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Prologue
December
– on the plains near
Heat penetrated the
black void of unconsciousness in which Ryder Justice was drifting. Even in the depths
from which he was trying to escape, he smelled the hair burning on the backs of
his arms and knew another level of fear. He moaned, and the movement of air
through his lungs yanked him rudely into the now. Gritting his teeth against
the pain racking his every breath, he struggled to sit upright. Acrid smoke
drifted up his nose, mingling with the coppery taste of fresh blood as he
fumbled with the latch to his seat belt. That which had most probably saved his
life was now holding him hostage.
A sheet of rain blew in the broken
window to his left and into his eyes. It was as effective as a slap in the
face. Cognizance returned full force.
Just beyond the crumpled cockpit,
he could see flames licking at the metal and eating their way toward him, and
he remembered being up in the sky, and getting caught in the storm. A stroke of
lightning lit up the night sky and he flinched as he remembered another bolt of
lightning and how the plane had shuddered, then rocked. And afterward, the
sensation of an electric free fall.
An instinct for survival pushed
past the misery of broken ribs and bleeding cuts, past the bone-jarring ache
that came with every movement, every breath. He'd survived being struck by
lightning. The plane had crashed and he was still alive to tell the tale. By
God, he would not sit here and burn to death when he still had legs to crawl.
And at that moment, he remembered
he was not alone. He turned.
"Dad?"
Another streak of lightning snaked
across the sky, momentarily illuminating what was left of the cabin. After
that, Ryder had only the encroaching fire by which to see, but it was more than
enough. Stunned by the horror of what the crash had done to Micah Justice, he
refused to believe what his mind already knew.
The straps holding him in place
suddenly came free and Ryder struggled to get out of his seat. Ignoring wave
after wave of pain-filled nausea, he freed his father from the seat and managed
to get them both out of the wreckage and into the falling rain.
Sometimes crawling, sometimes
pushing, he dragged himself and his father's lifeless body until he found
himself beneath some sort of overhang.
Shivering from pain, shock, and
the chill of rain-soaked clothing, he scooted as far back as he could get
beneath the outcropping of rocks, pulling Micah's body with him, then cradling
his father's head against his chest as he would have a sleeping child.
A gust of wind cornered the
overhang, blowing rain and a peppering of hail on Ryder's outstretched legs,
and at that moment the fuselage blew, erupting into the night in an orange ball
of fire. Ryder closed his eyes against the blast, and held his father that much
tighter, refusing to accept the motion as wasted effort.
"Dad?"
Again, Micah Justice did not
answer. There was no familiar, sarcastic chuckle, no awkward pat from a strong
man's hands for comfort. Ryder buried his face against the back of his father's
shirt and took a long, aching breath. He knew, but his heart wasn't ready to face
the truth.
"Dad … come on, Dad. You can
do this. You've told me time and time again that it takes a hell of a lot to
put a Justice man down."
Thunder rumbled across the sky,
and the deep, angry rumble sounded like his heart felt as grief began to settle.
His arms tightened around his father's body, and for the first time since the
accident had happened, tears began to fall, mingling with the raindrops
clinging to Ryder's scorched and battered face.
Holding his father close, he began
to rock, muttering beneath his breath and in his father's ear, although Micah
Justice had already moved beyond the sound of his second son's voice.
"Please, Dad, talk to
me." Ryder's voice broke. "Dad … Daddy, don't do this," he
pleaded. "Don't leave us. We need you. All of us need you. Roman will go
to hell without you on his case … and Royal, think of Royal. What will happen
to the ranch and Royal if you don't wake up?"
A second explosion followed on the
tail of the first—smaller, but still powerful in intensity. Bits of burning
metal shot up into the sky and then fell down upon the ground nearby. Another
flash of lightning, this time closer, revealed more of the truth Ryder Justice
had been trying to deny. Micah was dead. Probably upon impact. And he was left
with an inescapable fact. His father was dead, and he'd been piloting the
plane. This time, when thunder rumbled overhead, it drowned out the sounds of
Ryder Justice's grief.
Chapter 1
July –
"Casey, darling, you should never wear black. It makes you look like
a crow."
Before Casey could take offense at
what her half brother, Miles Dunn just said, he took a seat with the rest of
the Ruban family, who were gathering for the reading of Delaney Ruban's will.
She picked a piece of lint from
the skirt of her black silk dress and tilted her chin, reminding herself that
she wasn't going to cry. Not now, and especially not in front of Lash Marlow,
her grandfather's lawyer. Although he was sitting behind his desk and watching
each arrival with a focused, predatory gaze, Casey was aware that he was also
watching her every move. And it had been that way with them for more years than
she cared to remember.
In spite of her love for her
grandfather, Delaney Ruban, and in spite of Delaney's hopes that she and Lash
might someday marry, Casey had been unable to bring herself to comply. She'd
been a willing student of Delaney's tutorial with regards to the Ruban empire,
but she refused to give up what passed as the personal portion of her life. It
didn't amount to much, but it was all she had that she could honestly call her
own. Even more important, she didn't love Lash Marlow and had no intention of
spending the rest of her life with a man who measured the value of a person by
monetary worth.
She shifted nervously in her seat,
wishing this day to be over. As Delaney's closest living relative and the heir
who had been groomed to take over the vast Ruban holdings, she knew the task
that lay ahead of her, right down to how many family members would be looking
to her for sustenance.
Not for the first time since her
grandfather's stroke six weeks ago did she wish her father and mother were
still alive. And, if Chip Ruban hadn't taken his wife, Alysa,
to
Alysa's mother, Eudora Deathridge,
was moved into the mansion and given full authority and responsibility of her
daughter's children. And although she was Casey's grandmother as well, Casey
found herself grasping for space in a lap already too full for one more small,
six-year-old girl.
With the instinct of a child who
knows where she is loved, she turned to Joshua Bass and his wife, Matilda. The
butler and the cook. The kitchen became the center of her universe. In Tilly
Bass's loving arms, she learned to trust and love again. On Joshua's shoulders,
she saw the world in which she lived from a new and different angle, and in
doing so, learned not to be afraid of reaching for the stars. They became the
surrogate parents she had needed, and now, twenty years later, they were the
anchors that kept her life on a straight and honorable path.
And while Tilly and Joshua
nurtured and loved her, at thirteen years old, Casey suddenly became the focus
of Delaney Ruban's world. He had looked up one day and realized that he wasn't
getting any younger, and since Casey was his son's only child, she was, of
course, to be his heir.
He looked for the child he'd all
but ignored and found a girl on the brink of womanhood. Elated that she'd grown
up so well without much of his effort, he decided that it was time she branched
out past the familiarity of her school, her friends and Tilly Bass's kitchen.
And so it began. The treat of
accompanying him on business trips became the first step in a lifelong
education. Before long, Casey was spending all of her summers with him at his
office. At first, she blossomed under his tutoring. Her grandfather had never
given her anything but presents, and now he was sharing his time with her. It
took the better part of Casey's teenage years before she realized Delaney's
reasons for spending time with her were selfish. Someone must step into his
shoes when he was gone. He'd decided it would be Casey.
And now, at twenty-six, Casey was
about to become CEO of a multimillion-dollar corporation with holdings in
everything from cotton mills to racehorses. Thanks to the last ten years of
Delaney's coaching, she was more than up to the task.
A low murmur of indistinguishable
voices hummed behind her like a worn-out motor, rising and falling with the
advent of each new person to enter the room. She closed her eyes and took a deep
breath. It wasn't the job that daunted her. It was those who were gathering.
They were the ones who would be waiting for her to fail.
Someone else touched her on the
shoulder. She looked up. It was her sister, Erica.
"Nice dress, Casey
darling." Erica's eyes glittered sharply as she fingered the fabric.
"I suppose it has a silver lining, too. Just like your life."
"Erica, really," Eudora
Deathridge said, and gave her eldest granddaughter a none-too-gentle nudge as
they moved past Casey to take their seats.
Casey let the comment roll off her
shoulders, and as the women passed by her Eudora squeezed Casey's arm. It was
nothing new. Miles and Erica had begrudged Casey everything from the day she
was born—from being a Ruban, to being the one Delaney had chosen to follow in
his footsteps. In all their lives, they had shared a mother, but little else.
Lash Marlow cleared his throat,
well aware that the sound added to the building tension. "I believe we are
all here now. Shall we begin?"
Casey's pulse accelerated. She
gripped the arms of the chair, focusing on the man behind the desk and was
struck by an odd, almost satisfied smile on Lash's face. Reluctantly, she
accepted the fact that he was privy to secrets about their lives she wished he
did not know. It made her feel vulnerable, and vulnerability was a weakness
Rubans were not allowed to feel. She watched as Marlow shifted in his seat and
straightened the papers in front of him. It was the will. Delaney's will.
Fresh tears spiked her lashes as
she struggled with composure, trying to come to terms with the fact that
Delaney was dead. He'd been such a large and vital man that overlooking his age
had been simple. But nature had not been as kind. Despite his ebullient
personality and lust for life, the past eighty-two years had taken their toll.
And no matter how hard he had tried to ignore the inevitable, he had failed.
Ultimately, Lash began to read and
Casey's mind wandered, only now and then tuning in on his voice as it droned
into the ominous quiet of the room. Once in a while a low murmur of voices
became noticeable behind her, and she supposed Miles and Erica were voicing
their opinions of the bequeathals being read.
"And to my beloved
granddaughter, Casey Dee Ruban…" Casey shook off the fugue in which she'd
been hanging and focused.
"…the bulk of my estate and
the home in which she's been residing since her parents' death, as well as the
controlling reins of Ruban Enterprises. But to inherit…"
Startled, her gaze slid from the
papers in Lash's hands to his face. What did he mean … to inherit? Have mercy,
what has Delaney done?
"To qualify for the entire
aforementioned inheritance, my granddaughter, Casey Dee Ruban, must marry
within forty-eight hours of the reading of my will, and must live with her
husband, in his residence and under his protection, for the duration of at
least one year, or she will forfeit her birthright. If she chooses not to
adhere to my last request, then the bulk of my estate will be deeded to my
step-grandchildren, Miles and Erica Dunn."
Casey stood. Rage, coupled with a
shock she couldn't deny made her shake, but the tremor never reached her voice.
She looked at Lash: at his cool, handsome face, his blond, wavy hair, his pale
green eyes. Her eyes darkened as she leaned forward, bracing herself against
his desk.
"Surely I cannot be held to
this!"
To his credit, Lash's gaze never
wavered. "I'm sorry, Casey. I know this must come as a shock, but I can
assure you it's legal. Your grandfather was of sound mind and body when this
was written. I tried to talk him out of such an unreasonable clause, but…"
When Lash shrugged, as if to say
it was out of his hands, she looked away.
Someone choked in the back of the
room. Casey didn't have to look to know that it was probably Miles, reveling in
his unexpected windfall.
A red haze swam before her eyes
and she willed herself not to faint. Marry? She hadn't seriously dated a man in
over five years. The only man who persisted in being a part of her life was…
She looked up. The expression on
Lash's face was too calm, almost expectant. How long had he known about this?
Even worse, what had he and Delaney planned?
She swayed, staggered by the idea
of being bound to Lash Marlow by law, as well as in the eyes of God, even for
so much as a year.
Lash stood. His voice was low, his
touch solicitous as he tried to take her in his arms.
"Casey, I'm here. Let me help
you—"
She stepped back. The selfish
glitter in Lash's eyes was too obvious to ignore.
Damn you, Delaney, damn you to
hell.
She walked out of the room,
leaving those behind to wonder what the outcome might be.
* * *
Hours later, the sun was about to
set on the day as a low-slung black sports car rounded the corner of an unpaved
road down in the flatlands. The trailing rooster tail of dust was evidence of
how fast the car was traveling. The skid the car took as it cornered was proof
of Casey Ruban's desperate state of mind. She'd been driving for hours, trying
to think of a way out of her dilemma without having to acquiesce to the terms
of her grandfather's will.
By naming Miles and Erica as the
recipients of his estate should she default, Delaney had been certain Casey
would comply. He'd been well aware of her disdain for the sycophantic
life-style her half brother and half sister had chosen to live. They were
thirty years old. Both had college degrees. Neither saw fit to use them.
Therefore, he had surmised that
Casey would ultimately agree to his conditions. And he also knew Casey had no special
man in her life, which would most certainly make Lash the prime candidate to
fulfill the terms of the will. But he hadn't counted on Casey's total defiance,
or the wild streak of rebellion that had driven her deep into the Mississippi
Delta.
A short while later, the sun was
gone and it was the time of evening when the world existed in shades of gray,
faded by distance or muted by overlying shadows. Ahead, Casey could just make
out the blinking lights on what appeared to be a roadhouse.
The fact that Sonny's Place was in
the middle of nowhere was of no consequence to her. What mattered were the
number of cars and pickup trucks parked outside the building. It stood to
reason there would be a large number of men inside.
Blinking back a fresh set of angry
tears, she gritted her teeth, focusing on the decision she'd made. As she
accelerated, her fingers gripped the steering wheel until her knuckles turned
white.
She turned into the parking lot in
a skid, slamming on her brakes and barely missing a truck parked beneath the
widespread limbs of an ancient oak. Gravel spewed, spit out from beneath the
wheels of her sports car like a bad taste.
Casey killed the engine and was
out of the car before the dust had time to settle. There was a defiant tilt to
her chin and determination in her stride as she started toward the entrance,
yet when she stepped inside, a moment of unrefined terror swamped her. Dank
air, thick smoke and the scent of stale beer hit her in the face like a slap.
And then Lash's smirk flashed in her mind and she let the door swing shut
behind her.
* * *
Ryder Justice sat with his back to
the wall, nursing the same beer he'd bought over an hour earlier. He hadn't
really wanted the drink, he'd just wanted a place to sit down.
The months and the miles since
he'd walked out on his family and his business had long ago run together. He
didn't know what day it was and didn't really care. All that mattered was
staying on the move. It was the only way he knew to stay ahead of the memories
that had nearly driven him insane.
A few words with the man at the
next table had assured him he'd be sleeping on the ground again tonight. He was
too far from a town to rent a room, and too nearly broke to consider wasting
the money.
A grimy ceiling fan spun overhead,
stirring the hot, muggy air without actually cooling it. He lifted the
long-neck bottle, intent on draining what was left in one swallow when the door
flew open and the woman walked into the room. Her appearance was sudden, as was
the swift jolt of interest he felt when she lifted her hand to her face,
pushing at the black tangle of her windblown hair that had fallen across her
forehead.
She was taller than average, and
the kind of woman who, at first glance, seemed on the verge of skinny. Except
for the voluptuous curves of her breasts beneath the black, clinging fabric of
her dress, she appeared shapeless. And then she turned suddenly, startled by
the man who came in behind her, and as she did, the dress she was wearing
flared, cupping slim, shapely hips before falling back into loose, generic
folds.
Ryder's interest grew. It was
fairly obvious that she wasn't the kind of woman who frequented places like
this. Her movements were short, almost jerky, as if she were as surprised to
find herself here as the men were to see her. And although he was some distance
away, he thought she looked as if she'd been crying.
Who hurt you, pretty girl? What
drove you into the flatlands?
