Deadlier Than The Male

Haley grinned at the elderly gentleman on her exercise table, proud of how far he’d come since the stroke he’d suffered six months earlier. His first trip to therapy he’d been unable to speak, and the entire right side of his body had been paralyzed. Now he smiled and spoke, albeit a little slowly and not always with perfect clarity, and he was making good progress on regaining mobility, however limited.

Her entire life revolved around her patients, and when she wasn’t at the physical therapy facility where she was employed, she was usually making house calls.

She rarely thought about her life before Dallas, and when she did, it was only briefly. Even now, after ten long years, the pain of what she’d lost was brutally real.

A short while later, a timer went off and Haley eased Mr. Wyatt’s withered leg down slowly, then helped him sit up.

“That’s it for today. How do you feel?”

“Re-dy ta dans.”

“Dance? Wow! Then I’d better warn Millie to shine up her dancing shoes.”

The old man laughed. Millie lived at the same nursing home as he did, and he’d informed Haley months ago that Millie was his girl.

Haley marveled that at their age they were still optimistic enough to want a romance. She’d decided long ago that relationships weren’t worth the effort it took to keep them alive and thrown herself into her job instead.

She helped Mr. Wyatt into his wheelchair, then pushed him back to the lobby, where a driver was waiting to take him back to the nursing home.

“Here you go,” she said. “Do your exercises like I showed you. Stay out of trouble, and I’ll see you again in about a week, okay?”

The old man grinned and winked, and then he was gone.

Haley glanced at the clock as she turned back around, and then frowned. Where had the afternoon gone? It was already quitting time.

She moved to the employee lounge, clocked out, gathered up her things and then, with a casual wave to another employee on her way out, she was gone.

Haley had decided years ago that Dallas traffic at five o’clock in the afternoon was, most surely, the road to the ninth gate of hell.

By the time she pulled up to her apartment building and parked, it was dark. She paused inside the car long enough to ensure that the path to the apartment building appeared safe, and then she got out.

The air was cold and felt damp, like it might snow. She pulled her coat collar up around her neck as she started toward the front door—her long legs making short work of the distance.

Once inside, she nodded to the security guard.

“Hi, Marsh … how’s it going?”

Marshall French, a widower from Austin, had retired twice, but at sixty-seven, had been bored staying at home and had taken this job for something to do. He admired this tall, elegant woman with green eyes and thick, dark hair, but he didn’t know anything more about her now than he had the day he’d taken this job two years earlier.

“Fine, just fine,” he said, then handed her her mail. “Have a nice evening.”

“You too,” Haley said, then put the mail under her arm and walked into the elevator without looking back.

She chose the seventh floor, then leaned against the elevator wall as the car began to move silently upward. Once the door opened, she took a right and within ten steps was at her door. She thrust her key in the lock almost without looking and, once inside, turned and locked the door behind her—turning all three locks before she even took off her coat.

She never felt safe. Not since the night when the world had abandoned her. Even though she had no reason to fear living alone, she did. The three locks were her security blanket, and she wasn’t ashamed to admit it.

It was the sound of those three metallic clicks that signaled safe haven for Haley. She hung her coat in the hall closet, dumped her bag and keys on the table, then scanned her assortment of mail.

There were a half dozen envelopes and a couple of magazines—Taste of Home and her favorite, Southern Living. She tossed everything on the kitchen counter as she passed through on her way to her room. She did nothing at home until she’d shed her scrubs and showered. It was a mental “putting aside” of her professional self so she could relax.

Afterward, dressed in old sweats and a long-sleeved tee, Haley was leafing through the rest of the mail as she poured Coke into a glass full of ice when she noticed the postmark on a legal-size envelope.

Stars Crossing, Kentucky.

At that point, she froze. Coke slopped over the top of the glass and onto the counter, bringing her back to reality. By the time she’d cleaned up the mess, she had braced herself to open the envelope.

All she knew was, whatever it said—whoever it was from—it couldn’t be good.

Your father is dead.

