Harlequin Superromance March 2014 - Bundle 2 of 2: The Secrets of Her Past\A Real Live Hero\In Her Corner (44 page)

“Great,” Trace said, glad to have a solution and completely ignoring the sarcasm in Jennelle's voice. “We'll get this figured out and then you'll see that we're doing this for your own good.”

“Not likely,” Jennelle disagreed, not interested in discussing the merits of their actions. Her gaze followed the officers removing the many plants Zed had so carefully tended, and although she wasn't sorry to see them go, she was mortified for her husband's treatment. “Now, Trace, you will need to take me to the police station so I can bail out your father.”

“Okay,” he said, sharing a glance with Miranda—the two conspirators. “Do you need to grab anything from the house?”

Jennelle paused, indeed wishing she had some personal items, but when she realized how much effort it would take to procure those belongings, she lifted her chin and proclaimed she needed only a toothbrush, which she could buy in town. Then, she walked past Trace as if he were not her son but simply her driver.

Because in her heart, that's where he'd been relegated.

As for her daughter? She no longer had two daughters.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

T
HE
FOLLOWING
MORNING
,
as Trace and Delainey prepared for Harlan's funeral and wake, the silence between them was fraught with personal troubles as each privately processed the most recent events. Trace had more than enough to keep him preoccupied, and yet with everything that had happened, in the back of his mind he struggled with the knowledge that Delainey's time in Alaska was rapidly drawing to a close. The shoot was nearly finished, and all that remained were a few last-minute add-on shots that Trevor had suggested and Delainey had agreed on. He wasn't sure if she'd agreed because she truly believed they needed the footage or if she was trying to stay a little longer. He hoped it was the latter. He hated to think he was the only one struggling with saying goodbye.

Delainey came over and helped him with his tie, straightening it gently before pressing a sweet kiss on his lips. “Your mom can't stay mad at you forever, right?” she asked.

“I'm not sure. According to Miranda, she's a hell of a grudge-keeper. I've never seen her so mad. I felt like shit doing that to her, but that house...it's beyond belief.”

“You know she needs professional help. It's not going to get better just because you say it will. She doesn't believe there's a problem. And your dad, well, he's going to face criminal charges. How much was the bail?”

“Five thousand,” he answered grimly.

“Did your mom pay it?”

“No. She didn't have the money and I told her I didn't, either.”

“Why'd you lie?” she asked.

“Because I wasn't about to spend good money on a man who'd already given up on life. If I need to spend that kind of money on my parents, it'll be to help my mom get better. Besides, he's safe in jail and he doesn't have access to his pot. Maybe he'll start thinking clearly for the first time in eight years.”

Delainey nodded with understanding. “I always remember your parents being so nice. Your mom taught me how to make strawberry freezer jam. I still use her recipe to this day. And your dad...he may well have changed my life all those years ago. I don't know what he said to my dad, but he stopped beating me after that one visit from Zed. I'll always be grateful for that, and you know what? I think my dad, in his own way, was thankful someone else had called him on the carpet for his behavior, because he respected your dad and never said a word against him. It's hard to reconcile the reality of your parents today with who I remember them to be.”

“You and me both. We never could've imagined that Simone's death was going to rip us all apart.”

She quieted, slowly smoothing his tie before stopping to regard him with tears in her eyes. “I shouldn't have abandoned you like I did when Simone died. I was a stupid, naive girl who didn't realize the damage that was being done. Can you ever forgive me?”

He traced her jawline, loving her so much it hurt. “I forgave you a long time ago. I didn't realize how selfish I was being when I assumed you wanted a life here with me. I didn't understand how it wasn't enough for you.”

“Oh, Trace...I wish it had been enough. I really do. Sometimes I close my eyes and imagine my life with you and I feel stuffed with happiness. But then I think of my career and how I would have to give up everything I ever dreamed of, and that happiness drains away. I don't want to resent you and I don't want to hate myself. I wish there was another way, but I don't see how it all works out.”

“I know,” he agreed, knowing there were no easy answers for either of them. He kissed her forehead and exhaled a long breath. “What time is the funeral?” he asked, putting an end to the conversation before they both fell into a morose quagmire.

She wiped at her nose. “Ten. We need to leave in about fifteen minutes.”

“Are you okay?” he asked.

She nodded bravely. “I think I am. Because of you.”

“No, you're a strong woman. You'd have been fine without me.”

She shook her head resolutely. “No. Without you I wouldn't have made it. You're my strength, Trace Sinclair, and it's high time I admit that. Your love makes me strong. Even if you're not with me. Thank you for being you. Always.”

