Wishes At First Light

“I submitted a written statement, but I don’t know how important it will be in the big scheme of things. I haven’t been called to testify yet since they have far more damning testimony than mine. Most of it in the form of his computer records.” Gabriella had been shocked to learn that Jeremy Covington’s wife had turned over all the computers she had access to in their home to the prosecution, but apparently the woman had had enough of his cheating and crimes. “Still, I sent a personal letter to the judge. I want to share my story.”

“You said Covington was cyber stalking.” Clayton nodded thoughtfully. “Was he watching your movements online?”

The question cut right to the heart of what made it so damn difficult to sit across the table from Clayton.

Her throat dried up. Cold clamminess broke out over her skin in a panic that had everything to do with her dream world and nothing to do with the handsome and decent man across from her.

“I—” She was at a loss for what to say. “Actually, Clay, do you mind if we catch up another time?” Her heart beat faster. She stood to leave before thinking how rude that would appear. “I’m sorry. I just remembered I was supposed to meet my friend Amy this morning. I don’t know where my head is today.”

“Let me walk you out—” He was already reaching for his guitar.

But Gabriella didn’t hear the rest. She’d fallen into dream mode—that place where the past and her fears mingled, growing larger than life—and she needed a breath of fresh air. She hadn’t experienced a panic attack like this in years. Shoving her way through the entrance to the Owl’s Roost, she nearly ran into a big, burly man carrying a toddler into the restaurant.

“Sorry,” she apologized, never slowing down.

The cold wind blasted over her face, tugging strands of her hair across her cheek and drying some of the dampness from her skin.

Pausing at the porch rail, she took big, gasping breaths of air into her lungs.

She would plan a private time to speak to Clayton Travers again. She hadn’t been emotionally prepared to see him this morning, and it was so early in the day she still had one foot in her unsettling dreams from the night before. But she was in Heartache to put the past to rest for good. She would see Jeremy Covington go to jail. And she’d share with Clay the truth about the conversations she’d thought she had with him over that summer. There was a chance she’d only been talking to him half the time she thought she had been messaging with him.

True, it all happened a long time ago. But she owed it to herself to find out how much of that online relationship Clay had participated in over those weeks she’d been falling for him—and how much of that time she’d been talking to Jeremy Covington. It was just one more step in the healing, and not anything to do with the fact that Clayton Travers still made her heart skip a beat.

* * *

IT HAD BEEN a long time since a woman had run from him.

Ten years, in fact. And the last perpetrator was the same as today’s—one Gabriella Chance.

Walking more sedately out of the Owl’s Roost, Clayton knew he was attracting stares. The people in the booths nearby were probably wondering what piece of crap man would send a woman sprinting for the door by herself. More than a little on edge by the time he made it through the exit, he was surprised to see Gabriella still on the front porch.

Her back to him, she gripped the rail so hard it made her shoulders and arms rigid. The late-autumn wind tossed a few strands of dark blond hair, her loose pants fluttering against her legs. As he neared, he could see she took deep breaths that lifted her whole chest, exhaling through her mouth like she was doing yoga breathing.

“I’m in a sticky social situation here,” he noted wryly, standing a few feet away and staring out over the parking lot the same way she was doing. “Do I give you the space you seem to crave and walk past you? Or do I stop and try to be a gentleman because you seem distressed?”

“Is it that obvious?” she asked, her voice tinged with a dry sarcasm he hadn’t expected. She puffed out an audible breath.

“My dining companions don’t usually head for the exit like they’re setting a land speed record.” He kept it light, curious as hell what was going on with her but not wanting to push. He’d realized within seconds of seeing her again that he was still attracted. Time hadn’t faded her appeal in the least.

So it bothered him even more that she hadn’t wanted to linger after their shared meal.

They remained quiet for a moment as a young woman walked by, holding the arm of a stooped man shuffling a walker across the wooden plank floor.

“I think I’m having a recurrence of panic attacks since the Covington trial starts tomorrow,” she confided once the entrance closed behind the incoming restaurant patrons. “As much as I think seeing him go to jail will give me closure, it’s also stirring up some old fears. I didn’t sleep well last night. Not well at all.”

“That, I understand.” He moved closer without touching her, trying to offer the comfort of his presence without making her feel overwhelmed or crowded. “I’m staying in town long enough to meet with my biological father for the first time in years and it’s got me restless at night, too.”

“Is Pete still living close to Heartache?” She seemed to forget her troubles as he mentioned his own, her shoulders relaxing a bit when she turned to face him.

“I can’t believe you remember my loser father’s name.” He shook his head, surprised she would recall ancient conversations they’d had over the card games she insisted would help him with his math. “Pete is feeling the effects of cirrhosis by now, so maybe that’s got him sentimental that he wants to see me. But he lives just outside the town line heading toward Franklin.”

