Back Where She Belongs

chapter TEN



TARA REACHED THE TOP of the stairs to the conference room just as the elevator doors opened and out stepped...

“Dylan!” Heat bloomed in her face at how glad she was to see him. “What are you doing here?”

He raised the stack of stapled pages he held. “I’m on the agenda. You?”

“Popping in to meet the managers, maybe get a tour.”

“You mean snoop around?” he whispered behind his hand.

“We call it observing workplace dynamics, but, okay, snooping.”

“It’s nice to see you,” he said, his gaze sweeping over her with appreciation. “You look good. Very professional...and...good. Very good.”

“Thanks.” She’d worn a conservative gray suit and white silk blouse, but Dylan looked her over like she about to do a striptease around a pole. Her face had to be bright red. She felt feverish. “Thanks for dinner last night.”

“Yeah. It was fun.”

“Fun. Yes. It was that.” And so much more. She flashed on the kiss, the fire in his eyes. She’d felt so alive, so desired, so—

“We should go in,” he said, breaking the gaze.

“We should. Will I make you nervous if I sit in on your remarks?”

“You’ll make me nervous, but not about my remarks.” He ran his eyes down her body again, sending sparks everywhere his gaze landed, then leaned past her to hold the door open.

Everyone at the conference table—all men but one, Tara noticed—looked up as they entered. A second woman sat away from the table typing in a laptop. Lisa the secretary, she assumed.

“Tara!” Joseph lurched to his feet, looking alarmed.

“I stopped in for that tour,” she said. “I wanted to say hello. I ran into Dylan in the hall.”

Joseph smiled queasily. “Everyone, this is Tara Wharton, Faye’s sister.” He stopped, as if that was it.

“Could you introduce me?” she asked politely.

He sighed, resigned to the delay, then went around the table, giving names and titles, ending with Miriam Zeller, the Human Resources manager. “Miriam gives the tours. Miriam, would you mind?”

“Of course.” Miriam rose, smiling in her direction.

“Let’s wait until the lunch break,” Tara said. “I’ll sit in, if that’s okay.”

Joseph clearly wanted her gone. “We’ve arranged for Mr. Ryland to speak to us, so we really should—”

“I’m happy to have her listen in,” Dylan said, backing Tara’s play. “Maybe you could pass these out?” He held out the stack of paper to her, his eyes twinkling in conspiracy.

As she handed out the last packet, her phone vibrated. Seeing the insurance agency’s name, she ducked out to take the call.

It was a secretary telling her the adjuster would not be available that day and, no, she didn’t know where the car might be. Another damn delay. Fuming, Tara returned to the meeting just as Dylan asked if there were questions.

“Yeah, I’ve got one,” Carl Goodman said. The factory manager wore a suit that he didn’t seem comfortable in. He’d dressed up for the meeting, which meant corporate offices had more prestige than the factory. Interesting. “What are you going to do about the backup on production?”

Dylan responded calmly, explaining that Ryland employees were working overtime to boost output. That seemed to appease Goodman.

Dylan took more questions, sounding knowledgeable and trustworthy, making eye contact all around the table. He was good, a natural leader, and Tara was reminded again how impressive he’d been in high school. She felt a surge of attraction. He’d probably do wonders for Wharton once he could give the town his full attention.

After he’d finished speaking, he thanked everyone and turned for the door, giving Tara a wink as he left. She went hot all over. From a wink, for God’s sake. She felt like she had some girlish crush on a rock star.

Mentally shaking that off, she tuned in to the dynamics of the meeting. It wasn’t going well. Joseph was clearly uncomfortable being in charge. He allowed the same point to be made repeatedly, cut off productive discussions and managed to annoy nearly everyone. There were simple techniques she could teach him for fixing that. She was champing at the bit to try.

The informal leader seemed to be Davis Mann, the VP of Manufacturing. When a question came up, they all looked to him. He oversaw the factory operations and was Carl Goodman’s boss. She needed to touch base with him for sure before she left Wharton today.

At noon, catering brought in a sandwich buffet. As people got their food, Tara moved from person to person, asking questions and listening closely to the answers as well as the interpersonal dynamics. She caught Davis Mann alone in the hall and arranged to stop by his office to talk after her tour.