The beer forgotten, he leaned forward,
studying her face as one might study a map, wondering what—or who—had backed
her into a corner. And he was certain she'd been backed into a corner or she
wouldn't be here. He knew the look of desperation. It stared back at him every
time he looked in a mirror. And like every other man in the place, he sat with
anticipation, waiting for her to make the first move.
A half dozen dirty yellow
lightbulbs dangled from a sagging fixture in the middle of the room. Only four
of the bulbs were burning, cloaking the fog of cigarette smoke and dust with a
sickly amber glow.
* * *
Heads turned and the understated
rumble of voices trickled to a halt as Casey's eyes slowly adjusted to the lack
of light. When she was certain she'd seen the location of every man in the
place, she took a deep breath and sauntered into the middle of the room, well
aware that each man was mentally stripping her—from the black silk dress
flaring just above her knees to the opaque black stockings on her legs.
Behind her, she heard the
bartender gasp then mutter the name Ruban. She'd been recognized! Her lips
firmed. It would seem that even down here in the Delta she was unable to escape
the power of Delaney Ruban's name.
Smoke drifted, burning her eyes
and searing her nostrils with the acrid odor, yet she refused to move away. She
turned slowly, judging the faces before her, looking for a man who might have
the guts to consider what she was about to ask. The bartender interrupted her
train of thought.
"Miss, is there something I
can do? Are you having car trouble? If you are, I'd be more than glad to call a
tow truck for you."
There was nervous fear on the
bartender's face. Casey knew just how he felt. Her own stomach was doing a few
flops of its own. She shivered anxiously, and at that point, almost walked out
of the room. But as she turned to go, the image of Lash Marlow's face slid into
her mind. It was all the impetus she needed. She turned again, this time
putting herself between the men and the door.
"I need something all right,"
Casey said, and when she heard her voice break, she cleared her throat and took
a deep breath. This time when she spoke, her words came out loud and clear.
"I don't need a tow truck. I need a man."
The bartender grabbed a shotgun
from beneath the bar and jacked a shell into the chamber as the room erupted.
Wide-eyed, Casey spun toward the sound.
The appearance of the gun was
enough to quiet the ruckus she'd started, but only momentarily. When the
bartender began to speak, she knew her chances of succeeding were swiftly
fading.
"Hold your seats, men. That
there is Casey Ruban. Old Delaney Ruban's granddaughter, so unless you're real
tired of living, I suggest you suck it up and stay where you're at. This
shotgun won't do nearly as much harm to you as the Rubans can."
"I heard he's dead,"
someone muttered from the back of the room.
"But the rest of them
aren't," the bartender said.
Casey spun toward the men in
sudden anger. "Let me finish."
At that point, they were so caught
up in what she'd said, they would have let her do anything she asked.
"I need a husband."
Someone cursed, another laughed a
little nervously.
Casey chose to ignore it all.
"I'm willing to marry the first unattached man who's got the guts to stand
with me against my family."
When no one moved or spoke, hope
began to die. This was a crazy idea, as crazy as what Delaney had done to her,
but she couldn't bring herself to quit. Not yet.
With an overwhelming sense of
hopelessness and a shame unlike anything she'd ever known, she lifted her head,
selling herself in the only way she knew how. She started walking, moving
between the tables, staying just out of reach of the daring men's grasp.
"I'll live with you. Cook
your food. I'll even share your bed."
Total silence reigned and Casey
could hear their harsh, rasping breaths as they considered taking her to bed
and suffering the consequences. If this hadn't been so pitiful, she would have
smiled. It would seem that Delaney was going to win after all.
A sound came out of the shadows.
The sound of chair legs scraping against the grit and dirt on the old wooden
floor, and the unmistakable rap of boot heels marking off the distance between
Casey and the back of the room. She squinted against the smoke and the harsh,
overhead glare, trying to see, and then when she did, felt an overwhelming urge
to run.
The man had don't care in his walk
and the coldest eyes she'd ever seen. Their deep gray-blue cast was the color
of a
He was tall, his clothing worn and
ragged. But it was the still expression on his tanned, handsome face that gave
her pause.
Before she had time to consider
the odds of winding up facedown and dead in a ditch at some murderer's hands,
he was standing before her.
Casey took a deep breath. Murderer
be damned. Her grandfather had already signed her fate. At least she was going
to be the one who controlled the strings to which it was attached.
"Well?" she asked, and
surprised herself by not flinching when he reached out and brushed at a wild strand
of hair that had been stuck to her cheek.
Ryder Justice was surprised by the
vehemence in her voice. He'd been around long enough to know when someone was
afraid. From the moment she'd walked into the room, her fear had been palpable,
yet just now when he'd touched her, she hadn't blinked. And the power in her
voice told him there was more to her backbone than the soft, silky skin
obviously covering it. He also knew what it felt like to be backed into a
corner, and for some reason this woman was as far in a hole as a person could
get and not be buried. And, he was tired of running. So damned tired he
couldn't think.
"Well, what?" he asked.
Casey's breath caught on a gasp.
His voice was low and deep and an image of him whispering in her ear shattered
what was left of her composure. Hang in there, she warned herself, then lifted
her chin.
"I asked a question. Do you
have an answer?"
Ryder touched the side of her
cheek and felt an odd sense of pride when, once again, she stood without
flinching. "About the only thing I have to my name is guts. If that's all
you need, then I'm your man."
"Hey, man, you don't know
what you're getting yourself into," the bartender warned.
Ryder's gaze never wavered from
Casey Ruban's face. Once again, his voice broke the quiet, wrapping around
Casey's senses and making her shake from within.
"I know enough," he
said.
"My name is Casey
Ruban," she said. "What's yours?"
"Ryder Justice."
Justice! Casey took it as a sign.
Justice was exactly what she'd been searching for.
"You swear you are free to
marry?"
He nodded.
"My grandfather always said
his handshake was as good as his word," Casey said, and offered her hand.
Without pause, Ryder enfolded it within
the breadth of his own and once again, Casey felt herself being swallowed
whole. Her gaze centered on their hands entwined and she had a sudden image of
their bodies in similar positions. She bit her lip and stifled a shudder. Now
was not the time to get queasy. She had an empire to save.
"Come with me," she said
shortly. "We have a little over twenty-four hours to get blood tests,
apply for a license, and find a justice of the peace."
At the mention of haste, his gaze
instinctively drifted toward her belly partially concealed beneath the
loose-fitting dress. Once, being an unwed mother might have horrified Casey.
Now she wished that was all she was facing.
"Wrong guess, Mr. Justice.
It's just that I've got myself in a race with the devil, and I don't like to
lose."
Ryder followed without comment.
He'd been on a first-name basis with the old hound himself for some time now.
He never thought to consider the fact that the devil was giving someone else a
hard time as well.
The room erupted into a roar as
they stepped outside, and Casey found herself all but running toward her car.
Only after she slid behind the wheel and locked them in did she feel safe. And
then she glanced toward the man beside her and knew she was fooling herself.
His presence dwarfed the sports
car's interior. He scooted the seat as far back as it would go and still his
knees were up against the dash. The duffel bag he'd had on his shoulders was
now between his feet, and Casey imagined she could hear the rhythmic thud of
his heartbeat as he turned a cool, calculating gaze her way.
"Buckle up, Mr.
Justice."
He reached for the seat belt out
of reflex, then gave Casey another longer, calculating look.
"I have a question," he
said.
Casey's heart dropped. Please
stranger, don't back out on me now.
"I have one for you,
too," she said quickly.
"Ladies first."
She almost smiled. "Do you
have a home? Do you have a job?"
His expression blanked, and Casey
would have sworn she saw pain on his face before he answered.
"I don't have an address or a
job. Does it matter?"
She thought fast, remembering the
conditions of the will. She had to live in her husband's residence and under
his protection. This was good news. It was something she could control.
"Do you have a driver's
license?" she asked.
He nodded.
"Good, then you're
hired."
He cocked an eyebrow as Casey
started the car. "Exactly what have I been hired to do?"
"You're going to be the new
chauffeur for the Ruban family. You … I mean … we … will live in the apartment
over the garage on Delaney's … I mean, on my estate."
Ryder frowned. "Lady, I have
to ask. Why marry a stranger?"
She backed out of the parking lot,
the tires spinning on loose gravel as she drove onto the road, heading back the
same way she'd come.
"Because I will be damned
before I let myself be forced into marriage with a man I can't abide."
He wondered about the man she'd
obviously left behind. "You don't know me. What if you can't abide me,
either?" Her gaze was fixed on the patch of road visible in the twin beams
of her headlights.
"Living a year with a total
stranger is better than living one night under Lash Marlow's roof. Besides, I
don't like to be told what to do."
So, his name is Lash Marlow. This
time Ryder did smile, but only a little.
"Casey."
Startled by the sound of her name
on his lips, she turned her gaze from the road to his face.
"What?"
"I think you should try
calling me Ryder. I've never gone to bed with a woman who called me Mister, and
I don't intend to start now."
Gone to bed with…!
Almost too late she remembered
what she was doing and swerved to avoid the ditch at which she was heading. By
the time she had the car and herself under control, she was too desperate to
argue the point.
First things first. Marriage. Then
rules. After that, take it one day at a time. It was the only way she knew.
Chapter 2
There was something to
be said for the power of the Ruban name. It had gotten Casey and Ryder through
blood tests without an appointment, gotten a court clerk out of bed and down to
the county courthouse in the middle of the night to issue a marriage license,
then dragged an old family friend out of bed before sunrise to perform the
impromptu ceremony. The waiting period most people would have experienced was
waived for Delaney Ruban's granddaughter.
"You all take yourselves a
seat now," Sudie Harris said, and pulled her
housecoat a little tighter across her chest. "Judge will be here
directly."
Casey dropped into the nearest
chair, well aware that Harmon Harris's wife had taken one look at Ryder Justice
and found him lacking in both worth and substance. When Ryder refused a seat
and walked to the window instead, something about the way he was standing made
her nervous. What if he was already sorry he'd gotten into this mess? What if
he was thinking about leaving? Nervously, she got up.
"Mr. Justice, I—"
He turned and she choked on her
words. He was so big. So menacing. So much a stranger. What in God's name had
she done?
"What did you call me?"
he asked.
She swallowed and the lump in her
throat seemed to be getting larger by the minute. Oh, Lord. "Ryder. I
meant to say, Ryder."
His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. Casey
Ruban was on the verge of a breakdown. She might not know it, but he recognized
the signs. Her eyes were feverishly bright and the knuckles on her fingers had
gone from red to white from the fists that she'd made. Add to that, a breathing
pattern that was little more than a series of short, quick gasps, and he
figured it wouldn't take much for her to fall apart.
"That's better," he said
shortly. "Now sit down before you fall down."
Casey did as she was told and then
tried not to look at his backside as he turned away. It was impossible. In a
few short minutes she would be tied to this man as she'd never been bound
before, not only by law, but in the closest of proximities. Wife! Dear God, she
was going to be that man's wife.
She watched as he shrugged his
shoulders in a quiet, almost weary gesture, rubbing at his neck and massaging
the muscles with long, brown fingers. She couldn't quit staring at his hands.
Out of nowhere a random thought came barreling into her sleep-starved mind. I
wonder if he's a gentle lover.
Startled, she shuddered and looked
away, wishing Judge Harris would hurry. She doubted there was little about
Ryder Justice that was gentle, and the tension between them was making her
crazy.
Torn between the fear that she was
jumping into a worse mess than the one she was already in, and fear that at the
last minute he wouldn't go through with the ceremony, she wanted to cry.
Instead, she closed her eyes. All I want to do is go to bed and sleep for a
month, then wake up and find out this was all a bad dream, she thought.
Somewhere in another part of the
house a clock chimed five times. Startled, she glanced at her watch.
From Harmon Harris's expression,
he was none too pleased to see who awaited him. "Casey Dee, what on earth
are you doin' here in the middle of the night?"
"Getting married, and it's
not the middle of the night, it's almost dawn."
Regardless of whether it was night
or day, Ruban women did not sneak around to get married, and Harmon knew it. He
stared at the man near his living room window, then glared at Casey.
"Not to him?"
She gritted her teeth, preparing
herself for a fight.
"Yes sir, to him. We have
blood tests and the license right here." She thrust the papers into the
judge's hands.
When he noted the dates he
frowned, staring at her hard and long, from her head to the middle of her
belly. Like Ryder before him, Harmon was assuming the only reason a woman would
rush into marriage was to give a bastard child a name.
"Hell, girl, the ink is
hardly dry on this stuff. What's the big rush?"
"You can get that look off
your face," Casey muttered. "I'm not pregnant. I haven't even been
exposed."
Bushy eyebrows lowered over his
prominent nose as Harmon Harris laid the papers to one side and took Casey by
the arm.
"I've known you a long time,
Honey, and this isn't like you. Before I perform any ceremony, I want an
explanation."
Casey's gaze never wavered.
"If Delaney were alive, you could ask him yourself. All I know is, I had
forty-eight hours to find myself a husband or forfeit my inheritance to Miles
and Erica."
The judge's eyebrows rose perceptibly.
"You're joking!"
Her shoulders slumped. "I
wish I were."
He glanced over her shoulder to
Ryder. "I don't understand." Then his voice lowered. "Why not
marry Lash Marlow? You've known him nearly all your life. Why this man?"
"Because he's not Lash."
The judge didn't comment. He
didn't have to. Casey's answer pretty much said it all.
"Who is he?"
"His name is Ryder
Justice."
"I know that," the judge
said. "It says so on the papers. What I'm asking is who are his
people?"
Casey shrugged. "I haven't
the faintest idea, and quite frankly I don't care. What I do know is I will not
be coerced, especially by a dead man, into marrying someone I do not even like,
never mind the fact that I don't love him. Do you understand that?"
Suddenly Casey and Harmon realized
they were no longer alone.
"Is there a problem?"
Ryder asked.
There was something about the look
on the big man's face that made Harmon Harris release his grasp on Casey's
arms. Hannon sighed. "No, I don't suppose there is. Casey is of age and enough
of her own woman to do as she chooses." He turned. "Sudie, go next door and wake up Millard Shreves.
We're gonna need ourselves another witness."
Casey relaxed as Judge Harris's
wife hurried to do his bidding. It was going to be all right.
"It will take Millard a bit
to get out of bed," the judge explained. "If you two want to freshen
up before the ceremony, the guest bath is down the hall on your right. However,
you're going to have to excuse me for a bit. I'm going to be needing some coffee."
Having put the wheels in motion,
he left Casey and Ryder alone in the Harris parlor with Sudie's
crocheted doilies and silk flower bouquets.
Casey put a hand to her hair,
feeling the disarray. She started to the bathroom for a quick wash then
remembered Ryder. Was it safe to leave him alone, or would he bolt at the first
chance he got? She glanced back at him, and to her dismay realized he was
watching her. It was almost as if he'd read her mind.
"Go on," he said.
"I'll be here when you get back."
There was something compelling
about this man, something she couldn't quite name. There was a strength within
him that a couple of days' worth of whiskers and a faded T-shirt and jeans
could not hide. Right now his eyes seemed blue, although at first they'd seemed
gray. Their color was as changeable as the weather. She hoped his disposition
did not seesaw as well and knew she was staring, but she couldn't help it.
Although she was afraid of what he might tell her, there was something she
needed to know.
"Why did you agree to go
along with this madness?"
His expression hardened.
"Don't dig too deep, Casey. You might find worms in the dirt you're taking
out of the hole."
