One True Heart (27 page)

The old man frowned. “I don't need to read your palm to see what's happening. You start courting that girl proper or I'm leaving the farm to Wendell.”

“Don't threaten me,” Johnny stiffened. Whenever his grandfather wanted to control him, he always said the same thing. They both knew Wendell didn't want the farm. Inheriting it would be a curse for him. “You know you wouldn't do that to my brother.”

Pops laughed. “You're right.” He nodded toward Kare. “Marry that girl or I'll marry her myself. I think she's already fond of me and I got enough years left to have a few more kids if the ones I got don't start listening to me.”

Johnny swore. With his luck, Kare would feel sorry for the old man and marry him. Then he'd be in love with his new grandma.

The world seemed a crazy place.

Drew couldn't let go of Millanie as they cuddled safe and warm with the storm raging outside. All night he held her as close as he dared. It had been so many years since he'd slept with a woman. The feel of her against him, the smell of her skin mixed with rain, the softness of her hair tickling his chin. This one woman, wounded and stubborn, had brought him back into life. For the first time he cared too much to walk away.

Once she was asleep he'd banked her right leg on either side with pillows so he wouldn't accidentally brush her wounds. The sight of the twisted leg hadn't shocked him. He'd seen many injuries during his recovery, but hers broke his heart. The pain she had to have suffered. The effort it must still take to stand on the leg even with the brace. His brave Millie was fighting her way back as well to being whole. Only he feared part of the path had crumbled.

He wasn't sure why he'd removed his shirt last night. Maybe because he'd seen her scars and knew that his wouldn't matter. Or maybe it was time he stopped hiding and stepped out from behind the mask he'd been wearing.
He'd seen something tonight that made him reflect. He wasn't just his scars anymore than she was simply a broken leg, but the wounds were a part of them, a part of who they'd been, who they still were.

His strong, always-in-control Millie had cried when she knew he'd seen her leg. The weeks of surgeries and pain and endless discomfort she'd endured now tore at him as she relaxed in his arms, but he wasn't repelled. She'd been a soldier. He'd read the reports a few days after he'd met her. He'd gone over every detail he could find in every newspaper. She'd been listed as one of the casualties at first, and then she'd been critical for weeks. The last mention of her had said she was in therapy in a hospital in Germany.

As dawn filtered into her room, he couldn't help but kiss her bare shoulder. He had no idea why she was mad at him, but he didn't plan on walking away from her. Before they'd gone to dinner at the Matheson place, she'd wanted him as badly as he wanted her. They weren't wild kids. They both knew what would have happened if Martha Q hadn't picked that exact time to come home. Clothes would have littered the foyer and passion would have consumed them both.

He slid his hand along her bare waist, loving the feel of her skin. She felt so right.

She rolled on her back and whispered, “Go away. I'm sleeping.”

“Not likely,” he answered as he kissed the side of her throat.

“I don't want to be your friend.”

“Great,” he answered. “I don't want to be yours either, but that doesn't mean I don't want you.” His hand moved over her stomach and began to slowly climb up her body.

She moaned, still half asleep, and stretched, arching her back into his touch.

His hand passed over her small breast covered with lace, then pressed harder as he moved downward, shoving her panties low.

She arched again like a cat being petted. “Go away,” she whispered.

“I'm not going anywhere, Millie, so you might as well get ready for a good-morning kiss.” His hand slid between her legs and she let out a little cry of surprise.

He covered her lips with his and caught the next moan before he kissed her deeply and passionately. Without slowing, he slid his hand back up to the middle of her bra and broke the clasp. His slender fingers seemed as hungry for the feel of her as her mouth was for his kiss, but he didn't lean into her. He wanted to feel every part of her first. She needed to know just how desirable she was.

When he finally broke the kiss, he moved to her ear and whispered, “I just wanted to say good morning, Millie.” One hand still roamed over her while the other cupped the back of her head as he kissed his way down her neck.

“Beau was right,” she whispered. “There never should be kissing without passion.”

His head moved lower as his morning stubble tickled the valley between her breasts.

“You're not even listening,” she whispered. When he didn't answer but moved down to kiss his way across her abdomen, she tried again. “I don't care if you hear a word I'm saying as long as you don't stop.”

After he kissed each peak, he finally raised his head. “That bra got in the way. Don't wear one next time.”

Millanie's smile was wicked with laughter. “What makes you think there will be a next time?”

He looked up at her, feeling half drunk on the tenderness in her eyes. “There'll be a next time, Millie, and a next and a next. I don't care if you ever speak to me again, I'll find you and you'll welcome me because you want me as dearly as I want you.”

