Chapter Eleven

THE WEDNESDAY OF HERfourth week dawned cloudy with a storm threatening. She woke first, staring at the ceiling, listening to thunder rolling in the distance. The room was gray, whether from the weather or because it was early, probably both, but it matched her mood. Though she tried not to think of it, the number twenty-six flashed like a neon sign in her brain. Only five days and four nights remained until her time here with him ended, and she resumed her old life.

She rolled onto her side. Still asleep, his breathing sounded deep and even. She watched him, memorizing each feature. The mental picture would have to last a long time. She made a note to take at least one photo of them together, and of Willow, and the guys she worked with every day at the barn. She reached up and brushed the hair off his forehead then blinked rapidly, trying to keep the tears prickling the backs of her eyes at bay as his beautiful brown ones slowly opened.

Damn, leaving was going to be hard.

He smiled a drowsy smile at her, then his gaze shifted over her shoulder to the window.

"Storm's coming in," he said in his morning voice, husky to the point of being gravelly until he woke up. She tried to commit that to memory, too.

A video, with audio, definitely, of Sam, Dallas, and all the guys. And she wouldn't wait, she'd do it today and upload it to the cloud where it would be safe for her to revisit as long as she needed to.

Which, from the way her heart was aching, might be a long time.

His hand came up to frame her face. "Are you feeling all right, little bit? You look pale."

"I'm okay. Just sleepy after you kept me up late last night."

"It wasn't me who wanted to explore everything in my toy bag. Lucky for you I keep most of my tools at the mansion, or you wouldn't have closed your eyes."

"I never knew there was such a variety."

"It's a good time to be kinky. You can find just about anything you can imagine online, and some things you couldn't dream up in a lifetime. Even Amazon keeps a full array of sex toys and BDSM implements that come discreetly packed and arrive at your door the next day."

He rolled them, coming up on an elbow to lean over her. "I've got a few things to do this morning, but I've got a meeting with a client interested in buying four of our horses, so I'll be back around eleven." He dipped his head and kissed her gently.

"Which horses?"

"It's not decided, but he wants two mares to start his own breeding programs."

"Not Medina or Celina!" A set of dove-gray twins named after, you guessed it, towns in Texas. "They're still too young. And Willow, she's too old."

"Darlin', I know you've gotten attached, but this is what we do. And six of the mares are in foal, so we'll have little ones in a few months. They grow up fast, and we're at capacity."

"I don't know how you bear it."

"I make sure they go to responsible breeders who will take good care of them, or I don't sell. And there are a few I wouldn't ever part with. Rio and Willow are two of them." His hand framed her face, his thumb running slowly along her jaw. "I'm going to shower. Why don't you sleep for another hour? It's still early." His kiss was longer and more heated this time, but it didn't go further, and, he rolled out of bed. It was one of the few times since she'd started sleeping with him that he didn't make love to her to start the day.

When the shower came on a few minutes later, she stared out the window as rain spattered the panes, the weather aptly suiting her mood.

***

ABOUT 10:30, SHE HEARDa car door slam. Figuring it was Sam home early, she went to the door to greet him, happy for an excuse to set aside her laptop and the research paper she was working on.

Instead of the espresso-brown eyes she'd come to love, she was greeted by a familiar face, very similar to the one she saw every morning in her mirror. The fair skin and honey-blonde hair also matched her own. Krista's welcoming smile evaporated.

"What are you doing here?" she asked without bothering with a greeting.

"Where are your manners, Kristina? Can't a mother visit her daughter?"

"Most mothers can, but not you. Not without a reason. How did you know where to find me?"

"Your grandmother told me."

She didn't believe her. Nana wouldn't give her the time of day, let alone Krista's temporary address.

"This is a private residential area. How did you get in?"

Nervously shifting from side to side, she rubbed a hand up her arm as though she were cold. It was in the mid-seventies, so more likely her skin was itching, or crawling, like happened when long-time addicts needed a fix, or were high, either way.

"Aren't you going to invite me in?"

