Unspoken

by Lisa Jackson

  A child was crying and voices shouted as Shep pulled up and climbed out of his truck. He’d been off duty for a couple of hours and had lingered in the White Horse sipping suds and listening to Lucy flirt with some of the regulars while country music crept through the bar and Shep kept coming up with excuses not to go home to his sorry-assed house and pregnant, cranky wife. Peggy Sue was really putting the screws to him these days, insisting he get a vasectomy and nagging him about officially running for sheriff. On top of all that, she had a hundred and one reasons why she wouldn’t let him touch her, wouldn’t even let him cop a quick feel. “Not until you git yourself fixed,” she’d insisted through clenched teeth, “and while you’re at it, take Sport in with you. He’s drivin’ me nuts, barkin’ and tryin’ to run away cuz the Fentons’ springer is in heat agin.”

  No amount of talking had dissuaded her. She was pregnant, it was Shep’s fault and all men—including male dogs, it seemed—needed to be neutered. Well, no one was gonna make a soprano outta Shepherd Belmont Marson. Not yet.

  As he started up the steps, pushing his way through a small crowd of neighbors who had gathered on the lawn, Vianca flew out of the house and down the steps. Packing little Ramón on one hip, tears streaming from her beautiful eyes, she tried to quiet the screaming toddler while she herself looked about to collapse.

  “What’s goin’ on here?” Shep asked. On his way home, he’d heard that an ambulance had been dispatched to this address, one he’d known by heart. He’d pulled a quick U turn and hadn’t thought twice about his own family.

  “Madre, oh, poor, poor Madre. She is ... ” Vianca broke down altogether as two paramedics rushed from the house. They carried a gurney with Aloise Estevan strapped to it. Her face was the color of paste, her bony fingers clutching a rosary, her lips moving in silent prayer. Vianca chased after the paramedics, and Shep’s heart nearly broke for the poor girl. Still clutching her nephew, holding his little body close to hers, she tried to grab her mothet’s hand as the paramedics shoved the gurney into the back of the ambulance and the onlookers whispered among themselves. “Madre ... oh, Dios, Madre ... ”

  The ambulance doors slammed shut. The paramedics climbed inside. The siren screamed. Colored lights flashed. The red-and-white rig took off in a squeal of tires.

  “I’ll drive you,” Shep said to Vianca and placed a comforting arm around her slim shoulders. Good God, she felt good—such smooth skin. “Can someone take care of the boy?”

  “No—”

  “I’ll see to him,” an elderly woman in a bathrobe and slippers offered. “I live three doors down and—”

  “No!” Vianca spat. Her expression turned as hard as concrete. “Ram6n stays with me.”

  “But it might be a while,” Shep said.

  “Roberto will come for his son.” She was emphatic. “He will close the store and come to the hospital.”

  “But ...”

  “We are family. Maybe you do not understand.”

  Little Ram6n was still clinging to his aunt. His head was buried in the crook of her neck, and his chubby arms held on tight.

  “Fair enough,” Shep said, realizing she wasn’t going to budge. He turned to the crowd and lifted his hands to get their attention. “You can all go home now. Everything’s all right.”

  He didn’t wait for the throng to disburse, just guided Vianca toward his truck and helped her inside. She strapped herself into the passenger side of his bench seat, did the same for her nephew in the middle, and Shep experienced a pang of guilt. He should go home to his own family. Peggy Sue was sure to be tired after chasin’Donny and Candice around all day. She was always cranky and worn out when she was pregnant and now, carrying their fifth, she had to deal with the older kids, Timmy and Robby, who were fast becoming holy terrors. Timmy was already in trouble; Shep had caught him smoking dope with his friends once or twice already, though Shep had shoved the kids up against the side of the garage and hadn’t let on to Peggy Sue. Then there was Robby, always hanging out with those damned Dauber kids. In Shep’s opinion, Robby had never been quite right, not from the day the kid was born. He just seemed about two beers shy of a six-pack. Or maybe three. Not that he’d ever admit it to a soul. Candice was a cutie, but Shep had caught her pushing her little brother around, and Donny was a sniveling, sickly whiner—no backbone in that kid. And now there was another one on the way. Shit. Shep couldn’t think about his kids right now. Didn’t want to.

