CHAPTER FOURTEEN

 

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DELANEY HAD NEVER visited the cemetery just outside of Green Hills to visit someone she loved. She'd never had a reason—until now.

She parked near the back entrance under the shade of an old oak tree. The cool November air bathed her face as she walked down a gravel pathway, the crunch of her booted feet the only sound besides the occasional cry of a bird.

The grounds were well-tended. Green grass, trimmed shrubs, the town stretched out below a gently sloping hill. Delaney supposed the view was for the visitors—the residents couldn't have cared less. She'd never understood the fuss. If you died, a hole was a hole.

A place to visit a loved one helped some people. As a trained psychologist, she understood about comfort for the grieving. But facts were facts. Most of the graves that surrounded her, whether expensive or not, marble or stone, were long forgotten—even if the names on the gravestones weren't.

Delaney had spent years studying the human condition. At first, she took a few elementary psych classes, hoping to—if not heal—find a way to live with what had happened to her.

As a result, Delaney found a family of sorts. Friends and teachers who accepted her without question. Who admired her quick mind and helped her acclimate to a new—sometimes scary—world.

By her sophomore year, Delaney had found her vocation. She wanted to help people like herself. Children, young women, and men, who had been abused—physically and mentally. She studied and worked hard to earn her Ph.D.

Dr. Pope. The title still sounded strange to her ears. Not that Delaney doubted her abilities. She did good work and was proud of her success.

However, no amount of therapy or self-evaluation had helped her let go of the past. Not entirely. And though living forty-six hundred miles away had been a godsend, distance had become a hindrance toward taking the final step.

If she were one of her patients, Delaney's advice would have been simple and straight forward. So, she decided to follow it.

Delaney returned to Green Hills in the hope that she could once and for all exorcise what was left of her demons.

At the end of the path lay a small, tasteful headstone. As Delaney read the engraved letters, she pulled her thick, knee-length winter coat tight around her neck, knowing the sudden chill had nothing to do with the autumn air that swirled around her ankles.

Alma Christina Brill

Rest Now, Beloved Mother

The stone—a pale cream marble—and the words had been Delaney's doing. She knew if Munch had his way, nothing would mark her mother's grave—every trace and memory of Alma Brill washed from the face of the earth.

"I'll always remember," Delaney said as she knelt, her hand resting on the grass-covered earth.

"Was I wrong? Should I have fought harder to make you leave? Or should I have stayed and tried to protect you from him?"

"Your mother wanted you to leave, Del."

Delaney nodded. Blindly, she reached out, somehow certain Travis would know what to do. A second later, he knelt beside her, his hand clasping hers.

"If I'd stayed, she might be alive."

"If you'd stayed, your stepfather would've raped you and your mother would still be dead."

Just having Travis near helped. Always had. Always would.

"You always could boil things down to the pragmatic."

"I've done my share of what ifs," Travis said with a quirk of his lips.

"About your dad?"

"Mostly. And about us."

"Do we qualify as an us?"

Travis helped her to her feet. They started to walk and, natural and easy as the sun rising in the east, he placed his arm around her shoulders.

"We're linked, Del. I know my part in this relationship has lapsed—I take full responsibility."

"And yet I've become very close to your lawyer. We exchange Christmas cards every year."

At first, Delaney hated every piece of correspondence she received from Jacob Marks, Attorney at Law. Each precisely worded letter was like a dagger to her heart. Vivid proof that Travis no longer thought of her as a friend, but an obligation.

Little by little, the pain turned to resentment. And finally, acceptance. The regret in Travis' voice wasn't an instant healing balm. But they had to start someplace. And since he'd taken the first step, she might as well take the next.

"I could've written. Or called." She glanced at Travis' profile as they continued to stroll. "Heaven knows you were easy to keep track of. Single-A ball in Sarasota. Followed by a jump to triple-A in Tacoma. A year later, you were with the major league club. And a starter ever since. Very impressive. Meteoric, from what I understand."

Travis shrugged as if his accomplishments weren't anything special. Delaney knew better.

"The Cyclones' regular shortstop broke his leg sliding into home. Otherwise, I might have languished in the minors for years. Or been traded. Yes, I'm damn good."

