Shadows of the Past (Logan Point Book #1): A Novel (17 page)

“Nothing will ever come of it. I don’t have the energy or inclination for a relationship.” Resignation tinged her mom’s voice. “Besides, he’s too young for me.”

“Ethan’s what, a couple of years younger? That’s nothing.”

“More like five. In ten years when I’m sixty, he’ll be fifty-five.”

Taylor laughed. “Haven’t you heard? Sixty is the new forty.”

“I’m serious. You’ve seen him. Ethan is very good-looking. I’m surprised he isn’t dating one of those pretty young lawyers in Memphis. I don’t even know how this . . . attraction started. He’s always been around, but it’s like now we’re seeing each other for the first time.”

“Well, I think he knows a good thing when he sees it.”

“You’re talking foolishness. Don’t you have something better to do? I thought you were going to Kate’s.”

Taylor stood and lifted another cinnamon roll onto a napkin. “I am.”

“Then go and stop tormenting me.”

The lingering scent of smoke and charred wood pinched Nick’s nose as he viewed the destroyed kitchen. Angie’s kitchen. He scowled at the burn pattern etched up the wall behind the stove, blistered paint, blackened curtains, and soot everywhere. A charred iron skillet sat on the stove top, the once chrome-plated knob still turned on high.

He stepped through the rubble. Spied the broken whiskey bottle. Booze . . . a wasted life. Nick shook his head. That was not going to be Scott’s future. It was time to shake some sense into his brother’s head, and he would as soon as Scott could put two sentences together.

Nick had come out to his house to pick up a change of clothes. Scratch that idea unless he wanted to smell like a chimney. Unwillingly, his gaze traveled to where Angie’s cookbooks had lined the wall. Now the shelf and cookbooks lay in a charred clump on the blackened floor. His anger burned hot against Scott. Probably a good thing he couldn’t get his hands on his little brother right now.

Nick knelt and dug through the heap, seeking the cookbook he’d looked through yesterday. Was it just yesterday? He pulled the waterlogged book from the bottom of the pile and placed it on the kitchen table. At least it hadn’t been completely destroyed.

Unbidden, Taylor’s image popped into his mind . . . Blue eyes that deepened to violet as she’d listened to his story about Scott. Nick’s hand went to his wedding band. He’d done nothing wrong yesterday. He slid the band back and forth on his finger.

Other than want to
kiss Taylor.

T
aylor made one last pull on the wet clay and admired the height of her pot. It was good to lose herself in the clay before Livy arrived. Then would be soon enough to return to her problems, but for the moment, all she wanted to do was put aside thoughts of someone trying to kill her.

Kate stopped by her wheel. “I miss you three girls in the pottery room, but I see you still have the touch.”

“I wish.” She’d never had Livy and Robyn’s skill, but she’d had determination. Taylor wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. An oscillating floor fan swayed from side to side, stirring the air.

She stood a ruler beside the cylinder. Tall enough for a nice vase. Not bad for someone who hadn’t sat behind a wheel in a while. “Don’t know why I quit this.”

Feeling the clay as it became smooth under her hands and then transforming it into something beautiful touched deep inside her. She cocked her head to the side and studied the cylinder. “If I turn this into a pitcher, would you attach the handle?”

“Sure, honey. I’ll do yours when I do mine.”

Taylor spun the wheel, carefully bellying the cylinder. After she formed the pouring lip and trimmed the bottom, she admired her work, pleased that she hadn’t collapsed the whole thing.

“Good job.” Kate placed a freshly glazed vase in the kiln and then set Taylor’s pitcher on the drying rack beside the ones she’d made earlier. “I’ll roll these outside. In this heat, they should be leather hard by afternoon and ready for the handles. Want to make something else?”

Taylor glanced at the clock. Almost ten-thirty. It’d taken her four attempts and an hour to make the pitcher. “I’d like to, but Livy should be here soon. I think I’ll come back another day.”

She slipped off the mud-splattered apron she’d worn to protect her clothes and hung it on a peg. As she washed the clay from her hands, her cell rang. She grabbed a towel, then fished the phone out of her pocket. Her heart kicked an extra beat. Nick. She had not mentioned him to Kate yet. “Hello?”

“Good morning.”

His brother must be a lot better. She tried to match his upbeat tone. “Good morning to you too. How’s Scott?”

“They took the oxygen off early this morning and are moving him out of ICU today. I wanted to share the good news with you.”

