Secrets in a Small Town (23 page)
Y THE TIME THEY ARRIVED
at the small cottage belonging to Mama Jo and the place where Owen and his foster brothers had finished growing up, nervousness had set in. Perhaps she’d been a little rash in jumping on board with this trip. She hadn’t been thinking clearly. All she’d known was that she was riding high on her findings and Owen was leaving town. She couldn’t fathom watching him leave and waiting for him to return. The obvious answer had seemed to be that she go with him, but now, she wasn’t so sure. She wasn’t anything to him. How could she face his family as if she belonged?
She swallowed and waited to be introduced but before Owen could do the honors, the matriarch who ruled the roost stepped forward with a strong, assessing gaze that Piper felt compelled to meet without flinching, no matter how she might want to run and hide.
“Owen, who is your friend?” she asked.
“My name is Piper Sunday,” Piper answered for herself, putting her hand out for a handshake.
Mama Jo cracked a smile on her softly worn face and cackled with laughter. “Honey, if Owen brought you home, you’re more than a friend. Now, come here and give Mama Jo some love. Here, you’re family. We don’t stand on ceremony.” And then Piper was gathered into a warm embrace much the same as the rest and she delighted in the warm and fuzzy feelings it evoked. She’d never been shorted in the love department—her parents, though academic, were still affectionate—but there was something about a hug from Mama Jo that fed the soul.
She risked a glance at Owen, perhaps to apologize for horning in on his private circle but he looked anything but unhappy to have her there. Puzzled, but certainly warmed by it, Piper was released by Mama Jo and she went to stand by Owen while Mama Jo returned to the kitchen in a blur of motion.
“She certainly looks pretty healthy,” Piper offered hopefully. “I’ve heard a good attitude accounts for a significant part of a person’s recovery when it comes to cancer.”
“Mama Jo is a force of nature. I can’t imagine something like an illness taking her down,” he murmured softly. She leaned toward him and smiled as his arm reached around and anchored at her waist. “I wasn’t sure if this was a good idea at first but I’m glad you’re here.”
She looked up at him. “Me, too,” she said with sincerity.
The rest of the night was spent talking, laughing, sharing stories and eating until their guts felt ready to pop.
By the time Cassi, Thomas, Christian and Skye left, everyone was ready to turn in. Mama Jo turned to Piper with a warm but firm smile that brooked no argument as she said, “In this house, the only ones sleeping together are the ones bound together in front of God. Blankets are in the linen closet, sugar.”
Mama Jo reached up on her tiptoes to place a smacking kiss on Owen’s cheek, then pinched his cheeks for good measure, murmuring with a warm smile, “Feels good to have all my boys home for a change. Good night, honey.”
“Night, Mama Jo,” he returned with love in his voice. “You get some rest. No getting up to fix breakfast, you hear?”
Mama laughed softly and closed the door behind her, leaving them alone for the night.
“Why do I have the feeling I’m going to wake at the crack of dawn to the smell of breakfast cooking no matter what you say?”
“Because that’s exactly what she’s going to do. Stubborn woman,” he said with affection. He gestured outside. “Want to sit on the porch swing for a little while?”
She smiled. “Yeah, I’d like that.”
Owen led the way and they took up residence on the creaking wooden swing. Thoughts and questions raced through her brain, each clamoring for attention but she was reluctant to ruin an otherwise fabulous night with the things that were left unsaid between them.
“I understand your devotion to Mama Jo,” she said, breaking the silence. “She’s amazing. She manages to make you feel like you’re a part of something bigger than yourself within the first five minutes of meeting. I imagine when you were kids that was something more precious than gold to feel accepted and loved like that.”
“More than you know,” he answered gravely, the light from the moon reflecting in his eyes. “She’s the epicenter of our family. Without her… I don’t even like to think about it.”
She couldn’t even imagine the fear he had bunched inside. She’d never lost anyone close to her but she sensed his need for closeness and she was happy to give it to him. She leaned forward and brushed her lips against his. He reacted slowly, as if savoring the kiss, then drew her to him, deepening the contact until she felt as if she were happily falling. His tongue teased hers and then he broke contact. Their breathing had become shallow, as the intensity of the moment robbed them of the ability to think, much less breathe normally.
