LET ME CALL YOU SWEETHEART Page 2

  "Who's this?" Speculation was ripe in her voice as her gaze cut between them.

  "Faith, this is Zach Crandall. Faith is Julie's daughter."

  Speculation deepened into a matured awareness as the girl met his stare. Then Faith smiled again. "So, you're the one."

  "That depends," he said, extending his hand and one of his devastating grins. Faith buckled beneath its charm, just as Bess had at her age. And still did. "The one, what?"

  Pressing his hand tightly between both of hers, Faith teased, "Sweetheart's bad boy."

  "Faith!"

  But Zach's grin widened. "Guilty."

  "I never thought I'd have the chance to meet you." Then, realizing she still held his hand, the teenager blushed and released it.

  "Well, I'll be around for a while, so we can get to know each other better. I always liked your mother. She was Sweetheart's bad girl."

  "Zach!"

  Faith giggled, looking proud as if being bad was the ultimate compliment.

  "How is your mom?"

  "She's in Mexico on her honeymoon." She sobered. "My dad died a couple of years ago. Diabetes."

  "I'm sorry."

  Faith warmed to the sincerity of his tone. "Thanks. Dave's an all right guy, though. He can keep up with Mom, so that's something."

  "So I get to spend the summer trying to keep up with my favorite niece." Bess stepped over to slip her arms about the girl's shoulders. A protective move, revealing the depth of love between the two. And that Zach was perceived as a threat.

  "I'm your only niece," Faith chided, but she returned the hug.

  The sight did funny things to Zach's insides.

  "So," he said to Faith, "are you going to let me take your aunt to the parade and picnic tomorrow?"

  Wide eyes flashed up to meet Bess's equally wide eyes. Then the girl grinned. "Sure!"

  Zach's smile thinned as he looked to Bess. "Unless she'd prefer not to be seen with the town bad boy."

  Bess received the challenge like a slap, a punishment for all the times it had been true. This wasn't going to be one of them.

  "What time?"

  He blinked. "What?"

  "What time will you pick me up?"

  His arrogant manner shifted, softening with a host of conflicting emotions. "Folks still line the streets by nine?"

  Bess nodded, her courage fading.

  "Nine, then."

  Again, she nodded, too shaken to speak.

  "It was nice meeting you, Faith."

  "You, too," the teen murmured.

  Then with a flick of his wrist, he snapped open his dark glasses, slipping them on to shield any expression from his eyes. Only then did he nod to Bess. She didn't exhale until the door closed behind him.

  "Wow!" Faith sighed for her. "What a babe!"

  "Faith Marie, he's old enough to be— He's an old friend, that's all."

  "A totally babe-alicious old friend. And he's taking you out."

  That gleeful teenage squeal brought home the consequences of what she'd done. She and Zach, on display before the entire town. The rumors. The whispering. A chill rattled through her with the force of her mother's reproach. A sacrilege in her mother's church.

  "So what's the story?"

  "Story?" Bess echoed with feigned innocence. She bent down to tear into the Shakespeare, hoping to avoid the issue. But Faith was like a terrier with a pull toy in her teeth. She wasn't about to let go. She stooped to help gather the books.

  "Between you and Zach."

  "There's nothing between us. Old friends from high school, that's all."

  "Yeah, and I didn't step in on a scene hot enough to melt sand into glass!"

  Books stacked all the way to her nose, Bess stood and balanced the precarious pile as she walked to the section she'd cleared for the new arrivals. "Old friends," she insisted. "We haven't seen each other for—since graduation. You know, back when the dinosaurs roamed the earth."

  "You're not that old, Aunt B."

  "Well, thank you very much." But most of the time, she did feel ancient, positively Jurassic. Until today. Today she felt like a nervous kid again.

  The girl came up to deposit her armful. Her gaze was patient. And persistent. "You were saying? About you and Zach?"

  "I tutored him in geometry and English composition."

  "A private tutor, huh? Cool!"

  No, it had been hot. Very hot. Those private sessions that had evolved into a whole other kind of learning. She began shelving the books with brisk efficiency. "Anyway, he left town right before graduation, and I never heard from him again."

