Love Lies Bleeding (25 page)

“I want an explanation, Jackson,” she demanded.

He drained his glass, then faced her. “Maybe you just think you locked it? You know your memory plays tricks on you.”

“It’s not going to work this time, Jackson. You’re not going to manipulate me by bringing up your rotten childhood and you’re not going to convince me that I
didn’t
lock the door.” She stopped and felt sadness squeeze her heart as the spark she’d felt earlier that day died once and for all.

Not able to stand the sight of him, she looked down at the floor. “You unlocked the door and tried to get rid of my dog,” she said in a weary voice.

“I did not,” he said indignantly. “If I’d wanted to get rid—”

She held up a hand to stop him. “I’m done.” Pulling the ring off her left hand, she raised her eyes and shoved it at him. “When I come back, I want you gone.”

He said nothing and just stared at the ring in her outstretched hand.

With a frown Sam tossed it on the counter and dodged around him. She threw back the lock and, opening the door, stepped out into the storm.

Chapter Twenty-two

I
stand at the window and watch the rain sheeting down the glass. Jumping at every clap of thunder, I hug myself and turn away, but the violence occurring outside calls to me. I cover my ears, but it only muffles the sound of the storm. I would like to run, to crawl under the bed as I did as a child. But I’m not a child—I’m a man. My hands drop and my lips twist in a bitter smile.

Take it like a man—isn’t that what I’ve always been told? Childish tears
will not
be tolerated. And if I fail? If I can’t control my emotions—punishment will follow. Isolation. Darkness. The cold and damp pressing down on me as I curl into a small ball and pray for rescue.

But there is no rescue. No one hears my pitiful cries for help.

My back is to the window, my gaze traveling around the room. Such a fine, upstanding family everyone says, but they don’t know the secrets behind the facade. The violence hidden under the surface—more frightening than any storm nature could manufacture.

I was only six when it happened the first time. Shaking my head, I can’t even remember what caused the incident. A broken toy? A temper tantrum over not being allowed another cookie? “
Stop it, stop it,”
he screamed into my tearstained face.
“Real men don’t cry,”
he admonished.

And her? She stood by and watched him grab my thin arm and march me out the door. He pulled me toward the black, gaping gash in the side of the hill. In my innocence, I had no idea what was to follow. I’d witnessed his anger focused on her, but he had never directed it at me. I had no thought that the man who was supposed to protect me would throw me in that dark hole then leave me. How long had I lain there? Minutes? Hours? Whimpering in terror until finally he brought me out into the light, my soul forever marked.

With trembling hands, I pour a drink. I don’t even care that it’s the cheap stuff. Downing it in one gulp, I slam the glass on the counter and, bowing my head, try to banish my dark thoughts.

My attention steals to the window. It had been a night like this, hadn’t it? My last visit to my own personal hell. All I’d asked for was understanding and a little kindness. Wasn’t that my right? Didn’t I deserve it? My hands tighten into fists. Didn’t she
owe
me?

But she’d mocked me, questioned my manhood, used the same words he’d used. As I look back, it all seems like a bad dream now. Stumbling up the hill on the rain-slick slope.

I stagger over to the window and press my palm against the cool glass. As I stare across the dark water, the tears begin to gather. It’s so unfair—this dream that haunts me. Is there no escape? I wipe my eyes. Samantha was to be my ticket to freedom. I would have used her and her father to achieve the life I deserve. Lawrence Moore’s patronage and all that money would’ve made the difference. Old scars and wounds would’ve been forgotten and forgiven.

But now? I feel it slipping away.

“No!” I cry above the thunder. Squaring my shoulders, I slap my hand against the window. I’m a man. A man meets his challenges head-on. A man strikes at the heart of his enemies and takes that which they value most. Divide and conquer.

I smile. No. I haven’t lost yet.

I stare out the window and plan—my mind spinning ways that I can salvage the situation while in the distance a light bobs through the storm.

Chapter Twenty-three

T
ears streamed down Sam’s face, indistinguishable from the raindrops pouring all around her. Above her, bolts of lightning crisscrossed the sky, while thunder pounded. In the distance, over the thunder, she heard the wind whipping the waves against the rocks lining the shore. What kind of man would send a defenseless animal out in a storm like this? She swiped a wet sleeve against her dripping nose. Not one she’d want to spend the rest of her life with, that’s for sure. A lie—it had all been a lie. The person she thought she knew so well had been false, nothing more than a front.

