JASON WATCHED LAUREN walk out of the kitchen, her head held high. The silence suddenly seemed heavy. Why didn’t it feel that way when she was here, when they were silently talking with their hands?
He froze. What the hell had just happened? He almost caught himself yelling after her. In the space of a minute, something had definitely changed. He stared at his hands. Shocked.
They’d had an entire conversation—amend that, an argument—without him speaking. He’d signed, read her sign, and they’d understood each other.
But instead of jumping for joy, Jason cursed. Why the hell did his brain suddenly learn sign now? In the middle of arguing with her, he figured it out?
His frustration multiplied at not being able to discuss it with her. Not because he couldn’t, but because her anger and hurt stood in the way. He ignored the nagging pain at the realization she didn’t really trust him. He’d done a damned good job of keeping her safe. She didn’t seem to appreciate that, either.
He wished Trey would come back so he could pummel him a little more and release some of this frustration. Damn it.
Following Lauren, Jason proceeded to get ready for work while she dressed. Not signing. Not speaking. Not even facing her so she could read his lips if he chose to say something, which he didn’t.
“Ready?” He finally faced her and spoke, the sign a single, simple gesture. Then, because he hoped she expected it, he leaned in, and none too gently, kissed her.
Lauren tasted of coffee and anger, and just a little bit of the passion he knew she was denying. It stirred him, and he felt her breath hitch as it stirred her, too.
He stepped back, staring at her for a long minute. She had the bandages in her hand but didn’t ask for help. She gritted her teeth instead.
“Here.” He reached down and took the package from her hand. He made short work of the process and she stood there, stiff and accepting. Her sign of thanks was clipped as her eyes disappeared from view.
Resting her hand on his arm, she let him lead her to the car. They drove in silence—no music, or sign or touch. Once he’d opened the front door of her town house and let them in, she reached up and took the bandages off again.
The look on her face almost made him give up his promise to go to work. There was more pain in her eyes than there had been—even at the studio. It was a different pain, though. It was a hungry pain.
“Go.” She made the sign, aiming toward the door then tapped her chest. “I’ll be okay.”
He had to leave. Had to let her do this. Respecting her wishes at this moment went against every protective cell in his body. But he did it. And headed out the door and to his car without looking back.
As the day dragged on, Jason tried to put Lauren out of his mind, tried to focus on his job. It wasn’t as if he didn’t have piles of work to do. But nothing worked. She haunted him, her anger and pain nagging at him. Twice, he had to stop himself from walking out of the office and heading back to get her.
Finally, the anger Trey had ignited yesterday, that Lauren had stirred up this morning, exploded. “You did what?” he yelled at Susan. The woman had done stupid things before, but this topped the list.
“I... I...” She stammered and stepped back. The distance seemed to give her a smidgen of strength. “I gave him your address.” She backed away a bit more.
At least that explained how Trey had found his apartment. “Why would you even think that was okay?” He tried not to yell. Really, he did.
“He said he was your friend.” She wrung her hands. “He’s from Texas, after all.”
“Do you know how big Texas is?” The fact that Trey had been a friend once upon a time didn’t have any bearing at the moment. “I don’t know everyone from there.”
“But you know him.”
“Oh, yeah. I know him.” Jason curled his hands into fists. “He’s why I have this.” He pointed to his busted lip and right eye, the one that had turned a pale shade of purple overnight. “Tell me, do you like everyone you know?”
“Well...uh...no.”
“Point made. Do not ever give my home address to anyone. Do you understand?” He leaned toward her, needing her to understand how important this was.
“Should I, uh, not have taken the file?”
“What file?”
“The one he brought with him.”
“What file?” he repeated. “Where is it?”
“On...on your credenza.”
Jason took a deep calming breath, as if that would help, forcing himself to turn away. A thick blue file folder with a huge rubber band around it sat next to his dad’s belt buckle.
Dad had never known Pal, but Jason knew he wouldn’t have liked him. Even at eleven, Jason had understood and emulated his father’s strong sense of right and wrong. It still echoed in Jason’s memory.
Something he didn’t want to analyze settled in his gut as he stared at the file. Dread? Fear? Hell.
“I’m sure you have work to do,” he told Susan with a pointed glare. The woman scurried out of the room, closing the door behind her.
