Divided Hearts

  Divided Hearts

  Carolyne Aarsen

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Dear Reader

  Places to find me

  Chapter One

  He looked familiar.

  Cory paused, narrowing her eyes as the latest customer came through the restaurant doors. All she could see from this angle was a tall man whose sandy-brown hair tended to wave and a suit jacket that sat easily on his broad shoulders. Something about the tilt of his head, the way he carried himself...

  I’m getting jumpy, she thought.

  If there was one thing Cory and her mother had learned over the past years, it was to trust their instincts. Cory had a bad feeling about this man.

  She continued wiping the table that customers had just vacated, absently pocketing the tip while trying for a closer look at him. He had chosen a seat in a booth by the window, and he was hidden from Cory’s view.

  She tried to brush away the uneasiness as she brought the dirty dishes to the kitchen but still couldn’t stop one more glance over her shoulder.

  On her return she grabbed the coffeepot and forced a smile, then turned. She took a deep breath as she walked toward the booth. He sat with his arms folded on the table. As he turned toward her, Cory swayed and clutched the coffeepot, the blood draining from her face.

  Matthew McKnight.

  And where Matthew was, her stepfather couldn’t be too far behind.

  What was Matthew doing here? How had he found them? She and her mother been so careful, always hiding their tracks, making sure they left no trace.

  The questions piled, backing up in her mind.

  Maybe it was just coincidence, she reassured herself. Maybe he just happened to be passing through Sweet Creek. Maybe she should get another waitress to help him.

  But there was no one else in the inn and he turned as she paused.

  And saw her.

  Cory forced her feet toward him, her heart increasing its tempo with every step. When she stopped at his table her eyes met a pair of deep-green ones beneath level brows. His hair waved away from his face, curling over the collar of his crisp white shirt. The impeccable cut of his suit jacket reminded Cory how much money the McKnights had.

  Way more than she and her mother did.

  As good-looking as ever, Cory thought, her appreciation filtering through her fear.

  “Hey, Cory Smith,” Matthew said, his voice quiet. His tone told her that coincidence had not brought him here—he had expected to see her.

  “Coffee?” she asked, unable to keep the crisp note out of her voice.

  “Please.”

  “Menu?” Cory kept her eyes on the bubbles forming in the liquid she poured into his cup.

  “I’ll just have a piece of apple pie.”

  Cory chanced another look. His gaze was both compelling and forceful. How often she had faced those eyes as he walked past her from the courtroom, he and his father victorious once again.

  How often she had fought the disloyal, foolish hope he would relent, that he would slow down and acknowledge her as a person, not as an opponent.

  “How did you find me?” she asked. “Because I’m assuming you came knowing I worked here.”

  Matthew looked away, toying with the cup as if trying to figure out what to tell her. “You’re right. I did.”

  “Then how?”

  “A little bit of luck and a lot of prayers.”

  Cory thought of the prayers her mother had sent up: prayers that she and Cory could establish some kind of life apart from her ex-husband and Cory’s stepfather, Zeke. It looked as if Matthew’s prayers had won.

  “And I’m working for Clint Fletcher. I’m his lawyer, and through him, I found out you work here.”

  A perfect storm of lousy coincidences, Cory thought, remembering all the times she served Clint. She would have to talk with him about waitress/customer confidentiality.

  “When did you change your name?” Matthew asked. “I understand you and your mother go by Luciuk now?”

  “Does it matter?” she asked, unable to keep the frustration from her voice. “You found us. But I’m sure you didn’t do all that work just so we could discuss our name change.”

  “You’re right.” Matthew scratched his forehead with his index finger. “I need to talk to you, Cory.”

  “What about?”

  “Your stepfather.”

  “Why am I not surprised?” She felt a tremor of apprehension.

  “Can you meet when you’re off work?”

  Cory felt cornered. Was he arranging this meeting for Zeke? Had their caution all been for nothing? For a fleeting moment, Cory imagined herself running from the restaurant, taking her mother, and heading from town in any direction that took them away from Matthew, away from Zeke.

  Cory’s grip tightened on the coffeepot as she forced herself to remain calm. Neither she nor her mother would run away anymore. They had stayed here long enough to develop friendships. People in Sweet Creek had gone out of their way to help them settle in. “How much is this meeting going to cost me?”

  Matthew frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “No one talks to a lawyer for free,” she said, taking refuge in anger, hoping and praying it would cover her fear and her own foolish reaction to his good looks. “Why don’t you tell me right now and get it over and done with?”

  Matthew shook his head. “I’m sorry. I prefer to talk to you in private. Can I come to your home later?”

  A brief vision of the ancient apartment she and Joyce rented flitted through her head. She couldn’t help but compare it to Matthew’s home in the toney part of Edmonton. All dormers and gables and expensive jigs and jogs. Situated on three acres at the edge of the golf course, no less.

  “No,” she said firmly. “How about tomorrow morning, here?”

  “I’d like to meet you sooner than that.” He tucked one corner of his mouth under his teeth, the way he always did when he was contemplating something.