Delaney laughed. There was the ego she remembered.

"However." He grinned as if he knew exactly where her thoughts had taken her. "Luck is a big part of any athlete's career. When I signed my first big contract, I held out for a no-trade clause. If I went to another team, I wanted the decision to be mine."

"Would the Cyclones have traded you? Would you have wanted them to?"

Delaney couldn't imagine either possibility.

"A lot of players would've welcomed the chance to play for a contender—something the Cyclones weren't during my early years with the team. And Seattle needed pitching a lot more than a Gold Glove shortstop with some pop in his bat."

Delaney found Travis' story fascinating. She was a casual fan of the game. But a huge fan of his. She would DVR the Cyclones—fast forwarding to when he came to the plate. Or made a play in the field. Until now, she'd never considered the business of baseball.

"But you stayed."

"I like the city. But even more, I had a feeling things were about to change for the better. Nick Sanders was brought up to play second base a year after I was promoted. Then, the final piece. The club signed Spencer Kraig. He's one of the best—if not the best player, in the game."

"Better than you?" Delaney teased.

"Call me a close second," Travis winked, a glint of self-deprecating humor in his deep-blue eyes.

"I read that you, Nick, and Spencer are close."

"Best friends. We clicked the second we met. Nick never misses a ground ball and Yoda—"

"Yoda?" Delaney had seen pictures of Spencer Kraig. Short, squat, and green, he wasn't.

"Everybody goes to Spencer with their problems. He's the team leader—on and off the field."

They fell into a comfortable, companionable silence. Delaney tried to think of the last time she could just be with somebody. When she didn't feel the need to fill every gap in the conversation with chatter.

With Travis, she wasn't worried about awkward pauses. He might frustrate her. Or make her angry. He could be arrogant and opinionated. Then again, so could she. But did he make her feel awkward? Never.

"I came back to Green Hills for three reasons," Delaney said. "First. With the help of some local business people, I want to sponsor a shelter for abused women and children. Any profit from the thrift shop will go there. Second. To support Pete. He will be the next mayor, and I want to be here when he wins. Third—"

"To close the book on your past. Once and for all."

Delaney stopped. She hoped the look she sent Travis conveyed half the amount of exasperation she felt at the moment.

"If you already knew, why the big hullabaloo this morning?"

"I didn't know until I spoke with Pete." Travis gently tapped her on the chin. "Unlike you, he had no problem explaining the situation."

"Did you give me a chance to explain?" Delaney tapped Travis back, with a bit more force. "I don't think so."

"I wasn't in the best of moods," Travis admitted. "Mostly? Beyond why you were in Green Hills? I was pissed about the money."

For the life of her, Delaney didn't understand why the money was such a big deal.

"I thought you would be pleased—even proud—that I was in a place in my life where I could afford to pay you back. A place where I can take care of myself. Didn't you want me to be independent?"

"Of course I did. I do." As he rubbed the back of his neck, frustration written across his face, Travis stared at the town below. "I wish I could explain without sounding like an idiot."

"Take the chance," Delaney playfully nudged him. "I dare you."

"Let's sit."

Travis led Delaney to a nearby wooden bench.

"I know the money doesn't mean anything to you, Travis. The amount is probably less than you've made while we've been talking. But—"

"The size of the check isn't the issue, Del."

"What is the issue? Tell me. Help me understand."

Travis nodded, gathering his thoughts.

"I can't describe how I felt the day I'd saved enough to send you money for the first time. You were my friend—and my wife—and I was finally in a position to help support you."

Delaney didn't like where he was headed.

"You considered me your responsibility? Your burden?" Bitter on her tongue, she spat the last word out.

Travis grabbed her hand, anticipating her impulse to stalk away.

"A burden? Never!"

"Then what?"

"Money was my way of staying… I don't know." He sighed. "Connected to you."

"The occasional letter or phone call would've served the same purpose. Believe me, hearing your voice would've meant a lot more than any amount of money."

"I called."

"Once. To see if I arrived safely. After that, nothing. I suppose your lawyer kept you up to date."

Without warning, Travis seemed to close up. His expressive blue eyes shuttered, hiding his thoughts from her.

