A truck door slammed shut and it sent fear through her body, because she knew him before seeing him. Even though it meant she would never have her answers, she wanted Scott to leave town and never return.
"What happened?" Scott said racing to her side. He stared at the bandaged arm but refused to touch her.
"You tell me," she said calmly, yet cold.
"What?" he said anxious yet angry.
She snickered. "You had to check a board in the barn. What was wrong with it? Not loose enough. Was this what you meant when you said, 'I'll handle it?'?"
Scott squinted in thought then said, "What? This is crazy. I never messed with any boards. Everything was fine. Mystique must have done it." He headed off the porch.
"Where are you going?"
"To fix it."
"I don't think so. I want you off my property and I only want you here if invited. I emphasize, if."
He ran onto the porch and dropped to his knees in front of her. He took her good hand and rested it against his face. "I didn't do it, honest. You have to believe me." She dropped her hand. When he glanced up, tears rimmed his almond-shaped, hazel eyes. His face drooped when she said nothing. "With our connection, how could you not believe me?"
"What connection? It seems convenient that you show up here after my granddaddy dies. You waltz in here being helpful, yet secretive. Scott, I don't know what to believe anymore."
"Think about our kisses. That's all you need to know."
"It's not enough. Freaky things are happening and I want answers. No, I need and deserve them. You can give them to me, but you won't."
"What can I do to prove my innocence?"
"Tell me the truth. Who did you call yesterday? I know you're trying to tell me something. So stop playing games."
Scott stumbled backwards and then scrambled to his feet. "I can't," he said, and then ran to his truck.
When gravel stopped spewing from under tires, Caitlin slumped forward. "I want this nightmare to be over. Now." Frustration zapped all energy even though not much remained from the day's events. She trudged inside to escape the night air. The edginess proved a tough opponent for the chamomile tea, and Caitlin stayed tense.
"Caitlin, where are you?"
Part of her did not want to answer. She had no strength or energy to argue with him tonight. "In the kitchen," she finally said, knowing he would eventually find her. How would she explain not answering him?