Once she’d heard the word senator attached to Stoner Richardson’s name, she recalled who he was. She had studied him in school, for heaven’s sake. She didn’t belong in a place like this. She bit her lip and stood, ready to flee.
“You’re not leaving, are you?”
She spun around, guilty heat flooding her face. Stoner walked into the front hall. He wore khakis and a comfortably faded blue dress shirt, much like he had two days earlier. She fumbled inside her backpack and pulled out the tube with the sketch inside.
“I brought this to say thanks for your help the other day.” Tabby eyed the ornate hallway. She didn’t belong in a place like this and hated how nervous it made her. “I-I should go, sir. I-I don’t belong here.”
He caught her trembling hand and frowned. “Did Peterson pull the stuffy butler act with you, Tabby?” She eased her hand from his grasp and shook her head, not meeting his eyes. She didn’t want the man to get in trouble. “Well, you must stay long enough this time to have a glass of tea with me and allow me to open my gift. It would be rude not to allow me to thank you in person.”
“All right.” Tabby realized she’d been manipulated, but she didn’t mind. Stoner took her hand and drew it through his elbow.
“Come back to my study with me. I’m afraid you’ve missed Catherine. She’s gone to church and, I suspect to visit my son and their new baby.” He stopped and stared at Tabby. “I don’t know why I didn’t make the connection. You’re the young woman Catherine mentioned, the one who recognized the changes in Jenny.”
As they entered the room, Stoner paused and pressed an intercom on the wall. “Peterson, please have a tray with some iced tea and snacks brought to my study for my guest and me.”
“Right away, Senator.”
Stoner grimaced. “Have a seat, Tabby, while I look at what you’ve brought me.”
She sat nervously, her eyes never leaving his tall, lean frame. With large, elegant hands, he tapped the rolled paper from the tube and flattened it on the table in front of him. He said nothing as he studied it, and Tabby’s stomach twisted in knots. When he looked up, his cheeks were flushed and a curious sheen brightened his eyes.
“This is marvelous. If you do more than sketch, I would love to have you paint it.”
She smiled. “Thank you. I do paint. Houses and landscapes aren’t my usual subjects, but I could try.”
“I would pay you, of course,” he assured her.
Tabby dropped her gaze. Somehow, that didn’t feel right, but she didn’t want to make him angry. “We can talk about it,” she finally commented.
Peterson arrived with the tray and poured them each a glass of tea before taking his leave. Stoner sat back in his chair. “What’s wrong?” he asked quietly.
She smiled at him, but she was fairly sure he wasn’t fooled. Still, she had to try. “Nothing. What could be wrong? It’s a beautiful day….”
“And something has made you miserable. I still have some connections around here. Shall I have him driven out of the county? Tarred and feathered?
“No. It’s not Joseph’s fault.”
Stoner sat back with a satisfied smile on his austere face. Tabby gaped at him, then had to laugh at how cleverly he had manipulated her into giving him a name. “That is unfair, Stoner.”
“Hmm. Given your address—and yes, when all you have is time on your hands, I was able to ascertain where you live—you must be speaking of the young minister at the Baptist Church. Joseph Taylor.”
Tabby nodded miserably. “He asked me to marry him last night.”
His brows shot up. “Shouldn’t that make you happy? Or don’t you care for him in that way?”
“It did. I do care for him.”
Stoner frowned. “Then what’s the problem?”
Tabby stood and paced the room. She stopped at a picture of Evan and Jenny, obviously taken at their wedding, and looked at Stoner curiously. “I thought you and Evan weren’t on speaking terms.”
“We’re not. Catherine procured it for me. And don’t change the subject.”
Tabby tilted her head and grinned. “It works with most people.”
“I’m not most people.”
“I’m beginning to see that,” she mumbled and turned to study the portrait of him that hung over the mantel. It was a standard state-style portrait with him looking off at an angle and his hand propped on the back of a chair. She looked back at Stoner. “This artist didn’t know you at all, did he? This is way too bland. He hasn’t captured the ruthlessness that made you such an excellent politician, but such a….”
