Because of a Girl (18 page)

“Mmm?”

“Will you tell me about those first years? It's...really bugging me.”

Of course he would keep pushing. Knowing she almost had to tell him was enough to extinguish her afterglow. He'd be repelled, and then—

But he'd find out eventually. He could even be imagining something worse than what she'd actually done. And...she'd let him get close enough to ask. So close, she was lying naked in his arms. He'd come to her today when he needed a listening ear, and maybe more. If she refused, she might kill any possibility of this relationship going anywhere.

Which made the moment pivotal.

At least she didn't have to look at him.

“Like I told you, first I went to a shelter for runaways.” She felt her mouth twist. “I thought all the other kids would have actually run away from home. It turned out, quite a few besides me had been kicked out, instead.”

“There are a lot of dysfunctional families out there.” His cynicism was obvious. Or maybe what she heard was something else. Weariness? Frustration? “Kids are born to drug addicts. Women trust scumbags, choose them over their own children.”

His words vibrated beneath her cheek and ear. “I went to a group home, but I hated it. I was angry and mixed up. Every minute was regulated. The other girls were streetwise. In comparison, I felt stupid and naive. One was particularly hateful.” She was silent for a moment, remembering. “So I did something that really
was
stupid.”

He lifted his head from the pillow, perhaps hoping to see her face. “You ran away.”

“Yep. I'd seen kids downtown, living in vacant buildings, begging. You know. I thought I could do the same.”

“But you were pregnant.”

“I did survive that way for a while. Some of the girls turned tricks, but I wouldn't.” She'd quit seeing this room. Remembering her foolish young self wasn't a fun exercise. “I'd started showing by then, so I doubt I'd have had many customers anyway.”

Jack remained silent, but his muscles had become rigid.

“I was within weeks of my due date when I met...a guy. He said he'd help me, and it was okay if I kept the baby, but I'd have to pay him back after.”

“A pimp.” A new note had entered Jack's voice, one she couldn't interpret.

But she shook her head, then said, “Well, his gang might have run some girls. I don't know. He was the leader. Violent and volatile. Cold, too, in a way.” She hesitated. Jack was a cop. This was the part he especially wouldn't understand. What did it say about her that she could live with Emilio as long as she did, knowing what he was, what he did? “A few times I saw him lash out and hurt people. Once he pounded this guy's head into the floor.” She had pressed herself into a corner, stifling her terrified sobs with a hand clapped over her mouth. Remembering was enough to send a shudder through her now. “He never hurt me, but I was careful not to give him reason to, either. He had a scar down his face—” She traced a line from her temple over to her cheek, ending at the corner of her mouth. “He said it had been a knife. He carried a switchblade all the time. They had guns, too. I think they bought and sold them.”

He only asked, “Did he take you to the hospital when Emily was born?”

“No, how could he? I was a minor. They would have asked questions.” She gave a sad laugh. “Silly me. Somebody might have actually helped me.”

“Then what?”

“An older woman came. She said she was a midwife, but I don't know. She might have just been somebody's mother. She didn't speak very good English, so I couldn't really ask questions. But my labor wasn't that bad, and she knew how to cut the cord and handle, well, everything. Before she left, she talked to—” Did she want to say his name?
Oh, why not?
“Emilio for a long time. She sounded stern. I saw her wave a finger in his face. He'd have stabbed anyone else for doing that.”

“Maybe she was
his
mother.”

Meg shrugged. She had wondered, but she'd never seen the woman again. Not that Emilio took her home to meet the family, if he had one.

They lay in silence for a time. Jack resumed stroking her. His touch was so gentle that she felt a sting in her eyes. He wasn't withdrawing, the way she'd feared.

But she heard dread when he asked what Emilio had wanted from her.

“Just... I had to be his woman. He waited a few weeks. I thought later the midwife had told him he had to. I knew all along I'd have to sleep with him.” The truth was ugly. “I sold myself.”

