A Mother's Conviction (Secrets Series Book 3) Read online

  Conner nodded to indicate that it was okay even though it wasn’t. His grandfather had raised him since his parents weren’t up to the job. It still hurt that he hadn’t seen the man in a couple of years. Sure, they’d spoken on the phone, but Conner couldn’t risk a face-to-face visit. And this interaction with Sunny was exactly why. “Everyone knows everything in a small town, don’t they?”

  Her expression perked up. “Yep. So what have you been up to?”

  “Not much. Moved around a lot.”

  “Been anywhere interesting?”

  “All over the Midwest. I wouldn’t say it was interesting.”

  “Married?”

  “No way.”

  “I’m single, too. As you know, there isn’t much to do around here, but if you ever want to go bowling, I play every Friday night. Stop by sometime.”

  Nodding, he took his receipt. He would not stop by. He would go back home and plot his escape.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Part of Bethany couldn’t believe she’d taken the day off of work for this. Part of her knew she couldn’t deny her boyfriend, Parker, anything. So she ran a paint brush along the bottom of the drywall while he worked next to her. “I wonder if Willow could’ve been able to help with this.”

  He rolled amber paint on the gray wall. “I’m sure she would’ve had fun trying.”

  “Yeah, you’re right. It’s probably better that we do this when she’s at school. She might’ve tried to paint on the window or something. She did that with her watercolor paints once.” Her hand moved steadily along the trim. “Did I tell you her mother wrote her a letter?”

  “No. That’s the first time, isn’t it?”

  She nodded. “She asked if Willow could visit, but I don’t want to take her to a prison. Does that make me a terrible foster mom?”

  “Not at all. I’ve never been to a prison, but I can’t imagine it would be a good experience for a kid.”

  “That’s what I thought. I mean, the woman hasn’t bothered to write so much as one letter in two years. All of a sudden, Willow is supposed to run to her? Plus she asked for us to put money in her account so she can buy stuff.”

  “She sounds like a real piece of work. Poor Willow.”

  “Yeah.” Her hand slipped and she got paint on the baseboards. She reached for a rag to wipe it off and decided that talking about Gola was breaking her concentration. “So this place used to be a factory?”

  “Yep. They made shoes here. I thought it could be converted into a youth center. Give under-privileged kids a place to hang out and get tutoring. I believe that a caring adult can make the difference between a bright student joining a gang or starting their own business.”

  “You don’t have to sell me. I’m using a vacation day to paint, remember?”

  He blushed. “Sorry. I spoke to the Rotary Club yesterday and I guess I still have the speech running through my head.”

  “Did you recruit any mentors?”

  “I have a stack of business cards on my desk at home. Several said they’d be able to give of their time and others offered monetary donations.” He paused to look at the wall they’d finished painting. “Wow. What a difference a color makes.”

  “Gray’s so blah. I’m sure the teenagers will like this better. Maybe we can get Hannah to come paint a mural on one of the walls.”

  He smiled. “What a great idea!”

  Hannah was the daughter Beth had placed for adoption years ago. “I saw on her blog the other day that she won first place in another art show.”

  “She’s talented. Too bad art’s such a hard way to make a living.”

  “At least she’s going to double major in art and business.”

  The paint roller made a squishy sound as he pressed it against the wall. He loaded it up with some more wheat-colored paint. “Has she picked a college yet?”

  “She hasn’t said anything. I know Yale is Ivy League and all, but I still hope she chooses Notre Dame.”

  “So she’ll be close. Me, too.” He let out a sigh as if this next thought was hard for him to say. “How’s her pregnancy going?”

  Beth took a moment to gather her thoughts. “Good. It still breaks my heart that she followed in my footsteps like that. Getting pregnant before she’s ready. It’s so hard to give up a child.”

  He put down his paint roller and took the brush out of her hands to place it in the tray. He touched her cheek with his thumb and it made her shiver. “I’m sorry. Sorry I wasn’t there for you then.”

