A handful of people were chatting out in the hallway. At the exits, others took a smoking break, standing in the open doorways. She avoided those places and headed for the cafeteria. Finding it was easy, since there were signs to it.

  As she moved past the display cases of school awards and pictures, she stopped for a few looks. Not for the first time, she imagined what it might have been like, attending school like a normal child. Having a group of friends to meet in the hallways between classes.

  Once she was in the cafeteria, she leaned against the counter that held the cabinets Elaine had mentioned and took a couple extra minutes to breathe. She filled her mind with good thoughts. Dancing with Rory. How he looked in his suit. Elaine’s happiness, realizing how content he was.

  Elaine’s breakdown was a rarity. She was a farmer’s wife, a practical sort. Not gushy or sentimental. But while watching her son with his former classmates, her emotions had been there for Daralyn to see.

  “There were days I worried he’d never be this happy again,” Elaine had said softly to her. “I prayed over it, cried over it.”

  Daralyn had gripped her hand and Elaine put hers over it, squeezing. “You look happy tonight, too,” Elaine said. “And I thought the same about you. God brings us hope in the darkest of times.”

  Thinking of those dark times, Daralyn remembered that she’d had no concept of God, except from biblical quotes her father and uncle had used to direct her according to their will. She’d associated whatever God was with them, since He seemed to reflect their feelings on things. When they took her to church to keep up appearances, she’d been wholly focused on warning cues of their displeasure, rather than the message coming from the pulpit.

  Elaine and even Rory saw God as a loving source of comfort, a symbol of faith in the good in the world. But Daralyn wondered if believing in that kind of God could have made her darker times harder.

  She’d only known daily survival, following her father and uncle’s orders to eat, sleep, breathe. If she’d believed some all-powerful entity could save her if He wanted, but hadn’t…she might have given up. Having that held out of her reach would have just underscored her worthlessness.

  But she hadn’t given up. She was here, and tonight Rory had danced with her. Maybe God was more like love. Something that didn’t fix things, but helped a person get through the bad things, reach for all that was possible in life.

  “Hey, there. Is that smile for me?”

  She turned to see a man leaning in the doorway, a beer dangling from his fingertips. Hayworth McNally. He’d disappeared after the dinner, apparently not wanting to join the dancing. The suit she now saw close up was like a banker’s suit, but he’d loosened his red and black striped tie. He was handsome in a disheveled way, with longish hair on top and a dark shadowed jaw. But his blue eyes seemed extra bright.

  “You’re the girl that Rory’s family took in.” He seemed to be fishing for her name, and she helpfully supplied it.

  “Daralyn.”

  “Yeah. That’s right. Wow, you grew up pretty.” He joined her at the counter, trailing the beer along the veneer with a solid sliding sound. He studied the supplies on the shelves behind the open pass through. “Weird, huh? When we were in school, no students were allowed back there. Probably because they thought we’d try to get into the desserts. They had some good cookies.” He lifted a hand, spread out his fingers. “Size of pancakes.”

  He looked up at the cabinet she’d opened, her fingers resting on the lower shelf. “I heard Patsy bitching about the cups. I assume you’re needing the ones on the top shelf?”

  At her nod, he reached up and pulled them down, putting them on the counter. “Handy to have a tall guy around sometime, right?”

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  He slid a hand in his pocket and touched the bottle to the inside of her forearm, leaving a trail of condensation over the scar there. She took a step back, and he chuckled.

  “It’s cold, I know. Sorry. Here, I’ll fix it.” He fished out a handkerchief from his pocket and gripped her wrist. It was the one without the bracelet. He held her steady as he mopped the dampness off, but then he didn’t let go. He moved his hand so her fingers rested on his wrist as his palm cradled hers. “So pretty,” he said thoughtfully.

  Her heart had started to thump. She should pull away, tell him…what? That she didn’t want… That she couldn’t…

  She belonged to Rory. Just like she’d told him, the night Rory had implied her teacher might be interested in her. She’d been so quick in that moment, but the teacher hadn’t been standing next to her like this, holding onto her. Demanding something from her. And Rory had been there, right with her.

