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“I hope you like hamburgers,” Jesse said as he led her to a chair at the table.
“Hamburgers are fine,” she assured him. She touched the edge of her plate, the handle of a fork to orient herself.
“Mustard or ketchup?” Jesse asked.
“A little mustard, please.” She heard the squirt of a bottle, then sensed him placing the burger on her plate. “Thank you.”
“Chips?” he offered.
“Sure,” she agreed, just wanting to get the meal over and done with. Eating was one of the many things that had become sheer torture since she’d lost her sight. Finger food had become her friend.
Within minutes they were eating, the meal accompanied by the strained silence of strangers who weren’t quite sure what to say to each other.
“So, tell me about Mustang, Montana,” she said in an effort to break the uncomfortable silence.
“There isn’t a lot to tell. Small town, slow pace, good people. It’s a great place to grow up and a great place to grow old.”
“You love it here,” she observed. She’d heard the warmth in his voice as he spoke of the town.
“I do,” he agreed. “Mustang is a small town with a big heart. I left for four years to go to college, then went on to the police academy, but my heart never really ever left.”
“That’s nice,” she said. “Do you have family here?”
The moment the question left her lips, the despair of her loss echoed within her heart.
Never again would she be able to share with her sister the laughter or the tears that life so often contained. Never again would she know the comfort of a sisterly hug.
“No, no family. My father died three years ago in a car accident and my mother passed away seven months later. The doctors said it was heart failure, but I’ll always believe it was a broken heart.”
He cleared his throat, as if embarrassed by the personal disclosure. “Actually, even though I have no blood family here, everyone in Mustang acts like they’re family. Everyone knows everyone else’s business, and if you have a problem of any kind, somebody is always ready with advice.”
“If everyone knows everyone else’s business, then I guess it would be smart for us to know our business,” she said.
“You’re talking about our cover story.”
She nodded and chewed a chip thoughtfully. “I really hate to tell people we met while camping because I know absolutely nothing about it.”
“You’ve really never been on a camp out? Didn’t you ever sleep in the backyard with friends or go to Girl Scout camp?”
She heard the incredulity in his voice. “No outdoor sleepovers, no Girl Scouts. The closest I’ve ever come to camping out was when my sister and I made a tent in our bedroom and pretended we were wilderness guides.”
The memory brought with it a glow of happiness as she remembered that night. She and Alicia had fashioned a tent from the top of their dresser to the top of their bed. They’d spent hours making shadow animals on the ceiling with the aid of a flashlight.
They’d eaten an entire package of cookies while making up scary stories to entertain each other. Their mother had grounded them the next morning when she’d seen the mess they had made, but the night’s adventure had been worth the punishment.
The warmth of the memory battled with the coldness of loss, creating a whirlwind of grief to whip through her.
“Cecilia?” Jesse pulled her from the memory.
“We can tell everyone we met camping,” she said, suddenly changing her mind. “We can tell them I was camping with my sister and you were at the site next to ours. I don’t think anyone will really ask me about the actual camping experience, do you?”
“I sincerely doubt it.” She heard the crunch as he ate a potato chip, then he continued. “And we’ll tell everyone that since that time we’ve been burning up the phone lines.”
She nodded. “Then it’s official. You now have a girlfriend.” She finished the last bite of her hamburger, then gazed across to where she knew he sat. “Will people think it odd that you fell in love with a blind woman?”
“People will find it odd that I’m in love with anyone.”
Again she heard a smile in his voice. “Why is that?” she asked curiously.
“I’ve been the elusive bachelor of Mustang for a long time now. Mothers try to set me up with their daughters, aunts corner me in stores and tell me about the charms of their nieces.”
“You must be very good-looking,” she observed.
The smile she’d heard in his voice turned into full-blown laughter. He had a wonderful laugh. Deep and resonant, it brought with it a wealth of warmth that fluttered inside her, momentarily banishing the frozen tears that had encased her heart.
“No, not particularly good-looking,” he replied. “Just one of the few young, available bachelors in town. Besides, you know what they say about women and men in uniform.”
Men in uniform. Suddenly her body went cold. John and Alicia had worn the blue uniforms of the Templeton Police Department.
They had loved working law enforcement in the small Chicago suburb. Uniforms with badges. Symbols of safety. And yet the thought of those badges and dark blue outfits evoked dreadful disquiet. Forcefully she shoved away thoughts of her last family.
