Rachel Lee (10 page)

"You cut that out right now, Witt Matlock. Your Karen was a lovely girl, but she wab no angel. No child that age is, unless there's something wrong with her. Hardy didn't manhandle Karen into going with him. Karen went because she wanted to."

"I knew her better than that."

"I seriously doubt it." The desperation in Hannah's voice was tempered by a surprising dryness. He looked at her, something in his face suggesting he was about to speak, but then his mouth clamped into a tight line.

When he did finally speak, his voice was as rough and dry as gravel.

"She wouldn't have disobeyed me, except for him."

"No," Hannah agreed. "She probably wouldn't have."

"So it's his fault she's dead!"

"No, it's not."

"Cut it out, Hannah. I don't want riddles."

"I'm not riddling. If Karen hadn't been wildly attracted to Hardy, she wouldn't have disobeyed you, no matter what Hardy encouraged her to do.

And if you're honest with yourself, you'll admit it. She wanted to be with Hardy more than she feared your disappointment in her. That says something. Heavens, the two of them were probably imagining themselves as Romeo and Juliet!"

Witt heard something unexpected in that. "Are you blaming me for Karen's death?"

Hannah's heart nearly stopped in her breast. "No," she managed to say after a moment. "No. It wasn't your fault. Whether or not you approved, Karen was going to go out with Hardy. And whether or not you approved, they were going to be in the wrong place at the wrong time that night. That's all

I'm saying, Witt. It's not your fault. It's not Hardy's fault. It was the fault of one drunk driver. "

But he didn't look as if he was buying it. Which didn't exactly surprise Hannah. He hadn't bought it during the last twelve years, why would he change his mind now? But she didn't want him chewing Joni up and spitting her out. And right now, she feared Witt was capable of that. She'd seen him angry before, furious the night his daughter died, but never before had she seen him angry with this cold edge.

"You know," she said slowly, trying to placate him, 'it was wrong of Joni to give the bid request to Hardy. "

"Well, hallelujah," Witt said sarcastically. "The woman sees sense."

"Don't you talk to me that way, Witt Matlock!"

He had the grace to look a little embarrassed. "Sorry." "And well you ought to be. As I was saying, Joni j was wrong. But it was a minor wrong, Witt. Minor. All you have to do is decline the bid."

"Sure. And have you disappointed. And have that niece of mine upset with me. You think I don't see what she's up to? She figured she could manipulate me into accepting Wingate's bid for her sake. What's she doing? Sleeping with him?"

"Witt Matlock!"

"Wouldn't surprise me. Wingate's always been hell on wheels. Why wouldn't he enjoy getting back at me that way?"

"Getting back at you?" Hannah was beginning to wonder if Witt was losing his mind. This really didn't sound like him at all. Yes, he'd carried an anger at Hardy all these years, but nothing this paranoid.

And he'd never talked about Joni this way. Never.

"Yes, getting back at me," Witt growled. "Maybe he thinks he's going to get even for me being angry with him all these years. Thinks he can do it by taking my niece away."

"Don't be ridiculous. Nobody's taking Joni away from you. And she's not seeing Hardy." Although at the back of Hannah's mind there was a niggling doubt, given the situation. But she couldn't believe Joni would hide something like that from her, regardless of what Witt might think. The two of them were too close now for that.

But her heart was beginning to break, because as she watched Witt and listened to him, she began to think he might create a rupture between himself and Joni. That he might make the same kind of breach he'd made with Hardy, one that might never heal. After all this time, she certainly knew how long he was capable of bearing a grudge.

And for the first time in all the years she had known him, Hannah began to wonder if Witt was the good man she had always believed him to be, or if he was a stranger to her. This side of him . this side of him seemed to belong to someone else. It didn't fit with all she knew of him.

That he held Hardy responsible for Karen's death was sad, but it wasn't a major thing, because Hardy wasn't a member of the family, hadn't ever been a close friend. From Witt's perspective, Hardy was a wild young man he had never really known. It was easy to carry a grudge against someone like that.

But Joni . Joni and Witt had been close for a long time. Surely Witt couldn't treat her the same way he had treated Hardy?