  When she darted a look toward Hayworth’s eyes, the strange intensity was both foreign and chillingly familiar. He wanted something from her.

  No is not an option, girl. You never say no. What you want doesn’t matter.

  Cold and darkness. No food, no water. Her father’s voice, then her uncle’s. When the lack of water made it hard to think, their voices would overlap, and she couldn’t tell one from the other.

  You’ll live in this cellar until you understand that, until the very thought of what you want never crosses your mind. Never.

  “So quiet. You don’t mind being touched, do you?” He’d moved his other hand to a loose lock of hair on her forehead, was stroking it. She swallowed, still as a mouse, even as something way down deep was screaming. Just like in the cellar. Something had been driven so far down inside her, it had been lost in the silence. It had disappeared there.

  What everyone else had, she didn’t. A will of her own. And suddenly, she realized the terrible truth; without a will, she wasn’t a person. She was an object. The thought shredded her heart and soul with sharp blades, but she couldn’t do one thing to tell Hayworth to stop. She was frozen.

  He leaned in, brushed his lips with hers. She trembled, and oh God, that made her lips move, as if she was responding. He cupped her face. “So pretty and sweet,” he murmured and slid an arm all the way around her, his hand settling over her hip, spreading out over her buttock. She was dying inside, and she could do nothing in her defense. She would die inside this motionless prison of her body that he thought was okay with this. He wasn’t being rough or forceful. He thought she was…compliant.

  Or complicit. A far worse word. She wanted to black it out of her notebook.

  “Best thing about high school reunions,” he said, offering a chuckle against her mouth. “It’s like time freezes and you get a hall pass to do some impulsive things. Why don’t we take this further? I wouldn’t mind putting you up on the counter and tasting what’s between your legs. I’m good at eating pussy, and see, I got this…” He kept one hand on her while he fished a vial out of his pocket. “I’ll sprinkle it on you, and you won’t believe how good it feels. Know there’s not a lot of recreational drugs of this caliber in this county.”

  That was why his intensity seemed familiar. Her uncle liked to take things that made his eyes like that sometimes. He was less careful with her then, and her father had usually intervened to ensure she didn’t need to go to a doctor afterward.

  “After you’re nice and slippery, maybe you’ll be nice to me. Offer some reciprocity.” He chuckled as he got the word out, with effort. “See—if you can say a word like that, you’re not really impaired. I’ve told cops that when they stop me, but they don’t get it. No sense of humor, I guess. You’ve got a lovely mouth. You’re so quiet, darling. But your eyes do a lot of talking. So soft and willing…”

  He was gathering up her skirt in the one hand, working his way beneath it while he went back to kissing her mouth. His body was against hers, and she could feel his erection against her stomach. A strangled moan came from her lips and he growled in answer.

  “What in God’s name?”

  Daralyn jerked at the sound of Elaine’s voice, and Hayworth turned. Then all hell broke loose.

  Because Rory was right beside his mother.

  She’d seen Rory’s temper unleashed, though never directed at her, unless she counted the day she’d been on the tractor, and that had been different.

  This was rage, so hot it swept toward them like hellfire.

  His mother called out, but Rory was already headed for Hayworth. Then Daralyn realized Elaine hadn’t called out to Rory. She’d known the futility of that. She’d entreated other help.

  Thomas came in, Marcus on his heels, just as Rory reached Hayworth. However, in instinctive self-preservation, Hayworth had grabbed Daralyn by the shoulders, put her in front of him. She was a puppet, unable to move on her own, detached from anything. Like a news program Elaine had watched, where people had been rioting in a park. Daralyn didn’t like the violence, and so had fixated on a statue of the city founder, part of the park’s offerings. A monument seemingly indifferent to what was happening around it. Now she wondered if the statue simply couldn’t move, could only watch the violence ensue, its feelings irrelevant because it couldn’t do anything.

  Rory was looking at her, and she couldn’t survive the rage in his face. She dropped her gaze to the floor, to his shoes. Hayworth’s hands flexed on her, making her sway. She’d locked her knees, and was starting to feel lightheaded.

