* * *
Jennifer wasn’t sure how much time had passed when she heard footsteps on the stairs. Her muscles tensed, preparing to flee, though her head was telling the rest of her to calm down.
“It’s just me,” Camille said. “Sorry to disturb you, but I thought you might want sustenance.”
Jennifer noticed then that the proprietor was holding a tray with a black and yellow teapot and cup on it. It was a sweet thing—the cup was on top of the pot, making it look like Camille was holding an overgrown bumble bee. She also had a little plate of shortbread cookies.
“You brought all this up for me?”
Camille shrugged. “I was making myself a pot and thought you might be ready to take a break, too.”
Curious to know just how much time had passed, Jennifer glanced at her watch and gaped. She’d been sitting in the same spot for over an hour. “Wow. I had no idea it had gotten so late.”
“Did you find anything good?”
“Only five cookbooks,” she admitted sheepishly.
“Only five, hmmm?” Camille sat down on the bench across from her and pushed the tray toward Jennifer. “Well, now you’ve got to tell me all about them. You can do that while you have a spot of tea.” A worried frown suddenly marred her forehead. “That is, if you like tea?”
“I do. Thank you. This was so nice of you.”
She shrugged. “It wasn’t anything.”
Realizing that the room had gotten a little chilled, Jennifer removed the cup from over the teapot and poured herself a steaming cup. After taking a fortifying sip, she smiled. “Peppermint.”
“It’s my favorite this late in the day. Bracing but not caffeinated.”
She took another sip. Then nibbled on the corner of a cookie for good measure.
Then, like a woman in the middle of an antique market, she started talking about the treasures she found. “I’d been wanting to see this one in person forever.”
“Julia Child’s The Way to Cook.” Camille nodded. “Good choice.”
Jennifer grinned. “There’s a French onion soup in here to die for.”
“When you come back, you’ll have to tell me how it turned out.”
“I will.”
“Now, look at this one.” It was a Junior League cookbook from Birmingham, Alabama. “Isn’t it a gem? Next, I found these two baking books. And then, of course, I couldn’t resist this one,” she said, noting that it was from a recent winner of a cooking competition she’d watched on TV.
Camille stood up. “Have you seen this one from Nigella? She makes everything sound so sinful.”
Jennifer giggled, but couldn’t resist scanning the pictures with her.
And so it continued. They scanned cookbooks, talked recipes, and shared stories about their successes and epic failures. Only after a half hour went by did it occur to Jennifer that Camille was upstairs, which meant no one was watching the shop.
“Ah, Camille, I love chatting with you, but don’t you have to worry about your other customers?”
She waved a hand. “Oh, no. No one is coming in on a day like today.”
She was at a loss. “What’s special about today?”
Camille looked at her strangely. “Um, the snow?”
Jennifer stood up and walked to the windows lining the front of the store. And sure enough, it was snowing like crazy, and there had to be at least four inches of fresh powder on the ground.
Panic set in. It wasn’t that she couldn’t drive in the snow, but this was a whole new level of mess. The road was covered and the sky was so dark, it was obvious that a whole lot more was on the way.
“Oh my word. I didn’t even think. I’ve got to go.” Picking up the books she’d chosen, she faced Camille. “I need to check out, please.”
Camille got up far more slowly. “Of course. Um, honey, I just assumed that you lived close by. Is that not the case?”
“I live in Bridgeport.”
Her eyes widened. “It’s going to be a mess over in Bridgeport.”
Jennifer nodded. Bridgeport was a picturesque town, filled with rolling hills, narrow, curvy streets, and a river that flowed through the middle of the town. All of it was beautiful to look at, no matter what the season. But it was hell in the snow. Everyone knew that, which was part of the reason the sleepy town had never reached the size of the other suburbs and outlying towns of Cincinnati. “Those hills are going to be really bad,” she said softly.
“Now you have me worried, especially with you being out on your own. Is there someone you want to call?”
“There’s no need.” The only person she could call was her brother, and she knew he was going to have his hands full attempting to keep the people of Bridgeport from trying to kill themselves by driving like maniacs. “I’ll be fine.”
After she followed Camille down the stairs, she placed the books on the counter so they could be rung up. Just as she was pulling out her wallet, her phone started ringing. Though she would usually ignore it, she saw it was her brother.
And that he’d already called two other times. Boy, she really had been in her own little cookbook world!
After handing Camille her credit card, Jennifer said, “I’m sorry, I’ve got to take this. It’s my brother.”
“Of course you do,” she said as she slid the card through the reader.
“Hey, Dylan,” she said.
“Where are you?”
He never talked to her like that. Well, not since her attack. “I’m at the bookstore.”
“I’ve been calling you,” he said, sounding more irritated. “Jen, you didn’t pick up.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I got busy looking at cookbooks with Camille.”
“Who’s that?”
“She’s the manager of the shop.” She smiled at Camille, as she picked up her credit card and hastily signed the receipt.
“So you’re still there?”