At the end of the break, Miriam Zeller approached her. “Ready for that tour?”

“I don’t want to keep you from the meeting.” Women managers in a mostly male workplace had to work hard to stay in the loop.

“They’ll tread water from here on out. To tell you the truth, I’m happy to escape the tedium.”

As they headed for the elevator, she asked Miriam how she felt about being the only woman on the management team, mentioning the experiences of women she’d worked with. That started them off with a nice rapport and gave Tara a chance to explain what she did for a living.

Getting off at the second floor, they moved toward the back stairs to the factory, passing offices as they went. As they passed the bookkeeping department, a woman rushed out, stopping just before she plowed into Tara. It was Candee, Dylan’s ex-wife.

“Oh. Hi,” Candee said. “You’re Tara.”

It took her a second to respond. Why hadn’t Dylan mentioned Candee worked for Wharton? “I am.”

“Candee Ryland,” Candee said sharply, evidently assuming Tara’s delayed response meant Tara didn’t know her name.

“Yes. I know. Dylan told me...” What? She flipped through what she knew about Dylan’s ex-wife...they’d slept together since the divorce...she’d left him because she thought he still loved Tara...she’d sold him cookware he didn’t use...given him a recipe for beer-butt chicken... None of that seemed appropriate. “Who you are,” she finished lamely.

“Yeah?” Her voice spiked. “Well, he told me who you are, too, so we’re even.” She seemed to reconsider her tone. “What I mean is—”

“I know what you mean,” Tara said, cutting her off in an effort to smooth the moment. Instead she’d sounded rude.

“Perfect,” Candee snapped. “If you’ll excuse me.” She stalked away.

Miriam politely didn’t ask what that was about. Tara had stepped in it again, her people skills in tatters in this town.

Miriam led Tara along a catwalk overlooking the factory floor, which seemed to sparkle with cleanliness. Fluorescent lights made the white cement floor gleam. Ventilators roared, pulling the highly flammable aluminum dust from the air, according to Miriam.

The section of the factory where the battery cells were built contained glassed-in machines like giant tollbooths lined in rows, control panels flashing colored lights. Workers there wore white suits, hairnets, paper slippers and gloves to keep down static.

In the assembly area, robotic arms and hydraulic lifts made rhythmic whoosh and clunk sounds as they put together cells, then loaded boxes of batteries onto a conveyor belt to be prepared for distribution. Workers here wore golf shirts and jeans or khakis, and she spotted Carl Goodman, minus coat and tie, talking to a technician. He’d abandoned the meeting for more important duties, she assumed.

Miriam rattled off stats on the size of the operation, units produced, the specifics of the new Wharton battery, which used nanotechnology and complicated chemicals to make lighter, faster-charging and more powerful batteries.

After that, they looked in on the R&D lab, the cafeteria and the loading dock, ending up on the tarmac waiting for a technician from the testing area—the last stop on the tour—to pick them up in an electric cart.

“I’m very impressed,” Tara said.

“I know. So am I. At our price point, we’re poised to sweep the market. If everything comes together as we hope.” There was tension in her voice.

“I’m sure losing my father and Faye has made people uneasy. The managers seemed pretty wired.”

“That was Joseph’s first time running the meeting,” she said diplomatically. “I’m sure that’s what you picked up.”

“It was more than that, I think,” she said. “I understand there have been rumors of another layoff. I was told you lost a few engineers, too.”

Miriam gave her a wary look. “There are always personnel shifts during a transition.”

“You don’t have to hold back, Miriam. I’m on your side. I want Wharton Electronics to succeed.” Tara liked her and hoped she’d be an ally. “The truth is that Faye contacted me a few weeks ago about doing some consulting here.”

“She did?” Miriam blew out a breath. “That’s great. Joseph means well, but I’m afraid he’s a bit over his head.”

“That was my impression. I need him to hire me, so I wanted to lay some groundwork, if I could, with key people, especially those whose opinion he respects. I wondered about Davis Mann...?”

