by Nora Roberts
Good didn’t always win, right didn’t always triumph—he’d been a cop long enough to know. So when it did, you fricking embraced it.
He rounded the turn for the lake house, pulled into Emily’s drive just as she climbed out of her truck.
Even his timing was happy.
She wore jeans with holes worn through both knees, a T-shirt the same cheerful color as the sky. And that orange hoodie she’d put on Britt in the stairwell of the hospital a year before.
He’d heard Emily call it her lucky hoodie.
Her hair streamed, dark as midnight, out of the back opening of a fielder’s cap.
He thought, with a quick jump of pleasure, she looked downright amazing.
She pulled off sunglasses, stood watching him get out of the car. Studying his face.
“It’s good news. I can see it.” Still she lifted a hand, rubbed the heel between her breasts. “But say it fast anyway, like you would bad news.”
“Fifteen to twenty. He’s being transported to Central Prison in Raleigh.”
After bracing a hand on the side of the truck, she let out a long, wavering breath, held up her other hand. “I need a minute.”
Taking it, she walked away from the truck, toward the lake. Hugging her arms in, she looked out over the water, that mirror blue. She felt the breeze, the warm balm of it blow light across her face. And breathed out again when she felt him walk up to stand behind her.
“I was going to come in for the sentencing hearing this morning, even though you said not to. I didn’t want to see him again, told myself seeing his face when the jury brought back the guilty verdicts was enough. And still, when the kids left for school, I started to get dressed to come in.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Lanny—head housekeeper—couldn’t make it in. Her kid’s sick. My backup couldn’t make it in. Emergency root canal. Lois—you know Lois—emergency backup to the backup, had another cleaning job. We had two turnovers, the daily cleaning—and yay, we’re full. Marcie couldn’t handle it on her own, so…”
She let out a steadier breath, reached back until he took her hand, stepped beside her. “I took it as a sign I just wasn’t supposed to go in, look at him one last time while the judge gave him his sentence. I even stopped thinking about it once I started scrubbing down bathrooms, changing bed linens.”
She nodded, still looking out at the water.
“Twenty years,” she murmured. “The kids will be practically as old as I am. Parole?”
“He does a minimum of fifteen. He won’t get parole easy, Emily, and not likely on the first couple tries. Put that away,” Lee advised. “He’s locked up, where he belongs. The kids are safe.”
“You’re right, and I can tell them that when they get home. Couple hours. A little more,” she added with a glance at her watch. “Do you have to go back to Asheville?”
“Not today.”
“It’s barely one in the afternoon, but … screw it. Let’s have a beer anyway.”
He went in with her. He liked the ramble of the house, and the fact it was never quite all the way tidied up. It held a lot of light and life. Throw pillows jumbled because somebody’d settled on the couch. A stray pair of shoes—Britt’s, he identified.
Back in the kitchen, what was left of a bowl of fruit—not much—a vase of daffodils—fading already—a jacket tossed over a chair, the coffeepot holding the dregs from the morning.
“I might still have some chips left. Pretzels or something.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
After pulling off her cap—and her hair, all that midnight, seemed to float up, then spill down—she tossed it and her sunglasses on the counter.
“I need to run to the store again. My God, those kids can eat. I’m still not used to it.” She pulled a pair of Heinekens from the refrigerator, popped the tops. “It’s been a hell of a year, Detective Lee Keller. One hell of a year.”
She angled her head after they tapped bottles. “There’s something else.” She wagged a finger before he could deny it. “A hell of a year,” she repeated. “Too many ups and downs to count, and you’ve been here for us, Lee, thick, thin, and otherwise. I’ve gotten to know you—even that cop face. Don’t hold it back. I need to know if—”
“It’s nothing to do with the Bigelows.”
“Okay. Good. Why don’t we take these out to the front porch, enjoy the view while you tell me what it is to do with. There’s pretty much nothing I haven’t dumped on you over this hell of a year. Your turn.”
