Page 49 of The Way Back Home
In that instant, she had a crazy urge to tell him everything—who she was, what she was facing, how scared she was. He’d look at her with that kind face, maybe pat her shoulder, tell her everything would be all right. And it would be.
Then a more realistic scenario forced its way into her mind. One where those kind eyes looked at herwith a mixture of pity and shock. Like his son, he would do what he could out of a strong sense of right and wrong, but the disappointment that came from learning the shameful truth would be there.
No, there would be no sharing or baring of souls today. If life had taught her anything, it was that she couldn’t—and shouldn’t—count on others to clean up her messes.
“Thanks,” she managed, summoning a small smile. “I appreciate that. But I’m good.”
“Hmm.” He frowned slightly, as though working through a difficult problem, and ate the rest of his apple in silence.
Teagan continued to brush Chester until he was gleaming, and then she moved on to Aspen.
Eventually, Noah’s dad picked up a shovel and went into the white mare’s stall. He paused, rubbing his hand across his jaw when he saw there was nothing to do. “You cleaned the stalls?”
“Yes,” she answered.
It was the first thing she had done after Noah had gone to the house. Shoveling shit and forking hay hadn’t been easy with her injuries, but she’d worked through harder tasks with worse, and she wanted to do something in return for their kindness. It was Christmas, after all.
“You fed them as well?”
“Yes.”
Martin Ziegler mumbled to himself for a moment. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Merry Christmas, Mr. Ziegler,” she said.
“Merry Christmas, Teagan.” He began to walk away, then paused and turned halfway back to face her. “Noah’s a good man. Always has been,” he said.
“Yes,” Teagan agreed.
“Glad we agree on that,” he said, nodding as if something had just been resolved.
Without another word, he turned and walked out of the stables, whistling, leaving Teagan with the feeling that she had just missed something important.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
NOAH
Noah’s mind was swimming as he slipped out the back door of his parents’ house, rage a slow, simmering burn in his gut. The images he’d seen would haunt him for a long time. Christ, she’d been so young.
Where were the people who should have been looking out for her? Neighbors. Teachers. Someone must have suspected what was going on.
He pushed back the anger and helpless frustration as he neared the stables. He couldn’t let Teagan know they discovered her secrets. Thankfully, he’d had years of practice burying things like outrage, guilt, and grief.
“Son,” his father called. “Hold up a minute.”
Noah’s steps slowed. Thus far, he’d avoided direct one-on-one contact with his parents, but it was bound to happen.
“Dad.”
His father approached until they stood a few feetapart. Noah braced himself for the lecture he was sure was coming. About how he’d stayed away too long. About the perils of not dealing with his problems.
“I’m glad you’re here,” was what his father said. “Means a lot.”
Noah blinked and cleared his throat. Martin Ziegler was a man of few words, but he meant the ones he said.
“Thanks, Dad.”
His father inclined his head toward the stables. “That girl’s got a gift.”