“Davis is great, very big picture in his thinking. Managers pay attention to what he says. The trouble is he intimidates Joseph.”

“I see.”

“Joseph listens to Evan Moore. You met him. He’s the Research & Development VP. You might want to spend some time with him. Squeeze in some observations between his lectures on the projects they’re working on. Just caring enough to listen will make him love you.”

“I’ll do that. Anyone else?”

“Our general counsel, Marvin Levy. His office is next to Faye’s. Legal stuff scares Joseph, so he listens to Marvin with both ears. Marvin’s smart, practical and thoughtful.”

“I’ll talk to him.”

“I sound like I’m scheming against Joseph, but I’m not. He’s good at his job. He’s just not equipped to run Wharton. This is a good company. I don’t want to see it fail.”

“Neither do I, believe me.”

Miriam studied Tara, then seemed to make a decision. “If Faye wanted you to work for us, then so do I. I’ll talk to the other managers on your behalf.”

“I appreciate that.” Assuming she made good impressions on the attorney and the research VP, Miriam’s help could set her up well for turning Joseph around. That filled her with energy and hope, something she’d been missing since she arrived.

A cart pulled up and Miriam introduced her to the driver—Matt Sutherland, assistant testing manager—a handsome man in his early thirties who colored when Tara smiled at him.

As they drove toward the testing area, which looked like a cross between an airplane hangar and a giant auto shop, Matt rattled off the kinds of testing they did—current consumption, output voltage levels, electrical noise, response time and more she didn’t quite understand.

He parked outside the steel door and led her inside. To the left was a glassed-in office, followed by units of equipment with dials, meters and flashing lights. Across the space she saw cars with their hoods up, some hooked up to hoses and wires. A car’s engine roared as its wheels spun against steel rollers. The air smelled of rubber and hot metal.

Matt explained they used various stimulus inputs—acceleration, temperature, wheel rotation—to ensure the battery module behaved as it should. “Very impressive,” she told him, making him blush again.

“We’re pretty proud of it,” he said. “You should meet the boss.” He led her to the office, where she saw Dylan talking to a tall gaunt man with salt-and-pepper hair wearing a blue jumpsuit.

“Dylan,” she said when he noticed her. “We meet again. I swear I’m not stalking you.”

“I’m not sure I believe that.” He gave her that look again and it made her nerve endings throb.

“We ran into each other earlier,” she explained to Matt, guessing she had blushed redder than he had.

“We’re old friends,” Dylan said, holding her gaze.

“From high school,” she blurted, not quite able to pull away.

“Jeb Harris,” the other man said, holding out a hand. “Not to interrupt.” He looked amused.

“Tara Wharton,” she said, shaking his hand. “You have a remarkable operation from what I’ve seen.”

“Glad you think so. Maybe you could convince this guy.” He motioned at Dylan.

“Tweak your specs and I’ll be sold,” Dylan said.

Jeb shook his head. The two seemed amiably annoyed with each other.

“Soon as I finish showing Ms. Wharton around, I’m taking off,” Matt said to Jeb. “It’s another ultrasound.”

“If it’s necessary,” Jeb said tersely.

“It is.” Matt blushed furiously, clearly nervous that he’d displeased his boss. “This way,” he said to her, striding quickly away.

She hurried to join him near a car with its hood up. “This is where we install batteries for test runs,” he said, glancing at his watch. A tech bolted in a battery, while another checked dials on a machine.

Matt was clearly eager to leave, and she wanted to return to the building to speak with the key managers. “I should head back, if that’s okay,” she said. “You need to get going, too, right? The ultrasound?”

“Yeah. My wife’s twenty-four weeks along, but it’s been tough. The doctor asked to see her every two weeks.” They started back toward the cart.

“It’s good of you to take off work to support your wife.”

“Jeb’s not happy about it with us so busy, but family’s the most important thing.” The earnest look on his face touched Tara and made her feel guilty about her own behavior toward her family.

“Of course,” she said. She wondered now if she should have given them another chance, visited despite the tension, pushed past the barriers. Maybe she was dreaming.

As they passed the office, Dylan stuck out his head. “How about Ruby’s for dinner? Give us a chance to catch up. Say six?”

