Page 23 of Out of Time (Undaunted Courage #3)

“I had a wife and four-year-old son, Elizabeth and Jonathan. They were my world. Three years ago, after Jonathan came down with flu symptoms, we treated him with all the usual remedies. Or Elizabeth did. I was working a murder case and was busy tracking down suspects. I finally came home to crash after twenty-four hours with no sleep. Jonathan’s fever had spiked, and Elizabeth thought we should take him to urgent care.

But all I wanted to do was sleep.” His voice rasped.

Cara reached out tentatively, as if she was uncertain about how he’d react, and covered the fingers he’d clamped around the arms of the chair with her own.

The comforting gesture gave him the courage to continue.

“Elizabeth tried to convince me to drive them there. She was a city girl, and she never liked navigating the country roads at night. But I didn’t feel the same urgency she did about Jonathan’s condition.

She tended to overreact to illnesses. I told her I needed to sleep, and that we could take him to urgent care in the morning if he hadn’t improved. Then I went to bed.”

He stopped, the sudden flood of memories squeezing the breath from his lungs.

As if sensing his distress, Cara leaned closer, using body language rather than words to convey her support.

After swallowing past the constriction in his throat, he picked up the story.

“I found the note later that said she didn’t feel comfortable waiting and had decided to take Jonathan herself. Except they never got there. Fog had descended, and she missed a curve. I assume she got disoriented.”

The cadence of Cara’s breathing wobbled.

He forced himself to finish the story. “The car fell fifty feet, into a drainage ditch. She was gone when the paramedics arrived. Jonathan died the next d-day.”

As he choked out the last word, he dropped his chin. Fought for control.

And waited for her to retract her hand the instant she came to the same conclusion he had after the accident.

That he’d been selfish. That if he’d powered through his fatigue at home as he often did on the job, Elizabeth and Jonathan would still be here.

After all, he couldn’t expect Cara to absolve him on the spot when it had taken him years to begin to question the extent of his culpability.

Yet as the seconds ticked by, the warmth of Cara’s hand continued to seep into his skin.

When he at last looked up, her face reflected sympathy and compassion, not recrimination.

As hope stirred in his heart, he took a steadying breath. May as well give voice to the guilt that dogged his steps. “Ever since the accident, I’ve been blaming myself for what happened. For putting my own needs before the needs of my family.”

“I don’t see it that way.” She shook her head, no hint of censure in her quiet, firm tone.

“You were exhausted. You assessed the situation and did what you felt was appropriate. Your wife did the same. You both made decisions you thought were reasonable. At this stage, there’s no way to know who was right or how a different scenario would have played out, or what really happened on the road. ”

“But I do know the outcome. And for years I believed that if I’d been with them, no one would have died. I can drive the roads around here in my sleep. I wouldn’t have missed that curve.”

“You can’t know that for sure.” She leaned toward him, posture intent, demeanor earnest. “Maybe your wife didn’t get disoriented.

It’s possible a deer darted in front of her and she tried to avoid it.

The same could have happened if you were behind the wheel.

If fatigue had dulled your reflexes, you could have ended up in the ditch too.

It’s all second-guessing at this point.” She gentled her voice.

“Besides, blaming yourself for what happened won’t bring them back. ”

He swallowed. Rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ve been slowly coming to the same conclusion. And I heard a similar message from my chief deputy not long ago. But he didn’t know all the details I told you. No one does.”

The pressure of her hand increased, confirming she’d grasped the significance of his admission. “I’m honored you shared them with me.”

“Can I be honest? I almost didn’t. I was afraid you might be shocked and want nothing more to do with me.”

“Do you want me to have more to do with you?”

At her direct question, he did a double take.

A wry smile curved her lips. “See? There I go again, being too direct. I suppose that could be one of the reasons I have very few dates.”

“I can’t speak for other guys, but I prefer a woman who’s upfront and doesn’t play games. The answer to your question is—”

“Sorry to interrupt, Sheriff.”

As Natalie’s cousin spoke, Brad angled toward the path.

Could the man’s timing have been any worse?

Steven’s gaze flicked to their connected hands, and Cara retracted hers.

“No problem.” Brad rose as Steven approached.

“Natalie asked if you’d stop in again before you leave. I believe she has a question about the golf cart you’re arranging.”

“I have to get back to work anyway.” Cara stood and edged toward the door of the cottage. “Why don’t you walk back to the house with Steven?”

He couldn’t fault her suggestion. There was no justification to linger.

But he didn’t intend to leave with her question hanging in the air between them.

“That works.” First, though, he turned to face her. He wasn’t taking any chances she’d miss his response. “The answer is yes.”

A becoming flush rose on her cheeks, and she gave him a smile as warm as a toasty fire on a cold winter day.

Then she slipped inside and shut the door.

After a moment, he pivoted and walked with Steven back to the house, responding to the man’s chitchat on autopilot, his heart lighter than it had been in a very long while.

