The Sound of Consequence (Puget Sound ~ Alive With Love Book 1) (20 page)

“Maybe I can help,” Owen said, still trying to comfort her.

Stacie didn’t want to talk about the nightmare. Or the headache. She just wanted it to go away. How could she make that happen?

She turned and kissed Owen hard on the mouth. Pushing him back down on the bed, she straddled his waist.

“Put your hands on me, Owen,” she demanded.

Owen lay there as if he wasn’t sure what to do. “Stacie,” he drawled, his low voice telling her he wasn’t going to be a good little soldier and follow those orders.

So she grabbed his hand and put it to her breast as she slid along his growing erection. As she slid back down, he was inside of her and stifling a pleasured groan.

Stacie picked up the pace, hell bent on distracting him. Owen grabbed her hips, his firm grip trying to slow her down. As her body fought through his resistance, Owen lurched up off the bed and flipped them over.

Completely aroused now, Stacie held her breath, anticipating the drive of his hips into her. She liked it when Owen took control and knew exactly where he was going to take her.

When he pinned her arms on the pillow, Stacie got excited. But Owen didn’t move. “Baby, talk to me.”

Stacie shook her head. “I don’t want to talk. I want to make love.”

“I want to make love too, but this isn’t making love. This is you trying to avoid something horrible.”

“It was just a dream. I’ve already forgotten it.” Stacie licked her lips, hoping to get Owen focused on the sex again. “There’s room for a new memory. An incredibly satisfying memory.”

When she lifted her head to kiss him, Owen moved back, scrutinizing her with searching eyes as he remained out of reach.

Stacie wasn’t sure how much time passed when he finally let her go and moved off her. He pulled the comforter up over them and lay on his side facing Stacie. The absence of his touch was frustrating, even more so when she reached out to him and he flinched. “This isn’t the first time you’ve had a nightmare like this, is it?”

As if on cue with the inquisition, a familiar ache throbbed across her forehead. It was going to get worse before it got better. She needed to get an ice pack on it. It was the only thing that helped the pain.

It was probably a good idea to leave. The problem was, there was no way Owen would let her walk home alone and she definitely wasn’t ready to announce that she only needed to walk five feet to get there. Their weekend together had been wonderful, but her control over their little fling was slowly slipping away.

Instead of getting her clothes on, she rolled away and curled her body under the thick comforter. “Let’s just go back to sleep.”

Owen massaged her shoulder, as though his touch might coax the words from her. “Stacie, I think we should talk about it.”

“I don’t want to talk about it!” she snapped. She didn’t mean to be so short with him but the pain was more than she could tolerate and his insistence was wearing on her last nerve. “Please, Owen, just let it go.”

She could feel his warm breath on her shoulder as he slid behind her body and wrapped his arm around her. Stacie wished the security of his hold was what she needed right now. She’d gotten these headaches enough to know not even Owen’s amazing hands could make the pain go away.

Stacie lay awake, the throbbing growing stronger with each passing minute. When Owen’s breathing deepened and his arm grew heavy as every muscle relaxed in his sleep, she eased away from him, slipped on a t-shirt, and went to the kitchen for ice.

