Wild Flower (26 page)

He tucked hair behind my ear and smiled into my eyes, and I leaned to kiss his dimple.

“Fifteen minutes!” Case said, flicking a french fry at us.

The show brought down the house. I joined the guys partway through, as promised, though my presence had been much in demand on the dance floor; Clark's boys were just as schooled in the two-step as he was, and I took turns with each of them. They kept cutting in on each other and again I giggled, thinking of Millie from
Seven Brides
.

Tish and Ruthie should be here, I thought. Wouldn't they get a kick out of this?

October
, I reminded myself.
They'll all come to Landon for the wedding.

By the time we made it back to the Rawleys' house, it was near to three in the morning. Mathias carried me to bed. In the morning we would be traveling further west, onto Harry and Meg Carter, and, I prayed, more answers.

“Let's plan tomorrow for the girls' night,” Jo said Friday evening, a few hours after we'd bid our families farewell. They weren't headed far, as it was just over thirty miles to Itasca State Park, a longtime favorite of the Miller family. Jo swept her hair into a loose ponytail and fanned the back of her neck with its length, adding, “I'm beat. I need a night to myself, sunk in my tub.”

“Can we do pedicures and stuff?” I teased. I had missed my sister and almost asked if I could come stay at her house tonight anyway. It wasn't as though it was very far through the woods from my own. But she needed time to herself too; not that she would get a ton of that with both Tish and Ruthann in the cabin. We were sitting at a porch table as the sun slowly sank; there were a handful of customers yet in the bar, lingering over a last drink, but we had both closed out all of our tickets.

“Of course,” she said. She tapped her lips with her index finger and I knew she was craving a smoke as much as I was at this moment. She said softly then, “I've been thinking a lot about what Noah told you yesterday. Hearing what he said will hurt Camille, I know it will. But what do you do? He abandoned her. She's supposed to leap back into his arms when he decides he's changed his mind?”

“No, of course not,” I said. “I just feel bad that he understands that she really just wishes she didn't have to deal with him, you know? That's not exactly something you want to hear.”

“You think I don't get it?” Jo asked. “Jackson tries to play the guilt card every time I have to be in the same room with him. Shit, like at Tish and Clinty's grad party. What a joke. Thank goodness Blythe doesn't let Jackie upset him so much anymore.”

“Yeah, Jackson was asking to get his ass kicked,” I reflected. “I can't see Noah ever getting to that level. I mean, you and Jackie have a history. Noah and Camille were never truly together. They made a beautiful little girl, but they weren't ever married. Noah doesn't have the same motivation. I think he's finally just realizing his mistake.”

“Can you see Noah and Camille together though, truly? I can't,” Jo said. “It just seems wrong. And I have never seen my baby girl so happy as the way she's been happy since last December. Mathias just loves her to pieces. And she loves him the same way.”

“I know she does,” I said. “I just hope they find something on their trip. Some sort of definitive answer, so she can rest. She's so worried.”

“She's always been a worrier,” Jo noted, sighing a little. “It's being the oldest daughter that does it.”

“Yes, we second daughters have nothing to worry about,” I teased her.

“Gran would know what I mean,” Jo said, sighing again. She let her hair fall back over her shoulders and I almost damned it all and went to root out the pack of cigarettes I knew was behind the bar. Talking about Gran made me want to smoke more than ever, but I restrained the urge.

“That's funny,” I said softly. “I was missing Gran so much yesterday. I always miss her, beneath the surface, but yesterday it hit me especially. It makes me want to be around the old house, you know?”

Jo nodded at once, her eyes misting with tears. “I miss her so much too. She passed so quickly, we didn't get a chance to say good-bye. I still sometimes forget she's gone, that she won't be sitting at table three in the mornings, drinking her coffee.”

“Yeah, I know,” I said painfully.

“We were lucky to have her,” Jo said. She curled her hand over mine and said, “I love you, Jilly Bean. I'm sorry about everything. I know you were just worried the other night, speaking of worry.”

I turned my hand over to wind my fingers through hers and said, “I know. I love you too. And I'm sorry I was acting like such a bitch.”

“You've had a lot on your mind,” she allowed.