Startled, she pivoted and headed
for the bathroom, telling herself it was exhaustion that was making her shake,
and not the implied warning in his words.
* * *
"…pronounce you man and wife.
What God has joined together, let no man put asunder."
Judge Harris's clock began to
chime. Once. Twice. Three times it sounded. Casey exhaled slowly.
Four times. Five times. Six times
the gong echoed within the silence of the room.
She went limp, and were it not for
the firm grip Ryder had on her arm, she wouldn't have been able to stand. But
she'd done it. It was over! The Ruban empire was safe, but dear God, could she
say the same about herself?
"Congratulations. You may
kiss your bride," Harmon added, although he doubted, considering the
reasons for the ceremony, there was much to celebrate.
Both Ryder and Casey stared, first
at Judge Harris who'd just granted permission for something neither had been
prepared to act upon, then at each other as they contemplated the deed.
To Casey's dismay, her vision
blurred.
Ryder had intended on holding his
ground until he saw her tears. It was her weakness, rather than the bulldog
determination with which she'd gotten them this far, that made him do what he
did next. He'd entered into this farce without giving a thought for
consequences, much the same way he used to go through life. But that was before
he'd killed his father and lost his nerve to fly.
Intending only to assure her, he
cupped her cheek with the palm of one hand, gentling her much in the same way
his brother, Royal, tended the horses on his ranch, giving them time to adjust
to his presence.
"Easy, now," he said
softly, and when he felt her pulse beginning to slow, he lowered his head.
Casey saw him coming. Her lips
parted. Whether it was to voice an objection or to ease his way, Ryder didn't
know and didn't care. His focus was on her mouth and the woman who now bore his
name.
Casey's breath caught at the back
of her throat and this time, had Ryder not been holding her up, her legs would
have given way. Whatever her intent had been, it stopped along with her heart
when Ryder Justice kissed his wife.
It should have been awkward—their
first joining—but it wasn't. The ease with which they touched, then the
gentleness with which the kiss deepened felt right, even familiar. At the point
of embracing, the judge's voice broke their connection.
"Well, now," he said,
and made no attempt to hide a yawn. "I suppose you two are as hitched as a
couple can be."
When Ryder moved away, Casey felt
a sudden sense of loss, and then reality intruded and she felt nothing but
dismay. She had no intentions of pursuing the intimate part of a marriage and
the sooner Ryder Justice realized that, the better off they would be. She
stepped back, then turned away, unwilling to let him see how deeply she'd been
affected by what he'd done. "It served its purpose," she said shortly,
and started looking for her purse. "What do I owe you?"
While she was fumbling for cash,
Ryder was dealing with uneasiness of his own. The kiss was supposed to have
been nothing but a formality. He hadn't expected to feel anything because it
had been months since he'd allowed himself the luxury. But something had
happened to him between the time her breath had brushed his cheek and their
point of contact. Left with nothing but a lingering dissatisfaction he couldn't
identify, he, too, turned away. It was almost as if he'd left something undone.
He hadn't been prepared for what the kiss had evoked—what it felt like to hold
someone close, the pleasure that comes from lying in a willing woman's arms.
He inhaled slowly and considered the
woman who was now his wife, if in name only. He had agreed to marry her and no
matter what, he was a man of his word. But he didn't want to like her. There
was already a time limit on their relationship. God forbid his feelings should
ever go deeper.
Casey said something that made the
judge laugh and Ryder turned to see what was funny. Instead of an answer, he
found himself watching as Casey peeled
For the first time since he'd run
away, he thought about what he'd left behind, yet not once did he consider
confessing his true background and identity to Casey.
She thought she'd married a bum, a
no-account drifter without a penny to his name. His eyes narrowed as he stared
out into the burgeoning dawn. Part of it was true. He didn't have two quarters
with him that he could rub together. At this point, the fact that he owned four
airplanes and a helicopter, and that his charter service had been in the black
for nearly eleven years didn't matter. Nor did the fact that the deed to nearly
fourteen hundred acres of prime real estate on the outskirts of
Sick at heart from an accident he
couldn't forget, he'd walked away from it all. Things of monetary value had
become unimportant to Ryder. If he could have, he would have given up
everything just to have his father back alive and well.
But there would be no trading with
God … or the devil. Micah Justice was dead and buried, and no matter how far
Ryder went, he couldn't outrun his guilt.
Someone cleared their throat. He
looked up. It would seem that Sudie was patiently
waiting to lock them out. Casey held the front door ajar. Her posture and the
tone of her voice gave away her impatience.
"Are you ready to go?"
she asked.
Something inside him snapped. The
quiet in which he'd encompassed himself over the past few months suddenly
seemed too confining. Sarcasm colored his answer.
"I don't know, Mrs. Justice,
are you?"
Her bossy, managerial attitude
disappeared like air out of a punctured balloon. He had the satisfaction of
seeing her pale as he walked past her and out the door.
The air was muggy, a promise of
another long, hot July day. Sweat was already rolling down the middle of
Casey's back and there was a snag in her stockings. Since yesterday when she'd
made her exit from Lash's office, her hairdo had been windblown and
finger-combed a dozen times. The last time she remembered putting on makeup was
right before she'd gotten out of the car to go into the office for the reading
of the will. She felt like hell and figured she looked a shade or two worse.
She was exhausted and couldn't wait to get home and into a bed.
* * *
But thirty minutes outside of
Ruban Crossing, Casey's plans were about to change. The flashing red-and-blue
lights of a
"I wasn't speeding," she
said.
Ryder glanced over his shoulder, then
started unbuckling his seat belt. The highway patrolman was already out of his
vehicle with his gun drawn, and although the air conditioner was on and Casey's
car windows were up, they could hear him shouting for them to get out of the
car.
"I don't think that's the
problem."
"What do you mean?"
Casey asked, and turned. There was a gun pointed straight at her head.
"Get out of the car!"
the patrolman shouted again. "Do it! Do it now!"
Stunned by the order, Casey began
fumbling with her seat belt, but couldn't seem to find the catch. The harder
she tried, the worse her fingers shook, and the longer she delayed, the louder
and more insistent the officer became.
"Let me," Ryder said,
and to her relief, the latch gave way, freeing her from the straps.
She opened the door. "Look,
Officer, I don't know what…"
"Get out and put your hands
on the hood of the car! You!" he shouted, pointing the gun at Ryder.
"On the passenger side! Come around the front of the car with your hands
in the air!"
Ryder didn't argue. He'd learned
years ago never to argue with an armed man, especially one wearing a badge.
By now, Casey was out of the car
and furious. "What's the meaning of this?"
Handcuffs snapped. First one on
her right wrist, then the remaining cuff on her other.
"Sit down," the officer
ordered, pushing Casey none too gently to a seat beside the rear wheel of her
car before proceeding to cuff Ryder in the same smooth manner. He hauled Ryder
off to the back seat of his patrol car and shut him inside while Casey watched
in disbelief.
"This better be good,"
Casey said, as the officer returned and helped her to her feet.
"You're driving a stolen car
and the woman who owns it has been reported missing."
Casey couldn't believe what she
was hearing. "I am not missing, and this is my car."
The officer took a long, slow look
at the disheveled woman in black and didn't bother to hide a smirk.
"That car belongs to Casey
Ruban. Her family reported her missing when she didn't come home last
night."
"I repeat, this is my car,
and I didn't go home because I was out getting myself married," she said.
"Excuse me?" the officer
asked.
She closed her eyes, counted to
ten, then glared at the patrolman, derisively enunciating each syllable.
"Married. Capital m—little
a—double r—i-e-d… Married. Last night … no, actually
it was early this morning that we got married. You might say I've been on my
honeymoon and you…" she frowned against the glare of early morning sun,
peering at the name tag on the front of his uniform "…Officer Howard, have
just stuffed my groom in the back of your patrol car. I want him out, and I
want the handcuffs taken off both of us now, or I swear to God I will have your
badge and all that goes with it."
Her adamancy startled the cop, and
for the first time since he'd pulled them over, he began to consider the
possibility of having been wrong in his first assumption. But he'd been so
focused on being the one to get a lead on the missing heir that he hadn't
followed protocol by asking for their identification first.
"I'll need to see some
identification," he said.
"It's in my purse in the
front seat, along with a copy of my marriage license. Want to see that,
too?"
He unlocked her cuffs and opened
the door. "No funny business," he said shortly, as Casey leaned
inside.
She handed him the marriage
license, her driver's license, as well as the title to her car. "There's
nothing funny about any of this, and when I get home, I'm going to have
someone's hide for this."
The officer looked long and hard
at the picture on the driver's license and then at Casey. There was little
resemblance between the cool, composed woman in the picture and the fiery-eyed
hellion standing before him.
Casey could see he still wasn't
buying her explanation, but she wasn't about to explain the mess she was in,
thanks to her grandfather's will. She opted for something he would probably
believe.
"Oh, for God's sake,"
Casey snapped. "I've been on my honeymoon, okay? You try a wedding night in
the back seat of a car and see how good you look!"
The patrolman flushed with
embarrassment as he began to realize the seriousness of his situation. Unless
he made peace with this woman now, he could be in big trouble. The Ruban name
carried a lot of clout.
"Sorry, Miss Ruban … I mean
uh…"
"Justice," Casey said.
"The name is Justice." She pointed toward the cruiser. "About my
husband…"
Moments later, Ryder found himself
standing by the side of the road, watching as an officer of the law did
everything but crawl as an excuse for his overzealous behavior.
"Thank you for being so
understanding," the officer said, as Casey brushed at the dirt on the back
of her dress.
"We'll call it even if you
just don't notify my family," she said. "I want to surprise them on
my own."
"Yes, ma'am. I'll just call
this in to headquarters so you won't be stopped again."
"Fine," she said, and
didn't bother to watch as he drove away. When she glanced up at Ryder, he was
grinning. "What's so funny?" she asked.
"You're hell on wheels,
aren't you, wife?"
"Don't call me that,"
she said, and slammed herself bodily into the seat behind the wheel.
Ryder was still grinning when he
took the seat beside her. "Want me to drive?" he asked. "After
all, I'm going to be your chauffeur."
Her bottom lip slid slightly
forward as she started the car, leaving the side of the road in a flurry of
flying dust and gravel.
"I guess not," Ryder
drawled, and then settled back into the passenger seat. The longer he was
around this woman, the more he liked her. She reminded him a little bit of his
brother, Roman, who chose to believe that laws and rules were made by men with
too much time on their hands.
* * *
There was a pasty white sheen on
Lash Marlow's face as he hung up the phone. He glanced at the clock over the
mantel and swiped a shaky hand through his hair. It was almost
His thoughts were jumbled as he
considered the possibilities of where Casey might be. Damn Delaney for
insisting on that forty-eight hour time frame. He'd told him from the start it
wasn't a good idea, but Delaney had insisted, claiming he knew his
granddaughter better than anyone. He'd sworn she would never adhere to the
terms of the will unless pushed.
Lash felt sick. It seemed obvious
that he and Delaney Ruban had pushed too much.
"Any news?" Eudora
asked, and not for the first time wished she'd sat beside her youngest
granddaughter during the reading of the will. She was still convinced she might
have been able to soften the blow Casey had received. If she had, maybe they
wouldn't have spent a sleepless night expecting the worst.
Lash shook his head and reached
for another antacid. Instead, his fingers closed around the rabbit's foot in
his pocket, and he rubbed it lightly, making a bet with himself that everything
would be all right.
Taking comfort from his
superstitious gesture, he decided to forego the antacid. It probably wouldn't
help anyway. He was long past worry and far past panic. From the way his gut was
burning, he was either starting a new ulcer or about to have a heart attack.
He'd expected Casey to be difficult, but he hadn't expected this. If she didn't
show up soon, it would be too late.
Miles lounged near the window
overlooking the tennis courts, contemplating the party he would throw when he
got his hands on the money. He was sick and tired of pretending to be worried
about Casey. As far as he was concerned, she could stay gone. For the past six
years, even if she was his sister, she'd been nothing but a judgmental little
bitch, always harping at him and Erica to get jobs of their own.
Eudora paced back and forth,
fanning herself with a dampened handkerchief. "I just can't bear this
suspense. Oh dear. Oh dear."
Miles rolled his eyes. "Oh,
let it rest, Grandmother. She'll come home when it suits her."
Eudora frowned as she fanned,
although the small square of fabric did little to stir the air. "I'm just
sick about this. What if something awful has happened?" When no one echoed
her concern, she sank into a nearby chair, dabbing at her eyes. "Poor,
dear Casey."
"Poor, dear Casey, my
ass," Erica muttered, and sloshed a liberal helping of Jack Daniel's into
her iced tea and sat down near her twin. Ice clinked against crystal as she
swirled the liquid before lifting the glass to her mouth.
Lash glanced at his watch and dug
his own handkerchief from his pocket, mopping at a fine line of perspiration
that kept breaking out across his brow. Time was running out. If she didn't
show soon, his worst fears would be realized. Miles and Erica would be in
control of the Ruban fortune and Lash's dreams to resurrect the Marlow estate
to its former glory would be dashed. At this moment he didn't know whom he
hated worse—Delaney for causing the fuss, or Miles for the possum-eating grin
he'd been wearing all day.
Never one to let a good silence
extend itself, Eudora tucked her handkerchief into her cleavage and rang a
small bell near her chair.
Moments later a tall, dark-skinned
man dressed in virgin whites entered the room. Still straight and handsome at
sixty, the only evidence of Joshua Bass's age was the liberal dusting of gray
in his hair.
"Yes, ma'am?"
Eudora pointed toward a nearby
table. "Joshua, we're all out of tea."
"Yes, ma'am."
He picked up the tray and started
out of the room when Eudora remembered.
"Oh, Joshua!"
He paused. "Yes, ma'am?"
"Have Tilly put some lemon in
the tea this time. I do believe lemon helps cut the miasma of July."
Casey entered on the tail of
Eudora's order, countermanding it with one of her own. She took the tray out of
Joshua's hands and set it down, then to the continuing dismay of her family,
gave him a huge, breathless hug, which he gladly returned.
Casey smiled up at Joshua, taking
comfort in the love she saw there in his eyes. "Forget the tea, Joshie.
Bring a bottle of Delaney's best champagne instead. We're going to toast my
marriage."
Joshua looked startled, and his
first thought was what his Tilly was going to say. Casey was as close to their
hearts as if she'd been born of their blood and here she was about to drink to
a marriage they knew she didn't want.
Miles's face turned an angry red.
Erica choked on a piece of ice, and Eudora clasped her hands to her throat and
started to cry.
As for Lash, he went weak with
relief. Not only was Casey back, but she seemed willing to celebrate their
upcoming union with no remorse. He went toward her with outstretched hands.
"Casey, darling, I'm so glad
you…"
And that was the moment they
realized Casey had not come alone. The unexpected face of a stranger at Casey's
back, never mind his trail-weary appearance, startled them all into sudden
silence.
"Everyone … this is Ryder
Justice." She glanced at Ryder. To her surprise, he seemed calm, almost disinterested.
"Ryder—my family." She pointed them out, one by one, starting with
Eudora. "This is my Gran." She glanced at Miles and Erica and the
expressions on their faces said it all. She sighed. Some things never change.
"The two beautiful blondes with the fabulous scowls are my brother and
sister, Miles and Erica."
