Page 52 of A Brambleberry Summer

She owed her a huge debt that she knew she could never repay.

“Here you are, living as roommates again, of a sort,” Wyatt said casually.

“Yes,” Jen answered. “Isn’t it funny how life works sometimes? I was looking for a change and Rosa had an empty apartment. It worked out for both of us.”

Wyatt looked at the children, now playing happily on the tree swing. “What about Addie’s father? Is he in the picture?”

Jen gazed down at the flowers, grief washing across her features. “Unfortunately, no. He died two years ago of cancer. Melanoma.”

“I’m sorry,” Wyatt said gently.

He knew what it was to lose someone, too, Rosa thought. In fact, the two of them would be perfect for each other. So why did the idea of them together make her heart hurt?

Jen sighed and rose to face him. “I might as well tell you, Jen Ryan is not really my name.”

Rosa held her breath, shocked that her friend had blurted the truth out of nowhere like that. She could tell Wyatt was shocked, as well, though he did his best to hide it.

“Isn’t it?”

“Well, it’s not wholly a lie. My name is Jenna Michelle Haynes. Ryan was my late husband’s name.”

He studied her. “Are you using his name for your surname now as some kind of homage?”

“No.” She looked at Rosa as if asking for help, then straightened her shoulders and faced Wyatt. Rosa could see her hands clenching and unclenching with nerves. “Actually, if you want the truth, I’m hiding from a man.”

Chapter Eleven

Wyatt stared, shocked that she had told him, though not really by what she said.

He had suspected as much, judging by her nervous behavior and the way Rosa was so protective of her. He just didn’t know the details.

He suddenly felt as protective of her as Rosa did. Who would want to hurt this fragile woman and her darling little girl?

He immediately went into police mode. “Who is he? Can you tell me? And what did he do to make you so afraid?”

She sighed and looked at the children, who were laughing in the fading sunshine as Logan pushed Addie on the swings. The scene seemed innocent and sweet, completely incongruous to anything ugly and terrifying.

She swallowed hard and couldn’t seem to find the words until Rosa moved closer, placing a supportive arm through hers. Jen gave her a look of gratitude before facing him again.

“His name is Aaron Barker. He’s also a police officer in the small Utah town where I was living after my husband died. He... We went out three times. Three dates. That’s all.”

Rosa squeezed her arm and Jen gripped her hand. One of the hardest parts of his job was making people relive their worst moments. It never seemed to get easier. He didn’t want to make her rehash all the details, but he couldn’t help her if he didn’t know what had happened.

She seemed to sense that because after a moment, she went on. “Aaron was very nice at first. Showering me with affection, gifts, food. Sending flowers to the school where I taught. I was flattered. I was lonely and—and I liked him. But then he started pushing me too hard, already talking about marriage. After three dates.”

She shook her head. “I finally had to tell him he was moving too fast for me and that I didn’t think I was ready to start dating again.”

Her voice seemed to trail off and she shivered a little, though the evening was warm. He didn’t like the direction this story was taking. It had to be grim to send her fleeing from her home to Oregon.

“What happened?”

“He wouldn’t take no for an answer. He kept asking me out, kept bringing me gifts. I finally had to be firm and tell him we weren’t a good match and I wasn’t going to change my mind. I thought he understood, but then he started driving past in his squad car at all hours of the day and night. He kept calling and texting, sometimes dozens of times a day. I had to turn my phone off. I went out to dinner one day with another teacher, a coworker and friend who happens to be a man. Nothing romantic, just friends, but that night Aaron sent me a long, vitriolic email, calling me a whore, saying if he couldn’t have me, no one could, and all kinds of other terrifying things. I knew he must have been watching me.”

“Why didn’t you report him to the police?”

“I tried but this was a small town. The police chief was his uncle, who wouldn’t listen to me. He wouldn’t even take my complaint. I tried to go to the county sheriff’s department but they said it was a personnel issue for our town’s police department. I think they just didn’t want to bother and didn’t want to upset Aaron’s uncle.”

Again, Wyatt had to fight down his anger. He knew how insular small-town police departments and their surrounding jurisdictions sometimes could be. Often, police officers for one agency didn’t want to get other agency police officers in trouble.

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