скачать книгу бесплатно
“Have we met?”
How could she tell? What she’d seen of him so far had been dark and indistinct. He was tall and muscular; she’d gathered that much from his general shape. He was strong, too, or he couldn’t have lifted her out. But that was all she knew. She couldn’t even see the color of his hair.
“Maybe,” she said. “Who are you?” Chances were good she’d recognize the name. Gran owned Just Like Mom’s, one of the more popular restaurants in the area, and she used to help out there.
She’d anticipated some degree of familiarity, but the name came as a shock.
“Noah Rackham.”
She said nothing, could say nothing. It felt as if he’d just punched her in the stomach.
“My father used to own the tractor sales and rental place a few miles out of town,” he explained to provide her with a frame of reference.
Fresh adrenaline made it possible for her to scramble to her feet, despite the pain the movement caused her scraped and bruised body. “Cody’s brother?” She had the urge to rip off the sweatshirt he’d given her.
Noah stood, too. “That’s right. You knew him?”
He sounded pleased, excited. She might have laughed, except she was afraid that if she ever got started she’d end up in a padded cell. Of all the people who could’ve come by and offered her aid, it had to be Cody’s fraternal twin. There wasn’t a greater irony than that.
“You and Cody were friends?” he prompted, trying to interpret her reaction.
She was glad she couldn’t see his face. That would be like meeting a ghost, especially here, at the mine. “Not really,” she said. “I was behind the t-two of you in sch-school, but...I remember him.”
She’d never be able to forget him, but it wasn’t because they’d been friends. Not only had Cody raped her, he’d talked some of his baseball buddies into joining the fun. And, when he came back after the others were gone, she’d done what she had to in order to get away.
3
Noah didn’t know what to make of Addy. Although she claimed they’d gone to the same high school, he didn’t remember her. He didn’t recognize her from around town, either. Of course, that could be due to the condition of her face. Someone had done quite a number on it.
While he drove to the accompaniment of a classic rock station, she curled up, as much as a tall woman could curl up while wearing a seat belt, against the passenger door. He’d told her three times she could lie in the seat, knew she’d be more comfortable if she would. But she acted as if she didn’t want to get too close to him. She went stiff whenever he touched her, which hadn’t made it any easier to wheel her out to the road or help her into the truck. The whole process had taken a couple of hours.
“Which hospital?” he asked.
She lifted her head. “Excuse me?”
He pulled his gaze away from the headlights flowing toward them on the other side of the road. “Which hospital should I take you to? I have a first-aid kit, but that won’t be enough.”
“I’m not going to the hospital.”
He felt his eyebrows notch up. “But...you’re hurt, and you’re still shaking even though it has to be a hundred degrees in here.” He’d been slightly chilled when he got in, too, but thanks to the heat blasting through his vents, he was sweltering now. “I really think you should be checked out.”
“Great idea. And what will I tell them?”
Her tone indicated it was a rhetorical question, but he answered, anyway. “How about the truth?”
Her head bumped against the door. “No, thanks. I’ll be fine.”
“You’re not doing yourself any favors, you know. If you go back to the bastard who did this, he could do it again. And maybe next time there won’t be anyone around to help you.” She was lucky he’d heard her. What if he hadn’t gone riding today? Or chosen a different location? It was only when he was feeling particularly nostalgic or really missing Cody that he took their favorite trail.
“A repeat performance is precisely what I’m hoping to avoid.”
He turned down the volume on “We Will Rock You” by Queen. “Meaning what? You think he’ll come after you if you go to the authorities?”
She raised one hand. “Look, I’m grateful for your help but...will you let it go?”
Shouldn’t he insist she seek medical assistance? “You need to document your injuries. Then, if you change your mind, you can file a report later and have proof to go with it.”
“I’ll pass, but thanks,” she muttered.
“If you decide to press charges, you’ll need pictures.”
“I won’t be pressing charges.”
Obviously, she was covering for someone. No woman wound up stranded at the bottom of a mine shaft in her underwear, in the middle of the night without a little help getting there. “I wish you’d see a doctor.”
“I’ll do it later if I have to.”
“Why not now, when you need it?”
“If you drive me to a hospital I’ll walk out. Please, take me home. Or if that’s too much trouble, drop me at a pay phone so I can call someone else.”
“I’m happy to drive you. It’s just...” Did he have any right to keep pushing? No. He didn’t even know this woman. “Never mind. We’ll do whatever you want.” She wasn’t his problem. But telling himself that didn’t make it any easier. He hated to see whoever had attacked her get away with it.
“Thank you.”
She’d spoken so low he could barely hear her response, but she’d softened, or seemed to have softened, and that tempted him to dive back into the same argument. “So...where’s home?” he asked, fighting the impulse.
Her eyes had drifted shut. He could see her profile in the light of his instrument panel, thought she might be pretty without the swelling and abrasions. Lord knew she had nice legs....
“Mildred’s place on Mulberry Street.”
“You’re staying with Milly?”
The widow who owned Just Like Mom’s was one of his favorite people; he’d had no idea this woman might be associated with her. She’d said her name was Davies, but that was a common enough name, and Milly had lived alone for so long he hadn’t connected them.
“For the time being.”
He gave the truck enough gas to pass the car ahead. “Are you related to Milly, or—”
“I’m her granddaughter.”
The vision of a tall, gangly, flat-chested blonde with more hair on her head than any two people popped into his mind. She’d come to all the varsity baseball games. She’d even walked up to him once, after he’d hit a home run, and stammered her congratulations.
