Fugitive Father Read online

  Ben was a tall, lean man with hair already thinning and eyes the color of a muddy stream. Sarah had finally managed to contact him at his hotel in Kansas City. He’d arrived at the farm late last evening and he and Sarah had spent most of the night getting acquainted and talking about Lindy.

  She knew little about Ben Watters, only that he was thirty-three years old and had moved to Clay Creek two years before. He’d met Lindy during a time when she’d been fairly stabilized on medication. Even though Sarah didn’t know him well, she found it difficult to believe he might be having an affair. She couldn’t doubt his concern, his obvious love for Lindy. Surely the affair was just a figment of Lindy’s imagination, a symptom of her mental state.

  “Let us pray...” Reverend Creighton intoned, obviously winding down. Sarah bent her head and squeezed her eyes tightly closed. She still couldn’t believe her mother was gone. She knew sooner or later the reality would hit and she would grieve long and hard. But for the moment there was a sense of unreality about the whole thing, and the knowledge that she had to remain strong for Lindy.

  She looked back at her sister, worry deepening. There was no doubt that Lindy was settling into a dark depression. They’d had to physically pull her out of bed this morning and help her dress to attend the funeral. She was noncommunicative, without energy.

  Despite Sarah’s own misgivings and her desire to leave as soon as possible, she had offered to stay with Lindy until Ben finished up his trial in Kansas City. Ben had protested, telling her he could get somebody to take his place for the remainder of the trial, but Sarah had insisted, knowing she couldn’t leave Lindy in her present condition. And she had to stay until whatever estate there was had been settled. Besides, she wanted to spend time with the sister she’d left behind. She needed to make a connection with Lindy. She wanted to help if she could.

  As Lindy’s sobs increased, Sarah was grateful that Gladys Prather had offered to baby-sit Jackie so the little girl wouldn’t have to attend the funeral. Gladys often baby-sat her six-year-old granddaughter and insisted the two girls would get along famously.

  Against her will, Sarah looked up at Reese. She breathed inward sharply as her gaze met his. He didn’t look like a man who’d come to pay his last respects. His shoulders were set, his jaw taut, and his eyes burned with the same fire that had once been so magnetic, so dangerously appealing. He looked like a man who’d come spoiling for a fight. He held his hat in his hands, working the rim with his blunt fingertips as if imagining it was her slender throat instead.

  Sarah once again averted her gaze from him, a chill of apprehension sweeping through her. One of the things that had always intrigued her about Reese was his unpredictability. Now it didn’t intrigue her. It frightened her. Of all the emotions she’d expected from him, she hadn’t expected his hard, cold anger.

  He probably thinks he has a right to be angry, she thought bitterly. He probably sees Jackie as an embarrassment, an unwanted remnant of his past wild life. There was nothing like an illegitimate child to darken the sterling character he’d obviously been trying to build for himself.

  Without willing it, she looked at him again, his gaze still hot and angry as it remained fixed on her. Suzanna said something to him, but he appeared not to hear her. He didn’t move, he didn’t answer. He simply continued to glare at Sarah.

  She breathed a sigh of relief as the ceremony came to an end and people began milling about. She was anxious to get back to the farm, anxious to be with Jackie and away from Reese’s accusing stare.

  “Sarah, I’m so sorry about your mother,” Suzanna Wilcox said, coming to stand next to Sarah and bringing with her the cloying, sweet scent of her perfume.

  “Thanks, Suzanna.”

  “It’s a shame it’s something like this that finally brought you back here.”

  Sarah nodded, deep regret forming a lump in her throat too big to speak around.

  “I heard you have a daughter.” Suzanna was unable to mask the open curiosity in her tone.

  Sarah forced a small smile. “I had a feeling it wouldn’t take long for that fact to circulate.”

  Suzanna laughed. “You should know there are very few secrets around here.”

  “You okay, honey?” Anna came up on the other side of Sarah and put an arm around her shoulder.

  “Fine,” Sarah answered. She nodded goodbye to Suzanna as the blonde moved away. “Are you coming out to the house?”

