The Drake House (19 page)

“Hi.”

They both turned to Nick standing in the open doorway. Jaw dropped, her heart skipped several beats in her chest before she recovered. She whipped Brad a steely glare. “Thanks,” she whispered, the sarcasm and hurt seeping.

Shaking his head, Brad sighed. “I’ll leave you two to talk.”

Nick shoved his hands in his pockets and swallowed. She didn’t need to ask. He’d heard them talking.

Pulling the gloves from her pocket, she slipped them on and went back to loading the skids. “What can I do for you, Nick?”

When he didn’t answer, she turned around. That impenetrable look was in his eyes, like he’d flipped the switch so no one could trace his thoughts. Well, now he knew she couldn’t have kids, as if the sleepwalking wasn’t enough to make him run. Her chest hurt just the same for what might’ve been.

“Do you need permission to leave?” she barked.

It wasn’t like her to be so cruel, but she couldn’t be sorry for it. What happened between them meant very little to him, or else he’d come to see her. She was giving him an out. They both knew this couldn’t go anywhere. If not for her reasons, then his own. He had demons, too.

Her whole life she’d never allowed herself the disillusionment of family or love. She had her orchard, her work, and her friends. It was enough. And even if it wasn’t, it was all she could have. Through the years it bothered her very little. Until Nick. Until now. Unsure how he broke through her resolve, or when, she fisted her hands on her hips and waited for his next move.

His gaze roamed over her before meeting her eyes. Still as stone, he watched her with an unreadable expression. It was unnerving. It felt like he was searching her soul.

Finally, he said, “I’ll see you around, Trisha,” and left.

Chapter Thirteen

By the time mid-September came around, Nick felt like he’d finally settled into Small Rapids enough to fit in comfortably. On the occasion he went into the local bar for a beer, the men would shoot the breeze, relaying tall-tales about fishing and hunting. He’d been accepted by the families as one of their own.

Wayne Radcliff was making plans to retire after Christmas, and for Nick to officially take his place as sheriff—which suited him just fine. Small Rapids turned back into the sleepy little town he envisioned before moving. There had been no more threatening calls. Or murders. Though he kept in touch with Detective Lafferty in Madison, Andrew McArthur’s murder had been moved to the cold file. It still didn’t sit right with him, but the edgy feeling something was wrong abated.

He’d seen Trisha only a handful of times since that day in her shed, as she avoided him like the plague. The Fourth of July summer barbeque on her orchard wound up being the turning point. She nearly plowed him over exiting the house holding a pan of corn on the cob, obviously not having seen him standing there. After muttering an “excuse me,” she high-tailed her attractive rear end to the other side of the orchard. And stayed there.

Just like the day he met her all those months ago, it still felt like a punch in the gut whenever he saw her. He’d gone over there that day in May to the shed to do something really stupid, but unknowingly, she ended things and saved them both the heartache of a dead-end relationship. The relief didn’t come as he thought it would. And it had nothing to do with her inability to have kids, nor her nightmares.

He wasn’t any good for her. Broken, there was no fixing him. No matter how much he started dreaming of the possibility. Since her absence from his life, everything returned to the way it was after the shooting. The only thing he’d been able to smell since then was her. Those peaches. He’d averaged a couple hours of sleep a night. Eventually, he moved to the overnight on-call and only checked in at the station midday.

He drove by her house every night. Sometimes he’d sit in his car at the end of the driveway and just watch the house. There was no reason for it, but his car, just like his heart, wound up back with her.

Nick sat down on a stool in Joe’s Tavern and sipped his beer, waiting for Brad to show, wondering why Brad had called and asked to meet him. Moments later, the man in question walked in and, after nodding at a few of the patrons, pulled up a stool next to him.

Brad waited until Joe, the owner and bartender, had poured him a beer and walked to the other end of the bar. “Her nightmares are worsening.”

Nick’s hand tightened on his mug. “This is new?”

Brad’s gaze leveled on his. “Yes. They’re awful in spring, lasting sometimes in summer, but never this long. By September, she usually has less than three a month. I had to sleep in her room last night.”

Carefully, he set down his mug. “I don’t see how I can help.”

