BEVERLY BARTON - The Daughter

AVON

An imprint of HarperCollins Publishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins 2014

Copyright © Beverly Barton 2006

Cover photography: Arcangel

Cover design: www.blacksheep-uk.com

Beverly Barton asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9781847561411

Ebook Edition © October 2014 ISBN: 9780007424894

Version: 2015-07-23

To my daughter, Badiema Beaver Waldrep, and my son, Brant Beaver, who have filled my life with joy and given me countless reasons to be a very proud mother

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

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

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Epilogue

About the Author

By the Same Author

About the Publisher

He had been waiting fifteen years for this day and nothing – absolutely nothing – was going to ruin it for him. Not the guard’s smart-ass farewell comment. Not the drizzling rain. And not the fear that clutched his stomach like a giant fist. If he made a mistake and broke their rules, they’d send him back here to Donaldson. He had to play it smart, be careful and make sure he didn’t get caught doing anything illegal. But come hell or high water, when he got home he was going to prove a few things to some people, starting with Webb Porter, the man he held responsible for ruining his life.

As a prisoner, he had proven to them that he could be a model inmate, a reformed character who was remorseful for his past sins. If he hadn’t messed up so badly those first couple of years, he’d have been out of this place long before now. But at eighteen he’d been a stupid punk, filled with hatred and rage. The hatred and rage were still inside him, but he had learned to keep them under control. Channeled properly, strong emotions could work to his benefit.

When he’d finally wised up, he would have done anything for a chance to be paroled. The only thing that had kept him sane and made him fight to survive under intolerable conditions was the dream of freedom.

Once he returned home, he would take things one day at a time. Wouldn’t make any waves. Wouldn’t ruffle any feathers. At least not right away. He had been waiting fifteen years; he could wait a little longer. But no matter what he had to do or who he had to hurt in the process, he intended to reclaim the life that had been taken from him. He had come to this prison as an eighteen-year-old convicted murderer who, only months before his arrest, had been a star athlete with the world by the tail and a bright future. He had paid his debt to society, had served his time for being convicted of slitting his bastard of a stepfather’s throat. Now he was free. Free to go home. Free to unearth the truth. Free to make sure the guilty paid as dearly for their crimes as they had made him pay.

But first things first. Reed Conway grinned as he marched out of Donaldson Correctional Facility, head held high, shoulders squared, backbone ramrod straight. When he got back to Spring Creek, he wanted to eat his fill of his mama’s fried chicken and peach cobbler. He wanted to guzzle down a six-pack of ice-cold beer with his cousin Briley Joe and have some fun, the way they had when they’d been teenagers. And he wanted to get laid. Just about any willing woman would do just fine.

‘I wish it weren’t raining.’ Judy Conway wiped the foggy window, her circular motions creating a small clearing in the car’s hazy windshield. ‘I wanted today to be perfect for Reed’s homecoming. The sun should be shining.’

‘Don’t worry about the weather, Mama,’ Regina said as she reached out and clasped her mother’s hand. ‘Reed won’t care. And a little rain couldn’t possibly spoil this day. We’ve been waiting an awfully long time for him to come home to us.’

Judy squeezed Regina’s hand. ‘It’s going to be so hard for him. He was just a boy when he went in that awful place. He grew from a boy to a man inside the walls of that prison. I can’t help wondering if it’ll be possible for him to adjust to living in the outside world.’

‘Don’t be so pessimistic.’

‘I’m trying to be realistic.’ Judy caught a glimpse of two men walking in the rain straight toward the car. Her heartbeat accelerated. The shorter man, with his black umbrella held high, barely kept step with the taller one, who was all but running. ‘It’s them. Look, honey. Mark has Reed with him.’

Mark Leamon’s father, Milton Leamon, had been Reed’s attorney and, when the elder Mr Leamon had passed away five years ago, his son, fresh out of law school, had taken over his father’s practice in Spring Creek. Regina had gone to work for him three years ago, when he’d decided to add a legal assistant to the small firm.

Judy grabbed the handle and swung open the car door. Sitting in the backseat, Regina mimicked her mother’s moves. They jumped out of the Lincoln and stood side by side. Regina held a floral umbrella over her mother’s head, but the closer her son came toward her, the harder it was for Judy to stay put. She left the umbrella’s protection and raced toward Reed, disregarding the drenching rain. He increased his pace and they met at the edge of the roadway, mother and son, soaked to the skin. A broad smile spread across Judy’s face. Tears trickled from her eyes and mixed with the raindrops on her cheeks.

‘Reed!’ She grabbed him, wrapping her arms securely around her firstborn, the son of her first husband, who had died in a bloody war halfway around the world only weeks before Reed was born, nearly thirty-three years ago.

His strong arms encompassed her in a celebratory bear hug and they clung to each other. Finally Reed grabbed his mother’s shoulders and stared into her face. She gazed back at him, at the handsome features so like Jimmy Conway’s. Reed had always been his father’s son – in looks, talent, and temperament. But his smile was hers. Same straight, white teeth. Same wide, full mouth. Thank you God , she prayed silently. Thank you for letting me see my son smile again .