“Actually, yeah. I’d like to run it by you.”
They settled on the porch in a couple of chairs she kept meaning to sand and repaint one day. The breeze sent the wind chimes Britt had given her for her birthday singing. The lawn Zane had mowed for her that Saturday smelled green and fresh.
“It’s a good place, Emily. It’s a good home you’ve made here.”
“I hope so. I—”
“You don’t have to hope. I’ve watched you and the kids over this hell of a year, seen them change, relax little by little. Lose that victim look in the eyes. It’s been hard, with the trial, with having to deal with it.”
“Counseling helped. It’s still helping.”
“You’ve done everything right, given them a safe place, and one that shows them what a home’s supposed to be.”
“I didn’t do it alone, that’s for sure. My parents, God, they’re like oaks. To say this hasn’t been easy for them is the understatement of all understatements. She’s their daughter, too, Lee. Eliza’s their child. But they stood up. My mama…”
Emily closed her eyes, shook her head. “She only once broke down, and that was when it was just the two of us.”
“You come by your spine and your heart naturally. ‘Oaks,’ that’s a good term for it. Walkers are oaks with good, strong roots.”
“Well, I believe it. Zane and Britt are going through with having their name legally changed. They want Walker, so that’s what they’ll have.”
“I think that’s the right thing, all around.”
“So do I. You know, Lee, friends, neighbors, they stood up, too, stood up, stood by us. We couldn’t have stayed in Lakeview otherwise.”
“It’s a good place, Emily.”
“It is.”
And she knew she’d be forever grateful to look out at the lake, look out to the hills, and know that.
“The Carter family—the kids especially needed them. I needed them. They’re always there. And you, Lee.”
She laid her hand over his. “Especially you. I swear, I don’t know what we’d’ve done without you. I’m glad we don’t have to know. Now.” Putting on a smile, she shifted to face him. “You tell me what’s on your mind, so I can do a little payback.”
“Okay. I had a meeting with Chief Bost. I’ve had a few actually, but we met again today after the sentencing. Bost, me, and a few others.”
That smile began to fade. “You said it wasn’t about Graham.”
“It’s not, or I guess you could call it a by-product. Bost is turning in his papers.”
“His papers?”
“He’s stepping down,” Lee explained. “Resigning. He wanted to see this through, and now it’s through. He and his family are moving to Wilmington once the school year’s done. It’s the right thing for him.”
She rocked a bit, as if her whole body nodded. “That’s good, from where I sit. I’ve harbored some hard feelings there. He came out, apologized to Zane, to all of us, face-to-face. But I’ve had hard feelings I couldn’t let go of. I’m not going to be sorry Zane doesn’t have to see him around.”
“The position’s coming open. They offered it to me.”
“You?” She scooted around fully, smiling as she stared at him. “Well, that’s a big surprise on a spring day. I don’t mean to say we wouldn’t be lucky to have you, but that’s a serious sort of change for you. You’re a city detective, major crimes. Would you want to be a High Country police chief?”
/> “Depends.” Clearing his throat, he shifted a little. “I like the town, the people. Like I said, it’s a good place. Might be I’m ready for a change. I don’t want to put any pressure on you about that, or anything.”
“On me?”
“It’s just…” He needed a good pull on his beer. “I’ve got a little time to think about it, figure if it’s best all around. Or not. If it’d be awkward.”
She wondered if she’d ever seen him look nervous, and couldn’t bring one instance to mind. “I’m just not following you.”
“Because I’m not doing this right. Let’s back up. Do you want to have dinner?”
“Sure. I just have to make that run to the store.…” She trailed off when she saw the slightest wince. “You mean like a date? You and me? I have to put down my beer.”
She set the bottle down, pushed up, walked to the edge of the porch.
“I didn’t mean … we can all go.”
She turned back. Not only nervous, she realized, but at the moment he looked downright embarrassed.
