The Rain Sparrow

  “But where is she? Why can’t you find her?”

  “Maybe she doesn’t want Clint Thomson to learn her whereabouts. Maybe she changed her name for exactly that reason. Divorces can be ugly and messy, especially if one party has an alcohol issue.”

  “Whatever the story is, Brody is the worse for not knowing.”

  Trey pinched his upper lip. “All the wheels would come off the Riley family without Mama. A kid needs his mom.”

  Not all mothers were created equal, as both he and Brody could attest. Was a mother who ran away and left her child any better than one that hated you on a daily basis?

  A hot feeling swelled against his breastbone. Heartburn? Too much soda?

  He slipped the can into the chair’s cup holder. “You have a terrific family.”

  “I didn’t know that when I was a teenager. A few years in the big city set me straight and brought me back home.”

  Home wasn’t always the best place to be. Moms didn’t always bake birthday cakes.

  He waved away a fly and breathed in the afternoon. Fresh mowed grass and grilled steaks. Laughing kids. Easygoing men. And a dog that never slowed down. An all-American afternoon exactly like the ones he’d never had.

  He was glad he’d come.

  “My sister likes you.”

  At Trey’s sudden change of topics, Hayden’s head whipped to the side.

  “I like her, too.”

  The police officer had his eyes trained on Hayden, assessing. “She’s the sensitive sister. I’d do about anything to protect her.”

  “Are you warning me off?”

  Trey lifted a shoulder. “Nah. Just making conversation. I don’t want her to get hurt again.”

  “Understandable. She told me some jerk broke her heart.” She hadn’t told him the details, but he knew someone other than the college kid had wounded her deeply and left her uncertain.

  Trey eyes widened, surprised. “She rarely talks about it, but she hasn’t dated much since then, either.”

  He didn’t feel the least remorse at dropping in the little information he had in an effort to gain more. “Being the object of rumors didn’t help.”

  “Not much she could do to stop them. A curse of small-town living. Plenty of people she knew were waiting out the thunderstorm inside the Walmart entry when Simon’s wife walked in.”

  Shock radiated through Hayden. “His wife?”

  “She didn’t tell you he was married?” Trey pressed back against his lawn chair. “Maybe I should shut up.”

  Hayden leaned toward him, forearms on his thighs. “Did she know?”

  “Carrie? The rule follower?” Trey frowned as he shook his head. “No way. Simon, that was his name, was an out-of-town contractor working on the new bank building next to the library. He set his sights on Carrie, wined and dined her, sent her flowers.”

  “How long before she learned the truth?”

  “About four months. Long enough that the wife grew suspicious and came to Honey Ridge to find out for herself.”

  “Brutal.”

  “This wasn’t the first time he’d played tomcat with the locals.”

  “Something else Carrie didn’t know.”

  “Right. But the wife told everyone in listening distance. She said some real cruel things, derided Carrie for thinking a man could fall for a small-town nothing like her.”

  Hayden’s hands fisted. “Was she in love with him?”

  “Already talking about the wedding.”

  A slow-burning anger built inside Hayden. He’d have to kill a contractor in a book soon. A contractor named Simon. “I hope you broke his nose.”

  A tiny smile tipped Trey’s mouth. “Tried.”

  Hayden lifted his Coke can in a toast. “Thanks.”

  Trey tapped cans. “For what?”

  “Taking care of her.”

  Trey’s dark gaze, so like Carrie’s, lingered on Hayden until the four women came out the back door, talking almost simultaneously.

  Hayden focused on Carrie, ruminating, filling in the blanks in the painful story. Carrie was gentle and trusting. She’d have believed everything the brainless idiot told her. But to be humiliated in public by his wife took the betrayal to a whole new level of vicious. No wonder she hated thunderstorms.

  He wished he could go to her this minute, hold her close and promise that no one would ever hurt her again. Carrie deserved better than she’d gotten.