“You're pretty sure of yourself, Professor.”

“It's only logical.” He leaned above her and gently kissed her. Slowly, like a river of pleasure flowing over them, the kiss deepened. He silently proved his point.

Finally, he lowered his head next to hers, his words choppy and low. “I haven't held a woman in five years. I've
been waiting for one who felt just right. Like it or not, you're a perfect match.” He kissed her lightly, loving the fullness of her lips against his.

When her hand rested on his scarred shoulder, he didn't end the kiss but mentally he began pulling away. He knew he wouldn't make love to her today. Last night she'd broken and he'd been there to help. This morning she was too fragile. All she needed to know was that she was desired and that he'd be waiting when she was strong enough to finish what they'd started this morning.

He raised his head and kissed her on the nose. “I'm starving. You think Martha Q would feed me?”

Millanie grinned. “There's a good chance. I've seen her feed strays before.”

Drew rolled from the bed and grabbed his wrinkled shirt. “You get dressed and I'll go tell her we're famished.” He walked to the door, wanting to offer help but knowing she'd be upset if he did. Turning, he smiled at her still curled in the covers. “I don't know why you're mad at me, Millie, but I should admit that sleeping with you was the best night of my life. So, whatever I did or said or was, I'll start with,
I'm sorry
,
I'm innocent
,
I'll change
, and see if that works.”

He stepped through the door before she answered.

Thirty minutes later Millanie walked into the breakfast room, her hair in perfect order and a touch of makeup brushed on her cheeks. She wore new linen pants and a blouse the same shade of green as her eyes. She held her head high, and only a slight leaning on her cane gave away any hint that she wasn't perfectly well.

Drew stood and pulled out her chair. “Good morning, Miss McAllen, I hope you slept well?”

“Martha Q let you stay,” she guessed.

“Of course. After I asked her to keep my overnight visit a secret and offered to pay, she was all for it.” Drew took his seat across from Millanie. All the food was on the table, so no one ventured in to say good morning to them. Drew had no doubt their absence was by design.

He held dishes out for her, noticing that her lips were slightly swollen from his kisses.

She didn't say a word as she filled her plate, but he guessed they were both thinking about last night.

“Back to not talking to me again?” Drew didn't really care. They seemed to be getting along fine this morning without carrying on much of a conversation. He could still smell her skin, all warm and rain washed.

“Want to tell me why you're angry?” How could she be mad? He couldn't remember a thing he'd done. The last time they'd been alone they'd enjoyed each other almost as much as they had twenty minutes ago. “How about saying something,” he tried again. “Ask me a question. Yell at me. Complain about the weather, anything.”

“When were you shot?” Millanie lowered her fork.

“I didn't figure you'd let that pass, but I thought you might at least eat breakfast first.” He knew his voice had turned cold, but he'd hoped for more time.

She was back to being the captain. “You going to tell me?”

“No,” he answered. “It was a long time ago. When I moved here I decided not to tell anyone. You're the only one who has even seen the scars. I meant it when I said there has been no woman for five years.”

“A professor with multiple wounds—”

He stood suddenly and moved to the window. “I don't want to talk about it, Millie. Not now, maybe not ever.”

“All right,” she said, as if she were dropping the subject. “Let's talk about something else. How's your mother doing?”

He stared out at the gray day, thinking that this was the reason he never got close to people, never dated, never became too good a friend. At some point they'd want him to fill in the holes in his life and he couldn't talk about them.

Without a word, he walked out of the dining room. A few moments later he closed the front door behind him silently as if he'd never been there at all.

The best thing that had ever happened to him. The one person in years he'd wanted in his life. The budding of what could have been a deep relationship, maybe even love, had
just ended. All that remained was to mourn in silence. Not all the scars were on his body; one was now on his heart.

Climbing into the old van, he headed back to his little cabin on Twisted Creek where he could hide away and pretend to live.

T
UESDAY

Millanie dozed after breakfast in the parlor, but each time she almost nodded off one thought came to mind.
You're the first woman I've been with in five years
, Drew had said. Could that be possible? Drew had mentioned he was thirty-four. No man stayed celibate between twenty-nine and thirty-four.

He'd been so happy at dawn, kissing her, touching her. His hands were like magic to her body, making her feel things she hadn't felt since the bombing. For the first time since she'd met him, Drew seemed at peace with himself and his surroundings. She'd almost thought he was going to make love to her, but he'd stopped. Maybe he realized that if he hadn't pulled away, she would have. No man would want to make love to a woman in a brace.

Or would he? Would she?

