my mouth shut back when you attacked me. I was young. Naive. But I plan to do whatever it takes to protect the young women in town.”
A line marred his forehead. “Let me get this straight. You think I’m attacking young women from town?” He jabbed his finger in the direction of his barn. “In my own barn?” He shook his head and leaned in closer; his coffee breath assaulted her nose. “You really are whacked.”
His words struck like a punch to the solar plexus and she struggled to fill her lungs with air. He had used similar words to intimidate her into silence years ago, calling her accusations ridiculous.
Roger gave her a curious stare. “I’m a respected member of the town council now. I took over the seat vacated when Old Man Siegfried kicked the bucket. I put some feelers out there when Linda asked me to come back home. She’s not doing well,” he added, with the first hint of humanity. “I need to be here for her and my son. We don’t need your harassment.”
She fisted her hands. Was he making a play for her sympathy? She wasn’t buying it.
“Why stir up trouble from so long ago? It’ll be my word against yours. A ruined reputation is tough to rebuild.”
“Stay away from me.” Her voice came out low and threatening.
“You stopped by my house,” Roger reminded her.
“My mistake.” She turned toward her car. She couldn’t bear to spend one more minute with this man.
“Keep your mouth shut, Christina. Linda doesn’t need your false accusations. Her health can’t take it.”
“That’s on you. Not me.” Christina kept walking and Roger followed close behind.
“Let me make this clear and in terms you’ll understand. If you stir up trouble, you’ll be sorry.”
“Is that a threat?” All her nerve endings hummed and she fought to hold it together. “You’re good at threats.”
“People love war heroes,” he said, his voice strangely even.
Christina lifted a shaky hand to her forehead. “I should never have stopped here.” She started jogging toward her car parked in the driveway.
“I thought you wanted to check the barn,” Roger hollered after her.
Christina didn’t answer, nor did she stop until she was locked inside her vehicle and had started up the engine. She was about to press her forehead to the steering wheel when a shadow crossed her lap. She glanced up to see a mini-me version of Roger Everett.
Christina opened the window. Before she had a chance to say anything, the young man—who had to be Roger’s son—said, “My mom and dad are trying to work things out.” He stared at her with a steely gaze.
“Okay...”
“If you’re one of his girlfriends, you better not come around here anymore.” His tone was flat, threatening.
“I’m not dating your father.” Her body involuntarily shuddered. She angled her head to look up at him and she had to shield her eyes from the sun. “How old are you?”
The boy squared his shoulders. “Seventeen.”
“Do you know about a party in the barn last night?”
The boy crossed his arms and shook his head. “How would I? We didn’t move in until this morning.”
“Okay,” she said, noncommittally. She didn’t want to call him out. Maybe he had innocently mentioned to some kids at school that he had a vacant house. It wouldn’t take a bunch of kids long to figure out it was a prime location for an unsupervised party.
“I better go.” She put the gear into reverse, then looked up at him. “I’m a physician in town. If your mom needs anything, here’s my card. I gave your mom one, too. Feel free to call if you have concerns. It can be hard to care for someone who’s sick.”
Half his mouth quirked into a wry grin. “My mom’s going to be fine.” Reluctantly, he took her business card and stared hard at it.
“I’ll keep her in my prayers,” Christina said softly, not really sure what else to say.
Something flashed across the young man’s face, as if he wanted to say something sarcastic, but instead he took a step back and flicked his hand in a farewell gesture, and she thought she heard him mutter, “Thanks.”
* * *
Dylan drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he waited in the parking lot of an abandoned restaurant surrounded by cornfields. Ben Reist, the young man, who had unceremoniously dumped Naomi at the clinic door in a driving rain, lived nearby with his mother. Christina had called Dylan, her voice trembling and anxious, determined to find Ben Reist. Now.
Something was wrong.
To be on the safe side, he’d told Christina to meet him in a neutral location and they’d head to the boy’s house together. Dylan was grateful his summer classes had yet to start, affording him the opportunity to be there for Christina. However, he didn’t understand why she insisted on trying to track Ben down when her brother, the sheriff’s deputy couldn’t. Dylan had no authorization to investigate this case and Christina most definitely didn’t.
“Where are you?” he muttered to himself.
The sound of gravel crunching under tires had him turning to see Christina arriving in a ten-year-old sedan. She parked across from him and climbed out of the car. Her long brown hair was pulled into a ponytail and a concerned expression marred the corners of her mouth. An ache of nostalgia expanded in his chest.
He had been a fool to let her go.
Dylan pushed open his car door and climbed out. “What’s going on?”
Christina crossed her arms and glanced toward the street. Something flickered in the depths of her eyes, something he couldn’t quite pinpoint. “What’s wrong?” he asked when she didn’t answer his first question.
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