Haley staggered, then braced herself against the cabinets, shocked that she felt any kind of emotion at the news. What was left of her family had been dead to her for so long that she hardly ever thought about what had come before Dallas—except for Mack. No matter how hard she’d tried, he still haunted her dreams. Her response to this news had taken her completely by surprise. She pulled herself together and looked back at the letter.

His funeral service will be held Saturday, November 13, at 3:00 p.m., witha family/friends supper afterward at the First Baptist Church.

“That’s tomorrow. Pretty obvious I’m not wanted if they waited this long to let me know,” Haley muttered, then took a deep, shuddering breath, tossed the letter down on the counter and walked away. Her heart was racing, her thoughts tumbling from one scenario to another.

Why now—after all these years—would her mother even bother? Assuming it even was her mother who’d sent the impersonally typed and unsigned letter.

After her first year in Dallas, Haley had been the one to wave the white flag by sending her parents a quick note, telling them where she was and what she was doing. She stuffed it into an envelope and mailed it at the same time she mailed her weekly letter to Mack. He never answered, but for a while she’d thought her mother might. She waited for a reply for almost a month, then accepted the fact that no one cared and never wrote again. A year later she gave in to the inevitable and stopped writing to Mack, too.

A few minutes later Haley returned to the kitchen. The letter was still on the cabinet—like a bomb, waiting to detonate. If she went back, what wounds would she open? She’d spent years building a wall around her heart. She didn’t want to feel, didn’t want to hope—didn’t want to care—like that ever again.

“I’ll sleep on it,” she said aloud, then fixed herself some supper, did some chores, paid a few bills and finally did an hour of Pilates just because she was afraid to go to bed and close her eyes. She didn’t want to remember.

But maybe this would be the way to end the bitterness she still lived with. Maybe going back would be what she needed to move forward with her life, rather than the imposed lockdown in which she’d been existing.

It was after 10:00 p.m. when she finally went to bed, and, as usual, Mack Brolin came calling in her sleep.

Haley was standing beside an immense body of water. When she turned to get her bearings, she saw a large weeping willow, with low-hanging limbs that swept the ground. The place looked familiar, but it took her a few moments to realize it was where she and Mack used to go to make love.

As she watched, the branches parted and Mack stepped out, waving for her to come closer. She tried to move, but her legs wouldn’t work. He kept urging her—begging her to come—but she couldn’t seem to move. And then Mack’s image began to fade, which increased her anxiety even more. Just before he disappeared from sight, she heard him call out, “Go home.”

And then he was gone.

Haley woke up with a start, her heart pounding, her body bathed in sweat, even though the room was cool. She threw back the covers, then glanced at the clock as she sat up. Just before midnight. The dream had been weird, but it solidified her next move.

“What the hell could it hurt?” she asked herself, then got up, pausing in the hallway long enough to turn up the heat before heading for the kitchen.

Her steps were long, her stride purposeful—almost angry. She didn’t want this, but it was here just the same. She started the coffeepot, then headed to the extra bedroom, got a suitcase from the closet and returned to her room.

By the time the apartment was warm enough to be comfortable, she was already dressed and packed. She emailed her employer that she was going home for her father’s funeral, and to please reschedule her patients’ appointments or give them to someone else.

She filled her to-go cup with hot, black coffee, then made herself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, stuffed it into a Baggie and dropped it into her purse. If she didn’t dawdle, she just might get back to Stars Crossing in time to see her father buried. It wasn’t what she wanted to do—but there were lots of things in life that were unpleasant and still had to be done. This came under that heading.

Within minutes she was out the door and in the elevator. The night guard was asleep at the reception desk as she passed by. She didn’t bother to speak and just kept on walking. Thirty minutes later, she was on the crosstown expressway, pushing past the speed limit with a lump in her throat and a knot in her belly. She wasn’t sure if she was going back for the funeral or from a subconscious hope she would see Mack. Either way, the outcome was unlikely to be good.

