“Dexie, I’d like to document your injuries,” Dray murmured after taking Dexie’s written statement. Between the thirty-five minute drive to Columbus, where the Stillwater County Sheriff’s Office was located, and the time it had taken to give her statement, she was exhausted. The adrenaline that had gotten her back to Peace and through her confrontation with Brent had begun to abandon her and she craved a quiet haven to just breathe.
“You mean take pictures of my bruises?” Dexie smirked.
“Yes. We don’t have any female officers but one of the ladies in the office can take them.”
“That’s fine, but I have no problem with you taking the pictures.”
“Well, for propriety sake, I cannot, but I’ll have Corinna do it.”
“Okay, I have nothing to hide.”
Dray nodded then left the room, returning with a middle-aged woman in a black cardigan, whom he introduced as Corinna Hardy. Dexie smiled at the other woman, then watched as he readied a digital camera. Dray took several pictures of the bruises on either side of her face and on her arm. Dexie moved to lower her jeans but froze when she saw the flush in his cheeks and the discomfort in his expression.
With a scowl on his face, Dray turned to leave, saying, “Excuse me.”
Dexie lowered her jeans after the door had closed once more and gaped at the huge, deep bruise on her thigh about four inches below the end of her tattoo. She’d known it was bad, but seeing the grapefruit-sized knot that was rapidly turning a violent shade of purple was shocking. Turning, she exposed her thigh to Corinna, who made quick work of taking the necessary pictures. Dexie lifted her jeans and closed them while Corinna left to give the camera back to Dray and let him know they were done. There was a light tap on the door before Dray returned to the room, his expression now muddied with his blatant anger.
“That’s a hell of a bruise Brent gave you. And a tattoo?” Dray questioned uncomfortably.
“Yep,” Dexie replied, unsure if her comment was an acknowledgement of the knot on her leg or the question in his voice.
“I remember you being a whole lot more modest.”
“I’ve seen the worst that people can do to each other and been to places where I was the oddball because I wore so much clothing. I’m pretty sure my anatomy is no different than any other woman’s.” Dexie shrugged.
“I see,” he muttered. “If you give me a few minutes, I can take you back to Peace and your car.”
“Sure thing. Thanks, Dray.”
Dexie sat down, slouching in the uncomfortable chair, and covered her eyes with her hand. As the days of flying, the stress of returning to Peace, and the grief of losing her mother flooded her, a bone-deep exhaustion settled over her. She jumped when she felt something intensely cold press against her thigh. Opening her eyes, Dexie saw Dray turning to leave the room again after placing an icepack on her leg. With a small smile, she pressed the pack against the knot Brent had given her and covered her eyes again.
Dexie’s heart stuttered and sped when a hand gently shook her shoulder, bringing her eyes open. Disoriented, she straightened, looking up at Dray as she put the icepack on the table.
“Sorry that took so long. Are you ready?” Dray apologized, making Dexie wonder just how long she’d been waiting. It felt like no time at all, but the temperature of the icepack and the ache in her lower back suggested otherwise.
“Sure. Thanks for the ice pack, by the way.” Dexie nodded as she stood.
“Yep. That’s a nasty bruise.”
Dexie didn’t reply as they left the room, her mind trying to reconcile this stoic man with the exuberant, talkative person she remembered him to be. She followed Dray from the building to the patrol car they’d arrived in.
“When are you off duty?” she asked as Dray slid behind the steering wheel.
“Now. Or as off-duty as it gets in Stillwater County.”
Dray put the key in the ignition, fired the car up, and left the parking lot. Dexie turned her head and stared out at the scrub and brush speeding by and the patchwork of farmlands beyond.
“Where’s Brent?” she asked after a long silence.
“On his way to Billings for an overnight stay,” Dray replied quietly.
“Billings?”
“Yes. Stillwater County contracts with Yellowstone County to use their jail facilities.”
“Oh.”
