Where the Blame Lies(68)

Josie sat at the edge of the stream and took off her shoes, dipping her feet in the water, feeling it glide over her skin like wet silk. Tears continued to roll down her cheeks as she sat in the cleansing aftermath of having released a portion of her pent-up anguish, her soft cries mixing with the sound of the flowing water. The pain of her memories engulfed her, not a tsunami anymore, but the gentle lapping of waves, and she let it hurt, bringing her legs up and wrapping her arms around them, placing her head on her knees as she wept. It was a familiar position, one she’d spent many hours in once, a hand shackled behind her back.

She sensed Zach’s approach before she heard him and was unsurprised at the soft crunch of sand behind her. He sat down next to her on the shore and quietly took her in his arms. Josie turned to him, accepting his comfort, his solidity, the tender care with which he held her. After exploring her traumatic memories, to be touched in tenderness by a man was exactly what her heart needed, and she couldn’t have known until he arrived. They sat on the riverbank that way for a long time, Josie’s tears drying as Zach continued to stroke her hair and whisper words of comfort, his arms wrapped tightly around her as though he’d never let go.

**********

The savory scent of pasta sauce filled the air, the quiet strains of country music drifting from the radio on the kitchen counter. Zach hadn’t seen a handheld radio in a long time and rarely listened to country music, but when in Rome . . . And he couldn’t deny that the emotional crooning of the man with the twang in his voice seemed not only to fit the setting of the rustic cabin in the Tennessee mountains, but of Josie’s quiet, introspective mood.

He thought back to earlier that day when he’d held her on the riverbank as she’d cried, and his heart constricted. Still, as much as Josie’s display of utter sadness had pulled at his heartstrings, there had been a clarity in her eyes when she’d leaned back and allowed him to wipe away her tears. And there was a new intimacy between them that neither one was addressing. He felt it, though, the delicate nature of their changing relationship, the attraction between them that neither seemed to know how to handle, his own resistance to his attraction to her.

Forget the fact that he could lose his job for getting involved with her, Zach knew that the humming electricity that vibrated inside of him in response to her was anything but simple when it came to desiring a woman who’d been through what Josie had experienced.

It was tricky as hell. He wanted her. And what it meant was that he was completely fucked.

“Smells delicious.”

Zach turned as Josie entered the kitchen behind him. “I hope you’re hungry. I think I made enough to feed an army.” He waved his hand over the stovetop where a bubbling pot of spaghetti cooked along with the sauce. A loaf of garlic bread was in the oven and Zach had mixed up a Caesar salad. Whomever had stocked the cabin with food had thankfully done it with easy-to-make meals. Zach could claim a few talents, but cooking was not one of them.

Josie smiled, a small one, but real, he thought. Her eyes were slightly red-rimmed from her earlier tears, but despite that, she looked bright and fresh, straight from the shower in a pair of leggings and a long sweatshirt, her hair loose around her face. Jesus, she was beautiful. “Actually,” she said, coming up behind him. “I’m starving.”

“Good,” he said, his voice husky as she leaned around him, peeking at what was on the stove.

“What can I do to help?”

“You can put napkins and silverware on the table if you want,” Zach said. “This is done. Just needs to be dished up.” Zach drained the pasta and went about dishing up two plates as Josie put out napkins, silverware, and poured them both glasses of water. Zach wished to God there was alcohol in the house. He could use a beer or two like nobody’s business. But there wasn’t any, and he wasn’t going to leave Josie to run into town for alcohol.

They sat down and dished up salad and were both quiet as they started eating. “This is great,” Josie said around a bite of pasta. “I didn’t ask how your interview went this morning.”

Zach finished chewing. “Weird.” He told her about Deanna’s mother, how Deanna had been mixed up with drugs, disappeared, but never been reported missing.

Josie’s eyes widened. “How does that even happen? No one reported her just . . . gone?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know how parents just write their child off like that, but that’s what happened. The trouble is, there’s no way to know if her disappearance had to do with her drug habit, or if something more nefarious happened to her.”

She shook her head, her expression sad. “So not a big break in the case.”

“No, but I convinced her mother to fill out a missing person report. The police here will start looking into it.”

She nodded, and they both ate in silence for another moment. Zach regarded her pensive expression. “How are you, Josie?”

She tilted her head, watching her fork as she spun spaghetti around it, but didn’t bring it to her mouth. “I’m good. Thank you”—she glanced at him briefly—“for earlier. I . . . haven’t been held in a long time. I didn’t know how much I needed it.” Her cheeks flushed but she met his eyes, her chest rising and falling as she took in a deep breath.

His heart twisted. “I’m glad it helped,” he said. “Do you want to talk about it?”