Saturday dawned in Stars Crossing with a raw wind and a threat of rain. Not a good day for a funeral, although weather didn’t really mean much on such occasions. There was never a good day for a funeral.

Lena Shore stared at herself in the mirror, practicing expressions. Once she’d been a pretty girl, but disappointments and grief had taken that away. Now her expression was most often either dissatisfied or grim. The frown lines between her eyebrows and at the corners of her eyes had long ago become permanent and deep.

While she’d been bound to Judd Shore by their marriage and her lies, that part of her life was finally over, and she wasn’t going to pretend to herself that she was sad. Still, there was a certain cachet to being a widow, and she intended to use it to her best advantage. She smoothed her hands down the front of her dress, giving herself a mental pat on the back for giving in to impulse and buying this dress a couple of months ago. With Judd’s bad heart, this day had always been a possibility. She would never have admitted to herself that she was planning for his funeral, but when the opportunity had presented itself last week, she had done nothing to stop Judd’s fate.

She gave her hair a quick spray to hold the style in place. Although it was still thick and wavy, it was entirely gray now, and she’d chosen to pull it loosely away from her face and fasten it in a thick fall at the back of her neck. Sedate and somber was the mood of the day.

“That should do it,” she said, then put down the hair spray, gave herself one last look in the full-length mirror and headed for the living room to get her coat.

Across town, Mack Brolin was pacing the living room floor of his childhood home, wondering if he was setting himself up for another heartbreak. His father had been dead ten years—dying from anaphylactic shock after being stung by a swarm of bees only days after Mack got out of the hospital. Mack was still wearing the cast from his wreck and dealing with the pain of losing Haley when they’d had to bury his father. At the time, it had felt as if he would never be happy again. With the passing of time, he’d come to accept what was. And then last month his mother had passed away in her sleep, and with that, except for his two older sisters, his last link with his childhood was over.

After the funeral, and at his sisters’ request, he’d stayed on at the family home to ready the house for sale. He had been a successful building contractor for several years now, so the job had naturally fallen to him. Walls needed painting, carpet and appliances needed replacing, and as the days had passed, he’d found one thing after another that needed some TLC before the house would be fit to put on the market.

He’d called in a team from his company to do the rough work—replacing kitchen cabinets, countertops and the like—but he was doing the painting himself.

It was during the renovation that he’d found the letters from Haley in his mother’s things, tied in a bundle with a faded yellow ribbon—unopened.

Everything from shock to disbelief had gone through his mind as he tore into the first one with shaking hands. By the time he had finished, he was crying. The last one, postmarked almost eight years ago, had ended on a sad, disappointed note. At that point Mack was so angry he couldn’t think. All these years he’d been led to believe that she’d walked out—angry with him because Stewart had died and, after learning his athletic career was over, unwilling to tie herself to a loser.

After reading the letters, his first instinct had been to find her, but there was no way of knowing if she was still in Dallas, the city of the last postmark. Eight years was a long time. She could be anywhere—most likely married, with children, and happily living her life.

He felt sad and cheated, but didn’t know what his next move should be. He could hardly confront the perpetrators of the lie, because they were both dead. Then he thought of his sisters. They were due to come by the next day to see how the renovations were coming, so he confronted them with the letters. When he learned they’d been a part of the lies, he’d exploded.

“You knew about these? You knew she still loved me, and yet you let Mom and Dad feed me that pack of lies?”

Jenna, his oldest sister, shrugged. “It wasn’t our business to interfere.”

Carla, who was only two years older than Mack, ducked her head. “I wanted to tell, but Mom threatened us with murder.”

Mack was so furious he couldn’t think. “Some family! You’re no better than the Shores … lying because of that stupid feud.”

Carla started to cry. “I’m sorry, Mack. But you didn’t see what happened in the hospital the night of the wreck. We were all afraid to make the wrong move. It was hell in that waiting room, especially for Haley.”

“Damn it, Carla, let it go,” Jenna snapped. “It’s old business.”

Mack rounded on her and jammed a finger so close to her chest that she flinched, as if afraid he was going to hit her.

