Truths and Roses Page 17

“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?”

  And so, Hannah told her, letting the whole awful story spill forth, ending with Will’s beating Tom to a pulp.

  “Well, good for him,” Jenny said with a slap of her hand on the desk. “Oh, my dear, what you must have been through because of that lowlife!”

  “But don’t you see, Jenny? It was over. I’d put it behind me. And now….”

  “It’s back again. Hannah, dear, you must realize that you’d never really put it behind you. I never would have guessed this. Though I always knew there was something in your life not quite the way it should have been. It’s not natural for someone as bright and gifted and attractive as you to lock herself away at such a young age. This was why. Am I right? You’ve been punishing yourself for something you had no power to prevent.”

  “But don’t you see? I could have—”

  “Could have what?” Jenny interrupted in a gentle voice. “What could you possibly have done?”

  Hannah dropped her chin and stared at her hands. “Not gone out with him in the first place.”

  “Oh, Hannah. You were so young. You couldn’t have known.”

  “I always felt that it was my fault, that I somehow…asked for it.” She looked up and let her gaze meet Jenny’s. “I had a crush on Will then. When Tom called to ask me out, I thought—” her voice fell “—I thought Will might notice me as something other than the class brain if I had a date with one of the other football players. I got all fixed up, hoping I’d see Will that night. And somehow, Tom knew that I didn’t really want to go out with him. So you see….”

  “Oh, Hannah,” Jenny said compassionately, “what I see is something any young girl might have done. Why, when I was eighteen, I borrowed my father’s car and ran it out of gas circling the Weiner King looking for Herman Dancey.”

  “But, Jenny—”

  “But nothing. You weren’t to blame for what Tom did. That was a crime. He was the criminal. Not you. I don’t know what you plan to do about it now, but there’s no point blaming yourself. The past is done. Your concern should be with the future. And it seems to me that Will Kincaid has been making every effort to be a part of it.”

  “No. It’s not like that.”

  “You think just any man would beat the tar out of somebody like Tom Dillon?”

  “Will was just doing what he felt was right.”

  “What he felt compelled to do, no doubt. And I have a feeling there’s more to that compulsion than either of you are willing to admit.”

  Will had barely slept that night, and when his doorbell rang at seven the next morning, he welcomed the diversion from the thoughts that tormented him. He pulled open the door to find Aaron Tate standing on his doorstep.

  Will attempted to stretch, then flinched when his muscles protested. “What’re you doing out so early, Aaron?”

  “Came to see if you were still alive.”

  Will waved him inside and smiled for the first time in twelve hours. “Still in one piece. I see you have as much faith in me as ever.”

  Aaron looked around and let out a soft whistle. “Quite a place you got here.”

  “Yeah, well, it’s home for a while, anyway.”

  Aaron gnawed the inside of his lower lip. “I don’t reckon there’s any point in me not being blunt about it. What the heck were you thinkin’ about last night, boy?”

  Will rubbed the back of his neck and sighed heavily. “Don’t you start in on me, Aaron. I know I jumped the gun, but you don’t know the whole story.”

  Aaron shook his head. “I know more than you think. I reckon you’re aware you opened up a whole can of worms for that young woman.”

  Will looked away with a trace of the anguish that had eaten at him since Hannah raced out the door the evening before. “I plan to make it up to her.”

  “And just how’re you gonna go about that? She’s probably spent the last ten years trying to forget it ever happened. And then you come along and—”

  “Somebody had to make him pay,” Will said with a surge of the anger that had sent him after Tom Dillon the afternoon before.

  Aaron reached for his tobacco pouch, filled his pipe, then without lighting it, rested it on his lower lip and gave the assertion some thought. “That Hannah, she’s not your standard young woman. Almost ran over her one day, a few weeks before you got back to town. We’d just had a little rain, and I came up over a knoll there just before you get to Clarence’s. There she was, scrambling to pick up a terrapin and get him across the road before someone came along and made him into turtle stew. She looked kind of embarrassed when I slowed down to see if she needed any help. Got the feelin’ it wasn’t the first time she’d helped out one of those devils. I don’t know about you, boy, but I always was kind of partial to terrapins, myself.”

