Something flashed in her eyes. Fear? “I haven’t had as much as a glass of wine since last weekend.”
“Then there shouldn’t be any problem.”
“All right.” She nodded, but distrust lingered, along with something else Ethan couldn’t identify. Reluctance?
Ethan looked down at his notebook. So far, all he’d written was doesn’t remember two hours before accident. Some interview. He jotted down a few more notes. Abby Foster and her problems were damned distracting. “How long have you worked at the high school?”
She pressed a hand to her mouth and mumbled, “I’m sorry.”
Ethan reached for a pink plastic tub sitting on the tray table. She grabbed it from him. Embarrassment radiated from her watering eyes.
“I’ll just step out.” Ethan ducked into the hall. A familiar slender brunette in her late thirties rushed toward him.
“Ethan!” Brooke Davenport shoved her keys into her coat pocket. A red tote bag was draped over her arm. “Is Abby in there?”
Ethan nodded. “Is she a friend?”
“Yes. Is she OK?” At the sound of retching, Brooke pushed past him. “Excuse me.”
Ethan had known Brooke for years. She taught self-defense classes for women at the local community center. The Westbury officers took turns donning a protective suit and acting as attackers so her young female students could practice their techniques. As the youngest officer on the small force, Ethan was “volunteered” often. He’d taken more than his share of well-placed kicks.
He watched through the glass. Brooke took charge of the plastic tub and was stroking Abby’s hair away from her face. Feeling like he was invading Abby’s privacy, he turned away. He wasn’t going to get anything out of her tonight. He’d leave the poor woman alone. On a positive note, she’d consented to alcohol testing, which saved him a huge hassle. Technically, Pennsylvania had implied consent laws regarding alcohol testing and driving, but Ethan had no desire to play hard-ass or jump through legal hoops.
He bummed a ride from an EMT back to the police station parking lot where his pickup waited. The wintry mix had changed over to light snow. He started his truck and called the chief.
“Did you get her statement?”
“Partially. I’ll have to get the rest tomorrow.” Ethan transferred the call to hands-free and set his phone on the bench seat beside him.
“What happened?” the chief asked. “Were her injuries more serious than they looked?”
“Maybe. She must have hit her head pretty hard.” Turning onto Main Street, Ethan relayed his brief conversation with Abby. “First I made her cry. Then I made her throw up.”
“I’m sure none of that was your fault.” The chief’s voice was sympathetic. “Try again tomorrow. Maybe she’ll remember more in the morning.”
“Yes, sir.” Ethan steered toward home, but Abby’s response still nagged him. Despite her evasiveness, his instincts told him she wasn’t lying about the accident. She didn’t remember what happened. If he were in her place, would he be shocked at a request for alcohol testing?
Maybe. Her life had been flipped on its back this afternoon.
“You had a hell of a day. I can have someone cover for you tomorrow if you’re not up to working.”
“No, I’ll be in.” Ethan needed the hours. Plus, he didn’t want anyone else to question Abby Foster. Under her seemingly honest, girl-next-door persona, he couldn’t shake the feeling that she was hiding something.
CHAPTER THREE
“I’m sorry.” Abby covered her mouth. Her humiliation was complete.
Brooke patted her arm. “Don’t be silly. I’ve raised two kids. It takes more than a little puke to faze me.”
Over her best friend’s shoulder, Abby watched the policeman walk away.
Brooke grinned. “He’s an eyeful, isn’t he?”
Abby coughed. “I guess.”
“You guess?” Brooke lifted her girlfriend eyebrow in disbelief. “Honey, Ethan is the total package. He’s just as nice as he is hot.”
“Do you mind? I’m throwing up here.” Abby wiped her mouth.
“I was just saying.” Brooke raised a hand in mock innocence. Abby knew her friend was trying to distract her from the awful afternoon.
