The Slow Burn of Silence (A Snowy Creek Novel) (9 page)

She remained silent.

“You told them I’m back?”

Her eyes flared to his. “No. I didn’t.”

“Why?”

She swallowed. “
I . . .
I don’t know why. I should have.”

She hadn’t exposed him.

That smoldering coal in his belly ignited sharp and sudden, starting a hot burn of dangerous hope, of desire. A burn Jeb knew he wasn’t going to be able to extinguish now.

“I saw Trey approach you,” he said quietly. “Outside the police station. What did he want?”

“The whole town knows you’re out of prison, Jeb. It’s been in the news. They thought you wouldn’t dare return. But after today, the incident at the schoo
l . . .
I think Adam believes you’re already here, in Snowy Creek. So does Trey.”

“I forced my own hand. It was my mistake. I plan to keep away now, but it’s why I had to come tonight, to let you know not to be afraid. And to make sure no one knows I’m her birth father. As long as no one knows that Quinn is connected to me, nothing can touch her.”

Wind gusted, cold. Straight off the glacial lake.

“They’ll annihilate you. They’ll skin you alive. This whole community is your enemy. Do you even know what you’re up against?”

“I’ve had almost a decade to think about what I’m up against.” He paused. “I have nothing else but this. I have a right to come home. To prove I belong. I have a right to find out why those guys lied for each other, who they are protecting.”

She stared at him, the gravity of the situation sinking in.

“I’m taking Quinn away tomorrow,” she said. “Away from town for the Thanksgiving break.”

“Good. This is good. I don’t want either of you involved in this.”

“You can’t hide for long.”

“I don’t plan to hide. I plan to rattle cages. I plan to shake something loose.”

A light went on upstairs, flooding out into the dark. Her gaze shot up to the lighted window. Panic whipped through her eyes. “You better go, now. Please.”

He took something from his pocket. “Here.” He pressed a piece of paper into her hand. “My cell number.”

“I don’t want it.”

“We want the same things, Rachel. We want to keep Quinn safe.” He leaned forward, and so fast she didn’t have time to blink, he brushed his lips softly over the side of her cheek. Her hand went to her cheek and their eyes held, just a moment.

Then he spun round and made for his bike.

I watch him go, long, powerful strides, boots crunching over my gravel driveway as he makes his way to where his bike gleams in black shadow. He’s caught a thread in my heart and he’s pulling it away with him, unraveling the fabric of my life, undoing my mind, spooling out the years between past and present.

He straddles his bike.

“How?” I yell after him into the wind. “How in the hell do you think you’re going to do this on your own?” He reaches for the ignition.

“Publicity,” he calls back. “Under a bright media spotlight so they all know why I’m back. I want everyone to start watching everyone else’s reactions. I want them second guessing each other. That’s where the cracks will happen. That’s where the light will get in. I’m going to the paper—I have an interview with the
Leader
editor tomorrow. I set it up yesterday.”

I’m momentarily stunned.

He kicks the stand back on his bike, fires his engine to a throaty growl.

“You can’t—I won’t let you do this. I
am
the paper!”

But the rumble of his engine and the rush of wind through pines drowns my words. He pulls out from under the trees and grumbles up the driveway. I hear the sound of his engine change as he reaches the highway and accelerates. He’s going north. He’s going home to Wolf River.

I run to the edge of the path in my socks and stare after him into the dark. Wind whips my hair and the blanket around me. Time stretches and I start to shudder—a deep, muscular seizure that has nothing to do with cold and everything to do with being moved from one world to another.

A band of yellow light suddenly knifes through the dark behind me.

“Rachel?”

I whirl round.
Quinn.
Standing in the doorway in her pajamas, backlit by the light in the hall. Trixie comes running out from behind her, sniffing the ground where Jeb stood.

“Is something wrong, Rachel?”

I hurry back to the house. “Oh, honey, no, everything’s fine. Come, let’s go back to bed.” I call Trixie in, close and lock the door. The warmth inside doesn’t even begin to touch the cold in me.

Quinn doesn’t move. She’s staring at me. Quickly I wipe my face. I must look a wreck. I’m still shaking. I can’t hide this from her.

“Was it him?” she says. “Was he here?”

“Who, Quinn?”

“The man.”

I crouch down, anxiety lacing through me. “No one was here.”

“Don’t lie to me! I heard voices. I heard his bike. Trixie woke me.”

“Come, let’s go back up to bed.” I place my arm around her. She balks.

“What did he say?” she demands. “Why did he come? Did you chase him away?” Accusation glints in her eyes.

“Listen, you like him, I can see that. But why do you like him so much? He’s a stranger. You don’t even know him.”

“My mother sent him.”

“What?”

“From heaven, to protect me.”

My jaw drops. “What makes you say that?”

Her eyes shine, and her lips start to wobble. “Because there are angels in heaven who come down whe
n . . .
whe
n . . .
” She sputters and tears fill her eyes.

Reciprocal emotion burns into my own eyes, the weight of it all pressing down heavily. “Oh, Quinnie, come here.” I gather the small body of my niece into my arms and hold tight. I wrap the fleece blanket around both of us, a protective cloak, bonding us together. I put my face into her hair and drink in her scent, and I let my own tears fall. She senses my need. Her little arms wrap around my neck, tentatively at first. Then she squeezes so tight it steals my breath. We stay like that for several moments, blanket around us, cocooned against the world. The way I want to keep it. I will fight for this kid. And I am so worried now that Jeb will have more right to her than I.