He studied her now with narrowed eyes. “Such a lousy father?”
Tabby’s eyes widened. “No. That wasn’t what I was going to say. Trust me. I know lousy fathers. Mmm. I’m changing the subject again.”
“You do it well. You’ve still not answered my initial question about what the problem is between you and Joseph Taylor, you’ve also left me hanging with an incomplete comparison of how my ruthlessness has shaped me, and now you’ve teased me with how you know about lousy fathers.”
Tabby grinned at him. There was something about this man she enjoyed more than she would ever have expected. He was like Evan in many ways, but harder…and sadder. She sat down in the chair next to him and stared at him before she sighed. “I’ll answer your initial question first. The problem is me. I love Joseph, but I’m afraid to marry him because I’m afraid of marriage. I’m afraid I’ll lose myself. I’m not easy to live with. I’m moody, and when I paint, I forget everything and everyone else. I lock myself away for hours, days sometimes. How could I make a marriage to a man like Joseph work?”
“Hmm. That does give you something to think about, but perhaps you’re also underestimating him. Has he seen your moods? Your intensity about your work?”
“Yes,” Tabby said slowly.
“Then he obviously already feels he can live with that.”
She ducked her head. He was right. She wasn’t giving Joseph enough credit. She wasn’t trusting in him…exactly what Joseph had told her last night. Stoner pressed a handkerchief into her hands.
“Don’t cry, Tabby,” he admonished. “Take action.”
She blinked her tears away and thrust the snowy square back into his large hands. Impulsively, she kissed his cheek. “How do you know exactly what to say?”
Stoner shrugged. “Old age. It’s supposed to bring wisdom, but I’m still waiting.”
Tabby laughed in pure enjoyment. “You’re not old. You’re experienced.”
“You’re changing subjects again,” he reminded her and prompted, “My ruthlessness made me such an excellent politician, but such a…?”
Tabby regarded him intently as she whispered, “an unhappy man.”
He frowned and turned his face away.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“Never apologize for being honest, Tabitha. It’s a quality I should have prized a lot sooner in life.” He looked back at her again and continued quietly. “Now for the last. How do you know about lousy fathers?”
Tabby stared at him and lifted her chin. If it was honesty he prized, then she would give it to him. “My father beat me. From the time I was six until I was twelve, he beat me bloody. He beat me until I passed out, and if my mama tried to stop him, he beat her too.”
“Tabby….” His gray eyes clouded with pain.
She narrowed her gaze on him fiercely. “Don’t feel sorry for me. I survived, and I’m free of him. He may have scarred my body, but I won. He didn’t break me. And when Mama finally told me the truth, he lost any hold he ever had on me.”
“Surely your mama left this man, didn’t she?” he asked with a casualness that the tapping of his fingers on his chair belied.
Tabby wandered the room and studied the other paintings in it. They were all well done and very conventional. She had her back to him when she replied. “In a manner of speaking. She died last summer from cance
r.”
There was the sound of breaking glass behind her. She spun to see Stoner’s tea glass shattered on the floor and blood welling from a cut on his hand. Tabby snatched up the handkerchief he’d laid on the table and wrapped it around his palm as she squatted next to him.
“Are you all right? What happened?”
“Yes, Stoner. Tell us…what happened?”
Side by side, they looked up at the same time to stare at the slender, blond woman outlined in the doorway. It had to be his wife. Catherine Richardson’s face paled before she recovered herself and shut the door behind her.
“You must be the young woman I saw being harassed on the road Friday afternoon.”
Tabby stood, but before she could say anything, Stoner spoke up. “Catherine, this is Tabby MacVie. Tabby, my wife Catherine. Tabby is Jenny’s sister.”
Tabby would have sworn there was a look of relief on the older woman’s face. “Ah, that explains why you looked so familiar. I see it now. You share your mother’s eyes.” She turned her attention to her husband. “What have you managed to do, Stoner?”
