What Happened to Hannah Read online

  At the very bottom of her emotional barrel lingered a little unfinished business between her and Grady Steadman—a first love for both of them, with no chance for it to come to a dramatic, upsetting teenage resolution on its own. No chance at all really. Ever. A mistake, but still one of the more exciting, sweeter memories of her youth . . . and it wasn’t like she had so many of those that she would easily forget him.

  He put his right forearm on the hood of her car and held the open door with the other hand. And, damn, if he didn’t shift his weight to an easy stance and look up across the slanting hillside at her with that same cocky confidence he’d had as a kid. Always so sure of himself—like he had a book with all the answers to all the mysteries of the universe in it. Like he’d written the stupid thing.

  She used to watch him, stare at him, marvel at him, and wonder how people like him came be. People who assumed they were liked and welcome wherever they went; people so sure that what they wanted, everyone else wanted, too . . . and they did! Was he born like that or was it in the vitamins his mother fed him? And why couldn’t every mother buy the same brand?

  His body was different. He’d always been tall and well proportioned—as those special people tend to be—but it was a man’s body now, not a boy’s. It was as if someone had blown into the end of his thumb and his body ballooned out to perfection, with more meat everywhere and broader shoulders. Even from a higher elevation she could see that his stomach was still youthfully flat, and she’d have bet dollars to donuts he was ripped.

  Disgusting. Truly. She ought to resent someone who looked hunkier now than he had twenty years ago. Someone who was doubtless married with a litter of children, living a sweet little life in a postcard-pretty town like Clearfield . . . and who had, in all probability, come to know more about the unstable insanity of her childhood than she had ever wanted him to. But this was Grady.

  Grady, who once slowed his pace to hers and tangled their fingers together, who used a gentle fist to tip her chin up merely to look into her eyes. Grady, the first person to ever say she was wanted, the first to say I love you. Out loud. The first to give her hope.

  No, as much as she was inclined to wish she could, she would never, could never desire anything for Grady that wasn’t good and true and wonderful. It was what he’d always seemed to expect and, in her opinion, what he always deserved.

  She started down the hill toward him, watched the wind touch his hair. Dark but not black—it was more the color of bark on a maple tree, clipped short and wavy. He was in full uniform, right down to the dark cop glasses. Behind them she knew his eyes were mossy green, quick and sharp, bright with humor . . . and the aforementioned confidence, of course.

  She matched his closed-lip smile of recognition and prayed she wouldn’t trip and slip down the shallow hill . . . because she could feel him checking her out as well. Uncomfortably aware of it. So much so, she resisted the urge to stick her tongue out at him to break the tension between them.

  But then he reached up and took off his glasses. His gaze came back to her warm and receptive. His smile grew wide and white and out they popped . . . two of the most incredible, ridiculous. and undeniably naughty dimples she’d ever seen in her life.

  She’d forgotten about those.

  “Welcome home, Hannah.”

  Grady could have picked her out of a crowd at three hundred feet. It was in the way she stood . . . and it was hard to describe.

  A scrapper’s stance, straight and strong and ready, but more graceful, more subtle than a man would be—more guarded as well. He’d seen a similar attitude in the army, in some of the older, better Rangers who were scary-as-hell tough but didn’t really look it—in fact, they went out of their way to conceal it. It used to remind him so much of the way Hannah would try to blend in until she was near invisible, but once detected she was prepared and entirely capable of defending herself. And, of course, once you finally noticed that, it was way too late.

  His body automatically responded to it. It stirred, braced itself, anticipated whatever she might throw at him. As a teenager he’d responded to the challenge . . . and not because it was simply there. Not like a mountain climber who scales the peaks to boastfully say he’s done it; not just for a notch on his belt. The challenge of Hannah was never to conquer her, never to have her and brag about it—never to change her. The goal was to win her acceptance, and her trust—and there was a time in his life when he would have died for it. Gladly.

