Читать книгу Discovering You - Brenda Novak - Страница 12

5

Rod cursed as he stared down at his new cast. The doctor had indicated that the worst of his injuries hadn’t occurred during the fight. He’d busted his hand trying to break his fall from the bike, but hitting Liam after had led to a second fracture—a stress fracture. The doctor couldn’t believe he’d been capable of using his fists, although Rod didn’t remember feeling he’d had any choice. When Liam came running back to him, he’d assumed he had to get up and defend himself. He wasn’t about to let Crockett, or anyone else for that matter, beat his ass.

So now he was looking at six weeks without the use of his right hand. He knew the routine, had been through it before—with a broken ankle from a waterskiing accident, a broken left wrist from when he’d been hit by a wild baseball pitch and a broken transverse process, one of the small bones coming off his spine, from when he’d rolled his four-wheeler.

Fortunately, his leg wasn’t broken, too. It just felt like it.

I could help get the dirt and gravel out of your leg...

As Rod passed India’s house on the way home, he remembered that offer and wished he’d taken her up on it. Maybe then he’d be able to go back there and get lost in her all over again. He was eager for any distraction absorbing enough to take his mind off his aches and pains—as well as the ominous news he’d received a few minutes earlier, when Chief Bennett had called to warn him that Liam Crockett’s sister was urging her brother to press charges.

If they sued for medical expenses, he’d have another fight on his hands, and this wouldn’t be physical, so he wasn’t as likely to win. His reputation—and the reputation of his family—would work against him, which was doubly unfair, since he hadn’t done even half the shit he’d been accused of doing.

Once he’d parked in his drive, his phone buzzed. He’d received a message from Cheyenne, Dylan’s wife. She was planning to bring him dinner tonight. He liked it when she cooked. She tried to mother them the way Dylan fathered them. But she wasn’t coming until six, and it was only two. Rod supposed that if he couldn’t spend the afternoon with India, he should try to get some work done. Dylan had sent him home, wouldn’t let him stay at the shop, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t mow the yard. At least he’d have something to show for the day.

He went inside to change into a pair of basketball shorts, which wouldn’t be as hot as his jeans. But then he noticed his laptop sitting on the coffee table and decided to take a minute to see if he could learn a few details about his new neighbor. He was more than a little curious, especially after last night.

Groaning as he eased into a recliner, he logged on to the internet. When he typed the name “Dr. Charlie Sommers” into a search engine, he thought he’d be lucky to find a brief obituary that would tell him how India’s husband had died.

But he got a lot more than that. Link after link filled the screen.

Renowned Heart Surgeon Shot in Bed

Wife Knew Gunman Who Killed Husband

Dr. Sommers’s Parents Hire PI

Secret Affair or Spurned Lover?

Sebastian Young Charged in Sommers’s Murder

Doctor’s Wife Claims Innocence

Wife’s Ex-Boyfriend Murders Heart Surgeon?

Surgeon’s Murder Trial Ends in Hung Jury

“Holy shit,” Rod muttered as he read the accompanying articles. No wonder India didn’t talk about how her husband had died. Her ex-boyfriend had broken in late at night and gunned him down while they were both sleeping and their young daughter was in the other room. According to one journalist, who’d reported on the trial, India stated under oath that she’d awakened to the sound of her ex-boyfriend’s voice demanding Charlie get out of bed. When she realized it wasn’t a nightmare and managed to open her eyes, she saw Sebastian Young standing at the foot of the bed, holding a gun.

Charlie, disoriented and barely awake, had reached for his cell—and was shot. The gunman then threatened to kill India’s daughter if India didn’t pack a bag and leave with him. She complied as far as gathering her things but pleaded and argued with him for the next few hours. It wasn’t until the housekeeper arrived the following morning, and the carpet cleaners rang the bell shortly after, that Sebastian dragged India out the back door. India claimed that he demanded she leave her child, which she wouldn’t do. She thought he was about to shoot her when the housekeeper stumbled on the bloody mess in the bedroom and started to scream. Fortunately, Sebastian didn’t pull the trigger. At that point, he panicked and ran.

What a story! Rod rubbed his chin as he searched through even more links. The trial had lasted for three weeks but ended in a hung jury. Some questioned whether India could’ve been involved, whether she might’ve killed her husband and blamed Sebastian, or manipulated Sebastian into killing her husband for her. Although there’d never been any charges filed against her, the suspicion lingered, which became more and more apparent as he continued to read.