The silence this time was heavy with anticipation. Pal had told him a courier would deliver the file. Why had it taken so long to get here, and why had Trey brought it? He was a bit surprised Trey had even bothered. Granted, it was part of the legal file, but Haymakers weren’t above ignoring the law. Was there something here Trey wanted him to see?
Dismissing all those concerns, Jason picked up the file and settled in his leather chair. He stared at the blue cover. He waited. On himself? On what? This was stupid. He could, at least, finish something to end this wasted day.
Jason flipped open the file, and was surprised to find Lauren’s publicity photo. He stared at her beauty for several long minutes, missing her.
Then he flipped the photo over, hiding it from view. What the—
The only thing legal about this file was the motion on top. Pal Jr. and Trey were contesting the will. Filed in Austin two days ago, the same day the studio had burned, it threatened to take everything away from her.
Jason envisioned himself flinging the file across the room, papers flying through the air. Though it would be mildly therapeutic, he resisted the urge.
There were no other forms to finish or read. This was Lauren’s life recreated on paper. Not a court document. The image of Pal’s face, that night at the ballet, with tears on his cheeks, came to mind.
This was all Pal’d had of his daughter. What had he said about his life ending with Lauren’s mother’s death? Jason turned the page and started reading about the beautiful, injured woman he’d left on her own just a few short hours ago.
* * *
LAUREN HAD SPENT the day reacquainting herself with her world. She’d taken the bandages off on schedule, and managed to put them back on fairly successfully. The medicine was still difficult alone, especially one-handed—well one and a half since she could use her fingers, sort of, even with the cast.
She’d emailed Maxine, and the kids were going to stay with her until Lauren was completely done with the bandages. The caseworker had come to the mansion this morning, and was supportive of the decision. Lauren wasn’t sure if that was because of Maxine’s persuasion or the woman’s relief at having less on her plate.
I’m here to help. Maxine wrote, I know there’s a lot of work ahead.
Lauren appreciated the offer, and Maxine’s caring. But she knew there was more behind the offer than just simple need. I’m not sure what I’m going to do yet. And that was true. She needed to talk to her insurance agent, and see what the adjusters had come back with. It could be weeks before she knew the total damages. My insurance will determine a lot.
Such a nice man, that Ryan Davies. He’ll be a big help. He said you can start work, just let your contractors know the claim number. I’m more than happy to help finance this, dear.
Lauren cringed, her head throbbing. She’d forgotten that her insurance agent was also Maxine’s. Of course, she’d called him. Ryan was a good man, but he made a lot of money from Maxine each month. Lauren wondered where his first loyalties were.
I’ll decide. I’ll let you know if I need anything. Not that she’d ever do that. Thanks for helping with the kids. She signed off the email and spent the next hour waiting for the agent to return her email.
She didn’t feel like going to his office and hope he was available, and could get an interpreter. Ryan Davies was one of the business people she dealt with who hadn’t bothered to learn even a smidgen of sign. Maybe she should look for another agent. One she picked.
Tomorrow, she had to replace her phone. Email was not the best way to contact anyone. She could call a service to translate through the phone, but she only used them as a last resort. It was way too slow.
Going out—into the sunlight—alone—scared her, but Lauren refused to give in to fear. Ever.
Her frustration high, and her head throbbing, Lauren sank down to the couch with a cool washcloth. She needed to relax and put the bandages back on. But not yet. The coolness soothed her painful eyes.
Her thoughts spun with her internal turmoil. Behind her closed lids, Lauren once again saw the images of the blackened shell of her studio. She swore she could still smell the acrid scent of burned wood.
Maxine’s offer, while well intentioned, threatened Lauren’s independence nearly as much as the fire itself.
And then there was Jason.
She couldn’t think about him right now. Maxine, and the money it would take to repair the studio, sent her stress back through the roof. But thinking about Jason?
That was a whole different kind of stress.
* * *
JASON’S PATIENCE RAN OUT. All the nights he’d driven to the studio, all the times he’d taken Lauren home, he’d gone well below the speed limit, wanting to extend his time with her. Now, he forced himself to slow down, and not floor the gas pedal, or take corners on two tires. He was anxious to make sure she was fine.
He’d been too angry with Lauren this morning, and she’d been too distant, for him to remember she didn’t have a phone. Not that he’d have called her, but he could have texted to make sure she was okay.
