Discovering You (8 page)

When he finally heard her, he looked over.

“You don't have to do this,” she shouted above the noise. “It's getting a little overgrown, but I plan to buy a mower on Monday. I'll take care of it then.”

“No big deal,” he said. “Won't take long.”

He seemed more than capable in spite of his broken hand. And here in Whiskey Creek, neighbors probably did that type of thing for each other. But receiving even a small amount of kindness on the heels of that call with her in-laws brought a lump to India's throat.

“Thank you,” she said and turned away before he could see the tears in her eyes.

* * *

That night, Cheyenne brought over some lasagna and garlic bread. While Natasha helped her serve dinner, Rod and his brothers tossed Kellan around, making him laugh and squeal. Cheyenne complained that they were getting him too riled up, but Rod could tell she liked the attention they paid him. Kellan certainly enjoyed the roughhousing.

“More,” he'd say whenever they stopped. It was about the only word he knew, besides
Mama
and
Dada
.

J.T. and Anya either heard the noise or smelled the food, because they entered the kitchen just as Cheyenne asked about their new neighbor.

“She's all moved in,” Grady told her.

“I'd love to see the inside of the house now that it's been renovated,” Cheyenne said, interested because she used to live there before she married Dylan.

“I bet she'd show you.” Mack handed out forks. Rarely were their meals formal occasions, with someone setting the table beforehand. They ate whenever they were hungry and fended for themselves or ordered out. Heaven forbid Anya would ever go to the trouble of cooking or doing the dishes, even though she didn't work.

“You
should
stop by,” Grady said. “And get her number for me while you're there. She's freaking gorgeous.”

Cheyenne glanced up. “She's single?”

“Not sure yet,” Mack said. “She's wearing a wedding ring, but her husband hasn't shown up. So...maybe he works out of the state or country.”

“He's dead,” Rod announced.

Everyone looked at him.

“She told you that?” Mack asked.

“When she gave me a ride home last night.” Rod felt this would be the natural time to reveal that he'd be taking India to dinner tomorrow night. He'd heard Grady's little joke about getting her number and didn't want him or Mack to go on thinking she was fair game. But he didn't speak up. He wasn't sure his relationship with her would go anywhere and decided he'd wait and see how they got along before telling anyone. His brothers could be merciless; he wasn't going to provide them with fresh ammunition.

“Why'd she give you a ride home?” Cheyenne asked. “Where was your truck?”

“She came across me after the fight, when I was trying to get help.”

“What was she doing out there so late at night? Was she at the bar, too?”

“No. She was on her way back from some art show.”

“Oh,
art
,” Grady said.

“Something wrong with that?” Rod asked.

Grady gave him a funny look. “Of course not. I'm just messin' around. When did her husband die?”

“About a year ago.”

“So she's available,” Mack said, and Rod felt himself stiffen—almost as much as Natasha did.

“She's too old for you, bro.”

“But not for
you
.” Anya smiled like the Cheshire cat. “Is that why you mowed her lawn today?”

Rod hadn't realized his stepmother had seen him. She usually stayed in her room all day, playing on the computer or watching TV. “Not necessarily. She doesn't have a mower yet, so I figured I might as well do hers while I was doing ours.”

“And did she show you any appreciation?” J.T. joked, sending him a meaningful grin.

Rod didn't care for the way his father talked about women since he'd been released from prison. “She thanked me, if that's what you mean.”

“Is she nice?” Cheyenne asked.

“Seems like it,” he said.

Cheyenne took a bottle of salad dressing out of the box she'd used to transport all the food. “I'd like to meet her sometime.”

Grady sat down and dug into his meal before the rest of them could get a plate. “Why not tonight?”

Without Mack's even asking, Natasha added a second piece of garlic bread to his plate, and Rod pretended he didn't notice that whatever Mack received from Natasha was always the biggest and the best.

“Dyl's getting home soon,” Cheyenne replied. “So I should head out.”

“Have him join us,” J.T said. “He hardly ever comes over these days.”

Rod suspected Anya's presence had a great deal to do with that. Dylan liked her even less than the rest of them did.

“Can't,” she said. “He has a baseball game.”

“We should go watch him play,” Anya suggested, but no one chimed in to encourage her.

Rod put Kellan down to accept his plate. “Thanks.” Since he wanted to speak to Cheyenne in private before she left, he hoped she wasn't going to rush off.

“How's your hand?” She nodded toward his cast.

“Throbbing like crazy,” he admitted.

“I made that apple crisp you like for dessert.” She winked. “Maybe that'll help ease the pain.”

