Bringing Delaney Home (Cates Brothers #1) (7 page)

“I did not ‘flounder.’ I might have been bucked out of the saddle, but I got up and moved on,” he said, pointing a finger at her.

“Rode other horses? So to speak.” Greer looked like she was having too much fun at his expense.

Fine. He could take it. “We’re going with a cowboy analogy here? Right. It’s looking like I might just be a one-horse cowboy, and I’m gonna try one more time to saddle this wild horse.”

“Well, giddy up. Just remember Delaney’s in a bad place right now.” She got up from the table, taking the stack of cake dishes to the sink.

“Believe me, I know.”

“But, Quinn, it’s more than you know. She was—”

“Greer, I’ve worked lots of car crashes. Cops handle trauma. It’s our job. They make us take classes and everything. I’ve got this. And now that we’re about to put Mama Cates on the case . . .”

“Have I told you how much I hate it when you use your ‘cop voice’ on me? I know it works magic calming down old ladies who’ve lost their cats, but it only pisses me off.” Greer’s gaze raked over him. “Okay, cowboy. Call your mom. I’ll let Delaney know we’re heading out.”

Maybe he had a way of coming in and taking over, but over the years he’d found confidence and calmness in the face of calamity created trust. People trusted him and let him help carry their burdens. That helped him be a better cop and friend. Heck, hadn’t Greer asked him to get Delaney home because she’d had no doubt he would?

He might have messed up this time though. He got the sense Greer had been about to tell him something important, but then he’d opened his mouth and Officer Cates had “soothed” her. Fine. Maybe it was the cop in him. Or habit from years of avoiding talking about Delaney. When you’re fighting a fire, you cut off what feeds it.

“Speaking of calling, your phone’s dead. Any chance you didn’t pay your bill or your cable’s out?”

Greer shook her head. “I paid my bill and I don’t have cable.”

“Damn.” Quinn pulled his cell phone from his back pocket.

“No. No ‘damn.’ We don’t have time for ‘damn.’ We’ve got to go talk with your mom.”

“I’m going to check your phone line out back, then call this in. It’s possible whoever dropped off the cake cut the phone lines. We’re making time for ‘damn.’ ‘Damn’ just moved to the top of our list. We need to find out who’s trying to scare Delaney into leaving town.”

Chapter Seven

T
he physical therapy table would have been a great place to nap—if it weren’t for the physical therapist from hell pulling, bending, and banging on her body as if this session was make or break. Greer had been working on her for thirty minutes now, but no matter how much it hurt, Delaney was determined not to complain. She’d worried Greer enough. For the next few weeks she’d be all “Yes, Greer” and “Whatever you say, Greer” until the worried frown was off her face.

“Do you know if Quinn has any information on yesterday’s message cake?”

“No, and I don’t want to talk about it.” Of course, she hadn’t answered her phone when he called. She’d let it go right to voice mail like all her other phone calls. Huh, that sucker was probably full by now. Oh well, the best way to deal with each new stress was to
not
deal with any of it. She couldn’t afford to.
Go Away
. Whoever wanted her gone should save their energy because that was her plan, to go away just as soon as Greer stopped worrying.

“I heard he kissed you. How was—”

Delaney lifted her head to scowl at her sister, then lay back down on the table. “I’m not talking about that either.”

“Okay. Well, you’re lucky, that’s all I can say.” Greer finished manipulating her leg and moved over to the small freezer. She pulled out a cold pack and wrapped it in a towel before placing it on Delaney’s leg.

Delaney snorted. “Because Quinn kissed me?”

“No. I mean, yes, because Quinn’s a great guy, but I was talking about your leg.”

“Lucky, huh?” The cold seeped through all the aching layers of muscle, nerve, and bone. It polished down the sharp, stabbing edge of pain, leaving only a throbbing irritation. “I’ve been called ornery, cranky, contrary, intractable, mulish, and grumpy. Never lucky.”

“I stand corrected. You aren’t lucky. Thank God you are ornery, cranky, contrary, intractable, and mulish because that’s probably why your recovery was almost textbook—until you went AWOL.”

Textbook?
Delaney peered up at Greer. “In retrospect, going AWOL from therapy was a bad choice. I’m sorry I worried you, but honestly, I just needed a . . . a vacation. From reality.”