His eyes stung and he had to look away before he embarrassed himself by bawling. How had fate dealt them such an unfair hand? To know that they were meant for one another and yet fated to live apart? How was he supposed to move on? Meet someone else? His heart was permanently branded with Delainey's ownership, and it felt right.

It was the only thing that felt right these days.

So why was it ultimately wrong?

* * *

T
HE
NEXT
FEW
HOURS
Delainey floated through her father's funeral and wake in a surreal fog. It hardly seemed possible her father was dead. How many times as a teenager had she wished for his boat to sink so she'd never have to see him again? Too many to count.

She smiled and murmured her thanks and appreciation as a multitude of people offered their condolences for her and Thad's loss, but she was on autopilot, smiling when appropriate and accepting well-meaning hugs and handshakes from strangers and a few people she remembered from her distant past. It was so odd to her to hear the stories of her father that directly contradicted everything she'd known of him when she was a child. Hearing what a good man he was struck a discordant chord, one that she had difficulty hiding.

“It's a good thing you work behind the camera,” Trace murmured against her ear. “Because you are a terrible actress.”

She supposed that was accurate. “It's hard,” she said, moving over to a private spot ostensibly to grab a few bites to eat. “It's as if they're talking about a man I never knew.”

“I'd say that's probably true. The man they're mourning isn't the man who raised you,” he said. “But I guess you need to get to the point where you can accept that he'd changed and let that be your new reality.”

“And I'd say that's impossible.”

A tiny smile curved his lips that made her want to kiss him...or slap him. She did neither. “It's unfair of me to begrudge them their memory even if it doesn't jibe with mine, right?”

“Something like that.”

How had Trace become so wise when she'd somehow remained stagnant? “I really appreciate you being here with me right now. I can only imagine what you're going through with your own parents. It sucks all the way around.”

“Yeah, it does,” he agreed. “But you can't fix a problem by ignoring it.”

“So they say,” she quipped drily. “But maybe the people who said that little nugget of advice weren't doing it correctly.”

He chuckled. “Perhaps.” He popped a cherry tomato in his mouth. “About that strawberry jam... If I bought the strawberries, would you make me some? I haven't had my mom's jam in years. I was plain addicted to it.”

“Why do you think I learned how to make it?” she answered back with a coy smile. The venue was inappropriate for anything but mourning, but why was he becoming even more handsome than before? Dressed in his Sunday best, he looked sharp and clean, which made her want to get dirty right that second. “I wish I could kiss you right now,” she said.

His gaze darkened and an awareness stole across her body. “There isn't a moment that goes by that I don't want to do wicked things to you,” he said for her ears only. She bit her lip and grinned, her heartbeat quickening. “Later,” he promised, and she followed him with her gaze as he returned to the gathered people, talking with folks he knew and otherwise playing the host so she could collect herself.

Thad joined her, grabbing a plate and loading up before the food was all gone. Her boyishly good-looking brother seemed more grown-up than he had before. When she'd left, he'd been a kid. Now, he was in charge of their father's fishing operation. “You did a good job with the arrangements,” she said to her brother.

He shrugged off her compliment, saying, “Pops did all the work, and I just put it into play. He knew this was coming and didn't want anyone, especially Brenda, to be stressed over it.”

“He really loved her, didn't he?” she mused. Thad nodded. Delainey wished she'd seen them together in better times just once. Maybe that would've helped her to see how he'd changed. “She's a good woman.”

“Brenda is...a very good woman. I wasn't sure about her at first, but to know Brenda is to love her. I think Pops never realized how to live until Brenda came around to show him. She brightened his life. I wish you could've known her sooner.”

“Me, too.”

Silence followed for a long moment until Thad asked, “So, after everything...you still planning to go back to California?”

It was a loaded question and the answer brought a lot of pain, but she wasn't going to lie. “My life is in California now. My career...everything I care about...” No, that part wasn't true.
Most
of everything she cared about was here. She looked away, buffeted by recent events. “I don't know, Thad. Seems much simpler to go back to the way things were. People won't get hurt that way.”

“Who won't get hurt?” he asked but didn't give her a chance to answer. “I think you're running away again because
you
don't want to get hurt. It's all right, Laney. Just fess up. Own it. You're afraid of what being here might mean, not to your career but to your heart. You left behind a lot when you split. I think you want to run away because it hurts to be reminded.”