  Faith plopped down on the coastered stool and leaned elbows on her knees. Empathetic confidentiality shaped her expression as she said, girlfriend to girlfriend, "And he broke your heart."

  Bess gave her a quick glance, willing for the sake of harmony to admit, "Something like that. He was the only boy— Let's just say he was a babe back then, too."

  Faith nodded, happy to share this common ground with her favorite aunt, who seemed suddenly all the more appealing because of her secret past. "Bad boy with reputation and squeaky-clean girl from the right side of the tracks."

  Bess shook her head. "You make it sound like a James Dean movie."

  "Who?"

  "Never mind." Positively Jurassic.

  "Were you in love with him?"

  "I was seventeen."

  "Were you?"

  "Yes," she snapped, then apologized with a glance. "But that was a long time ago. We were just children."

  "And now you're going out with him. That is so cool."

  "We're not—"

  But Faith just grinned at her.

  She gave up. What did it hurt if the girl saw her as less than a fossil because a handsome man paid her a little attention? It would seem incredibly romantic, seen through the eyes of a dreamy teenager. Love lost then returned. The stuff of dreams. Her dreams.

  Foolish dreams, she reminded herself as she straightened and dusted off her hands. Zach hadn't come back to make her fairy-tale ending come true. The longer he stayed in Sweetheart, the greater the chance that he would find out exactly what part she played in all his family's pain. So much for the hope of a happily-ever-after.

  It was crazy to encourage Zach Crandall.

  More than that, it was dangerous.

  * * *

  Chapter 2

  « ^ »

  No, nothing ever changed in Sweetheart.

  Sitting at the counter in Sophie's Diner, Zach felt the barbed stares of its disapproving citizens piercing his back. Not so easy to ignore were the haunted shadows lingering in his sister's eyes. That was something he'd hoped had changed.

  Melody delivered his hot roast beef sandwich with a piece of advice. "You don't have to come in here and pay for supper. I get off in an hour. I could make you something at home." Her gaze scanned the booths and their scowling patrons nervously.

  "Afraid I'll be bad for business?"

  At his arid drawl, Melody melted into anxious apology. "I didn't mean that. Of course you're welcome to eat here. I just thought maybe you'd feel more comfortable—"

  He smirked at her meaning. "They won't give me indigestion, but it looks like I've soured their meals."

  "I'm sorry, Zach."

  "What are you sorry for? Don't keep apologizing for them, Mel. It's not your fault."

  His harsh correction only made matters worse. "I'm s—" She bit back her words, tears brightening her pale eyes. As she turned away from the counter, Zach reached across it to cuff her arm. He felt apprehension stiffen her body. Very gently he guided her back toward him. The blank daze of panic in her eyes made him think of their mother, the way she'd cringe away from the flat of his father's hand. He let Melody go, and she shrank back, rubbing at her arm even though he knew he hadn't hurt her. Not physically.

  "Mel, I'll eat at home if it would make you more comfortable."

  Because she'd rather drag herself over broken glass than let her brother believe she thoug
ht more of the town's opinions than his feelings, she gathered the necessary starch to claim, "Don't be silly, Zach. I like having you here. And they're just going to have to get used to it." She cupped the side of his face with her palm. He pressed into it like the affection-hungry boy he'd once been, the tense line of his jaw relaxing slightly. His stare was direct and somber.

  "I love you, Mel. You know that, don't you? I would never do anything to hurt you."

  Her fingertips traced down to his square chin as she smiled. "I know. Now eat your supper while I go see if anyone needs coffee."

  For a minute he concentrated on his plate of food, but after a half dozen forkfuls under the watchful eyes of Sophie's customers, he lost his appetite. Their hatred and suspicion battered him. Nothing new. Wary glances always followed him, seeking to fix blame for any wrong done in Sweetheart. Like father, like son. He swallowed his last mouthful. It went down like sawdust. He rinsed it with coffee but the bitterness remained.

