All for You

by Christi Barth

  “Yes, the letters were a part of our agreement. Got our divorce papers finalized, too, on that trip. I spent the better part of a day and a night railing at him for being so stupid. For putting you in danger. But it turned out he’d been beating himself up since the day he lost you. He knew how wrong he’d been. Peter swore to do whatever was in his power to keep you happy. But he refused to grant me legal custody.”

  “Why? He knew you were taking care of me, right? Better than a fugitive ever could.”

  Dawn rubbed her hands across her face. “Your dad loves you. And he still loves your dead mother, too. He refused to cut the only tie he had left to her. He wanted you to be his daughter, and only his daughter, legally.”

  “That’s selfish.” It shocked Casey that he’d have been so stubborn. “Also far from being in my best interest.”

  There was a pause. Then Dawn reached over to pat Casey’s hand. “Remember what drove your father to join the Sunshine Seekers in the first place. Peter was mentally ill. Once he went off his meds, he never got back on them, not even in Europe. There’s paranoia, manic depression and a host of other things that lead him to make far from rational decisions.”

  “Oh.” Casey often forgot about his illness, since his letters sounded so normal.

  “He also wanted something to hold over my head. I knew how to find him, and he knew that he could call the authorities and give me up at any minute as a kidnapper. We were deadlocked. So after three days he left, and I found someone who could forge all the appropriate documents. Ella’s parents helped.”

  “Seriously?”

  “The Mayhews gave me copies of Ella’s vaccination records, elementary school report cards, birth certificate—everything I needed replicated for you. It gave the Parisian forger I hired someplace to start.”

  Casey tucked away the points about her father to mull over later. In private. Along with amazement at the new revelation of just how far out on a limb Dawn had gone to protect her. How many laws she’d bent and broken. Which led her to wish that Dawn could be more fully happy now.

  “I can see how everything with Dad turned you off dating for a long time. But no men at all since him?”

  “No, I didn’t want to risk dating. I told myself I was protecting you by not getting close to any man. But after enough time, that was just an excuse, a crutch to not risk getting hurt again. I was scared.”

  “Of what? I mean, the chances of you falling for an ex-hippie type who got re-indoctrinated into his former cult again had to be pretty slim.”

  Dawn leveled her well-practiced you’re being a smart aleck, young lady stare across the room. Some things never changed. “Correct. My fear was far more basic. Things with your father ended so horribly. The way he left. Disappeared, really, taking you and leaving me with just a scribbled note on the bathroom sink. It ripped at my heart on two fronts. The months I spent searching for you were the scariest of my life.”

  Casey poured them coffee and joined her stepmom at the table. Cupped her hands around the stoneware mug embossed with an oak tree. “Nobody would want to relive that.”

  “It was safer to not put myself in a situation where I could be so hurt, so frightened. But by doing so, I taught you to hide from love, instead of embracing it.” Dawn reached across the table to take Casey’s hand. “I’m sorry.”

  “You didn’t force anything on me. I don’t want to risk anything happening to you. It’s my choice, one hundred percent.”

  “It’s the wrong one.”

  “Is it?” Casey challenged. “Have you heard back from your lawyer? About what happens if you’re discovered?”

  Dawn took a long sip of coffee. Kept the mug at her lips and barely looked at Casey over the rim. “There’s a chance it would be more than a slap on the wrist. Custodial law is a very hot topic. He confirmed that the state might want to make a point, and use me to do it. With the amount of media that would no doubt be involved, it’d be hard for them to resist. At the very least, I’d have to go out there to be formally charged. Maybe that would be enough for appearances’ sake and then they’d dismiss the charges. Or maybe not.”

  “Have I mentioned you going to the race is a bad idea?”

  With a rueful smile, Dawn shook her head. “I can’t hide forever. I can’t ask you to hide forever, either. I’m going to have a sit down with Ella, Piper and Ward and apologize for my part in your keeping the truth from them. It’s not entirely your load to carry.”