Owen kept a neat and organized kitchen, so making an icepack was quick and easy. Pressing the pack firmly to her forehead, she dropped onto the couch, elbows resting on her knees to keep the compress firmly in place.

~~~

Owen nailed the alarm after one squawk. He couldn’t stand the sound of it anyway and his mind was already alert, just like it had been so many times during his short-lived army career. This time it wasn’t the threat of an enemy that had his head already on a mission. It was Stacie’s nightmare. If she was still sleeping after whatever horror haunted her dreams, then he wanted to make sure she remained sleeping.

Extending his arm across the bed, Owen craved just one slow stroke of that silky brown hair before he forced himself into the shower. On a normal day, he’d wake her so they could make love one more time, but after that nightmare, he was happy to let her sleep.

When his reach came up empty, he opened his eyes to find that she wasn’t in the bed. The bathroom light was off and the door was open, so she couldn’t be in there. His heart raced as the panic set in. She’d snuck out on him. And since he didn’t know her phone number or where she lived, he was once again at her mercy.

When he bolted out of bed, his foot caught on the denim cutoffs she had worn the day before. OK, this was a good sign. It meant that either she hadn’t left or that she’d be returning for these.

Hope that she was still there propelled him out of the bedroom. He found her sitting on the couch, head resting wearily in her hands. Was she really sleeping in that position?

Stacie startled awake as Owen moved closer. She shook her head a little and put a wet plastic baggie down on the table. Looking over her shoulder, she smiled, then leaned back on the couch.

“Are you all right?” He could feel the tension in her shoulders as he massaged them.

“I’m fine,” she sighed. “I had a headache.”

He continued to massage her shoulders and neck. When she seemed more relaxed, he moved around the couch and hefted her up. It was obvious that she wasn’t fine, the tension in her face drawing her lips taut while her narrowed eyes twitched. Damn, that had to be one hell of a headache.

“I’m ready to go back to bed,” she said to him.

Owen lifted her chin and looked into her eyes. “Are you ready to tell me about it?” he asked.

“No.” Her voice was quiet, exhaustion still bogging her down. Owen didn’t have the heart to tell her that it was time to get up and head to the ferry, so he led her to the bedroom and tucked her back into his bed. He lay next to her for a few minutes. She fell asleep quickly, her body relaxing against his. He’d have loved to stay there and hold her, keep her safe from whatever was haunting her. Unfortunately, duty called and he had to go to work.

Even though the city was starting to rouse, it was still quiet. The rain had stopped and daylight was coming. It’d probably be a couple hours before the sun burned through the fog. Thick clouds and fog were common over the sound in the morning. Today Owen was happy for that little atmospheric anomaly. He hoped the darkness would help Stacie sleep.

The last four days had been amazing and he was reluctant to leave her. If he delayed too much longer, he’d miss the first ferry. Even civilians suffered the consequences of being late for work.

Owen opted for a shower in the main bathroom so that the running water didn’t wake her. When he was ready to leave, he spotted her sketchpad leaning against the wall just behind the door, the cedar box placed next to it. Despite their hunger when they’d returned from the beach, Stacie had still managed to find a safe place for the gifts and set them there before Owen pounced.

He put them on the dining table and wrote a note, telling her that he didn’t have the heart to wake her and that he would miss her today. She was welcome to stay at his place as long as she wanted, and he hoped she would meet him on the ferry tonight. He placed the note on top of the sketchpad. He was tempted to look inside at the drawing she had done as he lay on the blanket in the park, but that was invasive. It wasn’t his right to look at a drawing that she hadn’t been willing to share with him. He returned to the bedroom and kissed her lightly on the cheek. She didn’t stir.

“I love you, Stacie,” he whispered as he left the room.

Stacie reached across the bed
, finding only cold sheets.

“Owen,” she whispered, grogginess robbing her of a full voice.

Owen didn’t answer and she couldn’t hear him breathing, so she forced her heavy lids open, only to find that she was alone in the bed. Focusing on the clock, she was surprised to see it was almost 10:30.

“Shakespeare,” she choked. They got up at five on the days when Owen had to work. If he was still here, he was very late. After clearing her throat, she called out to him, but got no response.

Rolling off the bed, Stacie ventured out to the main rooms of the condo and found a note. She smiled as she read his words in neat handwriting. The extra sleep was exactly what she needed. The fog from the long hours of sleep was wearing off and with the headache just a memory, she felt like herself again. Maybe she could get some painting done today. Her Villages in the Pine scene still needed flowers and sunshine and her deadline was just two days away.

Stacie smiled as she ran her fingers across the sketchpad on the table. Maybe the scene needed some clouds, too.

She flipped the pad open to the drawing of Owen. She wondered whether he’d looked at the sketch when he moved the pad. Such an intimate image, she could hardly believe she’d drawn him like that. It was perfect, capturing him in the moment, with the moon rising and the clouds moving. Just perfect.

Her attention shifted to the painting over the fireplace. Without Owen there to distract her, it was time to take a good look at it. If she knew more about the source of her inspiration, maybe she could entice her muse to meet the deadline.

