Lies We Tell Page 6

  “I don’t mind.”

  “And no air conditioning? How do you sleep at night?” The disparity of our lifestyles reared its ugly head. I’d been to his high-rise apartment, seen his pristine polished floors and modern-minimalist style. To his eyes, the peeling paint and worn interior of my house must seem primitive and horrific.

  “I’ve got a fan.” Honestly, the heat and humidity had been unbearable over the last few days, but central air wasn’t in my budget until next summer.

  “Suit yourself.” A smile brought out the dimples in his cheeks. He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. The brush of his fingertips over my earlobe sent a pleasant shiver down my back. “I need to get back to the office, but I could be persuaded to stay for a few minutes. Let’s go upstairs.” The smooth linen of his shirt collar caressed my neck as he bent to kiss my collarbone.

  The warmth of his lips replaced the coldness left by Owen’s situation. I closed my eyes, relaxing into Michael’s touch, but when I opened them, I saw Owen’s discarded lunch in the grass beneath the tree, and all I could think about was how good he’d tasted.

  “What is it?” Michael straightened, pulling back to meet my gaze.

  “Nothing.” I should have told Michael then—about Owen, about our past—but I couldn’t bear to hurt him. After all, it had nothing to do with our relationship. And I couldn’t betray Owen’s confidence. “I’ve just got a lot to do.”

  “You’re right.” After a glance at his Rolex, he shook his dark head and rubbed the back of his neck. “Duty first.” He placed a final kiss on my forehead. “Why don’t you stay with me this weekend? I’ll make reservations at some disgustingly expensive restaurant and spoil you within an inch of your life.”

  My gaze skimmed over the weed-strewn yard, the peeling paint, and the dirty windows. I had a ton of work in front of me, none of which would finish itself. “I don’t know.”

  He wrapped an arm around me. We walked together to his car. The dust of the driveway dulled the sheen of his shiny shoes. The expensive Italian loafers made me think of Owen’s worn leather work boots and the duct tape holding them together. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t stop thinking about him. The more I thought about him, the greater my guilt became over both men. “Can I get a rain check?”

  “Are you sure something’s not bothering you?” The concern in his searching gaze squeezed my heart.

  “Absolutely. I’m just tired and stressed. I’ll be fine.” I placed a hand on his cheek. The smoothness of his clean-shaved jaw nestled in my palm. “Go get some bad guys.”

  The appearance of a sleek Volvo cut short our goodbyes. The car stopped in front of Michael’s Mercedes. Owen exited the passenger side, and a slender blonde slid from behind the driver’s seat. The expensive cut of her cream suit accentuated large breasts and a tiny waist. Everything about her screamed wealth and class, from the flash of diamond earrings to the red soles of her designer shoes. She crossed around the front of the car to meet Owen and placed a kiss on his cheek, her palm resting on his chest. Something stirred in my blood. Something dark and angry. Were they sleeping together? Did he like her?

  “Lisa?” Michael backed away from me. My hand dropped to my side. He knew this beautiful creature? How could I ever compete with that? By the shine in her eyes, she liked him too much for my comfort.

  “Michael. Hello.” She extended a hand and made a beeline for him. “What on earth are you doing here?” The distinctive hint of a Bostonian accent hovered in her throaty voice.

  “Visiting a friend.” He took her by the elbows and kissed her cheek. “I should ask you the same thing.”

  I’m a friend? There was that word again, but this time it took on an entirely different meaning, like it was an excuse or a dismissal. Like my presence was inconsequential. Owen’s gaze caught mine across the hood of Lisa’s car. Even though we were separated by several yards of distance, he read my emotions. I saw it in his eyes, sensed it in his stance, felt him in my head, his empathy plain on his face. The mental intrusion stimulated shockwaves of panic, followed by feelings of disloyalty. How could I be mad at Michael when I couldn’t stop thinking about Owen? When I’d kissed my high school boyfriend? I wanted to run to Owen and throw my arms around his neck, but I couldn’t. We were over a long time ago. His choice. Not mine. The disgust in his gaze this afternoon proved the point.

