Thunder Rolls: Episode 8 (Rising Storm) Page 3

  “He’ll be okay, Hannah. He’s just a dog. And we don’t have to stay long.” His tone was pleading. And she knew he hadn’t meant to sound so harsh. But Fred was more than a dog. He was her responsibility.

  “I’m sorry, Tate. I can’t. If I find him in time, I promise I’ll come. But in the meantime, give the Rushes my regrets. If you explain, I know they’ll understand. You’re the one they really want to see.”

  Tate searched her face for a moment, and then nodded, his jaw tightening with frustration. “Fine. I’ll go without you. But if I’m going to succeed in this, I’m going to need you by my side, Hannah. And that’s going to mean compromise.”

  She followed him back into the kitchen, watching as he slid his arms into his jacket. Molly mewed and shot a pointed look at her bowl. Hannah sighed and reached up to straighten Tate’s collar. “It’s just cocktails. You’ll be fine. You don’t need me.”

  “I always need you, Hannah.” He kissed her lips and then headed out the door. She stood staring for a moment at the empty space where he’d stood. He might think he needed her. But if he really truly did, wouldn’t he have asked her what she thought before making a decision? Instead, in true Tate fashion, he’d just assumed she’d follow where he led.

  Problem was, Hannah had never been very good at following.

  CHAPTER 3

  “Could this be any less fun?” Lacey Salt asked Jeffry Rush as they stood in a corner of his father’s living room. The upper crust of Storm as well as some heavy hitters from the senator’s campaign filled the room.

  “It’s one night out of our lives.” Jeffry shrugged. “We’ll survive. And it’s important to my dad.”

  “I know,” Lacey sighed. “But it would go down a lot easier if I could get that guy at the bar to give me a real drink.”

  Jeffry eyed the corner where guests huddled around one of the strategically placed bars. His mind flew to the night of the bonfire and all the alcohol he and Luis had consumed. Not something he was in any mood to repeat.

  “After everything that has happened lately, I’d think you’d steer clear of the stuff altogether. I mean, the last thing you need is to make another scene.”

  Scene might not exactly be the right word for the swath of damage Lacey had left in her wake, but considering the rumors still circulating about her night at the lake with Luis, it seemed to fit the bill.

  “Enough already.” Lacey waved a hand in dismissal. “I’m so tired of hearing about poor Luis and Mallory. It’s not like things haven’t worked out for them. I mean, really, they ought to be thanking me.”

  “Seriously?” Jeffry blew out a breath and shook his head. “You torpedoed your best friend by lying about her boyfriend. And then you refuse to set things right by telling the truth.”

  “Give me a break, Jeffry. I’ve been through a lot.”

  “That doesn’t make it okay to lash out at your friends.”

  “Ex-friends.” Lacey tossed her hair and snagged a glass from a waiter passing with a tray full of drinks.

  “Lace. No.”

  “You deal with life your way,” she said, taking a rebellious sip, “and I’ll deal with it mine.”

  Jeffry started to retort, but decided against it. Lacey wasn’t going to listen anyway, and best he could tell, he was about the only friend she had left. Which meant she needed him. And if he took her on, he’d only succeed in driving her away. As crazy as it sounded, he still harbored hopes that he could help heal the rift between Mallory and Lacey. They’d been best friends most of their lives. Luis was going to be a harder sell. But Jeffry had always been an optimist.

  “So are things any better at home?” he asked, realizing he’d probably just jumped from the frying pan into the proverbial fire.

  “You mean with Princess Ginny?” Lacey scowled and took another sip of her drink. “You’d think she was giving birth to the next King of England the way my mom carries on.”

  “It’s a connection to your brother, Lace. You, of all people, should be able to understand what that means to your mom.”

  For a moment he saw a flash of the old Lacey. The girl who’d sat up with him until dawn the day he’d lost the election for class president. The friend who’d spent three days helping him search for his grandfather’s pocket watch when he’d managed to lose it in the second grade after swiping it for show and tell.