There was no guarantee the new, tentative relationship he was building with Cara would go anywhere, of course.

If nothing else, however, her presence in his life right now was like a bright ray of sun, illuminating the darkest corners of his soul. Nudging him to deal once and for all with the guilt he’d been slowly working through.

And he no longer had to manufacture a pretext to drop by to see her, with all that had happened on this property—especially if the questions about Micah’s death continued to gnaw at him.

Perhaps the groundskeeper’s demise had, indeed, been innocent. An accident.

But he wasn’t yet ready to put this one to bed, as he’d told Natalie before he stopped in to see Cara. Not until the tox screen came back and he poked around for more clues that might help explain the anomalies continuing to raise red flags.

Because if there was more to Micah’s death than the investigation had revealed to date, a very bad person who should be behind bars was walking around free.

And nobody got away with manslaughter—or murder—on his watch.

THIS HADN’T BEEN PART OF HER PLAN.

Lips mashed together, Lydia flipped off the vacuum cleaner and pushed it toward Natalie’s utility closet.

The mere notion of having her brother hanging around here stunk. But she needed more time to convince Natalie that a live-in housekeeper was a smart idea—and Micah’s death had given her an ideal bargaining chip.

Suggesting to Randy that he could pick up some easy money doing handyman chores if she put in a good word for him had been the perfect carrot to dangle.

The opportunistic blond floozy he’d fallen for had agreed to hold off on moving in while he earned extra bucks to put toward a bigger rock in her engagement ring.

Lydia stashed the vacuum and rolled her eyes.

Like a third of a carat was such an improvement over a fourth.

Nevertheless, the ploy had bought her a bit of breathing space.

But the faster she could vacate Randy’s revolting dump, the better.

Meaning she’d have to beef up her efforts to convince Natalie it would be in her best interest to stay in her home with a live-in housekeeper rather than move to St. Louis, like her cousin was recommending.

Planting a seed of danger with the professor had also been smart. Now that Micah had turned up dead on the heels of the fire, that seed could begin to sprout—with a little careful nurturing.

Lydia pulled a dust mop out of the closet. Picked up a rag from the stack and slung it over her shoulder.

Maybe she ought to spike Natalie’s wine with Ambien again. That had worked like a charm. The two back-to-back dizzy spells had helped build a strong case for a live-in housekeeper.

But Ambien came with risks. What if Natalie fell and injured herself, was forced to leave the property? Another fall would also add fuel to Steven’s attempts to persuade her to move to St. Louis. The man had brought that idea up to her no less than twice today.

Knowledge she’d gleaned through a bit of judicious eavesdropping.

The back door rattled. Clicked shut. Male voices rumbled in the kitchen, along with Natalie’s.

“...a cup of tea, Sheriff?”

“No, thank you. I have to be going. Steven said you had a question about the golf cart?”

Lydia eased closer, ear cocked toward the closed door that separated the kitchen and hall.

“Yes. I appreciate your efforts to arrange that, but I know it goes above and beyond the scope of your job. I’d like to compensate you and the friend who is providing it.”

“That’s not necessary, Ms. Boyer. Both of us are glad to lend a hand.”

“Well ... in that case, I’m most grateful. Let me walk you out.”

Before Lydia could scurry away, Steven opened the door from the kitchen and stepped aside as Natalie walked through.

“Oh, Lydia. We were just talking about Micah’s service at the lake. It will be one day next week. You’re welcome to attend if you like.”

She curbed an eye roll.

As if she cared about the strange man who’d always given her the creeps. Good riddance, as far as she was concerned.

But she pasted on a suitably somber expression. “Thank you. If you’ll let me know the exact day and time, I’ll check my schedule.” And make her excuses after finding something else to be doing then.

“I’ll pass that along as soon as all the arrangements are finalized. If would be nice if a few people who were acquainted with him attended.”

Which would be almost nobody beyond the people gathered in this room.

That’s why his passing was of little consequence—except it had given her plan a boost by illustrating the danger of living alone. Like, what if Natalie got hurt and no one found her for hours ... or days?

A thought she’d pass on as soon as she got the chance.

“Yes, it would. If you’re finished in the kitchen, I’ll clean in there now.”

“It’s all yours.”

She skirted the small group gathered in the hall and continued to the back of the house.

As she closed the door behind her, her phone began to vibrate. After pulling it out, she grimaced.

Randy again. Probably wanting to know if she’d set up an interview for him with Natalie yet.

That wasn’t a high priority.

The longer she could delay a meeting between the two of them, the longer it would be before Ashley got on his case again about kicking out his third-wheel sister so she could move in.

Lydia let the phone roll to voicemail. She’d deal with her brother later.

In the meantime, she’d have to consider spiking another half-empty bottle of wine with perhaps a lesser amount of Ambien. Just enough to keep Natalie off balance—literally.

As for the professor ... a few more hints about danger wouldn’t be a bad idea.

Because in truth, that danger might come to pass.