Discovering You (10 page)

He swirled his potatoes with his fork. “I do.”

She waited until he met her gaze. “And you know how Charlie died, don't you?”

He nodded. “I looked it up on the internet.”

Of course. There was plenty of information online. Charlie had been an important part of the community, so his murder was big news, especially when the police thought
she
might've had a hand in it. “Wife Murders Husband for Money” was more salacious than a random killing. “That's why you told me about your parents?”

“Partly. Although what happened to our family isn't exactly privileged information. Ask anyone around here and they'll tell you all about it. I thought it might help you feel more comfortable to know you're not alone. Unbelievable, hurtful, humiliating shit happens to other people, too.”

“Even here.”

“Even here,” he repeated. “Did you think it would be different?”

“It certainly looks different. Anyway, I wasn't trying to be secretive about my own background,” she explained. “I just... I didn't want to drag it here with me.”

“I can see why. People love to gossip. They've gossiped about my family since I can remember.”

“You don't mind?”

“Not anymore. But it hasn't always been that way. For years, my brothers and I fought back—mostly out of pride. We were determined not to let anyone look down on us. Now I wonder why we bothered. Who cares what other people think? All that fighting was a waste of time and energy. So if what I've learned can help you...”

She leaned back to study him. When he noticed that she'd stopped eating, so did he. “Thank you,” she murmured. “It was nice of you to reach out.”

“Terrible things happen to good people, too. Maybe it's not fair, but that's the randomness of life.”

She wanted to agree—God, did she want to agree—but she couldn't allow him to chalk her misfortune up to randomness if he didn't fully understand the role she'd played in Charlie's death. She deserved more of the blame for her situation than he did for his. He'd been a child when everything went so wrong for him; he couldn't possibly have been the cause of it.

She, on the other hand...

“But you read that Charlie's murderer was...someone I once dated, right?”

His gaze never wavered. “I did, yes.”

“And you also read that
I'm
the one who let him into our lives? That
I
gave him our address?” She flinched at the crushing guilt. She wasn't entirely sure why she was presenting him with the evidence that had convicted her in the minds of so many, especially after professing her innocence to all those people for so long. She really
didn't
want to tarnish the present with the past. But she felt she was being less than honest or ducking responsibility if she kept those details to herself.

“Yes,” he said.

“And that doesn't make you wonder if I did it on purpose? If I planned my husband's death?”

“
Did
you?” he countered.

She'd thought she'd cried all the tears she was going to cry. The last thing she wanted to do was break down while she was on a date. But the damn lump in her throat swelled and her eyes burned. “No. I never dreamed Sebastian would do what he did. I was trying to
help
him.” A tear fell and she dashed it away. “He was talking crazy, telling me he hated his wife. That he couldn't stay with her. That he had no reason to live. I told him he had to get clean so he could think straight. That everything might look different to him then. And he agreed. He promised he'd rebuild his life, said his mother, who's dirt-poor herself, would let him stay with her until he could get into a good rehab if he could just get down south. That's why I gave him my address. So he could pick up the money to take a bus to Los Angeles and go into rehab. I thought nothing of it, you know? Obviously I should have, but I didn't. It never even crossed my mind that he could be dangerous, or that I should've sent the money to him some other way. He came and got it. But instead of purchasing the ticket, he spent the money on meth, came back to my house in the middle of the night and—” She cleared her throat to keep her voice from wobbling.

Rod broke in before she could force the rest out. “And betrayed your trust,” he said softly.

“Yes.” She blinked rapidly, trying to stop any other tears. “He once robbed a liquor store and was already an ex-con, so I guess I should've known I couldn't trust him.”

Rod reached across the table to take her hand. He didn't speak. His fingers just toyed with hers until she could overcome her emotions. Then he let go. “Hindsight is always 20/20,” he said. “Ignore anyone who doesn't believe you. You
will
get past what happened. Eventually.”