Could this woman be that shy girl?
She wasn’t flat-chested anymore. That was for sure. But she still had thick hair. Although matted and snarled at the moment, it was one of her best assets because it was such a rich blond color and so full of body.
He steered back into the right lane before glancing over at her again. “How long have you been in town?”
Her eyelids rested against her cheeks. If he had his guess, her head was pounding like a jackhammer, but she didn’t complain. “Since Saturday.”
“I mean...before that.”
“I was born in Whiskey Creek.”
“Then we’d be more familiar with each other, wouldn’t we?”
“Not necessarily.”
“I know most people in town pretty well, especially those close to my age.”
“You were caught up in your own life.”
There was a slight undercurrent as she spoke, but it was subtle enough that he couldn’t call her on it. In any case, he wasn’t convinced he’d been any more self-absorbed than other teenagers. “In what way?”
“Never mind.”
“Are we talking about when I was ten or fifteen or...twenty? ‘Caught up’ at twenty being the least flattering, of course,” he added with a chuckle.
A muscle jumped in her cheek. Then she sighed and opened her eyes, as if she was about to give him all the facts about her background at once so he’d leave her alone. “I spent my summers with Milly until eighth grade,” she recited in clipped syllables. “Then, when my mother left for Germany to be with her—what was it then, third?—husband I stayed with Gran.”
He skipped over the number of marriages, figured it wouldn’t be wise to comment on that, not when he was trying to put her at ease. “She married a German? How’d that happen? I’m guessing this was before online dating.”
At this, she actually smiled. “It was. They met via a dating service. He’s American. After dating here, they married. Then he accepted a contract with the military for some consulting work and that required him to live in Frankfurt. She wanted to tour Europe.”
“What about your father?”
“He died in a motorcycle accident before I was born.”
“I’m sorry.”
“He was racing when he died. He and my mother weren’t married. I don’t get the impression he would’ve been a big part of my life if he’d lived.”
He veered away from that subject, too. “So we were teenagers during the period you were referring to?” He grinned at her. “At least that’s younger than twenty.”
She didn’t hurry to reassure him that she hadn’t meant anything negative by her earlier statement. And he noticed the slight, couldn’t help wondering if it was intentional.
“Yes,” she said. “I lived with her until I graduated from high school.”
He found it odd that a mother would give up her child to tour Europe, but he didn’t want to probe what could be a sensitive subject. He was more interested in figuring out why he didn’t remember her, and why she was so...prickly. He’d never encountered anyone determined to dislike him right from the get-go. He might’ve thought he’d slept with her and never called, but he hadn’t done anything like that until college. In trying to cope with the pain of losing Cody, he’d done what he could to distract himself, and sex had been a more effective distraction than any of his other options. “Which would mean we went to Eureka High together for what...two years?”
“You were a junior when I first noticed you.”
She seemed to remember him distinctly, which made him slightly uncomfortable. Was it possible that she’d had a crush on him? Was that what she held against him—some unrequited love thing? Unlike his brother, he hadn’t been interested in girls until he’d started at San Diego State. “Was it on the baseball diamond?”
“It was in the halls, but I saw you on the diamond, too. I watched you play every game.”
So that was her who’d congratulated him so awkwardly. And...she’d watched him play? Specifically? Maybe he’d guessed correctly about the crush, too. The girl who’d approached him after that home run had turned beet-red the moment he’d looked at her, had seemed to regret being impetuous enough to draw his attention.
“Then you’re a baseball fan.” He was about to explain that he could now recall having seen her, but she cut him off.
“Not anymore.”
Why did it feel as if there was a personal element in that response, as well? As if she was saying she was no longer his fan? “What’s wrong with baseball?” Or me, for that matter?
“It’s become a bit of a symbol to me.”
“That’s cryptic.”
She’d gone cold again, remote. “I’m a cryptic person.”
“So you won’t tell me.”
“There’s no point.”
But he was curious. He’d always loved baseball, still played slow-pitch softball in a co-ed league. For him, sports didn’t symbolize anything except a challenge. “Listen, if I said or did something that hurt your feelings back in the day, I’m sorry. I honestly don’t remember it.”
She attempted another smile, but this one fell short of the more sincere grin she’d flashed him after his online dating comment. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” she said. “Don’t mind me. I’m not at my best.”
He could understand why. She had to feel like shit. So he cut her some slack. “No problem.”
He drove farther before breaking the silence again. “Where’d you go after high school?”
She stared straight ahead, through the windshield, instead of turning like most people would during a conversation. Her resistance gave him the impression that she didn’t like looking at him. He almost checked the mirror to see what the sweat and mud from his ride had done to his face.
“The California Culinary Academy in San Francisco,” she said.
“You’re a chef?”
Her eyes still wouldn’t meet his. “I was. I quit my job a week ago.”
“In the Bay Area?”
“No, Davis.”
“Why’d you quit? Were you planning to move back to Whiskey Creek? Or are you in town for a visit?”
Sliding lower in her seat, she pulled her legs up under his sweatshirt. “I’m not sure exactly how long I’ll stay. I quit because Gran needs my help. She’s getting old and can’t move around like she used to. She shouldn’t be driving, for one thing, yet she visits me once a month.”
“You can’t come here?”
“I haven’t been back since I graduated.”
“Because...”
“I don’t enjoy returning. But I don’t want to put her in assisted living. That’s never been what I envisioned for her. And some decisions have to be made about the restaurant.”
“Darlene Bigelow basically runs it for her, and she seems to do a good job. Won’t she continue?”
