Chapter Eleven #2
Wade felt his jaw harden. She wasn’t wrong. He wasn’t planning to stay in Lost Lake, and he did want her to clean up her act. “You could try a treatment program,” he said anyway. “Start therapy and talk to someone about Billy.”
“Talk to someone about Billy?” she repeated, incredulous. “You won’t even talk to me about Billy!”
Wade didn’t argue this point.
“Why don’t you tell me what really happened?”
He glanced away, his stomach roiling. He couldn’t go there with her.
She was too fragile, too volatile. It was better to pretend the shooting had been an accident.
Wade would never forgive his father for what he’d done, but neither would he spill the secret.
Knowing the truth would only hurt his mother more.
Headlights appeared in the driveway. The vehicle belonged to his mother’s best friend, Patty Gonzales.
Wynona drained the rest of her drink and stood. She was steady on her feet, despite the alcohol she’d consumed. He didn’t believe for a second that she’d only had one beer at the bar. She walked out the door without another word.
His mother resented the decision he’d made to live with his father. Wade understood her point of view better now, but he couldn’t have done things differently.
Feeling melancholy, he checked on Mary once more before he made himself dinner.
He’d known his father was a bad man, and a dirty cop.
Discovering that he was also a woman-beater wasn’t pleasant.
Wade had always been ashamed of his mother’s wild behavior.
His father’s shady police work didn’t inspire admiration, either.
Billy was the apple who hadn’t fallen far from the tree.
Basically, his entire family sucked. Maybe Wade should walk away and never look back. Some people cut ties from their parents. Instead of trying to save others, they saved themselves. Wade could do that. Maybe a clean break was the best remedy.
He took his plate to the living room and sat in a chair next to the couch.
Mary was still sleeping soundly, dead to the world.
She had one arm flung to the side and the other resting on her stomach.
Some of her hair had been braided into a crown around her head.
The rest fanned across her bare shoulders, its color rich against her pale skin.
Wade let his eyes drift down her body. She had a slender figure, more lean muscle than lush curves, but he liked what he saw.
She looked soft in all the right places.
Her dress, while modest in length and style, revealed a hint of cleavage.
She had a freckle at the base of her throat, a sweet little spot that beckoned a kiss.
Chico growled suddenly, as if he could sense Wade’s inappropriate perusal. Wade stopped ogling Mary and offered the dog a scrap of meat. Chico trotted over and took it. The dog followed him into the kitchen after he was finished, tail wagging.
“Now we’re friends?” Wade asked.
The dog woofed in agreement.
Wade didn’t know if Chico was allowed to eat people food, so he didn’t push it. The dog was ancient, and nearly toothless. Wade washed his plate and put it away. Then he removed the pill bottle from his pocket, struck by a sudden realization.
The name on the label read M. Rose.
He swore under his breath, because his suspicions about her were correct.
She was lying about herself. Her name wasn’t Mary Meadows.
He doubted her real name was Meadows or Rose.
Apparently, she liked flowery aliases, in addition to flowery soaps.
Frowning, he returned the bottle to the drawer where he’d found it.
He glanced around the room, which was small and sparsely furnished.
A single four-pane window gave her a view of the dog run.
He could also see the barn in the distance.
He considered searching the room for other clues to her identity.
He decided against it, and not for any noble reason.
Deep down, he didn’t want to know. If he found evidence of a crime, he’d have to take action—or ignore his duties as a law officer.
Why borrow trouble? Her secrets could remain buried, like his.
He changed out of his work clothes, turned off the light, and lay down on the floor in the living room.
His thoughts whirled with a maelstrom of emotions.
His mother’s abuse allegations were at the forefront.
Should he confront his father, and get his side of the story?
Boyd Hendricks would probably deny it, regardless of the truth.
Instead of dwelling on that dark subject, he let his eyes wander over Mary.
She was a slender shadow beside him, breathing gently.
Mary Rose or Mary Meadows. What did it matter?
The discovery of her alias hadn’t put a dent in his attraction to her.
Maybe there was something broken inside him, twisted by his troubled childhood.
Despite his best intentions, he was drawn to the wrong people.
Instead of looking for a nice girl to date, he was at his mother’s house, lusting after a woman who might be a criminal.
He tore his gaze away, swallowing hard. He never should have kissed her.
He’d crossed the line, and now he was paying the price.
He’d been furious about Mary’s semiconscious state because he cared about her.
He had to squash that feeling before it grew stronger.
She was the wrong woman, in the wrong place, at the wrong time.
He told himself that walking away was the best course of action.
He couldn’t have her. She wasn’t the type for a simple, no-strings affair.
She was his mother’s caretaker, and clearly up to no good.
He had to keep his distance before he got tangled up in her problems. He couldn’t afford to get emotionally involved.
Too late, his mind whispered.
Too late.