“Uh-huh. Well, no more vacations for a while. You actually
are
lucky you didn’t lose much over the three weeks. Thank goodness you didn’t form contractures, because those are hell to fix.”

“Contractures?”

“When a body stays static too long, the muscles and tendons tighten and shorten, and then they impede movement.”

Static
. That’s what her life felt like. Like she’d been stuck in the same place ever since the explosion. Treading water, barely staying afloat, but not moving toward the shore either. Totally adrift from the person she was before.

“And lucky because you had a great surgeon. You were already fit and strong from running, and your natural athletic ability has helped you adapt well to walking with your prosthesis. Thank goodness you didn’t lose your knee.”

Yes, Greer. Whatever you say, Greer
.

“God, I’m rambling.” She scrubbed her hands over her face wearily, “I’m sorry. I was so worried about you, you just don’t know.”

“I know. The whole kidnapping thing was a big clue.”

“I just needed to know you weren’t—”

“I’m not. Look, I’ll eat, and attend these PT sessions, and even work out at the gym, but I can’t stay here, Greer. There are too many bad memories for me here.

“When I walked into the library, I remembered Daddy yelling at Mrs. Johnson about my overdue library book. He had the poor woman in tears over my one-dollar fine. That was the last time I checked a book out.”

“That’s why you told me I could only read the books while we were there.”

“Everywhere I look, it’s like he’s a ghost clunking around town. The gas station where he accused Cooter of running up the bill, the movie theater when he tracked me down in the middle of a movie and pulled me home.” She needed to exorcise the man from her head, but failing that, getting far away from his memory would help. “Once you see I’m okay, I need to head back to D.C.”

“Let’s not think that far ahead, okay?” Greer’s hands fluttered before settling on the cold pack and towels to remove them from Delaney’s leg. She handed Delaney her prosthesis and sweatpants from the nearby chair, then cleaned up the TENS unit she’d used for pain therapy. “I think we should just take it one day at a time.”

What she had done to Greer was unfair. It was only right to ease her mind before escaping back to D.C. Yes, Greer. Whatever you say, Greer. Delaney nodded her head. “One day at a time. I can do that.”

“Sure you can. What are you going to do with the rest of the day?”

The rest of the day? The hell if she knew. Trying to make it through each day as it came was how she’d ended up alone in her apartment with only PBS and a bottle of cabernet to keep her company. When the stress, failures, pain, and nightmares became overwhelming, she withdrew. It was safer. She hadn’t been living the last few months, not really. It was more like existing defensively. Treading water beat sinking any day. “I’ll figure something out. Thanks for fitting me in before your first patient arrives.”

“Well, that’s when we fit in all our patients who have secrets to keep. Take some pain medication, because you might be a little more sore today. And don’t skip lunch. I’ll be home to help with supper.”

Yes, Greer. Whatever you say, Greer
.

A few hours later, after trying to zone out to
Sesame Street
and, when that failed, soak in the tub, Delaney wandered aimlessly from room to room in the small house. It was surprising how neat the house was. It almost didn’t look lived in, but it had never felt like a cozy home and maybe that was the vibe she couldn’t shake. She was pretty sure she still hated it even though Greer had painted the rooms bright, sunshiny colors.

For her, the rooms of the house had absorbed all the ugliness of her parents’ dysfunction. She could still hear her father’s angry yelling and painful name-calling echoing off the walls. Her mother’s form a psychic shadow blending into the dark corners where she had perfected avoiding her husband’s attention, often sacrificing her daughters to the path of his anger.

Nervous energy had her poking around the house. She found her old fishing rod in the storage closet next to the pantry. Delaney ran her hand lightly up the delicate, flexible end, where a faded plastic bob dangled loosely with no hook in sight. A quick glance around the closet found her tackle box on the floor behind the vacuum cleaner. Sure enough, she opened it to find it semi-stocked. Heck, she was probably the last one to open it eight years ago. Back in high school, fishing and running had been her two escapes. She ignored the twist of her gut at the thought of running. At least she still had fishing, and just like in high school it would get her out of this darn house before the walls closed in around her.