 

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

A
T
HER
SHAME
-
LADEN
ADMISSION
, Jack reared up in bed, lifting her to a sitting position, too, so that she had to look at him. “Damn it, Meg! You were a kid! You did the only thing you could see to do. A lot of women marry men for no better reason. If he didn't mistreat you or pass you around—”

He bit off the rest of whatever he'd been going to say, his jaw muscles bulging with what she knew to be suppressed rage.

Meg laid a hand on his bristly cheek. “No, nothing like that. I was some sort of prize, that's all. He swaggered in front of the others because I was his. He liked the way I talked, that my skin was so white.” Her mouth pulled to one side. “Of course, I wasn't allowed to answer back, or speak to other guys when he wasn't there—and even when he was, I kept my eyes downcast—but he was gone a lot.”

His eyes locked on hers, Jack asked, “How long did you stay with him?”

“Two years. And a few months. He wasn't bad to Emily. I'd have run away if he had been, but he either ignored her or was indulgent.” True confessions were not fun. She hated the pleading note that had entered her voice, the one that said,
See? I'm not so terrible a person.

Jack let his head fall forward for a moment. He squeezed the back of his neck and rotated his shoulders, then said with calm she doubted he felt, “Let's lie down.”

“Emily might call anytime,” she said uneasily.

He looked over her at the digital clock and shook his head. “Not yet.”

So she told him the rest: how she'd eventually visited the Pike Place Market and seen hooked rugs for sale. A young woman hawked her own work at a table in front of the market on sunny days. Meg had been entranced and persuaded the woman to give her lessons.

“She gave me my first hook and an old frame. I started going to garage sales when I could. I got lucky early on, which was good because Emilio didn't give me much money.” This was a happy memory, allowing her to relax. “It was a Sunday afternoon, and these people were going to be stuck with a lot of stuff. I think an old lady had died. Clothes don't sell very well at garage sales no matter what, and these weren't stylish at all. So they let me pick through and take anything made of wool.”

“This...Emilio didn't object?”

“I guess he thought it was a womanly hobby. My first rug was really simplistic. The strips weren't totally even, and the binding sucked. But I got better. He didn't know how much time I was spending at it, or that as I got better, Jordan sold my rugs along with hers and only kept a really small commission.” The pressure in her chest kept Meg silent for a moment. “I owe her so much. Everything,” she finished softly.

“Did you stay in touch with her?”

She nodded. “We mostly email now. And use Facebook. She still hooks, but, like me, she sells online instead of at the market.”

“So you hid your earnings.”

“Yes. I opened a bank account. When I had enough to take care of myself and Emily for two or three months, I packed and left while he was gone. She was two. Walking and talking. I had to go.” She'd written Emilio a note, probably schoolgirlish, exquisitely polite, thanking him. “I felt a little guilty, but I knew he'd never have let me go.”

“You do know there's not a reason in the world for guilt, don't you? It was a devil's bargain, and he was the devil.”

“I do, but...he gave me some breathing room.” There was one more thing she had to say. “I knew stuff about him, but even after I left him, I didn't report him to the police. I probably should have, but I couldn't.”

“You were grateful.”

“He might not have been a good man, but he did take care of me.”

This silence had her bracing herself, but then she realized Jack was still stroking her, kneading, soothing.

What he said was, “So from a small nest egg and a talent for handwork, you earned a living solid enough to allow you to buy a home. What I thought when I first met you couldn't have been more wrong.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “You're an amazing woman, Meg Harper.”

She'd cry if she wasn't careful. “Even if I sold my body?” He started to talk, but she shook her head fiercely. “That's what I did. I hated sex with Emilio. I hated even being
touched
. I pretended for all I was worth, because I was scared of what would happen if he didn't want me anymore. I was as much a whore as the girls who shivered out on the Pacific Highway hoping a john would stop.”

“You know that's not true,” he said, low and gruff. “But even if it is—even if you'd been one of those girls out by SeaTac—you fought your way to independence and dignity. I hold by what I said. You're amazing.”

