Forgiving Jackson (12 page)

“No.” She struggled to capture her composure. “I can’t tell you because nothing happened. I don’t know him. I’ve never seen him before.”

He shook his head. “You’re lying. You’re in my employ. You live on my property. It’s my responsibility to protect you. So if you won’t tell me, I’ll stop by the sheriff’s office and have Brad arrest him.”

Ha! She had him now. How stupid did he think she was? “The sheriff is not going to arrest someone who hasn’t done anything just because you ask him to.”

Jackson nodded. “Yeah. He will. Bradley Stanton sat beside me in kindergarten. His mother was a health nut and he never had anything in his lunch except cashew butter sandwiches, raw vegetables, and fruit. I gave him half my cookies every day. He’ll arrest him. And he’ll hold him until I get out of the son of a bitch what he did to you. Even if that wasn’t true, Dirk would kidnap him and torture him until he talked. Don’t tell me you don’t believe
that.”

Unfortunately, she couldn’t deny it.

“Anyway,” Jackson forged on. “Either way, Glazov will pay, so you can tell me or he can.”

Panic flew over her. This could not happen.

“So. I guess since Mason Patrick killed himself and you can’t make him pay for killing your friends, you’ve got to make somebody pay for something even if you have to invent it.”

His eyes darkened the barest bit for the barest second but then he looked even more resolved.

“That’s not what we’re talking about. We’re talking about what happened to you. Because if Glazov just dated you and then kicked you to the curb, I need to know it. I can’t see how that would scare you, but I don’t understand women in general or you in particular.”

“No! That’s not what happened!” The panic escalated and the volume of her voice told that story.

“Then what did?” Jackson demanded through clenched teeth.

“Take me home!”

“No. You’re going tell me in the next two seconds or I’m calling Brad. I’ve got his number.” He held up his phone.

This was a nightmare! There was no doubt that Jackson was telling the truth. He had the power and—apparently—the ruthless resolve to ruin someone. An innocent man’s career and reputation would be in shambles if she didn’t do something—and fast.

He began to scroll through the contacts on his phone.

“Wait!” She put a shaking hand on his to still it. “I’ll tell you.”

“You’ve got my attention.” He put his phone down and studied her intently.

“I don’t know that hockey player. I’ve never seen him before.” She had to think fast. “But for a second I thought he was someone else.”

Jackson nodded. “Who?”

That, she would never tell.
He
had told her that if she went to the police, if she told anyone, he’d come back and do what he’d done to her before over and over, that she’d never be safe. She believed him, and she feared that more than dying.

“That’s just it. I don’t know who. It was a while back.”

“When you were in New York?”

“Yes. I went to a birthday party for a guy I worked with.” That much was true. What next? She struggled to remember the details of what she’d told Amelia two years ago when she’d shown up with a battered face and two sprained wrists. “When I got ready to leave the party, I couldn’t get a cab, so I decided to walk. It was only a few blocks. I wouldn’t have thought a thing of it if it had been daytime. But it was late. And I made a bad decision.”

“You made a bad decision?” He looked puzzled.

“I did.” Again, the truth. Just not what he thought.

“And this guy—he hurt you?”

She nodded. “He dragged me into an alley.” The terror and pain in her voice was real, even if the alley wasn’t. “And that’s where it happened. He—hurt me.”

Jackson was silent for a time. Maybe this was enough. Maybe there would be no more questions.

“Emory.” His voice had the same quality it always held when he sang a love song. He barely touched the top of her hand with his fingertips, fingertips that were calloused from wringing ten lifetimes of emotion from a guitar. “Did he rape you?”

“He beat me. I thought my jaw was broken but it wasn’t.” True.

“Did he rape you?”

“He pulled my hair. I had a bald spot the size of a half dollar.” Also true.

“Did he rape you?”

“Both of my eyes were black. He pinned my wrists for a long time. When I came to Amelia, she let me stay hidden until my face was normal again.” Also true.

“Did he rape you?”

She closed her mouth. Such a bad word and not one she understood anymore. There was a time when she thought she knew what it meant, but that was back in the stupid days.