Her head fell back on the hard plastic pillow. Unfortunately, Brooke was right. Why couldn’t Abby have been rescued by a middle-aged cop with a receding hairline and a three-doughnut-a-day paunch? No, fate had to toss a man at Abby who made her hormones wave a foam finger—which was saying a lot given everything she’d been through today. Thirtyish, clean-cut, and boy-band handsome, Ethan Hale had the kind of chiseled good looks that drove young girls to hang posters on ceilings and throw underwear onto stages. And this gorgeous man had handed Abby a basin to barf in.
Ugh. Well played, fate.
The truth was that the whole package, as Brooke put it, had thrown her off kilter. Her new normal life demanded she act like the average person, someone without a traumatic past, someone who would give a police officer a statement and trust he’d do the right thing. But something about her accident was setting off her internal alarms and bringing out her natural defense mechanism. Her instincts forced her into turtle mode. Was she just paranoid? Maybe, but God knew those missing hours had her on edge, and she had her reasons for distrusting the legal system.
The cop had taken pity on her and given up for tonight. But that wouldn’t last. Tomorrow he’d be back with his notebook. What if she didn’t have the answers? What if she never remembered?
“What on earth happened today?” Brooke asked.
Good question. Now that the nasty water was out of her stomach, the queasiness was fading. “I don’t know. The last thing I remember is changing in the locker room.”
“Do you remember teaching all day?”
Abby searched her memories again. Pain thumped in her temple. “I do. Right up until the end of school. Then I blank out for two solid hours. Why can’t I remember something as important as driving my car into a creek? And what did I do all afternoon?”
Brooke squeezed Abby’s hand. “You have a concussion, right?”
“That’s what the doctor thinks.” Tears and the details of the interview with the cop spilled out in a messy jumble. “The policeman thinks I was drinking.”
“That’s probably just a routine test these days,” Brooke said. “You don’t have anything to worry about. The only thing you drink on running days is Gatorade. Maybe you stopped at the dry cleaner’s or Walmart. Did you look for receipts?”
“My purse is in my car.” Abby fingered the lump and bandage on her forehead. A dull ache drummed behind her eyes. The accident site was on the route between the school and the park. Was she freaking out about nothing? Did she run some errands after school?
“Give the police some time.” Brooke offered her a breath mint.
Abby popped the peppermint into her mouth. The hole in her memory disturbed her on a primitive level. Two hours didn’t seem like much time, unless they were a total blank that nearly killed her.
Ethan drove his truck behind the house and parked. Lights glowed in the barn windows. He glanced at the house, where a hot shower and a meal waited. Getting out of the car, he walked through the fresh dusting to the barn. Flurries drifted onto his head as he crossed the yard. Once he went in for the night, going out into the cold again would be harder.
He rolled the barn door open and closed it behind him to keep the wind out. It was a small structure, with two stalls on each side capped by a feed room on the left and a small tack room on the right. The aisle was swept clean. A few bales of fresh hay were stacked on a pallet in the aisle. Other than a few cobwebs up high, Cam and Bryce had done a stellar job getting the place together in a rush.
A snort drew his attention to the first stall. He leaned over the half door. Clean straw covered the dirt flo
or. A full water bucket hung by the door. The roan pony stood in the center, dozing. A navy blanket covered the ribs and bony frame. The pony turned its head toward Ethan and shuffled over.
“Hey. You don’t have to inspect our work, big brother.” Clean-cut Cam came out of the tack room, a green plaid horse blanket in his arms and an annoyed quirk on his lips. Bryce was right behind him. His shoulder-length hair was tied back with a leather thong, and a hoop gleamed from one ear. Like Ethan, they were both just over six feet tall, with the Hale black hair and blue eyes. Ten years his junior, Cam and Bryce were college-student lean, despite the vast quantity of food they packed away every day. His younger brothers were identical twins, but even before Bryce went pirate, Ethan could tell them apart. Cam was born with an up-to-something gleam in his eye. Bryce was the straight man in their duo.
“Where did you get the blankets?” Ethan ignored Cam’s protest and scratched the pony behind its ear. On the large size for a pony, between thirteen and fourteen hands high, the roan had a body that should have been stocky. The fuzzy head just reached over the stall door.
