A Bullet to the Heart by Kathy Wheeler (most read books of all time .TXT) 📕

the chair. “That day, we devised a plan. He said the only way we could get her out without Wallace Hayes’s approval was by Court Order.”

“Well, clearly you succeeded in your plan.” Jo was not inclined to listen to anything that would redeem Eleanor. She hated their mother with every cell in her body.

Lydia sighed. “For five weeks, I went to that awful place, volunteered to read, visited with the patients. One day I saw her just sitting there, staring off into space—” Unspilled tears rested on Lydia’s lashes. She swiped them away with the back of her hand. “Then Victor died, and I had to get her out before Wallace Hayes came crawling out of the woodwork and put a kink in my plans. Just in time, too. I saw him today on the ferry.”

Jo froze, literally her fingers turned to ice. “What?” she whispered, terror and panic clawing her from inside out. “He’s here? On the island?”

Her hands twisted in her lap. “I’m sorry, Jo. I didn’t mean to spring this on you.” She firmed her jaw. “But I did what I felt I had to do. And, and…I would do it again.”

Wallace Hayes was on the island. Oh, God. Nausea roiled through her. She couldn’t breathe. Jo rushed to the nook and climbed up, hands shaking so violently, she couldn’t grasp the latch of the window.

“What are you doing?” Lydia demanded.

“So, w-what do you propose we do with her now?” Jo spoke through a clenched jaw. She couldn’t get the damn window to open. “I’m supposed to stay under the same roof with the woman who was supposed to have protected us and failed in every conceivable manner?” It was too much. The walls were closing in. She needed air or she would die. She glanced over her shoulder, gauging the distance to the terrace door.

Tevi jumped up and stomped her foot. “Hold on just one damn minute. I want to know exactly why I’ve been left in the dark about all of this. For God’s sake, you have both let me believe my mother was dead, for years.”

The latch gave way and Jo shoved the window open and breathed in deep. After a moment, she pulled her head back in, feeling calmer. She turned and sat down on the cushioned window seat. “Frankly, I wasn’t sure even it was true. But now you’re telling us he’s on the island?” She splayed her hand on her chest. Her heart still pounded like a drum. “Victor told us she was dead. It doesn’t matter to me, one whit. When we walked out of Wally and Eleanor’s house that day, they were both dead to me.”

“How very convenient,” Tevi fired back.

Jo glared at Lydia. “Well, she can’t stay here. I forbid it.”

“You aren’t the only one who has a say,” Lydia shot back.

“I’m done here.” Jo leapt to her feet, hit the terrace doors, and made her exit to the steps below, Frizzle right at her heels.

The doors slammed behind Jo as Frizzle darted in front of her. Jo didn’t even flinch. How dare her sisters act as if they were the injured parties when it came to Eleanor? Lydia, in particular, knew how difficult things were all those years ago. What difference did it make that they’d been only six and eight years old? That was old enough to remember Eleanor’s second husband rattling the door to the bedroom where Jo had barricaded the three of them. Jo hadn’t dared leave her sisters alone after that incident. Not when Wallace Hayes was in the house. True, they’d never suffered from hunger, shelter, or clothing. But Jo would have gladly lived on the streets given the choice.

All the while, Eleanor slept down the hall lost in the stupor her sleeping pills provided. Jo’s anger threatened to overwhelm her. She’d told Lydia to leave Eleanor be. The woman was a write-off.

Frizzle bumped her hip, jolting her attention back to her surroundings. She touched his head and reveled in the lush overgrown greenery, obscuring the path she was on. She inhaled a deep breath to steady her nerves. One breath, however, did not cut it. Two or three more helped. In her haste, it was a wonder she hadn’t tripped and flattened her nose with the silly pumps she wore. She tapped Frizzle on the head and whispered. “I’m okay, boy. I’m okay.”

The overhanging trees created a cocooned canopy, shielding the house from sight. Still, she kept on the path, moving one foot in front of another. Shivering and glad that Frizzle decided to tag along. He could be quite decisive at times, and knowing Wallace Hayes was in the area, there was no way Jo would be leaving the house, not without Frizzle at her side.

She surveyed the unruly plant life, thinking back to when they were kids. At one time, Victor had the gardener trimming back the vegetation on a regular basis.

“You girls need to stay closer to home,” Uncle Victor had called out in that gruff tone of his. Threatening them with confinement to their bedrooms had done nothing to derail her and her sisters from romping about their massive playground. Eventually, it was Victor who had been forced to modify the landscape to keep an eye on them when they ventured out. The memory touched her like a light through a long dark tunnel.

Those were her best memories of Victor.

Slowly, the briny sea air melded through her, calming her as she and Frizzle worked their way down the meandering course until she cleared the trees and stopped. The sight of a tweed jacket stretched across broad shoulders brought her up short. Dark hair breached the collar, and Jo sucked in her breath. Jackson—he turned.

“Hey, Jo.” Not Jackson. Wyn. Wyndel Smith, Jr. God, this was almost worse. She bit back a groan.

She backed away, putting distance between them, all the while praying he couldn’t hear the erratic pounding of her heart as it threatened to burst from