  It was hell coming back. He'd worked hard to make a life for himself away from the soul-scarring memories of his youth. He'd crafted a career to be proud of, commanding respect, even awe. But one day back in Sweetheart stripped him bare, back to a sullen, angry boy crumpling under the reputation his father had carved out before him. He hadn't fought against it back then. His rebellious spirit sneered in the face of the town's censure. If he'd stayed even another year, all their predictions would have come true. He'd tried to tell Bess that. She hadn't understood. If she did, she was too scared to do anything about it. She'd let him go.

  Even after seventeen years, the pain of that never dulled. She was the one person in his bleak past worth remembering, outside his mother, sister and brothers. And in the end, she'd let him down, too. In the end, her faith hadn't been strong enough to break from the small-town prejudices that marked him as no good.

  He'd proved them wrong. To spite them, at first. Then because of them. He'd worked long and hard to shatter the stereotype of bad seed. He didn't mind the "bad" part. Being a badass had its benefits in his chosen line of work. But he was as far from his father's footsteps as he could get. Yet here, in Sweetheart, that dark shadow surrounded him.

  He smiled tightly to himself when he thought of the surprise to come, when the good folks of Sweetheart would discover what had brought him back. It was more than the desire to spend some time with Melody and to be on hand when his mother came home. It was to shove his success in their faces and rub it around. A petty revenge, he knew, when he wasn't even sure it was worth the trouble to change their narrow minds. He'd moved beyond them. What did their opinions matter?

  But the instant his sister stepped before him with her tired smile and her spiritless manner, he knew he couldn't walk away, dismissing the past as unimportant. Not until he'd freed those he loved from its stigma.

  Then there was the other, more private matter.

  "Tell me about Bess."

  Melody gave a nervous start at his turn of topic. "What about her?"

  "I hear her mother died."

  "Yes. Several years ago."

  "How'd she handle it?"

  "Like she handles everything. Competently. With no complaints. She and I have gotten to be pretty good friends lately."

  Zach liked that. Melody had few friends. Though meek and self-effacing, she was still a Crandall, and the weight of that bore down heavier on her than upon her brothers, because she'd decided to stay behind when they'd all scattered and never looked back. He'd never given much thought to how hard it must have been on her, staying here to face the censure, the rumors, the hatred.

  She and Bess were friends. Bess would be accepting when none of the others would, seeing the goodness, the sweetness in his sister, and Bess would nurture it. The way she had tried to in him.

  "Is she seeing anyone?" He posed that as casually as he could, but Melody saw right through his indifferent act.

  "No. No one since you."

  A heavy sense of obligation came with that knowledge. But a part of him whooped in delight. Then cynicism set in. No one since him. Out of choice or because her association with him left her unacceptable? His hand clenched to a fist around his fork. Bess Carrey was old business and none of his, not anymore. Still, he couldn't keep himself from asking, "Was it bad for her, after I left?"

  "If you cared so much, you should have written to her." But when his stare never flickered, she sighed in resignation. "She went away for a while. Her mother sent her to stay with her sister until after the trial. When she came back, it was like the life had been sucked out of her. She went to work in her mother's bookstore and was like a ghost up until the time her mother died."

  "And now?"

  "She smiles. She volunteers for town committees. But she still sticks to that store and that house. Having her niece visit seems to have perked her up."

  "I met her. Spunky kid."

  Melody was silent for a moment. Then she spoke her mind in a burst of bravery. "What are you going to do about Bess, Zach?"

  "Do?" Her question took him by surprise, and he scrambled to cover his vulnerability. "I'm not going to do anything. She made her feelings pretty clear when I left."

  His sister's hands covered his as she leaned toward him in earnest. "She loved you, Zach. You can't blame her for not having the courage to go against everything she'd ever been taught."

  Yes, he could. And he still did.

  He drew his hands away.

  "Hi, Mr. Crandall."

  The cheery feminine voice caught him off guard. A friendly greeting within these city limits was something unexpected. He swiveled on his stool to see Faith and several of her teenage cohorts heading for a corner booth. She straggled behind and came over, unaware of how the others gawked in shock.

  "How's the hot roast beef?" She glanced at his half-eaten portion.