As she smiled at Joshua, her voice
softened. "And this is Joshua Bass. He and his wife, Tilly, helped raise
me."
Ryder nodded. "It's a
pleasure, sir," he said quietly. "And, I'd say you and your wife have
done a fine job. Casey is quite a woman."
She gave Ryder a quick look of
surprise. The praise was unexpected.
Joshua grinned, pleased to have
been recognized as part of the family.
"Casey, really! He's one of
the help," Eudora said, and then flushed, embarrassed that she'd been put
in the position of having to remark upon the differences in their stations in
life.
Casey's chin jutted. "Unlike
the majority of this family, Joshua has a job. I have a job as well. I fail to
see the difference." Then she softened her rebuke by winking at Joshua.
"Joshie, hurry and bring that champagne. We have some celebrating to
do."
Lash had more on his mind than
sipping champagne and social niceties. He glanced at his watch. There were a
million things to do and so little time.
"Casey, dearest, we've been
so worried. When you didn't come home last night I even called the state
police. We all realize the will came as a terrible shock to you, but if you'd
just waited a bit, I could have saved you from all this turmoil. You know how I
feel about you. It was only a matter of time before you came to your senses and
did what was best for everyone."
When he reached for her hand,
Casey took an instinctive step back, right into Ryder's arms.
"Easy," Ryder said softly,
and Casey shivered. That was what he'd said earlier, right before he'd kissed
her.
"I don't need saving,"
she told Lash. "And I've already come to my senses. I saved myself."
A nerve jerked at the side of
Lash's eye, causing it to twitch. "What do you mean?"
Although Ryder was no longer
touching Casey, she knew he was still behind her, and, oddly enough, it was his
solid presence that gave her the courage to say what had to be said. She pulled
the copy of their marriage license from her purse and handed it to Lash without
batting an eye.
"Ryder and I were married
this morning. I suppose you'll need this to confirm the legalities and finalize
the edicts of the will."
"Married?"
The shriek came from across the room.
Casey wasn't sure whether it was Miles or Erica who'd come undone, and she
didn't much care.
The paper fell from Lash's fingers
and onto the floor as shock spread across his face. Speech was impossible. All
he could do was stare at the woman who'd dashed his last hopes. She seemed
calm, even smug about what she'd done, and as he looked, he began to hate.
At this point, Joshua came back
into the room with an uncorked bottle of champagne and a tray full of glasses.
Casey took it from his hands.
"I'll pour while you go get
Tilly. This won't be official until you two are in on my news. Also, will you
please tell Bea to get the apartment over the garage ready. When it's cleaned,
have someone move my things out there, okay?" Joshua left with an anxious
glance.
"Why on earth would you be
doing such a thing?" Eudora asked.
Before Casey could respond, Ryder
stepped to her side. For a moment, Casey had the sensation of what it would be
like to never stand alone against this family again.
His voice was cool, his manner
calm and assured. "Because a wife lives with her husband, and as of
yesterday, I'm your new chauffeur, that's why."
Miles's snort of disbelief was
echoed by his sister. "My God, Casey, marrying some never-do-well is bad
enough, but a chauffeur? Have you no shame?"
Ryder's expression underwent a
remarkable change, from calm to quiet fury. He never took his eyes from Miles.
"I don't care if he is your brother—do not expect me to like that little
pig."
Casey almost laughed. The look of
shock on her brother's face was priceless.
"You don't have to," she
said, and then felt obligated to add, "but you can't hurt him."
Ryder gave Miles another cool
stare, then took the champagne Casey handed him. "There's more than one
way to skin a cat," he drawled, and gave Miles a cool, studied look. Then
he lifted the glass toward her in a silent toast, pinning Casey with a stormy
gaze that left her stunned.
"To justice," he said,
letting them decide for themselves what he'd meant.
Chapter 3
After the family
accepted the shock of Casey's news, there was one more person Casey needed to see.
While Ryder was prowling through the garage and the cars that were to be under
his control, she slipped into the kitchen in search of Matilda Bass. The need
to lay her head on Tilly's shoulder was overwhelming. She hoped when she did,
that she would manage not to cry.
And Tilly wasn't all that hard to
find.
"Come here to me, girl,"
Tilly said, and opened her arms.
Casey walked into them without
hesitation. "You didn't come drink champagne with me."
Tilly ignored the rebuke. She had
her own idea of her place in this world and in spite of the money the Rubans
had, she wouldn't have traded places with them for any of it. She had more
self-esteem than to socialize with people who chose to look down on her because
she cooked the food that they ate.
"Well now, what have you gone
and done?" Tilly asked.
Her sympathy was almost Casey's
undoing. "Saved us all, I hope," Casey replied.
Tilly frowned. She'd already heard
through the family grapevine what a burden the old man Ruban had heaped on her
baby's head.
"If you ask me, that old man
needed his head examined," Tilly mumbled, stroking her hand gently up and
down the middle of Casey's back.
Casey sighed. "Well, it's
over and done with," she said.
Tilly stepped back, her dark eyes
boring into Casey's gaze. "Nothing is ever over and done with, girl. Not
while people draw breath. You be careful. I don't know why, but I don't like
the feel of all this."
Casey managed a laugh. "Don't
go all witchy on me, now. You know what Joshie says
about you messin' with that kind of stuff."
Tilly sniffed. The reference to
her mother's and grandmother's predilection for voodoo did not apply to her.
"I do not indulge myself in the black arts and you know it," Tilly
huffed.
Casey grinned and then gave Tilly a
last, quick hug. "I know. I was only teasing." Then her laughter
faded. "Say a prayer for me, Mammo."
Casey hadn't used that childhood
name in years. It brought quick tears to Tilly's eyes, and because it was an
emotion it which she rarely indulged, she was all the more brusque with her
answer. "Knowing you, I'd better say two," she said, and gave Casey a
swift swat on the rear. "Now you run on along. I've got dinner to fix
before Joshua and I go on home."
Casey paused on her way out the
door. "Tilly?"
"What, baby girl?"
"Have you ever regretted
staying on here as cook? You and Joshua are so smart, you could have done a lot
of other things besides wait on a small, selfish family."
Tilly turned, and the serious tone
of her voice was proof of her sincerity. "Maybe I could have, but not my
Josh. You've got to remember, he only hears good in one ear. That handicap lost
him a whole lot of jobs early on in our marriage. By the time we landed here
with your grandfather, he was glad to have the work. And Mr. Ruban was more
than fair. Our pay is good. We have health insurance, something a lot of our
friends do not. And, because your grandfather did not like change in his
household, the incentive he gave us to stay on was to set up trusts for our
retirement. Actually, we're better off than some other members of our family
who have college degrees." And then she smiled. "Besides, I like to
cook, and who else would have raised my baby if Josh and I hadn't been
here?"
This time, Casey didn't bother to
hide her tears. She wrapped her arms around Tilly's neck. "I love you, Mammo."
"I love you, too, girl. Now
run on home. You've got yourself a man to tend."
Startled, Casey did as she was
told, and after that, the day went surprisingly well.
* * *
Although Miles and Erica no longer
had any hopes of attaining control of the Ruban fortune, their circumstances
were still the same. Before, they had come and gone as they pleased, spent and
slept at Delaney Ruban's expense. For them, nothing had changed.
As for Eudora, she'd sacrificed
much for her dead daughter's children. Years ago she'd given up a suitor who
could have made her golden years something to remember. She'd left her home on
She hadn't meant to make them so
dependent on others, but it had happened anyway. And now that their life-styles
were pretty much set in stone, she felt it her moral obligation to see that
their comfort level stayed the same.
Yet when it came to sacrifices, it
was Casey who'd sacrificed the most. Whatever dreams she might have harbored
with regard to her personal life were gone. She was married to a stranger, and
for the next twelve months, had resigned herself to the fact.
At her demand, Ryder had been sent
into Ruban Crossing with a handful of money and orders as to what to buy, while
she went in to the office. There was a merger pending and an entire factory of
workers in
* * *
Casey climbed the stairs leading
to the garage apartment and tried not to think of her spacious bedroom across
the courtyard; of her sunken bathtub and the cool, marble floor, or of her
queen-size bed and the down-filled pillows of which she was so fond. Her
stomach growled and she wondered what feast Tilly was concocting across the way
for the evening meal. At this point, she began to consider the benefits she was
losing by having to live under Ryder Justice's roof. Who would cook? Where did
she put her dirty clothes?
Caution forbade her to use any of
the services available across the way. From the expression on Lash Marlow's
face when he'd left the house this morning, she knew his anger would not easily
disappear. It would be just like him to try and catch her cheating on the terms
of the will.
Oh, well, she thought. I can
always order takeout and take my clothes to the cleaners.
She took out her key to open the
door then found it already unlocked. Her pulse skipped a beat. That meant he
was home. Quietly, so as not to alert the "tiger" who lurked within, she
shut the door behind her and then stood, absorbing the sight of what was to be
her home for the next twelve months.
The entire apartment consisted of
three small rooms, the accumulation of which were still not the size of her
bedroom inside the mansion. But it was clean, and blessedly quiet. For today,
it was enough.
Just when she was beginning to
relax, she noticed a man's shirt draped over an easy chair and a pair of dusty,
black boots on the floor nearby. Reality set in.
Never one to put off what had to
be done, she reminded herself that the sooner the confrontation began, the
sooner it would be over. She sat her briefcase by the door and looked toward
the bedroom. Since he wasn't in here, he had to be in there.
She walked inside. Several pairs
of blue jeans lay on the bed, along with a half dozen white long-sleeved
shirts, a new sport coat and a broad-brimmed black Stetson. A pile of her best
lingerie was on the floor next to the dresser. She frowned, wondering why her
things were on the floor.
She stared at the clothes. Where
were the uniforms she'd told him to get? She'd given him the address of the
place where they'd rented them before. Ruban Crossing was a fair-size city, but
he'd had all afternoon to find one simple address.
She opened the closet. It was full
of her clothing and nothing else. She looked back at the bed. That explained
why he hadn't hung his up. Obviously, there was no place left for them to hang.
She turned around, eyeing the
small room with distaste, then shrugged. Tomorrow, she'd go through her things
and have Bea take part of them back to the main house. It was the least she
could do.
A door creaked behind her. She
spun and then froze. Ryder had obviously just had a bath. Steam enveloped him
as he stepped out of the doorway and into the room with her, giving him the
appearance of emerging from a cloud. His hair was spiky and still dripping
water as he began to towel it dry.
Her thoughts tangled. Most men would
appear smaller without benefit of clothing. But not him. He enveloped the space
in which he moved, almost as if he took it with him as he went.
Casey frowned again, biting at the
inside of her lip and wondering why she hadn't had the foresight to wait
outside. How would she ever get past the memory of this much man covered with
such a small, insignificant towel?
"Sorry," Ryder said, and
gave his hair a last, halfhearted rub before tossing the wet towel back into
the bathroom floor. "Didn't know you were here."
Casey tilted her chin, determined
he not know how shaken she was.
"Obviously," she said
shortly, and then pointed toward the clothes on the bed. "I gave you money
to get uniforms, not all this."
Ryder's eyes narrowed, and Casey
knew the moment the words were out of her mouth that she'd ticked him off. He
walked to a bedside table and withdrew a handful of money, then stuffed it in
her hand.
"What's this?" Casey
asked.
"Your money."
"But how did you pay for all
this?"
He didn't answer, and she glared.
But when he spun and started toward her, she took an instinctive step backward.
When he bypassed her for the dresser beyond, she caught herself breathing a
small sigh of relief. Determined to get to the bottom of his behavior, she
struck again, only this time with more venom.
"I asked you a
question," she snapped.
Her relief was short-lived. When
he turned, the anger on his face almost stopped her heart.
"Don't go there," he
said quietly.
"Go where? I don't know what
you mean."
"There's one thing we'd
better get straight right now. I don't take orders from you, and I don't take
your money. I pay my own way."
She couldn't imagine how he'd
obtained the clothes. For all she knew he might have stolen the stuff. She
would have been shocked to know he had a gold credit card with an unlimited
line. And, if she'd known, would have been even more surprised to learn he
hadn't used it in months.
"But the uniforms … why
didn't you do as you were told?"
As far as Ryder was concerned,
what was in his past was none of her business. Suddenly he was right in front
of her. His breath was hot, his words angry.
"Because you're not my boss,
you're my wife. I gave you my name, and I'll drive you and yours anywhere they
please for the next twelve months, but I'm not wearing a damned monkey suit to
do it."
Casey's mouth dropped. Never in
her entire life had anyone had the gall to defy her in such a manner. Before
she could think of a comeback, he turned away, opened the top drawer of the
dresser, withdrew a brand-new pair of white cotton briefs and dropped his
towel.
She bolted, taking with her the
image of a long-limbed body that was hard and fit and brown all over.
A few minutes later he emerged
from the bedroom in his bare feet, wearing an old and faded pair of jeans and
no shirt.
The casual are-you-still-here
glance he gave her made her furious.
Disgusted with herself for not
standing her ground, she watched from across the room as he sauntered into the
kitchen and opened the refrigerator. When he bent down to look inside, the urge
to hit him was so strong it startled her. She was not the type of woman to
resort to violence. Then she rescinded her own opinion of herself. At least she
hadn't been. But that was before she'd driven into the flatlands and brought
out a husband.
He set a package of raw hamburger
meat on the counter then went back to the refrigerator. She didn't know what
angered her most, the fact that he was being deliberately mutinous, or that she
was being ignored.
Smoothing her hands down the front
of her blue summer suit, she tossed back her hair and slipped into the
sarcastic mode she used to keep Miles and Erica at bay.
"Are you finished?" she
drawled, wanting the bathroom all to herself.
Ryder straightened, looking at her
from across the open refrigerator door. He stared at her, from the top of her
hair to the open toes of her sling-back pumps. A slight grin tilted the corner
of his mouth as he stepped back and closed the door.
His thoughts went to the year
stretching out before them, considering which one of them would be the first to
break. "Finished?" he muttered. "We haven't even started."
With that, he moved toward her.
Panic came swiftly and Casey wondered
if the family would be able to hear her scream from here. She held up her hand
in a warning gesture.
"Don't you dare!" she
said, and winced at the squeak in her voice.
She was scared! The fact surprised
him. She'd walked into a bar with a roomful of strange men and offered herself
up as a golden goat without batting an eye. She'd roused a doctor, a county
clerk and a judge out of bed to do her bidding. She'd stared down a roomful of
antagonistic relatives and kept a lawyer out of her pants who seemed to have
had his own hidden agenda, and she was suddenly scared? And of him? It didn't
make sense. He hadn't done anything to warrant this.
Yet when he might have eased her
fears, he found himself letting them grow.
When he got within inches of her stark,
white face, he realized why. This woman, who was his wife, was damned pretty.
In fact, if a man didn't get picky about that little bitty mole at the left
corner of her lips, she was beautiful.
Sexually, he was a starving man
and this woman was legally his wife. Although he'd cut himself off from
everyone he cared for, he'd been unable to cut off the emotions of a normal,
red-blooded man. Keeping her slightly afraid was a safe way of keeping her at
arms' length. Yet when her eyes widened fearfully and her color rose, he
relented.
"Easy," he said.
"All I need to know is how you like it and do you want more than
one?"