  “You know most everyone will,” Anna replied with a nod. “Besides, I baked a big ham to bring out. That and a tub of potato salad should be enough to feed everyone who shows up.”

  Sarah kissed the old woman on the cheek. “Thanks, Anna.”

  “It’s the least I can do for the very best waitress I ever had.” Anna hugged her.

  Sarah released the old woman and scanned the crowd. Reese had disappeared. Good, she thought, breathing a sigh of relief. “Mama had a lot of friends.”

  “Your mama was a wonderful woman, a strong woman,” Anna observed. “She had more than her share of troubles, but she always had a helping hand for others in need. She’ll be sorely missed around here.”

  Sarah smiled, the smile dropping into a frown as she saw her brother-in-law talking to an older, distinguished-looking man she didn’t recognize. “Who’s that with Ben?” she asked.

  Anna looked over at the two men, her eyes narrowed in displeasure. “That’s Raymond Boswell, the owner of the power plant operation.”

  Sarah watched as Ben and Raymond shook hands, then Ben approached Sarah. “The car’s ready to leave,” he said, his brow seemingly permanently wrinkled with worry. “We need to get Lindy home.”

  She nodded, told the others goodbye, then followed him to the car, where Lindy immediately wrapped her arms around her. As Sarah held her sobbing sister and remembered the arctic anger in Reese’s eyes, her own grief for her mother buried someplace deep within her, she suddenly felt overwhelmed. She had a dead mother, a mentally unstable sister, a brother-in-law she hardly knew and an old lover whose eyes had promised something unpleasant. Things were flooding out of control. It was as if she’d been caught in a fast-running stream that was carrying her toward a deadly waterfall. As she rode the turbulent waters of fate, she knew there was no way she’d avoid the devastating plunge. In fact, she felt as if she were already on the verge of drowning.

  * * *

  Reese stood near the back door of the Calhoun kitchen, wondering why in hell he’d decided to come here. The place was packed with people—friends and neighbors bringing food and platitudes of sympathy, all the town gossips looking for a new morsel to chew on. Today they’d hit the jackpot.

  He could feel the furtive glances, cast first at him, then at the little girl who stood at Sarah’s side. He saw them whispering, felt their speculation. He stiffened his shoulders, again wondering why in the hell he had decided to come here.

  He kept his own gaze averted from the child. To look at her was to give her substance, and he wasn’t prepared to do that until he could pick through the assorted emotions that railed inside him. At the moment he couldn’t seem to get beyond anger. It ripped at his insides, tore at his guts, keeping all other emotions at a distance.

  For the first time in years he longed for a beer—a dozen beers, enough to anesthetize himself against the burning rage inside him. It was this rage that had made it impossible for him to speak to anyone at the cemetery.

  He’d liked Margaret Calhoun, had respected her, and it was that respect that had brought him to the funeral. But he’d been unable to focus on anything except Sarah and his incredible anger. How could she? How could she keep a secret like the child to herself for so long? How dare she!

  His thirst fled as quickly as it had appeared, gone with the knowledge that a dozen beers wouldn’t straighten out his rage, only give him a hangover as a partner to his anger.

  “You look like you’ve got a burr in your britches.”

  Reese turned at the sound of the familiar deep vo
ice, offering a tight smile to Jim Taylor, the former sheriff and the man who, over the past several years, had become his mentor and friend.

  “Funerals always put me in a foul mood,” Reese replied.

  Jim grinned knowingly, his wrinkled face furrowed with seventy-two years of living, fifty in law enforcement. “That’s an acorn that didn’t fall far from the tree.” His grin widened as he looked at Jackie. “Funny how the past has ways of jumping up and biting you in the butt.”

  “Only if you let it,” Reese replied. Again he felt his anger bubbling within him, stirring him to depths of emotion he’d forgotten he was capable of. “I’m going to get some air.” Without waiting for a reply from Jim, Reese opened the kitchen door and walked onto the back porch, then to the browning grass, needing to be away from the crowd, away from the secretive glances and speculation.

