Читать книгу Crossroads - Irene Hannon, Irene Hannon - Страница 11

“H ow about a cup of coffee to go with that pie?”

Mitch looked up at the older man and smiled. “You spoil me, Uncle Ray.”

“No such thing. Your visits give me a good excuse to visit the bakeshop in town. Course, their pies aren’t as good as Emma’s. But they’re sure a sight better’n mine.”

“I do miss Aunt Emma’s pies,” Mitch agreed.

“Me, too. And a whole lot more,” Uncle Ray said, his eyes softening briefly before he turned away to fiddle with the coffeemaker.

Mitch glanced at his uncle, still spare and straight at seventy-six. Only a pronounced limp, the result of a bad fracture from a severe fall over two years before, had slowed him down. Mitch knew the older man found the limp burdensome, though he never complained. And he still tried to put in a full day in the fields. Mitch had been trying to convince him to slow down, but as Uncle Ray always reminded him, farming was his life. He liked working the land.

Besides, Mitch reflected, the land had been the one constant in a life that had known its share of loss and grief. So he couldn’t bring himself to force the issue. Instead, he’d found a job in St. Louis and spent his spare time helping out on the farm. It was the least he could do for the man who had been his lifeline six years before, who had shown him the way out of darkness step by painful step, who had helped him reconnect with his faith and find solace in the Lord. He owed his life—and his sanity—to Uncle Ray, and whenever the work began to overwhelm him, he only had to think back to that nightmare time to realize just how deeply in debt he was to this special man.

“So what’s on the schedule this weekend?” Mitch asked when the older man turned to place a cup of coffee in front of him.

“There are still a couple of fields that need to be turned over,” Uncle Ray said as he sat down across from Mitch. “I figured I’d get to them during the week, but I don’t move quite as fast as I used to.”

Mitch frowned. “I thought we agreed that we’d do the heavy work together, on weekends?”

Uncle Ray shrugged. “I have time to spare, Mitch. You don’t. What little free time you have shouldn’t be spent out here on an isolated farm with an old man.”

“We’ve been through this before, Uncle Ray. I told you, I like coming out here. It’s a nice change of pace from the city.”

“Can’t argue with that. It is a great place. Nothing beats the fresh air and open spaces. But you need some time to yourself, son. Companions your own age. You aren’t going to find those things out here.”

“I have everything I need,” Mitch assured him. “My life is full. I have no complaints.”

Uncle Ray looked at him steadily. “You know I don’t interfere, Mitch. I learned my lesson on that score the hard way years ago.” A flicker of sadness echoed in his eyes. “But I care about you, son. I don’t want you to be alone.”

Mitch reached over and laid his hand over his uncle’s slightly gnarled fingers. “I’m not alone.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

Mitch sighed. “I know. But I had my chance once, Uncle Ray. And I threw it away.”

“You’re a different man now.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. I can’t risk it.”

“Well, it’s your life, Mitch. I can’t tell you how to live it. I just want you to be happy.”

“I am happy, Uncle Ray.”

“Can I ask you one other thing?”

“Sure.” Mitch’s reply was swift and decisive. In a friendship forged in pain, there were few secrets and even fewer off-limit questions.

“In all these years, has there ever been anyone…special in your life?”

Mitch took a sip of his coffee and forced his lips into a smile. “I assume you mean a woman.”

“That’s what I had in mind.”

Mitch thought of all the women he’d met in the past six years who had made it clear that they were available if he was interested. But he hadn’t been. Not even remotely. Not after… His pretense of a smile faded and he shook his head.

“No.”

“Hmm.” Uncle Ray pondered that for a moment as he scooped up another bite of pie. “So no one’s ever caught your fancy, made you second-guess your decision to stay single?”

For some disconcerting reason the image of Tess Lockwood suddenly came to mind, and Mitch frowned. How odd. He barely knew the woman. They weren’t even on a first-name basis. True, she’d somehow managed to touch a place in his heart that he’d carefully protected all these years. But it had to be just some weird quirk. What else could it be when they were essentially strangers? Mitch looked over at his uncle to find the older man gazing at him quizzically.