  “We had some business downtown.” Lisa’s gaze slid over my ponytail, naked face, and faded blue jeans shorts. With a polite smile, she turned back to Owen and placed a hand on his arm. The way her fingers lingered on his bicep suggested intimacy. Why did she have to keep touching him? Jealousy swept through me, this time over a man I no longer had a claim on. “If you have any more problems, Owen, give me a call.”

  “Will do. Thanks again. I owe you.” His words were for her, but his eyes remained locked with mine. I couldn’t look away. Michael’s stare followed Lisa, filled with admiration. I cleared my throat and slammed down a wall of protection between my feelings and the outside world.

  “I’ll see you back at the office, Michael,” Lisa said before climbing back into her car. “Let’s do lunch.”

  The three of us watched her drive away. After an uncomfortable minute, Owen nodded to us and took off for the back of the house, presumably to find Dad. I tried not to stare after his broad shoulders or ogle the way his jeans hugged his ass.

  “That guy—what’s he doing with Lisa?” Michael asked. “She’s a criminal defense attorney. Is he in some kind of trouble?”

  “I have no idea.” It wasn’t exactly a lie, but close enough to make me uncomfortable. I deflected the question by turning the conversation back to him. “Why didn’t you introduce me to her?”

  “What?” Michael continued to stare after Owen, eyes narrowing. He slipped an arm around my waist, but something about his touch felt forced. I shrugged away. He caught me and drew me to his side before I could escape. “Hey, come back here.” A smile brightened his face but didn’t reach his eyes. It was his professional smile, the one he used to disarm business associates, one he’d never used with me before. “I’m sorry, babe. She has an office in the same building. We work together now and then. I never expected to see her here. It caught me off guard, and I forgot my manners.”

  “Did you guys date or something?” The question bypassed my brain and escaped through my mouth. Too late, I realized I didn’t want to know the answer.

  “We had dinner a few times.” His grip tightened around my waist, but his gaze darted to a point in the distance. “It was nothing.”

  “I’m sorry. It’s not my business.” Of course, he had a life before me. How could I blame him when I was hiding the truth about Owen? I buried my nose in the fabric of Michael’s shirt and inhaled the fresh, clean scent. After a quick hug, he got in the car and drove away. A nagging sense of impending doom rocked my confidence. Apparently, Michael had secrets too.

  Eight

  Owen

  Present Day

  From the garage, I watched Stella say goodbye to her boyfriend. Jealousy tweaked the iron bands around my heart. If things had been different, that might have been me with an arm around her waist. Me kissing her pouty mouth. Me sleeping in her bed. The surprise of our kiss had awakened feelings I’d long ago cast aside. I shook off the fantasy before it found roots. Loving her had stolen my future and my past. I wouldn’t give her my dreams too.

  The crew buzzed around me, their voices and shapes blurring into a watercolor of movement. Stella and Michael came into sharp focus. I’d seen her boyfriend before. He had a reputation for fairness and unwavering ethics. After all the bullshit I’d been through, my confidence in the legal system had waned, but this man seemed to be one of the good guys.

  No matter who he was, I didn’t like the way his hand cupped Stella’s ass when she lifted on tiptoe to kiss him. Did she love him? Were they happy? At night, alone in my prison cell, I used to fantasize about her life, filled her days with laughter and smiles and her
nights with blissful dreams. If this guy gave her all those things, then I’d figure out a way to deal with the jealousy.

  Dad clapped a hand on my shoulder and squeezed. “You okay?” His voice sounded far away, even though we were less than a foot apart.

  “Yeah.” I couldn’t tear my gaze from Stella. Eighteen years had changed her for the better. Her hair was longer and straighter, and she’d gained a few pounds in all the right places. Cut-off shorts showed off her tanned legs. My fingers twitched, remembering how soft the skin had been on her inner thighs.

  “Owen.” Dad’s bushy brows met over the bridge of his nose.

  I coughed. My throat felt rusty. I didn’t talk much. Sitting under the tree with Stella, I’d spoken more words in a row than I’d said in the past week. “What?”

