The Beautiful Daughters

by Nicole Baart

  “I’m here to see you,” Caleb told her, and though there was no way he could miss Adri’s lukewarm reception, it appeared he didn’t expect her to jump up and down at his surprise arrival. His smile was soft for her, but determination shadowed his eyes. If Harper knew anything at all about men, she’d bet Maple Acres and Piperhall, too, that Caleb was going to do anything and everything in his power to win the woman before him.

  Adri just stared at him. She looked a little mystified. A lot scared.

  For a moment, it was as if Sam and Harper didn’t even exist, and they exchanged a knowing smile behind Adri’s back. Sam raised his eyebrows at Harper, and she shrugged to let him know that she had no insight to add into Caleb’s sudden appearance in Blackhawk.

  “I told you not to come,” Adri finally managed. But her hand had trailed down his arm when he released her, and she held it there lightly against the intricate design of a tattoo that Harper couldn’t quite make out. Adri’s words were accusatory, but her eyes were wide, her lips slightly parted, as if she couldn’t believe that Caleb was before her, in the flesh. “You can’t just leave. That’s not how it works . . .”

  “I didn’t just leave.” He tipped her chin with his finger and searched her eyes. Broke contact before she had a chance to rebuff him. “The board trip this year included a GP and his three kids: a nurse, a hand surgeon, and a dentist. A high-achieving family, I’d say. I think they wanted us out of the way for a week or two.”

  “But—”

  “No buts. My leave was scheduled months ago. They sent me home, and I told you I’d come. La Crosse is less than five hours from Blackhawk, by the way. I left at six this morning.”

  Adri seemed poised to argue even more, but Harper couldn’t stand to see her disappoint him. There was too much hope in his eyes. “Hi,” she said, stepping forward. “I’m Harper. It’s nice to meet you.”

  Caleb turned his startling gaze to her, and a shy smile nipped at the corners of her mouth. Harper felt distinctly unbalanced, and fear was still leaching out of her bones in slow motion. But he was not only beautiful, he was warmth itself, and when Caleb took her hand, she felt the last vestiges of panic slip away.

  “It’s nice to meet you, too,” he said.

  “Harper is an old friend,” Adri finally said, jumping into the conversation a couple of seconds late. A confused look flitted across her features as she struggled with what to say next. All the regular niceties were beyond her reach. She couldn’t say exactly where Harper was from or what she did. Or even why she was in Blackhawk. She settled for “We go way back.”

  “I surprised Adri, too,” Harper said to Caleb conspiratorially. But she didn’t want even a hint of impropriety to bloom between them, so she extracted her hand from his and took a step back. Not that she had to worry. Caleb only had eyes for Adri. “I’m afraid I have something I need to do, so I guess I’ll leave you two alone.”

  Sam gave her a funny look, but quickly jumped on the bandwagon. “Me, too,” he said. “I’ll drive you, Harper. Caleb, can we count on you for dinner?”

  His smile was dazzling for Sam. “That sounds great.”

  They left Adri standing beside Caleb, a bewildered look on her face. But Caleb didn’t seem to mind. He put his arm around her shoulder, and instead of pulling away from him, Adri leaned slightly into his easy embrace and watched her father and Harper leave.

  Sam and Harper climbed into his rusted pickup truck, Beckett between them. The huge dog seemed to take up most of the cab, but it was cold outside and he was stiff in the mornings. Harper didn’t blame Sam for letting Beckett ride shotgun, and she took his graying head and pulled it down onto her lap. “So that’s Caleb,” Sam mused as he put the truck in drive and took off down the lane.

  “Guess so,” Harper said, and though there were a dozen reasons for her not to smile, she couldn’t keep the grin out of her voice. “I like him.”

  Sam shot her a sideways look. “Me, too.”

  “You do? You never really liked David.” It was out of Harper’s mouth before she could censor herself. What an impossible thing to say. Senseless. Callous. Too close to the heart of the problem that had plagued them all for half a decade. But Sam wasn’t ruffled by her outburst.