  Will looked away and swallowed.

  “So, yeah, I’d agree, boy, that somebody needed to make Tom Dillon pay. But now that girl has to live in the same town with that big mouth who’s gonna be defending himself at every raised eyebrow by telling them how she asked for it.”

  Will swallowed a protest. He knew Aaron was right.

  “I reckon you know that boy’s green with envy at what you’ve done with your life. There’s a lot of years of resentment behind whatever punch he might get lucky enough to throw your way.”

  Will’s lips pressed together in a tight line. He recalled with perfect clarity Tom’s verbal darts. Got all the scholarships and all the girls. Leave it to you to get paired up with the class brain.

  He knew then that Tom’s anger hadn’t been directed at Hannah. It had been directed at him. “Guess I’ll go have a talk with him,” he said slowly, realizing what it felt like to be hated.

  “Seems to me it might be a good idea to suggest he find another town to live in. Rumor has it Tom’s got himself a little business on the side at his daddy’s old farm. If it was me, I’d collect a little evidence of that and see if I couldn’t do some persuading. That is, if you think you could use your mouth and not your fists to do the convincing.”

  Had the words come from anyone else, Will might have bristled with the need to defend himself. But not with Aaron. He was right, after all. Will had started this. It was up to him to finish it.

  Chapter Fifty-two

  He found Tom out at Clarence’s later that day. When Tom looked up to see him standing in the doorway of the pool room, his jaw went slack, and the cue he’d been holding fell to the floor, its loud clatter causing the two men with him to look up with startled expressions.

  “I want to talk to you, Dillon,” Will said in a low voice, barely able to conceal the anger that still boiled inside him when he thought of what Tom had done. Aaron had been right, though. Using his fists this time would probably land him in jail. And he had no intention of handing Tom that particular victory.

  Tom glared at him through his one good eye, the other swollen shut. “Who do you think you are, Kincaid? You’re no longer God’s gift to football, you know. You’re lucky I didn’t have you arrested yesterday.”

  “You’re lucky I didn’t kill you.” The words made the man standing next to Tom give a nervous cough. The other stepped back and put his cue in the rack on the wall. “Ask your friends to leave, unless you want your dirty laundry aired in front of them.”

  Tom gave a short, uneasy laugh, then looked at his buddies and said, “The man wants some privacy.”

  Once the two had left, Will closed the door that separated the pool room from the bar area. “Went out to your daddy’s old farm this afternoon. Got me some video coverage of that little cash crop you’ve got growing out there. Bet the sheriff would be interested in a matinee out at my house.” He paused and let the words sink in. “I’m going to say this once. I want you out of this town. By the end of the week. And if I find out you’re still here, I’ll spend every nickel I’ve ever made to put you behind bars.”

  The look on Tom’s face was a blend of fury and hatred. He was trapped and he knew
it. “Don’t tell me you’ve gone to all this trouble for that little-”

  “You even say her name, and I’ll make what I gave you yesterday seem like a picnic.”

  Tom slammed a fist against the wall. “Man, we were friends. How can you—”

  Will cut him off. “We stopped being friends a long time ago. If I ever hear that you’ve been anywhere near Hannah Jacobs, I’ll make sure you regret it.” He turned and opened the door, adding over his shoulder, “I’ll expect you to be gone within a few days. If not, I’ll be giving the sheriff a call.”

  For the temporary bookmobile’s maiden voyage, the plan was that Hannah would take it out. Concerned that she might not be up to it, Jenny offered to go in her place, but Hannah wanted to go, needing to escape the confining walls of the library.

  Making her way to the back of the building, she stopped short at the sight of Will leaning against the side of the vehicle.