  The smell of Vianca’s perfume filled the cab, and he slid a glance her way, saw a tear glide down the slope of her cheek and wished to hell he could kiss it away.

  “So what happened?” he asked as he threw his truck into gear and edged around a couple of straggling neighbors still strolling back to their homes.

  “Madre, she ... she swallowed too many pills.”

  “Pills?”

  “Sí. For sleeping.”

  “On purpose?” he asked as he took the back streets out of town.

  “No.” Her pretty red lips pursed. “She ... she gets confused. Sometimes, if I am not there, she forgets she has taken some and then ... she takes more. This time ...” Her voice trailed off and she made a quick sign of the cross over her breasts. Shep tried not to stare. It just wouldn’t do. Nor would the hard-on he felt deep in his britches. No, he’d turn his thoughts elsewhere, but he couldn’t help wondering, as the big truck headed through town toward Coopersville, what Vianca was wearing beneath her black T-shirt and jeans.

  That red bra again?

  Or maybe a black one.

  Hell, his old cock was really straining now, so he stared through the bug-spattered windshield to the oncoming headlights, drove twenty miles over the speed limit and reminded himself that he was married.

  Like it or not, Peggy Sue, once the best damned baton twirler in all of Blanco County, was his wife.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “I think we need to talk,” Shelby said, flying down the front stairs. Her father was at the door, sliding his arms through the sleeves of his suit jacket and she was still in her pajamas, her hair wild from a fitful night’s sleep.

  He chuckled without so much as the trace of a smile. “Since when do you have anything to say to me?”

  The muscles at the base of her neck tensed. “Since I don’t have any other options.”

  “Can it wait?” He checked his watch and scowled. “I’ve got to stop by the office, then the ranch before a breakfast meeting in Coopersville with some investors.”

  “I think you know where Elizabeth is.”

  He adjusted his jacket and reached for his ivory-handled cane propped in the umbrella stand near the front door. “We’ve been over this before.”

  “I know, but I think you’re lying. She’s alive, and you know where she is.”

  “Let it drop, Shelby.”

  “I can’t!” She grabbed his sleeve, her fingers digging into the lightweight fabric. “Don’t you see, Dad? This is important. The most important thing in my life. I have to find Elizabeth and I’ll do anything—anything—to find her. That’s why I’m begging you to help me.” She was desperate, at the end of her rope. Her father was the only link she had to her child. “Please ...” Her throat caught. “Please, Dad.”

  He sighed. “There’s nothing I can do, Shelby.” His old shoulders slumped and he seemed tired, suddenly ancient. “Let it rest. You’re young. You’ll marry a nice young man and you’ll have more children. I told you I had some men I wanted you to meet. There’s a lawyer up in San Antonio. Thirty-two. Never been married. Good lookin’ and smart as a whip. If you ask me he’ll get into politics and—”

  “No!” Her fingers recoiled from his sleeve and she took a step backward, her rump touching the newel post at the end of the staircase. “You don’t get it, do you?” She stared at him as if he were a stranger. “You don’t know what it’s like to know you have a child somewhere and not be able to locate her.”

  “I know what it’s like to have a child you love so much you w
ant only what’s best for her.”

  “Even if she disagrees?”

  “Even if she despises me for it.” He picked up his briefcase and opened the door. “When Lydia gets in, tell her I won’t be back in time for dinner. I don’t know what time I’ll get home, but it’ll probably be late.” As he walked out the door, Shelby knew he’d never help her. She was on her own if she wanted to locate her daughter.

  Not entirely alone. You’ve got Nevada. He’s on your side.

  Or was he? Could she really trust him?

  A headache nagged at the back of her brain. Too little sleep and too many worries had kept her up most of the night. Why had she flirted with Nevada? What had possessed her to kiss him? And, oh, Lord, why had she made love to him? What they’d shared before was long over; they both knew it, and yet she hadn’t been able to stop herself.