  “I didn’t much care for him,” he agreed.

  The lid had been cracked, and there seemed no point in pretending that they weren’t already talking about it, so Harper asked, “Why?”

  “Lots of little reasons,” Sam said without pause. He was focused on the road, his attention on the intersection at the end of the drive, but Harper could tell that whatever he was about to say, it would not be flippant. “Don’t get me wrong. He was a smart kid. Handsome and friendly. He had a lot of potential. But there was one big thing that always bugged me about him.”

  “What was that?”

  Sam turned onto the road, and when the truck was perfectly balanced in the center of his lane, he stared Harper straight in the eye for a moment. “He didn’t love Adri.”

  “Did you ever tell her that?”

  “Did you?”

  He had her there. As much as she loved Adri, apparently, as much as they both did, summoning the courage to have that sort of agonizing conversation was something that neither of them had been able to do. Who could blame them? What were they supposed to say? Adrienne, sweetheart, your fiancé doesn’t love you and never has? It was a conversation doomed from the start, coming from her father (the man who had never liked David) or Harper (the woman who had always loved him).

  Even so, Harper could tell that Sam regretted his own cowardice. They both did.

  “Well,” Sam said after a moment. “You have plans for the day?”

  “I need to get online. Does the library have computers?”

  “Believe it or not, Harper, I have a computer. It’s probably a clunker, but it works. Maple Acres even has Wi-Fi.”

  “Well, aren’t you tech-savvy?” Harper reached over Beckett and gave Sam’s sleeve a little tug. “Thanks for the offer,” she demurred, “but I’d actually like some privacy.”

  “Of course. Feel free to use my truck.”

  Sam dropped himself off at the farm and left the engine running. It took a bit of convincing to coax Beckett off the bench seat, but when he finally lumbered down, Harper slid behind the wheel. “Thanks,” she said, holding Sam’s sweet gaze for just a moment too long. Her gratitude was boundless, deeper than it should have been, and it seemed Sam could tell, because he stayed wedged in the open door.

  “You’re coming back, right?” he asked, searching her face.

  “Of course.” She made a dismissive sound in the back of her throat, but it was weak and ineffectual.

  “You don’t have to run away from us.” It was a bold thing to say, but instead of feeling affronted, Harper found herself wanting to hug Sam and never let go.

  “I’m not running from you,” Harper whispered.

  “I know. But let me tell you something, Harper. It’s obvious you’re running, and if there’s anything I’m sure of, it’s that you can only run for so long. Eventually you have to stop, and when you do, we sure would love to be there for you.”

  Harper couldn’t look at him anymore. She put her forehead on the steering wheel, over the peaks and ridges of her knuckles, as she held on for dear life. “What if I’m getting exactly what I deserve?”

  Sam put a hand on her back. “Come on, Harper. You’re forgiven.”

  “And what if I can’t forgive myself?”

  “I suppose you could spend the rest of your life running.”

  “I’m a masochist.” She laughed dryly. “I intended to spend the rest of my life punishing myself.”

  “Doesn’t sound like much fun to me,” Sam said.

  “You don’t know what I’ve done.”

  “I don’t need to know.” Sam stepped back, but before he did
, he kissed Harper on the head. It was such a gentle, fatherly gesture. She held her breath, tried to capture the moment and fold it away so she could keep it with her always. But it was a fleeting emotion, and even as she tried to hold it close, she felt it slip right through her fingers.

  Sam said, “Doesn’t matter what you did. Or what you try to do to fix it. The debt’s already been paid, Harper.” And then he shut the truck door quietly.

  Alone in the cab, Harper breathed. In and out. Nothing fancy. But even that felt like too much, almost more than she could handle. How many times had she tried to drive away from this farm? These people? Twice in this morning alone. And each time she was turned back, drawn in by a family that seemed determined not to let her go. A family? She didn’t dare to call them that. She couldn’t.