She would have sworn that her
heart shot straight up her throat and she had to swallow several times to work
up enough spit to be able to speak. More than one? Oh my God! "I don't
think you understand the situation here," she stuttered.
"What? Don't tell me you
don't eat meat."
Her face flushed as she thought of
his lean, bare body. "Eat? Meat?"
"Do you like it hot and red,
slightly pink, or hard as a rock?"
Her eyes widened even more and her
voice began to quiver. "I don't do things like that," she whispered,
and put her hand to her throat, unconsciously stifling that scream she'd been
considering.
He frowned. Things like what? All
he needed to know was if she wanted… And then it dawned on him what
interpretation she'd put on their conversation. He stifled a grin and pointed
back to the counter.
"Are you telling me you don't
do hamburgers?"
"Hamburgers?"
He went straight past her and out
a small side door onto the attached deck above the driveway, opened the lid to
a smoking barbecue grill, checked the coals, then let the lid drop back down
with a clank.
"The charcoal is ready."
He headed back toward the kitchen, pausing at the package of hamburger.
"One last chance. Do you want one hamburger or two, and how do you want it
cooked?"
There was a silly grin on her face
as she slumped to the floor in a dead faint.
* * *
Ryder sat in the room's only
chair, watching as Casey began to regain consciousness. The sofa he'd laid her
on was a small, two-cushion affair, and he'd been forced to make the decision
as to whether her head would be down and her feet up, or vice versa.
He'd opted to lay her head on the
cushions and let her legs dangle. No sooner had he done so than one of her legs
slipped from the arm of the sofa and onto the floor, leaving her in an
indelicate, spread-eagled faint.
Ryder stifled a grin. Waking in
such a compromising position would embarrass anyone. For Casey, a woman
obviously used to nothing but the best, it would be the height of humiliation.
In a considerate move, he removed her shoes, then lifted her leg back in
alignment with the other. But when it slipped off again, he decided to leave
it, and her, alone.
As he watched, he couldn't help
but stare at the woman who was now his wife. He was still a little shocked at
himself for going along with such a hare-brained scheme. The Justice men were
not impulsive. They had always considered the consequences and then lived with
their decisions without regrets. Until now. While it was too late to consider
anything, it remained to be seen if there would be regrets.
He kept looking at her, separating
her features in his mind. It wasn't just that she was pretty, though he
couldn't keep his eyes off her thick black hair and those big green eyes. And
her skin—it looked like silk, ivory silk.
And Ryder remembered that when she
smiled, her mouth had a tendency to curl at one corner first before the other
decided to follow. It gave her an impish expression, which he knew was
deceiving. If this woman had an ounce of playfulness in her, he hadn't seen it.
The devil maybe, but nothing so frivolous as an imp.
While he was watching, she
blinked. And when she groaned and reached for the back of her head, he
grimaced. It had been thumped pretty good when she'd fainted. He felt bad about
that. She might be touchy as hell, and they might not agree on anything, but he
didn't want her hurt.
Casey opened her eyes. The ceiling
didn't look familiar, and for a moment, she wondered where she was. A whiff of
charcoal smoke drifted past her nose and, all too swiftly, her memory returned.
Seconds later, she became aware of
the implications of her less than ladylike sprawl. What had that man done to
her while she'd been unconscious? Better yet, where was he?
She turned her head and caught him
staring at her from a chair on the other side of the coffee table. When he
grinned and winked, she swiveled to an upright position, grabbing at her skirt
and smoothing at her hair. When she could think without the room spinning
beneath her, she glared at him.
"What did you do to me?"
He arched an eyebrow. "Not
nearly as much as I wanted," he replied, and knew he'd scored a hit when
she doubled up her fists. He stifled a laugh. "Easy, now. I was just
kidding. I've been the picture of decorum. I picked you up from the floor, laid
you on the sofa, and have been waiting for you to come to."
Her southern manners forced her to
thank him. "I appreciate your consideration."
His grin widened. "Honesty
won't permit me to accept your compliment. I have to admit it was hunger that
kept me waiting for you. I was taught that it's bad manners to eat in front of
people without offering them some, too. And, you never did answer my question.
How do you want your hamburger?"
If she'd had a shoe, she would
have thrown it. As it was, she had to satisfy herself with a regal, albeit
shaky, exit from the room, slamming the door shut between them with a solid
thud.
"Does that mean you don't
want one?" Ryder yelled.
She yanked the door open long
enough to give him what was left of her mind.
"You're a swine. A gentleman
would have covered my legs and bathed my head with a cold compress."
"If you wanted a gentleman,
you shouldn't have gone shopping for a husband down in the Delta."
She glared and slammed the door
again, this time louder and firmer.
"I suppose this means no to
the hamburgers?"
The door opened again, but the
only thing to come out was the sound of Casey's voice at its most dignified.
The shriek in her tone was gone and she was enunciating each word, as if
speaking to someone lacking in mental capacity.
"No, it does not. I will have
a hamburger, well-done, light on the salt, heavy on the pepper."
This time when she closed the
door, it was with a ladylike click. The glitter in Ryder's eyes was sharp, the
grin on his face sardonic.
"So you like it hot, do you, wife?
That's interesting. Very interesting indeed."
He reentered the tiny kitchen and
began making patties from the hamburger meat before carrying them out to the
grill. As he slapped them on the grate, smoke began to rise and the fire began
to pop and sizzle as fat dripped onto the burning charcoal.
Oddly, it reminded him of Casey in
the midst of her family, putting up a smoke screen to keep them from knowing
how scared she was, and popping wisecracks and issuing orders before anyone
could tell her what to do.
He closed the lid and sighed. He
had married a total stranger for the hell of it, but he hadn't counted on the
family that came with her. In fact, they reminded him of snakes, writhing and
coiling and biting out at each other in some crazy sort of frenzy.
He thought of his own family, of
how loud and rambunctious—of how close and loving they'd been—of how empty and
scattered they now were. And how the world as he'd known it had ended because
of something he'd done.
He went back inside, leaving the
hamburgers and his memories behind.
* * *
"Want another one?"
Ryder asked, indicating the two remaining well-done patties congealing in their
own grease on a pea green plate.
Casey eyed the plate. Besides
being an atrocious shade of green, the plate was chipped. She'd never eaten
from a chipped plate before. She suspected this night was the beginning of many
firsts. Dabbing at the corner of her mouth with a paper towel, she shook her
head.
"No, thank you, I'm quite
full." Grudgingly she added, "It was very good."
Ryder nodded and continued to
stare at a ketchup stain near his fork. What now? Conversation with this woman
had been nearly impossible. Every time he opened his mouth to speak, she
jumped. And she watched his every move with those big green eyes, as if she
expected to be pounced upon at any moment. Hell, she was beginning to make him
antsy, too.
He glanced at his watch.
"It's almost nine."
She paled.
He sighed.
"Easy now, lady."
"Casey," she said.
"My name is Casey."
His expression darkened.
"Yes, and my name is Ryder. Unfortunately, that's all we know about each
other." When she looked away, his frustration rose.
"Casey, look at me."
She did, but with trepidation.
"There's something I think
needs to be said. This is going to be a long haul for both of us. I suppose we
each had an agenda for even considering this situation, but it's done, and for
your sake, it has to work, right?"
She thought of Miles and Erica,
and then of Lash. "Yes."
"Okay, then there's something
I think you should know about me."
Her head jerked up and she was
suddenly staring at him in a still, waiting manner. Oh dear, what was he about
to reveal? Again, he sensed her fear. "Dammit, don't look at me like that.
I am not a dangerous man. I do not taunt women. I do not hurt women. I do not
force women to do anything they do not want, and that includes the issue of
sex."
Startled by his bluntness, Casey
blushed. "I've been meaning to talk to you about that," she said.
"I'm listening."
"There won't be any."
Her announcement came as no
surprise, but Ryder was unprepared for the sense of disappointment he felt. He
chalked it up to several months of denial and let it go at that.
He shrugged. "I will abide by
whatever rules you feel comfortable in setting, but I have a couple of my own.
I am not your servant. I don't take orders … but I will listen to
suggestions."
He watched her swallow a couple of
times, but she remained silent.
"Well, do you have any?"
Casey blinked. "Any
what?"
"Suggestions."
"Uh … no, I don't suppose
so."
"Okay, then that's settled.
Why don't you start the dishes? I want to make sure the fire is out in the
grill."
He got up before he had time to
see her panic again. "Ryder?"
He turned.
She waved helplessly over the
table and the dirty dishes. "I've never done dishes before."
"You've never…!" Then he
muttered beneath his breath. "Good grief."
"What's wrong?"
"You've never done
dishes."
She hated him for that dumbfounded
look he was wearing. "That's what I said. I also don't do windows,"
she snapped.
"And I don't suppose you can
cook, either."
She had the grace to flush.
"No."
He groaned.
Casey was surprised at her feelings
of inadequacy. She hired and fired with the best of them, bought and sold
corporations without batting an eye. How dare he consider her lacking in
capabilities?
"It's not my fault," she
argued.
"Then whose is it?"
She had no answer.
"If you ask me, it's high
time you learned. Soap is under the sink, the dishcloth is in it. You're a
smart lady. Figure the rest out for yourself."
"Where are you going?"
Casey asked, as he started out the door.
"To put out a fire then take
a shower."
"But you already had a
shower," she said, remembering the steam … and the towel … and the
bare-naked body.
"Yeah, so maybe I have more
than one fire that needs quenching, okay?"
It took exactly five seconds for
the implication of what he'd suggested to sink in, and another few for her to
be able to move. After that, she was glad to have something to do besides think
about what he'd said … and why he'd said it.
* * *
The air was thick and muggy from the
lingering heat of the day. It was that time of the evening just before dusk and
right after the sun has passed beyond the horizon. A family of martens swooped
grass-high in daring flight then soared heavenward, constantly feeding on the
mosquitoes in the air.
Graystone, the home that had been
in the Marlow family since before the War of Northern Aggression, loomed large
upon the landscape. It was a three-story monolith which had seen better days.
Its regal structure and the land upon which it sat was sadly in need of repair,
yet at a distance, the charm of the pillared edifice was still imposing.
Lash reclined in an old wicker
chair on the veranda of his family home, nursing his third bourbon and water
and surveying all that was his. This was his favorite time of the day. It
wasn't because the workday was over and he was taking a well-earned rest. It
was because Graystone looked better at half-light.
He tossed back the last of his
drink, trying to pinpoint exactly where his plans for glory had gone wrong. The
liquor burned and he silently cursed the fact that he could no longer afford
the best. He was drinking cheap bourbon, living in the servant's wing while the
rest of the mansion was closed off, and down to doing for himself. He didn't
even have the funds to hire a housekeeper and made only enough at his law
practice to keep the taxes paid on his home and himself afloat.
His belly growled. Without
conscious thought, he pushed himself up from the chair and entered the house,
taking care to lock the door behind him. Just for a moment, he stood in the
great hall, staring up at the spiral staircase gracing the entryway,
remembering another time when the house had been alive with laughter and
people.
Something moved in the far corner
of the hall. He winced as the sound of scurrying feet scratched on the marble
flooring, then disappeared behind a breakfront. It wasn't the first rodent of
that size he'd seen inside these walls, but tonight, it would be one too many.
He started to shake, first with
rage, then from despair. It was over! There would be no more dreams of bringing
Graystone back to her former beauty, or of returning dignity to the Marlow
name. And it was all because of Casey.
A red haze blurred his vision. He
drew back and threw his glass toward the place where he'd last seen the rat. It
shattered against the wall, splintering into minute crystal shards. Only
afterward did he remember that it had been part of a set, but regret swiftly
faded. What did it matter? His only guests wore long tails and came on four
feet … in the dark … in the middle of the night.
Startled by the sound of breaking
glass, the rat that had taken refuge behind the breakfront made a run down the
hallway for the deeper shadows beyond. As it did, something inside of Lash snapped.
He grabbed at his grandfather's ivory-handled walking stick that had been
standing in the hall tree for more than forty years, and ran, catching the rat
just as it neared safety. He swung down with deadly force and the sound
shattered the silence within the old walls as well as what was left of Lash's
reason. Glass splintered on the wall behind him as he drew back the cane, but
he didn't notice.
Even after the rat was dead, Lash
continued to hail it with a barrage of blows until gore began to splatter on
his shoes and the cuffs of his pants.
But in his mind, the rat had been
dispatched from the first blow he'd struck. He was oblivious to the overkill,
or that he might have lost more than his control. He kept venting his rage on a
woman who'd dashed his dreams. And it wasn't the rodent who was coming apart on
the cool marble floor. It was the beautiful and complacent surface of Casey
Ruban's face.
When he finally stopped, his body
was shaking from exertion and the muscles in his arm were burning from the
energy he'd spent. He stared in disbelief at what he'd done, then tossed the
cane down on the floor, disgusted by its condition, Weary in both body and
spirit, he turned and then stared at the wall in disbelief. The mirror! The
glass in the ornate, gold-rimmed mirror that had hung in this hall for as long
as he could remember, was shattered. His heart began to pound as he looked at
the broken and refracted image of himself—a true reflection of his life.
He stepped back in horror and
reached for the rabbit's foot in the pocket of his pants. All he could think as
he backed away was, seven long years of bad luck.
Chapter 4
Casey roused from a restless
sleep. Disoriented by unfamiliar surroundings, it took a few moments for
reality to return. Someone moaned. Her first thought was that Ryder could be
sick. Quietly, she crawled out of bed and tiptoed to the door, aware that he'd
made his bed in the middle of the living room floor. The moan came again, only
this time, louder.
When she'd seen him last, he'd
been unfolding a sleeping bag. But this was frightening. She didn't know what
to make of it. What if he was hurt, or sick?
Just as she turned the doorknob,
something crashed to the floor. An image of intruders made her hesitate, but
only for a moment.
The door opened inward on
well-oiled hinges. She peered into the living room, searching the shadows to
make certain she and Ryder were still alone. The outer door was shut, as were
the windows. As she listened, the hum of the central air-conditioning unit
kicked on, changing the texture of the night. She took a step forward, then
another, then another until she was behind the sofa and peering over it.
Ryder was stretched out in his
sleeping bag there on the floor. Lying half in and half out of the faint glow
from the security lights outside, he seemed more shadow than substance.
And while she was watching, he
jerked and then moaned, throwing one arm over his eyes, as if warding off some
unseen blow.
This explained the sounds that had
wakened her. Ryder appeared to be dreaming. She moved closer, leaning over the
sofa for a better view. And as she did, accidentally scooted it with the force
of her body. The wooden legs screeched across the vinyl flooring like chalk on
a blackboard. The sound was enough to wake the dead … and Ryder.
He came up and out of his sleeping
bag and before Casey could react, he had grabbed her by the throat, and pinned
her to the wall. His face and body were in darkness, but there was enough light
for her to know to be afraid. The look in his eyes was grim, and the grip he
had around her throat was all but deadly. She grabbed at his wrists before his
grip tightened further.
"Ryder … Ryder, it's
me."
"Oh, my God!" He jerked,
moving his hand from her throat to the side of her face in a quick gesture of
assurance. "Dammit, Casey, I'm sorry, but you startled me."
Casey closed her eyes as her legs
went weak.
She rubbed at the tightness in her
throat where his fingers had been. "It's okay. It was partly my fault for
sneaking up on you like that."