  She walked into the kitchen and poured a glass of orange juice. Yes, he seemed to be trying to help her locate their daughter, but what then? What if they did find her? Hadn’t he suggested that it would be better to leave Elizabeth with her adoptive parents?

  The juice soured in her stomach. She hadn’t really thought that far ahead. First she’d find her daughter and then she’d figure out what she was going to do.

  The phone jangled loudly. She scooped up the receiver. “Hello?”

  “Oh, niña,” Lydia’s voice was muffled. “I thought I would catch your father.”

  “He already took off. Early meeting. Said he might not make it for dinner.”

  “He works too hard. Pushes himself. If he is not careful ...” Her voice faded again and then she cleared her throat. “I called because I will be in late this morning. Aloise is in the hospital.”

  “Aloise Estevan?” Shelby asked, surprised. She’d thought it would take an act of God to keep Lydia from her chores. Even then, the Almighty might have a fight on His hands.

  “Sí. Sí.”

  “Is she all right?”

  “I do not know. She took the pills. Too many.”

  “What pills?”

  “Again, I do not know, but when Vianca called, I said I would look after little Ram6n for a few hours so that Vianca and Roberto could be with their mother and talk to the doctors this morning ...”

  “Of course.” Shelby took another swig of juice.

  “But if you need me at the house I will bring the boy along ...”

  “Oh, no ... everything’s fine here,” Shelby said and twisted the phone cord to look outside at the pool. The surface was like glass, reflecting the blue of the early morning sky. “Take your time.” She hung up, polished off the rest of the O.J., then, as she was completely alone in the house, hurried outside, stripped off her pajamas and dived into the pool.

  The water hit her in an icy blast.

  She kicked upward, hit the surface, took a breath and began swimming, stroking to the far end of the pool. As she cut through the water she concentrated, not on her swimming, but on her life and how it had changed. Somewhere she had a daughter. But where? Nearby? Or far away? Or was this all a hoax? Oh, God, who would be so cruel and why?

  She reached the edge of the pool, somersaulted under the water and began swimming the length again. Faster and faster, knifing through the bracing water. Her mind, no longer fuzzy with sleep, was suddenly acutely clear. A picture of Elizabeth, the only photograph she’d ever seen, floated through her mind, and as she reached the end of the pool that image changed to that of Nevada and she remembered how easily she’d made love to him last night. It had seemed so natural, so right ... oh, she couldn’t think about their lovemaking; not now. She had more important issues.

  Think. Shelby, think. You’re a smart woman. How are you going to find your child? There’s a way. You just have to find it.

  Again she reached the edge of the pool. She flipped onto her back and began an easy backstroke, staring up at the sky. Dollars to donuts, the Judge knows where your daughter is.

  Old Judge Cole

  Was a nasty old soul

  And a nasty old soul was he.

  He called for his-

  The phone rang and Shelby missed a stroke.

  Maybe someone had news about Elizabeth!

  She cut to the side of the pool, hoisted her naked body out of the water and ran, dripping, into the kitchen. Snagging the receiver, she said, “Hello?”

  There was a loud click on the other end.

  “Hello?” she said again, but knew whoever had called had hung up. “Hello?” She felt a moment’s anxiety—there had been too many calls when no one answered—but then chalked it up to a misdial, though the person on the other end could have had the decency to apologize. “Jerk,” she muttered under her breath, then dashed up the back stairs to her room. Within fifteen minutes she’d showered, changed into a shorts set, slapped on a little lipstick and mascara and was down the stairs again. She mopped the kitchen with a towel and then, realizing that she might not be alone again in the house for a long while, started the coffeepot and headed straight to her father’s office. Today she’d go through every one of his files. If there was anything to be learned about the whereabouts of her daughter in the Judge’s office, Shelby would find it.

  “Idiot!” Nevada mentally kicked himself up one side and down the other. What had he been thinking? Making love to Shelby Cole. “Fool. You get what you deserve.” He tossed a forkful of hay into the manger and watched as the broodmares buried their noses in the feed. What was it about Shelby that he couldn’t resist? Years ago he’d convinced himself that he’d been fascinated with her because she’d been Judge Cole’s only daughter, forbidden fruit, the great taboo.