He leaned over to drop a kiss on her forehead. “Dylan got lucky the day he married you.”

“That's what I keep telling him,” she teased.

“Will Aaron be at the game, too?” Mack asked.

“Should be,” she told them. “Dyl talked him into joining the team.”

Mack got up to get a beer and grabbed one for Rod, too. “Want to go over to the park?” he murmured so Anya and the others couldn't hear.

Normally, Rod would've enjoyed seeing the game. But after being up so late, and everything he'd dealt with today, he was ready for bed. “Not tonight.”

Cheyenne put the dessert on the counter and started cleaning the spatula and serving spoons. “I'll leave the rest of this here,” she said, indicating the leftover salad, lasagna and bread. “Just remember to take the dishes to Dylan tomorrow so he can bring them home.”

“I will,” Rod said.

She swung her son into her arms. “I'd better get going. I want to make sure Dyl has a chance to eat before he has to show up at the field.”

Rod wasn't finished with his supper, but he stood. “I'll walk you out,” he said so the others wouldn't find it odd when he left the kitchen after only a few bites.

He caught up with his sister-in-law at the front door. “Before you go, could you do me a favor?”

She turned in surprise. “Of course.”

“Will you take a second to come up and look in my closet?”

“What for?” she asked.

He lowered his voice to make sure no one else could hear. Fortunately, they were all so busy eating, he didn't think anyone was paying attention. “I have a date tomorrow.”

“And you want me to tell you what to wear? This girl must be special,” she said. “You've never asked for my help with that kind of thing before.”

He'd never felt so out of his element before. “She's...different.”

“Special,” she confirmed with a grin. “Do I know her?”

He scratched his neck. “It's our new neighbor.”

“Oh!” Her smile widened. “Why didn't you speak up a second ago?”

“It's one date,” he said with a shrug.

“But you'd like to impress her.” She wasn't buying his nonchalance.

“I need to dress up a little, that's all,” he said. “Her husband—the man who passed away—was a heart surgeon.”

“I see,” she responded. “So we're going for sophisticated and respectable.”

At least Cheyenne seemed to be catching on to what he needed. “Yeah. That sounds good.”

She put down her son and linked her arm through Rod's. “I have no doubt you'll clean up nicely. Let's go take a look.”

7

I
ndia sat in her quiet living room with a cup of tea. She'd thought some chamomile might help her relax, but it didn't seem to be working. She was wide-awake and anxious, and looking at another long night. She wished she could read a book or watch TV. But ever since Detective Flores had told her about Sebastian, she'd been checking and double-checking her doors and windows. She wanted to believe he'd had enough trouble. That he'd slink off without bothering her again, maybe even leave the area before the police could find the additional evidence she was hoping for. Most men in his situation would flee if they had the chance, wouldn't they?

But she couldn't assume anything when it came to Sebastian. If he didn't care about taking Charlie's life, or even his own—and she knew from the way he'd been talking that he didn't—he certainly wouldn't care about taking hers.

Then Cassia really would be an orphan...

The report of the gun the night Charlie was shot seemed to echo in her head and she saw, again, how her husband had gasped and clutched his chest when the bullet struck him. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to avoid those memories, but she was too tired to fight them. The most gruesome images bombarded her repeatedly, as well as the worst of what'd come after—when Sebastian had forced her to tell him she still loved him, that she'd marry him and do...other things. That was the only way she could convince him not to harm Cassia. She'd never admitted to the rape. She wasn't even sure she could call it rape, since she hadn't refused. She'd used her body and everything else she'd needed to in order to save her child.

Maybe that was why so many people suspected her of lying. In a sense, she was. She was holding back some of the worst and, arguably, more important details. But she couldn't admit to the methods she'd employed to stall, reassure and distract Sebastian. She feared—
knew
—that there'd be people who would claim she'd enjoyed it and wasn't choking back vomit every second she let him touch her.

I'll always love you.
Sebastian had told her that. Her skin still crawled when she remembered his hands on her face, forcing her to look up at him as he said it. He didn't know what love was. He couldn't, not if he could murder her husband, threaten her daughter and wave a gun in her face. He'd also let his defense attorney blame
her
for Charlie's death. Larry Forgash, attorney-at-law, had said she must've hired a killer and was now using Sebastian as the scapegoat. He'd pointed to a series of cash withdrawals from her own checking account, which was separate from Charlie's, since she'd had it before they were married, to suggest how she might've paid that person, but the cash withdrawals had only added up to about $3,300 over the course of two months.

