The First Wife (9 page)

The problem was, love didn’t have to make sense. It just was. She should know.

“Do you have to go to the city today?” she asked.

“Unfortunately. And it will be a late one. A city council meeting.”

“Oh.”

“I should get cleaned up.”

“How about some breakfast?”

“Sounds good. I’ll shower, then eat. Will you join me?”

She said she would, then he stopped in the doorway and looked back at her. “You never
said what you were doing in the study.”

She stared at him a moment, then shook her head. “Mindless Internet surfing.”

“Gotcha.” He smiled. “Be back down in ten minutes.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Logan left for the city, and Bailey decided to pay Henry a visit. She hated the thought
of him out there all alone, no one to talk to but Tony. Besides, she enjoyed his company.

Bailey navigated her SUV down the narrow, twisting drive to Henry’s cabin. The pine
trees lining the drive were so tall and densely packed, little sun seeped through.

She had visited Henry once before, though that time she had walked, Tony leading the
way. She hoped that this time, as she had then, she would find him on his porch, his
ancient-looking chair creaking as he rocked.

No such luck, Bailey saw as she drew to a stop in front of the cabin. She climbed
out, but before she had taken two steps toward the porch Tony began to bark. By the
time she reached the door, he was pawing at it, the sound of his barks turning high-pitched
and frantic.

She’d never heard him sound like that before and frowned. “Henry!” she called, rapping
on the door. “It’s Bailey.”

When he didn’t answer, she peered inside. The front room was tidy. Her gaze landed
on the rug. It looked like Tony’d had an accident in the house.

That didn’t make sense. He was completely housebroken. As long as she let him out
when he—

He hadn’t been let out.

“Henry!” she called again. “It’s Bailey!” She tried the door. It opened and Tony darted
past her. She watched as he reached the grass and lifted a leg.

A sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, she stepped inside. It stank of dog urine
and feces. She brought her hand to her nose and made her way deeper into the cabin.

This wasn’t right. The smell. The quiet. She should go for help. Call someone—

Tony barreled back inside and past her. He stopped at a doorway and looked back as
if to say, “What are you waiting for?,” then darted through.

She followed. The cabin’s single bedroom. Henry on the bed. Unmoving.

A cry on her lips, she rushed across the room. “Henry! It’s me, Bailey! Wake up!”

He didn’t respond and Tony leaped onto the bed, then began licking his face.

Henry moaned.

Alive. Thank God.

Bailey shooed Tony away. Henry’s scarred face was flushed. She laid a hand on his
forehead, found him burning up with fever. She wondered how long he had been ill,
it could have been days now.

His eyes opened. They were glassy with fever.

“True,” he said.

“No, it’s Bailey.” He caught her hand. His skin was dry and hot. “True,” he said again.
“I was so afraid they had—”

He moaned again, his eyes closing and his grip going limp.

He needed water, she thought. And a fever reducer. But when she tried to go, he clutched
her hand again. “Don’t go.”

Tears stung her eyes. Her mother had said almost the same thing to her the day she
died.

“I won’t, I promise. I’ll be right back.” His grip didn’t ease. “I promise, Henry.
I’m just going to get you some water.”

And then he let go. His eyes closed and she saw the tension slip out of him. For one
terrifying moment, she thought he had died. Just slipped away, the way her mother
had.

No, she realized as she saw his chest rise and fall.

She hurried for the water. Then rifled through the bathroom for some Advil. She found
some, said a silent prayer and returned to the old man’s side.

She got the fever reducer and some water down him, then went for a cool, damp cloth.

Minutes passed as she alternated between offering him sips of water and replacing
the cloths. He moaned and stirred. Occasionally he flailed, batting at imaginary demons.
Each time, she would speak quietly and softly and he would again fall into a fitful
sleep.

Finally, his skin cooled and he slipped into what appeared to be a peaceful sleep,
Tony curled up beside him.

When she was certain she could leave his side, Bailey cleaned up Tony’s messes, scrubbing
the floor and rug and depositing the refuse in the outside bin, then went back to
sit by the bed.