“Well, if Justin
was
in jail for some reason,” I said, trying for a little teasing, though I meant what I said one hundred percent, “I would accept collect calls from him morning, noon and night, just to hear his voice. It would kill me otherwise.”

Jo leaned and kissed my forehead and then said, “Thanks, Jills.”

Later I told Mom that I was going to sleep over at her house this evening if that was all right, and she replied, “Well that's just wonderful. I made a pan of fudge brownies today too.”

“That might have been part of the motivation to stay over,” I teased.

A few hours later I was in my pajamas, and Mom, Ellen and I had eaten the entire pan. Contentedly drowsy, I was lingering at the kitchen table with a last cup of decaf. The light over the stove was on, creating a cozy glow in the room; Mom and Aunt Ellen had retired to bed, though it wasn't particularly late, only around eleven or so. But it had been a long week. I was just about to head upstairs to crash in mine and Jo's old bedroom when I realized my cell phone was still on the counter beside the till, back in the café.

Dammit.

I wanted to talk to my husband, make sure they were settled in over at Itasca. I couldn't even use a phone here, as Mom and Ellen had just last year decided they were sick of paying for landline service in the house, when there was a perfectly good phone in the café. Mom had a cell phone for emergencies, but I would bet she hadn't placed a call from it even once since purchasing it last year. I was pretty sure it was lying dead in a drawer somewhere, all but forgotten.

It's just a minute walk, I reminded myself. You'll be right back.

I grabbed a hooded sweatshirt and shrugged into it as I walked. Shore Leave was comfortingly familiar in the moonlight as I climbed up the porch steps and used the key I'd carried in my pocket to unlock the door and slip inside. Even though I knew the space well enough that a light wasn't necessary, I clicked on one of the overheads. I collected my phone and then noticed that the message light on the answering machine connected to the café phone was blinking. My own phone had a missed call from Justin, and I would bet that he'd tried to call me here, to let me know that they had arrived safely.

I leaned over the counter and pressed the playback button. The first message was from a restaurant supply distributor in a solicitation, and I erased it at once. A man's voice I didn't know came on next, and my finger was poised to delete this one too, but then I realized it was someone from Moorhead State University, returning Mom's call, and I listened up.

“…calling for Joan Davis. I apologize that I didn't respond yesterday, but I was out of the office. Ms. Davis, I am quite disturbed at your message, for two reasons. First, we had a Zack Dixon here as a grad student last spring. He was kicked out of the program, for reasons I can't disclose. But I assure you, he is a person to avoid. And secondly, that someone is in your area claiming to be from our institution. We have no students in Beltrami County conducting research. Please feel free to call me in the morning to chat further regarding this matter.”

The phone fell from my numb fingers and clattered against the wooden surface of the counter. I was shaking almost too badly to pick it back up, but I managed, fitting it back into its cradle. My entire body felt as though it had been immersed in icy water, my eyes flashing frantically to the darkened windows. My own reflection peered back from the curtainless expanse of glass and a thousand eyes seemed to be watching. My neck prickled horribly.

He's gone, he's not here. He is gone. He left town.

Oh God.

Who the fuck is he? What does this mean?

My legs were almost useless, trembling as hard as they were, but I forced myself to walk out the front door, clicking on the porch light as I did so, determined to walk the short distance over to Mom and Aunt Ellen's and tell them exactly what I had just learned. If they wanted to call the police, then we would.

Is that really necessary?

What would you even tell them?

I made it down the porch steps and an owl hooted loudly, as though just above my head. I started, gasping, pressing a hand to my heart to still the sudden frightful pounding there, almost laughing at my own jumpiness as the huge bird flapped away across the black sky, no more than a few yards above the café.

It's all right, Jilly, it's just an –

It was at that exact moment he caught me from behind. I hadn't detected a sound, his footfalls silent over the grass, not even able to scream as his hand swooped around my head and clamped hard over my mouth. He carried me effortlessly around the far side of the café, where he spun me around so that I could see his face, keeping my mouth fiercely covered. The back of my head cracked against the side of the café as he pinned me against it.

“Don't make a sound,” he ordered, his vicious voice low and soft. As prey before a much stronger, faster and cunning predator, instinct rendered my limbs temporarily motionless. In sharp contrast, my mind lunged and then streaked as though at light speeds, racing through a thousand thoughts and images in the space of a second.

