Pearl looked up at her with a knowing smile. “Sure we do, but we eat real food—not the fake stuff you get in the city. You won’t find any instant this or convenient that in my kitchen, Beth. It’s all real.”
She nodded. “And delicious, I might add.”
“Thank you kindly.” Pearl retrieved a cast-iron skillet, which must’ve weighed a ton, from a hook over the massive range. “Are you going to eat a real breakfast this morning, or wait until your belly button is makin’ love to your backbone again, like you did yesterday?”
Beth snorted coffee through her nose and grabbed a napkin from the holder on the table. “Don’t do that when my mouth’s full.”
Pearl laughed. “I guess you haven’t heard that saying before.”
“No, I can’t say it’s common in Chicago.” Beth tried to ignore the heat churning in her loins, into her belly, and possibly spreading across her collarbones and up her neck to bloom in her cheeks. Pearl’s reference to making love had triggered Beth’s memories of her hours spent in Ty’s bed. Surely the woman
didn’t know or suspect, though she did know they’d spent the night alone together here.
And now Ty was checking up on her. Beth drew a deep breath and hoped her displeasure at this discovery wasn’t obvious to anyone—especially to Ty.
“I’m just going to call and see what time Bill’s bringing the children home, so I’ll know how much food to fix,” Pearl said, and dialed his number on the kitchen wall phone. She chatted for a few minutes, then asked over her shoulder, “Are you sure it’s safe now?”
Beth shrugged. “We have no way of being a hundred percent certain, since we don’t know who was shooting at me,” she said. “But we do know they were shooting at only
me.
”
Pearl repeated that—more or less—to whichever of the Brubakers she had on the phone. After another moment, she held the receiver toward Beth. “Wants to talk to you now.”
“Oh, for crying out…” With a sigh, Beth set her coffee mug on the table, dabbed at her nose again with the napkin, and took the receiver from Pearl. “Beth Dearborn here.”
“Good morning, Ms. Dearborn,” a silken drawl said. “We didn’t get a chance to speak again at Mark’s party. I just wanted to let you know the sheriff upset my husband yesterday, and it’s all your fault. You just had to dredge up that nasty old letter again. Didn’t you?”
Beth wanted to hoot with laughter at “nasty old letter,” but she resisted the impulse. She deserved a medal or something. “I assume I’m speaking to Mrs. Ruby Brubaker. Is that correct?”
“Yes, of course.”
“I’ll be happy when we have the long-overdue handwriting analysis back from the experts,” Beth stated very carefully. “Is there anything else you’d like to know?”
“In the future, I’d appreciate it so
very
much if you’d refrain from upsetting my happy little home, Ms. Dearborn.” The woman’s voice was sweetened with battery acid.
Pearl pointed a finger to her head and rotated it in the universally recognized signal for craziness. Beth wanted to snort again, but resisted—that made two medals. Yes, she was counting.
“I have a job to do here, Mrs. Brubaker,” Beth said very carefully. “And I intend to do it. Your husband and I have already discussed this, and he seemed fine with me dredging all—”
“Dredging what?” Grandma Ruby asked sharply.
“I believe I explained to Mr. Brubaker the necessity of having the letter analyzed. Now if you’ll excuse me?” Beth handed the receiver back to Pearl before the woman could say another word. She could hear her raising her voice even after she crossed the room to retrieve her coffee cup.
After Pearl hung up the phone, she said, “Sorry. That woman just grates on the nerves.”
“She does, and I don’t even know her.”
Pearl set the bowl of eggs on the counter. “Mr. Brubaker will have the kids here in about half an hour, so I’ll start breakfast now.”
“Great. If you don’t need me for anything, I’m going to make a few phone calls.”
“I’ve been cooking breakfast by myself a long time, child. Run along.”
Beth headed up the stairs to her room, hoping she
wouldn’t run into Ty just now. She needed to gather her thoughts after learning he’d googled her.
In all honesty, could she blame him? He barely knew her, and they’d already slept together. Plus, anyone would be curious about why a person would give up a job like the one she’d had for her current position.
So now he probably knew she was the most decorated homicide detective in the department’s history. Would he wonder why? Did it matter?
She paused at the door to her room. Yes, it mattered. He mattered. And that’s why she was so frigging upset about the whole mess.
Right now she wanted to call Sam. She just wanted to hear her cousin’s voice. That was all. Nothing more, nothing less.
It really galled her that Ty didn’t trust her, though—she sighed—she had to admit she’d do the same if the situation were reversed. He hardly knew her, after all. Even so, she still felt betrayed and more than a little wounded. Telling herself the man was justified didn’t help much.