  “She was okay with it,” Hayworth said hastily. “She didn’t say no.”

  “Look at her,” Rory snapped. “Or are you too fucked up in your head to see her?”

  She flinched at every word.

  “What’s happening in here?”

  The authoritative voice pulled everyone’s attention away except Rory’s. And hers. His gaze was burning her flesh.

  The sheriff and two of his deputies had attended tonight as guests, not law enforcement. At least not until this moment. Loud voices were making accusations, talking over one another. Thomas and Marcus had circled around, latched onto Hayworth and moved him off to a corner, leaving her standing like a rootless tree, about to topple.

  She remembered when her father died and the sheriff had come and escorted her out of her father’s home. Not this sheriff; that one had retired since then, but the new sheriff had been one of the deputies she remembered at the county office. She’d sat rigid in a chair, politely responding the same way to offers of a soda, candy. No thank you. No thank you. Please call my uncle to take me home. I’m fine. She’d seen her uncle cuffed and taken away, but it was what she’d been taught to say if ever she was separated from them, if anything happened that she wasn’t sure how it should be handled.

  Rory had given her a different default, even if he hadn’t realized it. She didn’t know if it was right or wrong, but as it went through her mind, it was the only thing she could make her body do, so she seized onto the idea with both hands.

  She dropped to her knees in front of Rory’s chair, bowed her head. The cold tile hurt her knees, snagged her hose. Probably ripped it.

  I’m sorry. So, so sorry.

  A long second of silence reigned, during which she died inside, because that silence overflowed with how she’d disappointed him, his family. Failed all of them. She was Rory’s, and she hadn’t been able to tell Hayworth that. She was staring down at the bracelet he’d given her, to remind her, and it hadn’t helped.

  If she looked at Elaine, she would see shame. Maybe even anger. She couldn’t bear it. She wanted to curl into a ball at Rory’s feet, but since her body refused to do anything else but kneel, she didn’t cause him that additional embarrassment.

  Please. I’m so sorry.

  Rory’s fingers brushed her hair. The tension in them made her ache. She couldn’t tell if the lack of warmth came from him, or if she’d just gone so cold, she couldn’t feel it.

  The sheriff was there, standing at her side.

  “Miss. Are you okay?”

  A long pause. Rory touched her shoulder. “Answer him, Daralyn.” The calm in his voice had to be taking a tremendous effort. That penetrated enough to give her the ability to speak.

  “Yes,” she said. “I need to go home now.” She sounded like a robot, but she couldn’t inject anything into her voice that resembled real emotion.

  “I need to talk to her alone,” the sheriff said. “You understand that, Rory? I need to know what’s going on here, from her.”

  “It doesn’t work that way for her, Owen.” Rory’s anger surged back out. “You know that.”

  “It’s going to work that way right now. I need you to back off.”

  “How about I put my fucking fist up your ass? I’m not leaving her—”

  “You want me to have my deputies haul you out of this room by force? Push me, and that’s what it will be. There’s a procedure here. I need to talk to her alone. Now.”

  As Rory stared at Owen, rage and helplessness took him within a breath of throwing a punch. Being a cop, Owen sensed it, his eyes narrowing.

  “Don’t do it, son,” he said. “That’s not going to help her, either.”

  Even wearing a suit, not his uniform and sidearm, Owen carried the mantle of his job, and so did his deputies. The flick of his glance toward them said he wouldn’t hesitate to do what he’d threatened.

  Rory looked down at Daralyn, kneeling at his feet. The move had been so unexpected. Rory thought Marcus might be the only one in the room who understood the crazy mix of feelings it had invoked in him. It also saved Hayworth, because it reminded Rory of his most important job. To protect his sub.

  To care for her, give her what she needed. The problem was, he didn’t know exactly what Daralyn needed right now, and he wasn’t being given the space to figure it out. The protective side of him was about to go full berserker on anyone keeping him from it.

