nights. Ben backed up a step. Two steps. He reached to each side and gripped the edge of the kitchen counter. His knuckles were white, he was holding on so hard.

  After a painfully long pause, Faith said, “I don’t understand. Why now, Ben? You must have known I was attracted to you earlier and… You didn’t want me. Why?”

  He had to be honest. “You know nothing about my background. I’m a piss-poor risk for a woman like you. The minute I saw you, I thought you were too soft for me. Too gentle. That you shouldn’t be married to a cop, any cop, much less someone like me. That you’d never sleep again if I told you a fraction of the things I’ve seen and done. I thought I’d only hurt you.”

  There was a spark of anger in her eyes. “You did hurt me, Ben. It goes both ways, you know. You held me like I mattered, and then the next time I saw you, you could have been a stranger, an officer who’d been sent out to the farm but was wishing he hadn’t had to make the time to stop. That hurt.”

  “I was an idiot.”

  “Why did you change your mind?”

  “I realized you’re a hell of a lot stronger than I gave you credit for.” He hesitated, driven still to honesty. “Besides…the past is done. I can live with my own ghosts without making them yours.”

  “What does that mean?” Faith asked.

  “It means I’m not going back to L.A. I’m staying here, in West Fork. Our life here wouldn’t have anything to do with the job I did before, or the way I grew up. None of that matters, Faith. I don’t know why I thought it did.”