Jeannie Watt (18 page)

“You aren’t going to stay here tonight, Tara.” It was both a statement and a question, and for once Tara acquiesced without argument.

“I know.” Even though whoever had done this was probably long gone—Rafe had looked in the shop and the barn as well as the house—Tara would never be able to sleep with gaping holes in her front windows.

“Stay with me,” Rafe said. “I’m going on shift in the morning. I’ll take the couch so you can get some sleep.”

Tara nodded. “Thanks.”

T
ARA’S CAR
was gone when Matt pulled into her drive early the next morning. He frowned, wondering if she had gotten home all right, then his heart stopped when he saw the front windows.

Matt was not conscious of stopping his truck or getting out. He approached the house cautiously, then became aware of a vehicle on the gravel road behind him and turned. Rafe’s official SUV.

“She’s fine,” Rafe said, getting out of the vehicle. “I stopped by your house to warn you this morning, but you’d left.”

He’d gone to breakfast early, sitting and drinking bad coffee, but for once it wasn’t a nightmare keeping him awake—it was thoughts of going back to the job, facing the FFD exam. And Tara. The woman made him restless. A case of wanting and knowing he couldn’t pursue. A matter of integrity.

“Where is she?”

“My place.”

Matt was immediately aware of a surging swell of emotions that swamped his initial anxiety. Relief, jealousy, anger. Relief.

Jealousy.

Matt swallowed. “Is she all right?”

“She’s fine. She came home and found the windows broken and called me.”

Matt didn’t want to ask, but he had to. “Were you on duty?”

The deputy shook his head.

Matt shoved his thumbs in his back pockets and turned to face the old house. It didn’t matter if Tara had spent the night at Rafe’s place. It didn’t even matter if they had slept together there. It was none of his business. So why did it feel like his business?

“Any ideas?” he asked Rafe.

“Could be random vandalism. Doesn’t look like anyone went inside.”

Matt nodded.

“I guess she had an ugly encounter with Stacia Logan yesterday.”

“What about?”

“Stacia accused her of harassing Ryan.”

“That’s crazy.”

“I know.”

Matt shook his head and started for the porch. Tara may not have called him last night, but at least he could repair her windows.

“Luke’s coming out to replace the glass,” Rafe said, and when Matt turned to meet his gaze, he read something there that looked a lot like sympathy. Well, he didn’t need it.

“Is Tara staying at your place again tonight?”

“She refuses,” Rafe said mildly. “Not much I can do about it other than arrange a few drive-bys tonight. Jack is back, so she won’t have to work.”

Matt didn’t know if that was good or bad. Rafe pursed his lips as his radio sounded and he took a few steps toward his rig. “I need to get going. Tara should be here soon.”

When she arrived, Matt met her at her car door. “You could have called me.”

“I called a deputy.”

“Who didn’t happen to be on duty.”

“Does that matter to you?”

Matt pulled in a breath and then shook his head.

Nope. Didn’t matter to him. Not one bit.

T
ARA LEFT
H
AILEY
putting primer on the third-floor walls while she went to the rescheduled prom-dress staging meeting. There was to be not one but two meetings that day—a dress fitting in the morning and a rehearsal walk in the evening. Definitely a full and rich day for Dottie.

Tara arrived ten minutes late, walking into the convention center to find the place buzzing with teenaged girls, mothers and community members all trying to decide which girl fit best into which formal. There were dresses spread over every available surface. Tara took an instinctive step backward at the sight of all the fluff and glitter, but Dottie saw her and waved her in.

Two girls were arguing over who would get to wear Tara’s dress and no one, she noticed, was gravitating toward the unusual flamenco-styled dress she guessed was from the 1930s. Stacia was there, acting as referee to another pair of girls who were fighting over who
had
to wear a peasant dress from the ’70s.

“You’re wearing the dress, Ashley,” Stacia said with a note of authority and was immediately rewarded with classic teenage rebellion.

“I don’t want to. I want to wear my mother’s dress.”

“You don’t fit your mother’s dress,” Stacia said bluntly and she had a point. Ashley was rather curvaceous and the peasant dress would look the best on her.

“Then I’m not—”

“Yes, you are, young lady.” Ashley’s mother cut into the argument at the same moment Stacia noticed Tara and reddened. Tara went to sort out the argument over her dress.