  She started down the hill toward him. Still tall and trim there was a feminine softness to her figure now, real curves where only a promise had been before. But she walked the same, grace with purpose, he once called it. Restrained, controlled, no motion wasted. She was like a self-contained energy source, and the closer she got the stronger became the electro-magnetic field that emanated from her. His skin prickled with it.

  He took a deep breath and put a smile on his face.

  The long, thick black braid she’d always worn down the middle of her back no longer existed. Her hair was shorn short to her chin and stylish, the word wispy came to mind, but his daughter would call it something else.

  Phat, perhaps, but he was always two or three words behind the times with her vocabulary. He wasn’t sure what nice was anymore. And he had no idea what language his son spoke these days, they so rarely talked—although hello, goodbye, and may-I-have-my-allowance had stayed the same.

  Halfway down the hill, Hannah’s lips curved upward in response to his smile.

  What he most wanted to see were her eyes. No blue Crayola in the box matched them. Not even in the giant-sized box. He’d checked.

  As if she’d somehow read his mind, she reached up to remove the dark sunglasses that hid them.

  He bent his head and removed his own and looking back up, there they were, not three feet away . . . true clear blue, sparkling like fine-cut Sri Lankan sapphires.

  He opened his mouth to breathe, his throat collapsed. His brain scrambled for one of the lines he’d prepared to greet her with. Regrettably, the only one that came to him was the one he knew she would least want to hear.

  “Welcome home, Hannah.”

  Though she’d been looking at him the whole time during her descent, she made a point of raking her gaze down the front of his uniform, and up again. He held his breath. Her lips twitched.

  “Hey, Andy.” She startled a half-laugh out of him. He hadn’t known what to expect but teasing humor never made the list. “How’s Opie’n yer Aunt Bea doin’? And Barney?”

  “Great. Twenty years and all I get is a rash of shit about the job?”

  She laughed, and the sound quavered inside him.

  “Grady, Grady.” She shook her head, sad and sympathetic. “What’s become of you? I turn my back for a lifetime and look what happens to you. What was it? An epiphany? Did the clouds part and the angels sing to you?”

  “Not exactly. I needed a job. Since I knew all the tricks to this one, I figured I’d be good at it.”

  Something new. She was deliberately teasing him. The old Hannah might have asked similar questions, but she’d have been dead serious about them. It intrigued him. What else was different about her?

  “I get it. Like the devil’s child growing up to become a minister.”

  “I wasn’t that bad.”

  “Yes. You were. But it’s still good to see you.” She held out her hand in friendship.

  Her hand! Okay, so he’d been hoping for a hug, a kiss on the cheek, something—anything that told him she hadn’t forgotten what they once had together. But the sinking feeling in his chest told him she was right. They were all but strangers now.

  He stepped around the open car door, flipped it closed, and slipped his hand around hers. Cold like the weather, their palms warmed instantly.

  “It’s good to see you, too, Hannah. I wish the circumstances were different.”

  “It was these circumstances or none at all.” She spoke, blunt and honest—a Hannah Benson hallmark that
he knew well. Her gaze wavered and she pulled her hand away, stuffed both in the pockets of her bright red jacket. “But I’m here now so what do I do next? First.”

  The next was a slip and his eyes darted over her shoulder, not directly behind her from where she’d come but at a right angle where he guessed she’d gone first. It struck him as odd that he hadn’t, until that moment, thought it strange that the cemetery would be her first stop. It was she who asked the question when his eyes came back to hers.

  “How did you know to come find me here?”

  “I didn’t. I thought I saw you when you passed through town.” In fact, he’d been keeping an eye out for her. “I thought you were going straight out to your place . . . out to the farm, so I followed. When you weren’t there, I backtracked. Simple cop stuff. I told you, I’m good at it.”

  She appreciated the levity and tried to hold on to the lighter mood. “This is so strange and I’ve had so little time to think about it. Can you tell I’m a nervous wreck? How do you talk to kids? What do you say to them?”

