Читать книгу Small Town Secrets - Sharon Mignerey - Страница 7

Zach MacKenzie turned off the shower and heard the doorbell ringing. Wondering who could be at the door this time of night, he grabbed one of the pink towels off the rack just as the bell, an elaborate eighteen-note affair, chimed again. Wrapping the towel around his waist, he padded across the bedroom to the front of the house. At the window, he peeked beneath the sheer curtains half expecting to see a cop parked in front of the house. Cops had no reason to be looking for him, but he had no doubt they would come around just as soon as they found out an ex-con was living with the richest woman in town. Never mind that she was his aunt and the only person who had stuck by him over the last three and a half years.

Because of the porch roof between the open window and the front door, he couldn’t see who had rung the doorbell. He studied the dark street in front of his aunt’s house, noted a car in the driveway across the way that hadn’t been there earlier, and decided all else looked about as it should for midnight in a town as small as Rangeview, Colorado.

The town was the opposite in every way from Denver, where he had lived his entire life before going to prison. Instead of jammed freeways, a single stoplight three blocks from the house regulated the town’s meager traffic. The town was a whole twenty blocks long and seven wide, the only paved street the highway that came through town.

The breath of air that fluttered the curtain was as soft as a sigh. Outside, it was blissfully, peacefully quiet, and he decided the ringing of the bell had been nothing more than kids playing a prank.

Yawning, he left the window and pulled back the covers to the bed. Between putting his aunt on a plane in Grand Junction early that morning, making the four-hour trip back here courtesy of a ride from his aunt’s attorney and unpacking his few belongings, it had been a full day. A good day. A free day. For that he was thankful.

The bell rang again, making him wish he had obeyed his impulse to disconnect it until Sadie returned from Europe. He couldn’t imagine who might want to see his aunt this late. Whoever was at the door obviously wasn’t going away, so he pulled on a pair of jeans, then trotted down the stairs.

The bell rang one last time, the chimes echoing through the house. He clicked on the porch light. The silhouette on the other side of the frosted oval glass looked like a kid. With green hair.

He flung open the door to a visitor—who had green hair, all right, a wig with flyaway straight strands—clutching a giant pair of shoes.

“Oh, Sadie,” said a distinctly feminine voice, her attention mostly on something behind her. “I just pulled into the driveway and thought I saw Foley go around the back of the house and…” Her voice trailed off when her gaze lit on his bare feet. She stared a long moment before raising her head and showing him a clown face with a huge, painted-on grin that was completely at odds with the apprehension in her voice and in her eyes.

She swallowed, and her hold on the shoes tightened. “Oh…I forgot. Sadie left for Europe and you’re…”

“Zach,” he supplied when she finally met his eyes. “Her nephew.”

Movement across the street snagged his attention—a guy in a white dress shirt and blue jeans appeared between two of the houses across the street, walking with the careful deliberation of someone pretending they were sober. It was a deception Zach understood all too well.

The clown turned around to see what he was looking at. When she caught sight of the man, her shoulders drooped suddenly as though a weight had just been placed across them.

Figuring the guy was bound to notice them any second, Zach snagged her by the arm and drew her into the house. He closed the door and turned off the porch light. “That guy. He’s unwanted company?”

“Oh, yeah.” Her voice caught on a laugh that would have been hysterical if it hadn’t ended on a sob.

“You can use the phone to call the cops.” He turned away from her and strode toward the kitchen.

“No.” She dropped the shoes and practically ran to keep up with him.

“It’s the only way to deal with a scumbag like that.” He picked up the receiver of the phone and handed it to her.

“No.” This time her voice was sharper. She set the receiver back on the cradle. “You don’t understand.”

Zach folded his arms across his chest. He could only hope she wasn’t one of those women who saw themselves as a victim while proclaiming they weren’t.

“Then explain it to me.”

Her gaze fell to the floor, which gave Zach an opportunity to study her. She wore huge, patched, baggy bib overalls cut off at the knees and a purple shirt. Both looked as though they had been worn while painting rainbows. Red-and-white striped socks covered her shoeless feet and climbed up her legs. Under that getup, he couldn’t tell if she was a size eight or eighty. He figured the former based on the shape of her calves. An unwelcome flare of awareness nudged him, which he ruthlessly shoved away.

“He is the cops,” she said finally.

“So?” Zach hooked a thumb in one of the belt loops of his jeans. “If he’s causing you trouble—”

Again she laughed, the sound bitter and disbelieving. “What planet did you come from? There’s a whole five guys on the force, and trust me, they’ll see this his way. They’ll turn a blind eye since I’m his ex-wife, cast in the role of Delilah.”