By the time the fitting was over, two other girls and Dottie were in tears and, Tara had to admit, Stacia handled the upset well. She’d explained that anyone who was unhappy with the dress she was modeling could easily be replaced, and she told Dottie that yes, the girl modeling her dress would remove her eyebrow and nose rings.

The girls left after making hair appointments with Lydie, who would give each model a hairdo to match the period of dress they were wearing. Surprisingly, after all of the ruckus, most of the girls were happy to be participating and more or less resigned to what they would be wearing. They all agreed to meet again at eight o’clock that evening to practice walking with the slides and music.

“That’s nice of you to do their hair without a charge,” Stacia said to Lydie as she started hanging dresses. She seemed oddly subdued and Tara had noticed that the woman had taken great pains not to look at her during the fittings and modeling practice.

“It’s nothing,” Lydie said with a wave of her hand. “Come on, Dot. Dry those tears and let’s get the rest of these dresses hung so we can get a cup of coffee.”

“You two go ahead,” Tara said. “Stacia and I will finish this.”

Stacia’s startled gaze swung toward her, but Tara pretended not to notice, focusing instead on the dress she was arranging on a hanger.

“Thank you,” Lydie said hesitantly. When Stacia made no protest, she said, “Come on, Dottie. It’s past noon and I don’t know about you, but I could use a piece of pie with my coffee.”

The outer door swung shut behind them, and Tara carefully hung a 1950s confection of pale yellow satin and chiffon in the coatroom. When she came back, Stacia was arranging the hated peasant dress, pinning it so that the wide shoulders would stay on the hanger.

The two women worked in silence, quickly smoothing and hanging the dresses, and then Stacia locked the closet while Tara found her shoulder bag.

Now or never.
“I was wondering if you’d do me a favor and listen to me for a few minutes. It’s about Ryan.”

“All right.” Stacia replied in an I’ll-humor-you-so-you’ll-go-away voice. “I knew you had something on your mind.” She reached under the table for her designer bag. “I have another appointment in a few minutes, so if you could be brief.”

“I’m not making phone calls to Ryan.”

“So you say.”

“So I say.” Tara wanted to stop there, but she knew her conscience would eat at her if she didn’t do this. “I know you’ll have a hard time believing it, but I’m not trying to cause trouble between you and Ryan by telling you this. I just think you should know before you marry this guy.”

“Know what?” Stacia asked coolly.

“Ryan hurt me.” Tara held the other woman’s gaze. “And I don’t mean emotionally.”

“Hurt you?” Stacia said incredulously.

“Physically.”

“What has he done to you that you haven’t driven him to?”

Tara swallowed a retort because what she was about to say next was difficult and she wanted Stacia to take it seriously. “The first time was pretty much date rape.”

Stacia simply stared at Tara for a long moment, but with the exception of her rising color, she was unreadable.

“What else?”

“Dammit, Stacia, does there have to be anything else? Okay, let’s see. He stopped by my place to threaten me. He grabbed me at the convention center hard enough to leave bruises on my shoulder. And, yes, I can see you think I drove him to that, too. Well, guess again.”

“Tara, I really don’t—”

“Whether you believe me or not, Stacia, this is the bottom line. Ryan is a man who hurts women who cross him. You have the information. You can do what you want with it.”

Tara started for the door. She paused with her hand on the handle. “You might want to think about who’s making those phone calls, Stacia, because I promise you, it isn’t me.”

M
ATT HAD PUT IN
a pretty good day’s work on the top floor of the house and he was pleased with the results. He only had two more days before he left Night Sky for good, returning to Reno and his own world, and it looked as if he would indeed have Tara’s house done just as promised. Tara had only seen part of what he’d accomplished that day since she’d taken off for yet another prom-dress committee meeting, grumbling under her breath as she trudged down the stairs. But his Scout’s Honor promise the house would absolutely, positively be done by Sunday had lightened her mood. A lot.

Matt smiled. She said she hated going, it took time away from the house, but she went anyway because it was her duty. He was beginning to suspect she secretly liked it.

He parked his truck in front of the Anderson house and was halfway to his gate when a Hulk-sized figure suddenly lurched out from behind the thick trunk of an elm tree, blocking the sidewalk.

