The First Wife by Erica Spindler Read Free Book Online Page A

up, barked once and
     made a beeline for the garage.
    She followed him and saw why. Old Henry on the far side of the garage, fiddling with
     a mower.
    “Hi, Henry!” she called.
    He didn’t hear her, so she headed over. He caught sight of her then, took off his
     hat and smiled broadly. Between his original injuries and surgical scars, the smile
     stretched Joker-like across his face. “Hello there, Ms. True. Pretty day for a walk.”
    The first time he’d called her Logan’s first wife’s name, she’d been hurt. It had
     ceased to bother her, much anyway. Henry, she’d realized, was caught somewhere between
     the past and the present. “It is, but I thought I’d go for a drive today instead.”
    “A drive?” His bushy eyebrows lowered. “What for?”
    “I thought it was time to learn my way around.” He didn’t look convinced it was a
     good idea and she patted his arm. “You and Tony have a good day.”
    She started to turn away. He stopped her, his grip on her arm surprisingly firm. “You’ll
     come back, won’t you?”
    “Of course I will,” she said, surprised. “Why would you think I wouldn’t?”
    “Sometimes they don’t.”
    “Who didn’t come back, Henry?”
    He dropped his hand and returned to his tinkering with the mower.
    “Henry?” She touched his sleeve. “Are you talking about True?”
    He lifted his dark eyes, the pain in them almost palpable. “Betsy didn’t. He came
     back without her.”
    “Who came back without her?”
    “I don’t want to talk about him.” His eyes filled with tears. “Don’t make me.”
    “It’s okay.” She patted his hand, realizing how upset he was. “I won’t. I’ll see you
     later, Henry.”
    He didn’t respond, just returned to his work. She walked away, making a mental note
     to ask Logan who Betsy was. Whoever she was, it was obvious that Henry had cared very
     much for her.
    Logan had left her the keys to a battered Range Rover. She climbed in and started
     it up, suddenly anxious to get off the farm. As she rolled past the barn, she caught
     sight of Paul and August in what looked like a heated discussion. They stopped when
     they saw her and stared. She smiled and waved, feeling suddenly as light and free
     as a feather on the breeze.
    She drove with no particular destination in mind. Soaking in the landscape. Country.
     Farms, grand and modest; a smattering of businesses, not assembled in clusters, save
     for the village itself, but simply, suddenly there . A veterinary clinic. A beauty parlor called Snipz and Stylz. Several plant nurseries
     and a feed store. And churches. Lots of small brick or clapboard structures, some
     adorned with crosses, others with simple signs.
    She imagined come spring it would be beautiful, lush and green. But now, at the height
     of winter, it all came off as gray and slightly dilapidated.
    The sound of a siren broke her reverie. Bailey glanced in the rearview mirror and
     saw cherry lights. She’d been going the speed limit, maybe a mile or two above, surely
     not enough to get pulled over. An image of Hollywood’s version of a small-town Southern
     cop filled her head—Buford T. Something-or-other.
    She pulled onto a gravel drive and drew to a stop.
    A moment later, the lawman was at her window. “License, registration, proof of insurance.”
    She handed him the items. “Was I speeding, Officer?”
    Instead of answering, he said, “You visiting, Miz Browne?”
    “Pardon?”
    “Nebraska license.”
    “I just moved here.” He didn’t respond and she added, “It’s Abbott now.”
    “The new Mrs. Logan Abbott.”
    Her hackles rose at his tone. “Is there a new one every week?”
    It was his turn to look confused. “Ma’am?”
    “The way you said the ‘new’ Mrs. Abbott suggested I might be the latest in a long
     and esteemed line.”
    He smiled slightly. “Esteemed, ma’am. Certainly.”
    Bad blood existed between Logan and this man, she realized. And whatever it was, it
     ran deep.