“Shut up or get out,” he said softly.

Jenna shuddered, then sat.

Mack turned to Carla. “What happened to Haley?”

“Our parents were sitting on opposite sides of the room.”

“I don’t give a damn about where our parents were,” Mack said. “Where was Haley? What happened to Haley?”

Carla looked down at the floor, hesitated, then met her brother’s gaze.

“Her family didn’t ask about her injuries, or sit with her or anything. She—”

“Was she hurt? Mom and Dad always said she walked away without a scratch.”

“She had stitches and bruises, but from what she told Chief Bullard when he came to talk to her, it sounded to me as if she saved your life. She regained consciousness in the wreck and tried to get you free but couldn’t, and then she couldn’t find her phone. She crawled out, saw her brother’s car on the other side of the road and went to see about him. He was unconscious, like you. She found his phone and called for help.”

“Damn it!” Mack muttered. “I am so pissed I can’t think straight. So, back to the hospital. What happened to Haley?”

“When they came to tell us you were okay and that you were going to live, we were so relieved, but then they told us you would never play sports again, and Mom and Dad lost it. They went off on Haley, blaming her, calling her names. Then another doctor came out and told the Shores that Stewart had died, and her parents flipped out. Her mother started screaming, and asking God why he’d taken Stewart and let Haley live. She kept saying she’d never wanted Haley, and that it was all her fault.”

“God in heaven,” Mack said, and shoved a hand through his hair in disbelief. “Poor Haley. I knew her family was screwy, but I had no idea—”

“Oh, that wasn’t the worst,” Carla said. “When her mother freaked out and started screaming, so did her father. He jumped on Haley and began beating her up … right in front of everybody. It took two deputies to pull him off her. They had to stitch her back up again, and I heard she had a broken nose and ribs, but that was just gossip. I don’t know that for sure.”

Mack stared at his sisters. Their faces were familiar, but he felt as if he was seeing them as they really were—and for the very first time.

“I’m sorry, Mack,” Carla said.

Mack’s gaze shifted to Jenna.

She glared back until she saw the tears on his cheeks. At that point she threw her hands over her face, as if she couldn’t bear the sight.

“What happened after that? Did you see her again? Did she ask about me?” Mack asked.

Jenna flinched, then looked at her sister warningly.

Carla shook her head. “He knows this much. He may as well know the rest.”

“What rest?” Mack snapped.

“Late that night she came to the waiting room outside intensive care and asked to see you. She looked terrible. Stitches everywhere … Her nose and lips were so swollen, her eyes were turning black. It was awful.”

“Ah, God … I didn’t remember that,” Mack muttered.

“That’s because Mom and Dad wouldn’t let her. Mom told her you didn’t want to see her and to go away, to go home.” Then Carla’s voice broke and she started to weep. “That’s when she said she didn’t have any home, and that the only place she’d ever belonged was with you.”

Mack felt as if he’d been sucker punched. For the longest time, he couldn’t think past that image.

And then Carla started to speak again.

“Mack, can you—”

He pointed to the door. “Get out. Both of you. I’ll stay and fix the house like I promised, but when I’m through, I don’t want to see either of you again.”

Carla wailed and started toward him, her arms outstretched. “You mean never? You never want to see us again?”

Mack shook his head, then stopped her before she launched herself into his arms. “You’re both strangers to me. I don’t know either one of you, and the little I do know, right now I don’t like.”

Jenna jumped up from her seat, grabbed her purse and hurried out the door. Carla was still pleading and asking forgiveness when Mack shut the door in her face.

And that had been two weeks ago. At the moment they were persona non grata around the family home, and they knew it.

But after the revelations of that day, Mack became obsessed with finding Haley. He even searched “Haley Shore Dallas Texas” on Google just to see what came up.

There were quite a few hits, but nowhere did he find an address or phone for her, and only one link came with a photo attached to a newspaper article, and it was his Haley—shown as the physical therapist helping rehabilitate a member of the famous Dallas Cowboys football team.

