Carrie Weaver - Count on a Cop

by Secrets in Texas

  “Not now.”

  “You always have a choice, Matt.”

  Wanting to deflect her curiosity, he turned the tables. “Did you? When Kent treated you so horribly, did you have a choice to leave or stay?”

  Matthew had seen how devastating mind control could be and doubted she’d seen an alternative at the time.

  Angel’s eyes widened. “That’s not fair.”

  “You made an absolute statement, no shades of gray. There isn’t always a decent choice. Admit it.”

  “I had a choice.” She avoided his gaze, intent on twisting her paper napkin into a corkscrew shape. “I wish I had done things differently. Maybe if I’d left him, Kent would have gotten help.”

  When she looked up, the intensity of her pain almost bowled him over. He had to get through to her. “You don’t really believe that, do you?”

  Angel met his gaze. “No, not really. Kent didn’t think he needed help. He always said it was my fault. There was just something inside him lacking…. I guess he thought if he could control me, I’d keep thinking it was my fault and wouldn’t discover that lack. But the controlling quickly became physical.”

  “You were fighting for your survival. No matter what he told you, it wasn’t your fault. It would have ended in someone’s death no matter what you’d done.”

  Nodding, Angel said, “If I’d left, he would have hunted me down and killed me. Then he would have found another woman to love like he loved me. And the whole nightmare would have happened to someone else.”

  “You did the absolute best you could at the time, Angel. Kent manipulated reality until it seemed you had no choice.” He grasped her hand. “I’ll think of something. Some way to get out of this and still stay at Zion’s Gate. Because if we leave now, the past weeks have been for nothing.”

  “We’ll have to find another way. If you go along too much, it will destroy your soul. I’ve seen it happen undercover…and I lived it with Kent.”

  ANGEL PEELED OFF the dreadful gown and stepped into the shower. It had seemed like playing dress-up the first week. Now she longed for her own clothes. To express her individuality, maybe to reassure herself she was unique and had more to offer than the men at Zion’s Gate allowed. Maybe to erase the outward appearance of a woman controlled by others.

  Angel wished she’d brought a tight pair of jeans and a T-shirt with a male-bashing slogan written across the chest. Just to wear in the privacy of their room. Just long enough to maintain her own identity.

  But she was too much of a professional to pack clothes that could be discovered. She might have been able to explain them away as coming from her previous life. But it simply wasn’t worth the risk. Except in moments like these.

  She washed her hair, daydreaming of her own cherry-almond shampoo. And a high-end conditioner, not this crud from the dollar store that left her hair dry and brittle.

  After a nice long shower, Angel knew she’d be in for a lecture from Eleanor, who carefully monitored hot-water usage.

  She made a face in the mirror as she pulled the putrid pink nightgown over her head. Back to being a meek Zion’s Gate wife.

  The room was dim when she emerged from the bathroom. Matthew’s form was discernible on the floor. He’d been unusually quiet all evening. But who could blame him, with the specter of wife number two on the horizon and wife number one harping on him like crazy. Maybe polygamy wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

  Finding her way to the bed, she scooted beneath the covers.

  “I had a vision.” His voice was low.

  “Say what?”

  “I had a vision. My own prophecy.”

  “Do tell.” He wasn’t serious, was he?

  “I’m supposed to get you pregnant before I take a second wife.”

  “Don’t even think about it, Matt.”

  “Not for real. It’s a pretty good stall, though, you have to admit.”

  “It might just work. Isn’t plurality supposed to promote lots and lots of children?”

  “Yes. So it’s my duty as a husband to make sure you’re expecting a bundle of redemption before I go on to, um, pollinate other flowers.”

  “Matthew, you are such a geek.” Relief flooded through her.

  “At times. I’ve been told it’s an endearing quality.”

  “Who told you that? Your mother?”

  “As a matter of fact, she did.”

  Angel laughed. “I knew it.”

  “It was confirmed by a few of my girlfriends.”

  RUTH WAS CONSPICUOUSLY absent the next morning during breakfast preparations. Getting ready for the nuptials, Angel supposed. Boy, would she be disappointed.

