Secrets in a Small Town (12 page)

And the biggest question of all, why were her parents at Red Meadows? They openly hated racial prejudice and whenever the topic was raised about the incident, they reacted negatively. She thought of her father and how he’d changed before her eyes when she’d brought up Red Meadows and how her parents seemed to hate Owen Garrett. A sick feeling started to churn in her gut. It was all too much to fathom but tiny pieces were starting to slide into place, revealing a bigger puzzle that needed solving. But how? It wasn’t like she could just sit down with her parents over a cup of mint tea and ask about their involvement with a racist cult back when they were younger. Especially after her father’s initial reaction to her interest.

For the first time in her life, she was afraid to go to her parents. She worried her bottom lip, unsure of what to do next.

The distinct feeling overcame her that if she continued from this point, things might never be the same. She thought of her nearly idyllic childhood, the happy, carefree times spent at the farm surrounded by love and acceptance. She tried to imagine how her gentle, accepting, and totally nonviolent parents could be affiliated—in any way—to the Aryan Coalition and one question pulled at her: did she want to know?

A long, agonizing moment passed before she had her answer. Her parents had raised her to ask questions. She couldn’t stop now. Whatever was lurking in the closets needed to come out. No matter what she found.

So why did just seeing her make his spine tighten? A sharp rap at the front door precluded the opportunity to give the situation much more thought, which was probably a good thing.

He opened the door and there stood Piper, yet instead of the sunny sparkle of determination he usually saw in her eyes, he saw agitation even though she was trying to hide it.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“What makes you think something is wrong?”

“Answering a question with a question is usually not a great way to throw someone off your tail,” he advised her, ushering her into his home. She glanced around his surroundings, but offered little comment. What could she say? He knew he didn’t have much to look at in the way of furnishings. He’d never cared before. Now, he wished he’d put a little more thought into the niceties.

“Where would you like to do this?” she asked.

The bedroom,
his dirty mind supplied almost immediately. He was immensely grateful the thought hadn’t spilled from his head to his mouth. “The kitchen table?” he offered, and she nodded. “Can I get you anything to drink?”

“I’m fine,” she said, taking her pen and pad out, all business.

He heaved a silent sigh, not crazy about this idea of dredging up old memories but he figured if it helped prove his father wasn’t the devil the town thought him to be, he’d suffer through it. He pulled up a chair and gestured for her to start. “Let’s get this over with,” he said with a sigh.

A tiny smile played on her lips. “Don’t be such a sourpuss… I promise to be gentle.”

Their eyes met and he could’ve sworn electricity jumped between them in a flash. She must’ve felt it, too, because she straightened and seemed a little flustered, as if thrown off track for a moment. “Right. So, let’s start at the beginning….”

Just then Gretchen’s voice floated in from the back bedroom and Piper’s head swung around in confusion. “Who’s that?” she asked, not missing a beat.

“Ah, it’s Gretchen.”

“Your office manager?” she said, her stare narrowing in suspicion. “I thought you said there was nothing going on between you?”

“There’s not,” he answered gruffly as he rose to see what Gretchen needed. “Wait here,” he instructed, but Piper ignored his request and followed close on his heels. He gave her an annoyed look, saying, “Woman, don’t you ever do as your told?”

“No,” she answered evenly. “Haven’t you ever heard of the saying ‘well-behaved women rarely make history’?”

“Well, you’re well on your way to making a name for yourself, that’s for sure,” he grumbled as he entered Gretchen’s room. Piper followed without apology, as if she had the right to know why he was harboring a woman in his house. He found her actions mildly amusing but he wondered at her motivation. Was it possible she was jealous? That seemed improbable but it gave him a faint rise in his heart rate at the thought of Piper feeling possessive over him. Ah, great. Things were going from bad to worse in that department.

Gretchen’s stare registered shock, then narrowed in distaste as she saw Piper at his side. “What’s she doing here?” she inquired, not pulling any punches.

Piper came forward. “I’m interviewing Owen about what he remembers from the Red Meadows incident,” she answered easily, not the least bit put off by the glacial stare coming her way. “Why are you staying with Owen?”

“That’s between me and Owen,” Gretchen retorted, glancing away as if dismissing Piper. Owen had to swallow a grin at the open animosity Gretchen had for Piper. He knew it came from a protective place and he wouldn’t fault her for it. Besides, Piper seemed able to hold her own against the feisty blonde, so he didn’t see the need to intervene. And would it be totally wrong for him to admit, he was flattered by the attention? Yeah, it would. So he kept his mouth shut. Gretchen continued, saying, “I called the bus station and changed Quinn’s bus stop from our place to here. I hope that’s okay with you?”