“What’s wrong, son?”

Mitch shook his head. “For some strange reason the mother of one of my problem students just came to mind.”

“A friend of yours?”

“Hardly. We’ve only met twice. She’s a single mom who’s got her hands full with a troublesome teen and a new job. I’m not sure why I thought of her just now.”

“The mind works in mysterious ways,” Uncle Ray said noncommittally. “Well, I just don’t want to take up all of your free time. I can try to find one of the local boys to help me out.”

“We’ve been down that road before,” Mitch reminded him. “They’re either all working on their family’s farm or they don’t know one end of a plow from the other.”

“Good help is hard to find,” Uncle Ray conceded.

“So let’s just go on as we have been,” Mitch concluded, savoring the last mouthful of pie. “It works for both of us. You get a farmhand, I get three square meals and fresh air, and we both get great conversation.” He wiped his mouth and grinned as he laid his napkin on the table. “And if you ask me, that’s a pretty good deal all the way around.”

The building was hot. And still. And ominous. A prickle of apprehension skittered across the back of his neck, and he tightened his hold on the gun. Something was wrong. Very wrong. He could sense it. And he’d been a cop long enough to respect his senses. Especially in abandoned warehouses.

At least he wasn’t alone. Jacobsmeyer was circling in the other direction, only a shout away. And his partner was good. The best. Mitch drew a deep breath. Whatever was wrong, they’d find it. And fix it.

He stopped at a closed storage door, listening intently. Nothing. He tried the knob. Unlocked. Carefully he eased it open. Darkness. An even stronger feeling of foreboding. He swept the beam of his flashlight over the floor. Trash. Empty cans. A sport shoe protruding from a pile of boxes. A beat-up shopping cart. Some… He suddenly went still, then slowly swung his light back to the shoe, his stomach clenching. God, let me be wrong! he prayed. But his eyes hadn’t lied. The shoe was attached to a leg.

He sucked in his breath, his heart hammering in his chest. He’d been here before, and it was never pretty. But it was his job. Steeling himself, he picked his way over the trash to the boxes. Hesitated. Took another breath. Slowly let the arc of light travel up the body. Hesitated again. Finally moved it up to the face. Felt his world tilt. Crash. Shatter into a thousand pieces. And then he screamed. And screamed again. And again. And…

Mitch jerked bolt upright in bed, shaking violently. Dear God, the nightmare was back. Just when he’d begun to believe that it had released its hold on him. But now it had returned, stronger than ever.

“Mitch? You okay?”

Uncle Ray’s concerned voice came from the other side of the door, and Mitch sucked in a ragged breath. “Yeah. I’m…fine,” he called hoarsely, his voice as tattered as his nerves.

“You need anything?” Though his uncle’s voice was calm, it was laced with worry.

Mitch took another deep breath, forcing air into lungs that didn’t want to expand. “No. I’m okay, Uncle Ray. Sorry I woke you.”

“I wasn’t really sleeping anyway. Try to go back to sleep.”

“Yeah, I will. Thanks.”

Slowly Mitch eased himself back down, damp with sweat. He’d put his uncle through this drill more times than he could count. But the older man never seemed to mind. He’d been through his own hell. He understood.

Mitch wanted to let go of the nightmare. Wanted to find a way to put it behind him and move on, as Uncle Ray had. He’d always hoped that in time the memory would fade. But he was less and less convinced that it would. Because while both men shared a legacy of regret, only Mitch’s included an unspeakable horror.

And no matter what he had done in the intervening years to make amends, no matter how often he’d prayed for release from the guilt and the pain, deep in his heart he knew that he didn’t deserve a reprieve from the traumatic memory of that night.

At the sound of a knock, Mitch looked up. “Come in.”

Karen opened the office door. “Ms. Lockwood is here.”

Mitch glanced at his watch, then at his piled-high desk. As usual, the day had flown by and he’d finished only half of what he’d set out to accomplish. “There aren’t enough hours in the day, Karen,” he lamented with a sigh.

“That’s because you take on too much.”

He leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. “True,” he conceded agreeably. “But what do you suggest I eliminate from my schedule? Tony Watson, who’s picked me for the father figure he so desperately needs? The live teen chat room I host twice a week? The meetings with parents of problem kids? The budget?” He paused and tilted his head thoughtfully. “Actually, I could do without the budget, but I don’t think the school board would approve.”

Karen made a face. “I see your point.”

He smiled and leaned forward again. “I thought you would. Okay, show Ms. Lockwood in. I might as well get this over with.”

She hesitated and looked at him quizzically. “In the interest of curiosity, how in the world did she get you to agree to this? You hate publicity.”

He shrugged. “I guess she caught me at a weak moment.”

Karen planted her hands on her hips. “You don’t have weak moments.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re an opinionated woman?” he teased.

She tilted her head thoughtfully and counted off on her fingers. “Let’s see. My mother. My husband. My kids. The guy at the car repair shop. The director of the—”

“Enough!” Mitch interrupted with a laugh. “Just show Ms. Lockwood in.”

Karen grinned. “You got it, boss.”

Mitch smiled and shook his head as he repositioned the stacks of papers on his desk. He’d inherited Karen when he’d taken on this job, and she’d been a godsend, serving as secretary, administrative assistant, sounding board, reality check and mother hen all rolled into one. Not to mention comic relief. He couldn’t have gotten along without her.

“I hope that smile is a good omen for our interview.”

Mitch glanced up, and the perfunctory greeting died on his lips. He knew the woman in the doorway was Tess Lockwood. He would recognize those eyes anywhere. But everything else about her was different. Her hair hung loose and free, softly brushing her shoulders. She was wearing makeup—not much, but enough to enhance her already lovely features. And her clothes—gone were the boxy suit and baggy sweater. They’d been replaced by a short-sleeved silk blouse that clung to her curves and a sleek black A-line skirt that emphasized her trim waist and shapely legs. The transformation was stunning.

The seconds ticked by, and Mitch suddenly realized that he was staring. A hot flush of embarrassment crept up his neck, and he cleared his throat, struggling to recover.

“Come in, make yourself comfortable,” he said, gesturing toward the chairs they’d occupied at their first meeting.

Tess made her way across the room, well aware of Mitch’s reaction to her new look, though he’d recovered admirably. But while that brief, slightly dazed expression had done wonders for her ego, she suddenly regretted her impulsive purchase of the stylish new outfit. She’d been out of the dating game far too long to remember the rules, she realized in panic. What if Mitch actually…well…did something about that look in his eyes? Like ask her out. What would she do then? Bruce already thought she’d sided with the enemy. She could imagine his reaction if Mitch and she saw each other socially. Her relationship with her son was strained as it was, especially after their long talk this weekend about the new house rules. Good heavens, what had she been thinking? she berated herself. She should have just stuck with her serviceable, if dowdy, wardrobe.

But as she sat down and turned to Mitch, her doubts and uncertainties melted in the warmth of his eyes.

“I hope you won’t take offense if I say that you look especially nice today,” he said as he sat across from her, intrigued by her becoming blush—a reaction more typical of a schoolgirl than a once-married woman.

The husky quality in his voice did odd things to her stomach. “No, not at all,” she replied a bit breathlessly.

He leaned back and propped an ankle on his knee. “Okay. Where do we start? I’m new at this, so you’re going to have to walk me through it step by step.”

Tess smiled and reached for her notebook. She might not be comfortable in the role of desirable woman, but she was quite comfortable in the role of reporter. “I like to think of an interview as simply a conversation. Except I get to ask most of the questions. Why don’t we start with the award? Tell me what led to it.”

He did so easily, talking about the innovative intervention programs and one-on-one involvement he encouraged between students, parents, administration and teachers. Under Tess’s astute questioning, he revealed his passionate commitment to the kids, his concern about societal pressures on teens and on the American family, and the satisfaction he found in his work.

“I’m impressed, Mr. Jackson,” she said honestly. “The world could use more people who care so deeply. And I’m also curious. I understand that you were once a police officer—in Chicago, I believe. This is quite a career switch. What prompted you to make the change?”

Tess sensed his sudden, almost imperceptible withdrawal.