“What are we doing?” she whispered, almost afraid to hear the answer.
“I don’t know,” he admitted with a sigh. “But you’re so beautiful sometimes it hurts to look at you. I’ve wanted to kiss you since the moment you showed up in my driveway.”
Delicious heat warmed her from the inside as she said, “Me, too.” She grinned until she remembered with a frown. “That is, until you started yelling at me. Where did that come from?”
Pulling away, he said, regret in his voice, “I ran into that colleague of yours—Charlie Yert. He put a few worms in my brain that I couldn’t seem to lodge loose. I didn’t mean to lose my temper. Everything got to me at once.”
“Charlie’s always looking to stir up trouble when it comes to me and if you’re not on guard, he can get under your skin.”
“Well, he definitely managed to do that. Why does he want to stir up trouble for you?”
She shrugged. “He hates me. I think it all started when I shot him down romantically when I first came on staff. He thought he could impress me with the fact that his mother’s brother owns the newspaper.” She made a gagging noise. “But the thought of even sitting across a dinner table from Charlie was more than I could stomach. I tried to let him down easily but he wigged out. And from then on, he was on a mission to catch me screwing up. When he discovered I was nosing around the Red Meadows story, he got really weird. I just chalked it up to Charlie being Charlie but he started to get really mean about it.”
“Mean how?” he asked.
She shrugged off his concern. “Charlie is a wuss. He couldn’t hurt a fly. Doesn’t have the stomach for it. But he can be pretty snotty.”
She yawned and he rose from the swing. “Let’s hit the hay,” he said, reaching out to help her up. She climbed to her feet and even though she loved the comfort of Mama Jo’s house, suddenly she wished they’d gotten a hotel room.
HE NEXT MORNING BROKE EARLY
with a threat of a springtime shower. Jet lag messed up his internal clock but he rose in the hope of catching Mama Jo before she hit the kitchen. No such luck. He followed his nose to the savory smell of hickory-smoked bacon and eggs frying. He went to the coffeepot percolating on the stove and poured himself a cup. “Good morning,” he said from above the rim of his mug. “You are bound and determined to kill yourself, aren’t you? Thomas said the doctor told you to rest. I’m pretty sure that doesn’t include slaving over the kitchen stove at the crack of dawn.”
Sneaky woman. He smiled into his cup. She called them all her favorites when in private. He did enjoy spending this quiet time with her—it reminded him of when he lived at home. He’d always been an early riser, a man after her own heart, she’d said.
She slid an egg, perfectly cooked, onto a plate and finished it off with a generous serving of the bacon. She handed him the plate and gestured toward the table where they could sit and catch up.
“So tell me about this girl you’ve brought home,” she said. “She’s a curiosity for sure.”
“That’s no lie,” he agreed, setting his mug down to chew a piece of bacon. Lord, have mercy, that was good. He paused a minute to savor the good old-fashioned cooking he’d forgotten and then said, “Mama Jo, we started off as adversaries but somewhere along the way…things changed. Now I don’t know where we stand. It’s complicated, I guess.”
“No doubt.” She sipped her coffee. “Why don’t you start from the beginning. I have a feeling it’s a good story and I’d love to have something to think about aside from how my body is failing me.”
He sobered at the mention of her illness, even if it was offered in jest. “Mama…why didn’t you tell me sooner?” he asked, pained by her silence when her health was concerned. “I would’ve come running if I’d known.”
Her soft mouth, responsible for countless kisses that soothed infinite injuries caused by overconfident boys with little to no common sense, tipped in a knowing smile. “Which is exactly why I didn’t call. There’s nothing you could’ve done, save sit here with me fretting about things you can’t control. It’s in God’s hands, sugar.” She reached over and patted his hand. “But don’t you worry…I still have too much to do in this life to be going home just yet. Now, back to the girl. Tell me how you met.”
