by Irene Hannon
“Hey, it’s not funny,” he protested. “How would you like to eat nothing but bananas, rice, applesauce and toast for days on end?”
“Doctor’s orders. Sam said to stick to a soft, bland diet. And this is only the third day.”
“It feels like a week.”
“You could try a poached egg later.” Smiling, she picked up her purse.
He rolled his eyes. “Wow. That’s exciting.” Surveying his half-eaten banana, he wrinkled his nose in distaste. “You know, I’m tempted to pay a visit to Gus’s.”
A look of horror swept over Christine’s face. “If you do, count on a relapse. Deep-fried is that man’s middle name.”
“I’ll have you know that since Cara opened the restaurant at the Oak Hill Inn, Gus had been featuring one healthy special every day.”
“I don’t think the words Gus and healthy belong in the same sentence.”
“Well, it’s his version of healthy,” Dale amended. “Everything’s still breaded, but he bakes it instead of frying it. The stuff’s not half-bad for a quick meal.”
“Trust me. Stick with the bland diet for now. Do you need anything else before I go?”
At her question, an odd light flared in Dale’s eyes. It was a twin of the one she’d seen in the living room the night he’d gotten sick, and she felt her neck grow warm. But to her relief the glimmer faded as fast as it had appeared.
“You’ve already done more than enough, Christine.”
“I don’t mind. You came to my rescue on several occasions. I was glad to return the favor. Jenna gets picked up at noon, right?”
“Yes. But I can get her.”
She shook her head. He’d improved a great deal, but the lines of fatigue on his face and the hollows in his cheeks were stark reminders of the ordeal his body had been through. And though he tried to be subtle about it, Christine noticed that he continued to hold on to every available surface when he walked.
Worried, she’d talked to Sam about it late yesterday, but he’d assured her that such weakness wasn’t unusual, given the severity of Dale’s infection. According to Sam, it could take Dale ten days to regain full strength and feel back to normal. Already, at eight-thirty in the morning, he looked spent.
“I’ll do it today. Why don’t you go back to bed for a while?”
“I just got up.”
“You look like you shouldn’t have.”
“Gee, thanks. You’re great for a guy’s ego.”
The teasing between them was new. It had developed over the weekend as Christine had popped in and out, checking on Dale and entertaining Jenna. And she was enjoying it.
“I do my best.”
“Very funny.” He nodded toward a mug he’d placed on the table. “I thought you might like a cup of coffee before you go.”
She hesitated. Now that the farmers’ markets were closed for the season and her garden was winding down, she had more leisure. And she was tempted to accept his invitation. But she wasn’t sure it would be wise. The more she was around Dale, the more she liked him. And that wasn’t a good thing. Not if she was determined to remain uninvolved.
“Stay for ten minutes, Christine,” Dale cajoled. “I don’t expect more than that. You’ve already given us far too much of your time. But a little company would be nice.”
What could ten minutes hurt? she reasoned. Sip a cup of coffee, engage in a little small talk, send him back to bed. No risk there. “Okay.”
He started to rise, but she pressed him back with a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll get it.”
“I’m not much of a host, am I?” He sank back without protest.
“You can make up for it another time.” She moved to the counter and began to measure out the coffee.
“Is that a promise?”
The quiet question surprised her and she angled toward him, catching a quick glimpse of yearning before the corners of his lips lifted into a smile that seemed a bit forced. His tone was lighter when he spoke again. “I always pay my debts.”
“You don’t owe me anything, Dale. What I did simply evened things out.”
“Is that why you offered to help? Because you felt you owed me?”
She couldn’t answer that question while lost in those perceptive blue eyes. Turning back to the coffeemaker, she poured in the water, sorry now that she’d agreed to stay. “I don’t like to be obligated to anyone,” she hedged.
“Why not?”
Because they can control you and turn your life into a nightmare. But she didn’t voice that response.
“I just prefer it that way. It’s easier.” And safer.
He ate the rest of his banana in silence while she fiddled with the coffeemaker. When she joined him at the tiny round café table for two tucked against one wall, he could tell from the slight tremor in her hands as she lifted her mug that their conversation had touched a nerve. Why?
A discussion about her past hadn’t been on Dale’s agenda today, but all at once it seemed opportune. With Jenna at pre-school, they’d have total privacy and no interruptions. Besides, the lighter mood had evaporated anyway.
Taking a sip of water, Dale folded his hands on the table. There was no easy way to lead up to this subject. Nothing he could do to pave the way and put her at ease. So he chose a direct approach.
“I have some news for you about Gary Stratton.”
Her hand jerked, sloshing coffee on the table. Dale reached for his napkin and sopped up the spill, giving her a chance to recover and leaving the ball in her court. He would play this by ear, depending on how she reacted to his announcement.
The silence between them stretched, and he watched as her expression evolved from shock to wariness. Though she didn’t move a muscle, he could feel her withdraw. Her lips grew taut and settled into a thin, straight line.
“I have no interest in Gary Stratton.” The revulsion in her tone was chilling.