  She averted her eyes, unable to meet his unwavering gaze. “I’m not up to this, Will.”

  He stood with his arms folded across his chest, looking as though he’d expected that response. “We need to talk.”

  “Not now,” she said quickly, unlocking the door and rushing up the steps to the driver’s seat. “I’m late getting started.”

  He put one hand on the door handle. “Then I’ll go with you.”

  “No, you can’t—”

  But he was inside the vehicle and sitting on the passenger seat before she could finish. She climbed in and said, “This is crazy.” She let her head fall forward on the steering wheel, then looked over at him. “You can’t go.”

  “But I promise to be good.”

  She stared at him for a moment and then sighed in defeat. She didn’t have the energy to argue. She turned the key, slipped the bookmobile into gear and rolled out of the parking lot.

  “You all right?” he asked in a concerned voice.

  She blinked and nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

  “Hannah, I want you to know I’m sorry about some of the things I said last night.”

  “You have nothing to be sorry about.”

  “I had no right to tell you how to deal with all this. You’ve lived with it for ten years. I’m sure you’ve come to terms with what’s best for you. I was just so angry.”

  She sighed and, eyes still on the road, let her head fall back against the seat. Her hands clenched the wheel until her knuckles whitened. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t appreciate knowing Tom Dillon got the fool beat out of him. But I wanted to leave the whole thing dead and buried.”

  Will reached out a hand to touch her shoulder. “And I made that impossible.” He hesitated, searching for words. “Aaron came to see me this morning. He made me realize something I’d never let myself admit before. Tom’s always resented what he considers my successes. He still does. We grew up together. We were pretty inseparable for a lot of years. But then things started changing and he…I guess he resented it.”

  His eyes were laden with regret when he turned and said, “What Tom did to you was because of his anger at me. I guess he’d suspected there was something between us, and I wanted it to be more. Before I could get up the courage to do anything about it.”

  Her pain almost tangible, Hannah said, “Oh, Will.”

  “If I could do anything to go back and change all that for you, Hannah, I would.”

  “Don’t, Will.” Her voice broke. “I just want to forget it.”

  He stared down at his hands. “If that was what you really wanted, then I’m sorry for what I did. I really am. But I don’t think he’ll be bothering you anymore.”

  She glanced at him, suddenly afraid he had put himself at risk. Who knew what Tom might do if he were backed into a corner? “Will, what did you—”

  He lifted his head and said quietly, “It doesn’t matter.”

  She heard the determination in his voice and knew that whatever he’d done had been for her. She didn’t need to know what. They’d reached the bookmobile’s first stop by then, and she negotiated the turn-off with an overwhelming feeling of relief.

  An old blue and white Ford sat waiting for them in the gravel lot of the Presbyterian church. The children were out and standing at the side panel door of the bookmobile before Hannah had turned off the ignition. She opened the door and smiled down at them. “Hello, Heather, Michael. Come on in. We have a visitor with us today. This is Mr. Kincaid.”

  “Will,” he said with a nod at the eager children.

  “Wow, you’re Will Kincaid!” the little boy said with an awestruck expression.

  The children’s mother stuck her head in and waved hello to Hannah, then blinked in surprise at the sight of Will. “I’ll be in the car. Let me know if the kids drive you crazy. Ever since we saw the notice in the paper about the bookmobile, it’s all they’ve talked about.”

  Hannah smiled. “That’s what we’d hoped for. Don’t worry. They’ll be fine.”

  Will followed the two children to the back where they began sifting through Nancy Drew mysteries. They sought Will’s approval on each selection. Hannah warmed at the sound of their eager voices. She wouldn’t think about her own problems for now. She wouldn’t.

  Chapter Fifty-three

  The stops were a huge success, and by the time they reached the last one, Hannah admitted to Will, “I’m glad you came along. The children really seem to like you.”

  “Kids like anyone who’ll show them a little attention.”

  “Especially famous football players.”

  “And pretty young women,” he said with a half smile, his voice light, his eyes dead serious.

