High Lonesome (26 page)

“Why’d you hang up the phone, Mommy?” So innocent, Heather stuck her thumb in her mouth.

“I’m sorry, honey. I thought I heard someone at the door. Why don’t you go back to playing with your Legos while I finish cleaning?”

After rifling through every book in the bookcase, Angela came up empty.

Bored with playing by herself, Heather begged Angela to help her build towers with blocks. After that, Angela and a stuffed teddy bear and rabbit became guests at a tea party. She read Heather some stories, they colored in coloring books, and then she fixed lunch and put Heather down for a nap.

Heather balked at first, claiming she wasn’t tired and too big to take naps. Angela felt terrible, trying to force her down, but she needed time alone to hunt for those papers. She rubbed Heather’s back and sang her some lullabies. Soon, her daughter was fast asleep and snoring.

Angela tiptoed out of the bedroom and made quick time poking around every room in the house. She looked in every space, dark corner, and nook and cranny for the policy. Frustrated, she slid her hands through her hair. Maybe he’d move it, or it was in the car. She’d never thought of that!
I hope that’s not the case.

She stood in the den with her hands on her hips, pondering her next move. While thinking, she stared at the oil painting above the sofa and suddenly remembered she’d never liked that particular piece of art. It always seemed to be off balance for some weird reason—hanging askew, as it was now. “That ugly painting is out of here.”

Kicking off her shoes, she stepped onto the sofa and lowered the painting off the wall. When she saw the wall safe, she gasped. This had to be the place! This must be where Jack hid the life insurance policy.
I bet he never thought I’d remember the safe was here in the wall!

Angela’s hand landed on the combination lock. She squeezed her eyes shut and searched her mind to remember the combination. They had never had a use for the safe, she recalled, since Jack worked at the bank and stored their valuables in a safe deposit box there. The safe deposit box! The policy wouldn’t be there, would it? No. Surely the bank had made him clear out the safe deposit box when he was let go. Where else would he keep important documents, but here at home?

She didn’t know whether she’d remember the combination, even if she weren’t suffering from amnesia. Her mind drew a blank.

“Think. Think. Think”. The combination could have been any group of numbers—Jack’s birthday, her birthday, their wedding date...she didn’t know any of them.

Running out of the den and up the stairs to the master bedroom, she spied their wedding album sitting on the vanity, just where she’d seen it on the day she returned home and showed herself around. Panting from taking the stairs two at a time, she flung the album open and memorized the date imprinted in cursive gold letters on the front page. Hurrying back to the den, she put her fingers on the lock. Right six, left seven, right ninety-nine. It didn’t open.
Damn!

She traipsed back up the stairs and frantically dug through the closet once again. Maybe she’d missed something the first time around. When she opened a cardboard box she thought contained boots, she discovered packets of letters she’d written to Jack before they married, some loose photos of the two of them, her passport, and her birth certificate.

With a safe in the house, why would her important documents and sentimental memorabilia be packed into a box and hidden in the closet? Jack must have planned to destroy them at some point to rid himself of everything associated with her. She didn’t have time to consider all the possible scenarios.

She rushed back to the den with her passport and birth certificate in her hands and read her birth date out loud while turning the combination lock. Right ten, left four, right seventy-nine. Bingo! Glancing at her birth record again, she took a double take at the name printed on the certificate: Angela Elizabeth Turner.
Beth!
It was too strange to be a coincidence.

She stuck her hand inside the opening in the wall and pulled out a gray metal strongbox. Her heart sank when she saw the box was bound by another lock. Convinced the strongbox held the life insurance policy, and perhaps even the Divorce Decree, she leapt off the sofa and ran to the basement, carrying the strongbox under her arm. She searched for a tool, any tool she could use to break the lock. Spying a claw hammer on the work table, she whacked at the lock. When it broke open, she lifted the lid and fanned through the documents. There they were—the life insurance policy and Divorce Decree—at the bottom, just as she suspected and hoped.