  Cory felt the full force of his good looks and the charm he gave off as easily as the flame from a struck match. She almost stepped back—almost let her heart quiver in response.

  “Is there someplace I could meet you after work today?” he continued.

  He wasn’t letting her off. “There’s a park along the river we can go to. It’s not far from here. I’ll meet you there at five.”

  “Okay. I think I know where it is. I’ll be there.”

  “I’ll be back with your pie.” Cory turned, sucked in a slow breath, and strode away, all while fighting her fluctuating emotions. Despite everything he had done to them, all the humiliation she had suffered because of Matthew’s defense of her stepfather, one look at those deep-green eyes could still make her feel all fluttery again.

  She glanced at Matthew one last time, then escaped to the washroom.

  She turned the cold water on full blast, then bent over and splashed it on her face, hoping to ease the heat in her cheeks, hoping to settle a heavy sense of foreboding.

  As she toweled off her face, she glanced in the mirror. Thankfully, the eyes staring back at her looked calm and self-possessed. With a long, slow sigh, Cory tossed the paper towel, pulled open the washroom door, stepped outside, and got Matthew his pie.

  Matthew had his elbows on the table, his chin resting on his steepled fingers as she approached.

  Cory grudg
ingly admitted his appeal. It’s the hair, she figured, those waves that make a woman want to rearrange them, the dimple that dented his one cheek when he smiled.

  Cory never saw that dimple much; Matthew seldom smiled around her. He considered Cory to be beneath him and his cousin Deirdre McKnight, Cory’s high school friend back in Edmonton.

  Deirdre used to laugh at the way Matthew used to warn her about Cory. “He thinks you’re some kind of juvenile delinquent bent on turning me astray,” she had joked.

  Cory had obediently laughed along, but the comment stuck with her. Each time she met Matthew, she would remember it, wondering why it bothered her.

  In fact, it could still bother her.

  “Here’s your pie,” she said setting the plate on the table.

  “Thanks.” He looked up at her, his expression still serious. “I’ll see you later on, then.”

  Her reply was a cool smile that belied her tension.

  The next twenty minutes were busy. Cory didn’t relax until she saw Matthew leave. She watched as he ducked into a snappy-looking sports car.

  Expensive-looking sports car.

  As Cory bussed his cup and plate, she found a generous tip. Stifling her humiliation, Cory picked it up. He obviously thought she needed the money—sadly, he was right.

  The rest of her shift went quickly. By the time Cory’s shift was done, her feet burned and her head ached with tension. She wondered if Zeke would be with Matthew, and she prayed he wouldn’t.

  “So, how did you do on tips today?” her friend Kelsey asked as Cory slipped on her jacket.

  “Not bad.” She tried not to feel patronized when she thought of Matthew’s large tip.

  Kelsey Swain flipped her own long, red hair free from her coat. “You always do pretty good on tips, you old smoothy. I think it’s those deep brown eyes. Makes a guy think you’re all soft and sweet instead of the cool and collected type that turns down dates with a joke.”

  “If you still want a ride to your parents’ place, I suggest you keep a civil tongue in your head,” Cory warned, pulling open the back door of the restaurant.

  “No threats.” Kelsey raised her hands in mock surrender as she walked through.

  Cory unlocked the passenger door of her car, then got in her side of the station wagon.

  “You know, Cory, when your catering business takes off, I sure hope you can buy yourself a decent vehicle,” Kelsey said.

  “Hey. Who’s driving who where?” Cory asked with a laugh as she backed out of the parking lot. “At least my vehicle runs.”

  “Yeah. I’m tired of constantly fixing that lemon I drive. Now if I had a man in my life, that would be different. He could fix it.”

  “Oh, brother, don’t start on that. As if men will be your salvation.”

  “Don’t get all cynical on me, girl. One of us needs to be positive.”

  “I’ll leave that up to you,” Cory said. “Not all men are heroes.”

  “No. Most likely not,” Kelsey said, with a curious tone, “but I think I saw someone that could come close. He looked like a perfect man.”

  “That’s an oxymoron.”

  “He came just before the supper rush,” Kelsey continued, ignoring her friend. “Tall, with wavy hair. Killer smile.” Kelsey sighed dramatically. “And a dimple. Right there.” Kelsey poked her finger into a spot just beside her mouth.

  Oh, goodness, she means Matthew, Cory thought with a jolt. “I don’t know how you can remember him,” Cory said, forcing herself to sound disinterested. “We must have served two dozen guys since then.”

  “Oh, but not like him. He had a charm, a charisma that oozed from him. And a fancy little sports car.”

  “Don’t forget the dimple.”

  “C’mon. He was definitely hero material.”

  “You and your heroes,” Cory said with mock anger. “There’s no such thing. A guy is a guy.”

  “Speaks the cynical beauty,” Kelsey teased. “Don’t tell me you haven’t wished for a hero once upon a time?”

  Cory didn’t reply. Kelsey’s words struck close to her own daydreams. She used to wish for a hero. The brother she never met; the son Joyce gave up for adoption when her first husband died, leaving her with massive debt. Joyce was expecting and had no way of raising two children.

