miserable. She slipped on her dark glasses before she looked around for her ride.
No one on the sidewalk even looked familiar. Which was odd, since Mama Bell had promised to send someone to collect her. Fine. Squaring her shoulders, Zoe hefted her suitcase and began the trek to the cab area, lifting her chin and making her stride confident despite the towering heels she wore. This was her New York persona, one she planned to hang on to while here in Texas, to remind herself of the person she’d become.
She could handle this. Would handle it, exactly as she’d done a hundred times before at home in the city. So what if the cab fare from DFW to Anniversary would be outrageous?
“Zoe,” called a voice—deep, masculine and unforgettably familiar. The sound of it reached inside her, echoing old longings. “Over here.”
She stiffened. Brock McCauley. The one person from her past she didn’t want to see. Not now. Not ever.
For the space of a heartbeat, she debated pretending not to have heard him and striding down the sidewalk as fast as she could. Away from him. Just like before. Instead, she took a deep breath, pasted her best “I am all business” smile on her face, and turned to face the man she’d practically left at the altar long ago.
The instant she saw him, all the jangling noise inside of her went still. He looked the same—tall and broad shouldered, blond hair cut in the same sexy-shaggy cut. As his piercing blue eyes met hers, her entire being vibrated. Though her heart hammered out a welcome, she schooled her expression to nothing but pleasant surprise.
The man she’d once needed with every fiber of her being wasn’t the one she wanted now.
“Mrs. Bell sent me to pick you up,” he said. His blank expression let her know he took no enjoyment in the task. She nodded, unable to summon up a response. After all, what did one say to a man after you’d broken his heart?
He led the way to his truck, a new Chevrolet painted shiny red. She flashed back five years to his beat-up old pickup, which had also been red, remembering the way they’d celebrated their love in his front seat.
As her face warmed in a blush, she climbed up into the cab and turned away, pretending a sudden interest in everything outside her window. Guilt be damned. She had nothing to say to him, nothing at all.
Everything that had happened between them was in the past. She refused to look back.
Brock started the truck and they began the long drive from DFW Airport to Anniversary. Keeping his gaze on the road, Brock apparently felt no need to fill the awkward silence with meaningless words. She appreciated that, also unable to give voice to the thoughts taunting her. Might-have-beens that could never be. All they had in common now was Shayna, the only reason Zoe had returned.
Still, they had to speak eventually, didn’t they? About Shayna. Especially since Zoe’s former fiancé and best friend lived together and planned to marry.
Life in small-town Anniversary had gone on just fine without Zoe. Her gut reaction after Mrs. Bell’s frantic phone call had been to panic. She’d been standing by the window in her Manhattan apartment, watching the traffic below do its thing, the same as it did every morning. The hustle and bustle of other people starting their day had always fascinated her. The gray sky promised rain, which meant outside would be muggy and a sticky, frizzy hair day. And then the phone call from the woman Zoe considered her mother, saying Shayna had disappeared and asking Zoe if her daughter was with her. Apparently, Shayna had mentioned she was planning a visit.
When Zoe had told Mama Bell no, her answer had been greeted by silence. She sensed she’d dashed Shayna’s mother’s last hope. And Zoe thought back to the last conversation she’d had with her best friend, wishing she’d paid better attention.
Though Mama Bell hadn’t come out and asked, Zoe knew she was needed back home. She’d instantly volunteered to fly to Texas and sort things out.
In all the years since Mrs. Bell had taken Zoe under her wing, raising her with as much love as if blood bound them together, she’d never asked for anything.
She didn’t have to ask this time.
Though Zoe hadn’t actually seen Shayna since she’d left, and even though they’d lost that best friend need to talk every day, they’d still spoken occasionally by phone. In her heart of hearts, Zoe knew the connection was as strong and unbroken as if they were actual sisters.
Even when Brock and Shayna had gotten together and Shayna had tentatively asked Zoe if she minded, Zoe had tried to be happy for the two of them. In the tangled mess her leaving had created, someone should be happy. Truth be told, she’d missed Shayna and actually welcomed a chance to see her again. Brock, however, was another story. Zoe had never gotten over the agony or the guilt of practically leaving him at the altar.
She’d missed Anniversary, she realized. It would always be home, the place where she’d grown up. If only the town didn’t hold so many dark, bloodstained memories. Here, in a dark alley behind a seedy bar, a younger Zoe had watched her mother die.
Glancing again at Brock, she wondered how he was dealing with Shayna’s disappearance. After Zoe vanished on him five years ago, this must feel like a twist of the knife. She ached for him, even as she tried not to feel anything at all.
Did she want to know? Was it relevant to figuring out where Shayna had gone? More uncomfortable than she’d been in ages, Zoe tried to figure out the best way to ask.
While she considered, after clearing his throat, Brock brought up the subject first, still not making eye contact, instead focusing on his driving.
“Now that we’re face-to-face again,” he said. “Why don’t you tell me why you left?”
Dread filled her even though rationally she knew he had a right to know. He deserved an explanation, or at least part of one. Five years had passed, after all. “When my mother was killed in that alley behind her favorite bar, I was there. She’d called me, drunk, and asked me to meet her. When I got to the scene, it turned out her drug dealer was also there, and she owed him money.”
Though her voice broke, she continued. “She’d told him I’d bring that money. When I didn’t, he slit her throat. Right in front of me.” Remembered horror made her shudder.
His steady gaze stayed on her, but he made no move to touch her. “I knew about her murder, but not that you were there. Why didn’t you tell me? I would have helped you.”
“That’s just it. I couldn’t. Not only did he give me twenty-four hours to get the money, he told me if I didn’t, he’d find me and kill everyone I held dear.” She took a deep breath.
“At first, I ran because I was in fear for my life. Later, I was messed up. Seeing such a thing...I couldn’t handle...”
“Me?” he asked, sounding wounded, his grip tight on the steering wheel. “You couldn’t handle me?”
“We were so young, Brock. And you kept pushing to get married. It was too much. So I stayed in New York.” Even after all this time, her voice shook. There was more, but she wouldn’t tell him the rest of it.
“So you ran and then kept running, from this town, from your friends and your family, and from me.” No emotion in his voice. No condemnation or sympathy, disbelief or commiseration.
Oddly enough, this gave
