The Ballerina's Stand (22 page)

He moved toward her. “You still talk like a moron, princess?” The man faced her to speak, making sure she could clearly read his lips, as if he knew—

How...? She tried to step away, but he was too quick. Thick, hard fingers dug into her arm. Realization dawned quick and painful. The bus driver? The one who drove so wildly? It couldn't be... Kenny! She struggled to get away, but he was too strong.

“You didn't recognize me, did you, princess?” He looked rough, rougher even than he'd looked driving the late-night bus. His jaw was unshaven, his hair long and shaggy. Anger and frustration rolled off him.

He was right. She hadn't recognized him. She'd simply been focused on her life, on riding the bus home.

His hot breath brushed her face. “All those times on my bus? You were in
my
world.” He laughed, poking at his chest, to gloat. Though Lauren couldn't hear, she recognized that sneer. She shivered.

“Ever wonder why I drove like I did?” He laughed again. “All that perfect balance you got? I controlled you. Made you bump into a seat. Stumble.”

Was that what a cackle looked like?

Lauren trembled and cringed, knowing Kenny felt her fear. She had to think.

She glared at him, not able to sign, unable and unwilling to do anything else. He glared back and the years fell away. She saw him as he'd been—the bully bent on making everyone, especially a hearing-impaired girl, feel like less than dirt. She had to get away. No one was going to save her. The guys had no idea where she was. Why hadn't she stayed at the cabin?

Jason. Her heart skipped a beat. He'd blame himself if something happened to her. He took responsibility so seriously.

She shook her head to dispel such thoughts. She couldn't worry about him now. She had to worry about herself. She couldn't tell Jason how she felt, how much she appreciated him if Kenny finished what he'd told her all those years ago he wanted to do to her. That he'd done to those other girls. Her mind fell backward to that awful day.

She'd gotten away from him then. She'd been thirteen. Surely at twenty-eight she was just as capable.
Think,
she told herself. What happened back then? What had she done?

Sweet-talking wasn't an option. Despite the cringe that shook through her, she relaxed and leaned against him. She watched the grin spread over his thin lips.

Lauren had to look at Kenny to read his lips. But making sure her expression didn't give away her true emotions took everything she had. All those hours of practice for the stage blessedly came to her rescue. She forced her lips into the best smile she could fake.

“You got it.” He nodded. “You. Me. Alone here.” He leaned closer, too close. “Did you like the flowers?” She resisted the urge to gag. His grip loosened, just like it had in the school yard back in middle school. She was expecting it, but he wasn't the teen he'd been then. As she pulled back, she watched the dark take over his eyes. She had to act. Now.

She yanked free, feeling dirty fingernails cut along her arm. She focused. And pulled harder. This time when he reached for her, she was ready.

She lifted her arm. The thick cast that had driven her crazy for a week glowed bright white in the midday sun. She smashed the hard plaster into the bridge of his nose. For an instant, she actually felt his scream of rage.

She didn't stick around to find out what happened next. She ran. Just as she had when she was a kid. Her feet found purchase on the uneven path. Branches scraped her face as she ducked under the trees. Was he behind her? Would he catch her? She couldn't let him.

This path, while familiar, was also unknown. As a little girl, she'd been more interested in the tall man beside her. But if she stuck to the trail, Kenny would know where she was headed. Was there another way?

She took a chance and turned into the trees. Praying she was headed the right way.

If she wasn't? She'd rather perish in the woods than let Kenny ever touch her again.

The edge of the cabin's roof appeared over the hill. She couldn't let her relief slow her down. It wasn't in the cards to be Kenny's victim today. She pounded up the hill.

She focused on her destination, heading toward the cabin. A tree root seemed to leap out of the ground. As if in slow motion, she fell. Her palms hit gravel the same instant her knees pounded the dirt.

Hard fingers grabbed her ankle and yanked. Her shirt slid up as he dragged her backward. Gravel and pine needles scraped her skin. Anger bubbled up inside her. She kicked without looking, her foot connecting with solid muscle and bone. She didn't think it was his nose again, but she hoped so. He didn't let go. Instead, he flung her over, making her lie there on the ground, staring up at his bloodied, angry face.

