Carrie Weaver - Count on a Cop

by Secrets in Texas

  “I was a young man once myself and remember the passion of youth. However, I’ve found self-control to be a valuable trait. You will be all the more glad to see your bride this evening. As the old saying goes, ‘Absence makes the heart grow fonder.’” Jonathon smiled, but there was a dangerous glint in his eye.

  Angel shifted. Matthew knew she had to resent being discussed as if she weren’t in the room. He squeezed her shoulder. However appalling he might find his uncle’s values—or lack of them—he had a job to do. And to be effective, he had to appear to agree.

  “I understand, Uncle.” He stepped forward, catching Angel’s eye. “It is my heart’s desire to spend every waking moment with you. But my uncle is right. You should join the women while the elders meet.”

  Her eyes flashed a warning. Then she lowered her gaze, her voice barely audible when she said, “Yes, Matthew.”

  He exhaled in relief. He’d worried she might tell him what he could do with all this crap. He reminded himself she was a professional and very good at her work.

  Undercover gang assignments. A far cry from posing as a pliable Zion’s Gate wife.

  He turned toward Jonathon. “It’s my fondest desire for Angel to meet my whole family. That is not possible if she secludes herself at Aunt Eleanor’s house.”

  “We will hold a celebration of your homecoming after services on Sunday. There will be ample opportunity for Angel to meet everyone.”

  “Good. I look forward to introducing her to my sister Rebecca. She will also be there Sunday, will she not? Or could we perhaps visit with her this evening?”

  Jonathon frowned, leaning back in his chair and gazing out the small window set high in the wall.

  Matthew’s heart pounded. He’d pushed too hard, too soon, possibly tipping his hand. Please, God, please let her still be alive.

  “Rebecca hasn’t been feeling well, but possibly she can be persuaded to attend on Sunday.”

  Matthew released a breath. She was alive and he would see her Sunday. That was all that mattered.

  “AMEN,” JONATHON intoned. The closing prayer officially completed the meeting of the elders nearly four hours later. Their only break had been for lunch, cold chicken served by two of Jonathon’s wives. Matthew didn’t know the women, who appeared to be in their early twenties.

  Matthew fought the urge to make a run for the door and the fresh, cool air outside. He’d almost forgotten the claustrophobic feeling of never, ever being alone.

  He managed a leisurely pace as he headed for the door.

  Raphael fell in beside him, clapping him on the shoulder. “Good to have you back, Matthew.”

  “It’s good to see you, too, Brother.” Half brother, to be precise. Raphael’s mother had been Matthew’s father’s third wife.

  “I’ll walk you back to Eleanor’s house.”

  “Not necessary. I can find my way.”

  “I’m sure you can. But Uncle Jonathon has indicated you are not to be wandering around unescorted.”

  “He doesn’t trust me?”

  “He doesn’t trust anyone. Except maybe Eleanor.”

  Matthew sighed, longing for his Phoenix condo. Solitude was a luxury with the brethren, a luxury he’d grown to appreciate in his time away.

  “Did you marry Theresa? You two were sweethearts as long as I can remember.”

  Raphael glanced away. “No. Uncle Jonathon received a vision. Theresa is Brother Benjamin’s eighth wife.”

  “Benjamin must be nearly seventy.” He couldn’t quite keep the outrage from his voice.

  “Yes. But it was ordained.”

  Matthew wanted to grab his brother by the shirt and shake him. God didn’t ordain that kind of marriage, man did. One very selfish, evil man.

  “It’s been over twenty years since Theresa became Benjamin’s bride. I have three faithful wives of my own. It was for the best.” Raphael’s voice held a note of resignation.

  “Yes, I suppose so,” Matthew muttered, the lie sticking in his throat. He didn’t suppose anything of the sort. Truth be told, he ached for his brother’s loss.

  And wondered, not for the first time, if he himself was any better off for having left the brethren. Yes, he had freedom, wealth and the ability to execute decisions based on what he valued and held true, not simply what Jonathon decreed as truth. But he didn’t have a wife or family to show for it. At least not a real wife, he reflected wryly.

