have suggested that he wasn’t revealing everything, and Jacob was once again pressing for more. “She didn’t have a lot to begin with, as you’ve pointed out,” Riley went on. And somehow she’d made it work, managed to create her own style. He’d come to admire that—and more—while they were together. He’d considered her someone who dared to go against the norm and disregard the dictates of the “in” crowd.
At least, that was what he’d thought of her until everything went so horribly wrong. Then it was easier to believe, like everyone else, that she didn’t have the conscience of a normal person.
“I think she’s pretty,” Jacob said.
“She’s okay,” Riley muttered, but these days she was much better than “okay.” Despite two or three scars, which didn’t detract from her appearance, there was a sophistication to her face that hadn’t been there before. And her eyes... They were more guarded than ever, but a measure of strength, maturity and determination shone through that set her apart. So he wasn’t fooled. Although she’d been very respectful this morning, almost deferential, there was still some fight left in her. All he had to do to find out how much was deny her the chance to be part of her son’s life. That was another reason he felt so torn. She wouldn’t be easy to dissuade where Jacob was concerned. He’d tried—to no avail.
“And I like the bracelet she gave me,” Jacob said.
“I can tell.” Riley pulled into the parking lot of Meek’s Lumber. “Are you going to invite her to one of your games?”
“Why not? Anyone can go to the school.” He hesitated with his hand on the door latch. “You’ll let me, right?”
As much as he wanted to refuse, if only to keep their lives simple and moving forward on the same track, Riley didn’t see how he could continue to enforce his will. “If having her there is what you want.”
“I can’t see how it’ll hurt anything,” he said.
Riley hoped that was the case.
* * *
Phoenix spent the first half of the walk home in a daze, reliving every minute of breakfast and thinking about Jacob—what it’d been like to meet him, to speak with him, to see him put on the bracelet she’d made. But after a couple of miles, she could no longer ignore the blisters that were forming on her feet. It was so hot today; every part of her body felt sticky.
She wiped the sweat from her forehead with one arm and considered removing her sandals. She would have, except there were too many briar-like plants and sharp rocks along the side of the road. And she couldn’t walk on the pavement without getting burned.
“Not much farther,” she told herself, but that was hardly encouraging when she had another three miles.
Why hadn’t she been more practical with the pittance the state had given her on her release? She could’ve bought some cheap running shoes. She’d tried on a pair. But she’d had her first encounter with Jacob in mind when she chose these sandals. She’d wanted to look her best.
She wondered if she’d hear from him on Facebook...
At the sound of a vehicle approaching from behind, she stepped off to one side, kept her face averted and waited for whoever it was to pass by. She didn’t want anyone to see how badly she was limping. She felt too many people in Whiskey Creek would take pleasure in her distress.
And what if it was one of Lori Mansfield’s parents or another member of her family?
They might try to take revenge. They’d certainly sent her enough ugly letters once they found out she was going to be released, warning her not to return to Whiskey Creek, threatening her if she did.
She tensed as the vehicle drew closer. It didn’t whiz by with a blast of hot air, as she expected. It slowed and came to a stop a few feet ahead of her. Then the driver—a dark-haired man from what she could see through the back window—leaned over and opened the passenger door. “Would you like a lift?” he called out.
Because she had no idea who this person was or what he might do to her, she almost waved him off. But this was Whiskey Creek; there wasn’t any violent crime here to speak of. As long as he wasn’t connected to the Mansfields, she should be okay. Not everyone in Whiskey Creek these days had been around when she lived here before. This could be a complete stranger, his offer the simple kindness it appeared to be.
Grateful that she wouldn’t have to continue the painful journey on foot, she hobbled to the truck. “Thank you. It’s so hot out today. And these darn sandals...”
As soon as she recognized him, she choked back the rest of her words. He wasn’t connected to Lori Mansfield—thank God. But he was connected to Riley. This was Kyle Houseman, one of the many friends who’d hung out with Riley all through school.
Phoenix didn’t want Riley to find out that Kyle had discovered her in such a pathetic state, so she backed away. “Actually, never mind. I just realized there’s no way we could be going to the same place. But thanks!”
She slammed the door, praying that would be the end of it. But he didn’t drive off. He reached over and opened the door again.
“You might not be aware of it yet, but you’re getting sunburned,” he said. “And it looks like we’re traveling in the same direction at least. I don’t mind going a little out of my way.”
If he knew who she was, he didn’t let on. But he would figure it out if she had him drop her anywhere close to her mother’s property. And getting close to her mother’s property was the whole point of accepting a ride. “I’m fine. Really. It’s not much farther.”
His eyes narrowed as recognition dawned. “Wait a second...you’re Phoenix.”
“Yes. Another reason you should go on your way.” After closing the door, she forced herself to walk without favoring either foot. But he lowered the window and rolled along beside her.
“I know where you live. Let me give you a ride.”
“I can walk a couple of miles,” she said.
“You seemed to be struggling when I came up behind you.”
He’d noticed? From so far away? “These sandals are new, that’s all. I’ll break them in.”
“So you don’t need a ride.”
“No, thank you.”
“Come on!” he argued. “I can’t leave a woman limping on the side of the road.”
“According to most folks around here, I’m not a regular woman.”
“What does that mean?”
“I’m a murderer, remember? Surely, you can leave me.” Instantly regretting the harshness of those words, she glanced over and attempted a smile. “I didn’t mean to be rude. I just...I’d rather not trouble you.”
“But it’s no trouble!”
Refusing was making a bigger issue out of this than simply giving in. Besides, she couldn’t tolerate the pain of marching beside him anymore.
When