  It was her fault for not telling him about the pregnancy. “It was a long time ago. We’ve both moved on.” As best they could anyway. “It doesn’t do any good to dwell on the negative. What we need to do is enjoy every moment from here on out.” She felt his hand twitching against her skin and realized that’s why he’d asked her to do the trim. The Huntington’s disease was progressing. “How are you doing?”

  He started cracking his knuckles. “Fine.”

  Knowing he didn’t want anyone’s pity, she decided there wasn’t anything to say. Suddenly her cheek itched. She reached up to where Parker had been touching her and scratched. When she finished, she saw a yellowish color on her fingers. “Hey! You got paint on my face.”

  He smirked. “No, I didn’t.”

  She gave him a dirty look and ran through the empty building to the bathroom. In the mirror, she saw a stripe of amber across her cheek. After she washed it off, she marched back to the open area that would be a student lounge someday. “Why didn’t you tell me I had paint on my face?”

  He shrugged. “It looked cute. It highlighted your freckles.”

  Scowling at him, she tried to decide her revenge. She hated it when he mentioned her freckles. Her gaze landed on the tray of paint. Grabbing the brush resting on the edge, she flicked the bristles at him.

  His hands splayed in a futile attempt to protect himself. “Stop it. You’re gonna make a mess.” Amber splatters landed on his palm and in his short brown hair.

  She glanced down at the rubber floor. He’d talked about putting in laminate or carpet. “You said yourself that you need to replace the floor in here.”

  “You’re gonna be sorry.” His six foot frame dashed over and picked up the roller. He swung it in her direction so a few drops splattered on her cheeks and clothes.

  Surveying the damage, she saw that her green T-shirt was now accented with brownish-yellow dots. “You’re lucky I don’t care about this shirt.”

  He put the sponge roller in the tray and let it absorb more paint. “Good.” As he came toward her, she turned her back and he rubbed the roller up and down her spine.

  “Ahh! I can’t believe you just did that!” She ran toward the paint can and dipped her brush in. Instead of flicking it, she walked up to him and painted a smiley face on his chest.

  “Nice.”

  “Oh, you like that?” She walked behind him and painted one on the butt of his jeans. “Now it’s a matching set.”

  “Thanks.” The roller dropped to the floor and he reached for her. He held her tight in his arms.

  His lips met hers and her heartbeat skyrocketed. Inhaling his masculine scent mixed with woodsy cologne caused the paint brush to slip from her fingers. She clasped his firm torso and couldn’t believe she could want someone so badly.

  Feeling his warm hands pressed against her bare back, she paused. “You’re sure no one else is here?”

  He kissed her eagerly. “Yes.” Then he kissed her some more.

  “And the door is locked?”

  “Yes.”

  She grabbed at the hem of his T-shirt and tugged it upward. “Good.” When his broad shoulders were exposed, she sighed in appreciation. He pulled her shirt over her head, too, so she stood there in her bra and jeans with the hole in the knee. She took pleasure in running her palms over his pecs and biceps. Obviously, he still spent time at the gym every day.

  Giggling, she allowed him to help her down onto the floor. “This is crazy.” They weren’t exactl
y teenagers anymore.

  “I seem to recall your saying something about enjoying every moment of every day.” Raising his bushy eyebrows at her, he reached for a clean drop cloth and placed it beneath them.

  “That’s what I said.” Her hands touched his chiseled jaw while she admired the crinkles around his brown eyes. Her attention dropped to the button on his jeans.

  Once they were both naked, she lost herself in the moment. He was kind and gentle and perfect. How could she be so lucky as to be with someone like him? Why couldn’t this last forever?

  Afterwards, she used her shirt as a pillow. Even though they were sweaty, she covered her body with the drop cloth as best she could. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too.” As he tried to catch his breath, he traced his finger down her upturned nose.

  “You’re not getting more paint on me, are you?” She offered him a playful grin.

  He shook his head. “Just admiring your beauty.”