Fortunately, his defense precluded him from telling anyone they'd had sex after Charlie died. Since the police had no forensic evidence, nothing except her testimony to say he was even there, he'd had his wife claim he was with her the entire night.

India shuddered as the old revulsion welled up, so strong it made her nauseous.
Forget
, she ordered herself. Like the river outside, life would wend its way along and someday she'd be able to put it behind her. But she doubted that would be possible unless she could forgive herself. And how could she ever do that? Her shame at having acted as if she wanted Sebastian, as if she'd enjoyed being with him, was too great.

A gentle wind stirred the chimes on her porch. She'd made them herself, planned to carry a wide assortment in her studio, but that tinkle sounded far less cheerful than usual. She missed Cassia, wished she could go and lie down next to her daughter instead of having to worry that, when the time came, her in-laws would conjure up an excuse to try to keep her longer, if not indefinitely.

Actually, they wouldn't have to
conjure
up an excuse. They had a great one, considering what they'd learned today.

India stared down at her phone. She'd received a call from Ellie Cox at dinnertime and ignored it. Ellie was the wife of Charlie's best friend. They'd been close over the past three years, ever since Ellie and Mitchell had moved into her and Charlie's neighborhood. But, like the Sommerses, Ellie and Mitchell now treated her with coolness. It was humiliating to have her friends turn on her, and yet the loss of her relationship with Ellie wasn't what concerned India about her message.

India hit the play button on her voice mail, even though she'd already listened to it several times.

India, it's me, Ellie. Give me a call when you can. I've been thinking about you, wondering how you're doing. I'm sorry it's been so long, but...we've been busy with Tyler's baseball season. You know how that goes.

She did know, since she'd sat through many of his games, keeping Ellie company. Ellie could easily have stepped away to place a call or, at the very least, send a text message.

But that wasn't what worried her.

We have games almost every night this month, what with his regular team and his competitive team going at the same time. Anyway, someone at the park told me you'd moved to Whiskey Creek. Is that true? I knew you were looking for a house, but I don't remember hearing that you'd found one.

There it was.
Someone
at the ballpark had told Ellie that India had moved to Whiskey Creek. Who? Were her old acquaintances still talking about her? Did they know where she'd gone? India hadn't told a lot of people where she planned to move, but neither had she kept it as secret as she now wished she had.

How easy would it be for Sebastian to find her?

She was just wondering if she should've gotten a new number, when the soft thud of a car door almost made her spill her tea. Ready to call for help should she need to, she gripped her cell in one hand, set her cup aside and crept into the living room to peer through the wooden shutters.

Nearly one in the morning was late for visitors, even on a Saturday.

It'd been after one when Sebastian broke into her house the last time...

Praying that the sound had come from next door and wasn't as close as it seemed, she studied the dark landscape, her driveway, her neighbors' driveway. Plenty of shadows danced in the moonlight as branches swayed in the wind, but she saw no sign that someone had arrived.

She decided she must've imagined what she'd heard. She'd been imagining the worst all night. Jumping at every creak or bump. Nervously staring out various windows for long stretches of time. Picturing Sebastian out there, watching her house, waiting for her to go to bed so she'd be vulnerable, like before.

She rubbed away the goose bumps that prickled her arms. She was growing paranoid, and her exhaustion wasn't helping. She didn't have any reserves, needed to sleep.

Pushing herself away from the window, she went to her room and curled up on the bed. But even after she lay down, she watched the clock and continued to listen. The harder she tried to sleep, the more difficult it became.

At two thirty, she thought she heard the approach of another car. When she jumped up to check, once again she saw no sign of anyone.

Afraid she'd drive herself mad if she didn't do something, she considered going out to sleep on the riverbank. But she knew she wouldn't feel any safer there. With her luck, she'd be dragged off by a mountain lion while she was sleeping outside to protect herself from Sebastian.

After spending another fifteen minutes positive that someone was creeping around, trying to look into her windows, she was desperate enough to consider renting a motel room. She
had
to shut down for a while.

But there were only a few B and Bs nearby, no actual motels, and she didn't want to rouse some manager from his or her bed in the middle of the night. She didn't want to drag the past into the present by making the people who lived here think she was odd. The B and Bs were probably full, anyway. It was tourist season and a weekend to boot.

Then she saw Rod's deck. She would feel safe there, knowing he was so close. As lightly as she slept, the sun would wake her at dawn, so she'd be able to leave before he ever rolled out of bed. If she kept quiet, he'd never be the wiser.

Even if she overslept, or he came out for some strange reason and found her there, she didn't care. She supposed that testified to the level of her desperation. If he discovered her curled up outside his door, she'd just ask how much he'd charge to rent his deck until she could feel reasonably sure that Sebastian wasn't on his way to kill her.