Skimming through the contents of the insurance policy, the truth hit her square in the eyes. She leaned heavily against the basement wall and slid down to the hard concrete floor. Her eyes drifted shut. Her head began to ache as clear memories of that fateful day moved through her mind like a movie.

He’d shown up at her door the day after their divorce was final, begging to see Heather. She’d let him in, but told him he could spend only fifteen minutes with the child, in the living room where she could monitor them. She didn’t trust him at all, and he wasn’t even supposed to be there.

As Jack and Heather sat on the sofa together reading a book, Angela had checked the pockets of his jacket, which he’d slung over the back of a chair in the foyer. She’d wanted to see if he was carrying any drugs. That’s when she discovered the life insurance policy.

When Jack finished reading to Heather, Angela fixed her a snack and sat her in front of cartoons in the kitchen. She asked Jack to follow her to their bedroom, out of hearing range of Heather. There, she confronted him about the policy. They argued and he swung his fist in front of her face. He grabbed her arm and twisted it before shoving her against the wall, after which, her world went black.

The next time she woke, she was in a cramped, hot, dark space. She’d realized in one horrifying moment that she was locked in the trunk of a car. When the trunk popped open, she caught a glimpse of Jack’s cool, calculating face in the glint of the sun, right before he brought something hard down on her head.

He
had
tried to kill her, and no doubt, he’d try again.

Angela scrambled up from the concrete floor. She had no time to lose. She had to replace the lock that she’d broken, just in case Jack opened the safe and looked in. She yanked open the drawers of his work table and rummaged around, finding a bicycle lock. It would do. It was about the same size and required a combination to open it, just like the other one.

She carried the strongbox upstairs and returned it to the wall safe. After replacing the oil painting, she ran upstairs and checked on Heather, who was still, amazingly, sound asleep. Then she darted into the guest room. There was one more thing to do.

Flying to the bed, she tossed her pillow aside and kissed the little slip of paper. As she picked up the phone and punched in the cell number, she prayed to God that Scott would answer.

Chapter Sixteen

Scott had been unable to sleep. Angela’s long soft hair, sparkling emerald eyes, and heart-shaped lips pervaded his dreams, both while sleeping and awake.

It had taken a while, but after racking his brains, he’d realized she must have seen him and Joanna kiss that night before she left. What he still didn’t understand, however, was why she didn’t say something when he asked her what was wrong. At that moment, he’d had no idea she even knew Joanna had come by.

All he could think about now was how hurt Angela must have been. Over and over, he castigated himself for letting her leave without knowing the truth.

He was outside swinging a hammer and pounding nails into a fence. Sweat dripped down his brow, rolled off his shoulders, and down his muscular bare back. The chiseled face of Jack West played before his eyes. He didn’t like the guy one bit. There was something fishy about him. What had the man done to try to find his missing wife? Scott wondered. Why didn’t he ask about her injuries? According to Buddy, he was nonchalant during their whole interview. And what kind of ridiculous story was that he told about her having been kidnapped? If she’d been kidnapped, why hadn’t the Arizona police plastered her face all over creation the same way Buddy had? Something just didn’t add up and Scott was worried about Angela.

He stuck one nail in his mouth and slammed another one into the fence. Hell. Angela had gone with the guy willingly, after all. They were husband and wife. What else was she supposed to do? It had turned out just as she thought it would. It was a good thing he hadn’t told her he loved her, after all.

He whacked at the nail and hit his thumb. “Shit!” What he needed was to get away from the ranch and clear his head before he maimed himself. He flung the hammer in the dirt and kicked over the box of nails. Wiping sweat from his face with his forearm, he tugged on his shirt and then plodded to the barn and grabbed Pepper’s bridle. After saddling her, he scribbled a note to Cody.

Gone for a ride. Have my cell phone if you need me.

The sun rode high in the cloudless sky as Scott galloped across the mountain on Pepper. She became lathered from the hard ride, but of all the horses he’d ever owned, he knew the mare could handle it. He had to ride out his frustrations, and he’d go to the edge of the earth if that’s what it took.

