Dangerous Lies Read online

  Now I let out a full-on groan. "Why do you have to be so . . . moral?"

  "I want to do this the right way. I don't want to look back and wish I'd treated you better."

  I tipped my head back against the pillows, not sure if I should laugh or cry. "You are the most confusing guy I've ever met. I'm right here, and I'm willing."

  "Don't do this, Stella," he said, nuzzling his face deeper into my neck. "If you don't tell me to stop, I'm not sure I have it in me to walk away on my own."

  His body felt rigid, all that desire held in check with quivering restraint, and I believed him. If I said yes, he wouldn't stop.

  I sighed, letting my body slacken. "I feel like I've been transported to a parallel universe." I plowed my fingers through my hair, which had tumbled out of its ponytail sometime in the middle of all that kissing. "This is a first for me. I've never had a guy say no." I studied him quizzically. "Are you a virgin?"

  Chet rolled off me, exhaling slowly to release some of the built-up energy. "Yes."

  "Now I know I'm in a parallel universe. A guy who admits to being a virgin? We have definitely left earth behind."

  He looked at me sideways. "Are you?"

  I hadn't expected him to ask me so bluntly. Which I supposed was unfair, since I'd just hit him with the same question. "No."

  "Your boyfriend. In Tennessee."

  I swallowed. My lies haunted me, and at the very least, I had to be honest now. "He was the only one."

  "Did he treat you right?"

  More questions I hadn't anticipated. "What kind of question is that? When you're in the throes of passion, you aren't really thinking about the other person."

  "I was thinking about you just now," Chet said quietly. "If I'd been thinking only about myself, I wouldn't have stopped. I wouldn't have cared if you really wanted to be with me. I would have taken what I wanted." He paused. "I don't want you to say yes because you feel sorry for me, or because you're lonely and there's no one else around."

  "That's not why I kissed you tonight." It wasn't, was it? I didn't think I was trying to get over Reed or exorcise his memory. I was lonely, but less so than when I'd first come to Thunder Basin. I was attracted to Chet. That's why I wanted to be with him tonight. Because I cared about him. Because it hurt to keep so many secrets from him; for once, I wanted him to know something intimate about me. Sharing this with him--this physical connection--felt like giving him something of me, the real me.

  "I feel like you're keeping something from me," Chet said. "I don't know what it is. But I feel it there, under the surface."

  I ached to tell him everything. To finally come clean. But it was too risky, and so I forced myself to bite down the words.

  "It's stifling in here," I said, gathering my hair off the back of my neck. "I wish Carmina had AC. It's too hot outside to open the windows, but I feel like I need fresh air. It's too hot to think."

  "I have an idea," Chet said after a moment, a daring smile glinting in his eyes. "If you're game."

  "That sounds like a challenge."

  "Ever been to a swimming hole at night?"

  "I've never been to a swimming hole, period."

  "Hot air, cool water. Not a bad combination." He made a weighing gesture with his hands. "But if you'd rather stay here and try to sleep in this heat . . ."

  "I'll grab my swimsuit now."

  Upstairs, I changed into my suit, a solid black number that was as classy as I could find at Kmart, and selected a faded towel from the linen closet that I didn't think Carmina would worry about getting soiled.

  While I located my sandals in my closet, I thought about what Chet had said. With my head cleared, I tried to remember my first time with Reed. It was a little rough, a little flawed. When we finished, I remembered hoping I'd done it right. In fact, every time we had sex, I hoped I was good enough that Reed didn't go looking elsewhere.

  I'd never once wondered about my own fulfillment.

  And he'd never asked.

  25

  THE COOL WATER OF THE SWIMMING HOLE STILL tingled on my skin when I crept to bed later that night. I left the lights on downstairs, but it didn't make the house feel safer. Suddenly I wished I'd asked Chet if I could sleep at his place. A spare room or the sofa, it didn't matter. I didn't want to be alone.

  Lightning flashed outside, followed by a rumble of thunder. The wind picked up, knocking branches against the house. A few raindrops splashed the window. I shuddered and wrestled the sheets higher.

  I wondered how Reed had felt moments before Danny Balando's men ambushed him. Had he felt ice in the pit of his stomach, like I did now? Did every creak and thump in his house cause him to freeze, and bring his senses to full alert?