Encouraged, she nodded. “I hate to bring this up, since we've agreed to forget about it and I'm still embarrassed, but...I'm glad you turned me down Friday night.”

His fork froze on its way to his mouth. “Because...”

She picked up her water glass. “Because I underestimated you so badly. You're worth far more as a friend than a quick lay.”

He seemed to carefully consider her words. Then, after a brief pause, he gave a little shrug. “I guess
friends
will be a good place to start.”

“To
start
?” she echoed.

“I'm going to want to sleep with you eventually,” he said, and when he didn't so much as crack a smile, she knew it wasn't a joke.

9

T
he more India relaxed, the more Rod enjoyed being with her. He'd thought she might be so overwhelmed by what she was going through that she wouldn't be able to forget it long enough to have any fun. But by the time they finished dinner, she seemed happy with the distraction he brought to her life. In any case, she didn't mention her late husband again. She talked about her shop and what she hoped to accomplish there, even showed him pictures of various pieces she'd made and asked his opinion on which ones he felt would be the most popular.

He could see that she was talented, which gave him a measure of relief. She wouldn't have a snowball's chance in hell of being successful if she wasn't good. It was going to be tough as it was. There were a lot of artisans in Gold Country, but only the best stayed in business.

She also showed him pictures of her little girl. Cassia wasn't the refined beauty her mother was, but she was definitely cute, with bright orange hair and a smattering of freckles across her nose.

India didn't just talk about herself. She acted interested in his life, too. She asked questions about his family. They weren't intrusive ones, though. Since he didn't like talking about his mother, he was grateful she didn't go back to that subject. She mostly wanted to know what his brothers were like and had him show her a picture of Aaron and Dylan, whom she hadn't met, as well as Natasha.

“She's beautiful,” India said as she gazed down at his stepsister's image on his phone. They'd left the restaurant in Jackson and returned to Whiskey Creek for dessert—to the ice cream parlor. He wanted to get India circulating around town so she'd have an easier time adjusting to the move. Since there wasn't much employment in Whiskey Creek, it was great that she didn't need a job. But working out of her house kept her isolated and alone with her problems. He didn't think that would be good for her. He'd seen the worry in her face start to disappear as they talked and laughed and enjoyed their food. As far as he was concerned, she should get out more often.

“Natasha
is
pretty,” he said. “But she's sort of...like me and my brothers, I guess.”

India paused before taking another spoonful of her mocha almond fudge sundae. “Meaning...”

“She's had a rough past, and sometimes it shows.”

“You're talking about the tattoos and the piercings?”

“I'm talking about her behavior. She often pushes away the very things she needs, tells the people she cares about most to go to hell. Stuff like that. But anyone would be screwed up after being raised by Anya.” He thought of Natasha's salty language, which was worse than anyone else's in the family. “She's got a chip on her shoulder. She's also opinionated, thinks she can take on the whole world by herself.”

“What's that about?”

“It's all bluster. She's lonely and trying to make sure no one knows it. She's also angry, which means she's her own worst enemy. I understand that because I spent so many years being angry myself. You can get into deep trouble if you can't admit when you really want something or need someone.”

India wiped her mouth with one of the small paper napkins they'd been handed with their ice cream. “The way you guys have taken her in and looked out for her is wonderful.”

Rod thought of his concern for Mack and the fact that he suspected his youngest brother's feelings weren't quite as brotherly as they should be, but he didn't say anything. The last thing he'd ever do was make one of his brothers look bad. “Like I told you at dinner, she'll be heading to college next fall—to Utah—so our job is essentially done.”

India straightened in her seat. “I'm glad you were willing to take responsibility for her. I bet it changed her whole life. But what you just said almost sounds like you're booting her out of the family.”