Oh God oh God oh God…

He didn't leave.

You can't fight him.

He's going to hurt you.

Justin, oh God, Justin…

The baby. If I struggle, he'll hurt me worse.

Jilly, do something, for God's sake!

Move! Scream!

But only a gulp, a pitiful little whimper of air, emerged from behind his hand.

He had my back up against the wall, the boards unyielding behind me. Even as I watched his terrible, pale snake eyes come closer, smelled his breath against my face, I was imagining impossible things, such as the wall magically becoming one of those revolving doors from a cartoon, safely spinning me away from this horror. Instead I was trapped, one of his hands clenched over my mouth, the other braced beneath my breasts, effectively pinning my upper arms. Sweat erupted all over my icy skin, all internal sounds amplified, as though I had both hands clamped over my ears.

My baby, Justin's son, kicked at my belly then and my bowels seemed to liquefy with agony.

Oh God, baby, my baby boy, I'm so sorry…

Oh God…

Zack wedged a knee between my thighs. I was wearing loose pajama shorts and his bare leg felt more obscene than I could possibly describe. Bile surged up my throat and I gagged a little. Instantly he said, “Does this make you sick, Jillian? You don't want this? Don't want me?”

“You…fucker…” I tried to rasp, though I should have known better.

“That's big talk,” he said, shoving me even harder against the wall. He put his mouth almost against my right cheek as he asked in a whisper, “Where's your scar-face husband now? You're not so tough without him, are you? Will he still want you after I'm through with you? Tell me.”

My breath was coming in frantic little gasps.

“He won't,” Zack said, notes of both aggression and triumph in his voice. “He can fuck himself then.” As he spoke, he lowered one hand down my body, over my belly and then further. Tears streamed down my cheeks and I heard growling sounds of hatred coming from my throat. He only smiled. He squeezed hard at both points of contact, though his voice bore an almost loving tone as he said softly, “But first I'm going to fuck you. I knew you I was going to fuck you from the second I saw you, Jillian. I have never wanted a girl the way I want you. I just had to find the right time.”

I closed my eyes to block out the sight of him, but I could not likewise cover my ears. He pressed his face closer, directly against my skin, and continued speaking, “I know you want it. You can't fool me, you little pregnant slut. You're all little sluts. Camille swims naked in the lake, right down there. I saw her, but I don't want her the way I want you. I've been waiting and waiting for you, and finally here you are. I knew if I was patient I would get you alone. You're my reward.”

I tried to bite him. My teeth scraped over his palm, uselessly, but he made a sound of muted rage and before I could blink, he released his hold on my mouth and backhanded me across the right side of my face. Bursts of hot-white light exploded before my eyes. It hurt so much that I lost momentary focus; I had never before in my life been purposely struck.

Seeing stars
, I realized dimly, somewhere in the recesses of my mind.

“Hold still,” he ordered in my ear, his voice clipped, breathless. His palm was slick and rough against my mouth, his other hand resuming its course between my legs. He fumbled to the hem of my shorts and then there was nothing to stall his progress. His breath was harsh and fast on my face. He whispered, “You want it, admit you want it. You knew I was in your house, you found what I left for you. You want me. Tell me so.”

“No,” I heard myself beg, though the word was obstructed by his hand. “No.”

He tried to get his hand beneath my shorts and I twisted so fiercely that he stumbled a little, enough that my counter-movement caused me to fall to my knees. I tried to scramble away, on all fours, but he was on me in an instant, this time catching my hips and flinging me to my back, as though I was as floppy and malleable as a ragdoll. All of the breath left my lungs as he braced over me, pinning me by the throat with one hand.

“Shut the
fuck up
,” he hissed.

I had a brief sense of movement beyond Zack's shoulder and thought I was imagining things. Zack yanked the shorts down over my hips.

“Get away from her right now,” said a trembling voice to my left. I was so overcome with terror that at first it didn't register to me that someone else was speaking.

Zack froze.

“Get away from Jilly right now,” the voice repeated, still shaking.

“Or what?” Zack asked, his voice black as death. His body was blocking my view of the person connected to the voice.