The Reckoning Read Online Free Page B

some out-of-focus exhibit in a museum. Not just some anonymous little boy, but Ricky. Ricky, her son.
    Dean must have noticed the direction of her gaze. “While you’re getting your bearings in the guest house, he would remain in his own room in our home, Linda, but visit with youas often as he likes, of course. It could be the best of both worlds.”
    The best of both worlds. The phrase stuck in her head. The best of both worlds. The best.
    The best part of the whole idea of moving into the guest house, the most tempting part, was that it would allow her more distance and more time. More distance from her scariest fear. More time, she thought, shame and relief intertwining, to not be Ricky’s mother.
    Her mind made up, she didn’t bother glancing over at Emmett again. It wasn’t noble, it wasn’t brave, but it was the truth. She would even put up with the big, bad wolf if he’d get between her and the big, bad world of being a mother to her child.
    Today is Friday, May 8.
    YOU HAVE MOVED.
    You live in the Armstrongs’ guest house now. Bathroom is across the hall.
    If it’s morning, get up, shower, dress.
    The few lines in her notebook cut through the anxiety of awakening in an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar room. Her mind easy again, she watched the play of sunlight over the yellow-and-violet wallpapered walls. She’d moved her belongings into the pretty little room the afternoon before, and then, worn out by the excitement and the change of scenery, had put on her nightwear, stretched out on the bed and promptly fallen asleep. Luckily, she’d remembered to pencil in the next day’s pertinent info before heading for dreamland at the early hour of 6:00 p.m.
    Her stomach growled, a reminder that she hadn’t eaten since yesterday’s lunch. Food would wait, though.
    If it’s morning, get up, shower, dress.
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    She found it simpler to follow the instructions in her notebook. Improvisation could lead to disaster, like the time she’d ignored the direction to dress before her morning appointment. She’d showed up for a meeting with one of Ryan Fortune’s attorneys in baby doll pajamas. Lucky for her, it had been in a conference room at the rehab center, rather than a downtown San Antonio law office.
    Climbing out of bed, she noted she was wearing those very same baby dolls. Nancy had picked them out, as she’d picked out most of Linda’s limited wardrobe. These were a pale peach, thin cotton. Little shorts barely covered her rear, while the top was sleeveless, with tiny pintucks on the bodice. She made a face at her reflected image in the mirror over the dresser on the other side of the room. Her body was still too thin, and the childish pajamas made her look twelve instead of thirty-three.
    In addition to having the figure of a preteen, the years she’d been semiconscious didn’t show on her skin. She had the complexion of a twenty-something, and she supposed she should be grateful for that.
    Her stomach growled again.
    Shower, dress, she reminded herself again. Bathroom is across the hall.
    As she pushed open the bedroom door, the door across the hall—the bathroom door—opened.
    A man stood before her.
    Her mouth dropped, but no sound came out. He was big. Big and naked, except for a pale green towel wrapped low on his hips. Damp, curling hair was scattered across his wide chest and more of the stuff created a thin line between rippling abdominal muscles. As she stared, steam curled outfrom behind him. He looked like an erotic genie emerging from a bathroom-size bottle.
    Too late, she crossed her arms over the thin cotton that covered her breasts.
    Not that he was looking at them. Instead, he was studying her face, his body perfectly still, as if she were a wild animal he was trying not to startle.
    â€œGood morning,” he said softly. “I thought you were still asleep.”
    She took a step back.
    He went even