  But then her expression hardened, her mouth narrowing to a thin line. “Yeah, well, it isn’t Jacob, is it? I mean, at the moment, it’s not even a baby. And besides, the way she’s carrying on with Logan Murphy, I’ll be surprised if she sticks around after it’s born.”

  “You think they’re serious?” Jeffry thought back to the couple of times he’d seen them together. Truth was, they made a good-looking couple. Logan was a great guy. Dark and twisty after the war, but still someone you could count on. And Ginny had always been like a big sister to him. She and Brittany had always been thick as thieves and when you factored in his friendship with Luis, they were all practically family.

  Still, he could understand Lacey’s reaction to Ginny moving in with them.

  “I don’t know,” Lacey said. “Seems like every time I see them they’re lip-locked. All I’m saying is that if she really loved my brother as much as everyone seems to think she did, then how come she’s so quick about finding someone new?”

  “People deal with their grief differently, Lace. Maybe she needs someone to help her through it.”

  “She’s got my whole friggin’ family. Isn’t that enough?”

  “Maybe Logan is there for her in a way your mom and dad can’t be.”

  “Yeah, like fucking her brains out.”

  “Lace.” Jeffry shot a look around the room, grateful that no one had heard the outburst. “Come on. Someone could have heard you.”

  “Like it matters?”

  “It matters to our parents.”

  “It matters to your dad.”

  “Okay, so we respect that. At least for tonight?” He caught her gaze and held it, wondering if he was fighting a losing battle. Maybe the old Lacey was gone for good.

  She chewed on her bottom lip, tears filling her eyes.

  Hell, he’d made her cry. “Lace… I…”

  “No.” She set the drink on a table. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I just get so angry. I miss my brother. I just want him back.”

  “I understand,” Jeffry said, reaching out to squeeze her hands. “We all do. But the only way we’re going to get through this is if we pull together. And that means you can’t just hole up and try to deal on your own. I’m here for you.”

  “I know.” She nodded with a tremulous smile. “And the last thing I want to do is lose you, too.”

  “Not going to happen, Lace,” he said, hoping to hell it was true. “Not going to happen.”

  * * * *

  “Hello, Dakota,” Bethany Allen said, as she swung open her front door.

  Dr. Allen had been the town’s doctor before Sebastian’s sister, Layla Rush, had taken over. He’d been older than God when Dakota had been born, but she’d always liked the man. And his wife, who’d worked as his receptionist, had always been friendly with Dakota. A fact she was counting on to help her get what she needed.

  Mrs. Allen smiled. “I haven’t seen you in ages.”

  Not since the disastrous year she’d tried to be a Brownie, Dakota thought. Mrs. Allen had been the troop leader. And though she’d certainly been nothing but kind, camp-outs and sing-alongs had proved to be more than Dakota had bargained for. Although it had been the father/daughter dance that had brought her short-lived career in Girl Scouting to a screeching halt.

  Her dad had shown up drunk. Which wouldn’t have been that bad if he hadn’t stumbled into the punch table and spilled everything everywhere. It was the only time she’d ever been even a little ashamed of her dad. But he’d bought her a new bike and promised she’d never have to go to Brownies again. Problem solved.

  Although standing here now, fa
cing Mrs. Allen, the mortification she’d felt at the time came roaring back.

  “How’s your mother?” Mrs. Allen was asking.

  Dakota pulled herself from the train wreck of her memories and smiled. After all, she needed Mrs. Allen’s goodwill. At least long enough to get a look at her husband’s old records. Dr. Rush’s assistant had assured Dakota that Dr. Allen’s records were in the Allen’s garage. So if luck held, she would have a shot at them soon enough.

  “Mom’s hanging in there,” Dakota replied, swallowing her disgust and forcing a smile. “She has a new job working for Marylee Rush and I think she’s really enjoying that.”

  “I’m just glad she’s finding her way. It’s not easy to deal with a situation like hers. But then I guess you understand that firsthand.”