She could tell by the way she wouldn't look her in the eye, she was trying to hide them from her. In fact, when she pulled out a pair of dark sunglasses, Krista grabbed her wrist and demanded, "Look at me."

"Baby girl, you're hurting me."

She shook her once and repeated in a shout, "Look at me, dammit."

Her vehemence seemed to surprise her mother, and she glanced up.

The blue of her eyes, the same shade as her own, was nearly nonexistent due to the size of her pupils, and Krista recognized the rapid quivering that the doctors had explained, during one of the many ER and rehab stints, was nystagmus, a condition of meth intoxication.

"You're high as usual," she said in disgust as she released her. "Is this what my hard-earned money bought?" Then she snorted. "What a dumb question. Of course it did."

"I left you an IOU, sunshine."

"Don't call me that."

Her face crumpled. "Your father took one look at you and gave you that nickname. It was so sweet it made me cry."

"I loved when he called me that or sang ‘You Are My Sunshine.' Please, don't spoil those memories for me."

"He sang that to me, too." Tears sprang to her eyes.

Ten years ago, Krista had believed it was actual grief. Now it was purely a ploy for sympathy and to get money.

"How are you going to pay me back?" she asked, returning to the original question. "You don't work. All you do is use." She released her, looking at the unfamiliar vehicle in the driveway. "Where did you get the car?"

She twisted to look back at it. "A friend let me borrow it."

"One who lives here on the island? Is that how you got in? Are you a gold digger now?"

Her mother's mouth twisted. "Hello, pot, meet kettle," she snapped. "Look at you—shacking up with a rich rancher. You're no different than me, you even look like me—that hair, those eyes, and that ass...you got it all from your mama."

She crossed her arms over her chest. "I'm busy. Is there a point to your visit?"

"Yes, although the way you've been talking to me, I'm wondering why I bothered." She reached into the back pocket of her jeans and pulled out a folded wad of cash. "It's all there, honey. Well, I didn't count every penny in that bank—"

Stunned, Krista looked down at the stack of bills; there was a fifty on top. She never would have believed she could have that much on her and not hit up her dealer for her next score, but then her eyes were dilated, so she probably had. But to have some left?

"Where did you get that?"

"I earned it."

"Doing what?"

"I got a job." Her mother shoved the money at her, but she didn't take it. "Please, baby girl. Mama's trying to mend fences."

"You mean make amends?"

"Yeah. And that's just the start. I'm going to stay clean because I miss you, sunshine."

"This story would be a lot more convincing if you hadn't shown up higher than the longleaf pines around here."

"Krista...!"

"Get to a meeting, Mom. Or, better yet, take that money and check yourself in somewhere."

She started to close the door.

"That's it? You're just going to slam the door in my face. I'm your mother!"

"Wrong, you were my mother. I don't know the woman you've become. It's like you

died alongside Dad fourteen years ago in Afghanistan."

She gasped. "I can't believe you said that to me."

"Why? It's the truth. Oh, but that's something you're not familiar with, is it?"

"Don't be so hateful. Let me in. We'll sit down and chat over coffee."

"No. If I let you in, you'll twist yourself into knots trying to figure out how to fence half of Sam's stuff so you can score your next fix."

"Kristina Evans, your mama isn't a thief." Her spine went stiff, and she puffed up in outrage as she made this ridiculous assertion. "Besides," she shoved the bills at her again, "I have money now. Just take it."

She ignored it, sure it was obtained through illegal drug related means and address the previous lie. "You stole from me!"

"I borrowed. There's a difference."

Krista's eyes couldn't have rolled back farther at the bold-faced lie. "I noticed you didn't deny being a junky."

"Because I'm clean. Have been for days."

"Do you actually believe half the bullshit you spew?" she snapped. "I been around you long enough to recognize when you're using. God knows I spent enough nights in ER's wondering if you'd wake up and come home. Not three weeks ago you stole hundreds of dollars from your own daughter. Or were you too wasted to remember?" She grabbed the hand holding the cash and held it up between them. "Do you know how many hours I spent on my feet earning this kind of money, Mother?"