Rod hoped to learn the DA’s decision on whether to try Young again, but he couldn’t find any word of it. The most recent articles were over a month old.

What had happened since? Was this Sebastian still in jail, awaiting a new trial? Or had he been released? And if he’d been released, where the hell was he? Was India worried that he might come back? Was that the reason her in-laws had her daughter?

She must have been severely traumatized. Not only had she lost her husband, she’d been villainized by the press and her detractors, too. “It’s always the spouse,” one neighbor had said.

At first, no surprise, the police had focused on India. The money she stood to receive, and the value of Charlie’s life insurance policy, had given her more than a million reasons to get rid of him. There was even some mention of the type of people she’d associated with before her marriage, as if the friends she’d once had proved that she wasn’t a good person.

They weren’t the sort Rod would’ve expected. One had belonged to an outlaw biker gang. She’d been with him for about a year—until he tried to run her over with his truck and she had to get a restraining order against him. Then she’d gotten involved with Sebastian, who’d robbed a store and spent four years in prison for it. Everyone pointed to that as proof that she must’ve known he was dangerous, that she must’ve wanted to get back with him when he was released from prison.

But robbery wasn’t murder. Sebastian had threatened the liquor-store clerk by saying he had a gun in his pocket; he hadn’t really had one. Nobody had been hurt, and he’d served his sentence for that crime. Those were important distinctions, and yet her detractors hadn’t cut her any slack. What the detective on Charlie’s case had to say was important, too. He told one reporter that she’d never written Sebastian or visited him, not after she met Charlie. There were no texts between them that included anything questionable or suggestive and only a few calls, which was consistent with her story that she’d merely been trying to help him. Also, Sebastian had been out of prison for a year before he even reached out, and he did that on Facebook, so they had proof of first contact.

Rod didn’t believe India had anything to do with Charlie’s murder, and the police must not have found any evidence to the contrary because they’d dismissed her as a suspect early on. Plenty of people continued to doubt her, though. Rod came across several articles that pointed a finger at her. But he understood what it was like to be judged on the basis of the past. There was no getting rid of the stigma attached to certain mistakes.

Maybe he and India weren’t so different, after all.

Setting his computer aside, he pulled his cell out of his pocket. He had her number from when she’d called last night, trying to find his phone. He’d nearly added her to his contacts list several times today, but he’d stopped himself. Now he went ahead. She was innocent of her husband’s death. She truly loved Charlie. Rod could see that last night. She’d told him as much.

She’d also said she could use a friend, and he’d blown her off.

He felt bad about that now.

He felt even worse once he found her cookies.

* * *

India was concentrating so hard on her work that it took several seconds to realize someone was watching her. When it finally occurred to her that she had company, she jumped. She was so afraid Sebastian would appear out of nowhere, like he had before. But this time she knew who it would be. She’d heard Rod come home less than an hour earlier.

“Hey.” He had a toothpick in his mouth and a cast on his right hand. He hooked his left on the wood overhang as he gazed through the screen.

When she’d jerked, she’d messed up the pot she’d been throwing, which was unfortunate. She’d already started over several times. After what she’d heard from Detective Flores, she was too upset to have steady hands—and yet she’d needed something to do. She couldn’t sit there and worry indefinitely.

She wouldn’t start over again now, however. Having Rod so close made it virtually impossible to focus, especially since she wasn’t prepared to see him. She didn’t have any makeup on, or shoes—or even a bra. In deference to the heat, she’d stripped down to a pair of high-waisted cutoffs and an old button-down shirt of Charlie’s that she’d tied under her breasts.

“Hey,” she echoed and, after pushing the clay into a big lump, turned off her wheel.

He gave her a sheepish look. “I didn’t cause that, did I?” he asked, indicating her ruined vase.

“No,” she lied. Then she bolstered her response with the truth. “Mistakes and do-overs happen all the time. This was actually my fourth try today.”

“Really?”

“Really,” she said. “Don’t worry about it.”

He lowered his good arm to move the toothpick to the other side of his mouth. “You ever seen the movie Ghost?”

She had. That steamy scene with Demi Moore and Patrick Swayze was one of her all-time favorites, but after last night, she was surprised he’d bring it up. “Yes.”

“That’s what finding you covered in clay and not much else reminds me of.”

Ignoring that comment, she got off her stool and walked over to him. “You broke your hand, huh?”

“Yeah.” He frowned at it. “In two places.”