  Which wouldn’t help her, either. So he did what would, though he didn’t want to say it like this. He’d owe Daralyn a huge apology later. “She’s not capable of communicating when it comes to things like this, Sheriff.” Her flinch drove a spike through him, but he pressed on. “My mom has her psychiatrist’s number, and Dr. Taylor has a call service to reach her after hours.”

  “We’ll check into that. I still need to talk to Daralyn. And I need you all out of the room.”

  “No,” Rory said.

  “You’re still acting like I’m making a request,” Owen said, his expression hardening. “I’m looking out for her best interests.”

  “She didn’t say no,” Hayworth said desperately from the corner. “All I did was kiss her, touch her a little bit. That’s it. I’ve never forced myself on any woman.”

  “Since you’re high as a fucking kite, you might want to shut up,” Marcus advised. His green eyes were colder than Rory had ever seen them, telling him Marcus was just as pissed as he was. Only whereas Rory ran hot in a temper, Marcus went cold as ice. He looked ready to toss Hayworth in a car, find a river and a few heavy rocks.

  A glance toward the door showed Rory that Brick had arrived, as well as other people from the party, including Fran Potts. They were drawing attention from the auditorium.

  Rory still had his hand on her shoulder, his thumb resting on her collar bone. He could feel her vibrating under his hand. How could he explain how much she needed him with her, to help translate what had happened?

  The bitch of it was, if she said, “I want Rory to stay,” Owen wouldn’t be able to override him. But she wouldn’t. Rory knew she wouldn’t.

  She couldn’t.

  The frustration, the anger, the helplessness, were tearing him up inside. The worst part of it was some of that frustration was spilling out toward her, even as he knew she couldn’t help it.

  He couldn’t stop being human, but he could help her by pushing past that, past everything that had to do with him, because this wasn’t about him.

  “I get you don’t want me with her. But please, Owen. I’m begging you…” Daralyn twitched as his voice roughened. “Let my mother stay and help her. Please. You know Daralyn’s history.”

  At least he hoped he did. Owen had been a deputy when the sheriff removed Daralyn from her uncle’s home. Beyond that, everyone in this town knew everyone else’s business.

  Owen shifted his glance to Elaine, then back to Daralyn. His mother had stepped forward. No matter what she was feeling, she projected a practical calm and earnest desire to help that couldn’t have come at a better time. Elaine was friends with Owen’s parents. His jaw relaxed slightly.

  “Okay. Long as she doesn’t interfere.”

  Rory stroked Daralyn’s cheek. She hadn’t lifted her head since she’d knelt in front of him. He wanted to stay with her more than anything in the whole world, and he wanted her to know that. He hoped his touch told her, as well as what he did next.

  Every time the girl hit a bad moment, it was like she became a vampire. He shrugged out of his coat and draped it over her, snugged it over her shoulders. A second later, one set of fingers crept around a lapel, pulled it close. The other hand rested on his foot, fingers against his ankle.

  “I’ll be close, baby,” he murmured. “It’s all right. Don’t worry.”

  Elaine moved forward. Now that she was closer, he saw the worry and strain in her expression. For him, as well as Daralyn.

  Owen gave him the stare that said he was done waiting. He could go fuck himself, but Rory made himself back up. The hand that had been resting on his ankle fell limply away from him. Despite him having no feeling there, it felt like a strip of skin had been torn off.

  Owen glanced at his deputies, jerked his head at Hayworth. “Take him to one of the empty classrooms and hold onto him for questioning. Keep them apart.”

  He didn’t have to specify who he meant, since if Rory got within arms’ reach of Hayworth, he’d knock every one of his damn teeth out. Thomas and Marcus looked fully on board with that.

  It kept replaying in his head, seeing Hayworth’s hands on her, up her skirt. Her hand had been resting on Hayworth’s forearm. To someone who didn’t know her, it might have looked like she was welcoming the embrace. But that was only if they hadn’t noticed everything else, like the vacant look in her eyes, and how, except for a quiver like a struck tuning fork, she wasn’t moving. The arm had been rigid, like the branch of a tree with roots planted in the cafeteria tiles.