  “Hell if I know. I’ve got two of my own I can barely communicate with.”

  “Two. Wow.” She didn’t seem surprised. “How old are they?”

  “One’s a few months younger than Anna, the other is almost two years older.”

  “Teenagers. So this is old stuff for you.”

  “Teenagers are never old stuff. They change their minds every seven seconds. You never know what they’re thinking or what they’ll do next and . . . I’m scaring you, aren’t I?” He gave a weak laugh and couldn’t keep from reaching out and putting his hands on her shoulders. She felt solid and real. “Sorry. Just be yourself. And don’t expect too much at first. It’s going to take time for both of you to warm up to each other. If it makes you feel any better, Anna isn’t like my kids. She likes them, they’re friends, but she isn’t like them. She’s different.” Hannah’s eyes scrunched as if wincing with pain. She knew what it was to grow up different. “Not weird different, just . . . Well, she seems more mature than both my kids put together. She’s been through a lot. She grew up fast but she’s still a kid. Does that help?”

  She looked at him for a second, didn’t seem to mind that he still held her.

  “I don’t know if it does or not. It’s all happening so fast and I’m totally unprepared. My head is bulging with questions.” She lifted her hands, palms up. “I don’t know where to start. Her, I guess. Is she banking on this? I’m pretty set in my ways, you know? Does she know this might not work out? She won’t go around touching all my things, will she? Does she know she doesn’t have to go with me if she doesn’t want to? She’s a teenager, that’s at least a second phone line, right? Er, no, they all have cell phones now, don’t they? I don’t know anything about kids except that I hate rap music. I don’t think this is going to work, Grady. I don’t think it’s a good idea and— What are you staring at?”

  “You. You’re really worried.”

  She threw up her hands, turned out of his loose hold and walked a few feet away. She took a deep breath and turned back. “I need your help, Grady. I don’t know the first thing about being a mother.”

  Which is why it will probably work, he thought. Anna wouldn’t know the first thing about having a mother.

  “You don’t have to. It’s not like she needs to be spoon-fed or have her diapers changed. You take one thing at a time, play it by ear and do what feels right. Mostly she just needs somebody. Someone to be there, to care about her. A friend.”

  “What if she hates me?”

  “Are you kidding?” He looked her over. “What’s there to hate?”

  “You want a list?”

  He was tempted. “Maybe later. Right now, since my going out to the farm alerted them to your arrival, I think we should go out and see how it goes.”

  “Them?”

  “We’ve had her at our house the past couple nights, but they all went out to the farm today to straighten things up for you. And to cook. You know my mother—there isn’t anything a good meal can’t fix.”

  “Your mother’s there, too?”

  “Yes. And she’s dying to see you again. C’mon. Let’s go.”

  “Wait. Wait a second. Shouldn’t we have some sort of plan or something?”

  He liked the concerned expression on her face. She wouldn’t be concerned if it wasn’t important, if she didn’t care about the outcome.

  “Okay. I think a straightforward, frontal attack is our best bet. They’re expecting us. They have youth and enthusiasm on their side, but we have experience and we control all the money. It’ll be a fair match.”

  She scowled at him as she bit the right side of her lower lip to keep from smiling. “I’m serious.”

  “I remember.” Did she? “But she’s just one little girl who needs you a hell of lot more than you need her right now. All you have to do is treat her like a human being and expect her to treat you the same. Everything will turn out fine. I promise.” When she still looked doubtful, he added, “If she turns on you and her head starts spinning, I’ve got your back.”

  For a fraction of a second she looked appalled, but then she laughed, and it was so worth the extra time and effort to make it happen.

  “There you go, that’s better. I’ll follow you back out to the farm and introduce you.”

  “You’re still kidding, right?” She gave him a strange look.

  “No. Why?”

  “Have you forgotten how horrible it feels to look up and see a cop in your rearview mirror?” Teasing him again. He liked this new vein of sassy in her.