“No, not at all,” he responded, backing away from the finality with which he'd spoken a moment earlier. “The situation will change. That's all.” He hoped it would change for the better—that she'd find a boyfriend and put his misgivings to rest. She hadn't had a single steady relationship in Whiskey Creek, rejected all romantic attention. Rod feared that her heart was set on Mack, but
surely
she'd forget him once she went to college and met so many other possibilities. Men she could date without the negative sentiment that would arise if she and Mack got together, especially in such a small town...

“You mean she's growing up,” India clarified.

He took the out she'd given him, even though he'd actually meant more than that. “Right.”

Since he'd finished his own ice cream and she was eating so slowly, he helped himself to some of hers.

She slid it closer—an invitation to take all he wanted.

“I have a question for you,” he said.

“What's it about?”

“Sebastian.”

She grimaced as if she didn't like hearing his name. “I thought we were done talking about him.”

“I need to know a couple more things.”

“Such as...”

“I couldn't find anything online about the date of his next trial.”

“Because there isn't going to be another trial,” she said. “I heard the news myself yesterday. The DA's afraid he won't have any better luck with a new jury. He's decided to wait and see if the police can dig up more evidence.”

This was not good news, but Rod had been halfway expecting it. “How do
you
feel about that?”

Her eyes grew troubled again, the way they'd been at the restaurant when they were discussing her situation. “How do you think I feel? They've released him. He's out, God knows where.”

He had another spoonful of her ice cream. “Are you afraid he might come
here
?”

“Of course. What's to stop him?”

“And yet you're acting as if nothing's changed.”

“What else can I do? Quit living my life? Barricade myself in my house? Move again?” She frowned. “I might
have
to move again. I can't bring Cassia to a place where she might not be safe. But trying to sell the house and find somewhere else to go... It's not something I'm looking forward to.”

“I'm just surprised you haven't said anything about it. We've been talking all night, and you haven't mentioned a word.”

“You've had enough of your own problems. I figure you don't need to hear about mine.”

But
someone
had to help her. She had a child to protect, couldn't stand up to the man who killed her husband all by herself. “The cops can't do anything?”

“No one can do anything. That's the problem.”

“So what are the chances?”

“That he'll come here? I have no clue what's going on in his mind, if he's glad to be free and plans to stay out of trouble, or if he's angry and will take the opportunity to exact a bit of revenge. I lied to him that night. I had to. I did whatever I could to protect my child. And then I testified against him, so he knows I lied. The only thing I can be sure of is that he hates me now.”

“You didn't leave a forwarding address when you left the Bay...”

“I did. My mail had to go somewhere, but for the time being it goes to a PO box.”

“Does he have contact with anyone who might tell him where you've moved?” Because once he heard the name of the town, it wouldn't be hard to find her.

“Not really. But he could ask around. When I bought my house, the trial was still going on, and I was sure he'd be incarcerated for the rest of his life. I
saw
him shoot my husband. I couldn't believe he'd get off after that. So I wasn't as careful as I should've been.”

“Meaning...your friends know.”

“The ones who didn't abandon me before I decided where I was going to move. Then there's Cassia's day-care lady, and a neighbor or two, as well as a handful of other people I might've said something to without realizing it.”

Rod felt anxious for her. “Now I know why you're not sleeping.”

“I wasn't sleeping even when he was in jail. I have...nightmares about...about what happened. Sometimes I wake up in a cold sweat, convinced that he's standing at the foot of my bed, watching me. My sense of security is completely shot—to use a bad pun. But knowing he's out there, free to go where he will, only makes it worse.”

And yet...what was that she'd told him when he picked her up? “But didn't you say you were
actually
able to sleep last night? Did exhaustion get the best of you, or...?”

A guilty smile curved her lips.

“What is it?” he asked when she didn't reveal what she was thinking.

“Last night I had a little help.”

“So you did take a sleeping pill.”

“No. I slept on your deck.”

He sat up straighter. “You...
what
?”

She rolled her eyes. “I know. It's pathetic to go creeping over to your neighbor's house. But it was the safest place I could think of, and I needed to crash so badly.”