“I’m sorry about that. But I’m glad you saw a doctor.”

“Yeah, it’s a good thing. It would’ve had to be rebroken if I’d let it heal on its own, so...better to go this route from the beginning.”

“Is this your first cast?”

He chuckled without mirth. “’Fraid not.”

“They’re no fun.”

“You’ve had one?”

“Broke my arm once.”

“How?”

“Motorcycle accident.”

“Who was driving?”

Sebastian had been driving. He’d been angry with a friend and going too fast, and he’d pulled out in front of a semi that clipped their back tire. It was a miracle they’d lived through it. Because of that, he had a scar going halfway around his back, and she had two pins in her arm, but it could’ve been so much worse.

“A friend,” she said to avoid mentioning Sebastian’s name.

Rod studied her until she felt too uncomfortable to allow the silence to continue.

“So...what can I do for you?” she asked.

His mouth quirked to one side. “I just found a plate of cookies on the railing of my deck.”

It was almost impossible not to return his smile, but India fought the impulse. She had to remain on guard at all times. He did something to her she couldn’t explain—probably because it didn’t make any sense. She’d barely met him. “I hope the ants didn’t find them first.”

“Not that I could see. Although I wouldn’t have let that stop me. They were delicious.”

“Were?” she repeated. “You ate them already?”

“Was I supposed to wait? If my brothers came home and found me with homemade cookies, they’d be gone in seconds. And my father and his wife are always there.”

“So to prevent sharing, you ate all twelve?” she said with a laugh.

“They were for me, weren’t they?” he responded with a wink.

He made her feel better. She preferred not to contemplate why. “Yes, they were for you, and I’m glad you liked them.” She sobered. “I hope you also got my note.”

“I did.”

Then why was he here? Didn’t her note say it all?

She crossed to the sink in the corner. “I’m really sorry about last night,” she said as she washed her hands. “I’ve made my share of mistakes, but I’ve never done anything like that.”

“I’m not here for another apology. I just wanted to tell you not to worry about it. I can understand why you might want to feel good for a change.”

“Thank you. I appreciate your forgiveness. But I’m really not as bad as hitting on you made me seem.”

“I know.”

After drying her hands, she used the same towel to mop the beads of sweat running down the sides of her face. “Then...can we pretend it never happened?”

His gaze slid over her like it had last night, and she suddenly realized why she’d propositioned him. Just the way he looked at her—as if he was undressing her with his eyes, even though they weren’t talking about anything remotely suggestive—made her too aware of him. He exuded sex appeal, and as a young, lonely widow, she was vulnerable. It’d been eleven months since she’d felt a man’s touch; she missed Charlie’s gentle caress.

“’Course. I’m not holding anything against you,” he said, giving her the impression that he wouldn’t have thought twice about what she’d done, with or without the cookie offering.

Maybe he got hit on all the time. India knew she couldn’t be the only woman to find him attractive.

She clasped her hands in front of her, partially to hide the fact that she didn’t know what to do with them now that she’d cleaned them, and partially to block his view of the stains on her shirt. When she was creating, she didn’t care about staying clean. She didn’t care about much of anything then. Several hours could pass without her noticing. Her art was the one thing that helped her cope with life since Charlie died.

“Good. Thanks again.” She gestured toward her back door. “I’d better go inside. I’ve still got a lot to do tonight.”

“India?” He stopped her before she could reach the sanctuary of her kitchen, and his tone suggested that whatever he was about to say wasn’t idle chitchat.

She turned. “Yes?”

“Let me take you to dinner.”

She almost told him again what she’d told him last night. That she was still in love with her late husband, that she couldn’t get involved. Even when she started dating again, she couldn’t date anyone like Rod. Her in-laws would take one look at him, see Sebastian Young instead and sue her for custody of Cassia. It could easily be the final piece of “evidence” to convince them that her poor choices were to blame for the death of their son.

But instead of “no,” she heard herself say, “When?”

“Tomorrow night?”

He’d lowered his voice in what felt like a meaningful way and that filled her belly with butterflies. She stared at him, willing herself to clarify that she couldn’t go, but she didn’t. She nodded.

“Pick you up at six,” he said.

Her heartbeat seemed to travel out to her fingertips. What was she doing? Clearly, she’d lost her mind—and yet she overrode her better judgment for a second time. “Okay.”

When his smile widened, she felt a bit wobbly in the knees. “See you soon.”