There wasn't a shred of respect in her tone. As far as she was concerned, her mother didn't deserve it, and hadn't for over a decade.

"It was for my tuition so I can get a degree and make something of my life. Do you even care?" She paused, snorting in derision. "Of course not. Why am I even wasting my breath asking? You don't care about anyone but yourself and where your next fix is coming from."

"I didn't know you were in school. That's great, since I'm repaying you."

"Too late. If not for Sam, you'd have screwed me over again."

"Sam? Is he the new boyfriend?" Her eyes shifted over Krista's shoulder, trying to see inside of the house. "Is he here? I'd like to meet him."

She stepped onto the porch, using her foot to keep Morris from running out, and promptly shut the door. He'd been winding around her feet, meowing loudly, likely responding to the palpable tension in the air. "Forget it. You'll not get a dime from him."

"I don't know what you mean. I'd never—"

"Are you for real?" she demanded, laughing humorlessly. "You absolutely would because you've done it before. Or were you too high to recall fucking my boyfriend when you came for a ‘friendly visit' my freshman year in college? You remember Brett, the son of the rich surgeon? You thought you could bleed him for money with a blow job or two, but when you learned he could score you some blow, your priorities changed."

"I did not sleep with that boy."

"Oh, excuse me," she sneered. "I should have said when you tried to fuck him. I give thanks every day I didn't arrive five minutes later and catch you mid screw. That would have scared me worse than what I actually found. You with your hand down his pants and his tongue down your throat."

A dog growled, startling both women, then Sam's deep voice drifted up to them from the foot of the porch steps. "What's the problem here, Krista."

She closed her eyes, cursing his timing. Leave it to him to walk up in the heat of the moment when she'd let the f-bomb fly—twice.

"You must be Sam," her mother gushed as she spun to face him. "It's so nice to meet you. I'm Lily, Krista's mother. We were just about to go in for coffee."

"No, we weren't. She's leaving."

Twisting around, she gave her an exasperated look. "I only just got here."

"Yes, but you aren't welcome." Her eyes cut to Sam, who'd reached the top of the stairs, Dallas by his side, the dog's ears laid back and alert for trouble. "To call her a problem is the understatement of the century. Try disaster incarnate or walking catastrophe or, more aptly, blight on my very existence."

"Kristina Nicole!"

"Just go," she said tiredly. "I don't want you here."

"You can't mean that."

"I mean it as much as every other time I've said it for the past six years. Ever since I realized that my mom loved one thing in this world to the exclusion of everything else, but that thing wasn't me. At eighteen years old, I was still just a kid, but I had to grow up and face the harsh truth that no matter what I said, or how hard I prayed, I couldn't help my mother because she didn't want to be helped." She repeated it slowly, hoping it would penetrate. "I cannot help you, do you understand?"

"But, baby girl, I'm here to help you. I'll explain over coffee."

"No. I've heard it all. I'm done. Call me when you get your thousand-day chip. Then, maybe we can meet and talk, but until that day, I want you to go, and, please, don't come back. All you do is break my heart and cause me trouble."

"I'm afraid she can't leave, darlin'," Sam stated as he walked to her side. "Not quite yet, anyways."

Her head tipped backward, and she looked up at him in confusion. "Why on earth not?" she asked him. "I've told you about her."

He slipped an arm around her shoulders. "Evidently not all of it, but we'll discuss that later."

Later was never good. She quickly sifted through what he might have overheard. He'd walked up about the time she'd said fuck twice, which was also when she'd mentioned her mom having her hand down Brett's pants.

Wasn't that just great! Her last secret was out and her humiliation was now complete.

The down-on-her-luck waitress, college-graduate wannabee, who turned to crime when times got hard was also the daughter of an addict who thought nothing of pimping herself out for drug money even to her own daughter's live-in boyfriend. It was no wonder he wanted no part of her white trash way of life when this month was over.

"She's a junky, Sam, nothing more," she said quietly. "You don't want her hanging around, or, trust me, you'll come home one day and the family heirlooms will be gone, pawned for an ounce of blow."