“Bitch,” he spat, words and blood. “You ruined my life. Tattling to that damned caseworker. You'll pay for the mess you made.”

What mess? She thought of the rap sheet she'd read in Pal's file on her. That wasn't her doing. He'd done it himself, but he didn't seem to see it that way.

Seeing his fist raised in the air, the forest dark behind him, she cringed at the hatred on his face.

Ballet required a limberness she knew he didn't have. Toe shoes put calluses on her feet that were now a blessing. She aimed. And kicked. He wouldn't be having children anytime soon—or ever. His mouth widened in a scream. He let go.

Scrambling to her knees, she crawled a few feet, then levered up. And ran like hell—again.

The hill was steep. She'd just emerged from the trees when she caught sight of something she didn't expect. A bright red Hummer sat in front of the hitching post.

The unblemished clearing that had yesterday been filled with wild grasses and flowers had been torn apart by the vehicle's big tires. Her heart pounded, her mouth went dry. Anger flooded through her. How dare he!

She reached the cabin's steps, her feet pounding the wood. She tried to turn the handle, but she couldn't get a grip. Finally, it turned and she stepped inside.

The cabin was still empty. She was on her own. She slammed and locked the door. It was solid, but it wouldn't hold long if Kenny came after her. She had to find a weapon, had to reinforce the door. She spun around, looking for anything.

For a heartbreaking instant, she froze. Kenny had been in every room. She knew because he'd thrown everything around. Pillows and cushions from the couch. Upending chairs.

The pictures. Her heart broke. They'd been knocked to the floor. Her mother's picture was intact, but the glass cracked across Rachel's face. The other one, the one of Pal, was more than cracked. He'd flung the frame to the floor. The way the glass spider-webbed over Pal's face showed he'd stomped on it. Destroying the glass, breaking the frame, and nearly obliterating Pal's face.

Lauren's eyes burned. She might be angry at her father, but how dare Kenny?

They might not be perfect memories, and she might never know all the answers, but they were hers. Not his. She wasn't letting him, or anyone, take them away now that she had them back.

Anger spilled into an adrenaline rush. The big heavy couch—she had to move it. She shoved. Again and again. The legs scooted against the wood, vibrating through her. Inch by tiny inch it moved. Finally, she leaned against it. It was tight against the door. The couch would slow him down, but it wouldn't stop him.

She needed a weapon. The fireplace poker and two knives from the kitchen would have to do.

Minutes, maybe hours, passed. Trembling, she felt her anger—deeper and hotter than ever—boil inside her. She rummaged in her purse, seemingly untouched by Kenny, and grabbed her phone. Damn it. No battery and no electricity to charge it.

Where was Kenny? What was he doing? Where were Jason and Harley? She'd be damned if she'd let Kenny win.
Or
hurt either of them.

Her thoughts raced. And understanding dawned.
This
must be what Jason felt for her. This need to protect, to take care of things and people she loved. She couldn't turn it off any more than he could. And she didn't want to.

As she waited, she set to work cleaning up everything, and sorting through the chaos in her head. Bus driver? Really? Had he set the fire, too? He must have. Just to manipulate her, or kill her? She stamped her foot, wishing she could stomp Kenny.

Lauren took the pictures out of the frames, tossing the chards of glass. She'd have them restored. She put the pillows back on the couch, which looked ridiculous with it shoved up against the door. It didn't matter how ridiculous anything looked.

She was taking control.

* * *

“H
OW
LONG
HAVE
you known Lauren?” Harley asked. They were about halfway around the property. He'd shown Jason two of the cornerstones. They were buried, but intact.

“Not as long as I'd like.” Jason smiled. “I've known the rest of her family since I was a kid.”

Harley nodded, then turned in his saddle to look at Jason. “Did anyone know Rachel or Lauren even existed?” The pain in the old man's eyes was deep.

Jason shook his head. “Not as far as I know.” They rode in silence for a minute. “I don't even remember a Mrs. Haymaker. I know she was there.” He thought back. “But she was pretty invisible.”