  “We’re all fine. You don’t have to do that.”

  “I want to. And I want you to tell Zane the truth. Or at least think about it.”

  How could she talk about going to jail in one breath, and turn around and ask Casey to basically out her with the next? “You’re nuts. No. Now you’re just trying to martyr yourself.”

  “Honey, I’ve been thinking about this since you first told me about the professor. How much do you like him?”

  “A lot.”

  “Are you falling in love with him?”

  How was she supposed to answer a question like that? It implied that Casey knew the answer. Which she absolutely did not. Her habit of drive-by relationships left her without any benchmarks. She’d never really been in love. Never fallen head over heels. Never thought it’d be worth the risk. Was the time she spent with Zane making her reconsider that approach? Yes. But that was just contemplating the possibility, the hypothetical idea of falling in love with her professor. Casey still was pretty sure it’d be a bad idea. And was almost equally sure that she might not have a choice in the matter.

  “I don’t know.”

  “All the more reason you need to tell him. A relationship needs honesty to grow. You know how I prep my garden?”

  As much as Casey loved the great outdoors, she loathed gardening. Dawn seemed to think that if she kept exposing Casey to the supposed delights of working in the dirt, she’d learn to enjoy it. That line of reasoning hadn’t worked with lima beans, and it would never work with gardening, either. “You mean, the worst weekend of the year?”

  Dawn raised her hand to tick off points on each finger. “I pull out all the weeds. Rake the leaves.”

  “Correction, we do all that.”

  “Fine. Then we till the soil. Only after the ground is fresh and tidy do I plant anything. And finish with a hefty helping of compost. If I skipped those steps, my vegetables wouldn’t flourish.” She tipped her hand over to point at Casey. “You have to do the same with relationships.”

  “Shovel the shit, in other words?”

  “You’re incorrigible. You have to start with a clean slate. On level ground. Tell him.”

  Now it was Casey’s to turn slurp coffee as a stall tactic. Because what Dawn was suggesting could turn both their worlds inside out and upside down. “Let’s pretend that Zane isn’t a world-famous cult expert currently tracking me as hard as he can. Say he’s a Realtor. Or a veterinarian. Would I maybe consider telling him? Yes. But would I consider, even for a second, telling Dr. Zane Buchanan, bestselling author? No. It’s too risky. That’s why I wrote in the journal, reminding everyone to keep their big traps shut. That includes you and me.”

  “I want you happy.”

  “I am happy.”

  “You’d be happier with a partner in life. Someone to share the ups and downs, to rub your feet after a long day, and take care of you when you’re sick.”

  “Same goes for you,” Casey shot back.

  “I have Mitzi.”

  “Maybe I’ll get a dog, too.”

  “Mitzi only keeps my feet warm. From the looks of him, Dr. Buchanan could keep all of you warm.”

  Casey almost dropped her coffee mug.

  “Honey, I’m about to risk the truth coming out for the sake of our town. If I can do that to keep Otto the grocery clerk happy and to keep the garbage trucks rol
ling, what makes you think I’d be willing to do any less for the daughter of my heart?”

  Casey didn’t doubt for a minute that Dawn believed her happiness was worth the risk. The far bigger issue was whether or not Zane was worth Casey making that choice.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Happy Fourth of July!”

  Zane looked up at the hundredth person to wish him that in the last hour. Didn’t recognize the smiling face beneath the stars-and-stripes-decorated cowboy hat. Didn’t matter. He waved back as he kept on course to the big white tent at the top of the lake that was race central.

  Everyone on Seneca Lake was so friendly. Zane rarely encountered that in the big cities where he parked himself in between books. Definitely didn’t find it when he holed up at communes and cults doing research where the minds and mouths were equally shuttered. This community was—quite literally, thanks to their mailbox journal—an open book. Everything exposed. Everyone’s issues and fears and dreams out there for the whole world to see. Zane loved it. It was like this town had been crafted to his unique, truth-baring specifications. He couldn’t think of a better place to settle down.