Finally, her town house came into view. The sun was already at the horizon, stretching shadows around the neighborhood. The lights in the living room were on, but otherwise, the place was dark. Made sense if she was there alone. The kids were probably still at Maxine’s.
He jerked to a halt outside, not bothering to pay attention to the meters or the hydrant out front. Sitting there for a minute, he took a deep breath. He was being ridiculous worrying about her. But without a phone how would she call for help? He should have thought of it earlier.
Jason took the front steps two at a time, nearly skidding into the front door. He ached to pound on it, but she’d never hear him. He hoped she had put on her bracelet and would see the lights flash when he hit the doorbell. All dozen times.
Lauren yanked open the door, alarm on her face. She stared up at him, her eyes wide. “What is wrong?” she signed. “Everyone okay?”
Relief washed over him. She stood there, staring at him like he was crazy—looking better than anything or anyone he’d seen all day.
Comfortable that she was okay, Jason held up a finger signing, “One minute.” He went back out to his car and pulled out the file. She stood in the doorway, her hands on her hips. She looked totally confused.
Inside, Jason locked the door and ushered her back into the living room. She curled her legs up and settled in the overstuffed chair. Her hair fell around her shoulders where the light glowed against the copper. She picked up a cup of something warm she’d left on the side table, staring at him expectantly.
Carefully, he lifted the file, looked at it and gently set it on the coffee table. He didn’t sign or say anything. He simply sat down in the chair opposite the couch. And waited.
“What’s that?” Palms up, she frowned. She couldn’t miss her name written on the tab in Pal’s cowboy chicken scratch.
The file Pal had created, that Trey had given to Susan. That Trey, and most certainly Pal Jr., had read. While Lauren couldn’t avoid it any longer, that didn’t mean she’d embrace it.
“It was Pal’s.” He paused. “They are c-o-n-t-e-s-t-i-n-g the will.”
She took another sip from her cup, staring at the blue file, drinking slowly for a dozen or so long minutes. All the while, Jason sat watching her. Waiting.
* * *
LAUREN STARED AT the file on the coffee table. The dull ache behind her eyes told her she needed to rest them more. Soon.
But now Jason sat in the chair facing her. “Tell me what’s inside,” she said, trying to avoid looking at it. Not sure what was in it. Knowing it was more than just legal papers.
He simply shook his head. He didn’t speak. Didn’t sign. Just waited.
Was it so horrible? She shivered, despite the warm mug in her hands and the heat of the tea sliding down her throat.
Her father had held it. Had looked at those same pages. Had he created it?
Jason seemed as nervous as she was. She could see it in the lines around his mouth and the way he kept bouncing his foot. Had he looked inside? Surely, he had.
Lauren sat forward, set the cup down and flipped the file open. She hadn’t been aware of Pal Haymaker until just weeks ago. How long had he known about her life? Had he watched from afar? Or had he been ignorant of everything she’d faced? And now, frowning, she wasn’t sure she wanted to know anymore.
She was surprised to see her publicity picture under the legal paperwork, but none of the rest was a surprise. She knew and remembered every one of the foster homes listed here. She swallowed back her anxiety.
Jason leaned forward, and she looked over at him. He signed slowly, asking if she was okay. She nodded, lying to them both.
“How did you get all this?” she asked.
“Pal hired a d-e-t-e-c-t-i-v-e. Trey dropped it off at my office.”
Her father had hired a private investigator? He seemed to have tried to find her and piece together her life. He’d found all this. Surely—
She shut off those thoughts and went back to the file.
As she flipped pages, something fell out. A photo. It landed on the floor and slid away. Jason jumped up, almost too quickly, to grab it. He stared at it before extending it to her.
“Who?” he asked.
She took the photo, and gasped as if a fist had slammed into her chest. Kenny. Not the Kenny who had tormented her all those years ago. Not the wild boy who had been hell on wheels and then some.
No, this was a man. An evil-looking man. A mug shot. She could only stare. She’d have never recognized him. But that stare? She’d never forget that. Finally, putting the picture to the side, she fought the temptation to turn it over, but that would be giving in to the bullying Kenny had excelled at.
Hastily, she pawed through the file, looking for the rest. Finally, she stared at the papers that went with the mug shot. The rap sheet of charges and convictions. Plural.
