Her Sister (Search For Love series) (6 page)

"She's
not the one who fell apart when Lynnie was abducted."

"I
didn't fall apart," Max snapped.  "I just reached for a different
kind of comfort than she did."

The
truth was, his wife had wanted to reach for him when he'd been unavailable,
wrapped up in searching, neck-deep in fear and panic.  She'd turned to her
friend, Natalie, and anyone else who could sympathize.  He'd turned to no one. 
When it had been clear they weren't going to find Lynnie or her abductor, he'd
drowned himself, not only in the alcohol, but in the fury...in the anger...in
the regret.

"If
I know Amanda..." Max said with a shake of his head.  "...she's
filling her head with dreams about a happy reunion.  Even if Grove and the FBI
find Lynnie, I doubt if there's going to be a happy outcome.  If that had been
possible, Lynnie would have found her way back to us.  Since she didn't, I
don't even want to think about what that monster did to her."

His
hand was tight around his glass.  The whiteness of his knuckles made an impact,
and he released his grip.  It wasn't as if he didn't know what happened to children
who were abused.  He dealt with it all the time.  And the results weren't
pretty.  They were affected for the rest of their lives.  Cases didn't have to
be extreme for that to happen.  And in Lynnie's case...  He closed his eyes but
that didn't erase the images that had burned a place for themselves in his
nightmares.

"I
wouldn't want to be you," Frank muttered sincerely.

The
bartender slid his mug in front of him and the foam sloshed onto the bar. 
"If we could go back to Dickinson and do it all again—"

It was
strange, but thinking about his law-school years at Dickinson didn't evoke
scrapbook pictures of study-groups and campus life but rather memories of
Amanda—how she'd worked beside him...waited up for him...kept a tight budget
with him...loved him.  And thinking about those years took him back further to
a place he hadn't been in a long time—her dad's farm.

The
coiled tension inside his chest released just a little.  Those summer days on
the farm.

He'd
been working at the Fogelsmith farm for a month, staying away from Amanda,
telling himself he had a career and a future to tend to.  Everyone knew law
school, like med school, didn't bode well for any kind of relationship.  He'd
been looking forward to college, dating lots of girls, not just one, adding
notches to his belt, which if he had to admit it, wasn't very notched at
eighteen.  With studies, sports, scholarships in his sights and working part
time, who had time for women?  Or getting laid?

Amanda
had been different from most of the girls who usually turned his head, or at
least got his hormones revved up.  For one thing she'd been skinny, with not
many curves.  For another, he'd never particularly liked redheads.  Not that he'd
made a study of it.  But girls he'd taken to the homecoming dance, Christmas
bash, or the odd party had been brunettes.  Amanda had been in a few of his
classes and she was quite intelligent.  In class she was the one who knew all
the answers when a teacher called on her.  She obviously studied hard.  Yet he
never saw her around much before and after school.  He realized why once he'd
started working on her dad's farm.

Amanda's
chores took up her out-of-school spare time.  She loved animals, especially the
kittens in the barn.  And she helped her mom cook, too.  That's why he never
saw her in the library in the morning comparing her homework with her other
classmates.  That's why she didn't attend sports events.  Amanda had always
been her own person.  As long as she was doing what she thought was right,
nothing else mattered.  He'd liked that about her back then.  Now it usually
annoyed him.

No
other girl he'd known had ridden on a flatbed wagon in back of a tractor
helping her dad or walked through the three-foot high tobacco field with him
and her father, topping off the leaves, breaking off the flowers, pulling the
suckers to make the leaves larger, thicker and darker.

There
had been something almost intimate between them while they'd walked through the
tobacco plants, their fingers reaching for the same flower now and then, their
eyes locking, the sun beating down on them.  Amanda had tied her hair back with
a blue paisley handkerchief.  It was obvious her fair skin sunburned easily,
and she'd told him her mother made her put some kind of cream on before she
went out.  He could still remember the sweet smell of it, along with the
tobacco, sunburned weeds, the scent of dried earth.

They'd
come in from the field late that July afternoon.  While he'd gone to the barn
to help with the animals, Amanda had run toward the house, her scarf torn free,
her red hair fiery in the afternoon sun.  And he'd just stood there, a kid with
a hard on, knowing Amanda Fogelsmith sent a shiver through his body that
wouldn't quit, even in ninety-five degree heat.  He slipped back in time to
that night with no reluctance at all.

It was
almost 6 p.m. when Amanda came around the corner at the barn and caught him
washing off the day's grime and sweat at the water spigot.  The temperature
hadn't dropped a degree.  The barn had been stifling and he'd just needed to
let the cold water cool him down before he went home to stuffy rooms, cigarette
smoke and the vacant sense of despair that always hung there.

He
heard the soft "oh," before he saw her, lifting his head from the
spigot, not attempting to wipe away the water dripping down his face.  She was
a dream that was too good to be true in a white peasant blouse with flowers
embroidered on the front and jeans that showed off her long legs.  Her hair
looked loose and soft and flyaway, like she'd just washed it, and he could
smell the scent of something like orange blossoms.  She always smelled so
sweet.

She
made a point of keeping her eyes on his.  "Mama said you're welcome to
stay for supper.  It was a long day."

He
swept his hand over his face and felt like an idiot, dripping in front of her. 
"I'm not fit company."  He motioned to the T-shirt he'd balled and
thrown on the ground next to the spigot.

Her
gaze wavered then, dropped to his chest, came back up to his eyes.  "My
dad probably has a shirt he can lend you.  That is if you want to stay. 
Meatloaf with mashed potatoes and green beans, if you're wondering.  I think
Mama baked a cherry pie, too."

