Every Move She Makes by Beverly Barton

been bothering Ella?”
    “They made contact and it upset Ella.”
    “What do you mean they made contact?”
    “After she received the first letter, Ella confronted Reed.”
    “Ah, I see.” Judy tilted her chin and glared at Webb. “If you’re so worried about Reed contaminating Ella, then perhaps you should tell your daughter to stay away from my son.”
    Judy left hurriedly while Webb Porter stood there, mouth agape. She closed the door quietly behind her and ran from the back porch and down the brick sidewalk. Her head throbbed. Her heart raced. Damn Webb Porter. Damn him to hell and back.
    Webb didn’t move for several minutes after Judy Conway’s hasty departure. He hadn’t meant to upset her, but he should have known that it would be useless to ask her to warn Reed to stay away from Ella. Judy had been Reed’s staunchest defender during his trial, and whatever goodwill there had been between Webb and her before then had come to an end when Reed had been convicted of Junior’s murder.
    He would never forget the night she came to him, pleading for him to have the police search elsewhere for her dead husband’s killer.
    “Someone else killed Junior,” she had said. “I swear to you that Reed didn’t slit his throat. He beat him to within an inch of his life, yes, but he didn’t come back later while Junior was unconscious and murder him.”
    Webb had wanted to help her. More than she would ever know. But how could he, when all the evidence pointed clearly to Reed? Webb had despised Junior Blalock almost as much as Reed had. He’d never understood what Judy had seen in that white trash drunkard. He realized how hard it had been for her trying to raise two children on her own, but marrying Junior had only added to her troubles, not relieved them. Of course, Junior had been a good-looking devil and had possessed a certain amount of crude charm. But he’d been a sleaze—a wife beater and a child molester. Webb cringed at the thought of that slimy bastard touching sweet little Regina. If back then Webb had ever suspected that Junior had tried to rape Regina, he wasn’t sure what he would have done to the man. You would have killed him , a nagging inner voice said.
    “Yes, I would have killed him,” Webb said aloud.
    The intercom buzzer sounded. “Webb? If you’re there, dear, would you please come upstairs. I haven’t seen you since breakfast this morning.”
    Webb froze to the spot. There had been a time, long ago, when he had loved the sound of Carolyn’s voice: soft, sultry, and honey-coated Southern. But that had been a lifetime ago. Now, the sound irritated the hell out of him. There were times when he couldn’t bear even being in the same room with her. She was clinging and whiny and needy, so very needy. He had loved her once, but that, too, had been a lifetime ago. He pitied her. He had stayed married to her out of duty and obligation. Carolyn knew why he stayed, but she didn’t seem to mind why he remained her husband, just as long as she could be, now and forever, Mrs. Webb Porter. She claimed to love him, and in her own way, perhaps she did.
    They both loved Ella, the one good thing in their lives. But how many times had the truth about Ella’s bloodlines haunted him? How often had he wondered exactly how Carolyn would feel about Ella if she knew the truth about their adopted child? If his wife knew about Ella’s true parentage, would she hate their daughter? But there was no reason for Carolyn to ever know the truth. And no reason for Ella ever to learn about her biological mother and father. Her adoption had been private—handled by the Porters’ family lawyer, Milton Leamon, Webb’s cousin. And thankfully, Ella had never asked any questions about her natural parents.
    “Webb? Webb?” Carolyn called again and again.
    With slumped shoulders, he left the kitchen and headed up the back stairs. When he reached Carolyn’s closed door, he hesitated, then knocked. Viola opened the