Don’t think about it now,
she chided herself.
Find Roxy.

Her flashlight beam bounced through the trees as she desperately called out the dog’s name. Would Roxy hear her over the thunder? She prayed she would. The thought of losing her tightened Sam’s throat and caused fresh tears to run down her cheeks. Thankfully, in her frantic search, she forgot to be afraid.

She’d passed Greg’s place and made it to the end of the road before she stopped. Ahead of her nothing but the churning water of the lake. Her shoulders drooped and her hand holding the flashlight sagged. It was no use. Roxy was nowhere to be found. Her only hope was that the dog could find her way home on her own. Discouraged, Sam turned and began to slog her way through the mud, back to the cabin. She’d never forgive Jackson for this, she thought, anger stiffening her spine. He’d better be gone when she arrived.

She was halfway there, when a hand on her shoulders spun her around as the smell of liquor hit her.
Jackson
. She raised her flashlight in defense and the hand dropped away. Shining the light upward, she was astonished to see Greg standing in front of her.

“Hey,” he said, raising his hands to shield his eyes. “You don’t need to blind me.”

“Sorry.” Sam lowered the light. “What are you doing out here?”

“I might ask the same of you, but I already know.” Taking her arm, he started to lead her back toward his cabin. “I saw your flashlight from my window and figured you were out looking for your dog.” He paused. “She’s at my house.”

Sam halted, the soles of her tennis shoes skidding in the mud. “Roxy? You found Roxy?”

Greg chuckled. “More like she found me. I was enjoying a hot toddy when I heard her over the storm, scratching at the front door.” His voice lost its humor. “What happened? You didn’t put her out in this, did you?”

“Of course not,” Sam replied, not keeping the anger out of her voice. “Jackson did.”

“Ah.” He paused. “You know, Sam, since Jackson feels so strongly about her, maybe it would be better if I kept her.”

“No!” Sam cried, pushing the wet hair back from her face. “You can’t take her back. I won’t let you.”

Greg held up a hand. “Easy now. It’s only a suggestion. I simply think that with Jackson—”

She spun toward him, cutting him off. “Jackson is gone.”

“For now, but what about when you move—” He stopped when Sam wiggled her left hand in front of his nose.

“I mean gone as in
permanently,
” she insisted.

“You broke up with him over Roxy?”

Sam shook her head. “What he did was mean and dirty, but there’s more to it than that.” She hesitated, thinking back over the relationship. “Jackson changed after I was attacked, or maybe it was that I changed. I don’t know, but I wasn’t the same person he’d asked to marry him.” She looked down at her weak leg. “I’m not a trophy he can parade on his arm any longer.”

“A trophy? You’re more than just a beautiful woman.”

A beautiful woman
—she hadn’t been called that since her attack, and her cheeks grew warm with pleasure. But before she could thank Greg for the compliment, a crack of lightning flashed overhead.

Taking her arm, Greg started toward his cabin. “Come on, let’s get out of the rain.”

She allowed him to guide her up the steps, and they both stopped on the porch, watching the storm roll around them. Sam let the silence lengthen.

Finally she glanced over at him and smiled. “I’ve learned something over the past few days—I don’t want to be a princess and I don’t want to be a trophy.”

Greg stepped forward and braced his hands on the porch railing. “Life has a way of changing on us, doesn’t it?” he asked, and Sam heard the sadness in his voice.

“It changed on you, didn’t it? Anne told me you were once a veterinarian.”

“That,”
he said, the single word speaking volumes.

“What happened?”

He jerked his shoulders. “An old story—young man falls for a gorgeous woman, only to find said woman is more interested in the money than the man. She took me for everything I had.” He laughed caustically. “Last I heard—she and her boyfriend were living quite well.”

“Why haven’t you opened a practice up here?”