She froze. Reading. All the things he’d done. Her stomach turned. Jason’s palm settled warm on her arm, startling her, and she realized he was slowing her down.
“What’s the matter?” he signed.
“It’s him,” she answered. “K-e-n-n-y.” Her fingers shook so badly, she could barely form the letters. The photo slid off the table and landed face down on the floor this time. Something about that face vanishing gave her room to breathe.
She gulped in air, realizing a panic attack was close. She hadn’t had one in years.
She shot off the couch and walked away, pacing. She didn’t want to see the memories. Didn’t want to remember any of it. She closed her eyes, the darkness behind her lids easing the pain of both her injuries and her mind.
Who else had read this file? Her father. He’d seen the police reports. Of her attempts to run away. Of what Kenny had done to require a mug shot. Did he think Kenny had done something to her? Or did he think she was like Kenny, being a foster kid?
Was that why he’d never come to get her?
* * *
KENNY, WHOEVER HE WAS, was the key to Lauren’s past. Jason had gotten that impression from the copy of the rap sheet that Pal’s investigator had put in the file and the look on Lauren’s face when she saw it. Jason’s stomach tightened. He had read about the man’s crimes. Lauren wasn’t listed as one of his victims. But that didn’t mean she hadn’t been one.
Jason managed to make her stop and take a minute, but her curiosity and other emotions he couldn’t identify, soon dragged her back to the file. She stared, flipping the pages back, forth, rereading them.
When she looked up, there were tears in her eyes.
“What?” he asked.
Her fingers flew and he couldn’t catch everything. He’d thought he’d gotten the hang of sign this morning. But it dawned on him now that he’d probably be taking classes for the rest of his life.
He ached to understand her, to know what she really felt. He wanted to talk with her about everything—about this—without having to use technology or an interpreter. He didn’t want anything between them. He tried to catch more.
“He did this.” She pointed at the page and extended it to him. “He hurt them.” Her signs were simpler now. Direct. Harsh. Easier to read. She poked at the page with an angry finger, nearly punching through.
Jason nodded and sat down beside her on the couch. “That’s why, this.” He flashed the mug shot. “They caught him.”
She waved her hands in the air, a sign he knew she’d created herself, as if she were erasing their conversation from a chalk board. “I.” She jabbed the center of her chest. “Should have helped. He tried with me, too.”
Jason had feared that when he’d first read the file. Had Pal wondered if the same things that had happened to those girls had happened to his daughter?
“Tell me,” he signed slowly, partially because of his ability, and partially to give her time to think and decide what she needed to share with him. He wanted to know—and yet, he didn’t.
“I didn’t do anything. He tried to—” She waved at the list of women Kenny had attacked. “I got away before he could. I ran like hell.” She paused, her gaze distant as if she saw the events of that day. “For hours.” Her hands slowed now. “And hours. I got lost.”
He imagined the young girl he’d recently seen photos of in the case files. “How old?”
She paused, looking down at the papers, then back up at him again. “Thirteen. I never told anyone.”
The same age as Tina. The need to punch someone or something roared through him. “You were only a kid.” He tried to soothe her, but it didn’t work.
She looked back at the papers, now scattered over the table’s surface. He wished he’d never seen the damned thing, wished he didn’t have to answer the question he was pretty sure she was going to ask.
“My father knew all this?” She waved her hand over the mess.
Jason hesitated. “In the end? Yes.” He faced her, making sure she could clearly read his lips. “I don’t know about when you were a kid.”
Her shoulders slumped. She made the now familiar sign for “thank you.”
Jason reached out, needing to touch her. Holding her hand hindered her ability to sign, so instead, he traced the soft edge of her jaw with his thumb. “For what?”
“Your honesty.”
Jason frowned and shook his head, not sure what she meant.
“For not sugar c-o-a-t-i-n-g things,” she explained.
“This.” He waved at the mess. “Not your fault.”
Time froze and the air warmed as their gazes locked. Dear God, he was so proud of her. That scared young girl who’d grown into this strong woman, had run.
His mind filled with the image of the first time he’d seen her, running across that stage and leaping into the air with such ease and grace. Even when she’d been hurt, when she’d had to accept his help, she’d done it with strength and grace. She sure as hell hadn’t learned that from her parents. Maxine? Perhaps.