  When he’d left the cemetery, he should have gone back to his office and tackled the mountain of endless paperwork. He shouldn’t have come here where he felt unwelcome, knew he didn’t belong.

  He walked a short distance to a large woodpile and sat down, his gaze traveling across the expanse of overgrown lawn and thick brush, back to where the gnarled posts of a grape arbor were just barely visible.

  It had been their favorite trysting place. He could still remember the scent of overripe grapes mingling with the sweet fragrance of her skin. They usually met there in the early morning or at twilight, and the pale gold light would sneak through the clusters of grapes and leaves to paint her features with gentle fingers of predawn or dusk.

  His memories of her were deeply ingrained, etched in his mind in vivid detail. He needed to be here with her, needed to spend time with her again. He knew this was what had brought him here...the need to get her out of his system once and for all. He had been on hold for the past six years, unable to get on with his life until he managed to forgive and forget Sarah Calhoun.

  Forgive. Yes, that was a big part of what he needed to do. He needed to forgive her for leaving him so long ago. Forgive her for running out on him and not telling him about the baby, taking away any choice he might have had in the matter. Unfortunately, he couldn’t seem to crawl past his anger to even begin to contemplate forgiveness.

  “Hi. Are you a policeman? You have a police car.” She pointed at his patrol car in the distance.

  He felt the blood leave his face at the sound of the child’s voice. He looked into gray eyes, eyes that mirrored his own. Panic rose in him and he turned away.

  He didn’t want to look at her. He didn’t want to talk to her. He wasn’t ready for this...didn’t know how to handle it. He took a couple of deep breaths, fighting down the sensation of panic that clawed upward from his stomach.

  She sat down next to him, bringing with her the sweet scent of strawberries and bubble gum. He could feel her eyes on him, expectant and curious.

  He cleared his throat. “I’m a sheriff. It’s like a policeman.”

  She was silent for a moment, seemingly at ease with him. “My grandma died.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.” He wanted to look at her, but he was afraid to. By looking at her, studying her features so like his own, he would have to acknowledge emotions other than anger, and at the moment he needed his anger.

  “I’m trying to feel bad...about my grandma. But I didn’t know her.” Again she looked at him expectantly.

  Anger reared up inside Reese. She should have known her grandma. Damn Sarah. “It’s hard to feel bad about somebody you didn’t even know.” He was acutely aware of her in his peripheral vision.

  She scratched her stomach unselfconsciously. “I hate dresses. Mommy made me wear this one, but it itches.”

  It was a pretty dress, bright yellow with little white polka dots and a white sash around the waist. Before he realized what he was doing, he found himself studying her, feature by feature. Her hair was all Calhoun. Dark and rich, it fell to her shoulders in gentle waves. The roundness of her eyes was also from her mother, but the shape of her face, the color of her eyes and the full bottom lip were all his.

  He looked away and sharply drew in a breath. His child. His daughter. Even with the evidence right before him, it didn’t seem real. He didn’t even know her name.

  “I got a scab on my knee.” There didn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to her conversation. He marveled at the fact that she just said whatever happened to pop into her mind. Were all kids like this, or was she special?

  Reese stood up, uncomfortable with these thoughts. “Uh, how did you skin your knee?”

  “Climbing a tree.”

  Climbing trees. Sarah had always been an ace tree climber. He wondered what talents, what personality quirks, what part of him was hidden inside her.

  “Jackie?” Sarah stepped out on the back porch, fear immediately widening her eyes as she saw the child sitting beside him.

  “I’m talking to the sheriff, Mama,” she answered.

  “You need to come back inside.” Although Sarah’s voice was steady, Reese sensed the panic beneath the surface and he reveled in it.

  “Okay.” With a sigh, the little girl jumped off the woodpile and started for the house. She got halfway to the porch, then turned back to look at Reese. A smile tilted her lips upward. “Bye, Mr. Sheriff.”

  He raised a hand, the gesture lost as Sarah hustled the little girl inside the house. Jackie. Her name was Jackie. He had a name, a picture of her face in his mind...and he didn’t know what to do with any of it. His brain couldn’t take it all in. But one thing was for certain—there weren’t enough days left in his life for him to forgive Sarah for what she had done.