  He raised a brow and gave her his best cop glower. “Only for someone who’s feeling guilty about something.”

  She grinned and shook her head. “Only for everyone, pal. I’m following you.”

  “Fine. I’ll go slow.”

  She blinked and exposed a flash of memory that sent his heart wild an instant before her defenses came down like the shields on the Batmobile.

  Please, Hannah. Aren’t you ever going to let me kiss you? Don’t you want me to?

  I do. More than anything. But . . . I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how.

  Yes, you do. It’s easy.

  No. I don’t. And you’ll laugh at me.

  I won’t. I never will. I’ll teach you. And I’ll go slow.

  She hadn’t forgotten. But that didn’t make him entirely happy, either.

  “Good,” she said, and walked brisk and sure around him to her car door. He turned with her—hoping, for what he wasn’t sure. But the moment was gone. “And don’t kick up a lot of dust. I had my car detailed last week.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said, putting a hand on the door as she slipped inside. She settled herself in, tossed the sunglasses on the rider’s seat and picked up the keys from where he’d put them. She fastened her seat belt; glanced up at him with her hand on the key in the ignition. She looked tired. Wary and emotionally overloaded. He couldn’t resist the urge to make her smile again.

  “So you know . . .” he said stern and coplike, then waited and watched as she braced herself. “I’m tough on tailgaters.”

  The slow grin came all the way into her eyes. “Thanks, Sheriff. I’ll remember that.”

  She was going to remember a whole lot more than that, he decided, walking around the front of his truck and getting in. There were questions he needed answers to, for Anna’s sake—for his own sake—and these two weeks might well be his only opportunity to get them.

  He needed to keep a bead on the fact that a few hours earlier she’d crossed the Mason-Dixon into what she considered enemy territory because he’d asked her to come. She traveled here under his flag of protection. At least for a few days, until she could see for herself and get used to the idea that the war zone she’d grown up in was gone.

  Chapter Four

  Grady put the truck in gear and pulled out, watching her back out and follow in the rearview.

  He would get his answers, he vowed. She was
. . . the unfinished overpass in the movie Speed. Except in his story, he was a kid who wasn’t prepared for it, wasn’t trained to deal with impossible situations, wasn’t used to having no time to think things through. He’d stopped the bus, hard and abrupt, on the very edge of falling, but it didn’t explode. He’d wanted it to—God, how he’d wanted it to—but it didn’t. And the passengers stayed inside, they wouldn’t get off, and he couldn’t leave them. He couldn’t move forward. Eventually, he’d had to back the bus up, rebuild speed and momentum, then jump the gap she’d left in his life and go on.

  And he made it. He circled the airport for a while, got the passengers off, slid from the bottom of the bus with a different heroine—who in the end took a cruise with someone else and left him with two kids to raise—but that was a different story, though he’d managed to get through that one, too.

  He slowed the truck to a stop at the intersection in front of St. John’s Catholic Church and turned left.

  The point: The gap was still in his road. Oh, he knew now why she ran that night and there was no way he could fault her for it. What he didn’t understand was why she’d let everyone, more importantly him, believe she was dead this whole time. All those years without so much as a peep from her, no phone call, no letter, no message in a bottle. He needed to finish his freeway, make it whole.

  Hannah had the answers. She was the only one with all the materials to make it right but he hardly knew her anymore. It would be nice if she freely bared her soul to him, which he didn’t at all see happening—but if she didn’t . . .

  His gaze took another pass at the rearview mirror. He used his left hand to pull on his tense, aching neck muscles. Well, he’d simply have to wrestle her to the ground and pin her there until she talked, he thought, and not without some interest. Though, he didn’t relish the idea of making her angry. He’d seen her angry before.

  As a young boy, in grade school still, he’d heard about her fighting—girls and boys alike—but he only witnessed it once. A stupid kid thing really, but he’d never forgotten it . . .