“I … ” she began. “I walked home. And I had on a short skirt.” And she had let him walk her home. She had teased and flirted, and let him kiss her.

“My God!” Jackson hit the steering wheel with his fist. “You think because you
walked
home and wore a
short
skirt, that it was okay for a pervert to beat and rape you!”

She swallowed. “Not okay. But if I had—”

“If you had
nothing
. This was not your fault. And I won’t have you thinking that.”

“Okay.” She laughed a broken little laugh. “That’s what Amelia said, too.” But they didn’t know the truth. True, she had never meant to have sex with him but she’d parted her lips when he kissed her and hadn’t pulled away when his hard penis brushed her thigh.

Jackson let his fingers drift across her hand until she felt the whole warmth of his palm. He shook his head. “Look, Emory, I’m sorry it happened to you. And it had nothing to with Glazov?”

“No! I swear, he just had the same look, and it caught me off guard.”

“What was done?”

What was done? Hadn’t she told enough? “I told you what happened.”

“Is he in jail?”

“No. I told you. I don’t know who it was.” Truth was over.

“What did the police say?”

Well, Jackson, the police didn’t say anything because I didn’t tell them.

“They tried but they never found him,” Emory said.

“Uh-huh.” His eyes were still directed at her but he was somewhere else—planning, plotting, persecuting.

“There wasn’t enough to go on.”

“What about the DNA?”

There wasn’t any because I didn’t go to the hospital. Oh, and he wore a condom—another reason it was my fault. I should have been able get away while he put it on, even if he was holding my wrists together over my head, even if he had me pinned to the floor with his leg. I could have fought harder.

“They didn’t turn anything up.” She looked at her hands.

“Did they run a countrywide search? New York gets lots of tourists.”

He wasn’t a tourist! He was my colleague’s brother! He worked at Bank of America! He had a Porsche and a sailboat! And I liked him! I even thought I might like to go on that boat and ride in that car!

“I don’t know, Jackson. I just needed to be done.”

“What did Amelia say about all this? Did she not try to—” His voice hung in the air.

“Try to what? Go to New York and track him down? Jackson, there was no one to track down.”

He closed his eyes, sighed, and ran his hand over his face. “I guess.” He brought his eyes back to hers. “So this is the reason you left your job without notice? Why you left Wall Street to help my aunt?”

“Yes.”

“And this is why you didn’t follow my instructions, isn’t it? You’re afraid to leave.” Evidence of an epiphany washed over his face.

She nodded. Might as well tell the truth about something.

“But you don’t need to be afraid. You don’t need to hide. I’ll show you. We’re going to get some lunch before we go home.”

“No, Jackson! I have to go home now.”

“You surely don’t think I’d let anyone hurt you.”

“No, not if you could help it. But I have to go home. Now.” At this moment, she felt like she had when she’d first come here two years ago, when leaving the grounds of Beauford Bend had been unthinkable. When she had finally starting going to town, it was always with Amelia, Gwen, or Sammy. But gradually, as she’d met the people and learned the town, she’d been able to expand her safe place to Beauford and go out alone—probably because there were so many places she could run to for help.

Jackson started to protest but then shook his head. “Okay. But tomorrow night we’re going to dinner. You have to see that you can be safe away from Beauford Bend.”

“Yes. Fine. Tomorrow.” She would have said anything to get back to that walled property. Besides, this was a temporary setback. Tomorrow would be different.

He nodded. “Come to think of it, I need to go back, too.”

Finally, he cranked the truck and headed toward safety and home.

Jackson was a man with a mission.

He didn’t stop to think about the horror of what had happened to Emory. It was too late to stop it, but he could make it better for her. All he had to do was make her feel safe in the world again and she would be happy to leave Beauford Bend. She might even want to go back to her Wall Street career. If she did, he’d offer to give Around the Bend to Christian. She could hire a replacement for Emory and everybody would be happy.

But first things first. He had to keep Missy from joining the rest of the known world in invading his home so he called Gabe and Rafe. They had never been ones to belabor emotions so the conversations were brief.
Are you okay? I’m okay.
Have you heard from Beau yet? No, have you? No.
Asked and answered; move on.