  It was impossible not to wonder what they'd done to Reed. I tried to squeeze all speculation from my thoughts, but the worst ideas flooded in. Had they butchered him? When his body was found, would I recognize him?

  Did Danny dream of doing the same things to me?

  I had no way of knowing if he was any closer to finding me. I had to try to make a life outside that constant and relentless fear.

  I knew Danny dreamed of me. And I dreamed of him.

  I feared my dreams.

  The following afternoon, Chet helped me drive Carmina home from the hospital. As we rounded the tall hedge bordering her driveway, her eyes went wide with surprise.

  "What on earth have you two done?"

  A small crowd was gathered on her lawn, and as Chet bumped into the drive, they sprang to life, waving balloons and flowers, and scurrying forward to meet us. Pastor Lykins led the way, instructing Chet where to park with a few arm gestures and a jovial smile.

  "This wasn't my idea," I said, excusing myself of any responsibility. But I felt a twinge of annoyance--and jealousy. I should have been the one to throw Carmina a welcome-home party.

  "Nor mine," Chet said.

  He'd barely parked when the Scout's doors were flung open from the outside, and the little group began cheering and clapping. I could see now that there were casseroles, salads, and desserts in their hands as well.

  "Welcome home, Carmina," Pastor Lykins said, stepping up to take her hand and help her down. "You missed Sunday's linger longer, so we decided to throw another pot luck, right here on your lawn. We hope you don't mind."

  "Nonsense," Carmina said, flushed. "As long as Stella has left the house in a state befitting company, we can set the dishes in the kitchen and eat on the back lawn--plenty of shade at this hour. Chet, would you get the front door?"

  Carmina's home was filled with sounds. Happy voices, silverware clanking, laughter. The chirping of birds floated in through the open windows. Under Carmina's direction, Chet spread picnic blankets on the lawn and set up folding chairs in a wide circle. The potluck dishes were arranged on her kitchen table, which was conveniently close to the screen door leading out back.

  I piled my plate with a roll and the fixings for a ham sandwich, then went to the fridge for mustard.

  "I suppose you heard what happened to Trigger McClure," a woman said, coming up behind me and cornering me against the fridge. She leaned in and kept her voice hushed. I could tell she'd been eating from one of the platters of barbeque; sauce smeared her cheek.

  "I haven't," I confessed, trying to hold a neutral, if not indifferent, tone. It wasn't public knowledge he'd beat me up, so I couldn't fathom how she knew. But the mere mention of Trigger's name had soured my mood.

  "The police department kept it hush-hush," the woman continued in a quietly excited voice. "Fact is, only a select few know they took him in. My sister works as a court reporter and gave me the scoop. Trigger was arrested for what he did to you. Charged him with simple assault, they did. Not aggravated, 'cause there was no deadly weapon or serious bodily injury. The judge gave him five hours of community service, and he's required to take anger management classes. What do you say to that?" she asked, her eyes sparkling with gossip.

  I was shocked they'd arrested him and failed t
o mention it to Carmina and me. I'd pressed the charges. I wondered if they'd taken advantage of Carmina's heart attack to slip this under the carpet while we weren't looking.

  "Makes you feel a little better, right, hon?" the woman nudged.

  "I'd say they went lenient on him. Excuse me." Not bothering to come up with an excuse, I walked away. Simple assault. Trigger's feet and hands didn't count as deadly weapons? And I suppose my bruises and cuts hadn't been severe? Given that Trigger was seventeen and his case had likely been handled in the juvenile justice system, it didn't surprise me that they'd gone easy on him, but five hours of community service and anger management? Where was his restitution? I would have preferred they make him apologize to my face. It would have hurt him more than picking up trash on the weekends.

  I went to the table and poured myself a glass of lemonade. I felt shaken, and nearly dropped the pitcher. I had to pull myself together. I could feel the woman's eyes sticking to me, carefully analyzing my reaction to her news. If I showed any sign of weakness, word would trickle back to Trigger. He'd won all right. But his victory wouldn't feel half as sweet if I didn't show any sign of defeat.

  "You must be Stella."