Millanie groaned, thinking she was sounding like a teenager. Of course he wouldn't have continued. Or, she would have stopped them both before it had gone further. It was
that simple. The kissing and the touching were nice, though. If he hadn't left, they could have continued more of that.

Only, he didn't just leave. She pushed him away. She'd treated him like a suspect needing interrogation. He had a right to his secrets. Maybe he didn't want to talk about his wounds any more than she did. Every brain cell she had told her he couldn't be the bad guy. He was too kind, too considerate, too loving.

The memory of how his twisted flesh had felt when she brushed her fingers over the scar on his shoulder came back so strong she could almost feel him now. The scar hadn't frightened her. It certainly hadn't turned her off. It simply brought up questions.

Questions Drew didn't want to answer.

Pulling up her laptop, she began to search. She didn't have to depend on Kare to do all the research; Millanie could do it herself. With Martha Q gone for her day of hair coloring and toe polishing, and Beau, as he did most mornings, sleeping away the day, Millanie felt like she had the place to herself. She could work in peace.

Not surprisingly, there were dozens of Andrew Cunninghams across the country. She narrowed her search to Texas and found him within minutes. Dr. Andrew Cunningham, professor of folklore and history, Clifton College. Several papers he'd written were mentioned. He'd been at a dozen community meetings listed as the speaker. Three awards for research in the past few years. No pictures. No address or phone number. No website or any social media that she could find. Kare had said he loved playing on the computer but he kept a very low profile.

An hour into the search she realized that until five years ago the man was a ghost. By early afternoon she'd widened the net and moved out of Texas. She tried California first, Kare's origin, then remembered Drew said he'd had his last date in New York five summers ago. She found his college. A Yale graduate with honors. Again several papers. Awards. But no pictures. Even before he hid out in Texas, Drew didn't like the camera.

The net she tossed was wide, catching hundreds of sites with other Andrews. It dawned on her that if he had been shot, it would have been in the paper. She began with the major cities. Dallas, Houston, Austin, San Antonio, New York, Washington, Boston, Chicago. Hundreds of shootings five years ago. She reasoned he wouldn't have been a cop. Not the personality. No training.

At Chicago's entry, the screen lit up. No Andrew, but a Drew Cunningham wounded in a school shooting.

Now there were pictures of a school in a rough neighborhood. A photo with students exiting, their hands in the air, their eyes to the ground as police cars surrounded the building.

The third picture that popped up stopped her heart. A tall, lean man. Bleeding. Carrying a girl of about fifteen or sixteen. He was cuddling her close to his chest as if he could shelter her from all the horror around. His hair was shorter, he wore jeans and a short-sleeve shirt soaked with blood, and he was even leaner than now, but she knew him the minute she saw the picture. Teacher now, teacher then, it fit.

She could imagine him five years ago. A shy, intelligent man trying to make a difference in the world. All the horror he'd seen and suffered. No wonder he ran away. As she followed the links she saw one headline that read,
First Anniversary of School Shooting
. The shot was long, showing the graves beside the pictures of the two students killed. A lone figure, thin and tall, was unaware of the camera as he knelt, brushing one hand over the grave. The grass was green. It looked like late August, when flowers and trees are heaviest just before fall.

The date matched the day she'd flown back home. Drew had been at the airport that night. He hadn't gone to see his mother. Millanie would bet her career that he'd gone, just as he had that first anniversary, to stand by the two kids' graves.

Lost in her thoughts, Millanie didn't move the first few times her phone rang.

When she lifted her cell, Kare's name came up.

“Hello, Kare, I need to talk to you as soon as possible.” Millanie had to tell his sister that Drew was off the list. Then, she had to find a way to tell him she was sorry.

A man's voice, pure Texas twang, spoke slowly through the phone. “Captain McAllen, this is Johnny Wheeler. I'm talking on Kare's phone.”

“I know that, Johnny.” She smiled. The farmer obviously didn't use a cell.

“You do?” he said, then rushed on. “Is Kare with you?”

“No. I haven't seen her today. Is something wrong?”

Johnny didn't waste words. “She's missing. Her car is parked out behind the bookstore, but Mr. Hatcher said she hadn't been in. He said she always speaks to him on her way in and out of her office.”

“Maybe she left her car there and walked home.” Millanie could hear the panic in his pause. Johnny Wheeler was worried.

“No,” he said. “She might have left her car home and walked in, but not the other way around. She drove her car to the bookstore this morning.”

“Are you sure?”