  Better than Simon.

  Better than him.

  The kids darted past, this time all three boys with the dog yipping and jumping in joyous abandon. Hayden heard Brody’s laugh and followed the sound with his eyes as the boy tumbled onto the grass with the hyperactive dog. Rudy licked Brody’s face, stub tail wagging faster than a windshield wiper. Brody was happy. Being here with the Riley family was good for him.

  Hayden had spent his childhood wondering what a real family was like, envying the boys with clean shirts and no holes in their shoes. The ones with lunch money and backpacks whose mothers kissed them goodbye each morning and hugged them at night. Who didn’t smell like body odor and stale cigarettes.

  Families like the Rileys.

  Trey was protective of his sisters, the way a brother should be.

  Carrie would be all right here with the people who would always love her.

  A yearning welled up in his throat with enough intensity to make his eyes water.

  Family. Home. Love. As foreign as seeing his books for sale in Bangkok.

  Carrie looked Hayden’s way, smiled and started toward him.

  The sensation of falling was so real, he grabbed for the sides of his chair.

  In seconds, she was there, along with the rest of her family, surrounding him in striped lawn chairs, asking questions, offering cucumber dip and carrot sticks and more Coke. The folding table was laden with colorful summer foods and centered by a homemade birthday cake topped with a “Dad” candle.

  Nikki peppered him with chatty questions, and he settled easily into the conversations. He’d learned to be a chameleon, fitting in anywhere. Involved but only on the surface, a skill he’d developed so long ago, he couldn’t remember when he’d first become a watcher.

  The Rileys, though, drew him in, made him feel a part. Made him wish he could be.

  The grill flamed up, and Mr. Riley yelped. All heads whipped in his direction as a steak flew off the plate to be snatched up by the terrier.

  “Rudy! Come back here.” Sam Riley chased after the dog, his apron flapping.

  In good fun, the three boys whooped and gave chase, as well.

  Rudy, convinced they were playing a game, ran in lightning-fast circles around the lawn, steak dangling from his jaws.

  The boys were as excited about the game as the dog and ran, yelling, “Rudy! Rudy!” at the top of their lungs. This enticed the dog to run faster, round and round like a cartoon chase.

  “The steak is ruined anyway, Sam,” Mrs. Riley called. “Don’t give yourself a heart attack!”

  Sam stopped running, leaned his hands on his knees to catch his breath. His white apron drooped over his rounded belly. The boys never broke pace.

  Rudy changed course and darted toward the ring of lawn chairs, where he leaped onto Bailey’s lap.

  Bailey squealed and threw her hands up, which knocked her off balance, upsetting her chair so that she tumbled backward. Chad executed an athletic grab, saving the fall, but the dog ran up the woman’s body, steak dragging, and vaulted like a champion with jaw-dropping hang time, onto Trey.

  The officer had the good sense and great reflexes to wrap his arms around the squirming terrier and hold on.

  By now everyone was laughing, Hayden included.

  Mrs. Riley caught his eye. “Is your fam
ily as crazy as ours?”

  He’d been waiting for the family question and was prepared with his practiced answer. Someone invariably asked.

  “Almost,” he said with a fake smile. Far crazier.

  “Where are you from, Hayden? I swear I hear the South in that voice, though your book jackets say you live in New York.”

  “Louisville, originally,” he lied, as smoothly as if he told the truth. “I’ve been in New York a long time, but being in Tennessee must bring back the accent.”

  He’d worked hard to lose the hills from his diction, hours and hours of repeating videos and imitating the inflections of news commentators. But a little of the South gave credibility to his cover story.

  At Mrs. Riley’s questioning, he told about his engineer father, now passed away, and the nice schools he’d attended, including the University of Kentucky. All lies, carefully concocted to sound good, but not so good as to draw suspicion.

  “Southern born and Southern bred, we like to say around here.” Mary Riley rocked forward, nodding. “Nice to see my daughter with someone from such a good background.”