  “You’re staring, son.” When his scrutiny intensified, I picked up my tool belt and strapped it on. He cocked his head. “Wanna tell me about it?”

  “There’s nothing to tell.” I reached for my hammer, intending to slide it back into the leather loop on the belt, but it slipped from my hands and landed in the dirt.

  “She seemed really worried when Coley hauled you off.” Dad picked up the tool and handed it back to me.

  I grunted in response, taken aback by the swift heat of irritation in my guts. I’d taken precautions to erase her from my life eighteen years ago, and now, fate had thrown us together again. The girl of my dreams stood less than a dozen yards away, and I couldn’t have her.

  “Why don’t you take the afternoon off?” Sensing my prickliness, Dad resumed gathering supplies, avoiding my gaze. “You haven’t had a day off since you started working for me.”

  “I don’t need time off.” The thought of sitting alone in my rented room over his garage, staring at the ceiling, sounded worse than a day of hard labor. I needed to work. Building things gave me a sense of purpose and accomplishment. Strenuous activity meant I could sleep at night. This job was the only thing holding me together.

  “Suit yourself.” He shrugged before walking toward the back porch. “Take the boys some more nails, would you?”

  He didn’t wait for a reply, and I didn’t answer. Dad knew I’d take care of it, the way I always took care of things.

  The rest of the day passed with agonizing slowness. I reworked the wood steps on the back porch and replaced the rotted boards, fighting away memories of holding Stella’s hand in that very place. Now and then, I caught a flash of her through the open windows, a flutter of her long hair, the curve of her cheek. I banged the nails into the wood with more force than necessary, taking my frustrations out on the job.

  At the end of my shift, I paused at the living room window before loading my tools into the truck. She was humming to herself, a tune I didn’t recognize, but the sweet sound of her voice brought a lump to my throat. I shifted to get a glimpse of her. The sheen of humidity glistened on her arms and chest. The temperatures had climbed to the high nineties. With a bucket of water at her feet and a sponge in one hand, she scrubbed the dingy walls. When she bent over to rinse the sponge, the scoop neck of her tank top gaped open and revealed the upper swells of her breasts.

  “Jesus.” Perspiration gathered on my brow. I swiped the back of my arm across my forehead. The sultry air had me sweating buckets, and the sight of her perfect, round tits didn’t help the situation.

  “Go talk to her.” Dad paused on the return to his work truck, a few paces away from my spot on the sidewalk.

  “No.” After shaking my head to clear away the pipe dreams, I grabbed the handle of the toolbox and headed to my vehicle. The time for words had passed years ago. Besides, what would I say? Everything I did was for you. I laughed aloud at the absurdity. The only way I could get through this was to hate her for making me care.

  Nine

  Stella

  Present Day

  The next day, I headed downtown for groceries and lunch. Thunder promised rain, but the clouds never delivered. Splotches of brown grass dotted the neighborhood lawns, and a thick coat of dust covered the cars parked along the street. I marveled at how very little the town had changed. Small independent shops lined the main street. A bubbling fountain splashed in the center of the town square. Pedestrians stared as I drove my Jeep along the tree-lined avenue. A wave of nostalgia brought a lump to my throat. I’d never been particularly sentimental, but the familiar sites awakened something dead inside me. My childhood had been full of upheaval and constant shuffling between foster homes. I’d spent my adult life circumventing the globe. During those years, I’d scoffed at the need to put down roots, and I couldn’t help wondering if I’d been wrong. This place felt like home. In my blood. My bones. Home.

  After tucking the emotions deep inside my soul for inspection later, I parked in front of the post office. The bell tinkled above the door as I pushed inside. It was like rocketing back in time. Wrought iron scrollwork surrounded the clerk’s window. Dozens of tiny glass postal boxes stretched from floor to ceiling on either side, their doors adorned with antique combination locks. A round-faced woman with silver hair and enormous chandelier earrings appeared from the back room wearing a friendly smile.