  If he hadn’t pretty much decided that, he wouldn’t have dragged his ass out of bed at oh-dark-thirty to run a race. Especially on a holiday, aka the national day of sleeping in late. Yeah, there was a cloudless blue sky overhead and birds chirped like something out of a cartoon in the bright green trees he’d really need to learn the name of sooner rather than later. All things considered, it was a picture-perfect day. The breeze off the lake whipped the row of flags at the starting line and ruffled the patriotic bunting on every vertical surface. If he couldn’t still be face-planted in his bed right now, this was a pretty great alternative.

  Zane smiled, nodded and waved at more people he didn’t know. And was ridiculously gratified when he recognized one of his students.

  “Happy Fourth, Professor!”

  “Back at ya. You running today, Andy?”

  The lanky grad student with his eyeglasses secured by a sports band grinned and circled his arms at the huge crowd overflowing the park confines. “Isn’t everybody?”

  “Sure looks like it.” The annual holiday marathon in nearby Ithaca lost its sponsor in May. Gray had worked a minor miracle by pulling some strings with a friend at Agon Athletics. The biggest running-gear company in the world had no trouble putting their backing behind the 10k, half and full marathon when it—along with its thousands of already registered runners—moved to Seneca Lake.

  A couple of yards away, the normally chill Gray was bouncing off the pavement with excitement. “Zane! Happy Fourth!”

  The greeting made him grin. And wish he’d started an official tally of how many times he heard that today. Just because the knowing would’ve made him happy. If everyone was this gung-ho over the Fourth of July, he couldn’t wait to see how balls-to-the-wall they went at Christmas. “Same to you.”

  “Do you see all these people? Do you have any idea how much money they’ve sunk in hotel rooms? Blown in bars and restaurants and souvenir shops? Dropped into freaking parking meters?”

  Tongue firmly planted in his cheek, Zane replied, “Well, you’ve been throwing numbers at me every day we trained this week, so yeah, I’ve got a pretty good idea.” You’d think running would take up all of someone’s air. Not Gray. Mile after mile, as he and Ward ran silently, Gray had spun scenarios and projections and quotes about how this event could—and should, in theory—refill the town coffers left empty from the embezzlement. Zane had been on the verge of signing over the advance on his next book to the town, just to shut him up.

  Gray batted away his comment. “Those were estimates. The actual hard numbers are coming in way better than expected. Do you know what that means?”

  “Should I bother to answer, or are you going to tell me anyway?”

  “He’s going to tell you.” Ward clapped them both on the shoulder in greeting. “There’s no escape. At least do something useful while we’re stuck listening to him.” He lunged into a low calf stretch, and Zane followed suit.

  Gray stayed standing. “All those businesses agreed to donate ten percent of this weekend’s profits to the town’s emergency fund. This should keep the fire and garbage trucks rolling on schedule.”

  “I thought you had a volunteer fire department?”

  “It is. But there’s still gas to buy for the rigs, and equipment upkeep.”

  Zane switched legs. “I was thinking of joining. I always wanted to slide down that pole.”

  “You’d look hot,” Casey said, appearing from out of the crowd. Ella and Piper flanked her. They all wore blue Agon running shirts and matching high ponytails. Made it easy for him to picture how they must’ve looked back in the day when they were all cheerleaders together. “Maybe that’s how we should raise money for our next emergency. Photograph all of you shirtless in those suspenders and fire pants coming down the pole.”

  With an enormous sigh, Piper said, “Let’s keep that as Plan B.”

  “What’s Plan A?” Casey trailed a finger along the collar of Zane’s T-shirt. “What could be better than shirtless hotties?”

  “Plan A is not having another emergency at all.”

  Zane snorted his appreciation of her witty logic. But Casey just shook her head. “You’re no good at thinking outside of the box, Piper.”