“You know Mom. She keeps everything.” Cam stopped at the stall next door. “The roan is super friendly and doesn’t seem to be afraid of anything, which is amazing considering how he’s been treated. We had a hell of a time with the bay quarter horse. He’s a wild one.”
Ethan gave the roan a final pat and moved on to get a look at the second horse. The body was a muddy brown color, with black legs and a black mane and tail. Nose in the far corner, it turned its head and gave the three men a worried eye roll. “His halter is too small. It’s rubbing his nose raw.”
“Already on it.” Bryce sighed and held up the halter in his hand. He cracked the door and slipped inside.
Ethan watched his brother ease up to the horse. “Easy, Captain.”
“What did you call him?”
“Captain.” The bay showed Bryce the whites of his eyes. “We named them Captain and Morgan.”
“We are not naming horses after booze.” Ethan pointed at Bryce. “In fact, we are not naming them at all. If we name them, we keep them.”
Next to Ethan, Cam snickered. “Who are you kidding? Every animal that has ever set foot on this property has stayed for the duration of its natural life.”
Ethan ran a hand through his damp hair. Snowflakes drifted down around him. “Sorry, guys. You’re going back to school next week, Mom’s going on vacation, and I don’t have the time or money for two horses. In case you don’t remember, horses are pricey pets and needy as needy gets. We can’t keep them.”
“If you say so.” Cam nodded with a grin. He draped the horse blanket over the stall door.
“I mean it.” Frustrated, Ethan watched the horse’s muscles tense. “Careful.”
The bay turned its rump to Bryce.
“You need to be patient.” Ethan slipped into the stall. “You’re going to get kicked.”
Ethan stood opposite the horse’s shoulder and waited. The animal sniffed and turned toward him. He had the halter changed a minute later.
Bryce’s mouth tightened in frustration. “I need to be patient. How about giving me three minutes before you step in?”
“You’re right. I’m sorry.” Ethan held the horse still while Bryce backtracked to pick up the blanket. He handed the old halter to Cam, who dropped it in the garbage can. “What did Ronnie say?”
Bryce kept his voice soft as he eased the blanket over its back. “We should give them small amounts of hay. The vet and farrier will be out tomorrow. That’s about it.”
Ethan rubbed the bay’s neck. The animal nuzzled his jacket. All the Hales had a way with animals matched only by their weakness regarding the same. Cam was right. Every creature that had managed to wander, crawl, or limp onto the property over the decades had found a forever home. But things were different now.
“We have to call them something.” Cam opened a bale of hay. “How about Google and Bing?”
Ethan left the stall. “How about Roan and Bay?”
“Those are lame names.” Cam gave each horse a scant few handfuls of hay.
“They don’t need awesome names because they aren’t staying.” As Ethan walked away, his brothers were still arguing—and ignoring him.
“Cinnamon and Spice.”
“Oreo and Cookie.”
“We are not naming these horses,” Ethan said over his shoulder and rolled the heavy wooden door closed. The firm thud of wood on wood punctuated his statement.
Before going into the house, he retrieved his soaked uniform from the truck and salted the walkway and the steps that led up to the deck. If his mother went out to feed the birds in the morning, he didn’t want her to slip.
He left his coat, boots, and wet clothes in the mudroom. The Christmas tree glittered as he passed the living room. He stepped into the kitchen and salivated at the thick, rich scent of Yankee pot roast. The big meal was a sign his mom’s new rheumatoid arthritis medication was working. She pulled a plate from the oven. Dressed in slim jeans and a bulky blue sweater, she looked almost frail. The weight she’d lost when his dad died had stayed gone. But her shoulders were straight, her chin high, and her beige-blonde hair never showed a strand of gray. Nothing short of a natural disaster would cause his mother to miss her monthly appointment at the beauty salon.
Ethan leaned down to kiss her cheek. “Christmas was three weeks ago. Don’t you think it’s time we took the decorations down?”
“I suppose.”
