The Lucky One(73)

In the car, she continued to mull over her conversation with Nana. Yesterday morning, things had seemed so much simpler, but now she couldn’t shake the questions going through her mind. Not only about Keith, but about Logan. If it was true that Logan and Keith had met before, why hadn’t Logan said anything? And what had Keith been looking for in Logan’s house? As a sheriff, Keith had access to all sorts of personal information, so it couldn’t be something along those lines. What was it, then? For the life of her, she couldn’t figure it out.

And Keith . . .

What if Nana and Logan were right? And assuming they were right—because after giving the matter some thought, she felt instinctively that it was all true—how could she have not seen it?

It was hard to admit that she could have misjudged him. She’d been dealing with the man for over ten years now, and though she’d never regarded him as a beacon of goodness, the idea of him sabotaging her personal life was something she’d never considered. Who would do something like that? And why? The way Nana described it—that he thought of her as a toy he didn’t want to share—had a ring of truth that made her neck tense as she drove.

What surprised her most was that in this small town, where secrets were nearly impossible to keep, she’d never even suspected it. It made her wonder about her friends and neighbors, but mostly it made her wonder about the men who’d asked her out in the first place. Why wouldn’t they simply have told Keith to mind his own business?

Because, she reminded herself, he was a Clayton. And those men didn’t argue for the same reason she didn’t press Keith when it came to Ben. Sometimes it was easier just to get along.

She really hated that family.

Of course, she was getting ahead of herself here. Just because Logan and Nana suspected that Keith was up to something didn’t necessarily make it true, she reminded herself. Which was why she was making this trip.

She took a left at the major intersection, heading toward an older neighborhood, one dominated by Craftsman-style homes and large, spacious porches. The streets were lined with massive trees, most at least a hundred years old, and she remembered that as a kid, it had always been her favorite neighborhood. It was a tradition among the families there to lavishly decorate the exterior of the homes on holidays, giving the place a picturesque, cheery feel.

His house was in the middle of the street, and she could just make out his car parked beneath the carport. Another car was parked behind it, and though it meant he had company, she didn’t feel like coming back later. After pulling to a stop in front of the house, she put up the hood on her raincoat and stepped out into the storm.

She splashed through shallow puddles that had accumulated on the walkway and climbed the steps to the porch. Through the windows, she could see a lamp blazing in the corner of the living room; a television nearby was broadcasting the latest race from NASCAR. The visitor must have insisted on it; there wasn’t a chance that the owner of the house had tuned it in. The man hated NASCAR, she knew.

She rang the doorbell and took a small step back. When his face appeared in the doorway, it took only an instant for him to recognize her. In his expression, she saw a mixture of surprise and curiosity, along with a trace of something else she hadn’t expected: fear.

His gaze traveled quickly up the road in both directions before coming to rest on her.

“Beth,” he said. “What are you doing here?”

“Hi, Adam.” She smiled. “I was wondering if you had just a couple of minutes. I’d really like to talk to you.”

“I’ve got company,” he said in a low voice. “It’s not a good time.”

As if on cue, she heard a woman’s voice call out from somewhere behind him, “Who is it?”

“Please?” Beth said.

He seemed to be calculating whether or not to close the door in her face before he sighed. “A friend,” he called out. He turned. “Give me a minute, okay?”

A woman appeared over his shoulder, holding a beer and wearing jeans and a T-shirt that were a little too snug. Beth recognized her as a secretary in Adam’s office. Noelle, or something like that.

“What does she want?” Noelle asked. It was obvious by her tone that the recognition was reciprocal.

“I don’t know,” Adam said. “She just dropped by, okay?”

“But I want to see the race,” she pouted, draping an arm possessively around his waist.

“I know,” he said. “I won’t be long.” He hesitated when he saw Noelle’s expression. “I promise,” he reassured her.

Beth wondered whether the whine she’d noticed in his tone had always been there, and if so, why she hadn’t noticed it before. Either he’d tried to hide it or she’d been willing to ignore it. She suspected the latter, and the thought left her feeling a bit deflated.

Adam stepped outside and closed the door behind him. As he faced her, she couldn’t tell whether he was frightened or angry. Or both.

“What is so important?” he asked. He sounded like an adolescent.

“Nothing important,” she countered. “I just came by to ask you a question.”

“About what?”

Beth willed him to look at her. “I want to know the reason you never called after our dinner date.”

“What?” He shifted from one foot to the other, reminding her of a skittish horse. “You’ve got to be kidding.”