  “Ah, our newest resident,” she said. “We were wondering when you’d pay us a visit, Stella Valentine. It’s good to meet you. I’m Marjorie.” I’d forgotten how quickly news raced around small towns. The residents probably had known my name before I’d first unlocked the front door of my house.

  A second woman, younger, with helmet-shaped brown hair, nudged between Marjorie and the counter. “Hi. I’m Karen Dowdy, from over by Parker’s Lake.” I had no idea where that was, but I nodded anyway. “My daughter loves your work.”

  “Thanks. It’s a pleasure to meet you both.”

  “She’s an amateur photographer herself. She got a camera for Christmas, and she’s been taking pictures nonstop ever since. Maybe you’d give her some pointers? She’d just love that,” Karen said.

  “Sure. Maybe.” The request gave me a sudden case of nerves. I’d been hoping to lay low for a few weeks before entering the town social life.

  “You’re kind of a celebrity around here,” Marjorie said. “The town could use a little good publicity.”

  “Well, I’m not a celebrity, but I’m happy to be here,” I said. Uncomfortable with the choice of subject matter, I cleared my throat and steered the topic back to business. “I believe I have a package.”

  “Let me check.” While Marjorie searched in the back for my delivery, I wandered the small lobby. According to the bulletin board, the local elementary school was holding a chili supper on Saturday. I made a mental note to stop by if I had time, mostly for the free food. Above the notice, a poster of a missing child caught my eye. A shiver ran down my back. With a fingertip, I traced the oval curve of the young girl’s face.

  “Here you go.” The woman hoisted the box onto the counter, catching me in the act. “Such a shame about the Cartwright girl. Almost eighteen years and her family is still looking for her.”

  “Did you know her?” I asked, withdrawing my hand. The girl’s fair skin and russet hair reminded me of Lanie at that age.

  “I’ve known her mother since third grade. They’re my neighbors.” The woman scanned the box then tapped the receipt for a signature.

  “She wasn’t the only one to go missing. There was another one from the next town over. A pretty young thing. Happened right around the same time as the Cartwright girl.” Karen stared at me, taking in my tattered jeans and faded T-shirt. I smoothed a hand over the frizz around my temples. Compared to her loose flowered dress and smooth hair, I felt disheveled.

  “If you ask me, someone needs to question him about it.” I lifted my eyes to follow the tilt of Marjorie’s head. Across the street, Owen unfolded his long legs from the driver’s seat of his truck and headed into the hardware store. “That man’s a monster.”

  “He might be the devil himself, but he’s one fine-looking specimen,” Karen observed.

&nbs
p; “He killed his brother, you know,” Marjorie said.

  Bile burned the back of my throat. I placed a hand on my stomach to ease the wave of nausea. Karen nodded. “It’s hard to believe such a beautiful man could do something so horrific. His family disowned him—not that you can blame them—but they’re all criminals too, if you ask me. The sheriff’s been trying to run Owen out of town since he came back here, but Dad won’t let them.”

  “Dad’s a good man,” Marjorie added. “But he’s always taking in strays. He’s messed up in some program for the rehabilitation of ex-convicts. I don’t know how his family lives with all those criminals in their midst. Especially one like Owen Henry. I’d be afraid he might slit my throat while I’m sleeping.”

  “I’m late. Thanks for the help.” I grabbed the package and sprinted out of the post office before I gave them a piece of my mind. Breaking my silence after so many years wasn’t an option. Instead, I shoved the box into my car and took a second to regain my composure. Of course, everyone in town knew about Owen. The story had been front-page news for months. With shaking hands, I stuffed the front hem of my T-shirt into the waistband of my jeans and tried to tidy my wayward hair. If I was going to survive in this town, I needed to thicken my skin.

  After a mental pep talk, I entered Etta Mae’s Café, head held high and shoulders back. Comforting aromas wrapped around me—freshly baked pies, grilling meats, and spices. The hum of conversation stopped. My sandals clicked across the worn linoleum floor. It was like being the new kid in school all over again, something I’d done dozens of times. I chose a seat by the window where I could peer through the red gingham curtains onto the street. After a few seconds, people lost interest in me and resumed eating.