Matt stopped in his tracks, cursing. His mind on Tara, he had blithely walked into…Eddie?

Matt rolled his eyes heavenward. Yes, it was Eddie, with his cap twisted around backward in fighting mode and his beady bloodshot eyes trying to focus on Matt’s.

“Eddie, I’m not in the mood—”

Eddie tilted his head back belligerently and Matt changed his mind. Enough was enough. He wasn’t back on the job yet. He still had a little leeway here. “All right, Eddie,” he challenged, taking a stand. “You want a piece of me?”

To Matt’s surprise, Eddie held his ground

“Are you a
cop?
” Eddie demanded in his nasally voice. “I heard you were a cop. That true?”

Matt dropped his hands a few inches. He thought everyone in town knew he was a cop. “Yes, I’m a cop.”

Eddie screwed up his face and cursed. “Then I can’t have a
piece of you
, can I?”

Matt shrugged, waiting to see where Eddie was going with this.

“And I’ll bet you feel pretty
safe
cuz of that,” the big man taunted.

Matt nodded. “You’re right, Eddie. I do.” As safe as a guy could feel with a drunk roughly the size of a rhinoceros looking to take him out. In spite of the size difference he could take Eddie; but, if he didn’t have to waste the time or energy, he didn’t want to.

“I can’t assault no cop and you
know
it.”

Matt nodded, suddenly feeling more positive about the outcome of the encounter. He may just get out of this, and with no superfluous blood on him.

“Well, shit.” Eddie leaned hard to the right before he gave up the battle with gravity and sank to the curb. He picked up a pebble and tossed it across the street. “I did all that talking ’round town and now I can’t do anything about it.” He looked up at Matt with watery eyes. “And you knew it all along.”

“How’d you find out I’m a cop?”

“Rafe warned me. Said I didn’t want to mess with you, since I just got off probation. Said it wouldn’t be advisable.” Another pebble flew across the street.

“Nice of Rafe.”

“Yeah.”

Matt didn’t trust Eddie enough to sit next to him, but he moved a few steps closer. “You break any windows lately, Eddie?”

Eddie’s face twisted into a disgusted grimace. “Do I look like I’m eleven years old to you?”

“I’ll take that as a no.”

“Damn right it’s a no.” Eddie let out a snort. “I haven’t broken any windows since the early nineties.”

Matt smiled. “Hey, Ed…” Again the beady eyes turned his way. “You know, as long as you stay away from Tara, I’ve got no problems with you. How about a truce?”

“I haven’t got a lot of choice here, do I?” Eddie asked grudgingly before muttering another curse. “I’ll have to tell the guys we hashed things out.” He sounded utterly disgusted at the prospect. “I’d ’preciate it if you backed me.”

“You know, there was nothing personal that night,” Matt pointed out. “You took the first swing.”

“Did I? I don’t remember.”

“Do you remember waiting for Tara?”

“Hell. I was just having some fun.”

“Yeah. No more of that. Understand?” Matt’s tone was deadly serious and he could see that even in his stupor, the big man understood.

“You know Tara can take care of herself, don’t ya?” Eddie said, his eyes squinting as he cocked his head. “I used to pick on her just because I liked watching her fight back. It wasn’t ever serious, you know.”

“I was new in town,” Matt said dryly. “I didn’t know. But all the same, I’d appreciate if you didn’t do it anymore.”

Eddie shrugged a big shoulder. “You don’t need to worry. Being a cop and all.”

“Good to hear it.”

“Yeah. Hey. I hear you’re leaving. When you coming back?”

“Soon,” Matt said, thinking it would be best for Eddie to think he could appear at any moment. In the deep recesses of his mind, he rather wistfully wished it were true. He did like this town. The people.

“Well, you know what?” Eddie said as he heaved himself to his feet. “I think you’d better buy me a farewell drink. That way the guys will all see we’re buds and I won’t get crap from them.”

Matt considered his options and then caved. “One drink,” he said. “And not if you’re going anywhere near a motor vehicle.”

Eddie laughed. “Hell. I haven’t been allowed near a motor vehicle in years.”

