Unspoken Read Online Free PDF Page A

slim chance ... Her stomach roiled at the horrid thought, the unthinkable possibility.
    A minivan cruised past, windows open, a frustrated mother yelling at her children, and farther up the street a crow with shiny black wings was nervously strutting along the gutter, looking for a morsel.
    He was still waiting. Insolently. She cleared her throat. “I came back for a couple of reasons,” she admitted, squinting up at him and deciding it was now or never. “One involves you. When you’ve got a minute, we should talk.”
    “That all it’ll take? A minute?” He regarded her through those damned glasses and she wanted to rip them from his face.
    “Ten ... twenty at the most.”
    “How about now?”
    Her throat closed for a second. So many nights she’d wondered if she’d ever approach him, tell him the secret she’d buried in her heart for nearly ten years. She’d never come up with a viable answer. Until now. Probably because she had no choice. Well, in for a penny, in for a pound. Better to get this off her chest and let the chips fall where they may. “Okay. Yeah, why not now?” she said, then glanced down the hot asphalt street.
    “I’ll buy you a drink. You’re legal now, right?”
    “Well past,” she said.
    Hitching his chin toward the White Horse Saloon, he started walking and Shelby screwed up all her courage to tell him the truth. He held the door open for her; it creaked on ancient hinges and she walked into a dark, tomb-like room where the exposed cross beams were black from years of cigarette smoke, and the antiquated air-conditioning system hummed and wheezed noisily as it fought a losing battle with the heat. Overhead a few lazy paddle fans pushed the thick, warm air around while tinny music flowing from hidden speakers vied with the distinctive click of pool balls in the back corner. Ice cubes rattled in glasses, and the stale odor of smoke and booze filled Shelby’s nostrils. As she passed the length of the bar, she felt more than one set of interested eyes follow her to a back booth.
    “Beer?” Nevada asked as she sat.
    “Fine.” It didn’t matter. As she dropped her sunglasses into a side pocket of her purse, he walked back to the bar and motioned with two fingers to the bartender, a thin, brittle-looking woman with fried blond hair, exaggerated eyebrows and faded lipstick.
    “Two, Lucy.”
    “You got it.”
    He slid onto the bench across from her and tossed his sunglasses onto the table. In the dim light she noticed that his eyes were slightly different, one pupil larger than the other—the result, she remembered, of his run-in with Ross McCallum a long time ago. “Shoot,” he said. “What is it, Shelby? What’s suddenly so important that you hightailed it back here?”
    Anxiously she glanced over her shoulder and told herself that she would have to face this day sooner or later. It was best to get it over with. “There’s something I should have told you a long time ago,” she admitted and saw the cords in the back of his neck tense. “Something important.”
    “What?”
    Lucy came, dropped a couple of paper coasters decorated with a map of Texas on their table, then placed two long-necked bottles of beer and a couple of glasses in front of them. As an afterthought, she reached across the bar and slid a small basket of peanuts in shells across the battle-worn table top. It stopped a hairsbreadth from the napkin holder. “Anythin’ else?” she asked.
    “Don’t think so,” Nevada said.
    “Y’all let me know if ya change yer minds.”
    “Will do.” Nevada poured his glass as she sauntered off and his eyes found Shelby’s. “Go on.”
    She felt her spine stiffen and she kept her voice as low as possible. “You and I. We ... we had a baby,” she admitted.
    He was reaching for a peanut, but his hand stopped in midair. Every muscle in his body froze. His eyes narrowed on her with the same intensity as if he was sighting through his rifle. “What?” he demanded, his