Harley nodded. “Beth was a very timid woman. If she knew her husband had another family, I doubt she'd have ever said or done anything. She was scared to death of him, but even more scared, I think, of bein' on her own.”

They rode to the next marker without talking. Back up in the saddle again, Jason was the one to ask the question this time. “How did Lauren get to LA from here?”

Harley didn't look surprised by the question. “I took her.” Harley's voice broke as he looked over at the horizon, in the direction of the cabin. “We buried Rachel out by the pond. That's what she wanted. There's a small marker there.” He rode in silence for a minute. “I took Lauren down the mountain on horseback after Rachel passed.”

His voice broke again. “That little one was so lost. She kept crying for her mama, until she finally fell asleep.”

Jason felt his own throat tighten. “Where did you take her?”

“To Pal. But the bastard was so drunk, he couldn't think straight. Couldn't even stand up. The dumb shit. He came after me when we went to leave. He fell down the stairs and broke a hip. That's when he had to start using the canes all the time.” Another long silence. More questions flew around in Jason's head, but he didn't think Harley was up to hearing them.

“Me and the missus kept her as long as we could. But the county got wind of us having her. The social worker at the hospital where Pal was called social services. They took her.”

That made sense. Not a pretty image, but reality.

“He didn't even fight to keep her.” Harley was angry now. “He let the system take her. And we couldn't find her. We weren't family, so they wouldn't let us know what was going on.” His voice cracked, and while Jason couldn't see his face, he knew the anguish he'd see there.

“I think Rachel would have appreciated you trying.” He would never know the woman, but he knew the love Lauren felt for her, even if her memory was vague, the bond was solid. Maybe the pain she'd felt here was what kept her from remembering?

He thought of his own mother and all she'd done for them after their father had died. “Thanks, Mom,” he whispered, his head tipped up at the blue sky above.

They finished the last section of the ride in silence and headed back toward the cabin. He'd wondered what Lauren had done with her morning. She'd been adamant that she was fine, and he gave her the space she asked for. Now he was anxious to see her and hear her decision. There was no rush, but she'd been the one to decide that she was making up her mind today.

“Oh, hell no!” Harley's voice echoed across the wide field as they came over the ridge. The older man kicked his horse into a run. Leaning low over the horse's neck, they raced across the grass.

Thick tire tracks cut across the pristine field. What the—? Jason soon caught up with Harley.

* * *

T
HE
COUCH
MOVED
. Just an inch. Hurrying to the window, Lauren saw Kenny kicking the door. She'd been right, the door wouldn't hold long. He was yelling something, but she couldn't read his lips.

Should she run? Or stay by the door and hit him with the poker? Could she actually stab him with a knife? Panic threatened.

The thumping stopped. Where was he? Had he given up? The Hummer was still there. He was out there, somewhere.

Suddenly, he was there, on the other side of the glass, glaring evilly at her. She took a step back, holding the poker like a baseball bat. His fist came toward her, through the glass. Blood and glass flew everywhere. She prepared to swing when he suddenly froze.

He stumbled backward. Then crumbled into an unmoving heap. She scooted away, surprised when a shadow fell over him. Confused she glanced out at Kenny. And then at the shadow.

Harley stood at the top of the steps, his face dark and menacing. His weathered old frame was outlined by the daylight as he lowered the rifle he'd aimed at Kenny.

Kenny didn't move. A wide stain of dark red grew on the fabric of his shirt.

Suddenly, there was movement everywhere. The couch slid. The door flew open. Strong, familiar arms wrapped around her, lifting her. Holding tight. Jason's scent permeated the air, engulfing her, the poker and the knives clattering to the floor. She threw her arms around Jason's neck.

She trembled and Jason moved, taking her away from where Harley knelt beside Kenny. Jason sat down in the big chair, not letting her go. Pulling her tight against him.

She had to know. She struggled back from Jason's hold, staring first at his face, at the agony there, and then beyond him. To the open doorway. To where Harley was wrapping the colorful afghan around Kenny's shoulder, holding the blanket tight against his wound. The bright colors soon turned dark red. He didn't cover his face, though. He was still alive.