“What do I have to lose?” she mumbled as she gathered a pillow and a blanket. She'd already embarrassed herself with Rod about as badly as a woman could. She'd never forget trying to kiss him after he'd told her no. Getting caught sleeping on his deck would be nothing compared to that. At least maybe she could rest over there so she'd feel somewhat human again. A short reprieve. That was all that mattered to her right now.

* * *

India didn't wake early. When she finally felt the sun beating down on her face and heard the birds chirping in the trees, she guessed it was around ten. How could she have slept so long?

The moment she opened her heavy eyelids and realized where she was, she panicked. Then she froze, because any movement or noise could draw Rod's attention if he was up and moving around his room.

Fortunately, she didn't hear any sounds from within. The whole household seemed to be sleeping late.

It was Sunday, she reminded herself. Most people didn't get up early on the weekend. It wasn't as if there were any young children in the house.

Not that she planned to press her luck any further. Slowly and quietly, she picked up her sleeping bag and pillow and crept down the wooden stairs. Her heart stopped every time she heard them creak beneath her weight, but Rod didn't come to the door. Someone who had nothing to fear probably didn't startle at every little sound, like she did.

Her feet got wet as she hurried across the grass. Apparently, the sprinklers had come on not too long ago, and even that hadn't disturbed her! She'd passed out the second she felt safe, hadn't slept that soundly since before Charlie died. She felt so much better, she couldn't regret sneaking over. And since she made it back to her house without being seen, it hadn't cost her anything, not even the embarrassment.

“That was worth the risk,” she murmured as she let herself in. Maybe now she could get some pottery done. She hesitated as she remembered that she'd agreed to go out with Rod. Spending time alone with the sexy guy who lived next door was a risky proposition. Their relationship couldn't go anywhere. She'd be smarter to stay away from him.

But she couldn't bring herself to cancel. The idea of a dinner out—during which she wouldn't be alone with her thoughts and memories and the constant fear that Sebastian might break in and shoot her—was too enticing.

She could keep the relationship on safe ground, she told herself. What was one meal with her new neighbor?

* * *

It was the first time Rod had ever considered bringing flowers to a woman who wasn't his girlfriend. He wanted to convince India that he had some class, that he wasn't as bad as the fight had made him look, and he thought flowers might help. He'd even driven over to the flower shop, but then he'd turned around. He was afraid that showing up with a bouquet might make him seem as though he was trying to be something he wasn't, so he'd backed off. If she was after another heart surgeon, or someone with an equally impressive résumé, a bouquet of flowers wasn't going to persuade her to consider an auto body technician.

He figured he was what he was. If that wasn't good enough, there was nothing he could do to change it.

When she opened the door, and he saw that she was wearing a sleeveless cream-colored dress that hit a few inches above the knee, he caught his breath. She was gorgeous. Stunning. And now he was even more grateful he'd let Cheyenne help him with his attire. As it turned out, he didn't own the type of shirt his sister-in-law had wanted him to wear. She'd brought one over earlier this morning from Dylan's closet. Then she'd insisted he match it with the pants she'd given him for Christmas, which had still had the tags hanging from the waistband.

“Wow,” he said on a long exhalation.

She seemed taken aback. But surely she had to attract male attention wherever she went, had to know she was striking. “Thank you,” she said. “This dress is okay, then?”

Okay?
He couldn't take his eyes off her. “Of course. It's fine.”

“Great. So where are we going?”

He'd contemplated many options but eventually settled on an old hotel in Jackson, famous for its prime rib. Gold Country towns weren't quite like the Napa Valley Wine region, which was famous for its food. The nicer restaurants along Highway 49 struggled. Except during tourist season, there weren't enough people to support them. But some of the local favorites managed to survive, and the restaurant in this nineteenth-century hotel had been around for years. It had a dark, romantic ambience, and Rod had always liked whatever he'd ordered there. “For prime rib—unless you're a vegetarian.”

“No, I eat meat.” She left the door standing open while she got her purse. “How's your hand?”

He held up his cast. “I'm already tempted to bust this off. I doubt I'll still have it in six weeks.”

“Just wait until it starts itching.”

“Something to look forward to.”

The smile she gave him as she came out of the house made him want to take her hand. But he could tell she wasn't convinced she should even be going out with him. So he didn't try. “What have you been doing today?” he asked. “More pottery?”

“Yes. I actually got some sleep last night—”

“Actually?”
he broke in as she turned to lock the door.