After that, he’d stared at the grainy photo for hours, trying to find the girl he’d known in the tall, Amazonian beauty with long dark hair and a sensuous smile, then debating with himself as to what he should do.

The debate was still ongoing when Judd Shore died and gave him the answer. He marched down to the police station and confronted the chief.

Chief Bullard was ten years older than he’d been when Haley Shore disappeared from Stars Crossing, but he never had gotten over witnessing the beating her own father had given her the night Stewart Shore died. And because of that, when Mack Brolin marched into the police station asking for help in getting an updated address for Haley, he ignored police procedure and obliged.

“You know I’m not supposed to be doing this,” Bullard said, as he handed over an address he’d obtained through the Texas Department of Public Safety.

Mack stuffed the address into his pocket before the chief changed his mind.

“You know I’m not gonna stalk her,” he said. “But she deserves to know her old man died, even if he was a bastard.”

Bullard nodded. “That thing between your families … what’s it about, anyway?”

Mack shrugged. “I have no idea. None of us kids ever knew. We were just raised to shun one another, which, as you remember, turned into a recipe for disaster.”

“That’s for sure,” Bullard said, then eyed Mack curiously. “So … you really never saw her again? I mean, after that night?”

Mack shook his head. “The last thing I remember about Haley Shore was that she was screaming as the car started to roll.”

Bullard nodded. “Well, if she shows up, I hope this doesn’t turn into another mess.”

“Maybe that’s what needs to happen,” Mack said. “The only person still living who knows what the hell it’s all about is her mother, Lena.” Then he patted his pocket. “Thanks again for the address,” he said, and headed out the door.

When Mack got home, and before he could change his mind, he sent her a letter with the information concerning her father’s funeral. He had no way of knowing whether or not Lena and Haley had stayed in touch, but after what he’d learned, he would have bet on not.

He was counting on the fact that if she got the letter, she would most likely believe it was from her mother. He hated the deception, but it was the only way he could think of to see her without just showing up on her doorstep. He’d know, when he saw her—if he saw her—if she belonged to someone else. And if she didn’t, he was going after her again, with just as much intent and passion as he had when they were kids. In Mack’s heart, Haley Shore had belonged to him first, and he wanted her back.

But that had been days ago. He had no idea whether she’d received the letter, or if she was going to come.

Then he glanced at the clock. It was twenty minutes after two. Seating at the small church would be limited, and while neither Judd nor Lena had large extended families, enough people would show up that he needed to get there soon to get a seat.

With a reluctant look back at the bedroom he had yet to paint, he went to get his coat and keys. It was a damned cold day for a funeral, but he supposed Judd Shore would no longer be concerned with the weather. The man was most surely in a place where grudges no longer existed.

Mack ducked his head against the cold wind as he stepped off the porch and headed for his car, and moments later he was on his way to the church.

Haley arrived in Stars Crossing just before noon, cold and exhausted from the twelve-hour drive. She’d been somewhat disconcerted by how little things had changed but at the same time glad to find there were signs of growth, like the new motel where she’d chosen to stay.

Even though her mother had undoubtedly sent the letter, Haley was certain she didn’t want to spend the night in the same house with her. And she certainly didn’t want to show up at mealtime. The house was probably filled with extended family, and there was no way she was going to face her mother on her mother’s home ground in the middle of a hostile army.

Once inside the motel room, she lay down on the bed, set the alarm for two-thirty and then closed her eyes. It seemed like she had just fallen asleep when the alarm went off.

“Oh, Lord,” she moaned, as her feet hit the floor.

With less than thirty minutes to dress and get to the church, she dug a makeup bag from her things, shook out the black dress she had packed, then went into the bathroom.

At first glance she looked like she felt—exhausted and sleep-deprived. However, she might have left Stars Crossing with her tail between her legs, but she wasn’t coming back the same way. She’d grown up and, in the process, grown tougher. If people were going to talk about her—which she fully expected—she intended to look her best, and that black dress and the high heels she’d brought to go with it weren’t going to hurt.