She walked into her room and saw sunlight spilling through the curtains onto the colorful quilt. Like a spotlight, the sun’s rays shone directly on a handful of bright yellow flowers in the center of the bed. Daffodils, maybe. Even a city dweller like Beth Dearborn knew they were early spring flowers.
She stepped farther into her room and saw something else. Closer to her pillow, beyond the spot of sunshine, was a wooden box. On the outside it read “Colt 45.” She opened the box. It was in exquisite condition. Someone had obviously taken excellent care of the old firearm. It looked like a John Browning
clone. An unopened package of ammunition sat beside it.
She noticed the plate on the underside of the gun case’s lid and wiped away the smudges and tarnish to read the words inscribed there.
Presented to Sergeant John T. Malone,
United States Army, for bravery.
August 2nd, 1972.
Beth whistled low. Was John T. Malone Ty’s father? Had he served in Nam? And this was his gun?
She sat down hard on the bed with the box clutched in her lap, then reached for the bouquet of handpicked flowers and held them to her cheek, hoping tears wouldn’t wilt them.
Maybe he did trust her.
Guilt over his snooping that morning made Ty feel uneasy, and he wondered if he should confess to Beth. Plus, he was curious about why she had left the police force. He supposed he could ask her that without confessing, but it seemed dishonest.
Sometime today he would find the time to talk to her and hoped she would understand. That seemed unlikely, since even he really didn’t understand his motive. It had been pure whim.
No, that was a lie. He knew exactly why he’d snooped. Beth Dearborn was a woman with secrets, and that scared the holy crap out of him, because Lorilee had also been a woman with secrets. He didn’t want to lose another woman that way…
Until he learned the truth about Lorilee, he would always wonder. Would he ever stop wondering? Doubting? Would Beth ever trust him enough to reveal her secrets?
As he completed his early morning chores with Cecil, his thoughts kept drifting back to the night of lovemaking with Beth. The woman was full of surprises, and he had never felt as close to anyone. Something very unique had passed between them—something
he’d never experienced before and had no way to define or describe, even to himself.
All he knew was he wanted it to happen again.
And again.
He needed to think a lot about exactly what that meant, and what she meant to him. How could she possibly fit into his life? Would she want to? A bigcity homicide detective living on a farm in Tennessee seemed unlikely as hell.
But she’d left that life for some reason. So, maybe she wanted something else. Something more. Maybe she wanted Ty Malone.
Did he want her on a permanent basis?
He stopped mucking out Cissy’s stall and leaned on the pitchfork’s handle. She seemed a little distant with the kids, except for Sarah, though she and Pearl sure hit it off well.
His empty belly churned. Coffee and stomach acid made poor partners when stress was thrown into the mix.
What the hell was he thinking? Premature thoughts for sure. Legally, at least, Ty Malone was still a married man.
First things first.
He needed to help Beth complete this investigation to prove his wife was dead, so Lorilee could rest in peace and her reputation could be restored in the community for the sake of their children. That was Sarah’s wish, and the reason he’d filed the life-insurance claim and petitioned the court.
And what had brought Beth here. He smiled to himself.
“Hmm. The kinda look you got on your face this
mornin’ makes me curious.” Cecil’s voice interrupted Ty’s thoughts. The older man filled Cissy’s trough with fresh water and gave Ty a questioning glance. “I ain’t stupid, Ty. Me ‘n Pearl both noticed the heat passin’ between you two.”
Ty knew better than to dodge Cecil. The man knew him better than anyone, and had been like a second father to him since his return to Tennessee. He tipped back his hat and met the man’s gaze. “Did you, now?”
“Sure. Kinda hard to miss, son.” Cecil grinned and winked knowingly. “And Ms.—I mean, Beth—is a fine-lookin’ woman.”
“That’s a fact.” Ty smiled. “And competent.”
Cecil laughed out loud. “Competent?”
“At investigating.” Ty tried to keep his expression bland, but he knew Cecil was on to him. “What are you getting at, old man? Just say it.”
“Oh, she’s definitely good at her job. Ain’t nobody denyin’ that.” Cecil leaned his elbow against the stall door while the filly nursed and Cissy ate the sweet feed he’d given her. “But I don’t think that’s what’s got you makin’ owl eyes after her every move, son.”
Ty had to grin at Cecil’s word choice. “Point taken,” he said. “I’ll bet breakfast is about ready.”
“I reckon.” Cecil’s expression grew solemn, and as Ty exited the stall, he placed a fatherly hand on his shoulder. “Just be careful, Ty.”
Ty nodded, not trusting his voice. Cecil would know immediately if he lied. And he wasn’t ready to tell the old man it was too late for him to “be careful.”