  Because Harper couldn’t bring herself to drive away, she did exactly what she’d told Sam she was going to do: go to the library.

  The library in Blackhawk was a small, unremarkable building, but the parking lot was packed. Harper almost turned around, but she didn’t know where else to go. Weaving through the aisles, she found an empty spot near the back and parked, then walked through the tall double doors amid a horde of small children and their mothers headed in the opposite direction. Some library program had just ended, and though Harper was grateful that they were all exiting instead of entering, something about the crush of people made her feel exposed.

  The feeling was exacerbated when someone said her name. “Harper? Harper Penny?”

  Harper turned hesitantly and found herself face-to-face with a sophisticated, elderly woman.

  “I thought it was you.” She gave Harper a brief, earnest hug, then stood back a little to observe her. “First Adri and now you. I feel like my world is spinning backwards.”

  “Mrs. Holt?” The name came to Harper’s lips involuntarily. She was shocked that she still remembered a woman whom she had only seen a handful of times.

  “I wondered if you’d remember me.” Katherine smiled demurely.

  “Of course I do.” The lie came easily, even though she was casting around for some memory, some telling moment that she could latch on to. “Do you work here?”

  “Oh, no.” Katherine shook her head as she touched the hair of a boy who walked past. “I’m retired, but I volunteer at story hour on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday mornings.” She waved to a little girl in pigtails. “See you next week, Anna.”

  Harper was trying to think of a polite way to extract herself from the awkward reunion, but Katherine seemed to pick up on her subtle cues before Harper was forced to be rude. “Is there something you’re looking for?”

  “A computer, actually.”

  “We have several,” she said. “Though you need a library card and a computer pass. I suppose you don’t have either one?”

  Harper shook her head.

  “You may use mine.”

  “Thank you,” Harper said sincerely, grateful for the first time that she had bumped into an old acquaintance.

  It was obvious that Katherine was too decorous to pepper Harper with questions, but that didn’t erase the obvious tension in the air. After Katherine had her settled at a discreet terminal, she asked, “So what are you doing in Blackhawk, Harper? Visiting ATU?”

  Of course, Harper hadn’t stepped foot on campus since arriving in Blackhawk. Maple Acres and Piperhall were enough of an emotional snare. No need to dredge up even more bittersweet memories. “I’m visiting Adri,” Harper said.

  “Well, it’s nice to have you back for any reason. Blackhawk has changed a lot since the last time you were here.”

  “Blackhawk will always have a special place in my heart,” Harper mumbled, though it felt like a stupid thing to say. She was discovering that she wasn’t very good at small talk.

  “I’m glad to hear that,” Mrs. Holt said, patting her arm. “In spite of everything, I hope the Galloway estate has a special place in your heart, too.”

  “I have many fond memories of it.” Harper felt mildly defensive, and Katherine stepped back as if reprimanded.

  For a moment, Katherine looked as if she was about to leave. She leaned back on her heels, inclined her head to say goodbye. But then she seemed to think better of it and stalled. “Blackhawk has changed a lot,” she said again. “And I can’t help wondering if things might have turned out differently if the change had come sooner.”

  “What do you mean?” Harper asked, almost against her own will.

  Katherine leaned in. Said quietly, as if it was a secret, “New stores, new people, new ideas. There’s even a crisis center. It’s called the Safe House.”

  Harper didn’t know what to say. Was it that obvious? Could Katherine Holt see abuse like a tattoo on her skin? Or was she just alluding to everything that had happened with Victoria?

  Mrs. Holt melted away without saying goodbye, and Harper tried to pretend that they hadn’t bumped into each other at all. She had forgotten the intimacy of a small town, the way everyone seemed to know everyone else, and she hadn’t expected to see a single familiar face in her little quest for information. It had thrown her off her game. Shaking off the vestiges of her odd conversation, Harper tried to focus on the task at hand.