  The brother that her mother still had pictures of. Many times, Cory had wished, yes, even prayed, that he would come swooping into their lives and save her and her mother.

  She wished he would save them from the merciless teasing of classmates about the secondhand and homemade clothes she wore.

  But mostly, she had wished her brother would save her from Zeke each time the court enforced his visiting rights after Joyce successfully sued for divorce.

  “Don’t you think he would make a good hero?” Kelsey continued. “He’s got those beautiful green eyes—like a mountain lake.”

  “And about as warm.” Cory grew tired of hearing Kelsey defending a man she had to see in a few moments. “He’s a lawyer,” she said shortly. As if that explained everything.

  Kelsey held up her hand. “No lawyer jokes. Okay?”

  “But I’ve got so many good ones.”

  “So, how do you know him?” Kelsey said. “He tried to ask you out, and you did your usual Ice Woman thing and brushed him off?”

  “No.”

  “How?”

  Cory hesitated; years of keeping to herself and keeping secrets were hard to let go of. But what would it matter if she told Kelsey about Zeke? If Matthew had found them, Zeke wasn’t far behind. If that was the case, Cory had no reason to keep secrets anymore.

  “He was—no, is,” Cory corrected, “my stepfather’s lawyer. Thanks to the formidable team of McKnight and McKnight, I spent every weekend of junior high and high school with Zeke Smith. My stepfather. My mother divorced him when I was twelve because—while he happened to be a fine upstanding member of the community in public—he was a devious, manipulative schemer in private. A nasty abusive one at that. Unfortunately, that didn’t change with the divorce. In fact, it got worse. He hounded and stalked us. He insisted on his weekend visits with me. Because he had legally adopted me, that was his right.”

  Cory paused a moment, her thoughts going to a dark place she promised herself she would never return to. But she shook off the horror. She couldn’t allow herself to be weak in front of Matthew and, potentially, Zeke.

  “My mother wanted to leave Edmonton but my stepfather fought her every step of the way,” she continued. “Mostly because, he claimed, he wouldn’t be able to visit me, even though she had laid out a plan for those visits.” Cory stopped, her emotions getting the better of her as memories swamped her mind. She clenched the steering wheel, her knuckles turning white as once again she struggled with forgiveness. “As soon as I turned eighteen, we did move. But he followed and kept finding us. Coming to our place, harassing my mother, bothering me. It was awful. The past couple years I thought we had avoided him. But he found us again so we moved here to Sweet Creek. I thought we were safe. I guess he discovered where we are or, at least, his lawyer did.”

  “Oh, Cory. I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Now I get to meet my stepfather’s lawyer and find out what new torment Zeke is bringing upon us,” Cory finished.

  “I’m sorry. I feel terrible now.”

  “Well, you didn’t know.” Cory turned a corner and parked in front of Kelsey’s parents’ home.

  Kelsey turned to her, resting a hand on her shoulder. “You want to come in for a while?”

  “No, thanks. I have to meet this guy right away.”

  “I’ll be thinking of you. Praying for you even.”

  “Thanks, but you’ve got some strong competition,” Cory said. “According to Matthew McKnight, he found me by praying. You’re up against someone who argues with earthly judges for a living and talks to God on the side.”

  “I’ll be praying nonetheless,” Kelsey said. “You take care.” With an encouraging smile,
Kelsey got out of the car.

  The front door of the house flung open and a young boy of five barreled down the stairs, throwing himself at Kelsey. Kelsey’s son, Chris.

  An older couple stood at the top of the stairs, watching the scene with benevolent smiles. Kelsey’s parents.

  Cory rested her arms on the steering wheel of her car, watching with a tremor of envy. When Cory had applied for her job at the inn it was Kelsey’s father who interviewed her. While he talked to her, Kelsey’s mother stopped by with cookies. Since the first time Cory met Kelsey, she had often wished she had what her friend had.

  A home where she was supported by two healthy parents who loved each other.

  Once, Joyce had been strong and determined, but since she became ill, Cory had to be the strong one and the one who made the decisions and, later, made the money. It took several years before the correct diagnosis was made for what had felled this once vibrant woman. Fibromyalgia. All that did was give them a name for the debilitating pain, headaches, and lack of sleep. Joyce worked less and Cory more.

  Sometimes the responsibilities weighed so heavily on her, Cory didn’t know if she could go on. But she did.

  “Now you have to keep going again,” she reprimanded herself, as she waved to Kelsey and pulled away from the curb. “You’re not done for the day.”

  She spun the car around and couldn’t stop the sudden racing of her heart as she drove back downtown. Couldn’t stop the tug of fear seeping out of the box she had firmly kept a lid on. The box that held memories of Zeke Smith.

  At times, she would glimpse a man’s profile, a swagger, or an arrogant tone, and the fear would push past the lid and twist through her mind.

  The thought of Kelsey praying for her gave her strength as she parked her car beside Matthew’s. If Zeke had found them, she and her mother would need all the prayers they could get.

  Cory shut off the engine, closed her eyes as she took a steadying breath, sent up her own prayer, then got out.