Wasn’t that the sweetest thing?
“You did mean, and I’m what Britt calls processing that. A year, Lee, just a few weeks shy of a year since Britt and I walked up to you outside the police station, and you’ve never made a move. Not even a little sneaky step.”
“Of course I didn’t. I wasn’t going to muck up the case, the trial, you, or the kids with hitting on you, for God’s sake.”
“But you wanted to.”
“I…” He drank more beer. “Well, yeah. Am I blind, deaf, stupid? You’re beautiful, you’ve got brains. You’re the strongest woman I’ve ever met, and you come with the biggest heart in the damn world to my mind.”
She leaned back against the post as she felt places inside her she’d resigned to staying empty start to fill again.
And all sort of warm and trembly.
“I never got that read off you, Detective Lee Keller, not even once.”
“You had enough to think about, to deal with. And the kids. The last thing they needed was somebody moving on their aunt when they needed her to steady their world.”
“I owe you so much.”
He set down his beer, a little harder than he intended, and pushed to his feet. “That’s just what I don’t want in this, just where we’re not going. I’m not going to have you feel obligated to give me a shot. I’m not settling for that, and neither should you.”
“You’re absolutely right. Absolutely right about that.”
“We got to be friends, and that’s fine. If you’re not interested in—”
She grabbed him by the tie, yanked him to her, and shut him up.
Just right, she thought. Oh God, just right.
When she moved her hand from his tie to his face, she smiled at him. “You’re a detective. What do you deduce about my interest?”
“Seems piqued.”
With a laugh, she wrapped around him. “I’ve thought about you, thought about this. Don’t be needy, Emily, don’t push in just because he’s just right. So I didn’t make a move either.”
He pressed her back against the post so he could kiss her again, and fall into the kiss, the give of her body.
“So, that’s a yes about dinner?”
“I’ll cook tonight, you’ll stay. The kids will need that when we tell them about Graham. Now, Saturday night, I’d like a genuine date.”
“You’ve got it.” He closed his eyes, held her. “I was afraid you’d start seeing someone else before this was done.”
“Me, too—about you.” Drawing back, she took him by the tie again. “Come on with me.”
“I—now? Right now?” he said as she pulled him to the door, and through.
“Kids won’t be home for some time. Instead of going to the store, we’ll just make do with what we’ve got in the pantry. It’s time, Detective Lee Keller, we both made our moves.”
“Better make that Chief Keller,” he told her, as they started upstairs. “I’m taking the job.”
He not only took the job, but by June he moved into the house on the lake. In a few months, with the mountains flaming with fall, the lake shimmering under in the sunlight, they married.
* * *
When Zane entered his senior year in Lakeview High, he went as Zane Walker. It didn’t erase all the years of Bigelow, but it made him feel better about himself.
He kept his grades up, his room tidy—both out of habit and a fear that would linger for years. He hung with Micah, worked out with Dave, teased his sister.
He did his chores, helped out with the family business, thought about girls.
He went to counseling.
If he sometimes woke in a cold sweat, he could get up, go to the window. And remind himself what side of the lake he lived on now. He could remember there was no one just down the hall who’d storm in, use fists on him.
All that was over.
So was his most cherished dream.
Zane Walker would never play professional baseball. Scouts would not come calling. He could play pickup games, town leagues if he wanted. But his arm was no longer a rocket, and never would be again.
More than his elbow had shattered the night he’d fallen down the stairs. His dreams, every one that really mattered, shattered with it.
He hadn’t given them up, not right away. He’d dealt with the surgery, the recovery time, the physical therapy. When Dr. Marshall gave him the go-ahead, he started lifting again.
He built back the muscles, but he couldn’t build back the full range of motion. Not what was needed to wing a ball from the hole to first, not in the majors.
Not even, he had to accept, in college ball.
All he’d ever wanted, for as long as he could remember—the one thing he was really good at and loved right down to his bones—poof. Over.