A photo there on the nightstand caught her eye. Logan’s mother, she realized. Young
and lovely, standing beside a horse, smiling at the camera. Bailey picked it up, squinting
at the grainy image. Not at the camera. At Henry. Totally relaxed and happy.

She replaced the photo, then crossed to the dresser, to a couple more. Another of
Elisabeth Abbott, with babies in her arms. Two babies. Another, of Logan and another
boy. Logan looked to be ten or so, the other boy half that. They stood side by side,
shirtless, broad smiles on their faces.

She studied the photograph. The other boy looked eerily similar to Logan. In fact,
their faces were near replicas of each other’s. They could be twins save for the fact
Logan was clearly older.

Her legs went weak. A brother? Logan had a brother he hadn’t told her about? They
looked so similar, it had to be.

How could he not have told her about a brother? It took her breath away.

What else hadn’t he told her?

She shifted her attention to the next photo. Logan, Raine and the other boy. Raine,
also smiling. Looking carefree and truly happy, Bailey thought. They all did.

That hurt, too. She wondered what had happened to steal their happiness.

Bailey ventured out of the bedroom. As she had suspected she would, she found more
photographs. The kind missing from the big house. Of children growing up. Events in
their lives.

Of a family, proudly displayed.

Henry thought of Logan’s family as his own, she realized. Tears pricked her eyes and
she moved on. Among the shots of the Abbott kids were several of another girl. In
first communion white; atop a horse with a big, blue ribbon affixed to its bridle;
in a high school graduation cap and gown. She looked familiar, Bailey thought, though
she didn’t know from where.

The last photograph caused her to stop. True. At least that’s who she suspected the
lovely blonde in the photograph was, her arms around Logan.

She and True did look alike. Bailey cocked her head, studying the image. The woman’s
bright, beautiful smile. Her hair and eyes, the shape of her mouth and tilt of her
chin. Perhaps, from a distance, each could be mistaken for the other, or by a mere
acquaintance. But those familiar with the women would immediately realize the truth:
Bailey was a pale imitation of the other woman.

The realization brought more than a pinch of jealousy and the horrible question: When
Logan said he had eyes only for her, was it because she looked like True?

A sound came from the bedroom. Henry stirring. Muttering something. She hurried back.
“It’s all right,” she murmured. “You’re going to be just fine.”

But was he? she wondered, laying her hand gently on his forehead. She had no idea
how long he had been sick, whether what he had was viral or bacterial. She couldn’t
leave him out here alone; he could very well need professional care. At his age, maybe
a hospital.

A hospital. But how would she get him into the Range Rover? Logan wouldn’t be home
from New Orleans for hours and by then— Paul, she thought. Paul could help her.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Paul took one look at Henry and decided they needed to get him to the emergency room.
He had to carry the man to the truck; the emergency room doctor immediately admitted
him.

Bailey sat in the waiting room, Paul at the nurses’ station, trying to get ahold of
Henry’s niece. In the meantime, she had left Logan a message about what was going
on.

“Steph’s on her way,” Paul said, stepping back into the room. “She was pretty upset.”

“Where’s she coming from?”

“Wholesome.” He settled into the seat beside her. “You haven’t met?”

She shook her head. They fell silent.

After several moments, Paul broke it. “You let Logan know where you were?”

“I did.”

“Good.”

Bailey glanced his way. “How’d you two become friends?”

“Logan and I?” She nodded. “We’ve known each other since elementary school.”

“Which doesn’t answer my question.”

The corner of his mouth lifted in a rueful grin. “He championed me.”

She eyed him. Tall and strong. An air of solid confidence. “You hardly look like you
would need a champion.”

“I did then. I was this funny-looking kid. All freckles and bones.”

She laughed. “You were not!”

“Oh, I was. And weird, too. A total weirdo.”

Her laughter faded. “You got picked on.”

“They more appropriately call it bullying now, but yeah, I did.” He shrugged off her
sympathy before she could even express it aloud. “One day Logan stepped in. Nobody
bothered me again.”

“Just like that?”

“Pretty much. He was the school yard stud, even back then.”

She couldn’t help but smile, imagining Logan in that role. “But it still doesn’t explain
your friendship.”

“You’re a little pushy, you know that?”

She smiled. “But in a good way.”