Owen spent the next hour pouring out his heart to the one woman who had always understood him, and when he was done, she simply chuckled and rose to start the dishes.
“What should I do?” he asked, hoping for some guidance. “I never felt like this before. It—”
“Makes your stomach queasy and your heart ache like you’ve just caught something contagious and don’t know whether you want to puke your guts or break out into song?”
He laughed. “Well, definitely something along those lines. Not sure about the singing part because I can’t carry a tune like Christian but I think you nailed the other part.”
“You’re in love, boy.”
He shook his head. “No, I don’t think love is supposed to feel this messy.”
“Owen, that’s the best kind of love. Let me tell you something, love isn’t so easily defined like the stuff they put on greeting cards. Sometimes it makes you act crazy and stupid but as long as you have that person in your life, everything is good.”
“She wants to write about the Red Meadows raid,” he said, the heaviness in his heart coming out in his voice. “All my life I’ve been connected to this terrible thing…I thought I was all about clearing my dad’s name but now…I think I was doing it for myself. If people no longer thought of my father as a monster, maybe I could live a more anonymous life.”
“Honey, what she writes isn’t going to matter. People are going to think what they choose.”
“That’s what I told her, but she’s determined to write it anyway.”
“Then let her.”
He stared at Mama Jo. “I don’t want her to.”
“Sometimes we have to let the people we love do the things they feel they must in order to find what they’re looking for inside of themselves.”
Mama Jo’s wisdom settled down deep as it always did and he realized it’d always been about Piper and, to a lesser degree, himself. His father was gone and it didn’t matter to him whether or not people whispered about what had happened twenty-five years ago. His father had died knowing Owen loved him. That’s all that should matter between a father and a son.
Mama Jo came and smoothed a lock of his hair the way she used to when he was a boy and refused to cut it. “Owen, you were always my thinker. Do yourself a favor and stop thinking this time. Go with your heart, sugar. You’ve got a good one…it won’t steer you wrong.”
WO DAYS HAD PASSED
and Piper was starting to catch the rhythm of Mama Jo’s house, but with her back complaining from sleeping on the sofa, she was looking forward to staying a night or two with Cassi and Thomas. Apparently, before Cassi had turned into a wanted felon, she’d actually been quite rich. Now that Cassi had returned to polite society, she and Thomas had moved into Cassi’s family mansion. The thought of fine sheets and a soft bed were a big draw, though she’d miss hanging out with Mama Jo.
“Let’s talk for a minute,” Owen offered.
“What would you like to talk about?” she asked, curious.
“I don’t know…stuff people talk about when they’re trying to get to know one another naturally and not with the aid of government files.”
“Ask away. I’m an open book.”
Put on the spot, he floundered a little. Then he started off with simple questions that felt a lot like a dating-game questionnaire. “Do you like animals?”
She sipped her coffee. “I do. As long as they don’t require too much care. A fish is probably about my speed.”
“How about kids?”
“Same.”
“Same?”
“Well, I mean, I love kids as long as they go home with someone else. Kids are a lot of work. Worse so than a puppy, I hear.”
He chuckled but she heard a little disappointment, too, as he continued, “So no kids for you, huh?”
“I didn’t say that, necessarily. Just none for me,
right now.
My parents gave me a wonderful childhood. I want to be able to do that, too, and I can’t when I’m focused on my career.” She peered at him. “Are you trying to see if we’re compatible or something?” she joked.
“Maybe.”
Her heart warmed at his admission and the jolt of happiness it caused nearly made her forget what she needed to say. Her smile faded and she drew a deep breath before saying, “Owen…I’m still going to write about Red Meadows.”
“I know.”
She met his stare. “And you’re okay with that?”
“Yeah. I know who my father was. Anything you write isn’t going to change that.”
She let out a shaky breath and waited a minute for her nerves to settle. Now she could tell him what she’d been itching to tell him since last night. “I’m so glad to hear that because I have news to share that I think you’re going to want to hear.”
“Like what?”
