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Wild Hearts by Sharon Sala (12)

Eleven

Trey came in the front door with his suitcase and a giant bouquet of red roses.

Dallas knew Mark Dodson’s appearance at the hospital had irked him, and now she had proof. His bouquet of roses was far bigger than Mark’s potted mum. She stifled a grin. A case of “mine is bigger than yours” syndrome.

Betsy gasped when she saw them. “Oh, Trey. They’re beautiful! I’ll put them in water for Dallas,” she said, admiring them as she left.

Trey dropped the suitcase by the sofa, took something out of his pocket and leaned down to kiss Dallas hello.

She closed her eyes, expecting that hard, sexy mouth on her lips. She got a kiss, but it was chocolate, a Hershey’s Kiss to be exact.

She blinked.

He dropped another little foil-wrapped candy in her lap, along with a note: “Another kiss from me for when you’re lonely.”

She didn’t know whether to be enchanted or irked.

“Thank you,” she said, and set the extra one on the table beside her elbow.

He held up a finger to indicate he would be right back and took his suitcase to the room he would be using. He’d already decided to sleep in the extra bedroom. Dick’s bedroom still belonged to Dallas. She would have to go through his things at her leisure, when her shoulder was better.

The bedspread in the guest room was bright yellow and a little too cheery. The color wouldn’t have been his first choice, but it wouldn’t damage his masculinity or his sleep. The curtains were sheers, more for effect than for privacy, but the venetian blinds would suffice. He unpacked his clothes, then returned to his cruiser and came back with an armful of clothes on hangers, waving at Dallas as he passed.

He could tell she was intrigued. And the second piece of candy was gone, which made him grin. She’d always said the next best thing to sex was chocolate. He’d already introduced the notion of renewing their sexual relationship, but so far she’d had to settle for the next best thing.

He changed out of his uniform and then hurried back just as Betsy set the flowers on a table where Dallas could see them.

“Mom, thanks for staying,” he said.

“It was my pleasure. Call me anytime you need help.”

“You’re the best,” he said, and gave her a quick kiss on the forehead.

Betsy was beaming as she gathered up the empty stew pot and the rest of her things.

“I’ll walk you out,” he said. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

“Thank you for coming, Betsy!” Dallas said, as Trey and his mother headed for her car.

“What’s going on?” Betsy asked, as she put her things in the backseat.

“Sheriff Osmond called me. I still have to tell Dallas, and I’m only telling you this because you found his body, so keep it to yourself until you begin to hear it on the streets.”

“You’re scaring me,” Betsy said.

“Dick did not commit suicide. He was murdered.”

Betsy moaned, then leaned back against her car and covered her face.

“Oh, my God. How do they know? Was it the shoulder injury? Dallas told me what Otis Woodley said about that.”

“No. The coroner x-rayed the body before beginning the autopsy. Both of Dick’s ankles were broken. He wouldn’t have been able to even stand up, let alone hang himself.”

“Should we be afraid?”

He gave her a quick hug. “I don’t know what to tell you. Right now there’s no motive and there are no suspects. I need to get back inside, though. Drive safe going home, okay?”

“I will,” she said, and drove away as Trey returned to the house.

Dallas was in the kitchen, so he ran down the hall to get his laptop, returning as she was settling back down onto the sofa with a cold drink.

“Your mom made sweet tea if you want some,” she said.

He nodded, then sat down beside her and powered up the laptop.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

He began to type: “We need to talk. I have good news. The dog that attacked you did not have rabies.”

“Thank God,” Dallas said.

He continued to type: “There’s more.”

Sensing a certain tone, she asked, “What’s wrong?”

“Sheriff Osmond called me. They’ve officially ruled your father’s death a murder.”

Dallas gasped.

“Was it the shoulder injury? I didn’t know they’d done the autopsy.”

“No autopsy yet,” he wrote. “Coroner x-rayed body first. Both your dad’s ankles were broken. No way would he have been able to stand up, let alone hang himself.”

Dallas’s eyes went wide with shock, and when she spoke, her voice began to shake.

“I don’t understand. Why would someone break his ankles? Were any of his other bones broken? Was he beaten?”

Trey sighed. Now it was a case of how much to tell her and how much to let her figure out for herself.

“Coroner said it was consistent with a sharp jerk from below.”

He could almost see the wheels turning in her head as she went through the process of how that could have happened, and he knew when she figured it out, because her face lost all expression.

She went limp and sagged back against the sofa, her voice completely emotionless as she said, “He didn’t die fast enough. The killer grabbed him by the ankles to break his neck.”

“Probably.” Trey tapped the keyboard.