Taylor caught a guarded note in his voice. She picked at a tiny lump of clay on the wheel. “I’m glad.”

“Um, did you ask Kate about a room?”

“Not yet.”

“If you’d rather I not stay there, I can find a place around here.”

“No, don’t do that,” she replied. “Kate’s right here. I’ll ask and call you back.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

Kate’s eyes questioned as Taylor pressed end. “I have a friend who needs a place to stay until repairs are completed to his house. Nick Sinclair.” Taylor went on to explain about Scott and how the fire occurred. “I told him about your bed and breakfast, and he was interested.”

“Would the brother be coming?”

Taylor hadn’t thought about that. “I assume Scott will go into rehab.”

Kate lifted another vase and ran a damp sponge over it. “I’ve taken in a few teens with problems, so it wouldn’t be a big deal with me. As long as it wouldn’t be a big deal with you.”

“I’m sure Nick will insist on rehab. He’s very busy working on edits for his next book.”

Kate’s brow pinched together. Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open. “Wait a minute—are you talking about
the
Nick Sinclair? The writer from Memphis?”

Taylor nodded, and Kate’s voice rose with excitement. “I’ve read every one of his books. Call and tell him he’s more than welcome.”

She dialed Nick’s number. “Kate will be pleased for you to stay here.”

“Good.” He sounded relieved. “I’ll try to be there by three. I’m meeting with a restoration company around one to get an estimate on the repairs. Hopefully, I’ll only need a place for a week or so.”

“I’ll tell her.”

Nick hesitated, and Taylor heard him take a deep breath.

“I’d hoped to stop by your house, but I doubt now I’ll have time. Will you be home tomorrow? I’d really like to see you.”

Her breath caught. He wanted to see her? “Tomorrow we’re having a picnic at the lake behind the house. Why don’t you come?”

“What time?”

“Fivish.”

“Uh, sure—I ought to be able to work a picnic in around hospital visits. I’ll call you if something comes up.”

“Good.” She ended the call and relayed what Nick had said.

“I appreciate that you recommended the B and B to him.” Kate set the now-glazed vase on the rack. “In case Nick Sinclair asks, how would you feel about the brother coming here?”

Good question. While she didn’t believe Scott was her stalker, her gut said he knew something. Maybe with him next door, she’d at least get to question him. “I’d be okay with it.”

“From what you’ve said, though, the boy needs to be in rehab.”

“I agree.” Taylor rubbed a smudge from the white case on her phone. All morning she’d been waiting for the perfect opportunity to ask Kate about her dad, and it hadn’t materialized. And probably wouldn’t.
Just ask.
“Do you know why my dad left?”

Kate paused with a mug halfway to the glaze bucket. “What?”

“I’m having those nightmares again, and I thought if I knew more about why he left . . .” Taylor sighed and looked off. “Kate, I really have to find him.”

Kate set the mug on a table and peeled her latex gloves off. “I don’t think anyone really knows why, Taylor. I personally believe—” She pressed her lips together. “Never mind what I believe. The important thing for you to remember is your father loved you very much. All of you.”

“Then why did he leave?”

“I don’t know.”

“You know Mom and Jonathan had Dad declared legally dead?”

Silently Kate nodded. “They didn’t have any choice, honey. Your mom asked my advice about it before they actually started the process, and I told her I thought it was the only thing she could do. She needed to get on with her life—not that she did.”

“They could’ve told us. Mom insists that he’s not dead.”

“I know,” Kate said. “Sometimes your mom . . .”

“You think he’s dead.”

“The way he loved you kids and Allison . . . I just don’t see it being anything else.” She closed her eyes. “But I understand where she’s coming from.”

“Robyn?”

Kate nodded. “It’s a little different with your dad, though. I’ve heard from Robyn, and except for that letter right after he left, Allison never heard from James.”

“What about the rumors that he ran away to start another family?” She remembered the taunts from some of the kids in school. “I mean, the ten thousand dollars he took with him pretty well indicates that.”

“There were lots of rumors flying then, and if you stir this up, you’ll hear a lot more than you want to.”

A memory blasted through her mind.
“I love you, Taylor. Don’t ever forget it.”
He’d been planning to leave even as he told her he loved her. Just like her ex-fiancé. “Kate, what’s wrong with me? Why couldn’t I keep my dad from leaving or hold on to my fiancé?”