  I set down the pitcher and looked up, recognizing a different woman from church. She sang in the choir and had the most ample arms I'd ever seen. Saddlebags hung from her elbows, which were nothing more than dimples lost in folds of soft flesh.

  Apparently having no sense of personal space, she grasped my shoulders and held me at arm's length, nearly causing my lemonade to slosh over the rim. "Aren't you a pretty thing? Such prominent eyes, and hazel to boot. I bet you have to swat the boys away." She had a hearty, rumbling laugh that grated on my nerves.

  "I'm sorry, have we met?" I said, detaching myself from her grip.

  "Mavis. Call me Mavis. Carmina and I have been friends for ages. Went to school together, graduated the same year. I never would have thought Carmina could pull a fast one on me, but lo and behold that woman has a few tricks up her sleeve. A foster child! Who would've seen it coming?"

  I said nothing, hoping she would lose interest and leave me alone.

  "I hear you've been running around with Chet Falconer," she babbled on. "Now, there's a boy who has turned his life around. Mark my words, I used to say, that Chet will turn out okay. No one believed me, but I have a way with people." She tapped her head knowingly. "I can look past a rough exterior. I can see a heart of gold masked under teenage rebellion." Another exuberant laugh.

  I eyed the back door impatiently. "Yes, well--"

  "Of course, it must be hard on Carmina, having you run around with Hannah Falconer's boy. Old wounds." She wagged her head with pity. "Never got a chance to heal, and here you are, reopening them. Not to say it's your fault, dear. It's just the way things are. Poor thing, Carmina."

  I stared at her, aggravated. "I'm sorry?"

  "I'm sure by now you've heard how hard the death of Hannah Falconer, Chet's mother, was on Carmina. They were best friends, you know. Childhood best friends. As I recall, Carmina liked Thomas Falconer first. I remember the two of them went to dances at the high school together. And then Hannah took a liking to Thomas, and for a while, it threatened to destroy Carmina and Hannah's friendship. In the end, Carmina backed down and let Hannah have her way. Carmina was maid of honor at their wedding. Had to break her heart, seeing the two people she loved most dearly married to each other. To this day, I can't help but think Carmina must feel short-sticked. I'm not saying she does--she's a good Christian woman--but when she looks at Chet, who's a spitting image of his father, mind you, I wonder if he stirs up old feelings of betrayal and the sting of unrequited love. No matter," she said with an airy and dismissive gesture. "I'm sure that's just the gossip in me rooting around for a story to tug the ol' heartstrings. I do know Carmina and Hannah remained best friends until the day the Falconers died. And Carmina holds Chet personally responsible for his parents' deaths."

  "Why would she blame Chet?" I asked, annoyed by the woman's delivery of this story, and annoyed at myself for asking a question that would encourage her to go on telling it. But it was a lot of information to digest, and I'd asked without thinking.

  "When Hannah and Thomas were hit by that drunk driver, they were on their way to pick up Chet from the police station. He'd been caught doing some such nonsense, and was cooling his heels behind bars. Chet was a hellion, always looking for the next bout of trouble. Had he not gotten into trouble that particular evening, his parents never would have been on the road that fateful night. Course, that's only half the story. Carmina's grandson, Nathaniel, was Chet's best friend. He was riding in the car with the Falconers that night, on the way to give his friend a much-needed talking to. He died with the rest of them. In one fell swoop, Carmina lost her first love, her best friend, and the grandson she'd raised from birth."

  I went very still. So this was why Carmina held Chet at a distance. Seeing him brought back memories of her grandson--She had a grandson? Was it his room I'd inherited?--that were painful. With Chet around, it was impossible not to remember Nathaniel. Nathaniel, Hannah, and Thomas.

  I wished Mavis--was that her name?--hadn't told me. I felt a strange heat flush through me. Resentment. I resented her for prying in other people's business. Was this what the people of Thunder Basin went around doing--digging up the past and flinging it in each other's faces?

  "You're wrong," I told her, my voice shaking slightly with anger. "Carmina doesn't blame Chet. She's a better woman than that. She understands people make mistakes. And that's exactly what Chet did--he made a mistake. One mistake that will haunt him the rest of his life, because people like you can't seem to let him put it in the past, where it belongs!"

