“I know Eddie had to convince you to let me know about the accident.”
She glared. “That little—”
“He didn’t tell me. Jeff did. Eddie mentioned it to him and Jeff told me when I called him.”
She threw up her hands. “Why is everyone talking about me behind my back?”
“Because we care!” He shoved the words through his clenched teeth to keep from shouting at her.
She opened her mouth to reply, but slammed it shut as she stared at him in the dim light of the cab.
“Why is it so hard for you to let people take care of you?” he asked in a normal voice.
“I don’t need to be taken care of,” she snapped. “I’m an adult.”
“Taken care of isn’t the way I should have phrased it . . . Why is it hard to let people do nice things for you? Why didn’t you want me to know about the accident?”
“Because I knew you’d leave work, and it’s important that you do your job. People rely on you. Cases need your attention. Important cases.”
“You’re important too.”
“But I had Eddie. Why did I need two people to respond? How many people was I supposed to notify that I’d screwed up and gotten run off the road?”
“It wasn’t your fault, and I want you to always call me when shit happens to you.”
A passing car’s headlights illuminated the inside of the SUV, making her green eyes shine. Are those tears?
“Why is this so hard for you?” he asked, gently taking her hand. It was like holding ice.
“I don’t rely on other people. I rely on myself.” She paused for a long moment. “If I wasn’t able to rely on my family—people who are supposed to love me unconditionally—how can I rely on someone I barely know?” Her words ended in a whisper.
It was a fragile moment. She had pulled aside her emotional curtain, exposed her vulnerability. He was scared to move, let alone speak, for fear of her shutting him out. How do I reassure her that she is safe?
“Tell me this,” he said carefully. “Do you want Kaylie to rely and depend on you?”
“Yes! Her world was yanked out from under her, and she needs stability. I want her to know I’ll always be available . . . something I didn’t have after I turned eighteen.”
“Because it’s important that she knows she has people in her life who love her,” he added.
“Absolutely. I wish I’d had that during those hard years.”
“I’m trying to be that person for you.” He held his breath, watching for signs of flight.
She blinked rapidly. “You don’t know me . . . We’ve barely—”
“You haven’t seen Kaylie since she was one. Does that matter to you? Do you need to spend a year getting to know her before you commit to her?”
“It’s not the same!” She tried to jerk her hand out of his, but he tightened his grip, not willing to let her hide so easily.
“Listen.” He waited until she made eye contact. “You’re scared I’m going to not be here tomorrow. Or two months from now. So you hold back, refusing to put your heart out there. I’m telling you I’m a safe bet.”
“You can’t promise—”
“Don’t try to tell me what I can or can’t promise. I know what I’m capable of. I’m not scared of exposing my heart to you, Mercy, but I know you are terrified of doing the same.”
She was silent.
“But that’s okay. I get it. I know being abandoned by your family ripped a deep hole inside of you and you’ve got high walls built up around your heart to protect it. But you need to understand that it’s not a sign of weakness to allow yourself to be loved.”
“I can’t do that,” she whispered.
“Not yet,” he agreed. “Eventually you’ll learn it’s a sign of strength. You’ll learn it’s one of the hardest gambles in the world, but damn . . . when it’s right, the payoff is out of this world.” He touched her cheek, worried he’d pushed too hard, but she hadn’t run away. Yet.
She was so stubborn and independent.
But he wouldn’t have fallen for her if she were any other way.
FIFTEEN
Mercy liked Tilda Brass on sight.
She felt right at home with the elegant, mannered woman who wore men’s overalls and rubber boots and spoke in a kind voice. Tilda poured her a cup of tea and Mercy declined the milk, opting for a wedge of lemon. She’d asked Tilda to reschedule their tea to midmorning and Mercy was glad she’d already had her hit of caffeine for the day. Tea wasn’t her poison of choice.
She’d woken with a stiff neck, but a hot shower and some ibuprofen had made short work of it. Eddie had picked her up, stopped at Starbucks, and then dropped her off at a rental agency, where she’d waited impatiently behind two groups of tourists who couldn’t decide what type of vehicle to rent. Each time the twentysomething clerk glanced aside and caught Mercy’s stare, he seemed to completely lose his concentration and had to ask the customers to repeat themselves. Forty minutes later she was on her way in a Ford SUV, feeling as if she were cheating on her Tahoe.
Truman’s words from last night were fresh in her head. In fact, they’d ricocheted in her brain for most of the night. He was willing to risk a broken heart for her.
She wasn’t ready to risk one for him. Yet.
There’s nothing wrong with needing more time.
She sipped her tea and admired the intricately carved wooden mantel of Tilda’s fireplace. Photos and pictures littered every surface in the formal living room. Mercy liked the contrast of the delicate doilies and crocheted afghans with the attire of her hostess, because she firmly believed in dressing to be comfortable. “How long have you lived here?” Mercy asked, knowing Truman had written twenty years in his report. The home no longer resembled the small house her childhood friend had lived in on the property. It appeared to have been expanded several times.
“Over two decades,” Tilda answered. “I was nearly sixty at the time, but I still had more energy than most twenty-year-olds. Buying this big farm didn’t seem like a big deal, but after a dozen years or so it became a bit much for my husband. He was ten years older than me and had slowed down quite a bit.” She eyed Mercy over the rim of her teacup. “I hear you’re sleeping with that good-looking police chief who interviewed me the other day.”
Mercy nearly spit out her tea. Tilda might have lovely manners, but apparently she said whatever she felt like.
“Don’t look so shocked. I’ve heard it from two different sources in town. People talk, you know.”
“I thought you didn’t get to town much,” Mercy said faintly.
“I don’t. But I have a phone. Still like to talk and catch up on some things. Who’s sleeping with who is always a topic my girlfriends want to discuss. They seem to approve of the two of you.”
“Uh . . . that’s good.”
“I like being able to put a face to the names I hear about, so I was plumb delighted when you called and wanted to get together.” She looked Mercy up and down, assessing and nodding as if she liked what she saw. “I bet you’re nearly as tall as him, aren’t you?”