Catch up? They’d been together the night before, but maybe he had more news. “Sounds good,” she said, secretly eager for more time with him.

“My best to your wife,” Dylan said to Matt.

“Thanks,” he said, not meeting Dylan’s gaze. What was that about?

“Dylan knows your wife?” she asked.

“Yeah. Melissa was at a cookware party at his ex-wife’s.”

“Small towns, I guess,” she said, still not understanding the hostility.

“He’s a nice guy and all. It’s just that he’s selling us defective units. That’s what they were arguing over, Jeb and him.” He frowned.

“It’s a big problem?” she asked.

“They can talk all they want, but standards are standards. Ryland buys cheap components out of Tennessee and blames the tests when they turn out bad.” He glanced at her. “No offense to your friend.”

“None taken.” But it sounded like Dylan had his work cut out for him if what Matt said was true. Both companies had a lot riding on the project.

It was almost four o’clock when Tara got home, her head jammed with data and plans. She’d made headway with Davis Mann and the two people Miriam said Joseph trusted. It would take a couple days for the idea to percolate up to Joseph. If all went well, she wouldn’t have to say a word. He would approach her.

Judith met her at the front door holding out a paper sack with a receipt stapled to it. She looked oddly pale. “The funeral guy dropped this by. He didn’t want Rachel to have to fetch it. It’s from the medical examiner.... It’s, you know...from the body. What Mr. Wharton had on. I don’t want your mother to see it.”

“No. That’s smart.” She took the sack, fighting queasiness, and carried it to her room. She had to see what clues might be here...her father’s wallet...possibly Faye’s phone. Steeling herself, she yanked the sack open, popping the staple. A sour, earthy smell filled her nose—moist earth, leaves and the metallic scent of blood.

On top were her father’s shoes. They were dusty, not bloody, thank God. Beneath them were tan slacks that had been cut apart. The waist area of the pants was stained with blood. The shirt below was crusty with it. So much blood. Her heart lurched in her chest. An envelope, also bloodstained, stuck out of his shirt pocket. She made out part of the return address—CGC Gen—before bile rose in the back of her throat. She turned her head, deciding to feel for what else was there. She touched a belt...coins...then a wallet, which she pulled out. It was clean. Thin, finely stitched and well worn. Inside she found several fresh twenties, a black American Express card, a driver’s license and a few photos—her father in cap and gown, a wedding picture, a family portrait with Faye as a toddler. No pictures of Tara, but then, these shots were quite old. Her father likely hadn’t changed anything since he first used the wallet.

The only other items in the wallet were two business cards. Looking at the first, she was startled to see her own name. Her father had kept her business card. She stared at it a long time, swallowing against a lump in her throat.

The second card was from a Randall Scott. She’d seen that name before...

In her father’s desk drawer. Yeah. This time, she noticed Family Law below the name. That was code for divorce lawyer, right? On the back of the card was written an appointment from three weeks ago.

What the hell? Her father had seen a divorce attorney? Why? Had something happened?

Her mother hadn’t said a word to her. Maybe she didn’t know. A divorce would have devastated her mother, whose social status meant everything to her. The stigma, the gossip, would be more than she could bear.

Tara felt chilled to the bone. Her father wanted a divorce? How serious had he been? She checked the clock: four-thirty. Still business hours. She called the number, asked for the billing office and told the bookkeeper she needed to confirm the total charges on Mr. Wharton’s account, holding her breath that the ruse would work.

It did. The bookkeeper told her that her father had seen the attorney at his office twice and had three phone conferences. That sounded serious, especially with her father as frugal as he was. There were no charges for filing fees, so he hadn’t done anything official yet at least.

Her parents hadn’t seemed close, but their marriage stood for something, a bond that mattered to the two of them. They’d been married almost forty years. Talk about standing the test of time.

But if her father was unhappy enough to take such drastic action...something terrible must have happened.

She remembered Bill Fallon and how solicitous he’d been of her mother. And her mother had talked about him in a strange dreamy voice. What if he’d been more than a friend to her?

No. Her mother would not cheat on her father. That would violate the social requirements of the life her mother had chosen.