Silence settled over the two of them as the miles flew by. By the time they were nearing the city limits of Peace, Dexie’s skin was crawling with the tension growing in the confines of the car. Her heart ached for the closeness they’d once shared. A million thoughts swirled in her head, things she wanted to say… explanations she longed to give, but when faced with the possibility of his endless recriminations, she simply couldn’t bring herself to say anything.
“Where are you staying?” Dray asked, breaking into her discordant thoughts as they entered Peace. Dexie turned her head to look at him.
“I don’t know. It’s easier to say where I’m not staying.” She shrugged.
“Which is?”
“As far away from Brent as possible. So not at the Harrington place or my mom’s either. He has too much access. I figured I could check into the motel.”
“You’re welcome to stay at the old homestead cabin on my property if you’d like,” Dray offered.
“Your property?” Dexie asked, unsure if he’d bought land or had inherited his parent’s.
“Yeah. When Mom died a year ago, we buried her under the oak, where she loved to sit. Then Dad transferred the property to me. He’s got bad joints and needs to be watched out for at night, so I moved to the big house and he lives there with me.”
“I’m sorry to hear about your mom.”
“Thanks. She died making a batch of her famous cookies.” Dray smirked, but Dexie saw a deep sorrow cloud his eyes, crushing her heart.
“I’ve missed her baking. She was the best baker in three counties.”
“That she was. She had the ribbons and trophies to prove it.” Dray chuckled, making Dexie smile. The memory of Millie Palmer’s kitchen surged in her mind. Drake Palmer, Dray’s father, had built his wife a cupboard that spanned one entire wall of her kitchen to display the numerous trophies from the hundreds of fairs and festivals she’d entered her baked goods into over the years. Dexie had always wondered if Mrs. Palmer had had enough ribbons to paper the kitchen walls. And she couldn’t remember ever walking into the Palmer’s house without smelling some treat being baked.
“Anyway, if you’d like to stay at the cabin, you’re welcome to. I use it when I need a break from babysitting, so it’s got water and electricity.” Dray offered again after a long, morose silence.
“I appreciate it,” she smiled wanly. Wondering if she should pay rent or something, she opened her mouth to ask, only to be cut off before she started.
“And don’t offer to pay me, because, you can’t. You’re always welcome at my place.”
Dexie swallowed over the lump in her throat, her emotions overwhelming her once again.
“Thanks, Dray,” she murmured in a hoarse, emotional voice. “Can I at least make you dinner then? Your dad could join us.”
“Sure, I’ll take you up on dinner, but Dad’s spending the evening with Charlee Phillips.”
“Charlee? The same Charlee Phillips who was a grade below us in high school?”
“Yeah, she gives me Tuesday and Friday nights away from taking care of Dad.”
“That’s nice of her,” Dexie commented as Dray neared the cemetery and stopped behind the only other car in sight. It took her a moment to remember that the Jeep was her rented SUV and that she’d chosen not to give Brent any chance of discovering her actual residence.
“I need to stop at Taylor’s for groceries…” she started, but stopped when Dray started chuckling. “What?”
“Mrs. Taylor sold the store to a young couple from Havre. It’s called Brightman’s now. Same ancient building though.” Dray explained.
“Oh. Well, whatever. I need groceries if I’m going to cook you dinner.”
“Would you like me to go with you or do you remember how to get to the cabin?”
“With as many times as we met there to make our plans for the weekends, holidays, and world domination? As long as you haven’t moved it or the road, I think I can handle it.” Dexie smirked.
“Haven’t changed a thing out there,” Dray smiled. The sorrow in his voice and clouding his eyes tore at her. With a heavy heart, she left the truck and hurried to her rental. She started the SUV and waved to him as he drove past.
Twenty minutes later, Dexie was looking through the produce at Brightman’s Supermarket. The selection was better than she’d expected it to be and it had thrilled her to see an entire section of nothing but locally grown produce. The store was brighter than she remembered and thankfully few people were in the building at the moment. Shopping as quickly as possible, Dexie prayed that she’d be able to get out of the store without being recognized.