“Staying long, I see,” Piper said, inserting herself back in the conversation. She looked to Owen. “It’s fun playing house, isn’t it? Insta-family. Sweet.”

“Yes, it is. Owen is a very good man,” Gretchen said, nearly baring her teeth at Piper before returning to Owen with an adoring smile. “What would you like me to make for dinner? I was thinking mashed potatoes and grilled pork chops. Quinn loves them.”

“Girl after my own heart,” he said. “Pork chops sound good to me, just let me know what you need and I’ll help.”

“How domestic,” Piper murmured, cutting her glance away from Gretchen, her mouth tightening just enough to give away her irritation. “Who knew your office manager was a regular Rachael Ray. I wonder what other talents she’s eager to show you.”

Gretchen cocked her head and offered a saccharine sweet smile. “Wouldn’t you like to know? Fortunately, it’s really none of your business.”

“Touché.”

Owen spared Piper a short look that said
cut it out
and nodded to Gretchen, ready to separate the two women before they really unsheathed their claws and someone ended up a casualty. “That’s fine. Is there anything else you need?” At the shake of her head, he nudged Piper from the room and grabbed the door to close it behind him as he informed Gretchen he’d be a while. “Get some rest,” he instructed her, and closed the door but not before catching a glimpse of pique on Gretchen’s face.

“I didn’t realize you were running a halfway house,” Piper said, walking in front of him so that he had a nice view of her backside as it twitched enticingly beneath the flirty peach skirt. He made it a point to avert his gaze before his mind took another unscheduled detour.

“I would say there’s probably a lot you don’t know about me,” he said.

“Not for long,” she said in a husky murmur that fired his blood.

“We’ll see,” he said. She turned as if to return to the kitchen but he didn’t want to be indoors. He gestured to the door. “Follow me.”

“Don’t worry, we’re not going far,” he promised her, actually offering his hand to steady her on the uneven terrain. She accepted his help, secretly delighting in the rough, hard skin scraping against the delicate softness of her hands. She wondered what it would feel like to have those masculine hands touching other parts of her body. She suppressed a shiver but he caught the subtle motion in the tremble of her hand and he stopped. “Are you all right?” he asked, concerned. “If you really don’t want to be outside, we can go back in the house. I just didn’t want our conversation overheard… It’s personal, you know?”

Yes. She got that. A spark of heat trailed the realization that he was going to share those personal things with her, not Gretchen.
Yeah, because first you blackmailed him and then you enticed him with the possibility of clearing his father’s name, not because you’re having a tender moment,
a snarky voice reminded her.
Stay focused.
She pulled her hand from his grasp. “Outside is fine. Where are we going?” He pointed toward a copse of trees near a creek that poured into a deep watering hole framed by granite boulders. “Wow, not bad,” she breathed in surprised. “You can’t even see this from the road.”

“I know,” he said, grinning. “It was the main selling point of the property. Reminds me of being a kid in West Virginia. My brothers and I used to hit the swimming holes regularly in the summer. We played hours of Drown the Rat. It was our favorite game.”

“I’m not much of a swimmer,” she admitted, though that water looked nice. “But I’d love to put my feet in.” She shucked her shoes and settled on the bank to slip her toes into the freezing water. She immediately removed them. “That’s
so
cold,” she announced unnecessarily, catching a grin from Owen. “You could’ve warned me that the water is like ice,” she grumbled, and he shrugged in response. Oh, she was beginning to like that grin far too much. The way his lips tipped at the corners should be a crime. Tucking her feet under her, she opened her pad and readied her pen. “Whenever you’re ready, Mr. Garrett,” she said, indicating it was time to get serious, which a small part of her, she could admit, was lamenting. She rather liked the idea of spending a lazy day here with Owen by the creek. Her imagination was doing a fair job of presenting all kinds of unprofessional pursuits and she needed to nip that kind of thinking in the bud. She hadn’t come so far only to get derailed by her own hormones. However, if she were of a mind to throw away all her hard work and single-minded focus on a wild night of debauchery, she could see herself making a beeline for Owen Garrett. He was, in a word, hot stuff.

“Sorry. Talking about this stuff puts me on edge. It’s not exactly good times we’re dredging up here,” he said, and understanding dawned in her eyes. Soft, cocoa-brown eyes, he noted, doing a small double take. He looked away. “Ask your questions. I’ll do my best to answer, but you have to promise me something…” He paused, and she waited expectantly. He figured it was a good sign that she hadn’t immediately balked at his request. “If you find something that pertains to my father in your research, you’ll let me know.”

She smiled, the picture of perfection and beguiling sweetness. He had the distinct impression it was a well-rehearsed act, as she said, “Of course, Owen. Let’s start from the beginning. What do you remember about the day your father died?”