Tara didn’t dare ask her mother about this. If she didn’t know that her husband wanted to end the marriage, Tara would rather die than tell her. Some truths caused useless harm.

Her head spun, but slowly, as if through fog. Dread seemed to press her into the floor, compressing her lungs. She had to sort this out, make some sense of it, clear her head, decide what to do about what she’d learned.

She needed Dylan. He would listen. He would help. Thank goodness they had dinner plans. He was her port in the storm even now.

* * *

WHEN TARA STEPPED into Ruby’s, Dylan felt a shift in the energy of the restaurant, similar to the way a theater audience reacted when the curtain opened. Conversations faded. Heads turned. Breaths were held. Tara’s striking beauty would draw attention anywhere, especially from men, but this was different. This was Wharton.

Everyone knew her or of her. They were curious, titillated, or envious. For the first time, he imagined how difficult this would be for her. He’d always thought she made too much of her name and people’s opinions of her.

Now, with what she was going through—losing her father, her sister so ill, her theories about the accident—this much scrutiny and speculation would be a trial.

He saw her hesitate, take in the room, almost shudder. Then she threw back her shoulders and strode forward, sexy and confident. A girl at the bar called to her, so she stopped to talk for a few seconds. A few feet farther and someone in a booth spoke. After that a girl he remembered from high school stopped Tara in the aisle for a hug, some words, a laugh.

When Tara finally dropped into the booth, her back to the restaurant, she looked worn out. “Sanctuary,” she said in a drawn-out voice.

“I see what you mean,” he said.

“It’s exhausting. Even my old friends make me crazy. They treat me like a wax figure in a museum, frozen in time. They got married, had kids, have mortgages, but they talk to me like I haven’t changed at all. Dana Gibbons wants to tear up the town one night. Riley Evans is sorry he can’t hook me up with weed now that he’s a teacher. Reed Walker said he’d dust off the Harley and hit the highway the minute his wife leaves to visit her sister. Can you believe that? He’s ready to cheat on his wife for old times’ sake.” She shook her head. “Do I look like I want a drunken bender or a ride on a Harley to you?”

“Nope.”

“Good. I’d like to think I’ve grown up that much.”

“It’s that imprint thing again, I guess.”

“Well, it sucks.” She took a shaky breath. “People are staring, aren’t they?” They were. “I hate being in this goldfish bowl.”

He realized that this dinner would add to the rumor they were back together. Fallon had no doubt spread the word.

“We could leave. Go to my house,” he said, though he didn’t trust himself alone with her again. Since last night, his desire had only intensified, as foolish and shortsighted as that was.

“No. I won’t be chased out.” She sat taller. “Just ignore them.”

“You got it.” That had always been his approach when the scrutiny got to be too much for him. It was easier for him because he was comfortable here. He knew the people, their flaws and strengths. He didn’t see every look as a criticism the way Tara did.

The waitress arrived with chips and salsa to take their orders. Tara picked up the menu, scanned it, then looked up at the waitress. “So I hear Ruthie Rand makes great goat and nopalitos empanadas. I’ll have that and a draft beer.”

Dylan ordered the same. When the waitress left, he said, “Where’d you hear about the empanadas?”

“Ruthie’s mom, Judith, is our housekeeper. Judith told me Ruthie had an offer to cook for a food truck in Tucson, but she’s afraid to leave here. I figure I’ll rave about the dish and hope that encourages her.”

That reminded him she’d been that way in high school, too. Pushing kids with talents to go for it. “Remember Sheila Stark? Goth girl who got suspended for fighting a cheerleader?”

“Sure I remember her. She had a great voice.”

“She took your advice and started a band. Might have an offer with an indie label.”

“How do you know that?”

“Her sister Cherry’s our receptionist.”

“Good for her. Growing up here, it’s easy to feel inferior. You have no real yardstick to measure your talent.”

“I’d say growing up here gave her a safe place to explore her abilities, develop the confidence to take risks.”

“So besides being town manager, you’re head of the Chamber of Commerce?”

“I’m a member, sure, but my point is that everything you disdain about small-town life has a positive side.”