  Angel couldn’t help being uneasy about the upcoming confrontation between Matthew and Jonathon. But if she was unusually quiet, Eleanor didn’t appear to notice, probably chalking it up to first-wife pique. She chatted more than usual to make up for Angel’s silence.

  According to Eleanor, yesterday had been Jonathon’s anniversary with wife number five, so he’d spent the night at her house.

  Angel pondered the intricate dance of the polygamist marriage. No wonder Jonathon needed a day planner to tell him where he would spend the night. She figured between anniversaries and birthdays for twelve-plus wives, the man kept a tight conjugal schedule. One more wife and the whole house of cards might fall.

  Matthew entered the kitchen, kissing Eleanor on the cheek. “Morning, Aunt.”

  She glanced sideways at him. “Nervous?”

  “A little.”

  “Good. It’s a solemn vow you’re taking. Whether it’s your first wife or thirtieth.”

  Angel shuddered at the number.

  Matthew held his tongue. He was obviously smart enough to tell Jonathon first. The element of surprise was good. Besides, it wouldn’t do to publicly challenge Jonathon’s authority.

  Breakfast was a quiet affair, with a hum of expectation barely contained by eating. Eleanor seemed especially intent on presenting a happy face. “Things will be much the same around here. Except the men will move Ruth’s things into the room next to yours.”

  “And my husband will be sleeping with another woman.” Angel meant the remark to be offhand. Instead her voice was infused with pain.

  Eleanor tut-tutted, her eyes warm with concern.

  It was a good thing she and Matthew had decided Angel should appear troubled by the upcoming ceremony. As someone new to Zion’s Gate, she would understandably have a hard time accepting another wife so soon.

  Angel folded her napkin and set it beside her plate. “Excuse me. I seem to have lost my appetite. Please notify me when Jonathon arrives.”

  She rose and started to leave the kitchen.

  Eleanor rose. “Angel—”

  “Let her be. She’ll be fine,” Matthew murmured.

  Angel climbed the stairs to their room, suddenly very, very tired.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  JONATHON ARRIVED, followed by Ruth and a dour-looking older man and an even more dour-looking woman, who appeared to be a good fifteen years his junior.

  “Matthew, have you met Ruth’s parents, George and Alma Hearst? They joined us several years ago.”

  “No, I don’t believe I have.” Matthew shook hands with the man, nodded to the woman.

  “Where’s Angel?” Jonathon asked.

  “She was…upset.”

  “I’ll go get her,” Aunt Eleanor offered.

  “No, that’s not necessary. Uncle Jonathon, I’d like to speak with you in private please.”

  “We’re in a hurry, Matthew. Can’t this wait?”

  “No, it can’t.”

  His uncle frowned. “Then come with me.”

  He turned to Eleanor. “I imagine the Hearsts would enjoy a cup of herbal tea and some of that pie, if you have any left.”

  “Yes, I do,” murmured Eleanor. “George, Alma, please have a seat at the table. I’ll brew more tea and get the pie.”

  Matthew followed Jonathon down the hall towa
rd the study, his steps heavy.

  Jonathon gestured to a chair as he lowered himself into a padded leather chair. “Sit. This better be important.”

  Matthew did as instructed. He felt like a fifteen-year-old again, screwing up the courage to confront a man who was the epitome of authority. “It is important. Uncle…I received a vision last night.”

  “Oh?” He steepled his hands.

  “Very similar to the one I had telling me Angel was meant to be my bride.”

  Jonathon’s face relaxed. He nodded. “Confirming your union to Ruth.”

  “Not exactly. An angel appeared, holding an infant. My son. He said Angel is destined to give me many sons, but I must make her content as a wife first. Only then will she conceive. And I must not take another wife until that occurs.”

  “Your vision is rather…coincidental.”

  Like yours? Matthew longed to grab the man by the neck and shake him till his teeth rattled and he admitted what a selfish, evil piece of crap he was.

