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JENA WAS ON her way back from Dripping Springs. Last night she and Hilary had talked until after midnight. Jena wanted to do something for Hilary in appreciation of everything she’d done for their mother. That led to a long discussion. Hilary didn’t want anything. She was her mother, too, she’d said. In the end, they agreed to fix up the house. It was long overdue.
Hilary wanted a buttercup-yellow house with white shutters, so Jena bought all the supplies and Hilary’s friends would do the work. In a fit of indulgence, she went ahead and bought shingles to finish the roof.
Her cell buzzed and she reached for it in the console. “Hey, Hil.”
“Did you get everything?”
“Yes. A soft yellow, just like you wanted. It’s going to look so nice with the white shutters. Are you sure the guys will do this?”
“Yes. I told them this morning, and Billy Jack said he’d bring the paint sprayer over tomorrow.”
“I went ahead and bought shingles. And we have to get new screens, but I have to measure them first.”
“Wow. You are being generous.”
“I left everything at the store for Billy Jack to pick up.”
“Good deal. I can’t wait to see the new look. I’m tired of that drab house.”
“That’s why you paint murals all over it?”
“Yes, I... Hold on. I’ve got another call.”
In a minute Hil was back. “Sis, it was Carson. He wants to see you. You didn’t give him your cell number.”
“Oh, crap. I forgot. I’ll check on Mama and then head over to his office.”
“I’ll check on Mama. You go to his office. He might have some news.”
“Okay. I’ll see you later.” She clicked off and felt a rush of excitement run through her. Maybe he’d talked to his father. Maybe he knew... Oh, God. Her hands grew clammy on the steering wheel.
She turned into the parking area of the constable’s office and took several deep breaths to calm herself. Grabbing her purse, she got out and stared at the building. Was it only yesterday she’d come here with every word rehearsed in her head? With every dream intact in her heart?
Opening the door, she went inside. Carson sat at his desk, reading through a big file.
“Come in,” he said. “Have a seat.” His eyes looked worried and his hair was tousled as if he’d been running his fingers through it.
She sat in a chair, placed her purse on the floor and pushed her sunglasses to the top of her head. Yesterday she’d been dressed in her best clothes. Today she was casual in white capris, sandals and an olive-green sleeveless top. She was thinking inane things when the most important subject was almost too painful to broach.
“Did you find the bloodstain on the basement floor?” she asked, her heart beating a steady tattoo against her ribs.
“Yes.”
“And you talked to Asa?”
“No. Sorry.” He looked up, his green eyes tortured.
She ignored that look. “You saw the stain, but for some reason you haven’t talked to your father?”
“No.”
She got up, grabbed her purse, intending to leave and call Blake right away. This was unacceptable.
But he was faster than her, blocking her path to the door. “Please, Ms. Brooks. I’m asking for more time.”
“I’ve been without my child for nine years. That’s enough time.”
“Please.”
Something in that one little word said in earnest got to her and she weakened. Or maybe it was the broad chest and wide shoulders that held her attention. A light citrus scent teased her nostrils. Swirls of brown chest hair peeped out from the V of his white shirt. Jared had had boyish good looks, but Carson had a raw masculinity that made her aware he was a man and she was a woman.
“I was going to talk to him last night, but he wasn’t feeling well and my aunt gave him a sleeping pill so he could rest. When he wakes up, I’ll try again, but you have to understand he’s not the strong domineering man you remember. He’s never gotten over Jared’s murder, and he’s very fragile in his body and in his mind.”
“I understand that.” She hitched the strap of her purse higher. “My mom is not doing well, either. She’s in her own little world. The tragedy has affected so many people, and it still lingers. My father’s murder was never solved. Either the authorities covered up for Asa or they didn’t care.”
“Could we talk about that?”
“The murders?”
“Yes. I have a lot of questions.”
She sighed. “What good will that do except to dredge up old heartaches and pain?”
“The cases were closed very quickly, and I feel there is still evidence out there to help corroborate your story.”
What was it about this man that made her see his point of view? “Okay. Okay. I’ll answer questions. Again, I might add.”
“I appreciate that.”
She turned toward the chair and noticed he was still standing by the door. “Are you afraid I’m going to sneak out?”
“Just making sure,” he replied with a half grin. The tired expression was gone from his face, and she knew he could be quite persuasive if he applied himself.
She resumed her seat, as did he. As she placed her purse back on the floor, she noticed the photo on his desk. Her nerves had been so helter-skelter when she was in the office before she hadn’t even seen it.
“Your children?” She pointed to the photo.
“Um...yeah. Trey and Claire.”
The boy had brown hair and favored Carson. The little girl was her mother all the way. She remembered Beth Corbett—a beautiful blonde. Hilary had told her about Beth’s death. That had to have been hard to lose his brother and wife within a few years.
“I’m sorry about your wife.” She felt she had to say something.
“Thank you,” he replied in a neutral tone, signaling the subject was off-limits.
He shuffled through the file. “Why did your dad shoot Jared? Was there an ongoing feud between them?”
She lifted an eyebrow. “You mean because of me?”
“Yes.” He looked up, his green eyes intense.
“It may surprise you to know that my father had no interest in my or my sister’s lives. When he learned I was pregnant, he said at least I had enough sense to sleep with someone who had money.” She clenched her hands in her lap. Her childhood had been riddled with strife. Her father had been a decent person until he started drinking. Then he became abusive. They used to dread the sound of his truck in the driveway. Their mother would get them out of their beds and hurry them outside in the dark to hide. She would then take the brunt of his drunken rage.
