Lost & Found Love (12 page)

Now his eyes lifted, and he noticed for the first time what she painted. A cowering child, cringing away from a detached hand holding a wicked looking switch coated in blood. Ghostly figures crowded the edge of the painting, some gazing on in frozen horror while others looked away, refusing to see. Even as he watched, Tabby sobbed and dropped her palette and brushes.

“Tabby, darling…” he whispered softly, hoping not to startle or frighten her.

She whirled, her loose hair flowing around her head and her golden eyes overflowing with silent tears. She held her arms out to him.

“Joseph!” she choked, and her whole body began to shake. He caught her as her legs buckled beneath her and swung her into his arms. She was nearly as tall as him yet willow slender, and he had no trouble cradling her until he could sit with her in the window seat. She had her face turned into his neck and clutched him in desperation. He realized one of his hands rested on the bare skin of her thigh, and he quickly smoothed the material of her smock over her legs, covering as much as he could.

“What is it?” he asked. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

Tabby shook her head. “I can’t. Not yet. Just hold me.”

He rocked her, his eyes riveted on the images in the painting. Was it her? Was this a painting of something that had happened to her? “Who’s the child in your painting, Tabby?”

Silence. Tabby took a couple of deep, shuddering breaths. “A memory, but triggered by one of my new students. Oh, Joseph. She reminds me so much of myself.”

Joe’s eyes swiveled to the painting again. “You think she’s being abused?” he asked slowly, the horror bleeding through in his tone. “Tabby… Did you tell anyone?”

She pulled away, jumped up, and paced the studio, her movements now agitated. “Tell them what, Joseph? Tell them that my student dresses like I did at that age so that none of the bruises I had would show? The closest thing she said that even remotely sounded like she was telling me about the abuse was that she knew I was there to help her.”

Joe’s eyes wandered to the painting again. “You saw no bruises?”

Tabby looked at the painting too. “No. It was like watching myself, Joseph. Abusive adults are so clever, and Melodie is already well-coached.” She turned to face him. “I told you the man I thought was my father invited the minister and the deacons over on a regular basis to try to cast the demons out of me. Well, in between those sessions, Tommy tried to beat them out. It started when I began school and didn’t stop until I hit puberty. Six years, Joseph.”

He swallowed thickly. “No one helped? No one discovered it?”

Tabby shrugged. “There were a couple of investigations, but my mother and I were too terrified of him to cooperate with anyone else. I wore long skirts and long-sleeved shirts to school. No one wanted to talk to me anyway. I was a social outcast not only because of the way I dressed, but also because I had nothing in common with my classmates.

“Once or twice, a teacher or administrator would call social services, but they never found anything.” As she spoke, she unbuttoned the smock she wore. Joe stared in fascination, but not in a sexual way. There was absolutely nothing sexual about this situation. He already had a gut feeling of what he would see. Tabby turned her back to him, slowly pulled her hair off her back, and let the smock fall to the ground.

Joe gasped. “Tabby!” he whispered hoarsely. Long scars crossed her back from her shoulders to her buttocks, disappearing beneath the lace of her panties, only to reappear on her thighs.

Her shoulders slumped, and her head dropped forward. “Six years, Joseph. This is what he did to me while no one could prove anything. My mother and I were too scared of him to speak up, to volunteer any information. We enabled him. How do I help this little child when I couldn’t even help myself?”

Joe retrieved the smock and put it back on her before he turned her into his arms and held her. Tears burned the back of his eyes. He wasn’t sure if they were in sympathy to the pain she had endured or in fury at the man who had inflicted it. Both emotions warred inside him. He took her out of the studio, turned off the lights, and made her go with him downstairs where he settled her on the couch in the living room and brought her a can of Coke.

He sat next to Tabby and stroked her hair and shoulders as she poured out what had happened to her. Joe swallowed against the painful lump in his throat, praying God would take away the desire he felt to find Tommy MacVie and kill him. When at last Tabby lay curled against him, emotionally exhausted, Joe kissed her forehead.