T
ARA THOUGHT IT WAS ODD
,
but not unprecedented, when the car following her down the highway also turned down her road. She didn’t get a lot of traffic by her house since only a few people lived past her, but it was a county road and it was Saturday night—party time for kids.

The prom-dress rehearsal had gone without a hitch even though Stacia had been noticeably absent and Dottie had taken over. All in all, it was a decent evening.

She parked near the house and was already on her way up the porch steps when headlights swung across the front of the house, momentarily blinding her. She put a hand up to shade her eyes, then dropped it as she recognized the vehicle. A white BMW. Ryan. She walked to the door and calmly fit the key into the lock. She was not going to talk to him; she was not going to allow herself to be bullied by him. She went into the house, shut the door and turned the dead bolt. Then she stood for a moment wondering what to do. She decided to wait in the parlor with the lights off until he left. She heard his heavy footsteps on her porch, the faint rattle of glass as he knocked on the ornate front door.

She didn’t move.

“Tara!”

He’d slurred the single word. He was drunk. Tara shook her head, feeling more secure. All she had to do was outwait him. He would tire and eventually—

The crash of glass shattered the thought.

Tara raced to the foyer in time to see Ryan’s hand, dimly illuminated by the porch light, reach through what was left of the leaded glass front window and fumble with the lock. She grabbed the first thing at hand, an antique umbrella Aunt Laura had kept by the door for the infrequent Nevada rainstorms, and swung it at his arm. He howled with pain as she connected, then cursed and reached through the window with his other hand to flip open the lock.

Tara turned to run, making it all of three steps before she tripped over a rumpled drop cloth and went sprawling. She was scrambling to her feet when Ryan shoved the door open and switched on the light.

His arm was bleeding.

“Bitch!” His face contorted with anger. Tara held his eyes, her own wide and fearful in spite of herself, slowly working to get her feet under her so that she could bolt again. “You told Stacia lies!” he shouted.

Tara shook her head. She wasn’t going to talk to him, knowing instinctively it would only amplify his rage if she argued. She’d never seen Ryan like this and she was scared. Very scared. She swallowed, holding his brutal gaze, slowly shifting her weight, gathering the strap of her small purse, in case she had to swing it as a weapon.

“Filthy bitch!”

He started toward her and she sprang up, praying she could make it through the kitchen and out the back door before he caught her. She heard him hit something that went clattering to the floor with a hollow metallic clang as she charged through the kitchen and slammed to a stop at the back door. She fumbled at the lock, finally sliding the bolt free. She jerked the door open, raced out onto the side porch and vaulted over the rail. He was behind her. Close. Too close. She darted to the side, heard him slip on the newly watered grass and go down. She raced across the dark lawn behind the gazebo and plunged into one of Luke’s favorite hedges. Then she froze, huddled in the dark, itchy foliage.

She could hear Ryan’s footsteps, stealthy now that he knew she was hiding. He was hunting her. Her purse had caught on something as she crawled into the hedge and she hoped desperately that he couldn’t see it. And that he didn’t have a flashlight in his car.

“Tara, baby, I know you’re here somewhere…Tara,” he singsonged her name, “come on out, sweetheart, we have something to discuss…. Get out here, you bitch!” Ryan didn’t sound so drunk anymore. His voice was taking on an edge of hysteria.

“She thinks I’m cheating on her!” he screamed. “Because you told her I was!” He was getting closer. Tara held her breath as he kicked at a bush a few yards away. “She broke our engagement and it’s all because of you. First my job and now this. I’ve had it with you, bitch!” He kicked another bush. “Where are you?”

Then, suddenly, he shut up and she heard him stride away.

He was trying to fake her out. He was walking off, hoping she’d make a break for it. Or he was—

She heard him climb the porch steps and enter her house. And then she heard the awful crash of things, her things, being broken and destroyed.

She crawled forward, wincing at the sound of a particularly loud crash. Her purse…if she could find her purse, her phone was in it. Another crash. Tara poked her head out of the bush and saw the strap hooked on a branch.

It was suddenly silent in the house and she froze again. Then she heard him in her kitchen. She reached out to untangle the strap and then eased her way out the back of the bush. Now that she was shielded from view of the house, she crept toward the road. Ryan’s car was parked haphazardly behind her own. She wanted more than anything to make a dash for her Camry, but the house had become quiet again. She had no idea where Ryan was.