  Maybe there was a trade-off involved. He’d won his freedom but paid a price.

  The thought saddened him. Sure, he’d had relationships, but he seemed to seek out women who weren’t interested in the long term. It worked well on many levels. At least most of the time.

  “Your wife is beautiful, according to Uncle Jonathon,” Raphael commented.

  Matthew was disoriented for a second. “Angel. Yes, she’s very beautiful. She has a fine spirit, too.”

  “I look forward to meeting her Sunday.”

  “She’s at Eleanor’s. Why don’t you come in for a few minutes. We’re almost there.”

  “I’ll meet her Sunday. It’s what Uncle Jonathon wants.”

  Matthew shrugged. “Suit yourself. See you later.”

  “Yes.”

  Matthew watched Raphael walk quickly to one of the smaller houses and let himself in. He caught a glimpse of a sallow, plain woman before the door closed.

  Suddenly he was very eager to see Angel. To revel in the way her dark eyes sparkled at their verbal sparring.

  But the Angel who greeted him as he walked through the door bore no resemblance to the Angel he’d left that morning. Her hair was braided tightly and wound around her head. Her expression was pinched.

  “Ah, Angelina, you’re a sight for sore eyes.”

  “Welcome home, husband.” She clasped her hands together and stared at her feet. “May I get you a cold drink before supper?”

  He almost told her he’d love a beer but remembered alcohol was strictly forbidden. Anything with caffeine was out of the question, too. “Uh, ginger ale would be good. Or a lemon-lime soda?”

  She nodded and headed for the kitchen. She returned quickly and handed him a glass of ginger ale.

  He sipped the drink, the sickly sweet flavor taking him back to his boyhood when he’d loved the stuff. Now it only reminded him of restricted choices and arbitrary rules.

  “How was your day with the women?”

  “Fine. Please, sit down and make yourself comfortable until supper. I’ll bring your Bible if you’d like to spend some time reading.”

  Matthew shook his head. Her subservience gave him goose bumps. It was as if someone had given her a lobotomy while he’d been gone. “Angel?”

  “Yes?”

  “Are you okay?”

  She glanced over her shoulder to where Ruth stood in the doorway to the kitchen, her eyes bright with interest.

  “Yes, Matthew, I’m fine. Eleanor has been instructing me what is expected of a wife at Zion’s Gate.”

  “I can see that.”

  She raised her face for the first time, her expression bland. “Do my lessons please you? Eleanor said it was important for me to please you in other ways besides the bedroom.”

  Matthew swallowed hard. “She what?”

  Angel nodded. “She said I must show more modesty or I would bring disgrace to your name. That a man values a wife of virtue. One who had many talents like cooking, sewing, keeping a spotless house. Teaching the children the proper ways. Accommodating her husbands procreational activities but not expecting to find fulfillment in them.”

  Matthew was speechless. He knew he should be relieved Angel seemed to be assimilating so well into the brethren’s way of life. She would be safe if everyone truly believed her to be meek and subservient. But the hair on the back of his neck prickled at the change in her.

  “Angelina, I was pleased with the woman I married. I hope your instruction here will merely bring us to a higher level.”

  “That is my wish, too.” She lowere
d her eyes, once again focusing on the floor.

  Damn.

  Matthew suspected he would get exceedingly tired of staring at the top of her head where the braids wound like tortuous snakes. He wanted to see her eyes sparkle in challenge. He wanted to hear her put him in his place.

  Sighing, he said, “I’m very tired. I would like to retire shortly after dinner.” And get her the hell away from Eleanor and Ruth before they did any more damage.

  “If that is what you wish.”

  “Yes. It is what I wish.”

  Eleanor bustled into the room. “Was the meeting of the elders instructional, Matthew?”

  “Yes, very.” And a reminder of the myriad reasons he wasn’t cut out for this life. His uncle’s egomania being first and foremost.

  “Good. Angel, we still have several chores to complete before we start cooking supper.”

  “Yes, of course. If you will show me what is necessary.”

  “Certainly.”