“Well, bless my soul. If it isn’t Dexie McBride.” An elderly voice with an audible waver reached Dexie as she stood in line waiting to pay. She closed her eyes and sighed as her heart plummeted. She’d almost escaped… almost.
Searching for the strength to face the woman who’d spoken, she turned slowly, opening her eyes as she did. Dexie blinked and frowned when she had to drop her gaze to nearly her waist before she found the owner of the voice, her old third-grade teacher, Mrs. Gentry.
Allison Gentry had been old in Dexie’s youth, but now the woman seemed positively ancient. The older woman’s hair was no longer salt and pepper, but was snow-white yet it was still pulled back into a severe bun that was as tight as Dexie remembered it ever being. Mrs. Gentry was now stooped with her advanced age, her back hunched and her hands gnarled as she peered up at Dexie through thick glasses.
“Hello, Mrs. Gentry,” Dexie murmured politely.
“It’s good to see you, dear. So sorry about your poor mother.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“Where have you been all these years? Your poor mother missed you terribly.”
“Traveling the world.”
“Aah, just as you always said you would.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Dexie turned and faced the cashier, who was finally ringing up her groceries. With a shudder of relief, she didn’t recognize the woman behind the counter. Another trip down memory lane with anyone else might send her off the deep end. Dexie paid with the credit card that she’d gotten from BJ Harrington ten years earlier, the need to hide her whereabouts unnecessary since Brent knew she was in Peace. She looked at the credit card in distaste before putting it away, judging it as harshly as she did the two Harrington men who’d made her life miserable for so long.
“It was nice seeing you, Mrs. Gentry,” Dexie smiled faintly as she collected her bags of groceries.
“You too, dear,” Mrs. Gentry nodded.
Dexie turned and left the store, praying that she wouldn’t run into anyone else she knew. Minutes later, she was closing the door of her SUV after stowing her groceries in the back. Relief flooded her when the sound of the door locking reverberated through the small space. Knowing she was so close to Brent was making her edgy to the point of the intense unease she known while in South Africa.
Turning out of the parking lot, Dexie drove east along Peace’s Main Street, the town built by her great great-grandfather, Leopold McBride, and his best friend, August Harrington. She felt the warp of time as she gazed upon the wooden boardwalk that lined each side of the street and the quaint storefronts. Toppin’s Bar still stood proudly, cowboys milling around the front door, watching the sparse traffic move by. Dexie noticed that the saddle and tack shop was still there, across the street from the diner that BJ Harrington had built for his wife and ultimately lost her to when she died waiting tables during the nightshift when Brent had been thirteen. She turned north onto McBride Lane toward the Palmer homestead as well as the home she’d grown up in.
Dexie gaped as she passed Peace High School on her right, the barrage of memories that washed over her stealing her breath. Shaking her head, she continued to drive north until she reached the T at Bridle Falls Road and turned left.
Emotions choked her and her heart faltered as she neared the turn-off on the right that would take her to the sprawling horse ranch that had been her father’s pride. She slowed as she drove past, looking wistfully down the long lane toward the place she’d called home until her mother had married BJ and they’d moved across town to the Harrington’s gaudy mansion. With a sigh, she continued to the turn on the left that would take her to the old Palmer cabin.
A powerful sense of déjà vu stole Dexie’s breath as she set the parking brake in front of the ancient log cabin that Dray now owned. Memories of late night study sessions, hours of plotting their escape from Peace, and pure, untainted laughter-filled afternoons flooded her mind. These happiest of her memories were accompanied by the memory of sobbing herself to sleep while Dray held her the night her father had died, the hours spent there when she’d needed a haven from the turbulence of home, and the lost moments when she could have told Dray her deepest secret but hadn’t had the courage. He’d been her best friend through every up and down for as long as she could remember and she’d missed him more than she could find words to say. The single fear that repairing the damage to their friendship would be impossible gnawed at her with cold, unforgiving teeth.