“Yes. I’m paying now.”
“This is unbelievable. I can’t believe you picked today to finally conquer your fears.”
Finally? “Dylan, what is that supposed to mean?”
“It means that I took time off to go by the house and you weren’t there. It means that I’ve been calling you and you didn’t pick up. It means that now I’m going to have to drive over there to get you and take you home.”
She might have some issues, but she really wasn’t used to being babied or talked down to. “I’m not a child. You don’t need to come get me. Not ever.”
He let out a big sigh. “Jennifer, Traci and I just spent the last hour caring for a woman who slid off the road and needed an ambulance. There’s no way I’m going to let you drive by yourself home in your Nissan. It doesn’t even have snow tires.”
He was starting to scare her, not that he needed to know just how much she was affected. “I’ll go slow and I’ll be careful,” she said in a soft voice. “Don’t worry about me.”
“Jennifer.”
“Um, excuse me.”
Jennifer put her hand over her phone. “Yes, Camille?”
“I think I have a solution for you getting home.”
“Yes?”
“Jack can take you.”
“Jack?”
“Yes. He’s a great driver. And before he became a remodeling contractor, he worked in the oil fields out in South Dakota. He’s used to driving in snow.”
“Thank you, but—”
“He just lives around the corner. And I know he’s home because he called me just before I went upstairs to see you. He’ll be happy to drive you home,” she said in her sweet, comforting voice. “I know it.”
She felt frozen. Everything Camille said made sense. But was she willing to get in the car with a strange man? “I . . . I’m sorry but I can’t.”
Hurt shone in Camille
’s eyes. “Are you sure?”
Jennifer turned her back on the woman. “Dylan? Sorry, I’m back.”
“You sound different.” Worry edged into his tone. “What happened? Is everything okay?”
“Yes.” She walked a few steps away and lowered her voice. “Camille suggested that Jack could drive me because he has a big truck and used to work in South Dakota oil fields.”
“Who the hell is Jack?”
“Her son.”
“Do you even know his last name?”
“No.”
“Well, don’t you get in the car with him.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll wait for you. Sorry about this. I really don’t know what happened.”
She heard him mutter something under his breath. “I’m on my way. What’s the name of the store?”
“Backdoor Books.” Feeling Camille’s look of disappointment, she closed her eyes.
“Traci and I’ll be there within thirty. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“Now, don’t you stuff that phone in your purse, okay? Keep it someplace where you can hear it. If we get sidetracked, I want you to know what’s going on.”
“I’ll keep it handy. Thanks, Dylan.” Her voice sounded small and unsure and she hated that. “Sorry for the trouble.”
“No apologies. I’m sorry I sounded like such a jerk. See you soon,” he added before hanging up.
After pushing the button on her phone, she reluctantly turned to Camille. “My brother is a cop. He’s going to come out here to get me. He said he’d be here in about thirty minutes. I hope you don’t mind if I stay here a little longer?”
Camille’s blue eyes looked worried, but she smiled again. “Of course not, honey. You do whatever you need to do.”
“Thank you for understanding.”
“How about another cup of hot tea?”
“Thanks. That . . . well, that would be really nice.” Finally relaxing, she leaned back against her chair and looked out the window.
The snowflakes were thick and heavy, clinging to the windowsills, the branches on the nearby trees, even on top of the mailbox. If she’d been home, she would be thinking about how it was beautiful.
Then she noticed a shadow standing next to her car. She blinked, sure she was seeing things. Obviously letting her imagination get the best of her.
But then the shadow moved, and she could have sworn she’d caught a glimpse of something familiar.
A chill coursed through her as all of her worst fears burst forth. She was probably letting every fear she’d ever had take control over her.
Because there was no way any of the men who’d made her life so miserable could have already gotten out of jail and started following her.
Was there?
She was afraid to find out.
CHAPTER 11
“I’d rather learn from one bird how to sing than teach ten thousand stars how not to dance.”
—E. E. Cummings
“Do I even want to know why the sergeant didn’t even blink when you said you had to drive to Montgomery to pick up your sister?” Traci asked.
Dylan glanced her way and wished that he didn’t feel so obligated to tell his sister’s whole story. But a good partnership was all about trust, and that meant that they had to be honest with each other.
He also owed Traci, because she hadn’t once suggested that he go on his own after the sergeant said that they could go get Jennifer but to make it back as soon as possible.
“A little over two years ago, my little sister was attacked by three guys on her way to her car. They beat her up good. That was where she got the scar on her face.”
Too intent on the road—and his memories—to see Traci’s reaction, Dylan kept his eyes straight ahead. But he could feel the tension radiating from her.
“And . . . ?” she whispered.
He paused, trying to recover his composure. “And she was raped.”
She pressed a hand to her chest. “Oh my word.” After a brief pause, she said, “It was obvious that she’d been through some kind of trauma when we were at dinner, but I hate that’s what happened. I’m really sorry.”