Of course, after yesterday at the park, and last night on the beach, she felt ready to paint the world. Owen was another source of inspiration. Still, knowing more about this painting might just help her stories progress.

Stacie looked along the edge for a painter’s signature or mark, but found nothing, so she carefully lifted it off the nail and moved over to the low table in front of the couch.

“Jackpot,” she said as she turned the painting over and discovered writing on the back in a deep shade of blue that matched the painting. The words didn’t seem to make any sense.
I love you Daddy! 4-eva, Hailey.

“I love you Daddy,” she said, trying to process the message. Owen a dad?
He’d told her the painting was a gift, saying nothing more than that. In fact, he had quickly evaded the subject when Stacie wanted to know more.

That couldn’t be possible. He’d never spoken of a daughter. He’d mentioned the ex-wife and Stacie was sure if there was a child in his life, he would have mentioned that too. Besides, there were no photos around his place. If he had a daughter, his condo would have boasted that.

Of course, he hadn’t completely unpacked yet. Stacie turned to the smaller bedroom. The door directly behind Owen’s couch stood open and she could see stacks of boxes. Leaving the painting on the table, she made her way around the couch and into the room.

A small desk and computer sat against one wall, exercise equipment pushed against another. In the corner, boxes were stacked as high as her chest. Stacie had never ventured in here before, not having reason to. Her curiosity now piqued, if she was going to find information anywhere, it was likely to be in this room.

Stacie started at the tidy desk where neatly placed papers lay next to a closed laptop. She leafed through the bills and account statements, not paying any attention to the numbers on them. It wasn’t her business and wouldn’t give her a clue about the painting.

When she got through the small pile, she opened the laptop and turned it on. There could be pictures on here. When the hard drive cycled up, it prompted her for a password.

“Shakespeare,” Stacie cursed. She’d hoped it would just boot up. Stacie thought about the passwords she used and hoped that Owen was that predictable. She typed Hailey in for the password and hit enter. No luck.

Chewing her lip, she realized she knew very little about Owen. Stacie wasn’t even sure when his birthday was, so that couldn’t offer a clue to his password. Besides, he worked with computers, so he probably used complicated strings with numbers and letters and symbols. Just like Greg had always preached. Just like Stacie had always ignored.

Stacie shook herself out of that thought. She didn’t want to think about Greg or his demands. Closing the computer, she focused on the boxes and found a small file safe. That was a good place to store personal information.

Taking a deep breath, Stacie contemplated what she was about to do. If she opened that safe she would be invading Owen’s privacy. She hadn’t even told him where she lived, though that had less to do with privacy and more to do with control. Still, rifling through his personal papers would make her a hypocrite. To the millionth degree.

But he never had to know. She’d be careful, put everything back where she had found it. If he had a daughter, she had to know.

OK, so this was the deal. The safe was locked. If she found a key, she was meant to browse through the safe. If she didn’t, she’d give up the pursuit.

So where would he keep the key to a safe?

Stacie looked around the room, her gaze settling on the small desk with a single drawer. She’d give herself this one opportunity. If she found a key in that drawer, she’d open the safe. If she didn’t, she’d go home.

As soon as she opened the drawer, a ring with four keys sparkled under the mid-morning sun. One of them looked like it could belong to the safe. Stacie knelt in front of the safe, then looked over her shoulder, as if to check if Owen had returned.

“Stop it,” she scolded. She just couldn’t justify snooping. That was something Greg would have done if he thought she was hiding something. Not that there was anything to hide in that boring life she’d left behind.

Stacie stood and returned the keys to the drawer.

When she got back to the living room and saw the words on the back of the painting, she held a long inner dialogue trying to convince herself that snooping through Owen’s papers was a horrible invasion of privacy and betrayal of trust.

Where the inner voice failed, curiosity prevailed. “Screw it,” she said and headed back to the desk. Stacie grabbed the keys and positioned herself in front of the safe. The suspect key opened the lock.

Taking a deep breath to muster her resolve, Stacie opened the lid and found neatly labeled folders inside. She pulled out two folders, one labeled Marriage Certificates/Divorce Papers and the other labeled Birth Certificates.

She already knew about his divorce, so she went for the birth certificates first and struck pay dirt. The first one was Owen’s. Owen Emanuel Landry. Father Emanuel Terrence Landry. Mother Candace Elaine Murray. He was born in Lafayette, Louisiana. He’d be turning thirty November first.

Stacie smiled as she held the birth record to her chest. Somehow, knowing this information about Owen made her feel closer to him. She had guessed he was around her age, especially given that he had served in the army for ten years, but when they were together, it never occurred to her to ask him his age. As she held his birth certificate, she imagined him as an infant, his parents smitten with him. He was probably the perfect baby, always happy and full of charm. Just as he was now.

She moved to the next page. Hailey Belle Landry. Father Owen Emanuel Landry. Mother Daphne Ann Foster.