“My poor daddy,” she whispered, and covered her face.

He put the laptop on her knees. “I’m so sorry, baby. I’m so sorry.”

She read the last line, then leaned against his shoulder and once again began to weep.

Trey moved the computer onto the coffee table and gently scooted her into his lap. Long after the shock had passed and the tears were gone, she lay sleeping in his arms. He hated to wake her, but he had to begin the evening chores, so he cradled her in his arms and kissed her awake.

Dallas opened her eyes, blinking slowly as she realized where she was and wondered why she was in his lap. And then she remembered.

“That wasn’t a dream, was it?” she asked.

He shook his head.

“Is this nightmare ever going to end?”

He opened up the laptop. “We’ll figure it out, honey. Just give it time,” he wrote, then added, “I’m going to do chores. I won’t be long.”

“Okay. I’ll clean and sort the eggs tomorrow.”

He nodded, then closed the laptop and kissed her forehead before heading out the back door.

Dallas sat motionless, staring out the front windows, but her thoughts were churning. Her father had been murdered. According to Otis, he’d expected to come into a lot of money. Where would it come from? What was he doing that she hadn’t known about?

The only thing on the whole farm that seemed out of place were all the large plastic storage bins in the cooler at the barn.

Frustrated, she went to the kitchen and began poking around, looking for inspiration for supper. Without knowing what he’d had at noon, she didn’t have any idea how hungry he was. She had been satisfied with Betsy’s soup, and there was some left, but not enough for two.

A few minutes later Trey came in the back door carrying a carton of eggs.

“Supper?” she asked.

He nodded.

“Sounds good. I’ll make a fresh pot of coffee.”

When he frowned, she waved away the objection.

“I have to start using my arm some or the muscles will get worse, not better.”

She didn’t wait to see his reaction. She didn’t need ears to make coffee.

An hour later the omelets had been eaten and the dishes were in the dishwasher. Trey took a phone call from the dispatcher that had him making a quick trip into Mystic, leaving Dallas on her own. He’d been gone for a good half hour when she thought to check her cell phone for text messages.

She had two, both from friends at the station wishing her well, and two missed calls, also from friends at the station who either hadn’t heard the word about her latest injury or were as oblivious as their boss. She sent texts back to all of them and put the phone on the charger. She was done with all that for the night.

She thought about the evenings she and her dad used to spend out on the back porch, watching night come to the land, and had a sudden urge to revisit that. She grabbed the throw from the sofa and carried it out the back door, then put it around her shoulders as she sat down in the swing.

If it had been summer, there would have been fireflies by now. She might have heard one of the calves calling for its mama, or hunters up on the mountain with their hounds. She looked, but she didn’t see any lights.

The longer she sat, the more frightening the silence felt. She had to fight back panic, trusting that the doctor had it right. Please God her hearing would return.

When she saw headlights shining on the trees beyond the house, she guessed it was Trey coming up the drive and abandoned the back porch. She was coming in the back door as he entered through the front, and it occurred to her how grateful she was not to be out here alone, deaf to everything but her fears.

* * *

Trey came home with movie rentals, a six-pack of Coca-Cola, a gallon of rocky road ice cream and a box of microwave popcorn.

The brilliance of the movie rentals was that they were old black-and-white Laurel and Hardy comedies. Silents. No need for sound to understand what was going on. For that reason alone she fell a little harder for Trey.

Trey had already plowed through a bowl of ice cream and a can of Coke when she threw back the quilt over her legs and started to get up.

He reached for his laptop and quickly typed: “What do you need?”

“A pain pill. I haven’t had one since this morning, but my shoulder is really hurting.”

“Have you looked at it today?” he wrote.

“No. I was afraid I couldn’t get the bandages fastened back down.”

“I’ll help. I’ll have to unbutton your shirt, so chill.”

“Do you want me to stand up?” she asked.

He shook his head as he turned sideways on the sofa and reached for the first button.

He noticed her take a quick breath as his fingers worked the button through the hole and made a point of accidentally on purpose raking his fingertips across the soft flesh of her breasts, then down her belly, until the last button was undone.

He paused, giving her time to think about what came next, and then he eased her good arm out of the sleeve so that he could more easily remove the shirt from the bandaged shoulder.

He looked at her and winced, mouthing the word sorry as he undid the tape and pulled the bandage back. Several of the puncture wounds were seeping and had stuck to the gauze. When she winced, he stopped, then leaned forward and brushed a kiss across her lips.

Even though he knew she wouldn’t hear him, he had to say it to ease his conscience for causing her pain. “Sorry, so sorry, baby.”