She opened her mouth, wanting to prevent that eventuality at all costs, ready to spill her shame and her secret and take the consequences.

But Joni chose that moment to come into the house. She froze when she saw Witt's angry face and glanced at her mother questioningly. Hannah nodded and kept silent with difficulty, waiting to see what tack Witt was going to take.

"Hi, Uncle Witt," Joni said brightly, her outward cheer belied by the tension around her blue eyes.

He glared at her.

Joni instinctively pulled back. Of course, Hannah thought; she had never been glared at by Witt that way. It was a look that would make anyone step back.

"Uncle Witt?" Joni said tentatively.

Hannah waited on tenterhooks, her fingers digging into her palms as she saw the way Joni's chin first trembled, then thrust out. Her daughter might be too impulsive, Hannah thought, but Joni had never refused to take the consequences of her actions. Nor had she ever denied responsibility. But Hannah had the awful, awful feeling that that was not going to be enough this time.

Witt looked as if accusations wanted to burst out of him. Then he looked as if it all hurt too much and he couldn't voice anything at all. They were both wrong, Hannah thought. Both of them. And in that instant, she didn't know which of them she wanted to comfort more.

"You..." Witt's voice was hoarse. He cleared his throat and spoke again. "You gave the bid package to Hardy."

"Yes," Joni said steadily. "I did."

"Why?"

For a second Hannah's heart lifted. Witt was going to listen to Joni's explanation. It wasn't going to be so bad.

"Because," Joni said, "I love you, Uncle Witt."

His head jerked up and he thundered, "Don't give me that crap!"

Joni's temper rose just as fast as his. "It's not crap. I love you.

And what you're doing is wrong. It's wrong and it's hurtful, not just to Hardy, but to me, too."

"You? You?" He whirled on Hannah. "See?

What did I say? She's sneaking around with Hardy behind my back.

Sleeping with him like some slut! "

"Witt!" Hannah's voice cracked with horror. "Don't you dare! Don't you ever!"

"I'm not sleeping with anyone," Joni shouted, trying to divert her uncle's attention back to herself. Hannah knew what she was doing, didn't know how to stop her. But it had always upset Joni when Witt was annoyed with Hannah. Or vice versa.

Witt rounded on Joni again. "And I'm supposed to believe that? Hell will freeze over first! You didn't do this for me. I know better than that. You know better than that. You know how I feel about Hardy."

"And it's wrong, Uncle Witt! It's wrong! As long as you stay mad at Hardy, you're never going to heal."

"What a bunch of psychological hogwash! Well, let me tell you something, young lady. I don't care what your reasons are! I don't give a damn. You can sleep with that good-for-nothing piece of shit, you can marry him for all I care. What I care about is that you went behind my back. You betrayed me!"

"No!"

"Yes. And from this day forward I don't have a niece anymore. Do you hear me? From this day on I don't know who you are!" He turned on Hannah. "Or you either. I wash my hands of both of you."

Then he turned and stomped out the front door into the snowy night.

Hannah looked at Joni and saw she was trembling.

Looking down at her own hands, Hannah saw that she was, too. And right now, her heart felt as if someone had driven an ice pick into it.

"Mom?" Joni said. Her voice was plaintive, small, seeking reassurance. "What did you think was going to happen?" Hannah asked wearily. Her throat felt tight, her eyes burned, she ached for both Joni and Witt, and she didn't feel she knew Witt at all anymore. Nor could she say what hurt worst.

"I knew he'd be mad." Joni's voice was broken, shocked-sounding. "But Witt ... Mom, that didn't sound like Witt."

"He was wound up tighter than a spring," Hannah agreed. God, she wanted to crawl away to bed and end this night now.

"He doesn't usually say such hateful things."

"He doesn't usually get hurt this way." Hannah refused to ease Joni's conscience on this one.

"I've got to talk to him."

"Let him cool down first."

"No," said Joni, heading for the front door. "I can't let him think I... No, I've got to talk to him now."

The door slammed behind her, and Hannah thought numbly that Joni hadn't even been wearing a jacket. She was going to get awfully chilled out there.

