Promises of Home by Jeff Abbott Read Free Book Online

his own. I sensed a presence near my elbow: Gretchen. I heard the faint drone of Miss Ludey reading “Rumpelstiltskin” to the children. “And no one knows my name!” she said in a guttural voice tinged with evil. Then Gretchen broke through the stony tension.
    “Jordy, is there a problem?” Gretehen’s interference I didn’t need right now.
    “No, Gretchen, there’s not. Thank you, though, for asking.” I stepped around the counter and the Kinnards, glaring down at Trey. My hands closed around the handles of Trey’s wheelchair and I steered it toward the door. “Gretchen, would you please get Scott his card? And if you’d be kind enough to show him where the science-fiction books are—he’s a Frank Herbert fan.”
    “Trey?” Nola’s voice trembled, not sounding nearly as confident as before.
    “It’s all right, Nola. I’ll be back in a minute. I need to talk to Jordy in private.” I didn’t give him another chance to talk; I began pushing the chair rapidly toward the doors. For one awful moment I thought of shoving him through the glass, possibly one of the meanest fantasies I’d ever had, and I swallowed at the cruelty of it. Instead, of course, I opened the doors, left them propped open, and wheeled Trey outside. I shut the doors behind me. When I turned back, Trey had moved over to a stone bench in the shade of an ancient live oak.
    The cooling wind that hinted at a coming blue norther chilled me as I crossed my arms and sat on the bench. The clouded sky was the color of old pewter. The scent of approaching rain and thunder rode the air, smelling like pennies stuck too long in a pocket. I didn’t speak, waiting for two elderly ladies to navigate their careworn way past us, smiling a greeting, and go into the library.
    I turned to Trey. He stared into my face and lit a cigarette,shielding the flame from the November breeze. He didn’t look like his lungs could inhale half a puff.
    “I don’t suppose you’d believe me if I told you it was good to see you, Plum,” he said softly.
    “Don’t you call me that,” I snapped. My grandparents had nicknamed me Plum when I was young, and Sister still reverted to it when she was feeling particularly tender toward me. Trey’d used it on me when he’d married Sister, first to tease me, but then out of real affection. Or so I had thought. A sour taste was in my mouth and I wanted to spit.
    “Sorry. I guess I’m more glad to see you than you are to see me.” He blew smoke out, away from me. I watched it dissipate.
    “Why are you back, Trey? I thought you were never going to come back to Mirabeau.”
    “God, Jordy, ain’t it obvious?” He gestured at his legs, at the cold chrome of the chair. “I got hurt. Bull messed me up good. I can’t ride no more. Can’t walk.”
    I knew I should commiserate with him. I knew it, but I couldn’t. He’d done his share of hurting the Poteets and I wasn’t in a forgiving frame of mind.
    “Are you moving back? With those two?” I pointed to the library. Through the glass I could see Nola Kinnard anxiously watching us. She saw me see her and she moved away. “Who are they supposed to be, Trey? Sister and Mark’s stunt doubles? Or just another passing fancy?”
    “I know you’re mad at me. Why don’t you just punch me out and be done with it, Jordy?” Trey said through gritted teeth.
    “I’m not going to hit you.” I didn’t eliminate shoving the chair into traffic, though. I rested my face in my hands, my fingers sore from clenching. I’d never felt such acrid, burning anger. I wanted to slap the cigarette out of his mouth. God, this couldn’t be happening. I looked up at him; he looked miserable. “I take it you have not seen your ex-wife and son?”
    “We only struck town yesterday morning.”
    “So Arlene doesn’t even know you’re here?” My voice rose.
    “No, she don’t. I thought I’d call her later today—”
    “Call her? You’ll do no such thing!” I grabbed the chair and