“Your father killing Jared makes no sense.” Carson’s voice penetrated her disturbing thoughts. “He had no motive.”
“The sheriff and his deputies made up a motive by talking to people around town. They said my dad was trying to force Jared to marry me and nothing could be further from the truth.”
“What was the truth?”
“We graduated in May and worked all summer. The baby was due the first week in October, and we wanted to save enough money to rent an apartment in Austin. Before the baby was born, we planned to run away and get married.”
“Who knew about the plan?”
“No one. I didn’t even tell Hilary. We didn’t want Asa to find out.”
“Can you prove any of this?”
“Why do I need to prove anything?”
His eyes held hers. “Because it would mean your father didn’t have a motive.”
“My father didn’t know we were getting married,” she said rather tartly.
He pulled a pad and pen forward. “Did you get a marriage license?”
“Yes. In San Marcos.”
“Did you rent an apartment?”
“Yes. In Austin.” She gripped her hands again to keep the memories at bay. “Jared was killed the day before we were to leave.”
Complete silence followed her words, and she took a moment to gather her shattered composure. Memories of that day were still very real and painful. But it was only a prelude of the misery to come.
“Mr. Corbett...”
“Could you please call me Carson?” His green eyes held hers, waiting.
“I’d rather keep this formal.” She didn’t know why she was hesitating. She just didn’t want to be on friendly terms with him.
“Willow Creek is as informal as you can get.”
“But you and I are not friends. You and I will never be friends.”
“I see,” he said in a flat tone, and for a moment she felt a twinge of guilt. But it passed quickly. He made her feel weak and she hated that. She would never be weak again.
She reached for her purse and stood. “Dredging up the murders is not the reason I’m here. My child is the only reason I came back, and your father is the only one who has the answer. You’re stalling because you know I’m right.”
He stood, too, his green eyes turning dark. “I’ve asked before, and your answer wasn’t satisfactory. Why are you coming back now? Why not eight years ago? Five years? You’ve left it rather late to play the mother card.”
“How dare you! I don’t have to explain anything to you, and I’m not answering any more questions. You have until eight o’clock tonight to speak to your father. If I don’t hear from you, I’m calling my attorney.” She turned on her heel and walked out.
In the car she was trembling so badly she had to take several deep breaths. She’d known this wasn’t going to be easy, but she’d never counted on her emotions betraying her. There was an attraction between them, very subtle, but it was there. No way was she letting her heart get involved with the enemy. And that was who Carson Corbett was—her worst enemy.
* * *
CARSON RAN BOTH hands through his hair. Son of a bitch! What had just happened? They were having a normal conversation and the next minute she was tearing into him like a cornered bobcat.
He closed the folder and jammed it back into the storage box. She was right. Dredging up the past was pointless. He had to deal with the present.
His cell buzzed and he reached for it on his belt. It was his aunt.
“Carson, your father’s awake. He’s had a late breakfast and now he’s watching TV.”
“I’ll be right there.”
He locked up the office and headed for home. Driving down the winding road to the house, he glanced at his cows feeding on new coastal hay. It had taken him years, but he’d slowly built a good-size herd again. Yet the ranch was far from what it used to be. He couldn’t afford help, so when he wasn’t doing his constable job, he worked the ranch. His life ran at a grueling pace, but it kept him from thinking.
Parking at the garages, he took a moment and then went in through the sunroom. Aunt Fran was in the kitchen, loading the dishwasher.
She looked up, her face worried. “What’s this about, Carson?”
“It’s not good.” He told her about Jena Brooks’s allegations.
“That can’t be true.” She wiped her hands on a dish towel. “Asa wouldn’t do something like that.”
“I’m not so sure. He was out of his mind with grief.”
“I wish I could have gotten here sooner after Jared died, but I was in Australia and...”
“You know Pa. You couldn’t have changed a thing. Where is he?”
“In the den. Carson,” she called as he turned away. “Be patient.”
He nodded and walked into the large Western-style room with dark walnut paneling, leather sofas, horse sculptures and a brightly colored area rug. His father sat in his chair, watching TV, a remote in his unsteady hand.
Carson was reminded of the years he and Asa went head-to-head on just about everything. His father was a hard man, and his sons knew that better than anyone. Work was always on Asa’s mind, and he’d made sure his boys started working at an early age. Carson could remember pushing hay off the back of a truck to feed cows at six. After school, it was ranch work. Weekends were the same. Vacations were nonexistent. The only fun they’d had was hanging out with friends and playing sports. His father was the reason he’d joined the Marines. He’d had to get away to be his own man apart from his father’s insane views of life.
His father was also an unforgiving man. He could remember the time Asa beat Jared to within an inch of his life for leaving a gate open. Cows got out and Asa was furious. Carson jumped in and pulled Asa off his little brother. They’d slept in the barn that night, and the next day Asa acted as if nothing had happened. There were so many days like that. Yet through it all they’d loved their father.
But Jared’s murder had broken Asa. So much so that he’d allowed a worthless ranch hand to squander away everything he’d built. Carson shook the memories away.
“Hi, Pa.”
The chair buzzed as Asa turned it to face him.
“I need to talk to you.”
