Watch Me (Last Stand #3)(18)
Author: Brenda Novak

With a bitter chuckle, John snapped the lid shut and got up to toss the ring back into his underwear drawer. He’d propose eventually. He and Karen were meant to be together. She was the reward he deserved for all the years of unhappiness since his first wife died giving birth to Robert.

It wasn’t the right time for an engagement. The news wouldn’t make the big splash he’d anticipated. It couldn’t compete with that rifle reappearing, and the return of poor little Sheridan Kohl.

A fresh wave of hatred made him clench his teeth. It was her fault Jason had been at Rocky Point in the first place. Her fault—and Cain’s—that Jason was dead. That was enough to hold against his stepson, but Cain was responsible for even more than that. He’d ruined John’s second marriage. How often had Julia taken her son’s side in an argument? Practically always. Julia wasn’t nearly as docile as his first wife. John had been happy with Linda. If he’d had his choice, they’d be married to this day. Then none of these terrible things would’ve happened. He wouldn’t have met Julia at that cheesy strip bar in Nashville where she worked as a waitress, and fallen for her beauty. He wouldn’t have had to take care of her while she died of breast cancer. He wouldn’t have been saddled with a stepson he’d never even liked. He wouldn’t have had to suffer his own father’s many reprimands for “not treating Cain fair.”

But it was losing Jason that ate at him, that made it almost impossible to look at Cain.

The phone rang.

Dropping onto his bed, John glanced at Caller ID, then picked up. It was Karen.

“Aren’t you coming to get me for lunch?” she asked.

John blinked, suddenly aware that quite a lot of time must’ve passed without his noticing. His eyes cut to the digital alarm clock. Sure enough, it was after noon. Sometimes he got so caught up in his thoughts he lost track of the present. That he’d done so again frightened him. Was it the beginning of Alzheimer’s?

God, he didn’t want to be like Marshall, didn’t want to end up being pitied by his own children. “Yeah, ah, of course,” he said, trying to regain his mental footing.

“Then, where are you? Don’t tell me you got involved with your welding again.”

He’d started a side business via the Internet, selling lawn decorations he fashioned out of scrap metal and made to look like animals. Usually he just spent Saturday mornings in his welding shed, but he was doing more work there now that he had some time off. “Actually, I did.” He didn’t want to tell her he’d forgotten their date; it was only a half hour ago that he’d sent a text to let her know he was coming. And she was fifteen years younger than he was. He didn’t want to scare her, make her fear he had mental problems. Then she’d never marry him.

“Where’s your cell? I called, but you didn’t answer.”

It was in the living room, where he couldn’t hear it. “I must have the ringer turned off.”

“Well, turn it on. And hurry. I’m not going to have time if you don’t get here right away.”

Massaging his temples, he told himself other people occasionally forgot lunch appointments, too. “I’ll be there in five minutes,” he promised.

Judging by the brightness outside her window, it was at least late morning, maybe early afternoon, during her first day at Cain’s. But Sheridan heard no one in the house. She lay there for several minutes, listening to complete silence. Was she alone?

Rolling onto her side, she checked the nightstand for a phone.

There wasn’t one. She was in a guest bedroom that probably saw little use; she could understand why it might not have an extension. But she wanted to call The Last Stand, to talk to Jonathan or Skye or Ava, and follow up with a call to Jasmine.

What would she tell them? They’d all advised her not to come back to Whiterock. Jon, especially, insisted there was only pain and misery for her here. He didn’t believe a rifle devoid of prints would yield any new evidence. But Sheridan had wanted answers badly enough to make the trip despite that. And now she was lying injured in Cain’s spare bed. Once her friends heard, they’d either rush to her side, which was impractical now that most of them had families of their own, or plead with her to return.

Sheridan didn’t welcome either response. She refused to interrupt their lives, since this had been her own decision in the first place. And she wasn’t about to return before she was ready. The attack on her had created more questions—and more determination to answer those questions.

Almost glad she didn’t have access to a phone, after all, because it put off having to tell her friends, she smoothed down her hair with both hands and called out, “Hello? Anyone home?”

She hated being so dependent and helpless, hated feeling that she was causing Cain more work and trouble than she had any right to expect from an old acquaintance, but she needed a drink, and both he and the doctor had warned her not to get up by herself.

Fortunately, Cain didn’t seem to mind the extra trouble. From the gentleness with which he’d fed her and helped her sponge-bathe last night, she got the impression he enjoyed caring for her, the same way he enjoyed caring for all the other living creatures on his property. At the very least, he took it in his stride.

No one answered her call, but a black snout poked through her half-open door and she realized she was about to meet one of Cain’s dogs.

“Hello,” she said, but the hound didn’t come in right away. He hesitated as if waiting to see if Cain would respond with an order not to enter. When that didn’t happen, he widened the opening by wiggling his body and came in. Then he stood there, cocking his head to one side, apparently trying to figure out who she was and why she was in his master’s house.

“You must be one of the dogs that saved my life.”

A tall, thin man with a boy’s bushy hair and a pair of nerdy glasses—a man who could only be Owen—stepped into the room behind the dog, carrying a tray with a cup and a bowl on it. “This is Koda.”

She shifted in the bed. “From what I hear, I owe him a lot.”

“He’s a good dog, but it wouldn’t matter even if he wasn’t. Cain can turn any hound into a good dog, make him obey with a whistle or a nod. The hounds I used to own would never shut up, and they raced after anything with a scent.” He paused thoughtfully. “As a matter of fact, Koda used to be mine. He wouldn’t do a thing I told him. But if Cain asked him not to eat, he’d voluntarily starve to death.”