He was too. “Jen’s a lot better, but she still has a hard time leaving the house. And I . . .” He took a deep breath. “I have a tendency to be pretty protective of her.”
“Again, I’m really sorry, Dylan.”
Her voice was filled with compassion but not pity. He appreciated that. It enabled him to be even more honest than he usually was. “Jennifer’s assault was really hard on the whole family, and that’s putting it mildly. We all circled around her and pretty much didn’t leave her side for a solid year. But her counselors encouraged us to give her space. She told us that we were only delaying her healing.”
“I’ve dealt with my fair share of rape victims, Lange. It’s all so bad—there’s no one way to overcome it. I’m sure you feel the same way.”
“Yeah.” Traci was right, but she was speaking as a cop, not a sibling.
“Jennifer sounds really strong.”
“I think so too, but if Jen was sitting right here, she would probably give you a hug for saying that. She wants to be strong. And she’s come a long way. I’m proud of her.”
“What happened to the perpetrators?”
He slowed as he took a left turn, reminding himself to keep both the vehicle and his emotions in control. “We got two of those bastards. They’ll be in prison for a while.” He didn’t need to tell her that they weren’t going to get any concessions given that they’d raped a cop’s sister.
“What about the third?”
“He was sixteen.”
“Sixteen?”
“The little brother of one of the others. Since he had only been there but didn’t actually assault her, the judge recommended he only go to juvenile detention for a year.”
“So he’s out.” Her voice was flat.
“Yeah.” He rolled his neck, hoping to alleviate some of the tension that had settled in his jaw and shoulders. “I didn’t agree, of course. My little sister was in the hospital for three days and pretty much a mess for weeks. Nightmares, wouldn’t eat. For months, my parents and I weren’t even sure she was going to be able to get over it.” He slowed and put his truck in a lower gear as he made the way down a hill toward Montgomery.
“Anyway, all that is why both she and I are the way we are.”
“And why she lives with you.”
He nodded. “When Mom and Dad decided to move full time to their condo in Florida, I asked Jennifer to move in with me.”
“That was really nice of you.”
“It wasn’t anything. I would’ve done anything. Anything to help her. But see, she is better, but she’s only just now leaving the house.”
“I bet she thought I was so rude at Paxton’s. I’m sure I was staring at her like I didn’t get it.”
“To be honest, I don’t know if she even realized. She’s usually trying so hard to get through her outings that she can’t do a whole lot besides survive.” After signaling for Traci to call in a plate they just saw on a car that looked abandoned on the side of the road, he continued. “Today was just the second time she’s ever gone someplace completely by herself and spoke to another person.”
“And she got stuck in a snowstorm. What rotten luck.”
“Yeah.” Now that he was retelling Jennifer’s story, he felt even worse about how impatient he’d sounded when he’d talked to her on the phone. She didn’t deserve that. “She drives just fine. So this ‘rescue’ we’re doing is on me. Obviously, I need to work on giving Jen more space, too.”
“I get it, though. You can’t lose her now.”
“Yep. Plus, the owner of the shop was offering to have her son drive Jennifer home. Like she would ever get in the car with a stranger, let alone l
et him see where she lived.”
“Right. Well, we’ll be there soon.”
As he pulled through another intersection, he braced himself for another round of questions or to listen to her tell him about how she would have handled things differently. But she didn’t do any of that. She remained silent.
Realizing that the tension in his jaw had lessened, he said, “You know what? A lot of people would be acting like I was ruining their whole schedule by taking care of my sis. But you are taking it in stride. I think I got pretty lucky with you.”
Sounding completely full of herself, she said, “Well, my name is Lucky.”
He groaned at her joke just as he pulled to a stop in front of the shop. “I’ll be right back.”
“Sure thing. I’ll call the sergeant and let him know that we’ll be back in town in forty.”
“Thanks.”
Approaching the shop’s front door, he opened it and looked around. To his surprise, he saw Jennifer sitting on a chair with another woman. They were sipping tea.
“Jen?”
She turned to him and opened her eyes wide. “Oh my gosh!” she called out as she jumped to her feet. “I didn’t even hear the door open.”
“No worries.”
“Sorry again that you had to come out.”
“You know I did this for me as much as you. I need to know you’re safe.”
She smiled at him, relief in her blue eyes. “Dylan, this is Camille, the owner of this bookstore. Camille, please meet my brother Dylan.”
Camille stood up. “So nice to meet you,” she said as she held out a hand right as the shop’s door opened again and a muscled guy who was easily over six feet came in.
He looked at Jennifer and smiled. “Hey, I got here in time.”
“Just in time to say hello before I left. This is my brother Dylan.”
“Hey. Jack Patterson.”
Not being shy about looking him over, Dylan shook his hand. “Dylan Lange.”
“Good to meet you.” Turning to Jennifer, Jack said, “I hope this doesn’t mean you won’t come back.”
Dylan was just about to step in and tell Jack he didn’t need to worry about his sister, when her face lit up.
Shall We Dance? Page 7