She eased back into the willows and turned her phone on, shielding the keypad so Ryan wouldn’t see the glow. The only numbers she had on speed dial were the Owl and Rafe. Rafe’s voice mail came on. She silently cursed and pushed the other button, hoping for Jack. 911 would be her last resort, since it dialed into Elko and not Night Sky. A few minutes later a nasally voice answered.

“Eddie?” Tara whispered, her heart sinking. Why was Eddie answering the phone? “Put Jack on.”

“Speak up, girl, I can’t hear you.”

“Jack,” Tara growled.

“Not here.”

“Eddie, this is Tara. Send the sheriff to my place, okay?”

“I can’t hear you,” Eddie complained so loudly that Tara was afraid Ryan might be able to hear the man’s voice if he were outside. She was about to hang up when there was fumbling on the other end and then another voice came on—a very welcome voice.

“Rafe,” she whispered, overwhelmed with relief. “Ryan’s at my house. He’s wrecking it.”

And then her front door crashed open with a tinkling of glass and Tara hit the power button.

M
ATT’S HEART
was hammering as he took the last corner to Tara’s house too fast. Rafe was in front of him and already pulling into the drive. That bastard Somers…if he had hurt her in any way…

The lights were on in Tara’s house and the BMW was parked behind Tara’s Toyota. Matt swung his truck in behind the Beemer.

He heard a crash inside the house. The two men, both out of their vehicles, looked at each other. Rafe’s hand went to his weapon. They moved silently up to the open front door taking a place on either side of it.

“Sheriff’s department!” Rafe yelled. “Come on out, Somers.”

There was a long silence. “It’s about time.” Ryan finally yelled. “I’m here trying to help Tara. Somebody tore her house apart.”

“He’s wasted,” Rafe muttered, making eye contact with Matt. “Come out, Somers,” he called again. “Don’t make me come in and get you.” He nodded when Matt indicated with a gesture of his head that he was going around back.

“You really should see what somebody did in here,” Somers called. “It’s a-appalling.”

“I will come see it as soon as you come out.”

The back door was wide open and Matt eased his way inside, listening as Rafe engaged Ryan. Every drawer in Tara’s kitchen had been yanked out and its contents spilled, so Matt had to pick his way carefully across the floor.

Where was Tara?
Hiding somewhere, he prayed. There was blood on the floor, but not enough to indicate a lethal injury. But still, if that bastard had hurt her in any way…

He carefully peered around the kitchen door and saw Ryan with his back to him, stealthily approaching the open front door with…an umbrella? Must have been the only weapon he could find, Matt reasoned as he came out into the hall and inched his way closer.

“Somers,” Rafe called again. “Right now I only have you for breaking and entering, but if you continue to—”

Matt brought Ryan down with a tackling lunge, grabbing the man’s wrist and twisting it up behind his back just as Rafe came in the front door.

Ryan writhed and cursed and Matt pushed the wrist higher. “You’re breaking my arm,” Ryan protested in a high-pitched voice.

“Where’s Tara?”

“You’re brea—”

“I don’t freaking care. Where is Tara?” Matt demanded, fully intent on snapping the man’s bone if he had to.

“I’m here,” she said from the front porch and then made her way into the foyer, stepping over a fallen coatrack “I thought I should stay out of the way.”

Relief slammed into Matt. No blood, no torn clothing. She seemed fine, slightly dazed perhaps. Shock.

“You showed remarkable willpower, Tara,” Rafe quipped as he snapped the cuff on one of Ryan’s wrists and nodded to Matt that he could release his hold. “Too bad Big Alice wasn’t that lucky when you took her on in gym class.”

Matt got to his feet. He took a few steps toward her and she shifted her attention from Ryan to him. When he was close enough, he reached out to put an arm around her shoulders. She shivered as she leaned against him, but her voice was steady when she said, “How’d you get here so fast?”

“I was having a drink with Rafe and Eddie when Eddie answered the phone,” Matt replied, lightly feathering his free hand down her face, convincing himself that she was indeed unharmed.

“You were having a drink with Eddie?”

“Long story. I’m just glad I was having a drink with Eddie.”