“So you’re not interested in getting back together with him.” He watched her, the answer to that question somehow important.

“No.” She met his gaze, her blue eyes framed by long, long fake black eyelashes. “Not now, not ever.”

“Feeling a little ambivalent, huh?”

She smiled, or at least he thought she did behind the painted-on grin.

“Do you have a name?”

“Léa Webster.”

He stuck out a hand. “Hi, Léa. I’m Zach MacKenzie.”

With effort, Léa kept her gaze on his face, her impression growing this was the hardest man she had ever met. Piercing eyes the color of strong tea and framed by spiky lashes searched her face. His own was utterly masculine from the straight slash of his eyebrows to the square jaw and jutting chin beneath a couple days’ growth of beard. His nearly black hair wasn’t much longer.

Even without looking below his chin, she knew what was there. A powerful build that any bodybuilder would covet and lean hips covered by faded jeans. He didn’t look annoyed, though she wouldn’t have blamed him if he was.

Time paused somehow, and she was too aware of his hand touching hers. Just that fast, she felt out of breath, like some starry-eyed schoolgirl. She didn’t like this out-of-control, breathless anticipation. Thanks, but no thanks. The only thing that kept her from bolting was the knowledge that her ex-husband was still lurking somewhere outside.

And she—who had a reputation for never meeting a stranger and who could make conversation with anyone about anything—had no idea what to say to Sadie’s nephew.

He glanced down at himself, absently running the flat of his hand down one pant leg.

“Give me a minute to put on a shirt.” He strode down the hallway toward the stairs at the front of the house, which he took three at a time.

Léa pondered what to do next as she moved out of the hallway into the front room where she peeked out the window. She should simply let herself out, but that would be rude. More rude than paying a midnight visit. How could she have forgotten that Sadie was gone? Especially since the upcoming trip to Europe had been the primary topic of conversation between them for weeks. That, and her nephew’s arrival.

Léa knew he was fresh out of the Colorado State Penitentiary because Sadie had talked about that, as well, especially after Léa had taken her to Cañon City for the parole hearing. Zach’s story had all the elements of melodrama that could have provided a storyline for a daytime soap. According to Sadie, Zach had been involved in a tragic accident where someone had been killed. Thanks to a sloppy on-scene investigation and a compelling eyewitness, Zach hadn’t been able to convince the D.A. he was sober at the time of the accident. He had further cast doubt on his credibility by checking into an alcohol rehab center a couple months before the scheduled trial. Despite plea-bargaining the charges against him, he’d still ended up in prison for almost three years. The story sounded too familiar to Léa. It seemed likely he was a guy who avoided responsibility the way her ex-husband Foley did. A responsible man wouldn’t have ended up in prison.

Though Léa loved her neighbor and respected her judgment, she had decided the less she had to do with Sadie’s nephew, the better. She’d be neighborly but distant. Except, here she was, late at night, dodging her drunk ex-husband and imposing on a stranger. A stranger she had vowed to avoid. What had she been thinking? What little she could see of the street from the window didn’t reassure her that Foley was gone, but still…She had just changed the locks, so all she had to do was get across the street and get inside before he came around again.

Rude or not, it was time to go.

She ventured toward the front door, the hallway dominated on one side by the open stairwell.

“Sorry to bother you…” Her call died in her throat as Zach came down the stairs, a black T-shirt emphasizing his impressive shoulders. He looked every inch the bad boy, the kind of guy she had been drawn to a lifetime ago—before she had grown up. His jeans were a little loose, as though he had recently lost weight. The shirt, though, clung to his broad physique.

“It’s no bother.” His voice was deep and had a raspy tone that reminded her of the big, stray one-eared tomcat that visited her every day and whose meow came out as a hoarse rumble.

“Really, I—”

“He come around much? Your ex?”

Her gaze skipped away from Zach’s penetrating one. She shrugged and managed a nonchalant, “Depends. Sometimes…”

“And you come see Aunt Sadie when he does.”

Léa nodded.

“And then what?”

“We talk.”

He made a noncommittal sound.

“Usually over tea or hot chocolate.”

His eyebrow rose, and he took a step toward the kitchen as though he expected to fill that role. She couldn’t imagine drinking hot chocolate with him in Sadie’s welcoming pink-and-green kitchen.

She touched his forearm as he passed her. “You don’t have to…I’m not expecting…”

Her glance fell to her fingers on his arm. She snatched her hand back, feeling as though she had just been burned. Maybe she had.