  Hayden managed not to wince. Not for the assumption that he was dating Carrie. But he no more had a good background than he could change where he was born.

  Carrie rolled her eyes. “Mama...”

  “Oh, hush.” Her mother flapped a hand, and Hayden grabbed the moment to switch gears, another skill of long standing.

  Twisting the truth hurt no one and was absolutely necessary. The fabrication was as much a part of him as Dora Lee—the living, breathing reason he had to lie. The story of a strong upper-middle-class background with perfectly normal parents kept him safe from pity, from derision, from Dora Lee.

  His creation of Hayden Winters had never bothered him. Never.

  Until today.

  He liked these people. They weren’t reporters pushing for a story angle. They weren’t the general populous that didn’t really care about him as long as his books enthralled and thrilled.

  They mattered. They had welcomed him into their home, accepted him and had even approved him for their amazing daughter.

  How did a man receive such open-faced trust when everything about him was a lie?

  The warmth and acceptance of the Rileys set his conscience on fire.

  Carrie. He looked at her, sitting next to her mother, fresh faced and sweet as the honey on Honey Ridge.

  That he cared about her enough to be troubled, when he’d never been one iota bothered by what he saw as a necessity, shook his foundation. A foundation built on survival.

  Suddenly, with a clarity strong enough to ruin his appetite for good steak, he understood how much he cared. He, who didn’t let himself get close enough to be touched, cared.

  He was a liar, a fraud and unworthy to sit in this circle of family.

  And he couldn’t do a thing to change it.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  LATE THAT NIGHT, after multiple games of charades and later Scrabble, in which Carrie had happily partnered with Hayden to destroy their opponents, the exhausted trio loaded into Hayden’s rental and headed home.

  “Did you have fun, Brody?” Carrie glanced into the backseat.

  “It was awesome.” The boy leaned his head on the door and yawned.

  “Tired?”

  “A little.” He yawned again. The boys had played in the porch light until the lightning bugs came out. Then they’d grabbed fruit jars and raced into the darkness.

  Brody had insisted on a catch-and-release system, setting the fireflies free almost as soon as they’d been captured.

  Huck Finn and his critters.

  Her mouth curved. The day had been as perfect as any she could remember.

  When they reached the Thomson house, Brody leaped out. “Bye. Thanks.”

  The dome light illuminated as Hayden pushed open his door and followed. Carrie remained in the car while he walked to the front porch with the boy, his hand on Brody’s shoulder.

  A light shone inside the house, but no one came to the door. The boy and man stood on the porch, talking.

  Hayden had a fatherly side, and she wondered if he even knew it. She also wondered again why he’d never wanted to marry and have kids of his own.

  Brody started to go in the house when the porch light came on and Clint Thomson appeared in the doorway, weaving from side to side, a beer in hand. Brody ducked under his arm and disappeared from sight.

  The adults exchanged a brief conversation before Hayden returned to the car, his jaw set.

  “Is everything okay?”

  “Thomson’s a bona fide jerk.”

  “I think we knew that.”

  “He confirmed it.”

  “What happened?”

  “I asked him about Brody’s mother.”

  “Oh, Hayden.”

  “He wasn’t happy. Told me to mind my own business, though he used some choice words to do so.”

  “I can imagine. Did he tell you anything at all?”

  “Nothing useful.” He relaxed his grip on the steering wheel and started the car. “He was drunk.”

  “I’m not surprised.” She could see he was disturbed by the encounter, and, like her, he worried about Brody. “You think Brody will be okay?”

  “You want the truth?”

  Did she?

  She swallowed, the pleasure of the day dissipating.

  Hayden put the car in gear, leaning one arm on the steering wheel to gaze across at her. “Even if he doesn’t hit Brody, and Brody swears he doesn’t, he’s angry and cruel. The sad thing is, he does enough good to keep Brody hoping.” He huffed an exasperated gust. “Like when he got drunk and busted a wall in Brody’s room.”