Dead silence for a moment, and then he confessed, “Yeah, I'm sure. I watched her drive away. I wanted to take her into work, but she said she had something she had to tell you so she planned to drop by the bookstore, leave her car in case it was raining when she got finished, and then head across over to the inn. She told me that after she talked to you, she was planning to spend the rest of the morning online. She said she'd be safe at the bookstore, hidden away from the world.” He paused. “She kept saying she'd be safe, like there was some reason she might not be.”

“Where did you find her phone?” Millanie closed her eyes, praying that he'd say she left it in her apartment.

“I found it in the mud by her car. If it hadn't been pink I might not have noticed it. We were supposed to have lunch, and then I planned to head home. I finished building her a birdhouse this morning that she can see out her bedroom window.”

He stopped and redirected. “That don't matter. Anyway, when she didn't show at the diner, I walked over to the bookstore. At first I thought she must have got busy doing what she calls research, but her office lights hadn't even been turned on. I checked the library and the county clerk's office after I talked to Mr. Hatcher.

“About one she didn't answer her phone when Mr. Hatcher called her and I called in reinforcements.”

“The sheriff?” Millanie asked, knowing the police wouldn't normally help this soon with a missing person, but with the stalker and the broken window they might reconsider.

“No,” Johnny answered. “I called the senior citizens' center. They were just finishing lunch and setting up for bingo, but when Jeter heard she was missing, he got them all organized, fanning out from the bookstore. I've got half a dozen cars with at least two in each. One driving slowly and the other on lookout. Those on walkers took the town square and the federal buildings; those that are steady on their feet are walking block by block. Mr. Gray and a few of his friends with canes are walking the creek bed looking for clues and haven't reported in yet, so I'm guessing the news isn't good. She's vanished.”

Millanie tried to calm him down. “Johnny, you know she might have met up with her best friend and they went shopping.” It didn't seem likely, but it would be a possibility.

“No. Jeter said those who can't walk have called every business in town. No one has seen her. Kare's not a woman people overlook.” He hesitated. “Captain, I'm Kare's best friend, I think. She called me when she was afraid, and I've got a feeling she's afraid now. This time I've got her phone, so she may not be able to call anyone.”

“Johnny, hang up. Find Drew's number in her phone. Write it down. Call me back and give it to me.”

“All right,” he said slowly. “I'll give it a try.”

Millanie fought panic as the seconds ticked by. A whole minute passed before her phone rang.

She saw Kare's number, but she said, “Johnny?”

“I figured it out. These little things are neat.”

“The number, Johnny.”

“Oh, right.” He gave her Drew's number, then promised to keep the phone close and report any change. Millanie said she'd be in touch with the sheriff and relay any messages. They didn't have to say more; they were both locked into one goal. Find Kare.

Millanie wasn't sure she even said good-bye. If Drew had a cell his sister might be the only one who had his number. Surely he'd answer her call.

Millanie dialed the number Johnny had given her.

Drew picked up on the second ring. “Whoever this is, I'm working. Leave a number and I'll call you back when I get hungry and stop for—”

“Drew?” Millanie's mouth went dry. “Don't hang up.”

“I don't want to talk to you, Millanie,” he snapped. “I've had enough questions.”

“Wait! It's not about me. Kare is missing.”

A long pause followed, and then in a low voice he asked, “Where are you?”

“I'm at the inn. But I'll be at the bookstore before you can get to town. She missed a lunch with Johnny and no one has seen her all morning.”

“Give me ten minutes to get on the road. Then call back. I want details.”

Millanie could hear the fear in his voice. “You'll have them.”

Neither of them bothered to say good-bye. She dropped her phone in her pocket and picked up her laptop, her rental car keys, and the service weapon Sarge had brought her a few days ago. As fast as she could limp, she made it to the car and drove the few blocks with her left foot.

By the time she checked in with Johnny and the sheriff's office, Drew would have had time to be halfway to Harmony. She redialed his number.

“You took your time calling back,” he yelled, sounding like he was in a wind tunnel. She knew without asking that he was driving the old Jeep over the speed limit.

“I know. I wanted updates before I called. Kare left her
apartment in her car before nine. After noon, when she didn't join him for lunch, Johnny Wheeler found her car behind the bookstore and no one has seen her. A dozen or more people are looking. They've combed the downtown area. Any place she could have walked to has been searched. She seems to have vanished.”

“I'll be there in ten,” he said, sounding worried. “Thanks for letting me know. I shouldn't have yelled at you, Millie. I guess I panicked.”

“I know, I shouldn't have demanded answers. I wasn't being fair. We even now?”

“Even. When this is over, and we know Kare is safe, I'll answer your questions. I promise.”

For the first time in years, the answers didn't matter to her. Drew did.