He was already in too deep.
Professor Sam Dearborn looked at the rental-car company’s map again. “What the devil have you gotten me into this time, Beth?”
A major tornado had damaged the campus enough to warrant an early end to spring semester classes. As far as Sam was concerned, it was fate, because he was meant to make this trip sooner. The damage was confined to academic buildings, and the students were ecstatic about the short break to prepare for final exams.
And Sam had decided to take this opportunity to check up on Cousin Beth.
She worried him. And they were the only family either of them had left. He’d made a vow to help her stay clean and sober, and she insisted the only way to do that was to avoid empathic encounters.
So here he was in Bumfuck, Tennessee. Correction—he couldn’t even find Bumfuck on the damned map!
He looked down at the gas gauge—still more than half-full. What was it Dad used to say? If you have gas in the car, you aren’t lost. He smiled in remembrance and looked at the map again as another pickup truck sped past him on the two-lane highway.
Of course, if he’d been able to fly into Knoxville and drive in through Brubaker, he wouldn’t be having this problem. But the damaged bridge had required him to approach from the opposite direction. The rental car clerk had seemed competent enough when she’d traced his route with a green marker, so he concentrated on those marks and looked at the road sign ahead.
He was heading the right direction. It looked as if
his turnoff to the Malone place should be right over the next hill. “Just momentary panic.” He cleared his throat and glanced at his cell phone again. Ah, finally he had a weak signal. Since he was pulled over onto the shoulder, he decided to warn his cousin of his pending arrival.
“Dearborn,” she answered.
“Didn’t look at caller ID?” he asked. She usually used his name immediately upon answering.
“Sam!” Her voice sounded odd. Strained. Or maybe she had a cold. “I was about to call you.”
“Well, get ready for a surprise. If I’m reading this map right, I should be at the Malone farmhouse within half an hour or so.”
Silence.
“Beth?”
“I’m here.”
“I thought you wanted me to come.”
“I do.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Everything.”
“Beth? Speak English.”
“Things are getting strange here.”
Sam laughed. “Honey, our entire lives have been strange.
We’re
strange.”
“True.” She sighed. “Someone cut the brake lines on my car, first.”
“You’re all right?” His heart slammed into his chest. “No accident?”
“No, I’m fine.” She sighed into the phone. “And then a sniper took a shot at me last night.”
“Somebody definitely doesn’t want you around, my dear.”
“No shit.”
“So maybe you should leave.”
“I…I…can’t.”
“Can’t?”
More silence.
“Beth?”
“I don’t want to leave.”
Sam let his head fall back against the headrest. “It’s the man. This Ty person. Isn’t it?”
“Yes.” Another sigh. “I think it’s serious, Sam. I’m scared.”
Makes two of us.
Sam didn’t want anything or anyone to push his cousin off the wagon, but if she had a shot at true happiness, he was all for it. All he knew for certain was that he had to meet this man.
“What are you more worried about now, Beth?” he asked. “The spirit in the house, or this relationship?”
“Both.” She cleared her throat. “Sam, I’m more and more convinced that the spirit in the foyer is Ty’s wife.”
“Why do you believe that?”
“I’ve been dreaming about her.”
“Explain.”
“She’s trying to contact me when I’m asleep.”
“You aren’t as capable of shutting her out then.”
“Exactly.”
“She knows you’re there and knows you can communicate with her.” Sam tapped his long fingers on the steering wheel. “Let’s finish this in person. I want to meet Ty Malone. And the spirit, if she’ll engage me.”
“I want that, too,” Beth said. “More than you can imagine.”
Oh, Sam could imagine. He’d been the one to carry Beth into the treatment facility, to sit beside her
through the tremors that ravaged her body as she withdrew from alcohol. He’d sat with her through counseling sessions, through AA meetings…
He could definitely imagine.
“I’m here now, Beth. I’m here.” He chuckled and glanced at the map again. “Well, almost.”
“Drive carefully. And thanks, Cuz.”
Sam disconnected and eased off the shoulder and back onto the highway—what passed for one in this part of Tennessee, anyway. He hit an open stretch and increased his speed, hoping to find the turnoff soon and make up for lost time.
He glanced in his rearview mirror as he crested the next small hill and saw flashing lights. Seven miles over? He should’ve known when the rental agency gave him a car with New York plates that this would happen.
Resigned to being even later than planned, he pressed on the brake and pulled back onto the shoulder. The state trooper pulled up behind him, climbed out of his car, tugged on his belt, and started toward Sam’s rental.
