lost their older son in Iraq two years ago. He wanted to be a farmer. He was suited for it, and he loved the place. He and his dad had all kinds of plans for the future. Dawson is somebody else entirely, but I don’t think his father sees that. He thinks Dawson’s being willful and hard work will straighten him out.”
“If only life were that easy.”
“I think Dawson has a superior IQ. He’s interested in a million things his father thinks of as affectations. The Nedleys love that boy. No mistake about it. They just don’t understand him.”
So far there was nothing Lucas had said that Georgia could disagree with. She had picked up on the tension, although she hadn’t known about the soldier brother.
“What are you proposing?” she asked.
“I’ve befriended him. I like this kid a lot, and he’s always glad to be at my place away from his father’s constant demands. But it would help me if I knew a little more about what’s happening at school and how I could encourage him to hang in there and finish strong. Is there any way we can work that out without breaching confidentiality?”
“I’ll call his mother. I assume she’s the more flexible of the two?”
“She’s torn between Dawson and his dad. But she doesn’t want to lose another son.”
“If I get her permission—and Dawson’s, too—we’ll find a way to work together.”
“Together. I like the sound of that.” The lone dimple deepened.
Despite a lifetime of caution, she was afraid that she liked it, too.
Chapter Nine
“MA’AM, ARE YOU all right?”
Cristy wasn’t all right. Her stomach was still churning, despite having nothing left inside it, and her legs were threatening to buckle.
She stood her ground anyway. “Why are you here?”
Deputy Jim Sullivan, the same Jim Sullivan who had arrested her last year, didn’t move forward, although Cristy could see rain gusting across the porch in his direction. “Are you all right?” he repeated.
She was absolutely certain she would never be all right again.
“Did you come with him?” she demanded. “Did you come to torture me, too?”
Then a new thought occurred to her. Was it possible Jackson was still in the house? Had he slipped upstairs while she was in the bathroom? Was he waiting until he could be alone with her?
“I came by myself, not with Ford,” he said. “I came to be sure you’re all right. Are you?”
She didn’t know how to answer. She couldn’t think. As incongruous as it seemed, was she being flanked by a pair of sociopaths? Would Jackson sneak up on her any moment and attack from behind?
The deputy obviously saw her distress. He stepped inside, but he didn’t close the door, as if he knew that would send her over the edge.
“Look, I know you got out of prison on Friday, and your sister told me you were up here somewhere, although she didn’t have an address. I figured Ford had learned where you were, so I decided to keep an eye on him over the weekend. This afternoon when he took off in this direction, I followed him up here. I could see what was going on from down below, enough of it, anyway, to think maybe somebody ought to break it up.”
“Did you?”
He cocked his head in question and frowned. Jim Sullivan, Sully, as his friends called him, was a serious young man, and the frown looked right at home on an otherwise ordinary face. He had been perfectly serious about arresting her in the parking lot of the local jeweler close to a year ago now, and perfectly serious about making sure his idea of justice was served.
“Did I what?” he asked, when she didn’t elaborate.
“Did you break it up?” She lowered her voice. “Is Jackson...gone?”
“Right after I honked, he came out of the house and drove off. I came in my own car, so I doubt he figured out who I was, but he wasn’t taking any chances.”
Sully wasn’t in uniform today. He wore faded jeans, a heavy canvas jacket with a hood, and athletic shoes that were probably soaked. Even if they had passed on the path, it was probable Jackson wouldn’t have recognized him.
She had to sit before she collapsed. She made it to the sofa and dropped to the farthest corner.
“Did he hurt you?” Sully asked.
“I don’t get it. Why would you care?” Her voice was trembling now, and so was she.
“It’s getting cold in here. I’m going to close the door, okay? But I’m not here to hurt you. Can you give me that much credit?”
She was trying so hard not to cry that she couldn’t answer. She put her face in her hands and took deep breaths.
“Here.”
She lifted her head and saw he was three feet in front of her, an afghan that had been draped over a nearby chair in one hand. He held it out to her, but he kept his distance.
She snatched it and wrapped it around her, too cold, too miserable, to pretend she didn’t need the warmth.
“It was dark outside, and the lamps were on in here. It looked like he was threatening you,” Sully said. “You could file a complaint.”
“Oh, right. I have such influence with law enforcement.” She pulled the afghan tighter. “He didn’t hurt me. At least not the way that would worry somebody like you.”
“Good.”
She looked up at him, finally focusing on what he had said earlier. “Clara? You’ve been talking to my sister about me?” Clara was in school in Oklahoma training to be a missionary. Unlike Cristy, she had found solace and comfort in their father’s religion.
Sully pulled down his jacket hood, and his short brown hair glistened with rain. “More like she’s been talking to me about you. Calling every day or two. We were in school together. She’s worried about you being up here all alone, and she wanted me to find you. She’s no fan of Ford’s.”
“Really? You mean there’s another person in the universe who doesn’t think Jackson Ford ought to run for president?”
He didn’t answer.
Cristy still wasn’t thinking straight. Nothing he’d said rang true. She started with the obvious. “So my sister says she’s worried about me, and all of a sudden you’re keeping an eye on Jackson? A year ago I told you and Sheriff Carter that Jackson framed me when he put that ring in my bag. Neither of you paid a bit of attention. So you’ll have to excuse me, but I’m having problems believing a word you say.”
“Look, it makes sense, doesn’t it, that if Jackson came looking for you, his intentions wouldn’t be the best? You said it yourself. Last year you pointed the finger