  “Ha.” Growing up, she’d been told she’d be pretty if she’d just lose fifty pounds. For some reason, all she’d ever heard was the “if.” Even now that she was a healthy weight, she struggled to accept that she was worth looking at.

  “I’m serious. You’re beautiful and sexy.” He leaned in for a kiss before she could protest.

  She enjoyed the slow pace of his lingering lips. After he pulled back, she considered his words. All she wanted in this world was to be with him. “If I’m so great, then why don’t you marry me already?” Her voice attempted a lightness, but she knew she’d failed.

  His expression fell. “Bethany, you know why. There’s nothing I’d like more than to get married and live happily ever after with you. You know my days are numbered. I don’t want to put you through that.”

  “Too late. I’m in. I’m all in.”

  “But what about Willow? I don’t want her to watch me die.”

  For a moment, she stopped breathing. He was right. They had to think about what was best for Willow now.

  He sat up and pulled his clothes back on. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore. I love you and that has to be enough.”

  Embarrassed, she grabbed her top and quickly dressed. “I didn’t mean to ruin the moment.”

  His eyes closed for a few seconds. “You didn’t ruin it. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me. Don’t you ever doubt that.” He leaned over and brushed his lips against hers.

  Even when he wouldn’t give her what she wanted, his touch soothed her. “Timing is everything, though, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah. I wasted my youth married to the wrong woman.”

  “And I wasted my youth eating Ben & Jerry’s.” Her lips turned upward, trying to cheer him. “We both made our mistakes. At least we’re together now.”

  Ever the gentleman, he stood and offered her his hand. He helped pull her up. “Do you have time to paint some more or do you need to get back?”

  Her watch read 11:20. “I still have some time.”

  “Me, too.”

  And she would savor every minute of it.

  # # #

  The powerful rush Melodie had felt swinging that ax had been replaced with clammy palms as she sat across from a man in a perfectly-tailored pinstriped suit. She was pretty sure she’d seen the President wearing that same red tie during his last speech. Image was so important in this field.

  He glanced at her résumé. “So, what have you been doing for the last five years?”

  The question she’d been dreading. “The truth is I took some time off to devote to my baby, but she’s in school all day now and I’m ready to work again. Not that being a stay-at-home mom wasn’t work because it was, but it was a different kind of work. Twenty-four hours a day. You know. Do you have kids?”

  Shaking his head, he avoided eye contact by checking something else on her résumé.

  Her insides twisted. She was blowing it, she could tell. “In case you don’t know, Keller & Berns is one of the top law firms in Lansing and I learned a lot during my time there.”

  “Less than six years, I see. Why’d you leave?”

  She swallowed the lump in her throat. Her hands trembled so she gripped them together in her lap. Where had her confidence gone? She used to shine at job interviews. Graduated magna cum laude. “I became pregnant and thought that it would be better to raise a kid in the country instead of the city. So, we moved and I decided to focus on family for a while.”

  “But your family is no longer your focus?”

  “Of course it is.” This was a no-win question. Taking a deep breath, she formulated her answer. “The truth is I’m now a single parent. I’m the sole breadwinner and I need this job.” Her voice quivered a bit at the end and she hated herself for it.

  “You’re saying ‘the truth is’ an awful lot. Are you aware of that?”

  She shook her head.

  “I’m concerned that you won’t be able to handle the fast-paced environment here. This is not a nine to five job, either. We need your focus to be here, not at home. I can’t have you missing all the time to take care of a sick kid or to chaperone field trips.”

  Panic swelled in her lungs. She leaned forward. “I can do this. I assure you that I know how demanding the law is. I used to love it.”

  “Used to?”

  “Still do.” She knew she was faltering again.

  “How have you stayed current with new rulings?”

  “Um.” She watched the news, but she hadn’t ever planned to go back. Gardening, taking care of the chickens and playing with Zoe had filled her days for so long, she couldn’t even imagine putting on makeup and a suit daily. She’d been raised by a stay-at-home mom and she wanted to give her daughter that same gift.