“Thad, you don't understand. It's complicated,” she said but then stopped. Who was she trying to convince? Her brother could plainly see through her excuses, and she was doing them both a disservice by continuing to blather on about nothing that mattered. She barked a short, embarrassed laugh. “You caught me. I
am
scared. What if Trace and I weren't meant to be together and I throw everything away on something that isn't built to last? I have a lot to lose, and there are no do-overs.”

“Seems to me you have more to gain if it works out,” Thad pointed out. “I'm just saying...you love him. Shouldn't that make things pretty simple? It would for me.”

Something in Thad's voice caused her to regard him with surprise. “Are you dating anyone special?” she asked, embarrassed that she knew so little of her brother's personal life.

“No,” he answered, shaking his head. “But I know if there were someone who loved me the way Trace loves you...nothing would stand in my way. Nothing.”

She stared, unable to believe the words coming from her baby brother. “How'd you get so smart?” she asked.

A small grin crooked his mouth and he shrugged. “I may not have been a great student in school, but I pay attention to what matters.”

That you do, little brother.
She pulled him into a fierce hug. “I love you, Thad.”

“I love you, too, Laney.”

As they broke apart and Thad returned to mingle with the guests, Delainey hung back and closed her eyes. She wished she could follow Thad's advice. But there was a part of her that stubbornly refused to yield—a spark of fire that burned dangerously hot to the touch and resisted any attempts to put it out. And it was that part of herself that knew as much as she wanted to stay and build a life with Trace, she would board that plane back to California, no matter how much it hurt.

Because her ambition was like a hungry beast and it would devour Trace if he stood in its way. She could never hurt him like that—it's one of the reasons she'd left in the first place. And nothing had really changed.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

“S
ORRY
, Z
ED
, seems like no one is bailing you out,” Eddie Polk, a longtime officer, said with an expression of chagrin.

He'd been hauled in kicking and screaming, outrage outstripping good sense, but sitting in a cell for a few hours had managed to cool his rage, leaving behind regret and the knowledge that he'd let things spiral out of control for too long. Zed had known Eddie for near thirty years, and it was an embarrassment to be sitting on the other side of the bars. But what was done, was done. He supposed he had it coming, but it was a sour pill to swallow just the same.

“You need anything? We have extra blankets if you need,” Eddie asked.

“I'm good,” Zed said, settling against the wall on his narrow bed. “Thanks for asking.”

“No problem, Zed. You holler if you need anything. I'm sure you're going to be let out soon enough.”

Zed nodded and closed his eyes. He could feel the last trace of THC leaving his body, and total sobriety wouldn't be far behind. How long had it been since he'd been completely sober? He couldn't remember. He'd always enjoyed a little recreational marijuana use, which Jennelle had tolerated. But after Simone had died, he'd gone from using recreationally to using it to get through the day. And once he was stoned all the time, he couldn't carve for shit and needed a new source of income. He rubbed at his eyes, wondering how things had gotten so sidewise so quickly. Shame and regret flooded his old bones, and he felt older than his actual years.

He must've dozed off because he awoke with a start when a familiar voice started insulting him.

“Look at you...you look like hell. Wake up, you sorry drug addict.” Rhett Fowler, a man he'd once considered his best friend, stood glaring at him from the other side of the bars, plainly disgusted with what he saw.

“What do you want?” Zed asked, not interested in hearing Rhett's opinion of the situation. “Come to gloat?”

“Oh, get over yourself. I've come to bail your ass out.”

Zed stared at his old friend. “What for?”

“Damn if I know,” Rhett grumbled. “But I've come to bail you out just the same. Unless you're enjoying your stay at the Homer Community Jail. If that's the case, I'll just collect my five grand and leave you be.” Rhett's gaze swept the small jail cell, resting on the toilet, and he shuddered. “Make your choice.”

A part of him was resigned to sitting in his cell as a penance for letting his family down, but another part of him was anxious to see just how bad the damage was to his pot garden. It was the latter that scared him. “I think I'll stay,” he answered slowly, realizing it was the best, if not desirable, choice.

Rhett narrowed his stare at his old friend. “Why?”

“Because this is where I need to be right now.”

“You don't trust yourself, do you?” Rhett said with a sad shake of his head. “Zed, you've got yourself a real bad addiction. What are you going to do about it? You can't stay locked in this cell forever. Your family needs you. Your wife needs you most.”

“Jennelle ask you to bail me out?”

“She did. What's this about her getting kicked out of the house?”