Then he dialed another number.

“Dirk? I need you to go to New York.”

• • •

This is not a date,
Emory told herself as she dressed in a blue sundress and sandals. Not that she wanted it to be. In fact, it was a comfort to remind herself that it wasn’t. She hadn’t seen Jackson since they’d gotten back from town yesterday. She’d been busy with the quilters and getting ready for a big birthday party this weekend. Who knew what he’d been doing. She’d hoped he had forgotten about their dinner plans but he’d sent her a text mid afternoon that said, 6 o’clock.

So here she was—ten minutes before six, dressed and made up like she was going on a date when she would have preferred to eat a Lean Cuisine in her pajamas while she caught up on email. Not that she was afraid; that had passed like she knew it would with a short rest and some hard work.

Did he expect her to meet him at the garage or was he going to pick her up? Or maybe he expected her to come knocking on his door.

Not likely. He’d cranked this up and he could come get her or at least text her and tell her to come running. Besides, maybe he’d changed his mind. That would be great.

The doorbell rang—which was good news because she was hungry—and bad news because she was either going to have to endure barbed-wire Jackson or guard her heart against sweet Jackson. And God help her, it was looking more and more like her heart needed guarding. She needed to have a long talk with it and explain that, even if there hadn’t been another woman on the other end of a telephone
I love you,
she wasn’t fit for a relationship.

Emory opened the door and her stomach took a nosedive. There was something about a man in a slightly rumpled white linen jacket, and this was totally unexpected. It shouldn’t have been. After all, Amelia had raised him. He’d put it with a luxurious blue madras shirt and jeans with a sharp crease.

“You’re dressed nice.” She stood aside to let him in.

“I’ve had a bath, too.”

“Bubble bath?”

“Shower. I don’t take tub baths. Who wants to sit in hot people juice?”

“You
said
bath.” Maybe she should change earrings or put on a necklace.

“Bath, in that I bathed.”

She picked up her purse. Forget the jewelry. He’d be the pretty one even if she were wearing the Queen of England’s crown jewels.

“Did you iron those pants yourself?” She locked the door after them.

He looked sheepish. “Uh, no. Someone else did it.”

“Who?”

“Well.” He opened the passenger door and helped her in. “I got Sammy to go into town to get me some stuff. When he brought it to me, he might have mentioned that he could iron. So I let him.”

Oh, this was rich!

“He might have
mentioned
that he could iron.
How
did that come about?”

He put the key in the ignition. “He mentioned it when I asked him if he could.”

“You
asked
Sammy to iron for you?”

“Sort of. When he got through cleaning up after fixing me lunch, he asked if there was anything else he could do for me. I figured it wouldn’t hurt to ask.”

“He fixed your lunch?” She wasn’t sure exactly how to react to this. Was he taking advantage of Sammy’s good nature? On the other hand, Sammy was so eager to rectify his recent mistake that he was probably pleased.

“Nothing complicated. He grilled a couple of steaks and made some French fries.”

“A
couple
of steaks. You ate a
couple
of steaks?”

“No. I figured as long as he was cooking he might as well make one for himself. It’s not like there’s only one chair at the table. Also, he knows how to make this fantastic rub for meat.”

She had to hide her smile.

“So you have appropriated my employee for your own personal houseboy?”

“Houseboy?” He pulled up to the end of the driveway. “Of course not! I wouldn’t have a houseboy.”

“Whatever. I’m just wondering what I’m going to do for help if he’s slaving for you.”

“It was a one-time thing.” He hesitated. “Except for a little while tomorrow. He’s going to polish my shoes and wash my truck. It was his idea.”

“No doubt.” Jackson pulled out of the driveway—and turned right instead of left. “Hey! You’re going the wrong way.”

He glanced her way and looked puzzled. “No, I’m not. I made a reservation at F. Scott’s for seven o’clock.”

F. Scott’s? There was no F. Scott’s in Beauford. They were headed toward Nashville.

“No!” The panic of yesterday returned. “I can’t go there.”

“Why not? You don’t like F. Scott’s? They have live jazz and the food is good. They’re saving a table where nobody will pay attention to me.”