  "Not bad. You and your friends here for supper?"

  "Naw, just for some sodas and gossip."

  Guessing what their main topic would be, he smiled grimly. "You'd better go join them."

  "I'll see you tomorrow?" Her hopeful gaze stirred that unsettling flip-flop again.

  "Sure."

  She touched his sleeve shyly and bolted to the rear of the diner where her friends waited to surround her with hurried whispers of warning. Her gaze flashed over to him in alarm, then doubt, as she let herself be pulled down into one of the molded bench seats. He tugged out his wallet, mood souring. She wouldn't be so quick to greet him next time they met. Not after her friends regaled her with stories of his sordid past.

  He was surprised that that could still hurt him.

  "I gotta go, Mel. I'll see you at home."

  "Zach?"

  He glanced up to catch her poignant expression.

  "It's good to have you home."

  He had nothing to say to that.

  * * *

  "I'm out here, honey," Bess called when she heard the back door slam shut. She waited, rocking the ancient metal glider in a steady rhythm, as the girl wound her way through the house to join her on the enclosed front porch. "Have fun?"

  Faith frowned as she plopped down on the cushioned seat beside her. "I heard some things about Zach Crandall."

  Bess's breath seized up in a painful spasm. So it started already. "Folks have always had plenty to say about Zach and the rest of his family."

  "Is it true? I mean, he seemed so nice to me." Anxious eyes pleaded for reassurance.

  "What did you hear?"

  "That his mother is in prison for killing Zach's father to cover up the fact that Zach actually did it himself."

  Whew! They hadn't held anything back. Bess arranged her hands atop the crocheted pillow resting in her lap. Her fingers worked the fringed edges restlessly. How much should she tell this impressionable child? The whole truth? The truth she'd never spoken aloud to anyone? Coward that she was, she started with the obvious.

  The Crandalls were a small town's source of steady gossip. Sam Crandall drank, cheated, beat on his wife
and terrorized his children. All four boys grew to be dangerous toughs, and the one girl, a shrinking shadow. No one was surprised when Sam Crandall was killed; the shocker was that his gentle wife Mary, one of the town's finest, whom they'd always felt married far beneath her, confessed to it. Rumors circled that the eldest Crandall boy, Zach, had done the deed. He and his father had come to blows earlier that same evening and Zach left town without a word to anyone that same night. The townspeople believed that Mary confessed to cover for his crime, knowing the law would go easier on a woman who'd suffered long physical and emotional abuse than they would on a hot-tempered boy already sporting a criminal record. But no one, not lawyers, not friends, could shake Mary Crandall from her story, and she went quietly, almost contentedly, to jail.

  That was the official version spread by the town's gossips.

  "Did he kill his father?" Faith's voice trembled slightly.

  Bess squeezed her hand but didn't look at her. "No."

  Firmly spoken without a trace of doubt. "He had plenty of reason to, but he didn't."

  "How can you be so sure?"

  "I—I just am." It was a cop-out, and Bess felt terrible hiding behind it. But she'd been hiding the truth for so long, she didn't know when or how to tell it.

  Zach Crandall had been with her at the time of his father's killing. He'd caught up to her on her walk home from the bookstore. He'd frightened her. It was more than the sight of his blackened eye, skinned knuckles and swollen jaw. It was the fierce gleam of determination in his stare. He had all his worldly possessions lashed down on his bike. He was on his way out of Sweetheart. And he wanted her to go with him.

  She'd said no. He asked why, and she couldn't give a good explanation. He didn't try to talk her into it. He just left. If she'd known she wouldn't see him for another seventeen years, maybe she wouldn't have let him go.

  She didn't speak the truth because she was afraid to lose the trust and affection of this lovely girl who meant everything to her.

  "After all these years, why do they still hate him so?" Faith asked.

  "Old habits die hard, Faith. Sam Crandall cast a dark shadow over all his boys." How well she knew it. It was easier to go along than to make the effort to change. She felt no pride in bowing to that weakness, herself. She patted the girl's knee. "You'd better get up to bed. It's going to be a long day tomorrow."