Or maybe it was just who she was. He liked that idea. It was her strength, her ability, pure Lauren.
Jason suddenly understood what his brothers and sisters had all experienced. What they’d warned him would happen. What he could have sworn didn’t really happen.
He was falling in love with her.
Time stretched out as Lauren sat staring at the scattered file. Jason watched her.
Then, suddenly her eyes widened and she stood. Her breath came in gasps as she yanked another photo to the top of the pile. An old Polaroid.
She stabbed it with her fingers. “What is this?”
Jason stood, walking around to see it more clearly. He’d read through most of the file, but it was all out of order now. The faded image of a log cabin nestled in a thick grove of pines was a splash of color against the white pages. She stabbed at the image with her finger again, demanding his answer.
She’d gone pale, her frown creasing her entire brow. When she looked up at Jason, her eyes were wide with confusion. “I feel—” Her finger lingered on her breastbone. She set the picture down. “It is f-a-m-i-l-i-a-r.” Her frown deepened. “I do not remember—” She rubbed her forehead.
He had no clue what to say or do.
“Where is it?” Lauren stared unblinking at the photo. “Where?”
Jason moved pages around, looking for the deed to the property. He found it at the bottom of the scattered pile. He handed it to her, knowing it was up north, deep in the Cascade Mountains between California and Oregon. “It’s yours now.”
“Mine?” The look on her face was a mixture of wonder and terror.
What was she thinking? What was driving her panic? He remembered some reference to the cabin in the will, but couldn’t fully recall. Where were those papers? He looked through the scattered pages without success and finally asked Lauren for her copies. She went over to a leather bag that sat by the door.
She extended the papers he’d originally given her. He stared for an instant. Had that really only been a few weeks ago? He looked at her, not sure he remembered not knowing her.
He found the paragraph he’d remembered in the document and showed it to her. He was pretty sure the sign she made wasn’t for pleasant company.
Pacing, she turned several times, and he could almost swear he saw the wheels turning in her head. “It’s valuable, isn’t it?”
“I—I think so.” Jason wasn’t sure where she was going with this. Was that why the Haymakers were contesting the will?
“Can I sell it? Use the money for the studio?”
Ah, that made more sense. “I suppose.”
* * *
THIS COULD SOLVE everything for her. Except something about the picture nagged at her. Something teased at her emotions. She couldn’t look away.
Then Jason handed her another piece of paper. Absently, she looked at it. Then she looked at it again. The deed. Owner listed as Rachel Ramsey. Her mother. “What?” She looked up at Jason.
Flashes of light and memory cut through her brain. She closed her eyes, hoping maybe it was her eye injuries. But the dark behind her eyelids was filled with the same images. Only clearer.
Of sunlight pouring through a kitchen window framed with blue gingham curtains. Of wood paneled walls. Of a big, round braided rug and a fireplace with river rock around a carved, wooden mantel.
Lauren shook her head, a dull throb growing behind her eyes. Fatigue or emotions, she wasn’t sure.
Jason touched her arm, startling her. She looked up at him. “Don’t decide now. Let me call this man.” Jason lifted a business card.
She frowned reading the man’s name. “Who is he?”
“The caretaker at the cabin.” He pointed at a property management title under the name Harley Stapleton.
“I can—”
“I know you can,” Jason interrupted.
She could see he wanted to do this, that he was trying, and failing to tamp down the need to take over. The fact that he tried to hold back made her stop and consider.
“Okay, only because I don’t have a phone.”
“We’ll get you one tomorrow.” He stepped closer, crouching down in front of her. “We’ll decide after I talk to him.” He shook the card.
Lauren nodded. She didn’t dwell on the fact that she was letting someone else take over. At least he’d asked.
This close she saw the irises of his eyes widen. She wasn’t sure if he moved slowly, or if time itself slowed.
She reached up then, touching her palm to his cheek before pulling back to sign. “You can’t keep taking care of me.” She shook her head, her curls dancing around her shoulders.
“Why not?”
They stared at each other. Lauren truly didn’t understand his need to do exactly what she didn’t want.
He leaned in and his lips, warm and strong on hers felt right. She let him pull her close, into his arms.
And then it didn’t matter who was in charge or in control.
None of that mattered at all.