He turned and leaned against the rail, the rain running off the porch roof and forming a curtain behind him. “I discovered it’s more rewarding to give animals a second chance at a home than to treat some rich woman’s pampered pet.” His eyes strayed beyond her to his small cabin. “I also learned I really don’t need much—a warm place to live; food on the table; my saxophone; and my dogs.” He clicked his tongue. “Life’s good.”

“You didn’t mention a woman on that list.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Are you kidding me?” he exclaimed. “Once bitten, twice shy.”

“So you’ve given up?”

“Some might see it that way,” he answered wryly, “but
I
prefer to think of it as simply using good judgment.”

Sam shook her head. “Every woman isn’t like your wife.”

“Ex-wife,” he interjected quickly.

“Okay, ex-wife, but—”

Greg’s chuckle stopped her. “You sound like Anne.” His face grew serious. “Maybe you’re both right, but after the wringer I went through, I find it hard to trust those of the female persuasion.” His smile returned as he glanced back toward the cabin. “Except Molly, of course.” He left his post by the railing and crossed the porch until he stood directly in front of Sam. Looking down, his eyes questioned her. “After what’s happened with your fiancé, don’t you feel a little betrayed? Are
you
going to rush into a new relationship?”

Sam’s heartbeat picked up and she stepped back. “Well, ah, yes . . . a bit, and no, I don’t want a new relationship
tomorrow
.” She glanced out at the storm. “Someday I’ll find someone, but first I have to figure out who Samantha Moore is.”

“Not a trophy or a princess?” Greg asked, his eyes twinkling.

She chuckled in response. “Right.” With a nudge to Greg’s arm, she turned and headed for the door. “Now give me back my dog.”

The next morning, Sam slowly turned on her back and gave a long stretch. What was that corny old saying? “Today is the first day of the rest of your life”? Sitting, she pulled her knees up to her chest and grinned. Corny or not, it described how she felt at the moment. Sure, she thought, resting her chin on her knees, there was a little bit of sadness involved whenever she thought about Jackson, and she knew there’d be more battles with her father. He wasn’t one to give up easily, especially when he believed he was right. Which was most of the time, she thought, snorting inwardly. But for now, she couldn’t help feeling like she’d been let out of jail. And it made her almost giddy.

Scooting to the edge of the bed, she swung her feet onto the floor and leaned back. Propped on her elbows, she lifted her right leg and held it. Now for the left leg. Her brow knitted in a frown as she began to raise her left leg. She crossed her fingers. Slowly her left leg rose until it was the same height as her right. Scrunching her eyelids shut, she waited for the spasm to hit. When it didn’t, her eyes shot open and she started counting.

One . . . two . . . three . . . four . . . five.
Sweat gathered on her upper lip and her belly tightened, but she felt no pain.
Six . . . seven . . . eight . . . nine.
Her leg began to quiver.
Come on—just one more.
Ten!
Falling back against the mattress, she rested half in, half out of the bed.

“Yes,” she cried, pumping her fist in the air. Sitting up quickly, she lifted her nightgown high enough to see the muscle in her left thigh. Maybe it was her imagination, but she could swear that it looked thicker, more toned. She threw her arms around Roxy’s neck.

“Greg’s right—life is good,” she said to the bewildered dog.

Quickly Sam rose and crossed to the window. The lake below sparkled in the morning sun and the world looked fresh after last night’s storm. A wild idea flitted through her brain. With a nod, she grabbed her jeans, a T-shirt, and a pair of sturdy shoes. Hurrying into the bathroom, she dressed, then quickly brushed her teeth and splashed water on her face. After running a comb through her hair, she was ready. She wrote a hurried note to Anne giving her the morning off, and she and Roxy took off for a leisurely stroll.

As she carefully took the steps, she spied a flash of red out of the corner of her eye. She stopped. Son of a gun—the dying bush at the corner of the porch had come to life. The buckets of rain must have revived it. Not only were the leaves now a dark green, but the stalks were covered with heavy clusters of bright red flowers, hanging downward like grapes. She moved toward it, but Roxy gave a tug on her leash and pulled her back.

Stepping onto the gravel in front of the cabin, Sam felt a beat of panic. Setting off alone was a little bit crazy. What if she lost her balance and fell? Her leg was stronger, but would it be enough to get her back on her feet after a fall? Or would she lie there like a turtle flipped over on its back?