“Remember how I told you my parents wrote about their findings and experiences within the Aryan Coalition? Well, there was a name in the findings that was listed in the names of the deceased. Up till now I hadn’t been able to find a paper trail for the mysterious guy who’d been seen arguing with Ty before he died. William Dearborn said he didn’t recognize him, but apparently someone had noticed his comings and goings, right around the time the shipments were heading out. I think he was an FBI agent on the take. If so, he’d do anything to make Ty look like the monster to throw the attention from him, even kill innocent people.”
“What was the name?”
“Richard Stark.”
He searched his memory but came up with nothing. “I don’t remember that name. It might’ve been a cover.”
“Exactly. Which is why I had your brother look into it. He was able to do a search for aliases within the FBI system for their agents.”
“When did you have time to talk to Thomas?” he asked.
She waved away his question. “Immaterial. The fact is, he was willing to help and he found answers that would’ve taken forever and a lot of paperwork to find out on my own.”
“So what’d he find?” he asked.
“Well, here’s the best part…turns out Richard Stark—the man who orchestrated the raid—is actually Hank Yertz.”
“Yertz…why is that name familiar?”
“Because he just happens to be the father of one Charlie Yertz, the number one pain in my butt at the paper. But wait, it gets better. Hank, under the alias of Richard Stark, had been listed as one of the deceased in the raid but that’d just been to avoid questions later as he resumed his life, rich and fat from the millions of dollars he skimmed from the Aryan Coalition’s illegal activities.” She made a show of checking her watch. “Right about now, Charlie Yertz and his scumbag father are probably getting arrested by federal agents on a host of charges that range from murder to accessory to murder. All in all, it’s news that I find extremely gratifying. Seems Thomas ran with the information as soon as it became clear that there was something dirty going on. Your brother is pretty cool. Very Johnny on the Spot. I like that.”
“Yeah, he’s always been a stickler for the rules,” he murmured, appearing a little dazed by the sudden flow of information after decades of silence. “So, what now?”
She sobered and straddled his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Now I let the FBI dig around in Yertz’s life and when they finish, I scoop up the dirt and write about it, win an award and then become a famous journalist.”
“And where do I fit in with that plan?” he asked.
She bit her lip, glancing at him from beneath her lashes. “I was hoping we could figure that out together.”
“Are you sure? It might not be easy,” he said with a sweetly vulnerable expression that spoke to her heart and created a riot of warm and toasty feelings.
Owen Garrett was a good man, who cared deeply for others and put the welfare of those he loved above his own. That was why he worked punishing hours and never let a call go to voice mail no matter the hour—unless the call had been hers. She regretted railroading him in the beginning to get what she wanted and pursuing him relentlessly—even using a wee bit of extortion to persuade him to talk to her. Yes, she realized, she hadn’t played fair or nice.
And yet, he’d still helped her.
If her parents could stomach the idea that she wolfed down burgers and steaks with the unapologetic abandon of a true carnivore, they’d eventually get over the fact that she was in love with Owen Garrett.
Imagine how awkward those tree-sits were going to be…
Suddenly she gripped his face, staring into his eyes. “I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you. I don’t have a lot of experience with this sort of thing, so I’m not sure if I’m doing this right. I don’t know if I’m supposed to be coy and make you chase me but to be truthful, I’m an impatient person and I want to skip the part where I make you run after me and I want to get to the good stuff.”
“The good stuff… And what might that be?”
“Well, I like to do something until I feel I’m quite
proficient,
which means I’m going to require plenty of practice in the carnal department, that is if you’re
up
for it.”
His voice sounded strained as he said, “Careful or you’ll end up on your back before you even realize what happened.”
She tightened her arms around his neck and whispered in his ear, “What are you waiting for?” Smiling when she felt his muscles tense, she added in a husky, suggestive tone. “I’ve heard of this thing called a quickie…?”
As Owen educated her in the joys of fast and dirty, she closed her eyes and knew she’d found her rightful place…in Owen’s arms no matter where they might end up in the future. She wanted to be by his side as he weathered every storm, to be his rock during a crisis, because she knew, in her heart, that he would always do the same for her.
And that was pretty damn awesome—perhaps even better than a Pulitzer.