  He took a deep breath and controlled his anger. He couldn’t afford to be impulsive in this conversation. Shrugging, he said, “I can’t control when I receive a vision. Possibly it was a warning before I entered into a union with Ruth. A warning I intend to heed.”

  “We have a problem then.” Jonathon leaned back in his chair. “Because your vision contradicts mine. Surely you don’t believe you have been chosen above me as prophet.”

  “I would prefer to think my vision merely clarifies the timing of yours. The angel didn’t forbid my marriage to Ruth but simply indicated Angel needed to conceive our son first.”

  “And if I choose not to heed your prophecy? If I insist you go through with the marriage to Ruth today?”

  Matthew met Jonathon’s gaze without flinching. His resolve was strong. “Then Angel and I will leave immediately.”

  Jonathon closed his eyes as if in pain. Or deep thought.

  The minutes stretched on. Matthew remained still, suspecting his uncle wanted to intimidate him through silence.

  Finally Jonathon opened his eyes. “I have meditated on your vision. You will have the opportunity to father an heir with Angel. Once Angel conceives, Ruth will become your wife.”

  Matthew exhaled slowly. “Yes, sir.”

  “I will break the news to Ruth and her parents. It would be best if you and Angel retire to your room for the remainder of the day. I’ll tell Eleanor to bring you a tray at mealtime.”

  In other words, stay out of Ruth’s way and get busy on impregnating Angel.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Please ask George and Alma to come in when you leave.”

  Matthew nodded. He rose and went to the kitchen, where Ruth’s parents were finishing their pie.

  “George, Alma, Jonathon would like to speak to you.”

  Eleanor frowned, a question in her eyes.

  He shook his head slightly. “I’ll be upstairs.”

  When he closed the bedroom door behind him, he felt ten years older.

  Angel sat up in bed, rubbing her eyes. Her face was tear-stained. “Is Jonathon here?”

  “Yes, he’s here. I’ve already spoken to him.”

  “You were supposed to come get me.”

  “I thought it best if I talked to him alone. These things are handled by men.”

  “That’s a load of bull.”

  “Yes, it is. But did you really expect anything different?”

  She sighed. “No. I’d hoped the reports of a strict patriarchy were exaggerated. How did it go?”

  “It was difficult. I don’t know if he bought the whole prophecy thing. He did mention it was rather coincidental.”

  “And his wasn’t?”

  He nodded. “I thought the same thing. He was pretty ticked because he thought my vision trumped his. But I pointed out mine merely clarified the timing of his prophecy.”

  “And that was okay?”

  “He still wasn’t thrilled. But after five minutes of intense meditation, he agreed to humor me.”

  “That’s a relief.”

  “Yes, it is. Because I told him otherwise we would have to leave immediately.”

  Angel’s eyes widened. “That was a huge gamble.”

  “One I was prepared to follow through on. You were right. There’s a limit to how much I can pretend to agree with before I lose my integrity. I worked too hard to become a man of principle.”

  “I’m impressed. I know it wasn’t easy taking a stand against your uncle. And though it was my mission you were gambling with, too, I have to respect you for it.”

  He stepped closer and touched her cheek. “Your respect means a lot, Angelina.”

  She met his gaze. Her lips parted.

  There was a knock at the door.

  Matthew rubbed her jaw with his thumb, then regretfully walked to the door.

  “Yes?” he opened the door.

  Eleanor stood on the other side, her expression unreadable. “Jonathon said you and Angel were not to be disturbed today except for lunch at eleven-thirty and supper at six. George and Ruth’s brothers will be moving her things in next door. I just wanted to warn you there might be noise.”

  “Um, yes, thank you for letting me know.”

  She hesitated. “Is Angel well?”

  “She’ll be fine.”

  Eleanor nodded. “Angel is not like us, but she’s a good girl. Take care of her.”

  A lump formed in his throat. “Thank you.”

  She nodded and went back down the stairs.

  He closed the door quietly behind him, smiling in bemusement.

  “Was that Eleanor?”

  “Yes. She wanted to let us know there might be some noise next door. George and Ruth’s brothers are bringing Ruth’s things.”