  He didn’t want Angel whisked away again so soon. She was his touchstone with the outside world, a world where sanity prevailed. “I was looking forward to Ruth giving us the tour of the compound. I’m sure Angel would like that, too.”

  Ruth stepped into the room, her eyes downcast. “I’m sorry, Brother Matthew. I was being forward. It is not my place. Jonathon will show you the grounds when he feels it’s necessary.”

  He tried not to show his surprise. Jonathon had been conducting the meeting all morning. When had he had the opportunity to put the kibosh on the impromptu tour?

  Eleanor nodded approvingly. “Jonathon will show you around later.”

  She’d obviously spoken on her husband’s behalf. Matthew had forgotten how in tune she was to Jonathon, seemingly anticipating his every need.

  “Will Uncle Jonathon be having supper with us this evening?”

  “No. He will be elsewhere.”

  “At Aunt Belinda’s? Aunt Emma’s?”

  Eleanor’s mouth tightened. “It is not for us to ask.”

  Things had changed then. In the past, Jonathon had kept a day calendar noting where he would spend the night. That way special events like birthdays or anniversaries could be accommodated. It was the only way a man with many wives could keep track of where he should be at the end of the day. And woe be to the man who got his days mixed-up. It was an event sure to cause an undercurrent of hurt feelings and animosity between the sister wives.

  “Two of your sister wives served lunch. I didn’t know them.”

  “Yes, God has continued to bless our family with additional wives.” Eleanor’s tone was bland, as if she were repeating something she’d heard many times. “I don’t see them much these days. They are busy with their lives.”

  “Is Ruth one of Jonathon’s wives?”

  “No. Ruth is merely staying for a while to help me with the children’s schooling.”

  Matthew frowned. That wasn’t the usual chain of events as he remembered them. A girl stayed in the family home until the elders decided she would wed.

  “But—”

  “Ruth, Angel, come with me. We’ll finish chores and allow Matthew time to reflect on the elders’ meeting and perhaps seek illumination through reading his Bible.” She bustled out of the room. Angel and Ruth followed like two baby ducks.

  He rebelled against meditating on Eleanor’s schedule. But what else did he have to do? It was pretty clear he wasn’t supposed to be exploring the grounds. He was bored, something unheard of in his father’s day. The only veterinarian in a rural area, Joshua Stone had always seemed busy, being called out at all hours for emergencies.

  Matthew longed for his laptop with an intensity that surprised him. Not only was it a link to the outside world, but it also symbolized his success in business and as a man. Fortunately he had a capable assistant able to handle the lion’s share of his investing online while he was gone.

  Glancing around, he decided seeking illumination in the solitude of his room might not be such a bad idea. He headed upstairs, suddenly grateful for Eleanor’s suggestion.

  Matthew breathed a sigh of relief when he closed the bedroom door behind him. Alone at last. No Angel. No houseful of women. No disapproving elders. Just him.

  His gaze fell on Angel’s suitcase, the corner peeking out from beneath the bed. He’d bet his bottom dollar Uncle Jonathon’s henchman hadn’t divested her of all means to contact the outside world. Maybe she had a gadget with remote Internet access?

  He was sorely tempted to check her luggage.

  Shaking his head, he refused to stoop to a new personal low. Just being in the same vicinity as Uncle Jonathon seemed to bring out the worst in him. Besides, he could always be direct and ask Angel.

  Retrieving his Bible from the nightstand, he kicked off his shoes and sat on the bed, leaning back against the headboard. He flipped through the pages, taking comfort in the familiarity of the ritual. Uncle Jonathon and this place couldn’t take that away from him. He had a connection with God that had nothing to do with an intermediary.

  As he read, his eyelids grew heavy. He had slept very little the night before, knowing he was once again under his uncle’s control.

  ANGEL TAPPED ON THE bedroom door. When there was no answer, she let herself in.

  She saw Matthew prone on the bed, his Bible slipping from his fingers. He had to be as bone-weary as she felt—maintaining the constant facade was exhausting. Feeling her way through a morass of sometimes contradictory rules and traditions even more so.

  “Matthew.” She touched his shoulder.