Remorse shafted through him as he
saw her fingering her throat. Dammit, he'd hurt her. He caught her hand, and
then the moment they touched, wished that he'd kept his hands to himself. She
was too close and too tempting.
Her focus suddenly shifted from
her throat to him. They were face-to-face—body to body, and only inches from
each other's lips.
Breath caught. Hearts stopped. First
hers, then his. She swallowed. "You were having a bad dream."
He inhaled slowly then spoke.
"I'm sorry I frightened you."
Once again, she was struck by the
size of him, of the breadth of his shoulders blocking out the light coming
through the windows behind him.
"It's okay. It was partly my
fault," she said.
She moved her hand and
accidentally brushed the surface of his chest. His skin felt combustible.
Muscles tensed beneath her fingertips and she jerked back her hand.
When he took a deep breath, she
looked up. His eyes were glittering and there was a faint sheen of perspiration
on his body. At that moment, she remembered what she was wearing, and realized
what he was not.
He slept in the buff.
Her gown was short and sheer.
Seduction had been the last thing
on her mind when she'd bought it, but from the way Ryder was staring at her
now, it wasn't far from his. She could almost hear what he was thinking. He was
her husband. This was their first night alone. But from her standpoint, what he
was so obviously thinking could not—must not—happen.
Ryder was in shock. To wake up
from the horror of reliving the crash that had killed his father to find a
beautiful, half-dressed woman within reach made him want. He wanted to make
love. He wanted to feel the softness of a woman's body—a woman's lips. To get
lost in that certain rapture. To celebrate life because he couldn't forget
death. That's what he wanted. But it wasn't going to happen, and because he
knew it, his voice was harsh and angry.
"Go back to bed."
She tried to explain. "Look,
I didn't mean to—"
He pinned her against the wall
with a hand on either side of her head and leaned down, so close to her that
his whisper was as loud as a shout.
"Either get the hell out of
my sight or take off your clothes."
Casey bolted for the bedroom,
slamming the door behind her and then leaning against it, as if the weight of
her body might add strength to the flimsy barrier that stood between them.
For several interminable seconds she
stood without moving, listening for the sound of footsteps. When all she heard
were a few muffled curses and then the sound of a slamming door, she relaxed
and then panicked. What if he was leaving for good?
She opened the door with a jerk,
but when she realized all of his things were still inside, she shut it again.
She crawled into bed and pulled up the covers, again, erecting another puny
barrier between them.
In spite of the cool air
circulating throughout the room, it seemed stifling. And while she waited
anxiously for him to return, she considered their temporary bonds.
Ryder Justice had promised to love
and honor her, to take care of her in sickness and in health. She didn't know
about the loving, but some part of her trusted that he wouldn't lie. He'd said
he would stay the year and she believed him. It was that fact alone that gave
her ease enough to go back to sleep.
* * *
When she woke again, the alarm on
the bedside table was going off, and water was running in the shower.
Casey's first impulse was fear.
He'd come into her room and she'd never known. Her second was picturing what he
was doing. Remembering the condition in which he'd emerged last night, she
jumped out of bed, grabbing for her robe and slippers as she ran a hasty brush
through the tangles in her hair. This time when he came out of the shower, she
had no intention of being anywhere in sight.
When she exited the apartment, she
stood for a moment on the landing, savoring the Mississippi morning. It was
going to be another hot one, she could tell. The thought of freshly brewed
coffee and some of Tilly's hot biscuits and jelly drew her down the stairs with
haste, across the courtyard, in the back door of the mansion, and into the
kitchen.
"Something smells good,"
she said.
The woman standing at the stove
turned in quick surprise. There was a faint flush from the heat of the oven
staining her face and a warning in her eyes.
"Casey Dee, you scared me
half to death."
"I'm sorry," Casey said,
and went for her good-morning hug.
Tilly smoothed and fussed at the
long hair hanging down Casey's back, then hugged her tightly to soften the
accusation in her words. "Well now, girl, what are you doing over here
without your man?"
She sighed. If only things were as
simple now as they'd been back when she was a child.
"He's in the shower."
Casey slumped in a chair with a pout. "Oh, Tilly, Delaney has made such a
mess out of my life."
"No, ma'am. Delaney didn't do
it, you did. He just went and made some silly rule, and as always, you're still
running along behind him, trying to make everything right."
Casey was speechless. This wasn't
the sympathy she'd been wanting. She tried to glare, but it just wasn't
possible. Not at Tilly. And then she sighed. Tilly always gave her sympathy,
but where Casey wanted it or not, it also came with the truth. "So, he
started it," Casey said, and managed to grin.
"And you sure did finish it,
didn't you, girl? The very idea! Going down to the flatlands to find yourself a
man."
Casey's eyebrows rose. "How
did you know?"
Tilly snorted delicately and
returned to stirring the eggs she'd been cooking. "I know, 'cause you're
my baby," she said softly. "I know 'cause I make it my business to
know."
The air in Casey's throat became
too thick to breathe. She stood and slipped her arms around Tilly's waist, then
laid her cheek in the middle of her back, relishing the familiarity of freshly
ironed fabric and a steady heartbeat.
"And I thank God that you
care," Casey said softly. "You and Joshua are all the family I have
left."
Tilly set the skillet off the fire
and turned until she and Casey were eye to eye. "No, girl, you're wrong.
You've got yourself a husband now."
Casey's laugh was brittle. "I
don't have a husband. I have a stranger for a year."
Tilly took her by the shoulders
and shook her. "What you have is a chance. Now make the most of it."
Before Casey could argue further, Tilly waved her away. "Go tell your man
my biscuits are about ready to come out of the oven. By the time you two get
back, bacon and eggs will be ready, too."
"But I don't know if he
likes…"
Tilly's stare never wavered.
"Then don't you think it's about time you found out?"
Casey exited the kitchen with as
much grace as she could muster. After her and Ryder's encounter last night, she
was almost afraid to face him. The tail of her robe was dragging as she walked
up the stairs. When she stumbled and came close to falling, she picked it up
and walked the rest of the way with the hem held above her ankles.
Ryder met her at the door. She
knew that she was staring, but she hadn't been prepared for the change in his
appearance. Clean-shaven, smelling like soap and something light and musky, he seemed
taller than ever. She tried not to gawk, but the new blue jeans he was wearing
suited him all too well, and he'd left the top three buttons on his
long-sleeved white shirt undone, revealing far too much of that broad, brown
chest for her peace of mind. The only thing she recognized from before were his
old black boots, and even they were shining. Still damp from his shower, his
hair gleamed black in the early morning sunshine.
"Mornin'," he said
softly, and stepped aside to let her in. "Someone from the house just
called. Said they wanted a ride into the city."
Casey blinked, telling herself to
concentrate on what he was saying instead of how he looked, but it was
difficult. Today, those grey eyes of his almost looked blue.
"It isn't even eight o'clock,"
she muttered. "You haven't had breakfast, and they can wait."
A slight grin cornered one edge of
his mouth and then slid out of sight. "I don't know what we'll eat.
Yesterday I forgot to buy milk."
"It doesn't matter. This
morning we're having breakfast in the kitchen with Tilly. She said to
hurry."
"Who's Tilly?"
"The woman who raised me
after Mother and Father were killed. She's Joshua's wife. You remember him from
yesterday."
He nodded, then reached for the
broad-brimmed, black Stetson hanging by the door. "Someone else's cooking
sounds good to me." When Casey moved toward their bedroom, he paused.
"Aren't you coming, or don't you eat with the hired help?"
She spun, and there was no
mistaking the anger in her voice. "Don't ever, and I mean, ever, refer to
Tilly or Joshua as servants again. Do you understand?"
Surprised by her vehemence, his
estimation of her went up a notch. "Yes, ma'am, I believe that I do."
Again, Casey realized she'd
overreacted. He must be as off-center as she felt. "Sorry. I didn't
mean…"
"Easy now."
Her stomach tied itself into a
little knot. If only he'd quit saying those words in those tones.
"I am easy," she said,
and then groaned beneath her breath as a grin spread across his face.
"Don't say it," she muttered. "You know what I meant."
"Casey."
A little nervous about what he
would say next, she couldn't have been more surprised by what came out.
"Don't ever apologize for
having a good heart."
After witnessing the dangerous side
of him last night, his gentleness was the last thing she would have expected.
"Was that a compliment?" she asked.
He ignored her. "Hurry up and
get dressed. I'm starving."
"Feel free to go on ahead.
Tilly will be glad to…"
"No."
"No?"
"I'll wait for you," he
said.
She inhaled sharply, and then shut
the bedroom door behind her as she went inside. Her hands were shaking as she
sorted through the closet for something to wear.
I'll wait for you.
His promise was echoing inside her
head as she brushed and zipped and buttoned. Putting on makeup was even more
difficult because she found herself looking through tears, but she refused to
let them fall. She wasn't going to let that man get to her, not in any way.
* * *
Erica sauntered into the
downstairs kitchen just as Tilly was dishing up the eggs.
"What's taking so long this
morning?" Erica grumbled, picking a strip of hot, crisp bacon from the
platter and crunching it between her teeth.
"Get on out of my
kitchen," Tilly said. "Everything is right on time and you know
it."
Erica hated this woman's uppity
manner, and at the same time, respected her authority just enough not to argue.
"It's not your kitchen,"
Erica grumbled, taking one last piece of bacon with her as she started out of
the room.
"It's not yours,
either," Tilly said sharply, and banged a spoon on the side of the pan to
punctuate her remark.
Erica glared. And then the back
door opened and she forgot what she'd been about to say. She forgot she was
chewing, or that she was holding her next bite in her hand. All she could do
was stare—right past her sister to the man behind her. Almost choking, she
managed to swallow, then dropped the other piece of bacon back onto the
platter.
Casey didn't see Erica. Her focus
was on the woman at the stove. Until Matilda Bass passed judgment on what she'd
done, she wouldn't feel right.
"Tilly, this is my, uh … this
is Ryder Justice. Ryder, this is Matilda Bass. I consider her my second mother,
as well as the best cook in the whole state of Mississippi."
Upon entering the kitchen, he'd
taken off his hat. He extended his hand in a gesture of friendship, which Tilly
accepted with obvious reticence. But Ryder behaved as if he'd known her all of
his life.
"Mrs. Bass, it's a pleasure.
If everything tastes as good as it smells, I'd warrant Casey is right."
Tilly's gaze wavered. She hadn't
been prepared for someone like him, and he was someone, that she could tell.
She frowned slightly. This man didn't look like any drifter out of the flatlands.
He didn't sound like one, either. His words were sweet, his appearance sweeter.
All she could think was, He'd better be good to my girl.
She nodded regally, accepting the
praise as just. "Call me Tilly, and I'm pleased to meet you, sir. You
aren't from these parts, are you?"
He grinned. "I don't answer
to anything but Ryder, and no, ma'am, I'm not."
Tilly nodded in satisfaction.
"I knew as much. I'd be guessing you're from Oklahoma … or Texas. Am I
right?"
Startled by her perception, he didn't
have it in him to lie. "Yes, ma'am … Texas."
Casey felt strange. Here she was
married to the man and she'd been so caught up in her own agenda, she hadn't
had enough curiosity about him to wonder where he was from, or how he'd gotten
from there to here.
"Then sit," Tilly said.
"Food's ready."
Only after they'd taken their
seats did Casey realize Erica was in the room. She looked up at her and smiled,
but when her sister sauntered over to Ryder and ran her fingertips lightly
across his back, measuring their breadth from shoulder to shoulder, the urge to
slap her away from him was almost overwhelming.
There was a cold, mirthless smile
on Erica's face as she finally glanced in Casey's direction.
"Well, well, princess. Even
when you fall, you land on your feet, don't you?"
Casey's hackles rose even further.
"Let it go, Erica."
Erica's expression was bland, but
her eyes glittered with envy. "Oh my, I guess that didn't come out quite
right, did it?"
The antagonism between the two
sisters was palpable. Ryder suspected it probably had more to do with old
wounds than with his arrival into their midst. Nevertheless, whatever its
roots, he seemed to be the latest weed to cause dissent. He took it upon
himself to change the subject.
"Someone called me earlier
for a ride into town. Do you know who it was?"
Erica's smile broadened. "It
wasn't me, but that's not such a bad idea. I'll bet you give really good
rides."
Ryder's expression blanked, and if
Erica had been as astute as she believed herself to be, she would have backed
off then, before it was too late. But she didn't.
"I'm even better at giving a
hard time to people who tick me off," he said.
Erica's expression froze. A slap
in the face couldn't have stunned her more.
If Casey had been the impulsive
type, she would have thrown her arms around his neck and hugged him. But she
wasn't, and the moment passed.
"Tell whoever it is that
Ryder is unavailable until we've finished our breakfast," she said. "This
morning, my husband and I just want a little peace and quiet and a meal to
ourselves."
Ryder's eyebrows rose. Husband!
Now she was admitting he was her husband?
Suddenly Ryder's mouth was only
inches from Casey's ear. She could feel his breath—almost hear the laughter in
his voice as he whispered. "I thought we weren't using that word."
Casey glared.
Erica was left with nowhere to go
but out. She walked away, leaving Ryder with a contemplative stare that Casey
chose to ignore.
"I guess if a person is
observant, they can learn something new every day," he muttered.
Casey looked up. "Like
what?"
"Never knew there were any
barracudas in Mississippi."
"Excuse me?"
"Nothing," Ryder said.
"I was just thinking out loud."
Tilly's back was to the pair, but
her smile was wide as she added the finishing touch to her eggs before setting
them on the table. She wasn't the type of woman to make snap judgments, but
after the way Ryder had cut Erica Dunn off at the mouth, she was pretty sure he
was going to do just fine. She set the plates before them. "Now eat up
before my eggs get cold." She set a full pan of steaming hot biscuits in
front of them as well. "Fresh out of the oven, Casey Dee, just the way you
like them."
Casey rolled her eyes in
appreciation of the golden brown tops and reached for one to butter.
"Since you're a married lady
now and have your own place, I guess you'll be needing to learn how to make
these," Tilly said. "When you get time, I'll be needing to teach
you."
Casey looked stunned. Ryder hid
his grin behind a bite of scrambled eggs. Poor Casey. It would seem that her
life had taken more changes than she was ready to accept.
"Making biscuits seems a bit
of a leap for a woman who can't boil water," Ryder said.
Ignoring Casey's gasp, he scooped
a spoonful of strawberry preserves onto his biscuit and then bit into the hot
bread, chewing with relish.
"Well, I never," she
muttered.
Ryder swallowed, took a slow sip
of coffee, then fixed Casey with a sultry gaze. "I know that, wife. But
one of these days you will."
The implications of what he'd just
said were impossible to misinterpret. He hadn't been talking about biscuits,
and they both knew it. Furious that he kept catching her off guard, she stabbed
at the food on her plate with undue force, scraping the tines of the fork
across the china and earning her a cool I - taught - you - better - than - that
look from Tilly.
The rest of the meal passed in
relative silence, broken only by the coming and going of Tilly and Joshua as
they carried food into the breakfast room for the family who would now be
living off the fruit of Casey's labors. It was Ryder who finally broke the
silence.
"That does it for me,"
he said. "I guess I'd better go earn my keep." He winked at Casey,
taking small delight in the fact that she didn't welcome it, and tweaked her
ear for the hell of it as he passed.