The horse’s nostrils flared, and she blew air out in loud puffs. Scott finally slowed and walked her down the hill to the lake. He hadn’t ridden here on purpose. He’d just struck out needing to feel the wind at his back, and this is where Pepper took him.

His heart swelled as he neared the sapphire pool, aching with the remembrance of holding Angela and searing her with hot, burning kisses as they lay on the blanket. When she was ensconced in his arms, he felt everything was right with the world. But since she’d left, he couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat, and he couldn’t stop thinking about her fast smile, soft voice and pleasant laugh. Hadn’t he warned himself from the very beginning not to get close to her? Not to let himself fall for her? He had only himself to blame for the emptiness he felt now. But it didn’t make him feel any better to admit it.

He reined Pepper toward the field of wildflowers and swung off her back. After leading her into the marshy reeds at the edge of the water, she drank her fill before he ground-tied her. Sitting cross-legged in the tall grass, he listened to the wind carry its ancient tune across the rippling water.

No matter how he tried to think of something else, his thoughts soared back to Angela. She’d been happy on the ranch. She loved the horses and had taken to riding as if she’d been born in the saddle. She treasured the red mountains and felt a sacred connection to the caves and the ancient spirits who still wandered the woods. But she was most at peace there at the lake, smelling the sweet grass, watching the butterflies, gazing upon the water, and hearing the wind whistle through the canyon.

Scott lay down on the carpet of grass and clasped his hands behind his neck. The sun beat down on him. His skin was already brown as a nut, but he didn’t care if he turned as dark as an Apache. He’d lay there in the sun until the burning in his heart and loins ceased.

He tossed his hat on the ground, and before long, he’d drifted off.

The blare of his cell phone ringing woke him. Half asleep, he wondered how he could receive any service when there were no cell towers for miles. Rising up on his elbows, he plucked out the phone and flipped it open. “Hello.”

“Scott?”

“Yeah, this is Scott.” The phone crackled with bad reception. “If you can hear me, hold on a minute.” He scrambled to his feet and walked a few yards. He was amazed when the connection became crystal clear. “Hello? This is Scott.”

“Thank God! Scott, it’s Angela.”

His heart sunk to the pit of his stomach and blood pumped through his veins like a speeding train. “I’m here,” he shouted. “I can hear you. Tell me I’m not dreaming. Is it really you?”

“You’re not dreaming. It’s me.”

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you. I know it’s wrong, since you’re married and all, but—”

“I’m not married,” she blurted.

Scott stared into the phone. “Come again? Our reception must be bad. I thought I just heard you say you’re not married.”

“That’s exactly what you heard. My memory has returned and I know what happened to me. It’s a long story, which I’ll explain when you get here.”

“When I get there?” He scratched his head.

“Yes. I’m calling because I need your help. Jack’s not my husband. He’s my ex-husband.”

“Your…ex-husband?” Scott repeated, making sure he’d heard correctly.

“That’s right. I was already divorced from him when you and I met.”

Scott’s tongue knotted.

“Are you still there?” she asked. “Did you hear what I said? I’m not married.”

A wide smile spread across his face. “I heard you, darlin’, and that’s the best damned news I’ve ever heard.”

“It is?”

“Of course!” He knew she’d taken a chance by calling him. He recalled Jack’s attitude when they left together and realized his instincts had been right.

“I don’t have much time,” she told him, “but it’s so good to hear your voice. You’re one of the few people I feel I can trust right now.”

“I’ve been thinking of you every minute since you left,” Scott confessed. “I’m so glad you called.”

“You’re not just saying that because you feel sorry for me, are you?”

“No, I’m not, Angela. I’ve missed you more than you know.”

“I’ve missed you, too. Although I know I shouldn’t. Because of Joanna,” she added.

Scott ran a hand through his tousled hair. His heart melted. If he could have reached through the phone and taken her in his arms right then, he would have. “You saw her kiss me the night before you left with West. Am I right?”

There was a pause before she answered. “Yes. I knew then that you weren’t over her. But I don’t want to get into that right now, Scott. I need your help. If you’re willing to give it.”