  His eyes opened. He smiled sweetly, totally unguarded. The smile faded as awareness crept into his expression. “I, um, must’ve fallen asleep.”

  “I figured as much. Supper’s ready, and Eleanor wants you to stand in as lord and master to say the blessing. I was all for letting you sleep, but she thought it was important.”

  “Whew. For a while this afternoon I thought she’d managed to totally brainwash you.”

  “Hardly.” She rotated her shoulders, willing away the knots of tension. “You have no idea how difficult it is to constantly bite my tongue. Worse yet, I have to make sure none of it shows in my expression.”

  “Oh, I think I have some idea.”

  “I figure that’s why the women look at the ground so much and don’t make eye contact. They’re afraid somebody will see a huge ‘screw you’ in their expression.”

  He chuckled. “You could be right. As a teen, I had to constantly censor my thoughts. Once I reached an age where I might attract female attention, I knew I had to keep a low profile. I’d seen too many boys compete with the elders for girls and end up out on their rears.”

  “Yet you eventually did leave.”

  “Let’s just say I finally couldn’t control that ‘screw you’ expression anymore. Someday maybe I’ll tell you the whole story.”

  Angel was intrigued. None of this had appeared in Matthew’s dossier. Maybe it would help her understand the contradictions in the man. “Tell me tonight, after supper? I imagine Eleanor’s about ready to send out a search party. She likes to keep everything regimented.”

  “Yeah, you’re right. Probably because she has so little control over the other things in her life.”

  “Like who she has to share her husband with?”

  “No, as his first wife, she has veto power over the new wives. But I have yet to see her stand up to Uncle Jonathon and win. Otherwise my mother never would have married him.”

  “I’m sorry, Matt. Even as a guy, it sounds like you had it rough growing up in this group.”

  Matthew rose from the bed and shrugged. “It wasn’t what I would have chosen.” Then he offered her his arm in a courtly gesture. “Mrs. Stone.”

  Angel laughed. “Around here, you could be addressing the majority of the female population.” She didn’t call him on redirecting the conversation.

  “True. But you’re the one and only Mrs. Matthew Stone.”

  “Be sure you keep it tha
t way, Matt.” She grinned. “I don’t like to share.”

  “Duly noted.” He kissed her on the nose and led her out the door.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ANGEL BOWED HER head while Matthew said grace, a long, complicated giving of thanks. Her stomach growled loudly in protest.

  Finally Matthew intoned, “Amen.”

  Eleanor stood, retrieved Matthew’s plate and started filling it from the steaming dishes in the center of the table. No one else moved a muscle.

  Eleanor took great care in selecting only the plumpest pieces of fried chicken and the fluffiest biscuits. Then came heaping servings of green beans, mashed potatoes with gravy and corn on the cob.

  Angel met Matthew’s gaze as Eleanor set the heaping plate in front of him. She raised an eyebrow. He remained expressionless.

  Eleanor retrieved her own plate and made a similar though slightly smaller selection for herself. Then she sat down and inclined her head. “Angel, Ruth, go ahead.”

  Angel’s mouth watered as she selected two golden pieces of chicken. “Frying chicken was a lot harder than I expected,” she commented as she passed the platter to Ruth. “And I have the burns to prove it.”

  “Burns?” Matthew frowned. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes. Badges of honor, I suppose. Eleanor doctored them with aloe and they feel much better.”

  “The chicken is excellent, ladies.” Matthew wiped his mouth with his napkin. “I’m just sorry injuries were incurred.”

  “And I snapped green beans.” Angel warmed to her subject, amazed that simple chores could be so rewarding. “I’ve never done that before.”

  “Angel,” Eleanor warned. “A quiet wife is a gentle wife.”

  Angel managed to refrain from rolling her eyes. She’d forgotten enthusiasm was considered sinful. She lowered her gaze and brought her voice down a couple of notches. “Yes, Eleanor.”

  After that, she concentrated on eating while listening to Eleanor grill Matthew about the meeting. Eleanor had an indirect interrogation method that would have made a hostage negotiator bow at her feet.