  “Hey, I need everyone in the medical tent for a minute. Got something stashed to show you for after the race. My friend at Agon sent us presents.” Gray motioned them inside the tent. “They’re getting some great press out of the whole ‘helping save the town’ angle. Josh is grateful I hooked him up.”

  “Rich friends who give presents are awesome. I hope it’s champagne. Or truffles.”

  “Or champagne truffles,” Piper countered.

  “Dial it back, ladies,” Gray said with a laugh. “Josh doesn’t head up the whole company, just a division of it. The running shoe division, to be precise. He sent over top of the line Agons for everyone on the relay team as a reward once we finish the race. I talked him into sending a few extra along for the girls, too.”

  “Hey, we’re running a relay, too, you know.”

  “A half marathon. Barely counts compared to the massive miles the men’ll be pounding out today.”

  Gray led them to the back corner, cordoned off with makeshift canvas walls. A dozen gurneys were set up, with rows of chairs along the walls. Dawn and Joel sat at a check-in table.

  “The race doesn’t start for another half hour. What are you two doing back here?”

  “Officially? Since Joel’s already on the injured list with his broken toes, we’re helping with first aid.”

  It was obvious there was more to it than that. “And unofficially?” Zane prodded.

  “I’m hiding. Joel’s just nice enough to keep me company so I don’t feel like even more of a pariah.”

  “Hiding from what?”

  “Basically everyone out there.”

  “She heard about the petition.” Joel’s voice was steady, but his eyes burned and a vein throbbed at his temple, right where that black hair was starting to feather into gray. “The one to recall her as mayor. The secret meeting would’ve been just a bunch of windbags letting off steam. But a petition is more official. And somebody let it slip.”

  “Any chance by ‘slip’ you really mean ‘they wrote it in the mailbox journal’?” Gray asked. Joel dipped his head. “There’s a surprise. That damn thing is a nuisance. I’ve said it from the start.”

  Zane had spent a couple of hours every day sifting through the decades of journals, looking for clues. Even without the tie to the Sunshine Seekers, they represented such a wealth of information. Seneca Lake’s own, constantly evolving, autobiography. The academic in Zane couldn’t resist leaping to its defense. “It’s an anthropo
logical marvel. A brilliant compilation of hopes and fears and dreams.”

  “It’s also a collection of nitpicking, nagging, complaining busybodies.”

  “One man’s trash is another man’s treasure.” Ward waited until everyone rolled their eyes at him to add, “Norman Rockwell.”

  Dawn shook her head, blond bob swinging gently against her chin. “Don’t blame the journal. Even without it, a petition like this wouldn’t have stayed a secret. I’d rather know about it beforehand than be blindsided in a town council meeting.”

  “Forewarned is forearmed,” Ella said.

  “Not exactly. I don’t know who’s signing it. Or thinking about signing it. So I’m second-guessing every person who says hello to me—or worse, who doesn’t say anything. I need people to wear a shirt with my picture and either a thumbs up or down over it.”

  “You are the mayor. Nothing has changed. The town looks to you to lead all of us. You can be proud of how you’ve handled this whole mess.”

  There went Joel, leaping to her defense for a second time. Leaping in before even her stepdaughter was able to comfort her. Leaping into the fray like a man on a mission. A man who more than just cared as a supportive friend. And using a phrase Zane had read just yesterday in an entry in the mailbox journal

  Holy shit. Joel was the man. The man in the journal in love with an undisclosed woman. Except Zane was now pretty damn sure that Dawn was the woman, and that Joel already knew it. Zane whipped his head around to see if anyone else had connected the dots from that single phrase.

  Gray was bent under the table, pulling out shoe boxes. Everyone else was clustered around Dawn, murmuring assurances. And yep, Joel still looked like he was ready to grab the paddles off the emergency CPR cart and shock the hell out of anyone who said a single unkind word to Dawn.

  There was no way Zane could make small talk for at least another hour, and then wait for his leg of the relay and run more than five miles without knowing if he was right. “Joel? Got a minute?”