A Bullet to the Heart, Kathy Wheeler [inspirational books txt] 📗

“No!” He grabbed her hands. “Jo, no. You are not to feel ashamed. Never ashamed.”

“But—”

“No buts. There’s too much going on right now. Too many people who could walk in. We aren’t anywhere private. You would hate yourself. You would hate me. And I couldn’t bear that.” He hauled in a deep breath. “In case you’ve forgotten, we’ve had a murder on the island. Another murder. And someone took a shot at you. If you think that doesn’t send ice shards shredding me from the inside out—”

“I can help.”

“What! No.”

“Yes, yes. I can. Felix down at the diner said Mr. Vance threatened him. And…and Wallace Hayes could have, and your dad—” All the air left her body. “Oh, sorry.”

“Jo, stop.” How ironic. Yes, his own father could have killed Victor but there was no reason for him to target Jo. “Look. Darling. It’s too dangerous. Someone took a shot at you. Someone tried to run you down. You can help me by staying safe.” He took her face in his hands. “Promise me you’ll stay safe.”

“I-I promise.”

“Thank you.” He kissed her nose. “Now, do you think I could speak to Eleanor at some point?” He had a few questions.

19

J

osephine?”

Jo pulled the silk counterpane over her head to drown out the pesky sound of a buzzing bee. Wyn had kissed her. She wasn’t ready to let go of the dream-like euphoria and face the world. It was heady and…and wonderful…and ever so sweet.

“Josephine? Darling?”

Jo batted at the annoyance.

“I’m sorry to bother you, Jo—”

Jo slapped the cover back and shot to sitting, the fantasy, the exhilaration of Wyn’s lips against hers, gone. “Mother?”

“You have a note, dear. I-I thought to bring it to you.” Her timidity triggered myriad reactions from Jo. “Harriet said a boy from town brought it to the back door. He was most insistent it be delivered right away.”

Irritation and guilt, and, finally, sadness at her own stubbornness and inability to forgive pricked at her like a burr. Self-recrimination was eating her up. Perhaps it was time to face her past. Nothing else seemed to help. Besides, who knew what she would learn? She certainly hadn’t expected to learn that Jackson didn’t hate her like she’d believed.

“A note?” From Wyn? She took the envelope from her mother’s arthritic hand and slid her own finger beneath the seal.

Eleanor didn’t leave. “I know you have questions.”

Jo’s hand stilled, mid-envelope. She wasn’t sure she was up for that particular conversation so early in the morning.

“You have to realize the control your grandmother—”

Jo stifled her urge to scream and retaliate. She kept her voice even, though her resentment roared back in a tidal wave. “I have to realize?” She tore open the envelope and pulled out the single sheet and snapped it open. “Look, Mother. I’m not up for this conversation right now.” Wrapped in her own pain, Jo looked down at the paper she held, unable to focus on the words, holding her breath.

After a long moment, the door latched softly behind Eleanor’s departure. Jo blinked at the dampness on her lashes, barely feeling them as they slid down her cheeks. She shook off the sudden sentimentality and remembered the note she was clutching. She read through it, then went through it a second, then a third time.

Esther beat Wyn to the door. It opened before he could knock. “Oh, Wyn. Come in. Come in.”

“I wanted to talk to Jo.” He was desperate to see her. Desperate to know if that kiss they shared the night before had changed anything for her. One thing he knew for certain, it had changed him.

“Sure, hon.”

Wyn stepped over the threshold.

“Is that Wyndel Smith?” The soft voice floated over the balcony from above.

Wyn answered for the housekeeper. “It is, Mrs. Hayes.”

“I’d like to speak to you, Mr. Smith. Perhaps you wouldn’t mind joining me in my sitting room?”

Her request flabbergasted him. He looked at Esther for guidance. The night before she’d already been abed. Perhaps Jo mentioned his request.

“You go on, hon. She can’t manage the stairs by herself and her nurse is having her lunch in the kitchen.”

“I’ll send up tea and I’ll let Josephine know you’re here.” Esther toddled off into the depths of the house. Toddle didn’t seem quite the right word. She was Jo’s height and twice her weight. Then again…

“Mr. Smith?”

“Coming.” Wyn took the stairs two at a time. At the top, he took the older woman’s arm and let her lead them down a different hall than the one he’d brought Jo to the night before.

The sitting room had its own door off the hall. It opened to a feminine abode filled with delicate furniture covered in a floral brocade of bright reds and pinks. The color was so vibrant, it overtook the gloom outside the windows. A soft glow from an electric lamp in one corner filled the space.

Wyn assisted Mrs. Hayes to a comfortable chair, then lowered himself onto the small couch across from her. It looked almost sturdy enough to hold him. There wasn’t much in the way of personal paraphernalia. Only one picture of the three small girls at very young ages with people Wyn assumed were their parents. No other pictures of family were present, no knick-knacks, or any other evidence of Mrs. Hayes’s personal touch or feelings. He briefly wondered if Lydia placed the framed photograph there as a reminder of their time before Wallace Hayes.

“Who would want to hurt my Josephine?”

Her question startled Wyn from his musings. She was a frail woman with shoulders stooped from years of…what…he couldn’t say, but he knew he had to tread carefully. “What makes you believe someone wants to hurt Jo?”

She bristled. “I’m not dead yet, Mr. Smith. My hearing works fine.”

“Er, yes. My apologies, Mrs. Hayes. I meant no offense.” In a flash, he realized he’d just been handed an excellent opportunity. “Did you happen to ask Jo who… who…”

“You are aware that my daughter