  She forced herself to ignore the comment as she backed the vehicle into place. This time only one child waited, seven-year-old Rebecca. As with the others, the little girl immediately took to Will.

  Before long, they’d picked out a handful of books, running the gamut from Babar the elephant to Beezus and Ramona. Rebecca’s mother had run down to the store a mile or so away, and once the little girl had finished checking out the books, she went over and climbed onto Will’s lap.

  “Read one to me, Mr. Kincaid. Please?”

  Will’s mouth opened in surprise. “Ah, Rebecca, your mom will be back any minute. Wouldn’t you rather she read to you when you get home?”

  “Uh-uh. I want you to. So I can tell all my friends.”

  Will glanced at Hannah, his right hand clenched. Something about the look in his eyes made her think of a lion she’d seen in a zoo years ago. Trapped. Pacing the cage with angry pride.

  He looked down at the book and then back at Hannah.

  That same angry pride. She’d seen it in one other face. Henry Lawson’s.

  “Please, Will?” the little girl cajoled.

  He jerked out of the seat and set the child on the stool across from him. “Why don’t you ask Miss Jacobs to start it for you, honey? I need to get some air.”

  Hannah watched as he disappeared down the steps and around the back end. Frowning, she went to sit by Rebecca, opening the book and beginning to read.

  Some ten minutes later, the little girl’s mother returned. Hannah promised to see them again next week. Once Rebecca and her mother had pulled onto the road, she climbed into the driver’s seat just as Will reappeared, his expression sheepish.

  “Bet you think I’m a real brute, huh?” He climbed in and sank into his seat.

  “No,” she said softly. “I don’t think you’re a brute.”

  “Guess I acted a little foolish.”

  She stared at this man who had turned her life upside down in the last few weeks. Maybe it was the revelation of her own problems that had opened her eyes to Will’s. Or maybe it was just something she’d subconsciously known long ago in school when they’d worked on that chemistry project together. Whatever the reason, Hannah knew she was right when she said, “You don’t read very well, do you, Will?”

  The question was so direct that he bolted upright in his seat, a look of surpr
ise on his features. “I don’t know what you’re—”

  “It makes sense now. The way you acted when you learned Henry Lawson couldn’t read. And I’d have to be blind not to have realized it just now.”

  He lifted his head and stared at her with a shamed expression. “Pretty sad, isn’t it?”

  She studied him, her throat tight. “Only because of the way it makes you feel.”

  “Like an idiot, most of the time.”

  “Oh, Will, it shouldn’t,” she said quickly, the words raw with compassion. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

  “Don’t say that, Hannah. Because it is, and I know it.”

  She resisted the urge to reach out and press her palm to his cheek. “What happened that you didn’t learn in school?”

  He shrugged and looked away. “I did learn up to a point. But around the fifth or sixth grade, it seemed like everybody else started reading really fast, and I couldn’t keep up. So I just quit trying.”

  “But the school system, how could they—”

  “As long as I could catch a football, nobody seemed to care whether I could read worth a hoot or not,” he interrupted in a rough voice.

  “And college?”

  “I only stayed three years before I was drafted. As unusual as that was, I was grateful to get out. It was getting too easy to get by. There were always other students willing to write a paper for the right price. And the coaches ‘suggested’ I take certain classes, the sort handpicked for guys like me. But I hated myself for going along with it.” He looked down at his hands. “It’s not something I’m proud of.”

  “What about the contracts you had to sign? How-”

  “One of the benefits of having money. I hired the best lawyers the stuff could buy. As you might imagine, illiteracy doesn’t go over too well with the fans. You can buy a lot of silence for the right amount of cash. Pretty pathetic, huh?”

  This time it was Hannah who reached across the seat for his hand, holding it for a moment before giving it a gentle squeeze. His problem could be fixed. Unlike her own. Odd that only a matter of hours ago, he’d been the one offering consolation. Now she was.