“I should go,” she said.

“You’re sure?”

Wishing she had some way of knowing Foley was gone and hating the uncertainty that skittered through her, she nodded. Zach made her uncomfortable, though he had been nothing but nice. She swallowed, unable to ignore the knot of apprehension that settled in her stomach.

He followed her toward the door where she picked up the discarded shoes.

“Thanks,” she said. “And I really am sorry that—”

“I’ll walk you home.”

Feeling more flustered by the second, she shook her head. “Thanks, but I don’t want to bother—”

“You’re not.” He stepped onto the dark porch behind her and pulled the door closed.

Her attention focused on the deep shadows beneath the trees up and down the street. Since Foley had been wearing a white shirt, he ought to be easy to spot if he was still here. Aware Zach was looking, also, she felt marginally reassured he didn’t seem to see anyone, either.

With effort, she tried to pick up the conversational thread, but couldn’t remember what had come before. “I’m not what?”

“You’re not bothering me.” In the dark it was impossible to tell, but she had the feeling he was smiling.

“Oh. Well…” She took in a deep breath of air, which was cool, just a little crisp, and carrying the scent of Zach’s soap and the rose garden in the middle of Sadie’s front yard.

Once again at a loss for words, she opened the gate to the picket fence that surrounded the yard and then walked across the graveled street to her small house. If Zach noticed the rocks biting into his bare feet, he didn’t acknowledge it at all.

“Sadie get off okay?” she asked to fill the silence.

“Yeah.”

“She’s been really excited about this trip.” Léa glanced back at him and found him once again studying her. She kept moving forward and didn’t see the first step of her porch until she banged her shin into it, then flinched when he steadied her, his long fingers warm against her skin. At that, he dropped his hands and slid the tips of his fingers into the pockets of his jeans.

When she met his gaze, she found him staring at a point somewhere beyond her shoulder, his jaw clenched. Seconds passed before he looked at her. “You don’t have to be scared of me—”

“I’m not.”

He issued another of those noncommittal sounds that was evidently a disagreement.

“Really.” To prove her point, she sat down on the top step of the porch, tucked her feet under her, and set the shoes on her lap. She couldn’t be afraid, she thought. Not of this man, not of Foley, and certainly not of the dark street in a town where she had lived all her life. All she had to do was sit here for a minute or two to prove it to herself.

“Aunt Sadie told you I was just released from pr—”

“Yes,” Léa interrupted.

“And if you’re scared—”

“I’m not.” I’m not, she repeated to herself. And she wasn’t. Not in the way he probably meant. He was simply a big, tough-looking man. She supposed he’d have to be to survive prison, a thought that gave her an inward shudder. She couldn’t even imagine what that must have been like.

She sighed, then, to break the uncomfortable silence, latched on to the first thing that popped into her head. “I just planted petunias, so I’m glad that it’s not going to freeze tonight. I probably planted them way too early. Gram told me I should wait another couple of weeks since we could still have another frost, but I’m hoping we won’t. Still, you never can tell. It snowed on Memorial Day a couple of years ago. And that’s a month away.” Babbling, the way she always did when she was nervous. And proving that she wasn’t as relaxed as she wanted him to think. Annoyed with herself, she said, “Sorry. You probably don’t care about the weather and all.”

“Weather is fine.” He gave her an unreadable look, then followed her gaze to the neat plantings that lined both sides of her walkway. He draped an arm over the porch railing. “What’s with the clown get-up?”

“I own a café, and since I’m not open for dinner, I cater parties.”

“Ah, Rangeview’s answer to Ronald McDonald.”

She smiled. “Something like that, I guess, at least for birthday parties.”

He made a point of looking her up and down. “You mean this isn’t your usual attire for a formal affair?”

“Not hardly. Tonight was Gayla Foster’s eighth birthday.” She shook her head. “And you wouldn’t believe the mess that eleven little girls can make. The next time her mother wants to hold the party at my café instead of her own house, I’m going to charge double.”

This time Zach chuckled, and Léa found herself liking it—and him—in spite of herself, especially after he said, “I suspect little Gayla Foster was fortunate to have you. So, why aren’t you open for dinner?”

“Not enough business,” she said. His appreciation soothed her, pleased her, and was all the more bittersweet because she had felt like a grouse for being frustrated with the mess after the children went home. “Anyone who wants dinner goes to Sandy’s Steak House. For a business as small as mine, dinner isn’t profitable.”