"I believe you on that count," he drawled as he pulled her tighter against his side. "And I wasn't rolling out the red carpet, but she's swaying on her feet. I suspected from that alone she was impaired, but now that I see her eyes, I'm convinced she's not fit to drive."

He pulled out his phone, not releasing her, but dialing one handed.

"Who are you calling, Da— um, Sam?"

"One of my deputies to come pick her up."

"One of your deputies?" her mother parroted in alarm.

"Yes, didn't I mention Sam was the sheriff of this lovely little island paradise?" Krista informed her, knowing very well she hadn't.

"Calling anyone is unnecessary. I'm going," her mother exclaimed, starting for the front steps while digging in her purse.

"Not without these, you won't." Sam halted her in her tracks when he held up his free hand, keys jiggling. "You left them in the ignition." His gaze remained fixed on her when he said into the phone, "Emily? It's Sam. I need a unit out at my place. We have a woman causing a disturbance." He paused, listening. "Public intoxication, DUI. I haven't searched her or her vehicle yet, but I have cause to suspect possession of narcotics, and for resale since she has cash on her."

He stopped again, his brown eyes filled with regret locked on her, she knew the tender emotion wasn't for her mother, but her. He had a job to do, and her mother couldn't continue to place herself and everyone around her at risk. She closed her eyes and nodded, little more than a jerk of her chin, but he got it because he continued his report. "The subject is approximately fifty years of age—"

Her mother gasped. "I'm thirty-nine."

Dallas barked, evidently a good lie detector. Krista knew for a fact her mom was forty-two; she and her father had been nineteen when she was born, both right out of high school, and, as a matter of public record, both their ages were listed on her birth certificate.

Sam kept on going. "Five-five, one hundred twenty-five pounds—"

"One sixteen," she protested then turned to her. "What's wrong with him, Krista? Is he blind?"

"Blonde hair, blue eyes, answers to the name of Lily Evans," Sam concluded. Another silence fell on his end, this one a few beats longer before he finally replied, "Yeah. It's her mother."

He swiped the screen and tucked the phone back in his jeans pocket.

"Go on in the house, darlin'," Sam ordered her gently. "I'll wait out here with her until my men arrive."

"I don't think so," she replied. Moving from under his arm, she stormed to one of the rockers and sat, crossing her arms and also her legs as if ready to wait however long it took, and she was. "I'm staying right here because I don't trust her as far as I can throw her scrawny as—, uh, butt." She looked directly at Sam when she added, "You're also richer than Brett, and a whole lot better looking."

"Please," he grunted. "She looks like she's had a bad year, or several, and in the process missed a few dozen meals. Coke can do that to a body." Then, he grimaced. "And I just had lunch."

"I'm not saying you would do anything, Sam. I'm saying she would, in a heartbeat. All she sees in men anymore is the size of their bank account and, if they have even a little, she's all over them. It's embarrassing, and I'd rather she not embarrass you, or me, more"

"You realize I'm standing here listening to your slurs on my character, don't you?"

Krista stared at her mother dispassionately.

"It seems your daughter doesn't care, ma'am. And a slur can only be called such if it's false. Otherwise, it's generally referred to as fact."

The older woman gasped in outrage but said nothing more as she stomped toward the stairs.

"No farther, ma'am. Or I'll have to get my cuffs and read you your rights."

She abruptly changed course and walked—rather wobbly—to the end of the porch. There were no steps on that end; she'd have to hop the railing in order to run. Over her shoulder, she screeched at Sam, "And stop calling me ma'am. I'm barely older than you are, sheriff."

Lily Evans looked a decade older than she was, and could pass for Sam's mother despite him being only eight years her junior. But as he said, coke was hard on the body, as well as too much booze, meth, a variety of pills, not to mention a drifter's lifestyle. If she kept it up, she'd be lucky to see fifty.

Despite the trouble her mother was facing, she wasn't surprised Lily got all puffed up over her age. Her looks were what supported her habit. That her dad's life had been cut short, and her mother was throwing hers away, was like a knife to the gut for Krista. But this time, she didn't feel it as intensely as she usually did. The difference, she wasn't facing it alone.