  But now?

  “Damn it all to hell.” he grumbled, whistling to Crockett and sauntering outside to the sweltering Texas afternoon. God, it was hot. Waves of heat shimmered in the distance, and horseflies buzzed near his head. Dust clogged the air, and yet he loved it here. Once a Texan, always a Texan, he’d heard more than once. Well, in his case, it seemed true. Though for the life of him he couldn’t understand why. All morning long he’d been bothered with thoughts of Shelby, kissing her, touching her, the feel of her skin glistening with sweat as it pressed hard against his. He couldn’t resist making love to her last night, and damn it, he doubted he ever would again.

  Mopping his brow with one work glove, he walked to the machine shed, where the heat seemed to settle. Wasps droned in their nests in the rafters, and the smell of oil competed with the ever-present odor of dry dust. Outside a mare nickered softly. Nevada kneeled near the flatbed trailer and scowled at the bald tire that had gone flat in the past few weeks. He found his wrench and began working on the lug nuts while his thoughts ran in circles about Shelby and their daughter. Or Ross McCallum’s daughter.

  His stomach turned sour. Bile rose in his throat, and his right hand clenched the wrench so hard that his knuckles showed white through his skin. McCallum should never have gotten out of prison. Never.

  Nevada spun one lug nut off and caught it in his left hand. He settled the wrench over the next one. Something was going on in Bad Luck. McCallum was out of jail. Shelby was back in town searching for a daughter she’d thought died at birth. Caleb Swaggert was dead—maybe murdered—and now Aloise Estevan was in the hospital, having nearly killed herself taking an overdose of pills—or so he’d been told at the hardware store this morning. Somehow these events had to be connected. In a town the size of Bad Luck, where nothing much ever happened, it was far too much of a stretch to believe that these incidents were unrelated.

  He yanked off the tire and hauled it out to his pickup, then tossed it into the bed.

  Who had sent Shelby the picture of the child? Who? The thought tormented him as he walked to the house to grab his wallet and keys. If he could locate that person, then everything else would fall into place, he was sure of it.

  Inside the kitchen, he washed his hands, then walked into the bedroom and found his wallet and keys on the bureau. Glancing at the bed, now made, he felt his da
mned groin tighten. In his mind’s eye he saw Shelby, naked, lying beneath him, her skin white and clear, her eyes as blue as a Texas sky, her hair fanned around her head, the night filled with promise. His jeans were suddenly too tight as he remembered making love to her, and he noticed the scent of her perfume lingering in the air.

  He couldn’t shake the feeling that she was in some kind of danger, that she’d been lured here with the photo of her daughter as bait. But why? The back of his neck prickled as his thoughts skated to Ross McCallum. Was he behind all this? An ex-con who’d raped her, a man who should still be locked away.

  Nevada changed his shirt and slapped his wallet into the back pocket of his jeans. Scooping up his keys, he made his way outside and told himself he was going into town to get the flat repaired. But he had other reasons as well. Reasons that surrounded Shelby Cole, the Judge’s princess of a daughter—the mother of his child.

  The single-wide trailer was a pigsty. Ross crushed his cigarette in an old Jiffy Pop pan and felt the afternoon heat begin to bake the interior.

  He’d been living in this old tin can ever since he’d gotten out of the big house. At first he’d tried to fix the place up since his no-good sister, Mary Beth, refused to help him out anymore. Probably because she was out lookin’ for another no-good to make her next husband.

  So Ross had cleaned the inside as best he could, but the trailer wasn’t a whole helluva lot better than his prison cell. Long-neglected paneling was falling off the walls, the carpet was worn bare and all the faucets were rusty. Cobwebs, dust and dead insects had collected on the windows, and the counter tops had faded and cracked. The furniture was worn, broken and just plain shot. He’d managed to get the electricity turned on, but the plumbing was giving him fits and it was hotter than Hades during the day. Night wasn’t much better, and as glad as he was to have gotten out of prison, he needed to improve his lot in life.