  She didn’t really care about her fake Facebook account, but she clicked through to her home page all the same. There were updates, new photos, things that would have piqued her interest a couple of days ago. But Harper was dizzy with exhaustion. And though she had labored to distract herself with the events of the last several hours, Sawyer’s morning wake-up call was a bass line that drummed through her veins.

  The Facebook check took all of two minutes. It wasn’t why Harper had come to the library. But it was a place to start. A way to ease herself into the main event. When she finally gave up the pretense and tapped in the username and password to her email account, she found exactly what she was looking for. A message.

  Just one. An innocent-looking subject line: “Hi.” That was it.

  So innocuous, but Harper was downright terrified to open it. She took her hands off the keypad and wrung them in her lap. Considered logging off and walking away. But the lure was set. She had to know.

  A click. And then . . .

  Photos.

  Not even a single written line. Just a nauseating cache of pictures that made Harper lurch out of her seat. She didn’t simply close out her email or log off the computer. She flicked off the system unit and the monitor, and yanked the cord from the floor. As if that would do anything. As if she could erase what Sawyer had done.

  On her way out of the library, Harper grabbed the phone book and looked up Safe House. Committed the address to memory.

  23

  “What can i help you with, sweetie?” Jenna hudson, the executive director of the safe house tipped forward in her chair and crossed her arms on the top of her desk. Harper guessed she was in her late thirties, but she looked younger. Her hair was a chaotic cloud of dark corkscrew curls, and there were happy little laugh lines around her bright eyes. Though a gentle smile graced her lips, a certain gravity lent a serious aspect to her countenance. Harper had intended to play it cool, but something about jenna inspired trust.

  “Actually,”—Harper tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and tried to act nonchalant—“I just have a few questions.”

  “I’m listening.” Jenna seemed to settle, to focus all of her earnest attention on Harper. It was a little unnerving, but Harper found herself wanting to talk all the same. After holding everything in for so long, she felt almost giddy at the thought of letting even a few details slip. Giddy, and scared.

  “I’m in a bit of a difficult situation,” she said. “I guess I was just wondering what my options are.”

  “May I ask what kind of a difficult situation?”

  Harper’s mouth went dry. She squeezed her eyes shut for just a second, but the small a
ction betrayed her. Jenna took the reins.

  “Let’s back up a little bit,” she said kindly. “May I ask you a few questions?”

  Harper nodded.

  “Are you here for your own reasons, or on behalf of a friend or family member?”

  It was a simple enough inquiry, but Harper found she couldn’t form the words. She didn’t even try to open her mouth, she just touched her fingertips to her chest.

  Jenna went on. “Do you feel unsafe or threatened?”

  Harper didn’t have to answer. The look on her face was evidence enough.

  “Do you believe that your life is in danger?”

  She did. For the first time ever, she really did. Harper knew that Sawyer was unpredictable from the very first moment she met him, but she hadn’t realized just how deeply the depraved vein of his selfishness carved into his wicked soul. The photos were meant to torture her. And the phone calls. What else would he do? It was clear he wasn’t about to let her go without a fight.

  “It’s complicated,” Harper finally managed. “I don’t think he’d hurt me, but . . .”

  “He doesn’t have to hit you to harm you.” Jenna put her hands palm down on her desk and searched Harper’s eyes. She was grave now, deadly serious when she asked, “Is he controlling? Manipulative?”

  Harper didn’t answer.

  “Does he isolate you from family and friends?”

  She isolated herself from family and friends, but Sawyer cut her off from the rest of the world.

  “Have you ever been forced to participate in sexual acts that you are uncomfortable with?”

  It was too much. Harper regretted coming at all. Wished she had never parked in front of the inconspicuous home on a residential street in the heart of Blackhawk. When she pulled up to the address, she had wondered if she was even in the right place, because there was no sign, no indication at all that the humble blue house before her was anything other than some family’s home. But then she had seen the heavy locks on the door, the windows hung with glass so opaque that she’d wondered if it was bulletproof. Harper had knocked on the door and Jenna had answered. She had been swept inside before she had a chance to think about what she was doing. What it would mean.