“I don't know...something about the house being condemned until further notice,” Zed answered, shifting with guilt. He'd known how bad the conditions were, and yet he'd allowed his wife to continue living in it. “Jennelle has a problem with keeping stuff,” he admitted evasively, not wanting to go into detail. “I moved out of the main house several months ago, and I've been staying in the garage. I made a makeshift living quarters inside the garage.”

“That's not the only thing you made in your garage,” Rhett said, whistling. “Word is that the cops collected a pretty big pot garden from your garage.”

What was the sense in lying? He nodded. “It's true.”

“What happened to you, Zed? We used to enjoy a toke now and then, but this? This is out of control. You know that, right?”

“Yes, I know it,” he shot back, irritated. “I don't need you to tell me how I've screwed up.”

“Don't be taking my head off. You're the one sitting on the wrong side of the bars, my friend.”

“I know.”

“Jennelle's in a tizzy. Never seen the old gal so worked up. She's right mad at Miranda and Trace. The way I see it, Jennelle's got an even bigger problem than you right now. You need to man up and help your woman. There ain't no cause to be hammering on the kids she's got left. Simone died, and it was a damn shame, but you all got three kids still living. Try to remember that, all right?”

Zed felt the burn of anger starting to build again, but everything Rhett was saying was right. Didn't make it any easier to hear, though. “You finished?” Zed asked.

“I figure I am, if you're done listening.”

Rhett exhaled with an expression of frustration at Zed's stubbornness and turned to leave. Zed called after him with a reluctant thanks. “Means a lot that you'd come down and bail me out, even though we haven't been tight for a few years now. Means even more that you're looking out for my family still. You're a good man, Rhett Fowler.”

“Yeah, well don't let too many people know that. I have a reputation to protect.” Rhett's weathered face crinkled in a brief smile before he sobered and said, “You know, I've always envied you your family. I've never made it a secret that I thought Jennelle deserved better than you, but she didn't never see no one but Zedediah Sinclair. Had stars in her eyes over you. And now, it's up to you to get your family back on track. They need you. Be the man you used to be—the man who used to be my best friend.”

“I don't even know where to start looking for that man,” Zed answered, sinking a little deeper into morose self-pity. “Maybe there's no going back to what was.”

“You can't go backward but you can move forward instead of sitting on your ass watching the world go by while stoned out of your gourd.”

“I never meant for any of this to happen,” Zed said in his defense. “I certainly never imagined my baby girl would be taken and killed. Talk to me when you've suffered a loss like that. It changes you.”

Rhett's expression softened at the mention of Simone. “It was hell,” he acknowledged. “I loved her like a daughter, but I know that's not the same. But she's gone and you're all still here. That ought to account for something. Your kids are practically begging you to snap out of it. You're going to have an easier time of it than Jennelle. I fear that gal is lost and fighting the way back home, if you know what I mean.”

He did. Jennelle's favorite place to be was in that godforsaken room of Simone's that was done up like a shrine. It was creepy and he hated it, but Jennelle screeched like a banshee when he suggested that they turn it into a sewing room or something. In the end, it'd been easier to let her have her way. “What am I supposed to do if she doesn't want the help?” he asked.

“Sometimes you have to take the reins away from a runaway coach, you know? I know Jennelle has a wicked temper, but I've never known you to be afraid of your wife's sharp tongue. You could always handle Jennelle just fine. And she respected you for it. Stop tiptoeing around the situation and just start doing something to fix it before it's too late.” Rhett let that sink in for a moment before adding, “You've been hiding for far too long, and maybe I should've said something earlier—not that you would've listened, but that's no excuse—but things gotta change. While you were too busy shutting out the world, the world changed. You've left your kids and wife to twist in the wind, and that's plain selfish. You know I always thought of your kids like my own, but the truth of the matter is there was no cause for me to step into your job when you're still around. They need you, Zed. You've been putting a lot on Miranda's shoulders, and it's not fair. She's got a boy of her own to tend and a new man in her life. All her free time shouldn't be used up tending to your mess.”

What could Zed say? It was all true. “I didn't mean to put it all on Miranda's shoulders. And besides, no one asked her to take on the world for me.”

“That's a chicken-shit response. Take responsibility, Zed. No more excuses. Man up, for crying out loud, and stop whining and hiding like a little girl behind her mama's skirts.”

The disgust in Rhett's voice caused Zed to wince privately, but in a strange way he felt he needed it. He needed to feel the shame and the anger. The shame made him take stock, and the anger gave him the power to do something about it. Miranda had accused him of being apathetic; she'd been right.

“I don't know where to start,” he admitted.