Brad’s eyes hardened. “We opened a door. If these are memories like we thought, they won’t let her go. She can’t go on like this. She’s barely eating, and only sleeps when I’m there. She stares off into space like she’s not even in the same room.”

Cold fingers of dread raced up his spine. “What do you suggest?”

Brad cast a steely glance around the bar and took a drink from his beer. “She gave us next week off before beginning the fall chores. She’ll be alone. You could stay with her.”

Nick blinked slowly to focus. “Assuming she allows that, what good will it do?”

“Say she does sleepwalk, and accidently walks over to the Drake property…no one’s there to stop her.” Brad shrugged. “You’d be there to watch her, and she might remember something.”

It wasn’t a bad plan, actually. Except things had just quieted down around here and it may raise unwanted trouble again.

Hell, who am I kidding?
He never backed down from trouble. It found him.

“I would need you there to keep an eye on the property, and to help if I can’t wake her.” Nick took a sip of beer, remembering what happened the last time they entered the hidden trail to Alexandra’s house. “What if…she turns blue again?”

“Guess we’ll find out,” Brad said.

He wanted answers, and to see her again—bad enough to risk it. “She’s never going to go for this.”

****

“Absolutely not!” Trisha yelled.

“Trisha, this could help,” Brad said to her.

She stopped pacing in her kitchen long enough to glare at him. “You remember what happened the last time all of you were gone?” Brad’s expression turned mournful, but she pressed on. “Andrew died. I’m barely living with that now. What if it’s you next, Brad? Staying here alone while we’re out there isn’t safe.”

Nick stood from where he was seated at the kitchenette table, but she cut off any protest he attempted.

“And you!
You
should know better. You were there to see what happened to me last time. Things are finally settling down…”

Brad growled and backed two full steps away from her, a sure sign he’d had enough. “You’re deluding yourself, Trish. Look at you. You’re skin and bones. You have no color on your face.” Walking over he stood by Nick, gripping the back of the chair until his knuckles whitened. “This isn’t going to go away.”

Trisha looked between the two of them. It had been hard enough these past few months battling the dreams, trying to keep awake, only to conclude she was growing more and more insane with each passing day. The damn hollow voice called to her every night. The handprints were showing up everywhere. Her mirror. The window. She’d seen the shadow in the orchard on a weekly basis. And all the while she tried to think of Nick in those long night hours. Nick’s hands. Nick’s mouth. Now they wanted him here in the house again, and wanted her to go back to that nightmare which triggered all this.

“Do it for me,” Brad said.

Chuck came in the kitchen door, wearing the T-shirt she bought him months ago for his birthday, and dropped the master keys on the counter. Everyone had left this morning for the week off. It had taken her two hours to assure Nancy and Eduardo that Brad would stay with her so they could head to Chicago.

Wrapping her in a bear hug, Chuck swung her around. “I’m off. There’s a giant walleye with my name on it. Everything’s locked up.”

“Put me down,” she said through a laugh. After he did, she thanked him and he left to go up north.

Sobering, she turned back to Nick and Brad, grateful for the brief reprieve. “Fine.”

****

Against his better judgment, Brad insisted on staying in his own bed in the ranch house. After dark, Trisha and Nick walked him down there and changed the security code to a combination only they knew, just in case. The plan was to have Trisha wear the ankle alarm and for Brad’s cell to alert if she left the house. Nick would call if he needed him.

Trisha hated the plan, not that they listened to her.

After pouring two glasses of Door County wine, she walked from the kitchen into the living room and sat next to Nick on the couch in front of the crackling fire. “Wine will help me sleep,” she said, handing him the other glass. He took it but said nothing.

“I’m sorry for how I treated you that day back in the shed. Not a lot of people know I can’t have kids. I didn’t want you finding out like that.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he said, his voice hoarse, low and sexy.

“Still, I’m sorry…”

“Drop it, Trish.”

Okay, he didn’t want to talk about it.
Fine.
“How are you…”

“Why can’t you have kids?” he interrupted.