A dinner crowd, though, sounded good compared to the party she had given tonight. Once she had looked forward to dressing up to make the kids laugh. Lately, though, she had found herself thinking about the children she would never have and the birthdays she would never celebrate with them. It was far too easy to feel sorry for herself and angry with Foley for the accident that had resulted in the too premature birth of their daughter. In an instant Léa’s life had changed. Her baby had died and she’d had an emergency hysterectomy. Now, she put on birthday parties—fabulous parties—for other people’s children.

Too many times over the last year she had been told that what had happened was God’s will. The thought always made her instantly angry.

She rubbed the side of her nose, the greasepaint beginning to itch. God’s will or not, it was long past time to stop obsessing about what could never be. One thing she knew for sure—she was supposed to be a mother, so she had started the process to adopt a child. Tomorrow she would have her home inspection, and she’d be one step closer to her goal. God willing, she thought, coming as close to prayer as she ever did these days.

The petunias she had been staring at clouded. Léa lifted her gaze to Zach, realizing she had been silent for too long. When something in his gaze softened, she realized her face was wet with tears. Somehow he was sitting on the step next to her, though she had no recollection of him moving. Next to her shoulder, she could feel heat radiate from his body.

“That’s a good thing you do, Léa Webster.” As if offering an extra measure of assurance, he clasped her hand, lacing his fingers through hers.

A simple touch that made her turn her head and look at him. She wasn’t at all sure what she had expected to see within his eyes. Pity maybe. Instead there was a depth of understanding that completely unnerved her.

“Yes…well.” She sniffed and withdrew her hand from his, pulling her house keys out of her pocket. “Just what you need. A neighbor who makes a pest of herself and then makes things worse by crying.”

“I’m not complaining,” he said.

She separated her house key from the others, and Zach took it from her. He stood, and a second later, she heard the screen door open, then the snick of the lock. He pushed the door open. When she stood and joined him at the door, he pressed the keys into her hand.

“Want me to come in? Make sure there’s no boogeyman in the closet?”

She shook her head. “I had the locks changed yesterday, so I should be okay.” She swallowed and looked over at the driveway. “I’d just gotten home and saw him go around to the back of the house, and…well…I probably overreacted.”

“Don’t,” he said.

“Don’t what?”

“Belittle yourself like that.” He dipped his head a little so he could meet her gaze. “Sure you don’t want me to check?”

“It’s fine.” She was sure of no such thing, but she could only imagine the ruckus she’d have on her hands if Zach came in and Foley was somewhere watching. Lately, he seemed to know more about her whereabouts than she did. She shook her head against that thought. “Really.”

“Suit yourself.” Zach let go of the screen door and turned toward the edge of the porch. “Good night.”

“’Night,” she said. He was off the porch before she called his name. When he turned around to face her, she said, “Come for breakfast. My place—the Pine Street Café. It’s at the corner of Main and Pine.”

He nodded. “I saw the sign.”

Deciding she had lost her mind, given her vow to keep her distance, she watched him cross the street. She locked the door and went through her house, turning lights on in each room as she headed for the kitchen.

Once again, the stupid melancholy hit her, weighing her down like a heavy coat. She had tried so hard to overcome it, but here she was again. Her footsteps echoed as she crossed the kitchen and turned on the back-porch light. It flooded her yard clear to the small old barn at the back of the property. She visually searched the lit area a moment before turning off the light. Feeling exposed, she methodically pulled the curtains closed on all the windows, though doing so made her feel like the proverbial ostrich.

She couldn’t wait to wash off the greasepaint and go to bed. She’d get a scant four hours of sleep since she had to be at the café for breakfast prep two hours before it opened. After double-checking the new lock on the front door, she turned off lights and headed upstairs.

And found the door to the nursery open.

Since she kept the door closed—always—her heart lurched. She reached inside the room, and flipped on the light.

The lamp in the corner bathed the yellow walls in a cheerful glow. Everything looked as it had this morning when she’d dusted. As always happened when she entered the room, she remembered the excitement she had felt when she had found out she was having a little girl. She had refinished furniture and made bed linens and had planned to name her baby Eleanor after her mother and grandmother.

The nursery stood ready for the child who had never come home. Foley had accused her of turning the room into a shrine, but that wasn’t it at all. She was simply keeping the room ready for the child she prayed would soon be hers to love and cherish.

And then her gaze lit on a teddy bear sitting in the middle of the crib. A bear that hadn’t been there earlier in the day.

She began to shake.

Foley had been in her house. Again.

And changing the locks hadn’t kept him out.