“Yeah?” She grinned at him, ready to mock, except he thought he saw a light in her eyes, too. “So I say it’s stifling and full of gossips and you say...”

“It’s cozy and friendly.” He wouldn’t admit his dislike for the gossip because he knew she would pounce on any sign that he’d been wrong to stay, that he’d settled for less by remaining in Wharton.

He knew she was just as guarded with him.

“We’ll have to agree to disagree,” she said flatly, the light gone from her eyes. She would not bend on this. Probably not even about the bigger, better Wharton he wanted to build. That was unexpectedly disappointing to him and he found himself saying more.

“You’d be surprised how many midsize companies are looking to move to towns like Wharton. Towns that will give them more attention, where the jobs mean a lot to the community. I was at an Association of Cities and Towns meeting a month ago and started on a target list of businesses. I’ve been assembling proposals when I have time.”

“When do you have time? You’ve got a lot going on at Ryland it sounds like. Did you work things out with Jeb?”

He stopped reaching for a chip to answer. “I convinced him to adjust the threshold on one measurement, but we’re still at odds. I don’t get where the hostility is coming from.”

“Matt said something about Ryland using inferior parts...?”

“That’s bullshit.” He lowered his voice. “Sorry to bark at you. We got faulty components from a vendor on an early shipment, but that’s long fixed. I overheard Matt’s wife complaining about it to her cousin who’s on our assembly line.”

“At the cookware party, right? Matt said you met his wife there. You sure you don’t want to change friendly to gossipy? Sounds like you’ve been stung, too.”

“What matters is we work out the problem.” It didn’t help that his father was disengaged lately. They needed to be united in this final push to get Ryland over the hump, so Dylan could leave the place with a clear conscience.

“I hope you do,” Tara said.

They dipped for salsa at the same time, the mere brush of her fingers sending a jolt of lust through him. He had it bad and it made him feel like a fool.

She swallowed, so at least he knew she’d felt something, too. “I didn’t see Harvey behind the bar,” she said. “He retire?”

“Couple years back, yeah.”

“He used to make us great drinks, remember?”

“He used to make you drinks. He liked you.”

“That’s because he didn’t dare say no to a Wharton. That was one situation I didn’t mind my name.”

“People liked you for you, not your name.”

She shook her head. “Trust me. I had good reason to hang with the dropouts, the stoners and the lost souls. They had enough troubles they didn’t give a shit what my name was.”

He could argue, but he could feel her opinion was set in stone.

She took another chip and dipped it, her face troubled. “I feel bad about some of that. The way I was and how it affected my friends. Like Dana, for example. She was a B student until I got hold of her. Her grades dropped. She never went to college.”

“That was her decision, not yours.”

“But I made screwing off look cool. It wasn’t fair. I had a safety net. I would never starve. I don’t intend to ever take a dime from my family, but I know, deep down, that if disaster strikes I’m covered. That’s an amazing gift I sneered at back then.”

“You were young. You had reasons.” At best, her parents treated her with benign neglect. At worst, deliberate cruelty. Children shouldn’t have to read between the lines to know they were loved.

“Don’t cut me slack, Dylan. I know the mistakes I made.”

They didn’t see the world the same—then or now. Maybe that couldn’t be helped. Tara, like everyone else, was made up of her experiences—the moments, big and small, good and bad, that had shaped her character, her hopes and expectations, her limits and her reach.

“You looked down on me back then,” she said. “Admit it.”

“I thought you were wasting your abilities.”

“You were such a straight arrow.” She pointed a chip at him, then licked the salt off.

He had to close his eyes to handle that sight. He’d forgotten that habit of hers. “Meanwhile, you used to call me Do Right Boy,” he said hoarsely.

“That’s right. I was pretty mean. How did you stand me?”

“I told you why last night.”

“I tickled your brain...I remember.” Attraction burned in her eyes, her pupils large and gleaming. She pursed her lips, her tongue peeking at him, the way she used to before she threw herself at him, as if she were famished and he were a banquet table. Their attraction surged again. It was constantly ticking in the background, waiting for one of them to flip the switch.