“I saw a lot on the street,” he said carefully, his words slower and more guarded. “Almost always too late for prevention. I wanted to find a way to intervene earlier. This kind of work seemed to offer that opportunity.”

Tess’s job had taught her to be attuned to nuances, and there were plenty here. There was something very important that he wasn’t revealing, and she was both curious and intrigued. But pushing usually just made a wary subject back off more. And she didn’t really need to go any deeper for this interview. So, regretfully, she moved on. “What brought you to St. Louis?”

She could sense his slight easing of tension. “My uncle. He has a farm about an hour south of St. Louis, and a little over two years ago he had a bad fall that left him with a limp. I came that summer to help, and when it was obvious that he’d need ongoing assistance with the farm, I got a job here.”

“You must have been there this weekend,” she said with a smile.

He looked at her in surprise. “How did you know?”

“Your tan. When I saw you Thursday, your face didn’t have nearly as much color.”

He grinned. “Your powers of observation are admirable, Ms. Lockwood. You’re right. We worked in the fields this weekend. I spend most of my free time there, especially in the nice weather.”

“Any other family locally?”

“No.”

“How about back in Chicago?”

An intense flash of pain ricocheted across his eyes. “No. My parents are both gone and my…my wife died seven years ago.”

Mitch frowned. He hadn’t meant to say that. Hadn’t intended to reveal anything about Dana. Wasn’t sure why he had.

“I’m so sorry,” Tess said softly, taken aback by that fleeting glimpse of anguish. “I had no idea….” Her voice faltered. She’d wondered about a wife, found it difficult to believe someone like Mitch would have remained single all these years, had speculated there might be a divorce in his past. But she hadn’t expected this. “I didn’t mean to bring up painful memories,” she apologized.

He took a deep breath. “It’s okay.” And surprisingly, it was. It didn’t hurt nearly as much to talk about it as he’d expected. “It was cancer. It hit out of the blue and, mercifully, took her quickly. But it was still a terrible thing to watch. For a long time afterward I was…lost.” For a lot of reasons, he thought, his gut twisting.

“I can understand that,” Tess empathized. “I went through something similar with my father five years ago.” She paused and took a deep breath. “It’s awful to watch someone you love slip away.”

“Yes, it is. But it helps to have a support system. I had my mother and Uncle Ray. How about you?”

“I had Bruce. And my faith, which was a great comfort.”

“What about Bruce’s father?”

Tess looked at him in surprise. She almost brushed aside the question, but for some reason decided to answer it. “We divorced six years ago.”

His gaze softened in sympathy. “I’m sorry, Tess. Divorce can sometimes be as painful as death.”

“More so, in some ways,” she said sadly. “And don’t be sorry. The divorce was long overdue.” She tilted her head and forced herself to smile. “Now, how did things get turned around? I thought we were talking about you?”

He grinned. “You already know the story of my life.”

Hardly, she thought. The man across from her had secrets, which he clearly didn’t intend to reveal, she realized. Besides, she had plenty of material for her story. It was time to wrap things up.

Tess smiled and closed her notebook. “Well, at least enough for my story,” she amended.

“You know, this wasn’t nearly as bad as I expected,” Mitch admitted as they both rose and walked toward the door.

“I’m glad to hear it.” She paused on the threshold and turned to hold out her hand. “And thank you. My editor will be very pleased.”

He smiled as he took her hand in a firm grip. “I hope your readers will feel the same way. I’m afraid they might be bored by the story of a dull school principal.”

At first Tess thought he was kidding, but as they said their goodbyes she realized he was dead serious. Dull? she thought incredulously. Mitch Jackson? No way. Intriguing would be a more apt description, she decided as she walked down the hall. She’d thought that by the end of the interview she’d know all the important things about the principal. But she had a feeling that she’d barely scratched the surface of this fascinating man. Instead of satisfying her curiosity, today’s interview had made her want to find out more.

Unfortunately, there wouldn’t be much opportunity for that, she admitted with a pang of regret. Any future contact with the principal would be related to Bruce. Because to Mitch, she was just another mother dealing with a problem child.