  “Still? I wouldn’t think they’d want a single woman in such close proximity with a man of reproductive age.”

  “We’re betrothed now. If anything sexual happens, they’ll have me marry her in a heartbeat.”

  “It sounds as if they’re hoping something happens. Dangling a young girl in front of your face.”

  “You could be right. It may be Uncle Jonathon’s underhanded plan to get his own way. Or it might be a way to get someone to spy on us. Don’t ever underestimate his influence.”

  “We’ll be careful. And you better make sure you’re never alone with Ruth. One accusation from her and you’re a bigamist.”

  “Of course.” He hadn’t really viewed Ruth as a sexual being until now. The thought was discomfiting.

  “Have we been sent to our room as punishment, like naughty children?”

  “Jonathon’s a smart old SOB. He’s keeping us from crossing paths with Ruth until the sting of delayed nuptials wears off. And giving me the green light to get you pregnant right away.”

  “Matthew!”

  He chuckled. “And here I thought you were a tough-as-nails woman of the world. You sound downright scandalized.”

  “It’s just knowing they think we’re up here going at it like rabbits.” She pressed her hands to her cheeks.

  “You’re blushing.”

  “I don’t blush.”

  “Sure you do. And you’re doing it now.”

  She glared at him. “Say it again and I’ll have to hurt you, Matt.”

  He held up his hands. “I’ll stop. You might as well get comfortable. We’ll be here a while.”

  “This is about as comfortable as it gets.” She gestured to her dress. “I don’t have any jeans or sweatpants. And my nightgown isn’t much better than this glorified gunnysack.”

  Matthew’s neck itched at the thought of the high collar she wore. He went to the closet and flipped through his sport shirts. He chose a shirt and tossed it to her. “Here.”

  She grasped the soft cotton as if it were cashmere. “I can wear it? Really?”

  “You can have it. My mother bought it during one of her more misguided shopping trips.”

  “Yeah, I wouldn’t have you pegged as a lavend
er-and-teal kind of guy.”

  “You’d be doing me a favor to take it off my hands.”

  “Gladly.” Her eyes sparkled with excitement as she scooted off the bed. “I’ll go change.”

  When Angel returned a few minutes later, his breath caught in his chest. She’d unbuttoned the top two buttons, exposing the hollow at her throat. The hem hit her midthigh. After only two weeks at Zion’s Gate, it was the equivalent of parading in front of him in pasties and a thong.

  “You look much better in it than I do.” His voice came out slightly strangled.

  She tugged the hem lower. “Don’t suppose you have a pair of sweatpants I could borrow, too?”

  “No, but I’ve got a pair of basketball shorts.” He removed the shorts from a dresser drawer and handed them to her.

  “You’re sure you don’t mind?”

  “Positive.” Otherwise he’d be taking a lot of cold showers in the days to come. Especially if Jonathon kept them sequestered.

  ANGEL AWOKE SLIGHTLY disoriented. She glanced around, noting Matthew slouched in the straight-backed chair, reading his Bible.

  Glancing at her watch, she was dismayed to see it was only two o’clock.

  She smothered a yawn, saying, “You don’t look very comfortable.”

  “I’m not.”

  “You can sit on the bed as long as you promise to behave.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Haven’t I been the perfect gentleman?”

  “I suppose so. With the exception of watching me sleep when we were in the hotel. That was creepy.”

  “I explained.” He grinned. “Not well, but I explained.”

  She sat up, propping the pillow behind her. “Yeah, you’ve gotten better at thinking on your feet. You want to play more Scrabble?”

  “No way. I’ll only win again, and you don’t accept defeat well.”

  “So I’m a little competitive. Sue me.”

  “Didn’t you bring any reading material?”

  “Guns & Ammo or Law Enforcement Digest might have been a dead giveaway. I’ve already read the one home-decorating magazine I brought about fifty times.”

  “I wouldn’t have figured you for the decorating kind.”

  “Hey, I can paint and craft with the best of them. It’s a hobby of mine. Relieves stress. I did this really cool mosaic one weekend.”