“Earl Stroup, ma’am.”
“You should be ashamed,” she said softly, so no one but him would hear. “Coming here, armed like that. It’s disrespectful.”
“I have a job to do, ma’am.”
“And what, exactly, is it?”
His face reddened. “Surveillance, ma’am.”
“You couldn’t do that in a suit?”
He cleared his throat and shuffled from one foot to the other. “I don’t mean any disrespect. Henry was a sweet old guy. But me and Bob got our orders.”
Just like she figured. “More like, your boss’s vendetta to carry out.” From across the room, Logan caught her eye, then motioned that the service was about to begin. “Excuse me, Officer Stroup, I need to join my husband.”
Bailey returned to Logan’s side. He guided her, his hand resting at the small of her back, steadying her. He stood so close she could smell his spicy aftershave, feel the warmth of his body. Yet it felt to her as if miles separated them.
They’d hardly spoken the night before. He’d returned from the barn distant, distracted. She had been grateful not to have to pretend her world wasn’t falling apart.
Logan had taken the red shoe. Why?
The viewing room of the tiny funeral home was filled to overflowing. Stephanie had asked Bailey and Logan if they and Raine would sit in the front row with her. Not only because she didn’t want to be alone, but because Henry had considered the Abbotts his family.
As she scooted into the pew, Stephanie touched her hand. Bailey bent and hugged her. “I’m so sorry, Steph.”
“Thank you for being here.”
Bailey nodded and took the seat next to Logan. Paul and August were directly behind them, but Raine was nowhere to be seen. She turned and scanned the rows of faces, but still didn’t see her.
She leaned toward Logan. “Where’s your sister?”
He, too, scanned the pews, then shook his head. “She was here earlier.” He looked over his shoulder at Paul. “You know where Raine is?”
“No clue.” He looked at August in question; he, too, indicated he did not know.
“You want me to go look for her?” Bailey asked.
“Don’t bother. She’d be here if she thought she could handle it.”
Bailey pictured the other woman, curled up somewhere. Falling apart. But still, she knew he was right. Raine wouldn’t accept her—or anyone else’s—offer of comfort.
She opened her hand in a silent invitation for Logan to clasp it. He did and the minister began. He spoke of life and death. Hope and resurrection. Of a simple man who had loved generously.
The room was warm. Too warm. Bailey breathed deeply through her nose, hoping the oxygen would steady her.
She tried to focus on the preacher, her gaze kept drifting back to the casket.
Could she have done something? Could she have intervened? She’d been close by, so close his blood had soaked her clothes. Coated her hands.
Red. Everywhere.
And now Henry was in a box.
A box.
A small wooden box. Henry beaming at her. A gift. For her.
Bailey brought a hand to her mouth, feeling like she might be sick. No. She had to hold it back. She couldn’t, not here. Not now.
She pressed her lips together, gaze fixed on the minister. She began to sweat. Her heart to race.
Henry.
Beaming at her as he lifted the box’s lid.
Hand to her mouth, Bailey jumped to her feet. She felt everyone’s gaze turn to her, heard the minister stumble over his words.
Logan was saying something. She couldn’t stop, couldn’t pause to listen. She scooted out of the pew and raced to the ladies’ room. She made it safely inside but no farther than a sink. She bent over it and lost her breakfast.
Bailey rinsed her mouth first, then the sink, using paper towels and hand soap to clean it up. Only then did she see that she wasn’t alone.
Raine was curled up on the small settee. Staring at her with puffy, bloodshot eyes.
“I’m sorry,” Bailey said. “I didn’t see you there.”
“I have a mint. If you’d like one.”
The kindness surprised her. “I would, thanks.”
Feeling wobbly, Bailey crossed and sat on the opposite end of the settee. Raine dug an aluminum box out of her purse and held it out.
Another box, Bailey thought.
“They’re curiously strong,” Raine said.
Bailey smiled weakly at her reference to the brand’s campaign line and her sister-in-law’s attempt at levity. “I still think I’ll need two.”
“Keep the box.”
“Thanks.” She closed her fingers over it. “I appreciate it.”
They fell silent. After a moment, Raine broke it with a question. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Excuse me?”
“The throwing up. Is it the head injury?”
“No.” She hoped Logan didn’t mind, but she couldn’t not tell the other woman. “I’m pregnant.”
Raine went white. The reaction hurt. “You must not be ready to be an aunt,” Bailey said.
“It’s not that.”
Again, nothing. Just that hollow-eyed stare.
“Then what, Raine? Talk to me.”
She shook her head and looked away. “Congratulations.”
“That’s not what I—”
A tap on the restroom door interrupted her. “Bailey? It’s me. Are you in there?”
“I’m here, Logan,” she said. “With Raine.”
He poked his head in. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. Just … sick to my stomach.”
He looked at Raine. “Could you give us a minute?”
She shrugged and stood. “Sure … Daddy.”
When she’d exited, he came to sit beside her. He gathered her hand in his. “You told her about the baby?”
“She asked why I was throwing up all the time.”
“She would.” He paused. “I’m glad she knows now.”
“She didn’t seem all that happy.”
“That doesn’t surprise me.” He angled to fully face her. “I don’t want to talk about Raine.”
“No?”
“I’m sorry, Bailey,” he said. “I’ve been wrong about everything. How I—I brought you unprepared into this soap opera. How could I expect you to just sit back and act as if everything was fine? It’s not fine. It hasn’t been in a long time.”
“I don’t understand.”
“There are things … I haven’t shared. Thoughts and—”