Instead she focused on the man across from her, the man she could smell, could sense, but couldn’t see. “How old are you?” she asked.
“Didn’t your mother ever tell you it wasn’t polite to ask somebody their age?” There was a soft, teasing lilt to his tone.
“My mother taught me that if you want to know something, ask.”
“Smart woman, your mother. I’m almost thirty.”
“Why haven’t you married and started a family? I thought people in small towns married young.”
“Relationships have always seemed too complicated and difficult to maintain. I love my job, I like my home. That’s always been enough for me.”
She smiled. “No wonder you’re considered a catch. There’s nothing like the challenge of a confirmed bachelor to whet the appetite of single women.”
“Speaking of appetites, would you like another hamburger?”
“No, thanks. I’m fine.” She heard his chair scoot back and knew he’d gotten up from the table. “I’m sorry I can’t help with the cleanup. Dishes that feel clean don’t always look clean.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“It’s not real.” The words fell from her mouth without any warning.
“Excuse me?”
“My blindness. It’s not real.”
There was a long moment of silence. “What do you mean? Are you faking your blindness?” She heard the bewilderment in his voice.
“No, the blindness is real, but there’s no physical reason for it. It’s psychosomatic. Hysterical blindness is what the doctors call it.” She couldn’t help the anger that sharpened her tone.
She was sorry she’d brought it up. The whole thing made her feel weak, stupid and crazy. And now he would think she was weak, stupid and crazy.
“This happened at the same time as whatever happened that put you in protective custody?” he asked softly.
She nodded. “I’ve been blind for a month. The doctors say my sight could return at any time.” They’d also said it was possible it might never return, but she refused to consider that possibility.
He remained silent and she continued. “I just thought you should know. I haven’t had time to adjust much, so I’m not what you’d consider a high-functioning blind person.” She couldn’t help the bitterness, the slight ache of the unfairness of it all that colored her voice. “But we won’t tell your friends that not only did you have the misfortune of falling in love with a blind woman, but a crazy one, as well.”
There was another long pause. “Self-pity isn’t very becoming.”
His words hung in the air for a long moment, and for that singular moment, she couldn’t believe he’d had the audacity to accuse her of self-pity. What did he know about her life, about her?
Anger, swift and self-righteous, suddenly filled her. She stood, allowing the anger free reign. “How dare you!” she exclaimed. She glared in the direction she thought he stood. “You aren’t the one who has lost everything. You have no idea what I’ve been through…what I’m continuing to go through.”
Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew she was overreacting, that her anger far exceeded the offense, but it was an anger that had been building inside her since the night her world had exploded apart through inexplicable violence and gut-wrenching terror.
She couldn’t corral the anger now that it had been set free. It was much easier to finally give in to it, to allow it to consume her.
“You have your nice life in a nice town,” she said, her voice strident. “I’ve lost my family, my career and my sight. Excuse me if I drift momentarily into self-pity. I think I’ve earned the right. However, if it makes you uncomfortable, I’ll take it into my room.”
She desperately wanted to make a dramatic, graceful exit, but as she swept away from the table, she crashed into the corner with her hip, then bumped into the doorway.
Thankfully Jesse didn’t reach out to help her, as if instinctively knowing she needed to leave under her own steam, even if she were black and blue by the time she reached her room.
Jesse winced as he heard her bump into the coffee table, then bang into the end table. A moment later he heard the slam of her bedroom door.
He released a sigh, and worried his hair with a sweep of his hand. He was sorry for his thoughtless words. But he had a feeling she didn’t want to hear an apology at the moment.
Her family. She’d said she’d lost her family. A husband? Children? He remembered vividly his mother’s grief when his father had died, a grief so debilitating, it had eventually stolen her will to live.
It was the memory of that grief that had induced Jesse to decide he’d prefer to live his life forever alone than to risk experiencing a loss so enormous. Love began with such promise, but always ended in heartache.
As he worked to clean up the dinner mess, his mind went over what little information she’d given him, provoking more questions than answers.
She was right about one thing: he didn’t know what had happened to her, and he had no right to judge or censure her.
He finished cleaning the kitchen and went into the living room. His usual routine was to turn on the television and relax until bedtime. But tonight he didn’t turn it on, felt as if it would be rude to do so since Cecilia couldn’t watch with him.