“I think you might want to hear this. It appears that his past has caught up with him.” When that comment sparked a flash of interest, he continued. “Stratton has been charged with graft and removed from office. According to a recent story in the Dunlap Messenger, he’s trying to plea bargain for a reduced sentence.”
“But… Jack’s been dead for more than a year.” Confusion rippled across her features. “And I’m sure there’s no evidence. How did he get caught?”
“It appears your husband wasn’t alone in buying the good sheriff’s favors.”
“You mean…other people were bribing him, too?”
“Yes. I checked with the county prosecuting attorney. Your husband’s name isn’t among the ones Stratton has offered as a bargaining chip. At least, not yet. I shared parts of your story with the attorney, and he’s going to do some checking. My goal is to get your record expunged.”
Puzzled, she gave him an assessing look. “Why is that important to you?”
“As I told you weeks ago, I do my best to see that justice is done. You shouldn’t have to live the rest of your life with a falsified police record.” He hesitated, knowing he was moving onto very shaky ground, that there was a good chance she would close down. But there might never be a better opportunity to broach the subject of her past. “To get that done, though, we’re going to have to prove that your husband paid off the sheriff.”
“That’s not going to happen.” Her shoulders slumped. “Jack was very careful. I saw one payoff—in cash—and I’m sure that’s how he handled all of them. There won’t be any documentation.”
“How long did this go on, Christine?”
“A year.”
“He might have gotten a little careless after a while. Going undetected for an extended period can breed sloppiness and complacency. Criminals get cocky and make mistakes.”
“Not Jack. He was very thorough in everything.” There was a bitter edge to her words.
“Your testimony alone could be helpful in implicating your husband. You witnessed one payoff. And Stratton’s credibility is already comprom
ised. The judge will be more likely to believe you than him.”
She didn’t look convinced. “I don’t want to revisit all this, Dale.”
“Even to clear your name?”
“I’m not sure.”
Leaning back, Dale scrutinized her face. Anxiety pinched her features, and there was a suspicious sheen in her eyes. While he’d known her past was painful, it must have been worse than he’d suspected if the prospect of dredging up those memories was distasteful enough to dissuade her from setting her record straight. But unless she trusted him enough to share her traumatic history his hands were tied.
“It’s possible the prosecuting attorney will find some evidence to link Stratton with your husband.” Dale chose his words with care. “But he was skeptical. He couldn’t understand why your husband would pay the sheriff to harass you. And I couldn’t enlighten him. Without that background, I don’t know that he’ll put a priority on establishing that link. They already have enough evidence to prosecute Stratton and the ‘clients’ he’s revealed. Since Barlow is dead, the state can’t go after him anyway. Tying Stratton to Barlow will benefit you the most.”
On impulse, he leaned across the table and entwined their fingers. She didn’t even seem to notice. “This has to be your fight, Christine. And unless you’re willing to talk about what happened, I’m not sure we’ll get your record expunged. It will follow you for the rest of your life.”
So much for small talk, Christine thought. Their casual ten-minute chat had taken a direction she’d never expected.
But he was right. When she’d left Dunlap, she’d hoped to put the past behind her. To start fresh. In the past few weeks, however, she’d come to realize that as long as her record was on the books, she would never be free of the nightmare.
Now Dale was offering her the possibility of erasing that record. And he believed her story without any proof. That, in itself, was a blessing that filled her with gratitude and endeared him to her in a way nothing else could have.
As she searched his kind, caring face, she was tempted to share with him the painful burden that had weighed down her heart for too long. And the irony of that wasn’t lost on her. A few weeks ago, she would never have considered talking about her past with anyone, let alone a sheriff. But she’d come to respect this man. To believe that he was what he seemed to be—an honest and upright public official, a loving father, a man of integrity and honor.
It was his illness that had delivered the final blow to her defenses, she realized. In the past couple of days, as she’d watched him struggle with a debilitating infection, she’d relaxed around him. Weak and vulnerable, he’d seemed far less intimidating and threatening. And even though he was up and about again, she continued to feel safe with him.
Whether that would last once he regained full strength, she wasn’t sure. But at this moment, sitting in his quiet kitchen, she was tempted to risk telling him her story. Yet she held back, knowing she could be making a big mistake, as she had once before. Fear coursed through her, leaving her uncertain.
Desperate for guidance, Christine found herself turning to God for the first time in years. Closing her eyes, she prayed in silence.
Lord, I know I haven’t talked to You in a long while. My anger has been too great. But I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about Reverend Andrews’s comment, and I suspect he may be right. That all the times I prayed to You, You were listening after all. And that it was Your grace that allowed me to endure.
I still don’t understand why the nightmare had to happen, but I do know I’ve missed feeling Your presence in my life. I want to try and be open to that again. Please guide me now as I decide whether to share my story with Dale.
She felt a gentle squeeze on her hand and looked down in surprise to find her fingers entwined with Dale’s. When had that happened? But she didn’t pull away. His firm, supportive grip gave her the courage to consider taking a leap of faith. Far from being threatened by his strength, she felt protected—and safe. That was an illusion, of course. Yet it was one she didn’t want to give up quite yet.