“Aunt Rachel?” She mumbles into my neck.

Aunt
, she called me
aunt
.

Quickly, I swipe the tears off my face with the hem of the blanket, and I sit back.

“You okay, Aunt Rachel?”

I nod fast, hug her close again. So tight. A feeling of love blossoming hot and soft through my chest. A powerful energy, an urge to protect. Is this what it feels to be a mother? This terrifyingly vulnerable yet powerful thing, this overriding desire to shelter and safeguard your child?

Irony strikes home harder than ever. Not my child. Jeb’s child. Quinn and I are finally bonding and he’s come to ask me to keep her safe. Keep their secret. Because then he wants to take her away. And all I’ve been worrying about was him discovering the truth. My whole world has suddenly been tilted on its head.

“You want some of that soup now?” I manage to say. “Because I sure could use something warm.”

Quinn nods.

She sits on a stool at the kitchen counter while I warm soup. We eat together. We’re closer than we’ve been in six months. And now Jeb is threatening to tear it all apart.

Later that night I’m sitting in bed listening to the howl of the wind, wondering where Jeb is, what he’s doing right now. Wondering how much I can believe him. The courts have cleared him, that much is fact. Does this negate the waiving of his paternal rights? Is it retroactive to the adoption decision? And if he wants to be in Quinn’s life, where does it leave me? Do I have any legal recourse? Does he first need to go to court to assert his rights? My emotions, my feelings, my questions, scramble about in my chest and refuse to settle.

It feels like a lifetime ago that I was up on the mountain for the ribbon cutting this morning. Before the incident at school.

As long as no one knows I’m her fathe
r . . .
nothing can touch he
r
. . .

My thoughts turn to Trey outside the police detachment. Missy Sedgefield in the back of his vehicle. Stacey in the passenger seat.

Rache
l . . .
I heard about the incident at schoo
l . . .
I need to talk to yo
u
. . .

Panic licks suddenly through me. Missy was the one Quinn punched. It had to have been Missy who told Quinn she was adopted. How did Missy know?

Trey? You didn’t!

I lunge for the phone on my bedside table. My clock reads almost midnight. I don’t care. I dial Trey’s cell. A woman’s voice, sleepy, answers.

Shock, hurt, anger. It ripples through me all over again, and for a moment I can’t speak. Four months. I guess that’s all it takes to scrub away a promise of marriage, plans for a lifetime of commitment together. I manage to clear my throat. “I’m looking for Trey.”

“Who is this?” The voice sounds crisper suddenly.

“Is Trey there?”

A pause. “Hang on.”

I hear shuffling. Bedding?

“Hello.” His voice is thick, sleepy.

My heart begins to
whump
. I want to ask him why. How he could do this. What does he see in Stacey Sedgefield? Was I worth nothing to him?

“It’s Rachel.”

A pause. “Jesus.” Another shuffle. He’s getting out of bed?

“Do you know what time it is?” he whispers sharply. I imagine him moving down the passage. In my mind’s eye I see his house, him going to his study, closing the door behind him. Then he says, “Are you okay? It was him at the school today, wasn’t it? Missy described him to me. He was following Quinn. Did you tell Adam that he’s returned?”

Tightness clamps around my chest.

“It wasn’t him,” I lie. “That’s not why I’m calling. How does Missy know that Quinn is adopted? Did you tell her? Did you tell Stacey that Jeb was Quinn’s father?”

“Jesus,” he whispers. “I would never do that. We have a deal, a promise.”

“Yes,” I say quietly. “We also had a promise to get married. Now you have another woman sharing your bed, answering your personal cell phone. Has she moved in that fully already? How do I know what you’ve told
her
?”

Silence.

I curse silently for even letting the words out. I feel as if I’m on some kind of roller coaster, plunging down, down, down, g-forces building low in my stomach. And there’s no way out but to go through it. I look out over the moonlit lake. “So, how
did Missy and the other girls know she was adopted?”

“Everyone knows that much. It was never a secret that your sister and Peter adopted a baby. When you brought Quinn to Snowy Cree
k . . .
” He hesitates. “Stacy and I were talking, abou
t . . .
you know, us, Quinn coming into our lives. Us breaking up. Missy must have overheard the adoption part.”

“You told Stacey it was Quinn who broke us up?”

Several more beats of silence. When he speaks again, Trey sounds tired. Very tired. Sad. “Stacey asks, every now and then, why we broke up. She can’t let it drop. She thinks I’m not over you.”

I swallow.

“I explained to her that Quinn’s arrival was just a catalyst. It was a lot of things that added up. You’re the one who made it about Quinn.” He heaves out a heavy sigh. “You want to know what I didn’t tell Stacey? That it was you who couldn’t follow through with the engagement. That you were using Quinn subconsciously as an excuse, a buffer, because you never got over Jeb, over his betrayal. And with Quinn in our house it was suddenly like Jeb’s ghost living with us full time, haunting us in our own home.”

My hand tightens on the phone, and I squeeze my eyes shut. It takes several beats before I can speak again with a level voice.

“What were you going to tell me outside the police station?”

“That I thought Jeb might be back in town. Like I said, Missy described the man who broke up the fight, and she told me that same man was following Quinn earlier. I wanted to tell you to be careful. If it is him, if he’s back, we don’t know what he wants. He might try to get at our kids, hitting us where it hurts most.”