The waitress arrived with their beers, breaking the unbearable tension. When she’d gone, Tara tapped her beer to his. “To being wiser.”

“To that,” he said, feeling more foolish every second. “So how did your snooping go?”

“Mixed. I made headway toward getting hired to consult, but I got nowhere in Faye’s office. Joseph locked it down, possibly to keep Faye’s assistant from seeing sensitive stuff. I’d really like to know more about the finances at Wharton.” She tilted her head at him. “Which reminds me. You didn’t tell me Candee worked for us.”

“Yeah. She’s a bookkeeper.”

“I ran into her. It was awkward. I offended her, I think. She thought I didn’t know her name, then I cut her off trying to fix it.”

“You were nervous. So was she.”

“I’m sure that’s true.” She looked thoughtful. “I envy the two of you. That you’re friends. You help each other, cook together, do each other favors.”

“It wasn’t easy, believe me. But we both wanted it, so we worked at it.”

“Yeah,” she said, going still. “You think we will ever be like that? You and me?”

No. He knew it instantly. It would be too difficult. He would always want more.

“You don’t,” she said. “I can see that. I’m not the work-for-it kind of person, am I?” She dropped her eyes to hide how hurt she was, pushing her beer forward, then sliding it back.

“It’s not that,” he said, stopping her hand, taking it in both of his. He’d made her feel bad about herself back then. There was the sadness of that beneath every word they said to each other.

“It’s not you, Tara. It’s us. The way we were. It was different with us than it ever was with Candee. Deeper somehow.” He rubbed the back of her hand with his thumbs, wanting to press the truth into her.

“You think so?” she asked.

“I do.”

“So we should give up on being friends?”

“No. But we have to be careful with each other, not get ourselves into tempting situations.”

“That makes sense,” she said, looking down at his hands holding hers so tightly. He didn’t want to let go. They lifted their eyes to each other. Her lips parted, about to speak.

“Watch it! Hot!” The waitress had arrived, holding their food.

They yanked their hands apart, the server’s words truer than she knew.

She set down the dishes and left. The aroma of spicy beef and buttery pastry filled the air.

“Smells great,” Tara said, clearly relieved for the interruption. She seemed as alarmed by the push-pull between them as he felt.

“Yum,” Tara said, licking her lips after the first bite. “These are delicious. I’ve never tasted anything like it.”

“So Wharton does have something you like. First, the empanadas. Next, the whole town.”

“Even you can’t believe that.”

“Wait until you taste the flan.” He didn’t know why he kept pushing her, trying to convince her, but he could no more stop himself than he could stop the fire in his blood when he looked at her.

She laughed, the familiar liquid honey sound he remembered so well. “You’re funnier than you used to be,” she said. “I like that.”

“Good,” he said, entirely too pleased. He remembered that she’d lightened the heaviness of his life back then. She’d kept him on his toes, challenged him. He felt the same thing now, he realized, and he liked it. He had to remember that when he got serious about someone. She needed to...tickle his brain.

“Do you think if I apologized to Candee, she would give me some insights into the company’s finances?” Tara said after they’d eaten more.

“Candee’s a cool head. She’d be discreet. I’ll talk to her.”

“That’d be great. Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me yet. She’ll probably drag you to her next party. I think it’s candles.”

She groaned, then grinned. “I’ll go if you go.”

“Candles? No way. I’m holding out for power tools.”

“Why? You love candles. Remember that time your parents went on an overnight and you made a path to the bed with tea candles?”

“And Duster knocked them into the curtains, which went up in flames? Of course I remember that.”

“We were beating back the flames with wet towels, the smoke alarm squealing. Good times, huh?”

“To you maybe. Though my parents were so busy fighting they didn’t seem to care what happened to the curtains.”

“Yeah. That was hard on you—your parents’ breakup.” Tara put down her fork. “And, actually, I just found out that my father wanted to divorce my mother.”

“What?”

“Yeah.” She wiped her mouth with a napkin. “We got my dad’s personal effects and I went through his wallet looking for clues. I found an appointment card with a divorce lawyer. I called the office and they told me Dad had met with the guy several times.” She looked bewildered.