He sank lower in his seat, thinking about the old Charlie Daniels song, “Uneasy Rider.” Good God, he was even driving a Chevrolet. Sam glanced in his mirror again. He definitely should’ve lost the ponytail and earring before this trip.
“Mornin’,” the trooper greeted as Sam lowered the Chevy’s automatic window. “Where you headed in such an all-fired hurry, boy?”
Boy? Sam forced a tight smile. “I’m looking for the Malone Farm. Am I lost?” He didn’t acknowledge that he’d been over the speed limit. He’d either get ticketed or he wouldn’t.
“Ty Malone’s place?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Next left turn. You’re almost there.” The trooper leaned against the car, sunlight reflecting off his mirrored sunglasses. He grinned like a Cheshire cat. “I’m not gonna write you a ticket today, because just seein’ that hair and bling of yours is enough entertainment to make my day. You got balls, boy. New York plates and a damn ponytail. Don’t that beat all?” He laughed and shook his head. “Just ease back on that pedal some. Lots of slow farm equipment pulling on and off this stretch of road. Hear?”
Still chuckling, the alleged officer of the law made his way back to his vehicle and drove away.
“Entertainment, is it?” Sam figured he should be insulted, but at least the asshole had said he had balls. “Damn right.”
At least now he knew he was on the right road. “I’m coming, Beth. Hang in there.”
The children chattered enough about the new filly to keep breakfast from being as strained as it might have been, considering. Beth’s mind was occupied, awaiting Sam’s arrival, but she was also busy listening to Bill and Ruby Brubaker’s conversation.
Why was Grandma Ruby so adamant that Beth not investigate Lorilee’s disappearance? Why had she convinced Bill not to have the letter analyzed when it first arrived? It didn’t make sense. Family wanted answers about the people they loved when they disappeared. If Beth had learned anything during her years of investigative work, that was it. Whether it was missing persons or homicides, families wanted
answers.
And Ruby had convinced Lorilee’s father to stop looking for those answers. There had to be a reason, and Beth had a hunch—nothing else to go on—that Ruby’s reason might prove important. At any rate, Beth’s detective antennae were buzzing.
The moment the meal was finished, all three children dragged both grandparents out to the barn to visit the new filly. Ty had appointed them the job of naming the new addition. Cecil went along to ensure Cissy didn’t object to all the attention. Ty promised to join them shortly.
Beth’s bullshit detector went on alert. He was lagging behind for a reason, and she was willing to bet it had something to do with her. Pearl went to work cleaning the breakfast dishes and refused Beth’s offer of help, so she headed into the parlor, wondering if Sam had managed to get lost despite his assurances that he was so close.
She stood gazing out the front window and felt Ty’s presence behind her. They hadn’t spoken privately since early this morning, right after she’d caught him investigating her online. Of course, he didn’t know she knew.
“What are you staring at?” he asked, and placed his hands on her shoulders.
She squeezed her eyes shut and rested her cheek against one of his hands. “Nothing at all. Just thinking.” She turned to face him. “Thank you for trusting me with the Colt, Ty.”
“I know you’ll take good care of it.” He rested his hands at her waist, his thumbs gently caressing her lower ribs. “How’s your bruise?”
“Sore, but it will heal. Could’ve been worse.”
“Yeah.” He blanched. “Tell me about it.”
She saw genuine dread in his eyes, and heard it in his voice. “Thank you for caring.” She kissed him very quickly. “Was that Colt your father’s?”
He nodded. “Dad was in Nam. When he was discharged with a Purple Heart and a Meritorious Service Medal, his commander presented him with it as personal thanks.”
“It’s very special. I’ll be extra careful with it.” She grasped his arms, just above his elbows. “There are things you don’t know about me, Ty—things about my past.”
“Quick change of subject,” he said quietly. “Is it bad?”
“It’s…hard for most people to believe.” She smiled and drew a deep breath. “My cousin is arriving this morning. In fact, he should’ve been here by now.”
“Cousin?”
“Yes, his name is Sam.” She stepped away from Ty and back to the window. “He’s a college professor. Philosophy.” She shot a wry grin over her shoulder.
“Philosophy?” Ty arched an eyebrow. “Okay. So why is he coming to Tennessee, Beth? What aren’t you telling me?”
“Ty…I know you googled me this morning,” she said without really thinking. His shoulders fell, and the guilty expression on his face almost made her laugh. “Ty?”
“That’s why I sent everybody out to the barn. The guilt is killing me.” He pressed his lips into a thin line and exhaled slowly. “I don’t know what made me do it. The computer was there, and I was checking weather—farmers do that. The next thing I knew, I’d typed your name into the search engine.”