The Texas Soldier's Son. Karen Whiddon
and made love right there in the cab.
Finally, he crossed from Louisiana into Texas. Not too much farther now. The hum of his tires on the asphalt soothed him and he felt more relaxed than he had since the explosion.
When the Anniversary city limits sign came into view, dusk had settled over the sky. The sunset colored the sky pink and orange, promising another hot East Texas day tomorrow. He remembered how everyone liked to complain about the summer heat. It would be a cakewalk compared to the temperatures in Kabul.
Instead of heading toward the small frame home he’d rented via the internet for the next six months, he drove directly to Nicole’s parents’ house, praying she’d be home. Parking out front, he jogged up the sidewalk, his heart pounding in his chest, and rang the bell.
A moment later, the door opened. Nicole’s mother stared at him, frowning. “What are you doing here?” she asked, the rancor in her voice startling.
“I’ve been discharged from the hospital, ma’am,” he said, figuring he’d kill her with kindness. “If you don’t mind, I’d really like to see Nicole.”
“Nicole?” She recoiled as violently as if he’d struck her. “Nicole doesn’t live here. She’s over on Broad Street in the house she shared with her husband and son.” A slow, malicious smile spread across her face. “Bill Mabry? I’m thinking you might remember him?”
He hadn’t gotten much past the words husband and son. When he finally caught up, the name Bill Mabry made his stomach churn. That had been the same guy her parents had tried to force her to marry when he and Nicole had been together.
“Well?” The older woman stared, her gaze hard. “Is there anything else that I can help you with?”
For a moment he couldn’t speak, couldn’t force the words out past the huge lump in his throat. Only when she’d started to close the huge oak door in his face did he think of the one other thing he needed to know. “Did Nicole even mourn me at all?”
“Of course not,” she said smoothly, without missing a beat. “Once the army notified your foster family of your death, she’d moved on. She was already married with a newborn by then. I didn’t want to disrupt her life.”
And then she waited, eying him with a certain mocking relish, waiting for him to reveal how devastating he found her answer. He refused to give her the pleasure.
Though his head spun, he turned on his heel, the military precision of the movement kicking in by instinctive habit. Somehow, he made it to his truck, unlocked the doors and slid inside. Turning the key, he started the engine, put the shifter into Drive and pulled away.
He started to head to the park by the lake, the same secluded place he’d intended to take Nicole, but instead he found himself heading toward Broad Street. He still couldn’t believe her mother’s words, couldn’t accept that she hadn’t waited barely any time at all before getting married and pregnant. For her to have a newborn, that meant she’d jumped into bed with this Bill Mabry guy right after getting the erroneous news of Kyle’s demise.
Had he truly meant that little to her?
Anguish turned to anger as he made the turn onto North Broad. Since he had no idea which house she lived in, he drove slowly up the street, feeling more and more like a stalker.
All his hopes, all his dreams, his entire freaking future, he’d pinned on her. On them. Now, she’d left him with nothing.
When he reached the intersection that separated North Broad from South, he made a decision. Why torture himself further with a confrontation? Signaling a right turn, he drove instead to his rental, the place where he’d be living for the next six months.
On the way there, he stopped at the downtown liquor mart and purchased a bottle of tequila, a twelve pack of beer and some moonshine. Thus fortified, he pulled up to his empty house, parked and took a deep breath before carrying his bags inside.
Apparently one part of his life was over. He’d need to come to terms with that before he could figure out where to go from here. Right now, he couldn’t even summon up the energy to care.
* * *
Despite everything her parents had put her through, after speaking with the Bill’s mom, Nicole had the overwhelming urge to call her own mother. She wasn’t sure why; the older woman had never been the slightest bit supportive or even caring. But Nicole had no one else to talk to and despite their differences, she had to believe blood would win out over water and her mother would be on her side.
Or would she? Fran Shelton had always adored and fawned over Bill, even before she’d finally gotten her way and forced her own daughter to marry him. Nicole had lost count over how many times she’d gushed about how lucky she was that he’d married her daughter. The implication being that Nicole should be grateful too.
At first, she had been. She’d been single and pregnant with parents who demanded she either marry their choice or be thrown out onto the streets. They hadn’t cared whether Nicole—or her baby—lived or died. And Nicole knew the only thing that kept them from demanding she get an abortion was their religion and the fact that she was a legal adult. For that at least, she was thankful. Bill had felt like her only choice to give her baby a safe start in life. Turned out she’d been wrong about that too.
In the end, Nicole decided against calling her mother. The last thing she needed right now was to hear the woman who’d given birth to her accuse her of murdering Bill.
The sniffles and soft cries coming from the baby monitor revealed baby Jacob was awake from his nap. Glad of a distraction, she hurried upstairs to get him before he started crying in earnest. He chortled when he saw her, filling her heart with so much love she thought she might burst.
For the first time, the enormity of the recent events hit her full force. She and Jacob were safe. No more beatings, her standing between him and the baby’s room just in case he decided to take his drunken rage out on her son. Despite his over the top infatuation with Nicole, Bill barely tolerated the infant, well aware he wasn’t the father, and had taken to referring to Jacob as that little bastard. And not in an affectionate way. He regarded Nicole as his possession and Jacob as an unfortunate addition he’d had to put up with in order to own her.
She’d dreaded the first time Bill tried to hurt her child, knowing she’d kill him if need be. Now, she no longer had to worry about that. While she knew it was morally wrong to be glad someone had been murdered, she couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of relief.
She hadn’t had to run away to be free.
Picking up Jacob, she held him close, breathing in the baby powder scent of him, and allowed herself a smidgen of happiness. This house belonged to her now—not that she particularly liked it or wanted it—Bill had chosen it after all. But she had a roof over her head as long as she could pay the mortgage. And since Bill had loved to boast about their huge savings account, she figured she’d be okay. At least for a while. Long enough for Jacob to grow a bit. She didn’t want to get a job and put him in daycare until he was a little older.
Her doorbell chimed, again and again, startling her. Still holding Jacob, she hurried downstairs and looked out the peephole to see who’d come to call. Spotting the uniformed sheriff, her stomach twisted. Now what? Had Theresa Mabry called him with her unfounded accusations?
Nicole took a deep breath and opened the door. Sheriff Cantrell was new to the job, having only replaced Bleaker a few months ago. Prior to that, he’d been a deputy for years.
“Mrs. Mabry?” The formality in his normally friendly voice was her first warning. “I’d like to talk to you about the murder of your husband, Bill. Theresa Mabry has given us reason to believe you’re a potential person of interest.”
That night, even tequila couldn’t dull Kyle’s night terrors.