“Damn.”

“I know. It blew me away. I mean, I knew they weren’t close, but it’s tearing me up inside. I don’t understand why.”

“Because they’re your parents. They’re supposed to be together. They just took a jackhammer to the foundation of your life.”

“Exactly!” She looked at him with gratitude. “I knew you’d understand. That’s it. It’s like my life’s been shaken up in a bag and dumped out, pieces falling everywhere. I don’t know what’s true anymore.”

“And you feel helpless.”

“I do. That, too. I don’t think my mother knows, thank God. But I can’t figure out why all of a sudden Dad would do this. Something happened, don’t you think? Maybe Dad found out about Bill Fallon hitting on my mother... Maybe that night, Bill Fallon was with Mom instead of at poker... Maybe he was coming back when the accident happened... That could be what he’s hiding and why my mother seems so messed up.”

Her eyes were frantic, and he could tell the speculation was distracting her from the pain and confusion she felt.

“Sounds kind of far-fetched, don’t you think?”

But she didn’t hear him. “What if Faye found out? Maybe her let it go text was about the divorce. Maybe that’s why they were together that night. Maybe that’s why she saw a therapist. She would be even more upset than I am.” Her eyes darted like her words. “The poker guys! They have to know something. You said you’d talk to one of them, remember? That’s important.”

“I said I would if I could figure out the right approach.”

“I still don’t know where the car is. Maybe you could ask Fallon. Surely he knows. Also, you should confirm that they did collect the evidence. While you’re at it, check the photos.”

“I can’t hound the man, Tara.”

She locked gazes with him, finally acknowledging he was part of this conversation. “Hound the man? You mean make sure he does his job? They could junk the car any day, Dylan. We can’t waste time.”

“If I push, he’ll dig in his heels.”

“I don’t care how small the town, police are supposed to investigate. The law is the law. And you’re his boss. You could fire him.”

Dylan had to work with Fallon after Tara was gone. He didn’t need more enmity than already existed. He wanted no trouble from Fallon until he retired. “We’re not tracking a suspect, Tara. We have no reason to believe a crime has been committed. Fallon will do what I asked, don’t worry.”

She looked at him in a way he remembered with dread, as if he’d betrayed her. “And if we find evidence that a crime has been committed? What then? Will we pursue it? Or cover it up?”

“Come on, Tara.”

She stared at him, clearly fighting the urge to argue. She sat back, then spoke in a voice of forced calm. “Okay. You won’t push him. However, I think we should get a different mechanic to check the car. If Tony Carmichael serviced my father’s cars, like you said, he might not admit that the brakes failed.”

“Tony’s honest. He’s worked on our cars forever.”

“He’s human. Humans don’t like to admit failure. And with all this foot-dragging, I think I should hire an accident expert. They’ll have forensic mechanics who’ll know what to look for in the engine. Better yet, tell Fallon I’m bringing in experts and maybe he’ll snap to and do his job. Unless he’s guilty, of course, and then he’ll—”

“Hold it.” Dylan raised his hands. “The only thing Bill Fallon is guilty of is lazy police work. You agreed we’d find out what we could before you call out the artillery.”

“You said you’d help me,” she said, anger crackling in her eyes.

“I am helping you. I’m trying to be the voice of reason. But you don’t trust me. I can see that. Nobody’s innocent to you. Not even me.”

“I get it,” she said, her voice low with held-back fury. “Your job is to babysit me until I get tired of spinning my wheels and give up and leave. That’s it, isn’t it? You and Bill Fallon probably worked it all out, had a good laugh over me being so frantic.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“I should have known.”

“Known what?” he spat out, angry now, too.

“That you’re part of this town. You don’t see the corruption, the stupidity, the smugness. You put up with it. You go along. Well, I won’t. I’ll do what has to be done on my own.” She got up, bumping the table so the flatware rattled, and stalked off, every eye in the place following her.

He let a few seconds pass, then went after her, ignoring the looks, imagining the comments. Can you believe he’s still chasing that heartbreaker? Does he have no dignity? Not when it came to Tara. She was going through hell. He couldn’t abandon her now.