Oh no!
The tears came, however she tried to stop them. She knew the instant he felt the dampness on his skin, because he tugged her over him, until she was sprawled atop his long, strong body. And then he held her, murmuring, “Cry, honey. It's okay,” and other things she didn't quite take in.

Meg only cried for a minute. She usually hated how she felt afterward. But this time...this time, she felt cleansed. Telling him made her realize anew how far she'd come. There had been years of grinding poverty after she left Emilio, but she'd made it. With her own hard work, she'd made it, and in time to keep Emily from growing up part of that world and ashamed of her mother.

She'd told Jack, and he didn't seem disgusted.

“You named Emily for him,” he said suddenly.

She'd hoped he wouldn't notice. “Yes, in a way. It pleased him, and, you know, he wasn't bad to me.”

“No.” Jack's hands worked magic on muscles that inexplicably ached. “No,” he said tenderly, “you're right.”

Meg would never know if Emilio had loved her or been capable of love. She hoped fury had been his primary emotion when he came home to an empty apartment.

“Is Meg Harper your real name?”

“Yes.” She loved being surrounded by him this way. “I knew no one would be looking for me. Well, except Emilio, and I had told him my last name was Harvey. It's the first name that came to me. I didn't have a driver's license yet, or any ID at all. I had to order my birth certificate so I could open the bank account, but Jordan let me have it sent to her address.”

“Smart girl.”

From the places where Jack's hands had taken to wandering, she was beginning to have a suspicion he'd like to make love again, which meant she needed to get up
now
. Because what if Emily hitched a ride home with a friend's mother?

“I really do have to get up,” she said.

Jack groaned but admitted, “I know. I don't have a second condom anyway.” He rolled quickly, until he was on top of her, his weight solid and sexy, kissed her softly and said, “Thank you for trusting me.”

“Don't make me cry again.”

He laughed, smacked another kiss on her mouth and flopped to his back, letting her go.

* * *

N
OW
THAT
HE
'
D
found his way into Meg's bed, the last thing he wanted to do was get out of it. But she had a kid, so there was no choice.

Didn't mean he couldn't enjoy watching her get dressed first. She took clean panties from a dresser drawer, but otherwise picked up clothes from the floor. As if he'd commented, she made a face at him.

“Emily will notice if I'm not wearing the same thing I was this morning.”

“Really? You think she paid any attention to what you had on?”

Meg laid his cargo pants and boxers on the bed. “Are you kidding? She scans me every morning to be sure I don't have on something that will totally humiliate her if anybody she knows sees me.”

Jack laughed. “I thought it was parents who were supposed to make sure their daughters dressed appropriately. You know, measure the skirt length, be sure too much skin doesn't show.”

“Oh, that would be fun.” Meg sighed. “I guess I've been lucky. She doesn't try to push the limits with her wardrobe.” She stooped until all he could see was her back. “Where in heck—”

He leaned over the side of the bed. “What are you looking for?”

“A sock.” Meg's face was flushed when she straightened.

“Ah.” He turned his head. “The back of the chair.”

“What?”

Man, he felt good. “I sent your clothes flying.”

Her chuckle was the happiest sound he'd ever heard from her. “You did, didn't you?”

Seeing her sit down to put on her socks and a pair of sneakers, he groaned and heaved himself out of bed. “Damn it, I want to spend the night.” His apartment held no appeal.

For a second, he imagined he saw equal yearning in her eyes, but all she said was, “Well, you can't.”

He stepped into his pants and zipped them up, then had to search for his shirt, finding it wadded beneath the sweater.

The hooked rug beside her bed was squishy and soft beneath his feet. He curled his toes into it, intrigued to see that it was the one really girlie piece of decor in her bedroom. Huge yellow, pale pink and dark pink flowers cavorted against a spring-green backdrop. Beneath a leaf, a tiny face peeked out.