  Why did everyone disparage her father? Dakota sucked in a breath. “Yeah, well, there’re always two sides to every story. But I didn’t come here to bore you with my family issues. I really appreciate your letting me call on you so late. My mom came up with the idea of using old photos for Founders’ Day. So I’ve been visiting folks trying to round some up.” It sounded good. At least she hoped it did. And her mom was using old photos. So that part at least was true.

  “Of course.” Mrs. Allen nodded. “It’s no problem at all. Glad I could be of help. I set a couple of boxes out for you in the garage. Hopefully you won’t mind working out there. I’m afraid it’s become a bit of a repository over the years. And the boxes were too heavy for me to carry inside.”

  “Not a problem at all.” Dakota’s smile widened as she followed Mrs. Allen through the house. That was exactly what she’d been counting on.

  The garage was indeed crammed full of boxes. But fortunately, all of them were carefully labeled and dated. Which ought to make her job easier.

  “The boxes are over here.” Mrs. Allen waved toward a card table and chair set up beside two large cartons. “I put a glass of lemonade and some cookies out, too. Figured you could use a little fortitude while you’re looking.”

  Dakota looked at the little plate filled with sugar cookies and almost felt guilty. Almost. It wasn’t as if she was going to do anything that harmed Mrs. Allen or the doctor’s memory. She just needed to confirm what Mallory had told her.

  “You’re so thoughtful. This will be perfect.”

  “Well, it’s really nice of you to help your mother. And there’s not much I wouldn’t do for the Founders’ Day celebration. I was the chairman for years, you know. Before Marylee took over.” There was a wash of something distasteful across Mrs. Allen’s face and this time Dakota’s smile was real. At least she wasn’t the only one who disliked the matriarch of the Rush clan. “Just give a holler if you need me.” Mrs. Allen smiled again and then disappeared back into the house.

  Dakota snagged a cookie and munched as she quickly flipped through the photos in the first box, choosing five or six so that when the time came to leave, it would seem that she’d found what she needed. Then she turned to the shelves lining the garage. It took only a few minutes to locate the row containing Dr. Allen’s old records. And like the rest of the files, they were arranged in alphabetical order.

  Which meant she needed the S’s. After grabbing a second cookie, she pulled the box labeled R-S off the shelf and put it on the table. Thumbing through the files, she resisted the urge to look at a couple for other people she knew—like Sebastian Rush—but this wasn’t the time and she doubted there was anything in the man’s medical history that would aid in her quest for retribution.

  No, the perfect storm generated from Jacob Salt. And his supposed accident. She thumbed forward past the Reids, Rosses, and Ryans. Damn, the man had really been physician for half the town. Finally, she reached the S’s and leading the list—the Salts. First Travis, then Celeste, then Sarah Jane and right before Lacey, Jacob. She pulled out the file, her hand shaking a little as her heart constricted at the memory of the boy she’d believed would save her from Storm.

  Jacob might never have wanted her in the way she’d wanted him, but he’d always been a good guy. Never looking down at her or questioning her background like some of the others had done. People like Ginny Moreno, whose own background wasn’t anything to write home about.

  She stood for a moment, holding the closed file. This was Jacob’s life, after all. But Jacob was gone. And if Mallory was right, Ginny was deceiving everyone. The Salts more than anyone. They deserved the truth. She squared her shoulders and walked over to the card table and opened the file.

  At first, she thought it wasn’t there. The records were aligned chronologically, and based on what Mallory had said, and her own memories, the records for the accident should have been fairly early in the file. But there was nothing at all around the time she’d worked out as most probable.

  She shook her head and took a sip of lemonade.

  Maybe she’d was mistaken in her calculations or maybe the notes were just misfiled. The doctor’s notes were all handwritten and his writing wasn’t the easiest to decipher. She started at the beginning again and this time kept reading even after she was past the time when she was fairly certain the accident had happened.

  Almost to the end of the file, she reached high school. And it was there, during Jacob’s senior year, that she found the original report stapled to an update. Mallory was right. There’d been an accident. And it was Dr. Allen’s considered opinion that the damage was permanent. That Jacob would never father a child.