“It’s a long story, Dale.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“Funny.” A mirthless smile whispered at her lips. “I never thought I’d be willing to talk about this to anyone. Especially a sheriff.”
Reaching over, he brushed her hair back from her face, his fingers lingering on her cheek, his touch as light as a drifting autumn leaf. “I’m not a sheriff today, Christine. I’m just a man. Who happens to care very much about helping a special woman clear up her past so she can truly make a fresh start.”
As he stroked her cheek, the breath caught in her throat. But it was his soft words and tender tone that touched her heart.
And putting her trust in the Lord, she made her decision.
Chapter Twelve
As Christine stared into the black depths of her coffee, she realized she hadn’t added any cream nor taken a sip. It was just as well. The last thing she needed was caffeine. Her heart was already pounding.
Pushing the mug aside, she balled her fingers into a fist and dropped her hand to her lap, leaving her other hand enfolded in Dale’s comforting clasp.
“I don’t even know where to start.” Her voice was low and shaky.
“Why don’t you tell me how you met your husband?” Dale had conducted enough interviews in the line of duty to know that backing up to a less volatile period often helped people ease into a recitation of the more traumatic events.
Following his suggestion, Christine filled him in on their meeting at the dinner, their whirlwind courtship and Jack’s proposal.
“He was charming and attentive, and I was swept off my feet. My mom liked him, too, and she was pretty particular. I think Jack’s dad felt the same way about me, when Jack flew me to Dunlap to meet him.” A tiny smile lifted the corners of her lips. “I liked his dad a lot. He ran the company with an iron fist, but he always struck me as a fair man. And he was very kind to me. His relationship with Jack, however, was always a bit rocky. He expected a lot from him, and Jack often didn’t live up to those expectations.
“Anyway, things were okay for the first three years we were married. But it was never…” She stopped, as if searching for the right word, settling for what Dale figured was a gross understatement. “It wasn’t what I’d hope it would be. And after the initial attraction subsided, there wasn’t much else to sustain the marriage. Jack traveled more and more, and when he was in town he spent a lot of hours at the office. Even his father, who was very business focused, talked to Jack about his inattentiveness, but nothing changed. I’d hoped that once we started a family he might be home more, but I…I had two miscarriages, and…it seemed we weren’t meant to have children.”
A flash of regret and pain echoed in Christine’s eyes, and Dale squeezed her hand. He’d seen her with Jenna and the children at story hour, watched how they gravitated to her, recalled the soft light that illuminated her face as she talked with them, and knew she would have made a great mother. The lack of children in her life had to be a great sorrow.
She confirmed his conclusion with her next comment. “Those were sad times for me. But I was also preoccupied with my mother. She was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s soon after Jack and I married, and the disease progressed with incredible speed. Within a couple of years she needed around-the-clock professional care. There was a great facility near Dunlap, and Jack arranged for her to move there. It was expensive, but he never complained. I was grateful for his generosity, until I found out it came at a…price.” She faltered, blinking back tears.
“Take your time, Christine.” Dale cocooned her hand between both of his.
“I don’t know if I can do this.” With her free hand, she massaged her temple where a dull pain had begun to pound.
“Yes, you can. You owe it to yourself to get this out in the open so it can be addressed. Otherwise, your husband and Stratton will win.”
“It’s just that what happened i
s almost…surreal. Like a nightmare where you wake up and find yourself trapped in a room without windows or doors that keeps getting smaller and smaller. It’s so bizarre that most people wouldn’t believe me.”
“I believe you.” Dale stroked her cheek again. “Remember, I was a cop in L.A. for more than a decade. I saw the dregs of humanity. You can’t tell me anything I haven’t heard before.” He ran his fingers across her temples in a featherlight touch. “Would some aspirin help?”
Touched by his sensitivity, she nodded. “Make it four.”
“That’s a lot.”
“Trust me. I know what it takes to control these headaches.”
Two minutes later, after she’d swallowed the aspirin in one gulp and he’d taken her hand again, she managed a rueful smile. “It’s not too late to back out. I wouldn’t blame you if you did.”
He shook his head resolutely. “I’m in for the duration.”
“Okay. But remember I warned you.” She drew a steadying breath. “Things weren’t perfect, but life was tolerable until Jack’s father died of a heart attack not quite three years after we were married. A few weeks later, I overheard a rumor that Jack’s absences might not be all business related. When I brought it up, something in him seemed to snap.”
Christine swallowed, trying to summon up the courage to continue. Keeping her eyes downcast, she relayed the events of that horrible evening: Jack dragging her to the bedroom; Jack shoving her into the closet; her call to the police; Jack’s implications to the sheriff that she drank; and his devastating revelation about why he’d married her.
When Christine finished, a heavy silence hung in the room while Dale tried to digest her story. He’d told her he’d seen it all. And he had. He’d responded to plenty of domestic violence cases. He’d run across countless cheating spouses. He’d dealt with his share of sadistic abusers.
But this was different.
This time he had a personal interest in the case.