Tara tore her eyes from his. “Look at this place.” She swallowed. Hard. Rafe cleared his throat.

“I’m going to have to know what happened here, Tara, so I can make charges against this guy.” The “as many as possible” was implied in his tone. “We’ll talk outside,” Rafe said as he hauled Golden Boy to his feet and marched him out to the waiting SUV. Tara eased herself out of Matt’s embrace and followed. Matt noticed she didn’t let her eyes linger in any one place too long. He didn’t blame her. Ryan had gone berserk. Her house resembled a battlefield.

He and Tara waited by his truck while Rafe parked Ryan in the caged rear seat and shut the door, effectively drowning out the epithets and racial slurs that had been growing louder.

“Okay,” Rafe said, moving away from his vehicle. He took out a pad and placed it on the hood. “Take your time, Tara. We’ll talk again tomorrow, in case you forget something, all right?”

“All right.”

And then Tara described what had transpired in a steady, unemotional tone as Rafe wrote. Matt studied her as she spoke, impressed by her composure. He wondered whether she’d break later. Some people did, but it was often surprising who held together. Another shudder of relief went through him.
Damn, but he was grateful she hadn’t been seriously hurt by that bastard.

“He’ll be out on bail in a heartbeat,” Rafe said, flipping the book shut. “You need to understand that, Tara, but I’ll see to it he’s charged with as many things as I can think of and you might want to consider a restraining order. I’ll be by in the morning to see what I can do to help.”

She nodded.

Matt walked to the door of the SUV with Rafe, taking one last look at Ryan’s sullen profile. Rafe cast a quick glance at Tara, then back at Matt. “You might see if you can get her out of here.”

“Yeah.” Matt gave Rafe a fat-chance look.

“I see your point,” the deputy muttered and then he got into the vehicle and Ryan started voicing threats again. Lawyers. Life savings. Career-ending moves.

Rafe pulled the door shut and started the ignition. A few seconds later he was rolling down the driveway, taking Ryan off the Sullivan property, hopefully for good. Matt walked back to where Tara stood watching the SUV as it turned onto the road.

“Did he hurt you?” he asked, needing to hear her answer, even though he’d heard every word of her statement.

“He didn’t have a chance.” Tara started walking up the path. “But he ruined my house,” she said icily. “I’ll probably have to call Mr. Bidart in the morning.” She raised her eyes toward the sky as though trying to hold back tears. Matt wanted to tell her she was entitled. “I don’t want to call Mr. Bidart.” For the first time since he arrived, her voice was shaky.

“Don’t call. We’ll fix it.”

“We don’t have time,” Tara muttered as they topped the last porch step, but Matt could see she was already plotting her attack. He hoped she didn’t start tonight, because he was probably going to have to stop her—for insurance reasons if nothing else.

“Let’s close things up as best we can and get out of here.”

“Where are we going?”

“My place.”

Matt shut and locked the door, for all the good it would do with the broken stained-glass panes. He wouldn’t have minded staying at the house to keep it secure, but he wanted to get Tara out of there, to a place where she could rest.

“I’m not leaving,” she announced.

Matt regarded her for a moment, and then shook his head. He reached his hand back inside the broken window and unlatched the lock. “We’ll stay.”

He pulled the door open. Tara stood on the threshold for a moment.

“I’m not in shock, you know.”

Matt didn’t answer. He followed her as she walked into the house. She reached out and flipped on the light switch.

“Denial isn’t healthy,” she said more to herself than to him. “It’s better to simply face things. Find out how bad they are so I can deal with them.”

Matt followed a few steps behind her as Tara moved through the rooms facing the chaos head-on, taking silent inventory. She did all right until she reached the kitchen. There she stopped in front of her new refrigerator with its very damaged front panel. She bent to trace her fingers over the indentations. Tears started to roll down her face.

That was when Matt took action. It was time for a little denial, healthy or not. He knew Tara had to handle this in her own way—they all had to handle demons in their own way—but she could handle her demons later.

He took her arm, gently yet firmly propelling her down the hall to the bedrooms.

Ryan had trashed Tara’s room. Matt closed the door and instead opened the door to Nicky’s room, which was thankfully undefiled. They went inside and Matt closed the door, shutting out the reality they’d be facing again all too soon.