“How is it?” she asked.

He shrugged.

“Not infected-looking?”

He shook his head.

“I never even asked, but can the wounds get wet? Will I be able to shower?”

He grabbed the laptop. “Don’t use a washcloth on them, and don’t soap them. The water from the shower shouldn’t hurt. Leave them open to dry, and I’ll put a bandage back on them after. Do you want to shower now?”

She nodded.

“Need any help? J”

Dallas rolled her eyes. “No, thank you.”

“I had to ask.”

“Of course you did. I’ll be back in a bit. Don’t make the popcorn until I get back.” She started to get up.

He nodded, and then handed her the blouse he’d taken off a minute ago.

“You loved doing that, didn’t you?” she muttered.

He grinned.

She punched him lightly in the belly as she left.

He flopped back down on the sofa, still smiling.

“I think that went well,” he said.

Trey stayed smug right up until the moment Dallas came out of the shower wearing nothing but a big bath towel, then handed him gauze pads and tape as she plopped down beside him.

Score one point for Dallas. This topped his sexual tease all over the place.

“I really appreciate this,” she said.

Trey took a deep breath, checked that her skin was dry and made quick work of the bandage, then patted her knee to indicate he was done.

“Thanks. I’ll get dressed. Are you going to make popcorn?”

He leaned forward and typed: “Only if you’re still hungry.”

She looked past Trey to the empty recliner and all of a sudden she was done.

“I’m going to get dressed. I’ll pass on the popcorn,” she said, and left.

Now Trey was confused. Then he turned around to see what had distracted her, saw the recliner and sighed. Of course, her dad, a very important man in her life, gone too soon.

“Damn it.”

He got up and carried the dirty bowls and glasses to the kitchen, then put them in the dishwasher and turned it on. After that he stepped out the back door for one last check.

The sky was dark, the stars hidden by cloud cover. The blue-white security light down by the barn left a moon-shaped swatch of light on the ground below. Off to the right, he heard someone driving too damned fast on the blacktop and said a prayer that they got home in one piece. He wasn’t in the mood to be called out to an accident. He glanced up at the mountain and caught a glimmer of light just before it disappeared. Probably hunters, although he didn’t hear any hounds baying.

“Is everything okay?”

He turned. Dallas was silhouetted in the doorway, her hands twisted against her stomach. He hurt, knowing she was scared. Too many bad things had happened to her here, and it scared him to death to think that would be what drove her away.

He walked toward her, smiling and nodding, and watched her relax as he locked the door behind them.

“Can we watch the last movie? I don’t want to go to bed. Too many bad dreams.”

He cupped her cheek, then rubbed a thumb across her lower lip.

“Yes,” he said, then stood back to let her lead the way.

* * *

The dog was growling, its teeth bared as saliva dripped onto the ground below.

Dallas had a gun, but it wouldn’t fire. She kept pulling the trigger over and over, sobbing helplessly.

The dog crouched.

She took a step backward, and when she did, the dog leaped.

She screamed.

* * *

Moments later her room was bathed in light and Trey was running toward the bed.

“It was a dream, just a dream. I’m sorry,” she said, and combed the hair away from her face.

Trey scooted onto the side of the mattress, then touched her shoulder and mimed taking a pill.

“No, I don’t hurt all that bad. I don’t want a pain pill. When I take them, I can’t wake up.”

“Son of a bitch,” he muttered.

Dallas saw his lips moving and guessed from the look on his face that he wasn’t happy, but then, neither was she. They were as close to naked together as they’d been in six years, and she was too damn injured to do a thing about it.

She sighed. “Go back to bed. I’m fine.”

He sat for a few moments without moving, watching, then finally nodded and got up.

He waited as she lay back down, covered her up and turned off the light as he left.

Dallas lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling and remembering all the bad dreams she’d had in this room as a child. Then it had been her mom or dad who’d rushed to comfort her. Tonight it had been Trey.

She closed her eyes against welling tears and wished for daylight. Eventually she fell asleep, and when she woke again, her wish had come true.

* * *

Dallas woke to the scent of fresh-brewed coffee, threw back the covers and made a quick trip across the hall to the bathroom before getting herself dressed. She forced herself to use her left arm, then groaned as sore muscles pulled and wounds that had begun to scab over broke open.

“I will put on my own damn socks,” she said, and did, then stepped into the old tennis shoes from her closet. The Velcro closings made them simple to fasten. She called the job done.

Trey’s cruiser was still parked in the yard, but the house was empty, so she managed to put on an old jacket and went out the back door. She could see the herd grazing about halfway between the barn and the mountain, and guessed the cows and calves were in the feed lot behind the barn.