"Do you know where you're
going?" Casey asked, as he sauntered out of the room.
He paused, then turned, and once
again, she was struck by the fact that his answer had nothing to do with the
question she'd asked.
"No. But then it hasn't
really mattered for months now. Why should today be any different?"
When he disappeared, she was
forced to accept the fact that not only had she married a stranger, but it
would seem one with more secrets than he cared to tell.
She took a last gulp of her coffee
and tossed down her napkin. If he had her troubles, he'd have something to
complain about. She glanced at her watch. It was a quarter to nine. Past time
for the boss to be at work. But, since she was the boss, she was going to
finish her coffee.
* * *
Meanwhile, Ryder was making his
way through the maze of rooms and getting a firsthand impression of the
atmosphere in which Casey had grown up.
The mansion itself was grand—with
three stories of granite blocks that came far too close to resembling a castle
rather than a home. The only thing Ryder felt was missing was a moat. The
snakes and crocodiles were already in place, but they walked on two legs,
rather than four, and hid their sharp teeth behind fake smiles.
His footsteps echoed on the cold
marble floors as he made his way toward the muted sound of voices coming from a
room up the hallway and to the right. The breakfast room, he presumed.
As he entered the doorway, he
paused, staring at the bright morning sun beaming in through spotless windows,
through which an arbor of hot pink bougainvillea could be seen.
The crystal on the table was
elegant. The china was a plain, classic white with a delicate gold rim, and the
silverware gleamed with a high, polished gloss as the people in residence
lifted it to their mouths. Flowers were everywhere. Cut and in vases. Growing
from pots. In one-dimensional form, painted on canvas and framed, then hung at
just the right level for the eye to see.
In spite of the heat of the day,
Ryder shuddered. Such elegance. Such cold, cold, elegance. He thought of the
woman who'd come storming into that bar with her long hair down and windblown,
wearing that bit of a black dress, and tried to picture her being raised in a
place like this. For some reason, the little he knew of Casey didn't jibe with
these surroundings. How could a woman with so much passion survive in a house
with no joy—no life?
And Casey Ruban Justice had
passion, of that he had no doubt. Most of the time she seemed to keep it
channeled toward the business end of her world, but every so often her guard
slipped, and had she known it, in those moments, Ryder saw more of her soul
than she would have liked.
He settled his Stetson a little
tighter on his head, as if bracing himself for a gale wind, and sauntered into
the breakfast room as if he owned the place.
"Who wanted the ride?"
Three sets of equally startled
expressions turned in his direction. Erica was still seething from his earlier
put-down and chose to ignore him.
Miles stared, holding his cup of
coffee suspended halfway between table and lips, trying to picture this
clean-cut, larger-than-life cowboy as the same ragged derelict who'd come trailing
in behind Casey yesterday morning.
Eudora gasped and set her cup down
in its saucer with a sharp, unladylike clink.
"Why, it was me," she
said. "But I'm not quite ready."
Ryder smiled. "I've got all
day. Don't hurry on my account."
"For future reference, you
need not come into the family area," Miles drawled. "Simply wait out
front."
Ryder shifted his stance. It
wasn't much. Only an inch or so. But to Miles, it seemed to make the man that
much taller. And it made Miles distinctly uncomfortable looking up at so much
man.
"Look," Ryder growled.
"Let's get one thing straight. Like it or not, and I can't say that I care
much for it myself, for the time being, I am part of your family. Therefore, do
not expect me to scuttle around outside the back door like some damned stray
dog looking for a handout. Do I make myself clear?"
Miles' face turned a bloody shade
of red. All he could do was splutter and look toward Erica, who was usually the
more verbal of the pair, for support. Unaware that Ryder had already put her in
her place, he was unprepared for his sister's silence. He tried again.
"But Casey said…"
"Casey can say whatever she
chooses," Ryder said. "However, you might want to remember that she's
my wife, not my boss. And, you might also want to remember that while I mind my
own business, I expect others to do the same." Then he touched the brim of
his hat and winked at Eudora. "I'll be outside when you're ready."
He walked out.
When he was halfway down the hall,
the breakfast room seemed to erupt into a cacophony of sound. Three separate
voices, all talking at once in various tones of disbelief. Unable to remember
the last time he'd felt this alive, he grinned all the way out the door.
Chapter 5
"Stop there!" Eudora ordered, pointing toward a boutique on the
upcoming street corner.
Ryder aimed the gleaming white
Lincoln toward a horizontal parking space and slid into it with nothing to
spare. Before Eudora could object to the fact that he'd parked several doors
down and she was going to have to walk, he had opened the door and was reaching
in to help her out.
Smoothing at her hair and clothes,
she began to issue her standard orders. "I don't know how long I'll be,
but…"
"No problem," he said.
"I'm coming with you," he said, and offered her his arm.
Ignoring the shocked expression on
her face, he escorted her up the street and into the store. Eudora was so
stunned by his actions that she let herself be led into The Pink Boutique.
The saleslady all but fawned as
she met her at the door. "Mrs. Deathridge, please accept our condolences
on your recent loss. Delaney Ruban will be missed."
"Yes, well, I thank you on
behalf of the family," Eudora muttered, casting a sidelong glance at Ryder
who was still standing at her side. He was too big to ignore and seemed too
determined to dissuade from accompanying her. She waved toward an overstuffed
chair near the alcove where the dressing rooms were situated. "You may
wait over there."
Ryder took his seat without
comment. Eudora watched as he carefully lifted the Stetson from his head.
Placing it crownside down in his lap, he seemed to
settle.
After that she relaxed, but only
slightly. There was something about that man that unnerved her. Even though he
was now across the room from her and sitting still, his presence was
overpowering. Frowning, she turned away and began sorting through the garments
on the racks, still conscious of his eyes boring into her back. He took up
space. That's what he did. He took up entirely too much space.
Half an hour came and went, along
with the saleslady's patience. Eudora had picked through and complained about everything
the store carried in her size. It made no difference to her that Gladys was
nearly in tears, or that the manager had made several pointed trips through the
room, each time giving Gladys a sharp, condemning look for not being able to
placate a customer, especially one from Ruban Crossing's foremost family.
Eudora was so caught up with the
seriousness of her shopping spree that she'd completely forgotten Ryder's
existence, so when he spoke, he had Eudora's … and the saleslady's … immediate
and undivided attention.
"Take the blue one."
Eudora spun, still holding the
dress in question. "Were you speaking to me?"
Ryder tilted his head. "It
matches your eyes. Always did like blue-eyed women."
Having said his piece, he
stretched, giving himself permission to take up even more of the floor space by
unfolding his long legs out before him. While she watched, he locked his hands
across his belly as if he didn't have a care in the world.
Eudora wasn't accustomed to having
anyone, especially a chauffeur, give her advice on her choices of clothing, yet
this man's entrance into their world had already changed their lives. She heard
herself repeating his suggestion as if it had true merit and wondered if she
was finally losing her mind.
"The blue?"
He nodded, then shrugged.
"Yes, ma'am, but it was just a suggestion. My father always said it never
paid to rush a woman."
"Oh, do quit calling me
ma'am," Eudora said. "It sounds too elderly."
Ryder looked up and almost
grinned. "Well, now, Dora, didn't anyone ever tell you that age is in the
mind of the beholder?"
Eudora's mouth dropped. This man
was positively impossible. Of course he should have known she meant for him to
call her Mrs. Deathridge, not Dora! The very idea, shortening her name like
that.
But the deed had already been
done, and the name rang in her ears. Dora. That was what her husband, Henry,
had called her, and Henry had been dead for all these many years. She gave
Ryder a sidelong glance and disappeared into the dressing room with the blue
dress in her hand. Dora. Dora. What would Erica and Miles have to say about
this?
She shut the door behind her then
looked up. Her reflection looked back. For a moment, she almost didn't
recognize herself. Her eyes were bright—from shock, of course. But the glimmer
did give life to her expression. Dora. She held the blue dress up beneath her
chin. He was right. It brought out the true color of her eyes. She smiled.
Maybe he wasn't so bad after all.
* * *
Only after he was alone did Ryder
realize what he'd said. He'd actually thought of his father without coming
unglued. In fact, just for a moment, it had felt damned good to remember him at
all.
He jammed his Stetson on his head
then pulled the brim down low across his forehead and closed his eyes. Ah God,
but he missed that old man. So much that it hurt.
* * *
Lash stood on the veranda, staring
at the brake lights on the plumber's van as it slowed to take a corner. A soft,
early morning breeze lifted the hair from his forehead, cooling the sweat that
had beaded minutes earlier when the plumber had handed him his bill.
Despair settled a little closer
upon his shoulders. Impulsively, he walked down the steps and out into the
yard, heading for the gazebo. As a child, it had been his favorite place. As an
adult, it was where he went to hide.
Ivy clung to the latticed walls,
crocheted by nature into heavy loops of variegated green. Inside, the air
rarely moved and only the most persistent rays of sunshine were able to pick
and poke their way through the dense growth.
He dropped onto the bench in a
slump, then wadded the bill and tossed it into the gathering pile on the floor.
Why bother to keep track if they couldn't be paid?
Minutes passed. He looked down at
his watch. It was past time to open the office. With a sigh, he shoved himself
off the bench, giving the pile of unpaid bills a final glance. Poor Graystone.
She was so sick—in need of too many repairs for his meager pocket to
accommodate.
His eyes misted as he walked
across the yard. As he entered the house in search of his suit coat and
briefcase, a continuing thought kept running through his mind.
It was Casey's fault. Casey had
ruined it all. Beautiful, willful Casey who had so much, while he had nothing
at all. He yanked his coat from a hook, thinking of the parties that would be
given in her honor, coveting the priceless wedding gifts she would certainly be
receiving as her due.
Despair fed anger. Anger fed hate.
And something fell to the floor behind him with a clank. He spun in time to see
a long, hairless tail disappearing beneath the cupboard. A rat. Another damned
rat.
He grabbed a can of corn from the
cabinet, firing it toward the place where he'd seen it last. "What the hell
are you still doing here? I thought rats abandoned sinking ships."
Several items had fallen off a low
shelf and onto the floor as the door to the cupboard flew open. The sight of
spilled salt sent Lash to his knees. Scrambling to regain his sense of balance
in his superstitious world, he grabbed a pinch of the salt and tossed it over
his shoulder. Even though one part of his brain told him that spilled salt did
not bad luck make, he was too much a product of his upbringing to ignore it all
now.
Still down on his knees, he set to
retrieving the few family heirlooms he hadn't sold. It wasn't until he was
setting his grandfather's sorghum pewter pitcher back on the shelf that he
noticed a small, flat box at the back of the cupboard. Frowning, he pulled it
out. When he opened the lid, his eyes widened and a delighted smile lit up his
somber expression. Grandfather's letter opener! He'd completely forgotten its
existence.
He ran a tentative finger down the
thin, double-edged blade, remembering the hours he'd spent in Aaron Marlow's
lap, remembering the first time his grandfather had let him use it without
help. For all its beauty, it was still a small and deadly thing.
A brown shadow moved to the right
of Lash's hand. He reacted without thinking. Seconds later, he rocked back on
his heels in shock, staring at the carcass of the rat and the small silver
dagger embedded in its body.
Bile rose, burning his throat and
choking him as he scrambled to his feet and ran for the sink just in time to
keep from puking on himself. When he was able to look back without gagging, all
he could see was his family honor embedded in the belly of the rat.
In Lash's mind, it was the last
and ultimate disgrace. Wild-eyed and looking for someone else to blame, he
stared at the salt. Bad luck. Bad luck. It was all a matter of bad luck.
In a daze, he yanked the dagger
out of the rat, wiping off the bloody blade on the kitchen curtain. His hands
were shaking as he laid it back in the box. So, he'd come to this, and thanks
to Casey Justice, this is where he would stay.
He shuddered then sighed as he
closed the lid to the box. Casey. He'd lost everything because of her. The box
felt warm in his hands as he slipped it into his pocket before picking up his
briefcase.
A muscle jerked in his jaw as he
walked out of the house. Once again, he glanced at his watch. There was
something he needed to do before he went to the office. He didn't know where
his manners had gone. He should have thought of it before.
* * *
Casey tossed her pen down on the
desk and swiveled her chair to face the window overlooking the business
district of Ruban Crossing. As she did, a flash of white caught her eye and she
stood abruptly, searching for a glimpse of the family's white Lincoln.
Was that Ryder? She looked until
her eyes began to burn and the muscles in the backs of her legs began to knot.
Disgusted with herself, she turned away from the window to return to her chair.
The high gloss on her desk was
obliterated by a mountain of paperwork to her left, which was only increments
smaller than the mountain of paperwork to her right. She closed her eyes and
tried to relax, playing her favorite what-if game. The one that went … what if
she walked out of the office and never came back? In her mind, she was halfway
out of town when her secretary, Nola Sue, buzzed.
"Mrs. Justice, you have a
delivery."
The mention of her name change
alone was enough to yank Casey back to reality. "Just sign for it. I'll
pick it up later."
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Justice, but
the man insists on your signature only."
Casey sighed. "Then send him
in."
Moments later, the door opened and
a uniformed messenger came into the room. Brief and to the point, he handed her
a clipboard and a pen. "Sign here, please."
Casey did as she was told,
casually eyeing the flat, oblong package the man laid on her desk.
"Good day, Mrs.
Justice." And then he was gone.
My, how word does get around in
this town, Casey thought, as she slipped a letter opener between the folds of
paper. A glimmer of color began to emerge from beneath the plain, brown
wrapping. The second layer of paper was a thick, pure white embossed with
silver doves. An obvious allusion to the wedding that hardly was. Curious now,
she abandoned the letter opener for her fingers and tore through that layer to
a flat black box.
It was a little over a foot in
length and no more than three or four inches in width. The lid was hinged by
two delicate foil butterflies. Casey gasped at the contents as a card fell out
and into her lap.
Inside lay a miniature rapier on
thick, black velvet. She lifted it from the case, hefting it lightly. It felt
heavy, even warm in her hand, and she knew before she turned it over to view
the silversmith's mark that it was probably solid silver. It was the most
elaborate letter opener she'd ever seen.
Curious, she laid it aside and
picked up the card, all the while wondering who would send her such a thing.
She read, "Casey, On your nuptials: You deserve this … and so much more.
Lash."
She frowned at the oddity of the
phrasing, then laid the card aside and picked the small rapier up again, eyeing
the double-edged blade with caution. Something near the tip caught her eye. At
first, she thought it was rust, and that the letter opener must not be silver
after all, because silver did not rust. Even after she ran the tip of her
finger across the spot, it didn't come off. But when she lifted it for a closer
look, she suddenly shifted in her seat, making room for the unexpected sense of
foreboding that swept over her.
She swiveled her chair toward the
window and full light, tilting the blade for a closer look still, then tested
the spot with the tip of a fingernail. It came away on her nail. Startled, she
grabbed for a tissue and wiped at her finger, unprepared for the small, red
stain that suddenly appeared against stark white.
She couldn't quit staring. The
spot wasn't rust, it was blood—dried blood. But in such a small amount that it
might have gone unnoticed.
Now her delight in such a gift was
replaced with dismay. It seemed a travesty of something pure to receive a
wedding gift with blood on it. The urge to put it out of sight was strong. She
laid it back in the box, closing the lid with care, but the words on the card
had now taken on a sinister meaning.
