Secrets And Lies. Shirlee McCoy

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       THREE

      Ariel wouldn’t fall apart.

      She absolutely refused to.

      And not just because Tristan was beside her, his dark gaze focused on her, his eyes filled with concern and compassion.

      No. She wouldn’t fall apart, because if she did, she wasn’t sure she’d ever pull herself back together again.

      Legs trembling, heart racing, she still managed to walk out of the school and make her way toward the minivan she’d purchased a week after the divorce was finalized. Mitch had wanted the Jaguar, and she’d been happy to give it to him. She’d still had plenty in her savings account, all the money from her great-aunt’s estate that Ariel had refused to allow Mitch to spend on trips or expensive toys because she’d wanted to buy a house one day. It didn’t have to be big. Just cute and cozy with a nice fenced yard.

      How many times had Mitch laughed at that dream? Told her that high-rise condo living in the city limits was more their style?

      More his style, but she’d never said that, because she’d loved him and she’d wanted him to be happy. Plus, there’d been a part of her that had thought that eventually he’d get tired of the fast-paced, high-flying lifestyle and settle into the kind of pedestrian family life Ariel remembered from childhood. Before her parents had died, she’d had the pretty little house, the big yard, the fresh-baked cookies when she got home from school. At least, she thought she’d had it. She’d visited the house when she’d moved back to Desert Valley and realized it wasn’t nearly as pretty as she’d remembered it, the yard not as spacious. That hadn’t bothered her. She still cherished the memories she had of her time in the house, but she also realized they’d been made even more beautiful by the time that had passed since she’d been there.

      Time changed memories and tricked the mind. Sometimes it made the past into what a person wanted it to be. Sometimes it made connections that weren’t really there. Was that what had happened with the handwriting on the piece of paper? Had it only seemed to be like Mitch’s writing because Ariel had been terrified, the memories of Mitch’s last words to her, still haunting her mind and her dreams?

      “Get rid of the baby or I’ll do it for you!”

      An idle threat is what she’d thought, words meant to manipulate her into giving him what he wanted—freedom from her, from every obligation and burden that marriage and family brought.

      She’d despised him for that for way too long, wasting weeks fuming over what he’d asked her to do, and then he’d died, and she’d had nothing to do with her anger but let it go.

      So, maybe all those pent-up memories and emotions had made her see what wasn’t on the piece of paper. Maybe the writing had been nothing more than a note scribbled by a student who’d needed to find her class.

      She fished her keys out of her purse, unlocking the minivan as she reached it. She could feel Tristan standing behind her, his presence both disconcerting and comforting.

      “I’ll follow you to your place,” he said as she climbed into the vehicle.

      She wanted to tell him not to bother. Not because she didn’t appreciate the offer, but because she didn’t want to start needing someone again.

      Isn’t that why she’d been with Mitch? Because she’d been alone in the world, and she’d needed someone to connect with, someone to call family?

      Look how well that had worked out.

      She’d ended up married and alone. Then, she’d ended up divorced and alone. Now, she was alone and in trouble. It would be nice to rely on someone else. Especially when her entire life seemed to be falling to pieces. But, needing someone left a person vulnerable. She’d learned that lesson a little too late to save herself from heartache, but she’d learned it well.

      She wouldn’t make the mistake again.

      On the other hand, she wasn’t foolish enough to think she didn’t need protection. With a gunman on the loose, his motive unclear, she couldn’t turn down Tristan’s offer.

      She was too afraid.

      “Sounds good,” she said, fumbling with her seat belt, because she didn’t want to look into Tristan’s eyes again. There was something unsettling about him, about the way that he looked at her, the way he really seemed to see her.

      “Let me,” he offered, taking the belt from her clumsy bandaged hand and reaching over her stomach. He snapped it into place easily and moved back quickly, but for some reason, her cheeks heated, her face flushing a dozen shades of red.

      “When you get to the house, stay in the van until I check out your property, okay?” He closed the door before she could respond, jogging to an SUV and opening the back hatch for his dog. Jesse jumped in, the lab’s golden fur nearly white in the evening light.

      It took a couple of seconds for Ariel to realize she needed to start the van and a couple more to actually do it. By the time she drove out of the parking lot, her cheeks had cooled.

      Delayed reaction from the attack. That’s what she told herself as Tristan’s SUV pulled onto the road behind her.

      She wasn’t sure she believed it.

      Night would fall soon, blackness shrouding the quiet street where Ariel lived. She’d chosen the location purposely—close to school and the town’s business district, but far enough away that she could have the solitude she needed. The house had been on the market for a while. A fixer-upper that no one had wanted to put the time and money into, the two-story farmhouse stood on a double lot that backed to a wide swath of open land. She’d purchased the place well under market value, and she’d been spending most of her free time getting it ready for the baby.

      Mitch would have laughed at the idea, but she’d known she could make the old house into a comfortable home. Eventually, she’d invite people over, do a little entertaining, get back into the swing of being the person she’d once been.

      She pulled into her driveway, Tristan right on her bumper.

      He was out of his SUV before she could open her door, motioning for her to stay where she was as he attached Jesse’s lead. The dog jumped from the back of the SUV, his blond tail wagging, his face set in what looked like wide-mouthed grin. He looked like most of the yellow labs she’d seen—stocky body, broad head, short coat. He was fitter, though, his lean body made for the work he did. In other circumstances, Ariel would have been amused by the perpetually happy dog. Right then, all she wanted was to get into her house, close all the shades and hide from the world.

      Tristan СКАЧАТЬ