After they finished eating their dinner, Courtney and Mary cleaned up while Carl helped his dad repair a rotten riser on the front porch. Courtney glanced at her watch and guilt filled her up again.
“Thank you for dinner,” she said to Mary, hugging the frail old woman tight.
“It’s always good to see you. You know you can come over any time, right?”
Courtney nodded, a small smile on her lips. “I know.”
Mary opened the back door. “Ellis, Carl?” she called out to her husband and son. “Courtney’s leaving.”
Ellis looked up from the board he was holding. “Be safe. Will we see you on Sunday?”
“Of course.” Courtney smiled again. Her lips were starting to ache. “Bright and early for first service.” Attending the First Baptist Church of Hartson’s Creek was part of their Sunday routine.
Carl put down the hammer he was holding, and a tiny cloud of dust rose up from the ground. “I’ll walk you out.”
“No need. My car’s just around the front.”
But he was already standing, brushing the dirt from his knees. They were silent as they walked around the house to where Courtney’s old truck was parked. His patrol car was next to it, all new and shiny. “You sure you’re okay?” he asked her.
“I’m fine.” She gave him a quizzical look. “Why do you ask?”
“You seem different.” He shrugged. “Edgy maybe.”
Her poker face wasn’t as good as she’d thought. The guilt that had been simmering beneath the surface rose to the top, making her mouth taste bitter. If he knew why she really wanted to hurry home, he wouldn’t be looking at her with that soft expression right now. He’d be hurling insults at her.
Whore. Slut.
She pushed those thoughts away and reached for the truck door, but Carl beat her to it, pulling it open and standing to the side. “Your hair looks pretty,” he told her, his voice rough as he took a strand between his fingers. She tried not to wince. “You should wear it down more often.”
As soon as he dropped the curl, Courtney climbed into the driver’s seat, her keys in her hand. “Thank you.”
He put his hand on the top of the door frame, leaning in. “You thought about getting back out there?” he asked her. “It’s been two years since Shaun died. And you’re still young.” His gaze dropped down to her bare legs.
Her breath caught in her throat. “No, I haven’t.”
He nodded. “Okay then.” He leaned back, and went to close the door. “Drive carefully.”
“Will do.”
He closed the door and she slumped back against the seat. She shook her head and slid the key into the ignition, revving the gas as the engine roared to life.
And as she pulled away, leaving a trail of dust behind her, she thanked God that her cottage was on the other side of the fields. Where nobody could see what she was doing.
Tonight she’d be committing a sin she never wanted his family to find out about.
He knocked on her front door at exactly nine o’clock. Courtney walked into the hallway, checking her reflection in the mirror she’d brought with her when she and Shaun had first gotten married. It had been a wedding gift to her parents, but since her mom had died, and her father remarried, neither of them had any need of it. A reminder of her childhood home.
After getting home that evening, she’d taken a shower, careful not to let the moisture reach her hair. Then she’d pulled on the lace lingerie she’d ordered online, too scared to be seen buying such pretty scraps in Hartson’s Creek, where somebody was sure to notice. Then she’d pulled on a dress. Nothing fancy, just a cream colored casual dress embossed with red roses that skimmed her torso and flared out at her mid thigh.
She looked like somebody else. Somebody who knew what she was doing. The kind of woman who opened the door to a sexy guy and let him use her body the way they both wanted him to.
“What are you doing?” she whispered to her reflection, even though she knew exactly what was about to happen. She was going to burn in hell for it. Yet the adrenaline rush that came just from knowing he was there on her step was enough to make her not care.
Logan Hartson had that effect on her since the moment they met. It had been a few months earlier, when Harriet and Hester had escaped from the chicken run and made it all the way to Main Road, having so much fun squawking and dancing around on the blacktop that they didn’t notice the car speeding toward them.
She’d ran all the way down the lane that led from the cottage toward town, her legs flying as she tried to reach them in time. Waving her hands, she’d screamed at them, but the sound of screeching brakes had drowned her voice out, the car stopping feet away from the hens as they noticed it and squawked like crazy.
“What the fuck?” the man she now knew was Logan had muttered, climbing out of the shining black coupe. His angry eyes had met hers, and it felt like somebody had shoved their hand firmly inside of her chest. It was all it took for her not to stagger backward.
He was wearing a crisp white shirt, the sleeves rolled up to reveal an expensive looking watch. His gaze had dipped, taking in her way-too-short cut offs that she only wore when she was doing yard work. The tank she was wearing barely covered her breasts. And seeing as she hadn’t planned to leave home, she didn’t bother to put a bra on that morning. She knew he could see how hard her nipples had become.
“I’m sorry,” she said, breathless. “They must have climbed out through a gap in the coop.” She turned to scoop up Hester, but the brown feathery siren skipped out of her