So he did want to know. “According to my adoption records, I had Rubella as an infant, which is rare with today’s vaccines. Later, when I was old enough to go for exams, the doctor discovered I wasn’t ovulating. They think the illness caused it, though they don’t know for sure.”

“Could you try? I mean, if you wanted to?”

“I have less than a twenty percent chance of conceiving.”

“You’d make a great mom,” he muttered quietly, looking away. If she allowed herself to believe it, he seemed saddened by the thought.

They needed a topic change fast. “How are you going to know if I leave the house tonight?” she asked.

“I won’t be sleeping.”

Curling her legs underneath her, she leaned back and tried to relax. A futile effort. “This is all my fault,” she said, looking at him, taking in his midnight hair and piercing green eyes. Heat pooled in her belly. The attraction to him was still fierce, even after months of little contact.

He lifted his arm to rest on the back of the couch, his fingers inches from her face. “None of this is your fault.” A muscle ticked in his jaw.

She tore her gaze away. “It is. I don’t know what I did as a kid, or why Alexandra chose me, but this has to end before anyone else gets hurt.” Shaking her head, she bit her lip to keep the tears at bay. “I’m scared, Nick.”

One of his fingers lifted to stroke down her cheek. His eyes followed the path it made until resting over her mouth and paused. Her lips parted, wanting his touch. It didn’t matter they were all wrong for each other.

Removing his hand, he returned it to the back of the couch. “Go to bed, Trish.”

“Come with me,” she whispered.

He sucked in a breath and shook his head, setting his wine glass down on the table. Leaning forward, he dropped his forearms to his knees, avoiding her eyes. “Not a good idea.”

“It wasn’t the first time either.”

His hand rubbed the back of his neck. “I can’t…be what you want.”

Here she thought she was the deficient one. Guess she wasn’t the only one with insecurities. “All I want is you.”

His laugh was forced and bitter. “No, you don’t. And giving in now leads to complications later.”

She wasn’t going to beg. If he didn’t want her, she’d just have to fight harder to ignore the urges. Standing, she set her wine glass down on the table and looked at him. She needed for him to know there were no ill feelings. Since they’d have to see each other often in this small town, it needed to end on a better note than what she said to him in the shed.

“I hope your mother gets her grandkids someday and that they look just like you or Bethany, because they’d be beautiful kids.” He still refused to look at her, his back becoming ramrod straight. “Goodnight, Nick.”

She almost made it to the staircase when he shouted at her. “God, why do you do that?”

She turned to see him standing in front of the fire and facing her, his fists clenched at his sides. “Excuse me?”

“Why do you think you’re less of a woman because you can’t have a baby? You can adopt. This thing with us isn’t your fault. You blame yourself for every damn thing, when it’s not you at all. There’s nothing wrong with you.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and muttered, “You’re perfect.”

Taken aback, she walked over to him until the couch remained the only thing between them. She opened her mouth to speak, but quickly shut it again.

“My sister Bethany died because of me. My mother won’t have grandkids because I can’t give them to her and my sister is gone. Not because you did something wrong.
Me
, Trisha.
My
fault.” He wiped a hand down his face and turned away from her.

The room lost all air, seemingly swimming. “What happened, Nick?”

Pacing the length of the floor, his rage exploded, as if bottled inside so long it could no longer be controlled. “The guy I shot in Milwaukee was her husband. The department had been watching him for months on a drug ring. With enough evidence, they cornered my sister’s apartment to arrest him, but he got out through the window. He had a gun on my partner…I shot my sister’s husband.”

Trisha stepped closer and reached out to him, but he pulled back.

“Two weeks later, Bethany ran her car into a tree doing ninety miles an hour. No skid marks. No seatbelt. She didn’t even try to stop.”

“God, Nick…”

“So, you see, Trish,”—he interrupted, his voice reverberating off the walls—“I died, too. The only difference is I’m still breathing. I can’t give you what you need. So stop blaming yourself.”

She couldn’t stop shaking. Her hand flew over her mouth trying to hold her gasp in. This was why he shut down, why he fought her, why he didn’t talk about anything. It was all so clear now. So very devastating. There was no doubt she had nothing to offer him, but he had so much inside to give to someone else. If only he’d do it.