He
almost laughed.  If her company wasn't enough, she was trying to entice him
with her mother's food because she wanted him to stay.  He could see that, as
plainly as he knew he shouldn't.

He
couldn't keep the huskiness from his voice as he asked, "And what happens
if I stay, Amanda?"

She
pretended she didn't know what he meant and shrugged.  "You get a great
meal.  My parents said—"  She stopped.

"Your
parents said I probably wouldn't get one at home?"

"No,
I didn't mean—"

"Yes,
you did.  Yes,
they
did.  And they're right.  My dad's drunk most of the
time and doesn't care whether we eat or not."

He took
a few steps closer to her, not sure whether he wanted to intimidate her or make
temptation escalate so he couldn't resist it.  "You didn't answer my
question.  What happens if I stay?"  He brushed her hair behind her ear
and it was just as soft as he imagined it would be.

"I
don't know," she managed breathlessly.

He was
breathless, too, just looking at her, definitely from touching her.  "I
don't need a steady girl.  I have plans."

Her
shoulders squared and her chin came up.  "I have plans, too.  I want to be
a teacher.  I think you're awfully full of yourself to think I'd want you as a
steady."

His
grin was slow in coming, but it came, as he wrapped his arm around her and
pulled that pristine peasant blouse right up against his chest.  "Let's
just see if we should even consider steady or not."

There
had been no finesse in that first kiss.  It had been filled with raw, teenage
hunger.  In short of a minute her hands had been on him, his hands had found
her bottom in her jeans and the world had turned into a different place when
they were done.

That
had been the beginning of him and Amanda.  So very different from the end.

When
Frank thumped his empty beer mug down onto the bar, he broke Max's fall into
the past.  "How about some of that chili you mentioned.  I'm ready to burn
a hole in my gut.  How about you?"

Max
wondered if the spicy food could possibly exacerbate the acid that had started
burning there from the moment he'd gotten Grove's phone call.  "Chili
sounds good.  That and the cornbread should hold me until I get home.  I sure
won't get any food on the plane."

"What
time do you leave?"

"I'm
flying out at five.  I just wish I had something to take back with
me...something more than the knowledge that Lynnie was one of Luther Brown's
victims and there are probably too many more to count."

"You've
got to hang onto the hope that she's still alive."

Max
was
hanging onto that hope.  But even if Lynnie was still alive, that didn't mean
he'd get his daughter back.

That
was the worst fear of all—that his daughter could be so changed he'd see
nothing but distance in her eyes.

****

Shara
lifted her bedroom window Friday afternoon and heard the SUV next door start up
in the driveway.  Damn.  That meant their neighbor had been home.  Had he seen
her sneak into the house?  His carport faced their carport.

What
were the chances?  One in a million.  Her mother would never know she cut
classes again.  She was getting really good at lying, making up stories that
were close to the truth so she didn't screw up.

The
October breeze still carried the hint of summer as it puffed the blue-and-white
striped curtains away from the window.  Shara looked around her room that her
mother had decorated for her.  They'd bought along the curtains from the small
apartment where they used to live.  Why was it her mother still treated her like
she was ten.  So did her grandparents, for that matter.

All the
adults in her life were preoccupied with her missing aunt.  Her mom never
talked about her.  There were pictures of Aunt Lynnie as a little girl at Gram's
place.  If they found her now—

That
would be just too weird!

Shara
thought about going to the refrigerator for something to eat.  But she just
wasn't hungry, hadn't been for about a week, which was fine with her.  It
wouldn't hurt her to lose a few pounds.

Picking
up the phone on her nightstand, she sank down onto her bed.  She'd been trying
to call or see Brad ever since her mom had ordered him out Monday.  But he
wasn't returning her calls and she kept missing him at school.  She'd gone over
to his house before she'd come home.  She'd had to take a bus and that had
taken forever.  But he hadn't been there.

So now
all she could do was try to call again.  Her mouth went dry so she took a few
swigs of a bottle of water that she always carried with her.  She'd walked from
his house home and that had been about a half a mile.  The bottom of her feet
burned in her sneakers.  She didn't want him to believe she was chasing him,
yet she loved him, didn't she?  Didn't he love her?  He'd had sex with her.  He'd
liked it.  He couldn't do that without feeling a lot for her, could he?

This
time when she dialed, he answered!

"Hey,
Shara."  He'd obviously seen her number on his Caller ID.

She
wished her mom would buy her a cell phone, but these days her mom wouldn't be
doing her any favors.  "Hey, Brad.  I haven't seen you around or heard
from you for a while."

"I
took a few mental health days.  You at school?"

"Are
you kidding?  No, I'm home.  Do you want to go somewhere?"

"Can't."

When he
didn't explain, Shara waited.  The silence lengthened.  "Maybe we could do
something tonight," she suggested.

"Sorry,
I've got stuff to do.  And, hey, somebody's beeping me.  I've gotta go.  Talk
to you later."

The
dial tone sounded in her ear.

Had her
mother spooked him?  Did he really think her mother would press charges against
him?  Shara swore, tossed the cordless phone down onto the bed and went to her
computer desk.

She
leaned down to the cubbyhole on the lower right to turn on the tower.  But as
she started to straighten, a wave of dizziness rushed over her and she steadied
her world by clutching the desk.

Damn. 
What was going on?  She was never sick.  No appetite...tired...dizzy.  The flu?

Or...

Her
period was a week late.  Suddenly it all came together.  Panicked, she grabbed
for her purse.  She had to get to a drug store.

And if
the pregnancy test was positive?

She ran
down the hall and out of the house, too scared to even think about the answer.

****

Chapter
Four