The chickens were already in the lot. She could see them fussing and running, trying to head each other off or claim a certain spot to feed. It was strange to see their antics without accompanying sound, and she realized how she’d come to enjoy the simple task of taking care of the chickens.

Knowing there were eggs waiting to be cleaned and sorted, she headed for the barn.

* * *

Trey had already fed the cows and was in the egg room cleaning and sorting when Dallas walked in.

“Hey!” he said, and then realized she couldn’t hear him, so he gave her a quick good-morning kiss instead.

“I’ll sort and fill the cartons,” she said, and got to work.

She was stiff and sore, but it felt good to be doing something useful. They worked side by side without trying to talk, and when they were finished she wrote the date on the cartons, moved the freshest to the back of the shelf and called it done.

Trey looked around, trying to see if he’d left anything undone. He saw a new padlock and key still in the package, and the big storage bins, and pointed at them with a question on his face.

“Beats me,” she said, and took his hand. “We’re through here. Have you had breakfast?”

He shook his head.

“How much time do you have before you need to leave?” she asked.

He glanced at his watch and then tapped a number.

“That’s over an hour,” she said. “Enough time for pancakes. I’ll tell you what goes in the batter if you’ll cook.”

“Deal,” he said, nodding his head.

* * *

The house still smelled like pancakes long after Trey was gone. Dallas refused Betsy’s offer to come over but promised if she needed help, she would text. She wanted the house to herself again. Today she was going to go through the place again, looking for anything that would give her a lead on her father’s big-money project.

But she still had practicalities to consider, so the first thing she did was put a sign on the front door for her egg customers.

I cannot hear your arrival.

If you need eggs, you know where they are.

Help yourself and leave the money on the table in the egg room.

Thanks,

Dallas

She had her cell phone on vibrate and put it in her pocket in case she got a text, especially a text from Trey, and once again began going through the house. When she got to the bedroom Trey was using, she hesitated a moment, worried he might think she was being nosy, and then shrugged off her concerns. She had a job to do.

She looked past his clothes in the closet and his underwear in the drawers, trying to find something that said “big money,” but she found nothing. Finally the only place left was her dad’s bedroom.

She’d already been through his room once, but then she’d been looking for a reason why he might have wanted to die. Now she was looking for a reason why he would have wanted to live.

She still felt like a trespasser as she entered his room, but she needed answers, and if he had any, this would be where he hid his secrets.

Without sound to distract her, her ability to focus entirely on sight was amplified. She saw beauty in the slice of light warming the corner of the bedspread, felt a tug of sadness at the sight of her parents’ wedding picture hanging over the bed. The John Deere tractor alarm clock she’d given him one Christmas many years ago was centered on an antique crocheted doily covering the top of the dresser. Her grandfather’s cherrywood armoire was in the corner of the room opposite the bed, and there was a small cherrywood table and chair beneath the double windows on the south side of the room. The curtains were faded; the room felt forlorn.

What secret were you hiding, Dad? Show me where it’s at.

She started with the dresser and went through every drawer, looking for something that didn’t belong. Then she moved to the armoire, poking in the nooks and crannies without success. When she opened the closet and saw the array of boxes stacked on the floor beneath the clothes and on the shelf above the bar, she groaned. If she was going to move all of that around, it was time take a pain pill.

She was in the kitchen getting a glass of water when the landline began to ring, and while the sound was faint, the fact that she heard it was so startling that she dropped the glass and broke it.

She didn’t care. She’d heard the sound!

She was so overjoyed that she started to cry, then cupped her hands over her ears and danced around the room like a crazy woman, even though it hurt her ribs. When she remembered the mess, she grabbed a broom and a dustpan to clean up the broken glass, and she didn’t even mind that sweeping made her shoulder hurt like hell.

It took another half hour before she got the pain pill taken, but by then she was trying out all kinds of sounds. She used her cell phone and called her dad’s number over and over just to hear it ring, and then she turned on the electric mixer to see if she could hear it. It was faint, but she heard the buzz. Then she tried the timer and banged drawers, and while some sounds didn’t register, she smiled wider with each one that did.

She went outside, curious to see how different surroundings affected what she could hear. The first place she went was to the chicken house, because she knew they were always making noise. She wanted to see how close she had to get before she heard them. It was obvious her hearing was still defective, but the fact that it was coming back was an answered prayer. She continued to test it, moving from one point to another outside in near-manic mode, and when she finally got back to the house, she sat down on the steps and cried again.

“Thank you, God, thank you,” she said, and cried some more at the sound of her own voice.