“You should've knocked. I would've shared the bed.”

“After hitting on you Friday night for... Well, I wasn't about to knock,” she said with a laugh. “Besides, I don't want to drag you or anyone else into this. One person's already been killed simply for being part of my life.”

“Sometimes bullies throw their weight around until someone stops them.”

“
This
bully is a murderer. You don't want to mess with him.”

He scraped the bottom of the bowl, then pushed it aside. “What was he like before? When you were dating him?”

“He wasn't perfect, by any means. But he was never particularly violent.”

The way she qualified that statement concerned Rod. “Particularly?”

“We had a few minor skirmishes,” she allowed, “but nothing big, nothing that would lead me to believe he could seriously harm anyone.”

“What made you date a guy like that in the first place? Or a Hell's Angel, for crying out loud? I can't see a girl like you being attracted to those kinds of guys.”

“Wow, you really did your homework.”

“I was interested.” He was
still
interested, maybe even more so. There was something about her that got to him, made him want to protect her.

“You and everyone else since Charlie died. I feel like my past's been put on display for everyone to criticize.”

“
I
was looking for reasons to believe you.”

She smiled. “That feels good. It's why I'm talking about this at all, why I'm trusting you after shutting everyone else out. But I can't explain why I was attracted to bad boys. I was young and reckless, and they were...exciting.”

“You can't tell me you thought they'd make decent husbands...”

“In those days, I wasn't looking for a husband. I wasn't thinking in terms of what would be best for my life.”

“You were more interested in hot sex.”

“Could be,” she said wryly. “But it was more than that.
Every
emotion was exaggerated. Life in the fast lane can be sort of...addicting.”

He leaned back in his chair. “Are you saying life—maybe sex—with a man like Charlie wasn't quite the same?”

She looked pained, as if she preferred not to answer that question. Her reluctance, as much as anything else, told him she'd had no hand in Charlie's murder. She couldn't say a bad thing about the guy. She'd have to be able to disconnect from that in order to
kill
him or even want him dead. “No, of course not. It was good. Just...different.”

“Better?”
he pushed. Something had been missing. What was it?

“In all the ways that're important.”

She sounded slightly defensive, so he took it one step further. “But not in other ways, like maybe...you weren't as sexually compatible as you'd hoped?”

Suddenly defiant, she lifted her chin. “I loved him, so that didn't matter.”

“It'd matter to me,” he said point-blank.

Her eyes met his, revealing in their intensity. She felt something for him, if only that old attraction to men she thought weren't good for her. Rod almost called her on it, but then she looked away and seemed to stifle what she was feeling—as if that, too, was disloyal.

“I think what I'd been searching for before was all-consuming passion,” she said. “But I've realized those types of relationships don't last, except in books and movies. What I had with Charlie was a solid marriage, especially when you compare it to all the dysfunctional, volatile relationships I'd had before. He gave me consistency, dependability, unconditional love, and he was such a wonderful father.”

Rod had pushed her too far. Instead of acknowledging that despite her love for her dead husband, she was feeling the spark of attraction right here, right now, with him, she was singing Charlie's praises. To stop her from becoming any more entrenched in the defense of her marriage, he backed off. He'd learned what he needed to know. For all the great things Charlie was, he hadn't fulfilled India completely, not in a deep-down, intimate way.

Maybe Rod couldn't fulfill her, either, but he wanted to try. He supposed that said a lot about the level of his attraction—that he'd choose to continue their relationship knowing she had a homicidal ex. “What would a
minor skirmish
with Sebastian include?”

She seemed to relax, definitely didn't feel the same impulse to defend Sebastian that she'd felt for Charlie. “An angry shove here or there. A raised fist. But until that night, he never struck me.”

Rod felt his muscles tense. “He
hit
you?”

“Not as hard as I wish he had,” she muttered.

How was he supposed to interpret
that
?