What did Paul do in the evenings? How did he spend the dark hours of his life? These questions drifted into his head, unwelcomed and disturbing.
Jesse had made the decision years ago to walk out of his best friend Paul’s life, knowing his presence would forever be a reminder of the tragedy Paul had endured.
Damn Bob Sanford for handing him this particular assignment, and damn Cecilia Webster for making him remember what he’d spent so many years trying to forget.
He paced the living room restlessly, his thoughts on Cecilia. Hysterical blindness. Jesse had never heard of such a condition, but he knew the mind was capable of many things.
He froze as he heard the guest room door open.
“Jesse?”
“I’m right here,” he replied as Cecilia entered the living room.
Slowly she made her way across the room to the sofa and sat. “I think I owe you an apology,” she said as she folded her hands in her lap.
“No, I owe you one,” he countered. He sat down opposite her. “You were right when you said I have no right to judge you or comment on where you are in your life at the moment. I don’t know what’s happened to you, and it’s none of my business. My business is to keep you safe.”
“Okay, you’re right. You owe me an apology.” For the first time since she’d arrived, a small smile graced her lips. “And I accept, but only if you accept mine, as well.”
“Done,” he replied. She was pretty without a smile, but with her lips curved upward, she was more than pretty, and a stir of pleasure coursed through him.
“So, tell me…what do the good people of Mustang do in the evenings to pass the time?”
Jesse shrugged, then remembered she couldn’t see the gesture. “We don’t have a movie theater, no bowling alley or shopping mall, so entertainment is pretty limited.”
Jesse realized that while he talked, he was studying her features. Society taught people that it was impolite to stare, but in this case, there was no need to look away or avert his gaze for politeness’ sake.
Whatever sleep she had gotten before the interference of her disturbing nightmares had been enough to erase the circles beneath her eyes. He assumed she wore no makeup and marveled at the length of her dark lashes. She had the smoothest skin he’d ever seen, broken only by a tiny mole just above the left corner of her lips.
“Jesse?”
He realized he’d stopped talking and wondered if she’d sensed he was staring at her. “I was just gathering my thoughts,” he said. Then he continued. “Most of the adults of Mustang are porch-sitters. Almost everyone has a porch swing or chairs, and on nice evenings you can hear neighbors calling back and forth to one another. Then, at about seven-thirty or so, a lot of people drift down to the diner for dessert and coffee and gossip.”
“Quite a different life-style from—” She caught herself. “From where I come from.” She shifted positions on the sofa and he caught a whiff of her pleasant floral perfume.
She obviously didn’t trust him yet and was afraid to let him know what city held the secrets of her past and the events that had brought her to Mustang.
“Without movie theaters or shopping malls, what do the youth of Mustang do for entertainment?”
“The town holds a lot of dances and social gatherings, but most of the time the teens gather at a little stream just outside of town. There’s a tree down there they call the kissing tree and legend has it if you kiss a girl beneath that tree, her heart will belong to you through eternity.”
She smiled. “Have you ever kissed a girl beneath the tree?”
“Nah. Came close a couple of times in my youth, but the idea of eternity always loomed larger than any desire to steal a kiss.” He frowned. “At the moment, the kissing tree and the surrounding area is off-limits to everyone.”
“Why is that?”
Jesse stood, restless as he thought of the latest criminal case to strike the small town. It was the craziest crime he’d ever had to deal with. “Two weeks ago a woman was kidnapped from her bedroom in the middle of the night.” Jesse paced from the chair to the window. “She was bound, blind-folded and gagged. Apparently she was taken to the kissing tree, kissed, then left there. She was found by a couple of teenagers.”
“How horrible. Was she hurt?” She spoke first to the chair, then toward the window, as if unsure exactly where he stood.
“Physically, no. But she was terribly traumatized.” He left the window and again sat in his chair, realizing it was easier for her to talk to him if he remained static. “At first we figured it might be a bad joke, some sort of prank or bet carried out by some kid. Then last week it happened again to another single woman.”
“You still think it’s kids playing jokes?”
“No.” Jesse threaded a hand through his hair and forced himself to remain seated. “If the females were teenagers, then I might still think another teen was responsible, but these women aren’t teenagers. The first is twenty-six and the latest is twenty-eight. They aren’t kids.”
“You certainly didn’t need the extra responsibility of a blind woman in your care right now,” she said, only this time he heard no tinge of self-pity in her voice. She was merely stating the obvious.
