Reclaiming His Past. Karen Kirst
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but one. Juliana makes her home in Cades Cove.”
He pressed into the headboard, the wood digging into his shoulder blades. “Cades Cove. That name means something.”
She scooted to the seat’s edge. “What? Did you live there? Could you have family there?”
He had no answers for her. “Is it about two days’ ride from here?”
“Yes.”
“I’m not sure how I know that.” He raked his hands through his hair, tugging a little at the ends. “Could you write to your sister? Ask her to check with her neighbors and the town leaders? Perhaps someone would recognize my description.”
Hands twisting together, she pondered his request. “I’ll write immediately after supper and post it tomorrow.” Standing, she adjusted her blouse and, flipping her ponytail over her shoulder, made to leave.
“Jessica?”
“Yes?” The one word carried a world of strain. Indecision.
“What will it take for you to believe me?”
Her inner struggle was reflected on her face. “Doc believes you. My mother believes you. I value both their opinions.”
“I’m more concerned with what you think.”
“My first instinct is to believe you.”
The triumph swirling inside was tempered by a heavy dose of restraint. “But?”
“My instincts have been wrong before.” The raw grief he glimpsed in her jolted him. “My sister almost died because of me. I can’t afford to be wrong about you.”
She left him with more questions than answers, the desire to reassure her, to make things good for her again completely unexpected and decidedly irrational.
He couldn’t fix his own problems. What made him think he could fix hers?
“You’re so lucky.” Teeth flashing in the gathering shadows, Will carried a water bucket in each hand. “Nothing exciting ever happens to me.”
Walking beside him through the tranquil woods, Jessica shook her head. Because of his towering height and sturdy frame, the fifteen-year-old had the appearance of a man. And while he was mature in some ways, times like these reminded her he had plenty of growing up yet to do. Despite the absence of his parents—he’d been raised by an infirm grandfather and his older sister, Sophie—he’d turned out fine.
“Count your blessings, Will. Trust me. Excitement isn’t always a positive thing.”
“Easy for you to say. Your life isn’t all about chores and schoolwork.”
Jessica recalled the time when her biggest irritant was having to write a history report or prepare a speech to deliver in front of the other students. Such innocence seemed like a hazy dream.
They emerged from the trees close to where Grant had hours earlier. The outbuildings were mere outlines, the details obscured by encroaching darkness. The great, hulking barn was impossible to ignore. Her memory conjured up smoke belching out the wide entrance, and she could almost taste the acrid stench of burning wood and hay.
Coming even with the structure, her gaze strayed to the patchy grass and the spot where Tom had dragged Lee’s lifeless body before returning inside and putting out the fire. Moisture smarted. She blinked rapidly, appalled that she still hadn’t mastered the grief and regret. If only it hadn’t happened here. If only she didn’t have to face the lingering images each and every day.
Will reached the porch steps before noticing she hadn’t followed. “You coming?”
“I’ll be along in a minute.”
The door slapped shut behind him. Setting her own full pail on the ground, a little of the water splashing out, she trudged through the grass and stopped directly on the spot where Lee had lain. Heart expanding near to bursting, she knelt and pressed her palm flat against the hard, warm earth. Blades of grass tickled her skin.
“Why can’t I forget, Lord?”
She’d crouched over him in shock, his unmoving hand locked between hers, lost in sorrow to the point she hadn’t given a thought to Jane’s gunshot wound. Tom had had to walk over to her in order to get her attention and convince her to assist her sister.
At the repetitive drum of an approaching rider, she shot to her feet. Jessica squinted at the lane, less than thrilled when she recognized the mount and its owner, Sheriff Shane Timmons. His low instructions carried in the still air, his horse slowing and eventually coming to a halt yards from where she waited.
Shane touched his brim. “Evenin’, Jessica.”
She clasped her hands at her waist. “Hello, Sheriff.”
He dismounted and crossed to her in three easy strides. She held his sharp azure gaze with difficulty. He treated her with nothing but kindness and respect, and yet she couldn’t help thinking he saw her as weak and naive. After all, what intelligent female involved herself with a criminal?
“I hear you got yourself a visitor.”
“That’s right.”
Swiping off his hat, he tunneled his fingers through his light hair. Perusing her face, he opened his mouth to speak, but she held him off.
“I’ll take you to him.”
His concern plain, he acted the gentleman and didn’t remark on her avoidance. Dipping his head, he extended his arm to indicate she precede him. Her progress across the yard was accomplished quickly. She would take him to Grant and escape into her room. Or rather upstairs to Nicole’s old room, now dedicated as a storage area for their sewing supplies.
Her mother and Will greeted Shane with friendly enthusiasm, a far cry from her own stilted welcome. Unlike her, they didn’t have cause to be uncomfortable in his presence.
“He’s taken over Jane’s old room,” she said over her shoulder, ushering him past the grouping of sofas and chairs and into the hall. Stopping just past the entrance, she waved him in. “I’ll leave you to it.”
He paused. “I’d like you to stay for the interview.”
Peeking inside, she saw Grant propped against the pillows, assessing them with undisguised wariness. “I don’t see how I can be of assistance.”
Patience smoothed Shane’s rugged features. “You were the one who found him. And you’ll know if there are changes in his story.”
“Fine.” She sighed.
Inside, she introduced the two men. The room’s size struck her as inadequate all of a sudden. Too confining for the competent, bent-on-justice sheriff and Grant, who, despite his weakened state, exuded quiet strength.
Shane stood at the foot of the bed, one suntanned hand gripping his Stetson and the other resting atop his Smith and Wesson. Jessica sat in the only chair, wishing she could start the day over, wishing it was an ordinary, boring day like all the rest.
“Doc tells me you’ve lost your memory.”
Grant grimaced, the hand closest to her curling into the bedding as he nodded. His turmoil troubled her, evoked sympathy she’d rather not deal with. She stared at his busted knuckles and experienced the strange urge to link hands with him, a small gesture to soothe his anxiety.
How do you know he deserves your sympathy? There could be innocent people out there...victims of his cruelty.
She forced her attention to the rectangular rug covering this section of floorboards and studied the fading flag’s stars and stripes. Deep in her heart, a voice protested that Grant wasn’t a cruel man. A thief or swindler, perhaps, but not cruel.