  Before she could answer, he fired another question. “Who do you follow on Twitter?”

  What? What did that have to do with anything? “I’m not really into Twitter.”

  He tucked her résumé into a file folder and closed it. Standing, he offered her his hand. “We’ll let you know.”

  Fear fluttered in her belly as she rose and shook his hand. “I could start off doing research. I could be a paralegal. Anything.”

  He walked her to the door. “I’ll keep you in mind.”

  But she knew he wouldn’t.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Melodie spent the ride home berating herself for not sucking up more during the interview. After all, she needed a job. She had a child and a mortgage and it didn’t matter if the guy was a jerk.

  Somehow she’d completely forgotten about her demolished entryway until she pulled into her driveway. A bright red door greeted her. How did that happen? She’d intended to call the local hardware store to see if someone could install a replacement, but of course, she hadn’t had time to do that before her interview. She never would’ve chosen red. Too bold. She was thinking blue would go nicely with her buttery-colored siding.

  She went up to the door and opened it. “Hello?” There wasn’t anyone around. Her gaze landed on a note on the foyer table. Two shiny, silver keys sat on top of the paper. All it said was “Your neighbor.”

  Grabbing the keys, she wadded the paper up in her fist and threw it in the trash. Out the door she went.

  She marched along the river toward his house, her high heels slowing her just a bit. Perhaps she should’ve changed out of her interview clothes first, but she’d been too mad to wait. As she walked, she heard a frog splashing on the bank, but she didn’t bother to look.

  On the porch, two wooden rocking chairs sat side-by-side as if waiting for someone to appreciate them. She could picture her husband, Paul, and old Mr. Walker sitting there, sipping lemonade and discussing how long they could go without rain. For the first time in her life, she banged on the Walkers’ door in anger.

  While she waited for an answer, she noticed the horse shoe nailed above the screen door. It faced upward as if to catch good luck. Farmers could be superstitious sometimes. She rapped again on the weathered wood, thinki
ng this guy should give his own place a fresh coat of paint instead of messing with her house.

  A moment later, the young Mr. Walker opened the door. “What the hell?”

  “My thoughts exactly. What the hell did you do? You replaced my front door!”

  His facial features relaxed. “You’re welcome.”

  “I’m not here to thank you. I’m here to tell you I don’t need your help. I can manage on my own just fine.”

  “Did you buy a door, too?” He stuck his head outside and craned to see her house.

  “Actually I forgot, but I would’ve.” Again, he gave her that smirk and it riled her up. “I’m serious. I’m not one of those women who’s waiting around for some man to take care of her.”

  He crossed his muscular arms. “I’m glad to hear it because I’ve got my hands pretty full here.”

  “Good. So, how much do I owe you?”

  “Nothing.”

  Shaking her head, she reached for her purse then realized she must’ve left it at home. “Doors aren’t cheap, I’ll bet. Tell me the amount and I’ll write you a check.”

  “How’d your job interview go?”

  His change of topic made her hesitate. “Don’t ask.”

  “What kinds of questions do they ask you anyway? Are you willing to defend a murderer you know will kill again? Are you willing to coach a witness to lie?”

  She ground her molars. “I’ll have you know I’m an honest lawyer.”

  “Those are as rare as seeing Sasquatch. Wait here. I want to get my camera so I can post this on Twitter.”

  “It figures you’re on Twitter,” she mumbled.

  “I’m just kidding. I have better things to do with my time than shout into cyberspace, ‘Look at me! Look at me!’”

  Now it was her turn to smirk. “Exactly. Can you believe the guy asked me who I follow during the interview?”

  “What does that have to do with being an attorney?”

  She shrugged. The disaster of her interview replayed in her memory.

  “I take it you weren’t offered the job?”

  The day’s emotions welled up inside of her: panic, nerves, stress and disappointment. If she didn’t walk away, she might lose it. Digging her fingernails into her palm, she stepped back. “I’d better go.”