Well, that proved that he was a father. Hailey was also born in Lafayette and had turned twelve years old in February. Stacie wondered about this girl, Owen’s daughter. Why hadn’t Owen mentioned her? Was there something wrong? She looked back into the safe at the organized folders. She didn’t see one labeled Death Certificates, so she assumed that Hailey was still alive, probably living with her mother. So why no pictures?

Stacie moved to the next birth certificate. Kristina Leigh Sprague. Owen’s ex-wife. Kristina was Stacie’s age, twenty-eight and born in Albany, New York. The next birth certificate was for Daphne, Hailey’s mother. Daphne was Owen’s age, just a month younger than Owen. She was also born in Lafayette.

Placing the birth certificates back in the folder, Stacie then opened the Marriage Certificates/Divorce Papers folder. There were two manila envelopes inside the folder. They had handwritten names scratched across them, Daphne on one, Kristina on the other. Stacie opened the envelope with Kristina’s name and pulled the papers out. She found a marriage certificate, dated three years ago. Behind it was a divorce decree dated just over a year ago.

This was the cheating wife, but not the mother of his daughter. Stacie shuffled the other envelope forward and opened it. Another marriage certificate and divorce decree among various other divorce papers. Owen had also been married to Daphne. The marriage had taken place seven months before Hailey was born.

Stacie studied the thick stack of papers. They had been divorced four years after their wedding. Details of the custody and child support were extensive. It appeared that Owen was only allowed to see his daughter once a year, for a supervised visit.

What the…hell?

She pondered all the information, reread the papers, pondered some more. Owen had been so forthcoming about what happened with his most recent wife and their divorce. Why hadn’t he told her about the first marriage? And his daughter?

Stacie could only assume that something awful had happened to cause the divorce and the limited rights with his daughter.

What had Owen done?

He had a propensity for violence, which was obvious. He’d admitted to beating up the guy he’d caught his ex-wife in bed with. And Stacie had witnessed his aggressive behavior at the club just a few nights ago.

What had she gotten herself into? She’d slept with a man she didn’t know, pursued a casual affair with him. Thank Gatsby she hadn’t told him where she lived. She couldn’t even imagine the consequences of her callous actions if he knew more about her.

In a panic, Stacie shoved the papers back in their envelopes and folders and returned them to the safe. She locked it up and returned the keys to the desk, then went to the living room to hang the painting.

Something wasn’t right about all this. As she touched the painted words on the back of the painting, in her heart she knew that Hailey had painted this picture for her father. Would a daughter paint such a beautiful thing if her father was a horrible man?

After returning the painting to the single nail over the fireplace, Stacie went to the kitchen and grabbed an apple out of the basket. She leaned against the counter, staring at the painting.

“You’re obsessed,” she muttered. There were other ways to find inspiration for her paintings. Just because this one had ignited a spark didn’t mean she needed to keep coming back to it. And whatever was going on with Owen, well…

That was the bigger problem. As much as she didn’t want to, she cared about him. It was easy to chalk it up to a sexy affair, but the truth was, he meant more to her than just the amazing sex. For the love of Juliet, she felt alive when she was with him. Stacie wanted to see him, to ask him about Hailey. Daphne. Kristina. Everything.

But it wasn’t fair. If she asked him about any of those things, she’d feel obligated to tell him about her boring life in return. She didn’t want to admit that she’d fallen out of love with Greg years before she left him. She’d didn’t want to talk about the car accident that she couldn’t remember except for the crazy nightmares.

Stacie’s eyes wandered to the sliding glass door as she took another big chunk out of the apple. The sun was shining, only a few clouds in the sky. It was the perfect day for some Puget Sound sea air. And a Frappuccino. Yeah, a Frappuccino would be great right now. That would fix everything.

After getting dressed, Stacie scooped up her sandals. She was about to leave the condo when she remembered the sketchpad and box with the pencils he had given her.

He might have been possessive at the club when that guy had been hitting on her, but he wasn’t violent. Not really. That other guy had been a bit of an antagonist. And Stacie had been there with Owen, so he wasn’t really out of line when he’d told that guy to back off. Maybe he deserved the benefit of the doubt with his past too.

She decided to leave a note instead of just fleeing the scene. She turned his note over and simply wrote,
Owen, I’ll see you tomorrow. –Stacie.

A day to think was enough. She could decide exactly what to do about the relationship they shared. If she couldn’t decide by the end of the day that she wanted to be with him, then she wouldn’t be with him at all. And she’d be honest with him about that.

Stacie made sure the doorknob lock was engaged and closed the door behind her, stepped across the hall to her own door.

~~~

Stacie spent the afternoon at Starbucks. What started out as a simple outing for a Frappuccino and a sandwich turned into an artistic expedition that resulted in a new story. With Owen and his daughter possessing her thoughts, she wrote a story about a pine fairy whose dad goes on an adventure and leaves the daughter behind, missing him.

Undeterred by the lined paper of her department store notebook and a simple number two pencil, Stacie imagined what Hailey might look like and sketched the pine fairy with the same features as Owen, just with a softer, more feminine look.