Except at the end of the interview he had called her “Tess,” she realized suddenly, stopping abruptly. That was a good sign. Wasn’t it? Didn’t it mean he thought of her as a person in her own right, not just as a mother?

Tess wasn’t sure. Wasn’t even sure if she wanted him to think of her that way. It was too scary. And complicated. And probably unwise.

She knew all that intellectually. And accepted it.

But for some reason, her heart just wasn’t listening.

“So how was your day?”

“Okay.”

Tess sighed. So far the new dinner-hour-together rule hadn’t spurred the conversation and sharing she’d hoped for with Bruce. It was the old “You can lead a horse to water…” scenario. And Bruce wasn’t drinking. But she wasn’t going to give up.

“Did you look into the art club?” she asked, trying again. Chris Stevens had run through a list of supervised after-school activities at the meeting, and Tess had suggested the club to Bruce, who’d always shown strong artistic aptitude and interest.

“They’re a bunch of geeks.”

“How do you know?”

At his disgusted look, she let it drop.

They ate in silence for a few moments before she worked up the courage to introduce a new subject. “Guess who I interviewed today?” she asked, her tone a little too bright. When he didn’t respond, she plunged in. “Mr. Jackson.”

That got his attention. “Why?”

“He just received the governor’s award for excellence in education.”

“You’re kidding!”

“No. He’s doing good work at the high school.”

Bruce gave a disdainful snort. “Right.”

“So you don’t think he’s a good principal?”

Bruce shrugged. “He’s too ‘in-your-face.’”

“Meaning?”

“He’s always hanging around with the kids. And watching what we’re doing. I thought principals were supposed to stay in their office and run the school.”

“Maybe he’s trying to change the rules.”

“Why?”

“I asked him that in the interview.”

“Yeah?” Bruce looked interested. “What did he say?”

“He said that when he was a cop, he saw a lot of kids on the street who were in trouble. But by the time the police got involved, it was usually too late. He said he wanted to find a way to help kids before they got to that point. That’s why he became a principal. And why he’s changing the rules, I expect.”

“He was probably a better cop than he is a principal,” Bruce said.

“Do all the kids think so?”

He shrugged. “The geeks seem to like him. The guys I hang around with don’t. Except maybe Tony Watson. But he’s got problems. I think he figures Mr. Jackson can help him.”

“What kind of problems?”

“Stuff at home. His parents don’t get along. I think his dad drinks, and his mom’s never around. She travels a lot for her job.”

“Doesn’t sound too great,” she agreed. “So what does Mr. Jackson do?”

“He just talks to him. After school sometimes. Tony seems to be okay for a while after that. But it never lasts long. I feel sorry for him.”

“Maybe you could invite him over some time.”

Bruce gave her another disgusted look and changed the subject. “I saw your name on the sign-up sheet for the food booth at the school carnival. Did you really volunteer?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I thought we could spend some time together there.” Which was true enough. But she’d hoped it would also give her a chance to meet some of his elusive friends.

He looked appalled. “Mom! Even if I go, I was going to hang around with the guys.”

“I don’t expect you to spend the whole day with me, Bruce. But I thought we could have a hot dog and soda or something when I finish working. And what do you mean, even if you go?”

“I’m not sure about it. I have to check with the guys.”

“But what do you want to do?” she pressed. “You used to like carnivals, especially the rides.”

He shrugged. “That’s kid stuff.”

But that’s what you are! she wanted to cry out. Just a kid. Instead, she reached for his empty plate. “I don’t know. I still like carnivals, and I’m no kid,” she said, striving for a conversational tone.

He considered that. “Well, I might go. For a while.”

“I hope so. It would be fun. And you know what else I was thinking? Maybe this weekend we could go to the art museum. I hear it’s great, and there’s an exhibit right now that I thought you might especially like. It’s on the—”

“I’ll have a lot of homework this weekend,” Bruce cut her off.

“You have to have some time for fun, too.”

“Joe’s having a party Saturday night at his house. Maybe I could go to that,” he said hopefully.

“Maybe. Will his parents be home?”

“Oh, Mom!”