  Carrie gasped. “Did he hurt Brody?”

  “No.” His nostrils flared in disgust. “He bought him a Nintendo.”

  “What? I’m confused.”

  “I’m sure Brody is, too. Don’t you get it, Carrie? Thomson behaves like a maniac, and then to assuage his conscience, he sucks Brody in with a gift.”

  “All of which must keep Brody off balance and insecure.”

  “The kid never knows what to do or what’s coming at him. I’d like to...”

  She put a hand on his arm. “Maybe we should call Child Services.”

  Gray eyes cold and hard as iron, he slowly shook his head. “Brody made me promise not to do that before he’d talk to me. I can’t lie to him. I won’t.”

  “Then what do we do?”

  “I don’t know.”

  After another sigh, he drove in thoughtful silence the better part of the way to her house.

  As he pulled into the driveway, the car’s headlights swept over Carrie’s lawn. The dandelions had popped up again, though she’d mowed three days ago.

  “I hope my family wasn’t too overwhelming.”

  He got out and walked her to the door, his hand at her back. “I enjoyed myself.”

  “Daddy grills a mean steak.” She looked sideways at him.

  “The best I’ve had in a long time. As long as he keeps the dog away.”

  At the funny, chaotic memory, they exchanged smiles.

  The night was warm and humid and smelled strongly of the gardenia blooming beside her small porch. Hundreds of lightning bugs as bright as tiny Christmas bulbs blinked around the evergreen bush. Cicadas pulsed in waves, the rhythm of a Southern night.

  “Thank you for coming to the party. I think Brody enjoyed every minute.”

  “I did, too,” he answered, quiet as they stopped at the bottom of the step. “Did you?”

  “The best.”

  His lips curved, and he lifted a finger to touch her face. The tenderness shivered through her.

  Her he
art started to race, faster than it had that day at the mill.

  “Do you want to come inside?” she asked, voice surprisingly husky.

  He slipped his hand around the back of her head and stepped close. His warm breath teased her. Softly, he asked, “Do you want me to?”

  A lump the size of Chicago formed in her throat. She swallowed past it, aware of what she was asking. It had been a long time. She was not a Goody Two-shoes, as Valery had accused of her being, but she wasn’t exactly in Hayden’s league, either. A man of the world with his success and money probably had a woman in every state.

  Like Simon.

  Except Hayden wasn’t married.

  “I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t,” she whispered.

  They started up the steps, and she fumbled in her purse for the house key. Hayden took it from her and opened the door. She didn’t snap on the porch light, afraid the spell would be broken and she’d begin thinking too much.

  She started to step inside, to lead the way, but Hayden tugged her back and into his arms. His heart thrummed against hers. He was warm and sturdy, strong and male, the scent of grill smoke and expensive cologne on his skin.

  Nervous, she licked her lips, and Hayden followed the motion with his intense gaze.

  He touched his mouth to hers, a whisper kiss that made her yearn and ache, a seduction in its sweet simplicity. Then he leaned his forehead against hers and inhaled a long, long breath, letting it out in a sad exhale.

  He stepped back, looked at her for another confusing second before whispering, “Good night, Carrie.”

  Then, he trotted to his rental car and drove away.

  * * *

  TIME AWAY FROM the hills and hollers of Kentucky dimmed the memory of their arresting beauty.

  Anxious but resigned to a fate he couldn’t seem to escape, Hayden drove through picturesque towns and then out and up onto corkscrew roads deep into the sparsely populated hollows of Magoffin County. There was no place so beautiful, so natural, or as terrible. At least for him.

  Visitors came from all across the country to see the stunning beauty, but few traveled these twisty roads, down single lanes through dark-as-coal tunnels beneath the mountains, across rickety bridges to where the least of them hacked out a living from the underbelly of Appalachia. The lucky ones anyway.