Unlawfully Wedded

“It isn’t necessary.”

He sensed a tension in her voice that piqued his interest. “You two that close?”

“I love my mother.”

He realized instantly that she hadn’t actually answered his question. This from the woman who had not bothered to spare her tongue when it came to his strained relationship with Rose.

“Do you think she saw the newspaper?” he asked, nodding to the folded copy lying on the seat between them.

“No.”

“She’s not a reader?”

“No.”

“How do you think she’ll take the news about your father?”

“Calmly.”

His only hint that she wasn’t quite as composed as her limited answers implied was the sight of her hand as she played with the strands of wheat-colored hair sculpted around her slender throat. The tremor in her fingers was undeniable.

“You tense?”

“Tense?”

“Nervous? Agitated? Upset?”

She didn’t answer right away. He glanced over once, only to have his eyes fall on the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she breathed deeply through her slightly parted lips.

“I’m just not sure how Mama will handle the news.”

J.D. gripped the wheel a bit more tightly. “Her long-lost husband is dead. If she loved him, I’m sure she’ll be devastated.”

“What do you mean ‘if she loved him’?” Tory fairly shouted at him.

He saw the spark in her ice blue eyes and was glad to see some of the life come back to her.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, lifting his hands off the wheel in a brief gesture of mock surrender. “I just meant that it’s been, what? Fifteen years? Love and memories fade.”

She turned her head so that he could no longer get a fix on her expression.

“How about you?”

“How about I what?” she answered dully.

“How are you holding up?”

“Are you asking me if I read the newspaper article?” Tory asked, gesturing toward the paper between them.

“Yes.” He realized he was holding his breath, not certain why he had suddenly broached this potentially dangerous subject.

“I don’t believe everything I read in the papers.”

“Smart approach.”

“But,” she said as she turned, “if the police are correct in their early assessment of the case, my father didn’t desert me. He was murdered.”

“They weren’t clear on that point,” J.D. told her.

“One of them stated that there appeared to be a bullet wound in the skull—”

“But that they needed to run tests.”

She scooted closer to the door, as if she wanted as much distance between them as possible.

“I must admit, Tory,” he began in a deliberately soft, nonthreatening tone, “I’m astounded by your composure. If someone told me my father might have been murdered, I think I’d go ballistic.”

“As strange as this may sound, hearing their theory made me feel strangely comforted.”

“How so?”

“Because it means he didn’t choose to walk out of my life. It means he didn’t leave me.”

J.D. hated the effect her soft, almost choked, words were having on his gut. Feeling compassion for this woman was dangerous.

“Turn here,” she said as they approached an exit.

Silently, J.D. followed her instructions for the next several miles. The landscape was little more than swampy grasses and clusters of evergreens. Hardly an ideal sight for a golf and tennis community.

His eyes fixed on a wooden sign about a hundred yards down the road. It swayed gently on the currents of the passing cars, but he could still make out the bold, black print.

“Ashley Villas Convalescent Center?” he read aloud as he pulled into the lot, threw the car into park and killed the engine.

“None other,” she responded, her voice cracking with emotion.

“Your mother lives in a convalescent center?” he asked.

“Yes,” she answered as she opened the door and stepped from the car.

Grabbing the folded newspaper, J.D. tucked it under his arm and then jogged to catch up to her. “You could have said something.”

“I did,” she responded without looking at him. “I told you I would have preferred coming alone.”

He inclined his head in respect as he held open one of the center’s shining glass doors.

“Tory!” a male voice bellowed down the otherwise silent corridor. Tory smiled wanely at the dark-haired man sauntering toward her. “I should have guessed I’d run into you here today. Tough thing about your dad.”

He watched as she accepted the huge hand from the man he guessed to be about fifty, though his physique belied his age. His clothes told J.D. two things—first, the guy definitely had bucks; and second, he dressed for the sole purpose of attracting women.