She nodded, her golden brown hair lifted by the chilly breeze. “You know that’s where the trial is being held? In Franklin?”

“Yes. Your brother filled me in while I was keeping an eye on his fiancée. I plan to sit in during Heather Finley’s testimony. Zach seemed to think it would give her courage to see friendly faces in the courtroom.”

Besides, he had a vested interest in seeing that bastard Covington behind bars. The sick creep had hurt the girl he’d started to care about, someone he’d wanted to know better. Gabriella had just started flirting with him, warming to the idea of seeing him, when she’d disappeared.

While Clayton had moved on, dated plenty of other women, he’d never forgotten about her. And being in this town again had a way of bringing the past back to life.

“That’s kind of you.” She finally looked at him, an admiring light burning in her eyes, an expression he recalled from their old conversations. When the rest of the school had been quick to look his way as a potential suspect for any misdeeds since he was the newest Hasting foster kid, and therefore “troubled,” Gabriella had given him the benefit of the doubt.

“I want to support Sam, too. It sounds like he put his whole life on hold for a while to pursue the guy, even before he moved back here to become sheriff.”

She bit her lip, once, twice, before speaking. “He did. And that’s half the reason I want to be there, too. He sacrificed a lot to protect me and then, later, to find the guy who did it.”

Which brought him right back to the question he’d asked her inside the booth at the Owl’s Roost. What kind of interaction had she had with the guy online? Why hadn’t she been able to identify him if he’d been stalking her even before the incident in the quarry when he’d assaulted her?

But he kept it on lockdown for now since those were the last words out of his mouth before she’d broken out into a cold sweat. Clearly there were a lot of rough memories associated with that time. While her brother said she hadn’t been sexually molested she had been assaulted.

“Then if you ever want to share a ride, let me know because I’ll be making the trip in every day.” He pointed to his motorcycle. “Although that’s my only means of transportation, so if you don’t like bikes—”

“Really?” She sounded intrigued. “I’ve never ridden on one.”

“They’re great for clearing your head.” Maybe that was a little self-serving of him when she’d admitted she was tense and had trouble sleeping. “I have an extra helmet. It’s not glittery pink or anything, but it’s safe.”

She folded her arms, and a smile turned one corner of her lips.

“In that case, I’m staying in Unit 3 at the motel.” She pointed toward the shabby little set of cottages where he planned to book a room, too.

“Great. I’ll pick you up at eight tomorrow morning.”

Just like that, the moment sent him catapulting back to the past when she’d said she would meet him under the bleachers for a math lesson that he’d hoped would be more than just math.

Except she’d never shown. And for reasons far more complicated and painful than his teenage mind could have imagined. Hell, teens assumed rejection was personal.

And his assumption had cost her comfort when she’d needed him most. Damned if he would let her down again.

CHAPTER THREE (#u7e944694-1abf-5ee2-a48f-d321a2b2c475)

GIRLS’ SALON NIGHT at The Strand!

Walking down Heartache’s main thoroughfare with her hood up to protect her from the wind, Gabriella double-checked the text from her soon-to-be sister-in-law, Heather Finley. Normally, Gabriella wasn’t the girly-girl type who spent time at spas or invested her small earnings on expensive salon highlights. But the invitation had been sent to all the local women who would either be testifying against Jeremy Covington or who had given statements to support the district attorney’s case against him.

The intent of the Salon Night was plain. An evening of rah-rah sisterhood to boost each other up before they had to sit across a courtroom from the man who’d hurt them. As much as she wasn’t the spa type, Gabriella knew she couldn’t refuse. Because even though a manicure and pedicure wouldn’t make her feel any better about facing Covington tomorrow, her presence might help someone else rest easier tonight. If it made Heather feel better—or any of the other girls that sick ass had hurt—then Gabriella wanted to be there. She carried a bottle of red wine under her arm as she passed Last Chance Vintage and found The Strand. Warm light from inside the salon poured out through the windows onto Main Street since it was the only business open at this hour except for the Hasting family’s pizza parlor farther down on the corner.

Hesitating outside the door, Gabriella could hear the eighties pop music playing inside, two of the women dancing around a dryer chair as they sang into hair brushes. The image tugged a reluctant smile from her. Maybe it wouldn’t be such a hardship to have her nails painted. She couldn’t deny a small thrill at the idea of looking her best tomorrow when she hopped on the back of Clayton’s motorcycle. And yes, that made her feel like a giddy teenager again.

She hauled open the door before she could change her mind, the electric guitar music spilling out along with laughter and the scent of hair chemicals and nail polish remover.