He snorted. “Logan decided he liked me, though at the time I was straight-up starstruck.
But it turned out we had things in common. Horses, for one. We’d both have lived in
the barn, if we could have.”

She loved hearing about Logan as a child. Loved picturing him that way. “How old were
you?”

“Eight, I think. Things really changed when he brought me to Abbott Farm. Elisabeth
took one look at—”

“His mom?”

“Yeah, sorry. That’s what she wanted me to call her. She took one look at scrawny
little me and that was that.”

“What was that?”

“I had a new family. Metaphorically speaking.”

“What does that mean?”

“I went home at night, most nights anyway. But my heart wasn’t there, it wasn’t where
I belonged.” His tone changed subtly, became harder. “They didn’t deserve me. That’s
what Elisabeth told me.”

“Paul!”

Bailey turned. Paul got to his feet and crossed to meet the woman rushing toward them.
She had met her before, Bailey realized as the two hugged. Stephanie was the waitress
from Faye’s Diner—and the girl from the photographs at Henry’s, all grown-up now.

“How is he?” she asked.

“Dehydrated. Weak. Blood work’s not back yet, but the doctor suspects it’s the flu
that’s been going around. But he’s stable.”

Her eyes flooded with tears. “Can I see him?”

“Absolutely.” Paul looked her in the eyes. “He’s going to be okay, Steph.”

“But if you hadn’t— It’s my job to make certain—”

“Don’t thank me, thank Bailey. She’s the one who noticed she hadn’t seen him and went
to check on him.”

She turned to Bailey, though she didn’t quite meet her eyes. “I can’t tell you how
appreciative I am. Uncle Henry’s all I— Thank you,” she whispered. “Excuse me.”

Bailey watched her duck into Henry’s room, then turned to Paul. “What now?”

“I’ve got to get back to the farm.”

“I think I’ll stay.”

“Stephanie’s here now, Henry’s in good hands. He’ll be fine, Bailey.”

“I know, but she seemed pretty upset. I hate to leave her alone.”

He checked his watch, then nodded. “Do you know your way back?”

She assured him that even if she didn’t, her GPS did, and promised to call if she
ran into trouble. And then she sat and waited for Stephanie to return.

Which she did after thirty or forty minutes. “Hey,” she said.

“How’s Henry?” Bailey asked.

“He’s asleep. Resting comfortably, as they say in places like this.”

“That’s good.”

“The doctor said”—she cleared her throat, her eyes welling with tears—“if you hadn’t
shown up when you did, he might have died.”

Bailey crossed to her, and gave her a hug. “But I did. He’s going to be fine. Right?”

“Right.” She smiled weakly and indicated the bank of chairs. “Do you mind? I feel
a bit weak in the knees.”

Bailey got her a cold drink, then sat beside her while she sipped.

“Henry’s my dad’s brother. He never married.” She paused, then said almost to herself,
“Of course he didn’t.”

“Because of what happened to him?”

Stephanie looked at her strangely. “I’m so sorry about yesterday.”

“You shouldn’t be.”

“Yeah, I should. As a kid I spent a lot of time at Abbott Farm. Logan’s my friend.”

“So you don’t believe the rumors?”

“No,” she said, “I don’t.” She looked down at her hands, then back up at Bailey. “There’s
something I need to tell you.”

“Tell me? What?”

“I watched you leave Faye’s yesterday. I saw you talking to Billy Ray. Saw what he
was doing.”

She paused. Bailey waited.

“At one time, Billy Ray and I were in a relationship.” She looked away, then back.
“In fact, I was in love with him.”

Bailey didn’t know how to respond, so she said nothing.

“He didn’t love me back,” she finished, words thick with emotion.

“He loved True, didn’t he?”

“Yes. He still does.” Again she stopped, but this time as if to collect her thoughts.
“I finally admitted the truth and broke it off.

“There’s something else. I’ve never told anyone. It’s something that happened when
he and I were together.”

A heaviness settled in Bailey’s chest. A feeling that she wouldn’t like what the other
woman had to say, that once she said it there would be no going back. She didn’t know
why—the seriousness of Stephanie’s tone or a premonition—but it took all her control
not to just walk away.