She drove her Jeep to Parker’s Creek over on Big Pine Road. It wasn’t far and no one used the road much since it dead ended after a few houses. Parking on the shoulder of the road just before the bridge, she took her time getting out her folding canvas chair and small cooler. The steep descent down to the bank of the creek made her choose an alternate location for fishing. The bridge would be fine today. The bridge didn’t actually have a name, but as long as Delaney could remember, everyone had called it Baxter Bridge since both Mr. Baxter and his son, Junior, lived in the only two houses on the other side.

Once settled in her chair with her shoes propped on her cooler, she began threading new fishing line under the line roller and through all the guides along the pole. She took her time attaching a new hook with the only knot she had mastered, the cinch knot.

She had stopped by Lonnie’s Bait and Tackle Shop for some new line. Just like when she was in high school, the shop still had a group of cheap plastic tables where the old-timers sat over coffee and fishing stories. Lonnie had recommended a new bob and she’d raised a few eyebrows when she’d walked right by the bait bucket. By lunch, everyone in Climax would know her shocking fishing habits. But why bother to bait the hook when her goal wasn’t to catch a fish? It had never been about the fish. It had always been about finding a few hours of peace.

Speaking of peace, she’d made the mistake of asking about the best knot for tying a hook. That was when chaos had erupted. Whoa, who knew knots were so controversial? She’d slipped quietly from the shop as the “great knot debate” raged.

Once her rod and reel were ready, she stood up against the bridge railing ready to cast off. The musical laughter of the creek eased her spirit as it danced and swirled over and around the smooth stones below. Pointing the rod toward the stream, she drew it back and then threw it forward, trying for one smooth motion. Like the graceful arch of a ballet dancer’s back, the rod flexed just before she pushed it forward.

She was pretty sure her form would scandalize the regulars at Lonnie’s shop, but she had taught herself by watching videos on the Internet. No father/daughter bonding fishing lessons in her past. Shaking her head to clear that train of thought, she wiggled her rod to eliminate loops in her line. She was settling in to relax when the short burst of a police siren pulling behind her Jeep sliced right through her peace.

The sudden noise sent a surge of adrenaline through her body. Her heart raced and every muscle in her body tensed.
Breathe. Relax
.

It was no surprise to see Quinn step out of the police car and head her way. Every time she turned around, the man was close enough to steal her oxygen supply.

“Officer Cates. Lovely day for fishing, isn’t it?” She reeled in her line and threw it back out, the motion part of the ritual of fishing.

“It would be, except you’re breaking the law.”

“Oh, I don’t have a fishing license, but we didn’t used to need one years ago.”

“Still don’t,” Quinn said. “It’s the ‘No Fishing From the Bridge’ sign you’re standing next to that’ll get you thrown in the pokey.”

Okay, Quinn didn’t know about her missing foot, so he couldn’t know how impossible the climb down to the creek bank was for her. But he sure as heck knew nobody but nobody drove on this bridge. She glanced at the sign, then over at Quinn, and shrugged. “I thought that was more of a guideline than a rule. Besides, no one uses this road except Mr. Baxter and Junior. And I mean no one.”

“Actually, it’s more of the law than a guideline. And you’re breaking it. Plus, I’m still considering whether or not to book you on inciting a riot.”

That put a hitch in her smooth casting motion. Her rod twitched when her head turned toward Quinn, and she felt the hook and line jerk to the right. Instead of the welcoming splash of water, the rustle of greenery accompanied each tug on her line. “Darn it. Now look what you did.”

“What I did? I wasn’t the one who walked into Lonnie’s, started a debate about the best fishing knot, and left when the fists went flying.” Quinn reached into Delaney’s tackle box, pulling out a pocket knife. He reached over the bridge wall and cut the line on her fishing rod. “You are a walking, talking trouble magnet.”

“Hey, that was a brand-new hook! And I didn’t know asking about a knot was worse than comparing banana pudding recipes at the church bazaar.”

“I’m begging you not to bring that up anywhere around town either. I’m sorry about your hook. I was just trying to help.”

“I don’t need your help. Ever. Okay?” Delaney ran a hand distractedly up and down the fishing rod.

Quinn’s eyes followed her hand until he groaned and pried the rod out of her hands. He leaned it against the side of the bridge giving it one last glance before turning back. “Everyone needs help, Delaney. All you have to do is ask.”