Meg tossed a sock his way. “You can stay for dinner if you'd like. Although...”

When she stood up and started for the door, he dropped his boots beside the chair and sat down in it.

“Although what?”

She paused in the doorway, looking over her shoulder. “Well, Emily will wonder.”

“You don't think she wondered last night?”

“Yes, but two nights in a row?”

He sought for the careful thing to say. “You don't want her to know anything is going on between us?”

“It's not really that.” A hint of shyness had returned. “It's just...what
is
going on?”

He doubted she was ready to hear how serious he was about her. And, okay, even he was a little freaked to be thinking he wanted to get in that bed with her every night and wake up with her every morning. Earn her daughter's trust
and
hers. Because this was so damn fast.

Start by finding Sabra
, he thought.
Then see where we go from there.

“A really fine beginning.” It was the best he could come up with.

When he saw Meg's big smile, he knew it was good enough.

* * *

“I
S
HE
COMING
to dinner again tonight?” Emily asked the next morning. She was finishing breakfast, while Meg cleared the table.

Sponge in hand, Meg laughed. “I haven't invited him yet. Would you mind?” Would he want to come?
Three nights in a row?

“I don't know.” Emily scowled, then burst out with, “I don't like the way he looks at you!”

Meg did. It made her melt and feel deliciously feminine when she saw that hot light in his eyes. She knew what he was thinking about—but so, apparently, did Emily. Meg had always tried to make conversations about subjects like sex as natural as when they talked about anything else. But sex in the abstract was one thing. Emily's mom
having
sex? Not quite the same.

How was she supposed to approach this?

Truthfully, but only up to a point, she decided. Euphemisms were good.

“He likes me,” she said. “And I really like him. I guess he's sort of...”

When she hesitated, Emily finished. “Your boyfriend.”

Meg shrugged apologetically.

“Cara's mom dates.” Emily wrinkled her nose. “Sarah's does, too. They both
hate
it. Cara says her mom's boyfriend talks to her like she's about five years old.”

“He probably hasn't been around kids.”
Poor guy.

She rolled her eyes. “Obviously.”

Meg opened her mouth to argue that Jack treated Emily like an adult, but she saw that Emily had something else to say.

“Something happened the other day at school.”

The tale tumbled out. A mousetrap had been set in her cubby. It could easily have snapped shut on her fingers, bruising her at the very least. Ms. Guzman had been mad and was trying to find out who could have planned such a mean prank.

Apprehension dancing up her spine, Meg began, “You don't think—”

“Think what?” Emily either didn't have a clue or was pretending not to know what her mother was talking about.

Meg glanced at the clock. “Bus will be here any minute. You need to get a move on.” She fixed a stern look at her daughter. “You also have to be careful.”

Emily sighed theatrically, but she did rise from the table and, still chewing, stuff the lunch she'd already made into her pack. Meg winced, thinking how squished the sandwich and cookies would be, but Emily must not care.

At the door, she put on a hoodie that wasn't adequate for the weather, in Meg's opinion, but she'd learned to keep her mouth shut.

“If you wait up,” she said, “I still haven't grabbed the newspaper.”

There had been days when Emily would have heaved another sigh or come right out and objected. Heaven forbid anyone see her mommy walking her to the bus stop, or even the few steps to the street.

And really that wasn't what she was doing. Exactly. Meg had lurked mornings since Jack had roused her mother-bear instincts, not happy until she knew Emily was safely on the bus. Just as she'd had an excuse every day Emily had ridden the bus home to have an eye on her from the minute she hopped onto the sidewalk. Tying up the thorny, leafless limbs of a climbing rose had taken her three afternoons.

Meg would have worried less if a larger group of kids caught the bus at their corner, but most of the children in the neighborhood were younger. One middle-school boy and a freshman girl were the only two besides Emily at the closest stop, and sometimes one or both of them weren't there or didn't take the bus home. They probably ran late or had after-school activities, too.