  But, as if he knew that Dakota would want to be certain, there was the addendum. Tests run Jacob’s senior year. They’d been conclusive. The chance of his ever fathering a child was next to impossible.

  Ginny Moreno was lying, carrying half the town along on the hope that lie perpetuated. Then, to make matters even more delicious, the bitch had slept with Sebastian. And knowing his propensity for taking young, willing women, Dakota would bet her life on the fact that it had been more than once. She folded the report into quarters and slipped it into her jeans’ pocket with a smile. Add in the senator’s aversion for prophylactics, and it was almost a sure bet that Ginny Moreno was carrying the senator’s baby.

  All of which meant she had the son of a bitch right where she wanted him.

  * * * *

  “Brittany, darlin’, come over here and say hello to the Abernathys.” Sebastian Rush dropped a hand on her shoulder as Brit attempted to skip out on her father’s party.

  “Daddy, I can’t. I’ve got plans with my friends.”

  With a nod and a smile in the Abernathys’ direction, her father tightened his hold and steered her into the foyer. “Brittany, you know how important tonight is to me.” Her father’s smile never faltered, but she could hear the steel in his voice. “And that means having my entire family here, working the room for me.”

  Me, me, me. Everything was always about the senator. Her earliest memories involved political posturing. Pictures for the newspaper. Promo ops at the park and in her school. Even now, away at college, she’d run into her father from time to time. Like that night at Maggie Mae’s. She could never escape it. Except maybe when she was with Marcus.

  Which is where she’d be right now if she’d just managed to make it to the front door.

  “Brittany, I know this is hard for you. And I know you have your own life. But tonight, please? For me?”

  And despite her frustration, her heart swelled. The truth was she adored her dad. Even with his constant posturing, he was her father. And he’d always be there for her. That much she was certain of. So the least she could do was be there for him.

  “Okay. So I’ll stay for a little while. And then I’ll meet my friends. Deal?”

  “Deal.” Her dad’s smile widened, the glow in his eyes genuine. “Glad to know I’ve taught you the finer points of negotiating.”

  “You’ve taught me a lot more than that, Daddy.” She squeezed his hand.

  Together they walked over to a group of laughing people. “Glenda. Paul. You remember my daug
hter, Brittany.” He gestured to the Abernathys and Brit held out her hand, giving her best candidate’s daughter smile. If nothing else, life in the spotlight had taught her to bury her true feelings deep.

  Glenda and Paul Abernathy were old friends of her mother and father’s. Considered “new” money by some, they had, in a short fifty years, built an empire from Texas oil.

  “Brittany, you remember our son, Gavin.”

  They’d met numerous times over the years, but despite the fact that Gavin was incredibly handsome, and actually really nice, the two of them had never really found common ground.

  “You’re in medical school now, right?” Brit asked, feigning interest, trying not to think about Marcus and the cold beer waiting for her at Murphy’s.

  “Harvard.” He nodded, flashing a commiserative grin. Their parents drifted away, leaving them alone, obviously satisfied with what they believed were subtle machinations. “And you’re still at UT?”

  “Yeah. Home for the summer and all that.”

  “Me, too. Although I don’t really think of San Antonio as home. Boarding school kind of keeps you from putting down roots. Not that I’m complaining. I mean, we’ve both led pretty privileged lives.”

  “Which has both advantages and disadvantages. One of them being our families assuming they can orchestrate our every move.”

  Gavin flinched. “I’m sorry about my parents. They just can’t seem to stop pushing for some kind of union between your family and mine. It’s like we’d be joining ruling empires or something.”

  “Which, sadly, isn’t too far from the truth to their way of thinking. And they’re not alone; my dad is right in there with them plotting and planning. It’s pretty Draconian but, hey, what are we going to do, they’re our parents, right?”

  “Disown them?” Gavin grinned.

  She’d forgotten how much she actually liked him. “That might be a bit extreme. Maybe we just hang out for a bit. Give them false hope.”