“Think about Melodie for a few days, Tabby,” he said quietly. “I won’t advise you to pray about it. I’ll do that for us both.” Fingers that already held the cloth of his shirt in a death grip tightened even more. “Maybe the answer will come to both of us.”

“She draws angels, Joseph,” Tabby whispered, “the most beautiful angels, and someone beats her.”

“Shh,” he soothed. “We’ll figure out how to help her.”

Tabby looked into his face in the dim light. “Would you stay with me tonight? I-I don’t want to be alone.”

Joseph touched her cheek. Propriety said he should go home, desire told him to take what he knew was there for the asking, but what was truly right won.

“I’ll stay with you, Tabby.”

He would hold her. He would sleep with her, but he would do nothing more than kiss her, no matter how much that might cost him.

He found her nightgown, tucked her into her bed, then stretched out next to her on top of the covers, still fully clothed. For the first time since he had made the decision to become a minister, Joseph questioned the strictures that circumscribed his life. Tabby curled against him with a trust he wasn’t sure he deserved. Her body was beautiful, and he wanted her, but not when she was so emotionally vulnerable. He wanted her when they could come together joyfully.

Joseph watched her sleep and gently stroked her dark hair, letting his fingers trail down to scars that extended onto her upper arms. Joseph looked at her narrow, beautiful face with its fine features and winging brows, and was touched once again by a sense of familiarity. She looked so serious when she slept, when those gorgeous golden eyes weren’t sparkling with excitement and interest in what she found around her.

She sighed in her sleep, and her hand slipped down to lie across his hips. Joseph swallowed and closed his eyes with pleasure and pain as his body responded to her innocent caress. Lord, if this was a test, he was awfully close to flunking. He gritted his teeth while he silently prayed for strength.

At some point, he fell asleep, not waking until dawn began to touch the interior walls of Tabby’s bedroom with its faint glow. Joseph slipped silently from her bed, grabbed his shoes, and tiptoed downstairs. Katie Scarlett brushed past him as he eased out the door and made sure it shut noiselessly behind him.

As he dashed down the porch steps and across the driveways between their two homes, a flash of silver caught his eye. Joseph’s gaze switched to the street where a four-door sedan had slowed. Crap. It was Dennis Underwood. As their gazes met, Joe smiled and waved as if he had nothing at all to be concerned about. And he didn’t. The night he’d spent with Tabby had been totally and completely G rated.

Tabby felt almost weightless. Friday afternoon and she had survived her first weeks in a new town, she reflected, as she changed into her cycling clothes. They hadn’t been entirely smooth. There were her concerns over Melodie and the continued cold shoulders from the elementary faculty. However, Tabby could do nothing with either of those situations other than keep her eyes open and be as professional as possible.

Joe’s car was gone. He was probably working at the church or out on calls, so Tabby decided a long ride would be exactly the thing to help her clear her head. Katie sat on the porch railing with her gold eyes scrunched into inscrutable slits as she half dozed and half watched her mistress warm up. Tabby made sure to thoroughly stretch the muscles in her calves as well as the front and the backs of her thighs. There was nothing worse than a cramp while riding. She remembered one time at college when she had nearly run into the back of a truck trying to massage a cramp in her calf. Boy had that been scary. There was no room for distraction riding on any roads.

It took her a few minutes to get out of town. The afternoon was warm and a little breezy, but not enough to make riding difficult. The road she chose wound along a wide, shallow creek. Even though it was a state highway, it was nearly deserted and gave her plenty of time to think about her new job. While she was pleased overall with how things were going at the middle and high school levels, Tabby was still uneasy with the elementary classes. In addition to the cold shoulders from the faculty and the principal, Melodie Matthews worried her.

Tabby reviewed everything that might be a sign the child was a victim of abuse, but so far the only things she had seen were the long sleeves and long skirts, the little girl’s withdrawal from the other children, and the rather cryptic comments from her mother. But simply telling a child she was not to draw, while odd, wasn’t an indication of abuse.

In her heart, she knew Melodie was being abused. Somehow, she had to get the girl to admit it or show proof of it because, despite her certainty, she had nothing concrete. Melodie’s attire and demeanor could simply be a shy child with strictly religious parents. From what she was able to gather, that description apparently fit the Matthews to a T.