"I don't know what else to say, Del. Accept my explanation or don't. The choice is up to you." Travis stood, his face averted. "If you're finished here, we should probably go. It's getting dark."

"Don't you want to visit your father's grave?"

"I had come from there when I ran into you," Travis said coolly. "Do you mind if we skip dinner? I know we had plans. Maybe another night?"

"I thought you were leaving tomorrow."

Travis shrugged. "My schedule is fluid. I don't have to be anywhere for the next few weeks. I might stay until after the election. Watching the soon-to-be ex-Mayor Detwiler go down in defeat will be sweet indeed."

"I understand you contributed a lot to help that happen. You might as well stick around and get your money's worth. Right?"

Delaney didn't know how Travis could have missed the biting tone of her words. Yet, he didn't even blink.

"I invested in the future."

"Like you did with me? Unbelievable."

With long strides, Delaney started back the way they came, determined to put as much distance between her and Travis as quickly as possible. She should have known shaking him off wouldn't be so easy. With little effort, his long legs kept pace.

"You weren't an investment as much as money well spent."

Delaney came to a skidding halt, her boots kicking up gravel.

"You arrogant bastard. Money well spent? Is that what you said?"

"You have excellent hearing, Del. I don't see any reason to repeat myself."

Who was this man? He looked like Travis. But what had happened to the sweet, sensitive man who took her hand as she grieved by her mother's grave? A touch of arrogance was one thing. But in a heartbeat, he'd morphed into a full-on jackass.

"I don't like this Travis." With the force of a demented game show model, Delaney gestured from the top of his head to his feet and back again. "Go away. Back to Seattle. Or Europe. Or wherever you were headed when you deigned to drop in on me."

"Bermuda," he said with aggravating calm. In fact—if she weren't mistaken—Delaney could have sworn the jerk's lips twitched.

"Perfect. Jiggling beach bimbos by the score. Enjoy."

"I plan to. But first—"

Travis swung her around, into his arms. His face was so close she could see as his pupils dilated. Delaney had no problem reading his intent.

"What do you think you're doing?" she asked, jerking her head back.

"Come on, Del. You know when a man wants to kiss you." Something close to panic flared in Travis' eyes. "Please tell me you've been kissed. You aren't still a—"

"Of course, I'm still a virgin, Travis. I've saved myself for you."

"What?"

Delaney must have been a better actress than she realized if the look on Travis' face was an indication. Surprise morphed into horror—another time that particular emotion might have offended her.

"Get over yourself." She shoved at him, his arms dropping without a tussle. "I'd have cobwebs growing down there if I had waited for you."

Delaney was almost to her car when Travis sprinted ahead of her, opening the door.

"A kiss wouldn't have killed you, Del. Aren't you curious? Just a little?" he asked, his effortless charm back on display.

"Maybe." What harm could the admission do? "But the grab and take what you want approach doesn't work with me. In fact, I don't think the he-man crap works outside old romance novels."

"You'd be surprised."

"Surprised? No." Delaney buckled her seatbelt. "Disappointed in you—and my fellow females? Yes."

Happy with her parting shot, she started the engine, then waited patiently for Travis to shut the car door.

"About tomorrow night?"

Why not? They still had a few things to pick through.

"If you're still here, you can pick me up at seven."

"I'll be here, but I don't have a car. I bought a motorcycle. Dress accordingly."

A motorcycle? Delaney hadn't been on one for years. Since she rode behind Travis, up into the hills. The memory of those days was sweet, and she swore she could almost feel the wind on her face.

"I'll see you then."

"Wait." Travis caught the door. "I forgot to ask. Where are you staying?"

"With Pete and Candice."

Slowly, Travis grinned as if he knew something she didn't. Something secret and slightly diabolical.

"What?" Delaney demanded, eyes narrowing.

"Nothing." So innocent butter wouldn't melt in his mouth, Travis closed the door.

Shaking her head, she put the car in drive. Five feet down the road, a thought occurred to her and she hit the brakes. With trepidation, she rolled down the window. When she saw Travis, his arms crossed over his chest, waiting, Delaney already knew. But she had to ask.

"Where are you staying?"

If possible, Travis' smile widened.

"With Pete and Candice."