But just a few moments later, Joni burst back through the door. "Mom!

Mom, Witt's down in the snow. Something's wrong with him!"

Joni watched as the ambulance bearing Witt and Hannah pulled away.

Hannah had told her to follow in the car, but for long minutes Joni couldn't even move. Heedless of the cold wind that was cutting through her flannel shirt and making her skin burn and ache, heedless that her stocking feet were cramping and icy from standing in a snowbank, she stared after the disappearing ambulance.

A heart attack, Hannah had said. A heart attack. Joni felt a crushing weight on her own chest as the thought struck her that she might have killed her uncle. He might the, and it would be all her fault for upsetting him so.

Something inside her seemed to cut loose and tumble into free fall.

Her stomach plummeted as if she were riding a super-fast elevator .

except that it didn't stop. It just kept on falling.

She might have killed Witt. He had been so angry, and it had all been her fault. Her selfish, stupid, impulsive fault. She been all hung up on what was right, what was best for all of them, and she hadn't stopped for one minute to consider that maybe she didn't know what was best.

She had the worst urge to just collapse into the snowbank and cry until she could cry no more. To give in to tears and let them wash away the terrible feelings of guilt and shame.

But they wouldn't do that, she knew. Nothing was going to wash away this mistake. This time her impulsive action had cost more than she had considered in her wildest imaginings.

Turning at last, she went back into the house. The heat indoors felt searing on her cold skin. Her soaked socks left wet footprints on the rugs and plank floor.

Her mother would need her. No matter her iniquity, she had to be there for Hannah.

She changed swiftly into dry jeans and socks, checked to make sure all the lights were out, then headed out, grabbing her parka, keys and purse. Fear filled her, making her shake, making it difficult to get the keys into the ignition of her car. Please, God, let Witt be all right.

She was never going to forgive herself, she thought as she drove.

Never.

Another pang struck her, a blast of fear that felt like a cyclone ripping through her. For an instant, just an instant, she had to close her eyes at the force of it.

The next thing she knew, her car was sliding off the road into a snow-filled ditch.

"Damn it!" All the violent, tangled emotions she was feeling erupted as she shouted the curse and pounded her hand on the steering wheel.

"Damn it!"

She had to get to the hospital. Hannah needed her. But pressure on the accelerator only spun the wheels. She wasn't going to get out that way.

Grabbing her purse, she turned off the car, got out and locked it. She would walk to the damn hospital. She'd failed everyone in her life, but she wasn't going to fail Hannah in this. She was going to be there for her.

The wind was cold, whipping down from the mountains to sting her cheeks and find every cranny in her parka. The denim of her jeans began to feel stiff against her legs, began to chafe as the moisture escaping her body froze in the fabric. Just what she deserved, she told herself angrily. Maybe less than she deserved.

As she hiked toward the hospital, she grew colder, and more fatigued.

Hypothermia, she noted. Well, she could deal with a little of that.

Was it so awful, anyway? Maybe they would find her frozen body beside the roadside in the morning.

But that thought, twisting into her brain, had an unexpected effect on her. It made her realize how childish she was being. How childish she had been. It was as if some part of her just kept refusing to grow up.

As if some part of her had died with Karen.

A tear stole out of the corner of her eye, burning her cheek. That was what was wrong with her, she realized. She had only the pretense of adulthood. An adult wouldn't have given the bid request to Hardy. An adult would have realized that the problem lay between Hardy and Witt, and that she had no business interfering. An adult would have known that reawakening the anger was hardly likely to heal the breach.

She heard the crunching of tires on the ice and snow behind her, and she moved over closer to the snowbank lining the road to give the driver more room to pass. But the truck didn't pass. It pulled up right alongside her and began pacing her.

She kept her eyes firmly fixed on the ground, refusing to look and give encouragement to some creep. Man, wouldn't it be perfect if she were murdered on the way to the hospital to be with Witt and Hannah? Talk about irony.

But that was a childish thought, too. A thought, she decided with savage self-perception, that resulted from a juvenile desire to avoid the consequences of her own actions. A desire to make everyone sorry they were mad at her.