Kate took her hands. “Now, you listen to me. For whatever reason your father left, it had nothing to do with you. Don’t look to men for your worth, Taylor. You have a heavenly Father who thinks you’re pretty incredible. He created you because he loves you.”

She wanted to believe that, but if it was true, why didn’t God answer her prayers and bring her father home?

Tires crunched in the gravel parking lot, saving Taylor from saying something she might regret. A minute later Livy appeared in the doorway.

“It’s about time,” Kate said. “I thought you were going to change your hair.”

Livy ran her hand over the short blonde spikes. “Nah, think I like it this way.” She glanced over the rack of pitchers. “Which one’s yours?”

Taylor laughed. “The smallest one.”

“Not bad. One of these days, I’m going to work on the wheel.”

Kate hooted. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”

Livy turned to Taylor. “I did the impossible and located your dad’s records, but they hadn’t reached my office when I left.”

“You found his files? Why didn’t you wait for them?”

“Because I wanted to talk to Ben about another case before he got out of pocket. It’ll probably be late this afternoon before I get them. I’ll call you as soon as I do.”

“Well, I have something for you.” Taylor reached into the bag she’d brought and pulled out Ross’s profile. “Here’s a preliminary on the Ross murder investigation. I don’t think Scott’s involved in it. With everything that’s happened, I haven’t had time to finish it up.”

“That’s okay. This case is going nowhere. Anything you can give me will help.” Livy placed the folder in her bag. “We are—”

“Excuse me,” Kate said. “When you two finish talking police business, I’ll be in the house with lunch ready.”

“Sounds good,” Livy said as her cell phone rang. She glanced at the screen and made a face. “Mac.” She pushed the answer button. “This better be important.”

Livy’s expression changed from teasing to sober, then disgust. “I’ll be there as soon as I can,” she said, then hung up.

“Something wrong?” Taylor asked.

“A kid discovered a woman’s body. It’s not our case yet, but Mac wants me to cover it just in case it gets dumped in our lap.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Me too. Even sorrier for that poor woman.”

Like floating in a blanket of cobwebs, Scott drifted in and out of consciousness, never quite rousing. He barely sensed being moved, rolling through the hallway. People came in and out of his room. Occasionally, someone applied pressure to his right arm. He smelled soap and aftershave and briefly wondered if they’d bathed him. No,
that
he would have remembered.

He liked this place in between waking and sleeping. A wave of nausea hit, and he retched. Strong hands turned him. A nurse pressed a wet cloth against his mouth, and later a voice, deep and soothing, spoke words of comfort. Nick? The swish of soft soles and the light fragrance of jasmine curled inside his nose before he slipped back into his surreal world.

“Fired. F-i-r-e-
d.” Johnson shoved him, and Scott staggered against the wall. “
I’m tired of you showing up half drunk, arguing
with the customers. Now clear out. I don’t want
to see your face around here ever again.”

Find Ross.
Make him pay for getting him fired. Follow Ross . . . struggling . . .

“
Drink this. You’ll feel better.”

“Digger?” Relief. His friend
was here.

Fire! Flames shot up the wall. Where did
Digger go? Gotta put out the fire. Pain exploded in
his head . . .

“Mr. Sinclair! Wake up!”

His heart jerked in his throat. Sweat drenched his body. A nurse hovered over him, her voice a din in his ears.

“Mr. Sinclair, are you all right?”

“Fire,” he mumbled. “Gotta get the fire out.”

“There’s no fire. You’re in the hospital.”

Hospital? He shuddered a breath and stared at the nurse as she concentrated on something over his head. He twisted to see. A monitor. Then she inserted a hypodermic needle into his IV. “What are you giving me?”

“Valium. It should help.”

A slightly sweet metallic taste filled his mouth, then his muscles relaxed. The next time he roused, Nick was standing at the foot of his bed. Scott pretended sleep, hoping his brother would go away. He didn’t want a sermon. He’d had enough of those to last a lifetime.

“I know you’re awake.”

Scott cracked an eyelid. “No preaching,” he croaked.

“Okay. Can I get you anything?”

“How about a pint of Jack Daniels for starters.”

“They’re trying to dry you out.”

Nick didn’t sound mad. Another wave of nausea hit, and Scott curled into a fetal position. Spasms racked his body. He hugged his arms to his stomach. The dry heaves had started.

His brother was in full-blown withdrawal. Nick glanced at the monitor and groaned at the 163 pulse rate. Where was the nurse? He pressed the call button. The usual “can I help you” did not come.