The father was partner in a logging company. The mother was a stay at home mom. She attended a conservative non-denominational church. It brought such a sense of déjà vu to Tabby that it nearly made her sick to her stomach. Maybe she could talk to Dr. James, the middle and high school principal, on Monday. He might be able to give her guidance, where she didn’t trust Mr. Underwood to do the same.

Tabby paused along the edge of the road to check her odometer. That was far enough. As she became better acquainted with the area, she could map out routes that would bring her in a circle, but for now, she simply turned around to head back to town. She heard a vehicle approach behind her, but it didn’t pass. A glance over her shoulder showed a pickup hanging a few feet behind her back wheel. Lord how she hated that. It was either an overly cautious farmer or…the first wolf whistle made her cringe. Yep. That.

“Hey, baby! Nice ass!” a teenager leaned out the window to call. “Wish I was your bicycle seat.”

Right. She had never heard that before. Tabby ignored them, until they pulled alongside; then she turned to look the three boys full in the face.

All three turned beet red, and the one on the passenger side said, “Oh shit! Get outta here, man! It’s the art teacher.”

The truck swerved as the driver stomped on the gas. Afraid they would accidentally hit her, Tabby veered onto the end of a long, paved driveway that wound up through manicured pastures to a large red brick home that looked like it had been there for centuries. The bike began to wobble. As she tried to free her shoes from the toe clips, her front wheel caught a rock and tossed her onto her butt. She lay there for a second, a little dazed, but mostly humiliated and angry. Tabby groaned as she sat up and looked at her skinned palms. That would make riding home miserable.

“Are you all right?” The question, voiced in a deep, pleasant baritone, came from somewhere far above her.

She started, a little afraid after her encounter with the teenagers. Her heart pounded as she looked up and up. The sun was behind the tall man who stood a few yards away, breathing as though he’d run. Tabby put a hand across her brow to shade her eyes, but she still couldn’t see him well.

She took a deep, steadying breath. “Yes. I think so. That was clumsy. My hands are a little skinned up.”

“I’m sorry I can’t be a gentleman and help you to your feet, but I’ve reached the end of my leash.”

“Huh?” Tabby examined the man again, confused by what he said. He didn’t make sense. Was he crazy? That was all she needed. Horny teenagers stalking her in a pickup truck and now a crazy man rescuing her.

“Electronic tether,” he clarified, lifting the cuff of his well-cut slacks to show a black nylon band with a small electronic tracking device on it. He stepped slightly to one side so she could see him more clearly. His mouth twisted with bitter amusement when he saw the way her eyes widened in alarm.

“I promise I’m not an ax murderer or even violent. My wife’s up at the house. She saw what was happening and sent me down to make sure you were okay.”

“Oh. Thanks.” She didn’t know what else to say. He didn’t seem friendly, and he was a bit scary now she got a good look at him. Not in a wild, mountain man way. No, he was well dressed, and his steel gray hair had been carefully trimmed, even if it was a bit mussed right now. He was so cold and remote looking, as if he allowed nothing or no one to touch him.

“Your tire’s flat.”

Tabby sighed. “That’s kind of how my life’s gone lately.”

“Would you like a glass of tea? I could help you with the tire too.”

She was tempted to refuse, but she did have to repair the tire, and there was something else in his voice. A reluctant loneliness? She smiled as she stood and said, “Sure. My name’s Tabitha MacVie.”

He held out his hand, but when she showed him her skinned up palms, he smiled, and put his hands behind his back. “Stoner Richardson. If you’ll hand me your bike, I’ll take it up the drive for you. Your hands must hurt.”

“A little.” Tabby took off her bike helmet and the long ponytail she’d had tucked under it fell down her back. “Thanks for checking on me.”

He looked down at her as they walked up the drive. She guessed he must be around six-four, a lean man with gray hair. His thick, black brows arched over penetrating gray eyes and an aquiline nose. “I have a daughter about your age, I guess. She’s twenty-six. I don’t get to see her much.”

He said the last reluctantly, as though he were trying to find some common ground, but didn’t wish to reveal anything about himself.