Coming Home To You. Fay Robinson
that obsessive need to perform perfectly, had been difficult for her and David to watch in their young son.
As Jamie grew older, his obsession for music and his need to perfect it hadn’t lessened. He’d quickly mastered several instruments and by the time he turned fifteen was composing music that would make him famous.
This writer was equally talented, and although it was with words and not music, she possessed a similar intensity and obsessive need to finish what she started. She wouldn’t quit like the others.
Marianne returned the file to the drawer and took out the small black-and-white snapshot she also kept there. The photograph was creased, slightly out of focus and more than twenty-five years old, but she treasured it for the bittersweet feeling it always gave her when she looked at it.
“Say, ‘Weasels want weenies on Wednesday,”’ David had told the boys just before she’d snapped their picture, sending them into a fit of giggles. At the time, she hadn’t known it would be the last photograph of the three of them together.
Less than two weeks later a car had struck and killed David as he crossed the street in front of the foundry where he worked. Jamie had been ten and Bret five. She’d struggled financially and emotionally to raise them alone until George Conner had given her a job as a receptionist in his dental office and married her a few months later.
Loud knocking on the door of the study and their housekeeper’s voice jolted Marianne out of the past and into the present. “Mrs. Conner, lunch is ready, ma’am.”
“Thank you, Agnes. I’ll be there in a minute.”
She put the photograph back and started to close the drawer, but David’s face drew her gaze again. Dear sweet David who had thought her flawless and had vowed to love her always. He’d never have believed her capable of such deceit.
“What would you think of me now,” she whispered to his image, “if you knew I sacrificed one of our sons to save the other?”
CHAPTER FOUR
THE SMELL WAS the first thing Kate noticed—manure and urine, mixed with other odors of the animals penned in the large metal building. She’d never been to a horse sale before, had never touched a horse until yesterday, when Hayes had jerked her rudely down from the limb of that tree and onto the back of one.
This place was full of horses, and they could be looked at, stroked, even ridden if she cared to do so. She didn’t. She wasn’t that brave. Or crazy. But before she left tonight, she intended to at least rub one to see what it felt like. That she was brave enough to do.
Glancing around, she suspected right away that she’d chosen the wrong thing to wear. The pristine white slacks and top were cool but impractical for the dirty barn. They made her stand out like a beacon in a sea of denim, boots and western shirts.
She had taken extra care with her makeup and pulled her hair into a practical yet flattering French braid, but here, cowboy hats seemed mandatory, even for the women, and the most popular hairstyle was no style at all. She hadn’t felt this out of place in years.
She shrugged off her self-consciousness, having learned a long time ago that worrying about being different was even worse than being different. People can’t hurt you unless you give them the power to hurt you. Wise words from a wise man. She had listened and remembered.
She sidestepped a pile of manure covered with thousands of tiny flies and wished she hadn’t worn open-toed shoes. Wood shavings inadequately covered the dirt floor, which was littered with empty popcorn boxes, cigarette butts and peanut hulls. More than once she’d watched someone spit tobacco juice.
The place was awful. Why would anyone willingly come here? But they did. Hundreds of them. The crowd was so large near the main entrance Kate could barely move. And then she saw what had attracted everyone: along one wall were tables where vendors sold hand-tooled belts, buckles, hats and clothing.
Twenty minutes remained until the horse sale began, so she eased through the crowd and walked up and down the aisles admiring the horses, separated from them by the flimsiest of metal fencing. Their bodies glistened with sweat from the heat, which large exhaust fans at each end of the building couldn’t remove. The air hung hot and heavy with moisture, and the rumble of thunder could be heard over the country songs playing over the public-address system.
She spotted her quarry the same moment he spotted her. Bret Hayes stood at one of the pens talking with two men. His expression instantly turned hard. He said something to the men and stalked toward her.
“Come with me,” he said, roughly grabbing her elbow.
“I don’t think I want to.”
“Too bad.”
She struggled, but it didn’t do any good. He out-weighed her by at least seventy-five pounds and had arms of steel. As he dragged her from the building into the dark night, her brother’s warning to be careful echoed in her head. For once she wished she’d listened to him.
“WERE YOU PUT on this earth to drive me insane?”
In the quiet of the parking lot Bret’s voice came out at a deafening level. He couldn’t believe this annoying woman had tracked him down again. The Saturday night horse sale was one of the few pleasures he had in his life, and he wasn’t about to allow Kathryn Morgan to ruin it like she’d ruined his breakfast.
She stood at the side of his truck and horse trailer. Bret paced the dirt in front of her, afraid that if he stopped moving he might be tempted to put his hands around that pretty throat and squeeze.
How had this one tiny woman been able to plunge him into a living hell in less than forty-eight hours? She’d shot holes in what he’d come to think of as a comfortable, if not perfect, life. Like grit, her abrasive personality rubbed him raw.
He’d bitten back what he wanted to say until he got her away from the crowded barn. But now, at the far end of the dirt lot where the curious couldn’t hear them, Bret released his pent-up anger. He stopped abruptly in front of her and leaned down until their faces were inches apart.
“What did you think you were doing, following me here? Don’t you have any respect for a person’s privacy? I’ve told you over and over again to leave me alone and you don’t listen.”
“I wanted to see what a horse sale was like.”
“The hell you did.”
“I did!”
“You expect me to believe you had no idea I was going to be here?”
“Well…”
“I thought so.”
A zigzag of lightning pierced the dark sky, and thunder lumbered across the hills. A few large drops of rain peppered the vehicles and the ground. When the rising wind threatened to whisk away his cowboy hat, Bret reached up with one hand and held it in place.
“What gives you the right to mess with my life? Do you know what you remind me of? That character in the cartoon that whirls around like a tornado and chews up everything in its path. You eat people alive before they even know what hit them.”
“That’s not fair! I’m not like that.”
“Yeah, you are. Ever since you whirled into town, you’ve done everything in your power to make me miserable. Do you think I don’t know you’ve been running around all day asking questions about me, bothering my friends and trying to trick them into telling you something juicy you could use in your book?”
“Your friends? I’ve got news for you, Hayes. You’re grossly lacking in the friends department. I couldn’t find ten people in this town who could even recall talking to you, much less counting you as a friend.” She poked him in the chest. “And it’s pretty obvious why. You’ve got a personality problem only electric shock could fix.”
Bret gave her an incredulous look. “You think