He smiled, but it didn’t seem nearly as free as earlier. “My glass slipped. When I attempted to save it, I crushed it and cut my hand. It’s nothing serious.”
Tabby looked uncomfortably between the two of them, sensing some underlying tension. She shifted from one foot to the other and picked up her backpack. “I—I should go. I still have lesson plans to review, and….” She blushed. “I need to talk to Joseph.”
Stoner laughed. “That’s my girl.”
Tabby smiled faintly at Stoner and turned to Catherine politely. “It was nice to meet you, Mrs. Richardson. Bye, sir.”
“Don’t forget,” he called after her. “I still want to talk to you about commissioning you to paint Richardson Homestead.”
Tabby turned her head over her shoulder and grinned. “Okay.”
It buoyed her spirits until she arrived back at the house. When she saw Joe’s Mustang was gone, she frowned, but decided she would simply catch up with him later. When the house remained dark and the car was still missing by late that night, Tabby stared out her living room window with a stricken expression. Where had he gone?
She tossed and turned through the night.
When Joe was still not home Monday evening, Tabby did something she had sworn she would not. She plugged in her laptop and logged on to Facebook. Everyone in college had teased her about her aversion to social media. She had dealt with enough wagging tongues growing up. This was different. In one of her high school classes, she’d overheard one of the girls whispering to another about the picture of Tabby on the town’s Facebook page.
Tabby had a gut feeling that there had been something behind Joseph’s sudden proposal. Had he looked at that Facebook page? It took her a couple of minutes to locate Mountain Meadow’s page. There was a picture of her arriving at school in her cycling pants. With it was the opening salvo, “Is this what our new art teacher considers appropriate attire?”
From there, the comments simply went downhill, all of them aimed at her and hinting she was doing her best to distract the town’s beloved Pastor Joe from the righteous path. Tabby looked at some of the names. When there was what appeared to be someone’s real name, they were people she didn’t even know. One comment, from someone calling himself Hot Rod Redneck, stated, “Y’all are just jealous ’cause she’s got one hell of an ass on her.” Right after that was a post from a concerned parent calling for the board to dismiss Tabby.
Ignoring the heavy, painful thud of her heart, Tabby powered down her computer and closed the lid. It was starting all over again. The adult version of what she had experienced as a child. She needed to talk to Joseph, find out how much of this garbage he had seen. Even worse, had some of these people actually said something to him?
Tabby called Jake, thinking he might have an idea of where his pastor was. When she hung up the phone, she was stunned. Joseph was on vacation? He would be gone through Sunday? Tabby blinked back sudden tears. She knew they’d hit a rough patch, but he’d left town for a week without saying one word to her? Her throat tightened and the pressure built in her eyes and nose. Had she pushed him away that much? Had he let gossip get between them? She would not cry. She would not.
But it hurt. After being so careful not to open herself up to anyone, she had finally relaxed with Joseph. She’d let him inside her defenses, and he’d walked away. That hurt.
* * * *
Joe worried about Tabby. She was constantly on his mind, but he resisted calling her, wanting to give them time to think. And part of what he had to think about was his conversation with John Gatewood. Joseph had let the conversation push him into a marriage proposal that had been way too premature; he understood that now. Tabby had to be able to trust in him.
Now two days later, he sat in the cool evening quiet outside his friend’s cabin. The conclusions he had reached while he thought made him cringe. He had not acted in her best interest, in his parishioners’ best interest, or in his own best interest. He loved Tabby, but he’d allowed his desire for her to overshadow what he knew was right for him, for her, and for his faith.
The sex had been wonderful and beautiful. He would not regret what they’d shared. It was the ultimate expression of the love he felt for her, but he also knew he’d gotten things mixed up. Out of order. She deserved better. Their love deserved better than the way he’d handled everything.