But Ethan knew he’d be doing it alone after she left for her sister’s house next week. His dad had suffered his massive heart attack while dragging the tree out five years before.
She waved him toward the round oak table. “How are those poor animals settling in?”
“Fine.” Ethan’s butt hit the chair hard, his leg muscles suddenly deciding they were exhausted.
“I saw Ronnie unload them earlier.” One-handed, Mom slid a dish in front of him. Joint damage permanently curled the fingers on her left hand. A cleaning service came in once a week to do the heavy housework, but his mom loved to cook for her sons. “Be careful, dear, that plate is hot.”
“Cam and Bryce took care of them.” Ethan shoveled meat, potatoes, and carrots into his mouth while his mom chattered about the animals’ arrival. “You didn’t go out in this weather, did you?”
“Just for a minute.” She set a basket of biscuits at his elbow. “Do you need more gravy?”
“No, thanks.” Ethan slathered butter on a biscuit. “How’s the packing going?”
“Fine.”
“I bet you can’t wait to see Aunt Julie.”
Mom smiled. She hadn’t seen her sister since last winter. “You’re right. I’m excited, but I hope we get those ponies straightened out before I go.”
Uh-oh. He had to keep her away from the horses until she left. A week was more than enough time for her to get attached.
“Chances are Ronnie will move them before that.”
Her eyes dimmed. “Probably for the best.”
But didn’t Ethan feel like crap? His mother loved nothing more than to care for an animal in need. Bring on the injured dogs, starving cats, and birds with broken wings. Their barn had served as a wildlife rehab center for most of his childhood.
“It’d be nice for them to have a family with kids,” he pointed out.
“You’re right.” She nodded, watching him with patient blue eyes. “What else happened today?”
As if she didn’t already know about the accident. The chief’s secretary, Nancy, would have called his mom to let her know that Ethan was all right. A few other details likely slipped out during the conversation, but Ethan told her about the river rescue anyway. She used to be active. Now the disease kept her in and slowed her down.
His mom stirred honey into her tea. “I heard she’s a math te
acher at the high school.”
“You know I can’t talk about the details of the case.” Even though his mother probably knew as much—or more—as he did.
His mother’s blue eyes sparkled, a sight guaranteed to give Ethan indigestion. “I heard she’s pretty too.”
Pretty was an understatement, but Ethan gave her a pointed look. “Mom, this is a case. I’m a professional.”
“Of course you are.” She put a hand on his forearm. “I didn’t mean to suggest you would be anything else. But if that were me, and a handsome young man came to my rescue…” His mother sighed, and Ethan knew she was thinking about his father. Dad had only saved his mother from a thunderstorm and a flat tire, but when she told the story, Dad was her white knight. “Well, he’d be my hero.”
Ethan covered her hand with his palm. “I was just doing my job.”
“You’re a good man, Ethan. Your father would be proud.” His mom sniffed and stood up to clear the table. “I’d love to see you with your own family instead of getting stuck taking care of me. I’m sorry I’m such a burden.”
“You’re hardly a burden, Mom.” And Ethan could hardly think about having another family when he was still taking care of this one.
She smiled and patted his hand. A scraggly gray tomcat sauntered into the kitchen and wound around her legs. “Would you like some roast beef, Sweetums?” She bent down to scratch behind the torn ear of her latest rescue.
“Sweetums is a ridiculous name for that cat. You should call him Scarface or Reaper.” Ethan could hear the feline purring from across the room. He emptied his milk glass and crossed the tile floor. Sweetums raised his back and hissed. Ethan gave the feline a wide berth. Sweetums might be old and missing an eye, but those claws were Wolverine sharp. A fact Sweetums liked to remind Ethan of every once in a while. Apparently, Sweetums never got the memo about all animals liking Ethan. The old cat trusted Lorraine and no one else.
“Nonsense. He’s very affectionate.” His mom minced some meat and gravy on a saucer and set it at her feet. She stroked the old cat’s head. “That’s a good boy.”
She Can Hide (She Can Series) Page 3
