The Legend of Smuggler's Cave. Пола Грейвс
another piece out of his conscience. He hadn’t gone to see his father or his grandfather in a month, ever since the truth about what they’d done had finally gotten past his denial. Outrage at Doyle and Dana Massey destroying his family hadn’t gone away; he’d just added fury at his father and grandfather to the toxic mix.
It wasn’t healthy, feeling so angry all the time. He just hadn’t yet figured out how to let go of the anger. He was beginning to wonder if he ever would.
“I’ll think about it,” he said, because he didn’t think he could sell a lie on that particular topic, not even to his mother, who wanted to believe they could somehow patch up their shattered lives and move forward as if none of it had ever happened.
“I wouldn’t mind seeing you soon, too,” she added softly.
“I’ll come by soon,” he promised. “We’ll have dinner.”
“I’ll make shrimp creole. Your favorite.”
It hadn’t been his favorite since he was eight years old and discovered the joy of Italian-sausage pizza, but he kept that fact to himself. “Can’t wait.”
“I love you, Dalton.”
He closed his eyes, swallowing the ache in his throat. “Love you, too, Mom. I’ll call you tomorrow and we’ll figure out when I can make it for dinner.” He slid his phone back in his pocket and settled down to watch Briar Blackwood’s darkened cabin.
* * *
BY THE TIME her patrol shift ended at midnight, Briar had begun to wish she’d taken up the chief’s offer of a night off to recover from the previous evening’s excitement. Despite the recent rise in crime in the county, the Bitterwood P.D. night shift wasn’t exactly a date with danger.
She’d answered exactly two calls during her seven-hour shift, and one of them had been a false alarm. The other had been a car crash on Old Purgatory Road near the bridge, but even that had turned out to be more paperwork than a daring rescue. Two patrons at Smoky Joe’s Tavern had tried to turn out of the parking lot at the same time, crashing fenders. Neither had registered as high as .08 on the Breathalyzer, so she’d written up a report and left it to them to sort out the insurance issues.
When she dropped by Nix’s cabin to pick up her son and the bag of clothes she’d packed for the overnight stay, Nix was waiting up for her. “You can stay here another night,” he said when he opened the door for her.
“No, I can’t.” She squeezed his arm and smiled. “Got to get back on the horse again.”
“A cabin break-in isn’t exactly the same thing as getting tossed from a pony. Plus, you’ll have to wake up the little man.”
“Too late to worry about that,” she murmured as she heard her son calling her name from down the hall. She followed the sound to the spare room, where Nix had set up the sofa bed for Logan, piling pillows around him to keep him from rolling too close to the edge. Logan looked sleepy and cranky, but the watery smile he flashed when he caught sight of her face made her heart melt into a sticky little pool of motherly love in the center of her chest. “Mama.”
“You ready to sleep in your own bed tonight?” She plucked him from the tangle of sheets and buried her nose in his neck, reveling in the soft baby smell of him.
“Yep,” he answered with an exaggerated nod that banged his little forehead against her chin. “Ow!” He giggled as he rubbed his forehead.
“Watch where you put that noggin, mister,” she answered with a laugh of her own, pressing a kiss against his fingers. “Let’s go home, okay?”
“I’ll get his things.” Nix picked up the scattered toys she’d packed for Logan while she carried him out to the front room. Nix carried the two small backpacks for her and put them in the front seat of the Jeep while she strapped Logan into his car seat in the back.
“If you decide you’d rather come back here, no matter what time it is, you pack up the little fellow and come on back. I’ll keep the sofa bed ready.” Nix reached through the open back door and gave Logan a head ruffle. Logan grinned up at him and patted his curls back down.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said, although nothing short of a full-on assault was going to drive her out of her own house. She wasn’t going to play the damsel in distress, not even for someone like Nix, who had only her best interests at heart.
She’d made too many decisions in her life already based on what other people wanted her to do. She wasn’t going to ignore her own instincts any longer.
Still, her steely resolve took a hit when Logan’s sleepy voice piped up from the backseat as she turned onto the winding road to her cabin. “Mama, are the mean men gonna be there tonight? I don’t like them.”
She put the brakes on, slowing the Jeep to a standstill in the middle of the deserted road. “I don’t like them either,” she admitted, beginning to question her motives for taking her son back to the cabin so soon after the break-in. Was she willfully putting him in danger just to bolster her own desire to stand on her own two feet?
But she couldn’t tuck her tail and run away from their home. It was one of the few things she could call her own in the whole world. Her great-grandfather had built the cabin over a hundred years ago with wood he’d chopped himself and the sweat of his own brow. Her grandfather had added to it over the years—indoor plumbing, extra rooms as the family had expanded. When he had died, he’d left the place to Briar’s mother, who’d deeded it to Briar as a wedding gift.
It was one of the few things she had left now of her mother. That cabin and twenty-four years of good memories.
She couldn’t let fear drive her away from that legacy. For her own sake and especially for Logan’s.
“I won’t let the bad men scare you anymore,” she said firmly, hoping she was telling the truth. Because as much as she’d tried to hide it the night before at the hospital, Dalton Hale’s words had weighed heavily on her. Not the thought of Johnny’s infidelity—she may have been dismayed by the information, but she hadn’t been surprised. But the idea that he might have gotten himself tangled up in Wayne Cortland’s criminal activities—that was the notion that had nagged her every waking hour since Hale first brought up the subject.
Johnny hadn’t turned out to be the strong, solid man of honor she’d thought he would be. They’d married too young, she supposed, right out of high school. They’d started trying to have a family before either of them had reached their twenties, and the lack of success for the first few years had been an unexpected strain on their bond.
She’d given up before Johnny had, figuring a child of her own just wasn’t going to happen, but he’d seen the failure as a personal affront, a challenge to his masculinity. His inability to get her pregnant had turned out to be one of those moments in life where adversity led to unpleasant revelations about a person’s character.
She hadn’t been happy with what she’d seen in Johnny during those months when he’d fought against the tide of reality. She hadn’t realized how much his sense of self had been tangled up with his notion of sexual virility, maybe because she’d made him wait until marriage before they slept together. She’d seen his patience and willingness to deny himself for her as a sign of his strength.
She’d begun to wonder, as he grew angrier and more resentful with each negative pregnancy test, if she’d read him right. What if he hadn’t denied himself at all? What if he’d been sleeping with other girls the whole time she was making him wait?
Then, almost as soon as they stopped trying, she’d gotten pregnant with Logan, and for a while Johnny had seemed to be his former self: happy, good-natured and loving. Until the nausea had started, and the doctor had started warning her about the possibility of not carrying the pregnancy to term.
“Mama?”
Logan’s voice held a hint of worry, making her realize how long she’d been sitting still in the