He’d even broken down in therapy over it—embarrassing. But Dr. Demar had understood, or seemed to. He didn’t have to just get over it, like boom, oh well. He was allowed to be sad, to be angry.
Since he was both already, he didn’t need permission. But it helped to have it. It helped that Emily didn’t nag at him to stop sulking or bitching. And Dave let him sweat it out, or vent. And Lee—who knew Lee and Emily would, you know. Lee dug on baseball almost as much as Zane, could talk statistics, had a pretty good arm himself. He’d played right field with the cops back in Asheville.
He moved through it, though he often stretched out on his bed with a ball in his hand, rubbing the stitching.
He knew he needed a new plan, but it was hard to see past the shards of his dream. Still, he had to consider his options because college loomed.
Where it once represented freedom, college now stood vague and cloudy—a path cloaked in shadows, riddled with pits.
Medicine, never. Even though he admired Dave and his work as an EMT, he’d never go near being a doctor.
His grades would help him get into a good school. Maybe part of pushing himself there came from residual fear, but good, solid grades helped. When he thought about it, he guessed he liked his lit and history classes best. But where did that get him?
He didn’t want to teach. Serious gak on that. He could write okay, but didn’t want to try to go there either.
Military? No way. He already felt he’d lived his life regimented, under orders, in fricking uniform.
His thumb and fingers stroked the stitching on the ball, slowly caressing the waxed red thread.
He thought being a cop might be cool. Lee was cool, and he’d like, a lot, putting bad guys away. Without Lee, who knew if Graham would be behind bars? He wanted to put people like Graham behind bars.
So … maybe.
He started reading books about criminal justice and law and how it all worked. He had a lot of firsthand experience on that, too. The more he read, the more he thought while stretched out on his bed rubbing the stitching on his baseball, the more he began to see a path—not so shadowed and pitted.
Not just a path, he dec
ided. A purpose.
He spent a lot of time working out the best way to hike the path, to reach the goal. He wanted a map of the twists, turns, potential pitfalls before he talked about it.
Talking about it made it real. If he made this his hope—no more dreams, but hope he could maybe handle. But if that cracked, he didn’t know what the hell he’d do.
He took a chance, gathered up that hope, and walked downstairs. Britt had some after-school deal, and Lee would pick her up at the end of his shift. So for now, it was just Emily, and that’s where he wanted to start.
She had something simmering on the stove that smelled like comfort on a cool rainy night. While its warmth drenched the air and that rain pattered outside, she sat at the counter with her laptop.
She looked so happy. Happy just shined over her like light. That was Lee, he supposed, because they fit together like they’d always been. He didn’t know what to make of it, exactly. His parents had fit—rough, jagged, shiny pieces all dark and gritty underneath. But his aunt and Lee? That fit smooth and easy so the whole house worked like the stew on the stove. A comfort.
He’d owe them both for the rest of his life.
She looked up when he came all the way in, that happy all over her. Even as she beamed a smile at him, she flushed a little, closed the laptop in a way he recognized.
Secrets.
“Hey, pal, how’s it going?”
“Okay. That smells really good.”
“Chicken stew. Gonna make some dumplings to top it off. I had a yen.”
“Do you need some help?”
“Not yet, but maybe at dumpling time. Something’s on your mind. Sit down, let me have it.”
He knew she meant it, knew she really wanted to know, knew she’d listen. And still nerves jittered up his back.
“Well, okay. Here’s the thing.” He sat, shifted, forgot his pitch altogether. “I’ve been thinking about college.”
Was it relief he saw rush over her face; support he felt when her hand covered his and squeezed?
“That’s good, Zane. What are you thinking?”
“My grades are good.”
“They’re several degrees up from good. They’re stellar.” When he hesitated, she gave his hand another squeeze. “Let’s just put this out there. I know, I really know, how hard it is for you to lose the dream of playing pro ball. The doctor said you could try college ball, so—”