  "Oh, dear," Mavis said, covering her mouth, which had taken the shape of a fat, lipsticked oval. "Oh, my."

  "Really? Now you're at a loss for words?"

  "You've hardly had time to get to know Carmina," she stammered. "I thought a little backstory might shed some--"

  "I've had enough time to gauge Carmina's character. It's amazing how little people have to say for us to really know them."

  Her hand went to her lacy throat, and her shocked expression pinched with offense. "I dare say."

  "Oh, you've said enough," I said, disgusted.

  With another gasp at my rudeness, Mavis tilted her nose upward and waddled outside.

  I stayed in the kitchen, fuming in silence. I felt sick. Absurdly, I also felt like crying. I wanted to find Chet, pull him aside, and hold him tightly. How could he stay in a town that was so decidedly against him? If I were him, I would have run at the first chance. Why hadn't he bolted long ago? And then I remembered.

  Dusty.

  Chet was stuck here until his brother graduated. To his credit, I'd never heard him complain. He had compassion for Dusty, who'd given him every reason not to. He stayed in Thunder Basin because it was the right thing to do. His family meant more to him than the idle talk of nosy men and women.

  Family. I had a family, but unlike Chet, I'd turned my back on mine long ago. My mom was a mess and I couldn't stand to be near her. I was better off without her. Those were the words I told myself, but Chet's example caused me to pause and take a hard look at what I was doing.

  Was I a horrible person? Would Chet still want to be with me if he knew the truth about me and my family?

  Something unexpected happened then. My throat grew slippery and my hands turned clammy. As hard as it would be, I had to call my mom. Before it was too late, I had to swallow my pride, forget the deep sense of injustice I felt, and set things right.

  If something happened to one of us, I wanted her to know I didn't hate her. I hadn't forgiven her, but I didn't hate her either. It was a start.

  While no one was looking, I scrolled through the caller list on Carmina's phone. I wouldn't call my mom today; I had to plan what I'd say, and I had to buy my own phone. I couldn't let Carmina know I was making the call. If I lost my temper with my mom, I didn'
t want Carmina to be disappointed or, worse, think less of me.

  The only number in the call list that didn't have Thunder Basin's area code was an 800 number. It had to be the clinic's. I scribbled the digits on a Post-it note and shoved it in my pocket. My hand shook as I did, and I was even more grateful Carmina wasn't there to see it.

  26

  I WAS RIDING SHOTGUN IN THE SCOUT, AND CHET refused to tell me where he was taking me. We'd left town a few miles back and were picking up speed on a wide open stretch of highway. We passed lone mailboxes on the side of the road, and when I squinted into the distance, I could just see the houses they belonged to, and the blinding glint of sunlight on aluminum barn roofs. We passed windmills, too, and low rolling hills speckled with grazing cattle. The wheat-white of prairie grass whizzed by.

  At last Chet slowed, turned off the highway, and drove through a tall gate constructed of timber posts that flanked a narrow dirt road. An iron sign hung down from the highest post and clued me in to our destination. MILTON SWOPE'S RANCH.

  "You brought me to work?" I asked, trying to figure out what I was missing. It was evident by the smirk on his face that he was up to something. "On a Saturday?"

  "Work barbeque. Boss said to bring a friend. Plucked a random name from my Rolodex, and you're the lucky winner."

  I rolled the window down and stuck my head out to catch the breeze. It whipped my hair around my face and whisked the sweat off my neck.

  I wrinkled my nose. "What's that smell?"

  Chet grinned. "Money."

  "I'm serious. It stinks."

  "Cattle have to do their business too."

  "We're eating barbeque with that pleasant aroma in the background?"

  "Hold your horses. We've still got a ways to drive. The ranch's entrance gate we passed through back there? Marks another five-mile drive to the house. You won't smell cattle by the time we get there."

  The next five miles gave me a view of some of the prettiest countryside I'd seen in Nebraska. The land was rolling hills slashed by narrow and winding creeks, and low golden bluffs loomed on the horizon. When we pulled up to the ranch house, the driveway was already filled with cars and trucks. Chet was right; the only thing I smelled now was meat sizzling on the grill.