Joe had never been a hellfire and brimstone preacher, nor like those televangelists who cried over their relationship with God at the drop of a hat, but he felt strongly that he must lead his congregation by example. In the past few days, he’d set a poor example indeed. He’d put the physical part of his relationship with Tabby above everything else in his life. He needed God’s forgiveness, and he needed Tabby’s as well, but he’d start with God. Joe slid off the chair and onto his knees, his hands over his face. His life had been far from perfect, but he’d tried hard to turn it around. He’d find the right way and turn this around too. He prayed he wouldn’t lose Tabby in the process.
* * * *
Tabby didn’t mean to eavesdrop. Of course, maybe she was meant to hear the remarks greeting her just as she was about to step into the teachers’ lounge at the elementary school Tuesday morning.
“Have you seen the latest comments on the Facebook page? Busy Betty said Miss MacVie was chasing Pastor Joe so hard he had to leave town to get her claws out of him.” Tabby recognized the voice of Miss Harris, the new kindergarten teacher.
“Hers or her cat’s?” another teacher asked.
“One in the same, if you ask Mr. Underwood’s wife. She thinks Miss MacVie’s a witch.” The comment was followed by snarky, disbelieving laughter.
Tabby closed her eyes. It was starting all over again, made even worse by the vicious comments on the town’s Facebook page. The motivation this time around appeared to be jealousy, but that wasn’t always the case. She thought about all the times God-fearing people had called her evil because she didn’t create art that made them feel comfortable and safe. They tried to blame what they didn’t understand on magic or possession, when the truth of the matter was she simply had an artistic talent that focused on subject matter most people found disquieting.
Her stepfather had tried to pray the demons out of her when he wasn’t trying to beat them out. Hypocrites! As if they were completely without any vices or faults. She started to turn away, then saw Stoner’s face in her mind, heard his voice telling her not to cry but to take action. With a flip of her braid, Tabby stalked into the lounge and smiled at both women.
Tabby had overheard her own share of gossip around the school, and up until now had tried to ignore it. Sometimes, though, standing up for herself meant giving someone else a good smackdown.
“Good morning, ladies.” Tabby smiled at them. She looked the kindergarten teacher up and down. “The next time I see Joseph, Miss Harris, would you like me to t
ell him what you fantasize about during his sermons?”
Tabby spun on the other woman, who was snickering slightly, and swept her gaze over her. “Or perhaps I should tell your husband how you help Mr. Powers check out what’s stored in the gym’s equipment room? I had never realized badminton rackets could be used in quite that way.”
She purchased her water from the drink machine and left them still open-mouthed inside the lounge. She had a half hour free between classes, so she walked into the office and asked if she could see Melodie Matthews’s permanent file. After the secretary handed it to her, Tabby sat down at the desk reserved for reviewing student files and went through its contents. She was particularly interested in comments from her kindergarten year, any pattern to absences, and the medical information the parents had supplied.
Tabby’s suspicions grew. A pattern of missed days before and after weekends clearly existed. Even documented changes in the child’s behavior between the start of kindergarten last fall and the second grading period were there to see. Melodie went from being a happy well-adjusted child to being shy and withdrawn. She looked at the picture taken at the beginning of kindergarten, and that alone told Tabby a lot. Melodie was wearing a cap-sleeved Minnie Mouse shirt. The long sleeves were something new.
As she handed the file back to the secretary, Tabby asked, “Is Melodie here today?”
“No. She was out yesterday too. Her mother called to say she had a stomach virus.”
Tabby smiled. “Thanks anyway.”
She wanted to talk to someone, but Mr. Underwood made her nervous, plus he still treated her like she’d stepped in dog poop or something. Tabby stopped at her house after school and grabbed her camera, her sketchpad, and her colored pencils. She was going to visit Stoner. She thought about talking to Evan or Jenny, even Jake, but if she went to any of them, they would have to report it. The same was true with Dr. James, and Tabby just wasn’t confident enough yet she had enough facts. They must believe her based on what they could see, not what she knew based on her own experience. She was sure Stoner could be a sounding board for her.
Lost & Found Love Page 12