Rhett shrugged. “Start with ‘I'm sorry.' I'm sure Miranda and Trace would be there for you if you showed an effort. You screwed up. That's all. You can still fix this. I know you can.”

Tears stung his eyes but he held back the tears. Rhett was a good friend and an even better man. Zed missed their friendship. “Thanks,” Zed said, knowing the word would convey much more than simple gratitude. Rhett smiled and waved goodbye as the awaiting officer let him out.

Zed sighed. He used to have so much pride, so much zest for life. Now, he lived like a hermit, tending his garden, selling enough to get by and getting stoned the rest of the time. He never saw his kids. Never saw his grandson. Hell, by this time, he should've been teaching Talen how to track just as he had all his kids. Could've been teaching the boy some carving tricks. He remembered Miranda saying something about the boy having some talent in that area. As far as his wife? He'd let her down the worst. There was so much damage between them that he didn't know if he had what it took to fix what'd been broken.

What a mess.

Well, his court date was in a week and a half. He'd better have things figured out by then, because things had to change. They just had to.

* * *

J
ENNELLE
'
S
HANDS
SHOOK
with anger as she tried to sip her tea. It took two tries to lift the dainty cup to her lips before she could do so without spilling.

“The nerve,” she muttered, unable to stop herself. Florence, a good friend with a sweet disposition, had seemed appalled and unsure of how to help, which was why she'd rushed to put on a pot of tea. In her opinion, tea helped everything. “I never imagined my children to be so wretched and self-absorbed. Where'd I go wrong, Flo?”

“Oh, dear, I don't know that you did anything wrong, Jenny,” Flo said, sitting in her floral-backed chair with a frown. “Maybe this is all a misunderstanding?”

Jennelle snorted. “A misunderstanding? I've been kicked out of my home and my husband was arrested like a common criminal. How could that be a misunderstanding?”

Florence fluttered her hands in a helpless gesture. “I don't know. But why would Zed be arrested if he hadn't done anything wrong?” she asked timidly, as if she were afraid to point out the obvious.

Jennelle sniffed and sipped her tea. “It was an overreaction. Zed grows some herbs for medicinal purposes...” she started, but then her throat choked up as if her own body were trying to prevent her from uttering a blatant lie. Her cheeks heated as she took another sip to clear her throat. When she could safely speak again, she said, “Well, in any case, kicking me from my home was unforgivable.”

“I don't understand what happened. How could they kick you from your home?” Flo asked, confused. “How bad could it have been?”

Jennelle hadn't let any of her friends visit in years. No one knew just how things had changed. Jennelle tried for a variation of the truth. “Over the years, I've been collecting a few things. It helps to keep me occupied. Zed is so busy with his own thing, and for reasons that I cannot fathom Miranda refuses to let me have a real relationship with my grandson. And my sons never visit. So I found my own hobbies. Now I'm being penalized for my interest in collections. What was I supposed to do? Sit in a corner and twiddle my thumbs? Would that have been acceptable?”

“Of course not,” Flo said, disagreeing. “Surely, that's not what they were thinking. You have the right to your own life. And there's nothing wrong with a collection or two. I collect
Gone with the Wind
plates, and I cherish them. I'd be appalled if someone came along and told me what I could and couldn't purchase with my own money.”

“Exactly,” Jennelle said, feeling somewhat validated. Of course, she left out the part where she'd not only started collecting but she'd discovered an odd aversion to throwing anything away, too. “Miranda has always found fault with everything I do. She has since she was a child, and now she's found the perfect way to get back at me for some imagined faults. As for Trace, I cannot believe he would betray me this way.” She exhaled a shaky breath before finishing her tea. “I don't know what to think anymore. If only Simone were here,” she added with a watery sniff.

“Maybe things will look better in the morning,” Flo suggested with a kind expression. “Right now, you're angry and hurt...”

“Tomorrow will look the same as today. A new dawn isn't going to change the fact that two of my children betrayed me. Do you realize Trace wouldn't even put up the five thousand for bail? His own father! Tell me again how I didn't go wrong in raising them?”

“Five thousand is a lot of money. Maybe he didn't have it to give,” Flo offered, to which Jennelle waved away her suggestion.

“Oh, he had it. Trace has plenty of money to spare. He didn't offer it up because he's angry with his father and siding with Miranda. It's practically a coup.”

“That sounds terribly harsh,” Flo said, shaking her head and sipping her own tea. “I've never known your children to be that sort of people. I think perhaps you're looking at things through a clouded lens.”