  * * *

  Sarah put the last of the dishes away, then sank down in a chair at the kitchen table, enjoying the silence that had finally settled over the house. The last of the guests had gone home a few minutes ago, Ben and Lindy had gone upstairs and Jackie was content sitting on the floor in the living room and coloring in her favorite coloring book.

  The house had slipped into a peaceful quiet that would have been comforting if her thoughts hadn’t been such a jumble. She rubbed her forehead, not knowing if it was exhaustion or worry that throbbed inside her head.

  She’d called her boss at the restaurant back in New York and had explained to him she wouldn’t be back as soon as expected. She didn’t go into a lot of details, but simply told him there were things she needed to take care of here. Thankfully, he’d been understanding, promising her that her position would remain open and she was welcome back anytime. At least she didn’t have to worry about her livelihood when she returned home. However, there were other worries to consider.

  A picture of Reese sitting on the woodpile with Jackie next to him exploded in her mind. Father and daughter, sitting next to each other yet unlinked in the most important of ways.

  When she’d first noticed them, she’d thought she was going to have a heart attack. Her chest had ached as she saw them so close, yet so distantly apart. It had been like a scene from a fantasy she had absolutely refused to allow herself to entertain.

  She’d known from the moment she’d discovered her pregnancy that no one could make a father out of a man who didn’t want to be one. Knowing the angry and troubled man Reese had been when she’d left town, she’d never allowed herself to dream of a moment in time when they might ever be a family. It hurt too badly.

  When she’d called Jackie back inside, away from Reese, the look on his face had frightened her. It was a look that had promised retribution. He might not want Jackie, but she knew he was the kind of man who liked to be in control. A man who would hate her for giving him no option, no choice in a matter long ago decided.

  “Mama, look at my picture.” Jackie came into the kitchen, holding on to her latest masterpiece.

  Sarah took the picture from her daughter. “Oh, honey, this is lovely.” She smiled at Jackie, who seemed to expand upward an inch as she grinned proudly.

  “I tried real hard to stay in the lines,” Jackie observ
ed.

  “I can tell. You did a terrific job,” Sarah exclaimed. She leaned over and hugged her daughter to her chest, breathing in the little-girl fragrance that Sarah suspected she would be able to identify even if she was blindfolded and in a room full of kids. “I love you, baby,” she whispered into the child’s sweet-scented hair.

  “I love you, too.” Jackie wiggled out of her embrace. “Can we go exploring? You promised me last night you’d show me your favorite tree.” Jackie looked at her mother appealingly.

  Sarah hesitated. She was really exhausted. However, Jackie had been so good all day and now brimmed with the energy that had been stifled. Besides, Sarah had promised her that if she behaved for Gladys, then she would take her for a walk to explore some of the farm this evening. “Okay. Go change into a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt.”

  Jackie raced away to change and Sarah pulled herself out of the chair. She spotted a cardigan sweater hanging on a hook by the back door and slipped it on. The sweater smelled like yeasty bread and roses...the scent of her mother. She wrapped the sweater more tightly around her as a hollow ache swept through her. It was the same ache she had taken away with her from Clay Creek six years before, a searing emptiness that never quite went away.

  She stroked her fingers down the side of the sweater, wishing her mother was still here to help her cope with everything.

  “I’m ready,” Jackie announced, coming back into the kitchen clad in jeans and a bright pink sweatshirt.

  “I’m ready, too.” Sarah smiled, and together they stepped outside into the golden shades of dusk and the chilling evening air.

  “Where to first?” Sarah asked, smiling as Jackie automatically reached for her hand.

  “To the tree. Show me your favorite tree.”

  Sarah nodded and headed for the grove that stood in the center of the large side yard. As she breathed in the smell of the farmland, the scent of her home, she felt revitalized. “See that one in the center with the tallest branches?” Jackie nodded. “Last one there is a rotten egg.” She dropped Jackie’s hand and sprinted ahead, hearing her daughter’s delighted giggles erupting from behind her.