You deserve this … and so much
more.
Deserve what? What did she
deserve? The silver … the knife … or the blood?
The phone rang. It was the private
line that only family ever used. She grabbed for it like a lifeline.
"Hello."
"Casey, darling, it's Erica.
Have you seen Grandmother?"
For once, she was almost thankful
for the whine in her half sister's voice. It gave her something else on which
to focus besides Lash's gift.
"No, I'm sorry, but I
haven't."
Erica sighed. "It's nearly
one o'clock. She was going to meet me for lunch, and she's thirty minutes late.
She's never late, you know."
Casey frowned. That much was true.
Gran had a thing about being tardy.
"It's probably all his
fault," Erica said.
"All whose fault?" Casey asked.
"Your husband … the family
chauffeur … however you choose to define him. He took Grandmother shopping
hours ago and no one's seen a sign of them since." The tone of Erica's
voice rose an octave. "We don't know a thing about him. I can't believe
you actually brought a stranger into this household, shoved him down our
throats and then expected us to accept his presence as status quo."
Casey stifled a sigh. This was all
she needed.
"Look, Erica. Nothing has
happened to Gran. If it had, Ryder would have called. He is not a fiend.
Besides, why didn't you call her instead of me? There's a phone in the
Lincoln."
"I know that," Erica
snapped. "But no one's answering."
Casey looked at the stacks of files
on her desk and wondered how her grandfather had gone so wrong. She was beating
her head against a thousand brick walls and all Erica had to worry about was a
late luncheon date.
"I don't know what to tell
you," Casey said. "I'm sure she's fine. I'm sorry she's late."
The connection between them was
broken when Erica slammed the receiver back into the cradle. For a few
wonderful moments, all Casey could hear were muffled voices from the outer
office.
With a dogged determination of
which Delaney Ruban would have been proud, Casey dropped the gift into a drawer
and buzzed Nola Sue. "Cancel my lunch with Rosewell
and Associates. Reschedule for sometime next week."
"Yes, ma'am," Nola Sue
said, making notations as she listened to Casey's orders. "Do you want me
to order you something to eat?"
"I suppose," she said.
"And call home. Tell them I'll be working late and not to hold
dinner."
Within seconds, she'd forgotten
about Lash Marlow's present and Erica's phone call. Her entire focus was on the
figures before her and the study she would need before she could make an offer
for the acquisition of the Hannon Canneries near Tupelo.
A short while later, Nola Sue set
a small, plastic tub of chicken salad, a cold roll, and a melting cup of iced
tea on the corner of Casey's desk and tiptoed out without uttering a word.
It was sometime later before Casey
even noticed that lunch had been served.
* * *
"Want some ketchup on those
fries?" Ryder asked. Eudora poked the lingering end of a fast-food French
fry into her mouth and then shook her head. Seconds later, Ryder handed her a
fistful of paper napkins.
"Thank you," she said.
When she was certain Ryder's
attention was otherwise occupied, she licked the salt from her fingers before
drying them on the paper napkins he'd tossed in her lap, then leaned back
against the seat, sighing with satisfaction.
She couldn't remember the last
time food had tasted this good. Stifling a small belch, she lifted her cup to her
lips and latched onto the straw poking through the plastic lid, sucking with
all her might. A couple of swallows later, she began to suck air.
"How about another cherry
limeade?"
"No, but thank you,"
Eudora said, and tossed a used napkin on the floor next to the wrapper that had
been around her cheeseburger.
The food had been delicious. She
wasn't going to think about the fact that it had all been served in recycled
paper. There was something about reusing paper—in any form or fashion—that
smacked of poverty. Eudora Deathridge had not suffered a day of want in her
entire life, and had no intentions of starting now. She belched again, then
sighed. This had been worth her impending heartburn.
Ryder hid a grin. He'd given her
hell this morning and knew it. From the time they'd entered the first store, to
the last one they'd exited just before lunch, he'd been on her heels at every
turn.
He had been nothing but
respectful. It wasn't in him to be anything else. But he figured the 'family'
needed to know right off that while he didn't mind driving them all over
kingdom come, he was going to do it his way. And if that meant making himself a
slight nuisance, then so be it. He was the best when it came to being a pain in
the ass. If they didn't believe him, then they could just ask his…
Oh, God. He'd done it again.
Micah's name kept hovering at the edge of his mind, popping out when least
expected. He hated being weak, but guilt was eating him alive. No longer
hungry, he began stuffing his leftovers back into the sack they'd come in.
"Here you go, Dora." He
handed the half-filled sack over the seat.
Surprised by the gesture, she took
it before she thought, letting it dangle between her fingers like something
foul. "What am I to do with this?"
"Trash. Put your trash in
it."
She stared at the papers she'd
tossed on the floorboard in disbelief. He was asking her to pick up trash? This
time he'd overstepped his bounds.
"Now see here," she
complained. "I don't think you…"
Ryder turned. Their gazes met. His
eyes were dark and filled with a pain she hadn't expected. "Need some
help?"
"I don't believe so,"
she said quietly. "But thank you just the same."
She opened the sack and leaned
down. A few moments later, she handed it back, watching as he tossed it in a barrel
on the way out of the parking lot.
"Ryder."
He glanced up. Again, their gazes
met briefly, this time in the rearview mirror.
"Yes, ma'am?"
"I'm ready to go home
now."
He took the next turn, wishing he
could say the same.
* * *
It was after eight o'clock. Ryder
paced the small apartment like a caged bear—back and forth, from window to
chair, unable to concentrate on the story on television, or eat the food
congealing on his plate. Stifled by the presence of walls, he refused to admit
that he was worried about Casey's absence.
Another half hour passed. By this
time, he was steaming. He knew for a fact that Miles had packed up and left for
a three-day trip to New Orleans to play. Erica and her grandmother had had a
fight and Erica was sulking in her room because Dora had refused to grovel for
forgetting their lunch date. Even Joshua and Tilly had finished up for the
night and gone home. But Casey was still on the job. Something about that just
didn't sit right with him, and his patience was gone.
He grabbed his hat on the way out
the door. In a shorter time than one might have imagined, he had parked outside
the Ruban Building and was on his way inside. A guard stopped him at the door.
"Sorry sir, but the offices
are closed for the night."
Ryder shocked himself by
announcing, "I'm here to pick up my wife."
"And who might that be?"
the guard asked.
"Her name is—was—Casey
Ruban."
The man took a quick step back,
eyeing Ryder with new attention.
"You'd be the fellow Miss
Ruban married."
Ryder nodded.
"Well, now, I might need to
see some identification … just for the first time, you understand."
Ryder opened his wallet.
"Justice … yep, that would be
you, all right," the guard said. "We heard Miss Ruban had married a
man named Justice." He reached for the phone. "Just a minute, sir,
and I'll let her know you're here."
"No," Ryder said, and
then softened the tone of his voice with a halfhearted grin. "I was sort
of planning to surprise her."
The guard smiled. "Yes, sir.
I understand. Take the elevator to the top floor. Her office is the first one
on your right."
"Thanks," Ryder said.
"You're welcome, sir,"
the guard said. "And congratulations on your marriage. Miss Ruban is a
fine lady."
Ryder nodded. Even though she was
a little hardheaded, he was beginning to have the same opinion of her himself.
By the time he got to her office,
his sense of injustice was in high form. He walked inside and past the empty
secretary's desk without pausing; his gaze fixed on the thin line of light showing
from beneath the door on the far side of the room.
* * *
Casey's head hurt, her shoulders
ached, and she was so far past hungry it didn't count. What was worse, she
didn't even know it. Realization of her condition came only after the door to
her office swung open and Ryder stalked into the room.
Startled, she stood too swiftly.
The room began to tilt. Ryder saw her sway and grabbed her arm before she
staggered.
All she could think to say was,
"What are you doing here?" before he took the pen from her hand, and
turned out the desk lamp.
"I came to take you home.
Your day is over. It's night. It's time to rest. It's time to slow the hell
down. Do you understand me?"
He was mad. That was what
surprised her most. Why should he be angry? It took a bit to realize that he
wasn't angry at her. He was angry on her behalf. At that point, lack of food
and exhaustion kicked in. Damn him, he wasn't supposed to be nice … at least,
not like this.
She shrugged out of his grasp and
reached for her purse. "I don't need you telling me what to do."
He stood between her and the
doorway and once again, Casey caught a glimpse of the same man who'd come out
of the shadows of Sonny's Place and taken a dare no other man had had the guts
to take.
"Then consider it a
suggestion," he said quietly, and reached for her arm.
This time she didn't pull away.
They walked all the way to the elevator without talking, then past the night
guard who grinned and winked. Silence was maintained all the way out to the
car. It was only after Casey felt the seat at the back of her legs that she
began to relax.
Ryder slid behind the wheel, then
looked at her. It didn't take him long to make the decision. "Buckle up.
You choose, but you're not going home until you eat."
Casey wrinkled her nose. "The
car smells like French fries."
"Dora spilled a few. I'll
clean it out tomorrow."
It took Casey a moment for the
answer to connect. Dora? French fries? In the car? She turned where she sat,
staring at Ryder in sudden confusion. "Who's Dora?"
"You are bad off," he
said, as he put the car in gear and backed out of the parking space.
"She's your grandmother, isn't she?"
"You called her Dora?"
He shrugged as he pulled into
traffic. "Said she didn't want me calling her ma'am."
"Why was Dora … I mean Gran …
eating French fries in the car?"
"Because they went with her
cheeseburger and cherry limeade."
Casey's mouth dropped. "She
ate fast food?"
He grinned. "Ate it real
fast, too. Never saw a woman so hungry."
Casey still didn't believe she was
getting the story straight. "She ate her meal in the back seat of a
car?"
Ryder gave her a sidelong glance.
"Are you still faint?"
She covered her face with her
hands and groaned. "My God, why did you take Gran to a fast-food
restaurant?"
"Because she was hungry,
that's why."
"But…"
He took the corner in a delicate
skid, the likes of which the Lincoln had never seen. "You know what?"
Casey clutched at her seat belt,
almost afraid to ask. "What?"
"You people are too uptight.
You need to loosen up a little. If you did, you might find out you like it.
Better yet, you might even live long enough to spend all that money you're so
dead set on making."
There wasn't a civil thought in
her head as Ryder turned off the highway and into another parking lot. But when
he opened the door to help her out, the odor of charbroiled meat made her
forget her anger. A few moments later, she realized where he'd brought her, and
if she hadn't been so hungry, she would have laughed.
As he led her in the restaurant,
she would have been willing to bet the last dollar she had in her pocket that,
by tomorrow, it would be all over Ruban Crossing that Eudora Deathridge had
eaten French fries in the back seat of a car. What was going to ice this piece
of gossip was the fact that Casey and her honky-tonk husband had also shared a
late-night dinner at Smoky Joe's. As restaurants go, it wasn't bad. It was
Smoky Joe's sideline that gave him, and his restaurant, such a bad reputation.
Casey lifted her chin as they
walked inside. She could tell by the sounds coming from the back room that the
floor show was in full swing.
"Wonder what's going on back
there?" Ryder asked, as he guided Casey to an empty booth.
"Mud wrestling," she
said. One eyebrow arched as she waited for his reaction.
His interest sparked, he had to
ask. "Women or 'gators?"
"Women," she replied.
She watched as the light in his
eyes faded. She sighed. She should have known it would take more than naked
women in a hot tub's worth of red clay to get him excited.
"I think he saves the 'gators
for Saturday nights."
He handed her a menu. "Good.
It'll give us a reason to come back."
Chapter 6
"I'm coming out. Are you decent?" Ryder yelled.
Casey pulled the sheet up past her
breasts and tried to look relaxed as the bathroom door opened. He emerged, but
she'd closed her eyes too late. My God! Doesn't he own a bathrobe? she wondered.
"I'll be through in a
second," he said.
Casey could hear drawers opening
and closing and clenched her eyelids even tighter. That damp towel around his
waist was far too brief for her piece of mind.
Footsteps moved toward the
doorway.
She opened her eyes. Too soon.
She'd looked too soon. He was still there, standing in the doorway in a pair of
white briefs. Lamplight spilled into the bedroom from behind him.
This time, his presence did more
than unnerve her. Even though his face was in shadow, she knew he was watching
her.
She held her breath. He didn't
speak.
In the bathroom next door, water
dripped from the showerhead and into the tub. Then dripped again. Then again.
Then again.
He started toward her, one slow
step at a time. Casey stifled a moan, clutching at the sheet until her fingers
went numb. Once she started to speak, and couldn't remember enough words to
string together in one sentence. She went from panic to dismay to a calm she
didn't expect. But when he walked past her and into the bathroom without saying
a word, her calm moved to disbelief.
This time when he emerged, he
didn't look back. The door swung shut between them with a firm thud and Casey
was left with nothing but the sound of a racing heart. The drip no longer dripped.
The man was no longer a threat. She was safe and sound and alone in her bed—and
she didn't remember ever feeling as lonely as she did right now.
"What's wrong with me?"
She rolled onto her stomach,
punching her pillow and yanking at her nightgown until she heard ribbons
tearing. Finally, she closed her eyes, willing herself to sleep, and blamed her
restless spirit on the barbecue she'd eaten at Smoky Joe's.
A chair scooted in the other room.
He was obviously making his bed out on the floor. The comfort of hers as
opposed to the one he was about to take made her feel guilty. She thumped her
pillow and shifted her position. She just couldn't help it. He'd known from the
start this wasn't going to be a normal marriage.
But no one told him he'd be sleeping
on the floor for the next twelve months.
The long, unmistakable rasp of a
large metal zipper being undone plucked at her conscience. The sleeping bag.
She rolled over on her back and
opened her eyes. Although the king-size bed took up a lot of space in the
bedroom, there was still ample room in which to move about. Their sleeping
arrangements could do with an overhaul. Maybe if she traded the king-size bed
for two twin-size ones—
Her nerves shifted into higher
gear. That would be fair, but it would also increase the intimacy of their
sleeping arrangements. She trusted herself to cope with it, but could she trust
the man who was now her husband to stay in his own bed and on his own side of
the room?
Well, why not? They were adults.
Hopefully, two responsible adults. Nothing was going to happen. Having
satisfied herself with what seemed a plausible solution, she sighed with
exhaustion.
Lord, but it felt good to lie
down. At the same time, she realized that she was here in bed, fed, bathed and
resting because Ryder Justice had seen to it. She rolled back over on her
stomach and burrowed her nose a little deeper into her pillow, savoring the
knowledge that someone cared enough about her to make a scene. What she
couldn't do was make a big deal out of it. Ryder Justice was simply passing
through her life, not becoming a part of it.
* * *
Ryder couldn't sleep. The floor
was hard. The covers hot. He kicked them back, leaving his body bare to the night,
and still the cool flow of air blowing across his arms and legs could not ease
the tension coiling within him.
Images kept popping into his mind.
Casey alone at her desk. Casey in the other room, alone in that bed. He sat up
with a jerk and reached for his jeans. Get out. Get out now before you make a
mistake you can't fix.
Ryder didn't hesitate. He didn't
need to know whether it was conscience or gut instinct warning him off. All he
knew was he had to put some distance between himself and the woman who was his
wife.
Grabbing his boots, he exited the
apartment, then sat down at the top of the landing to put them on. The air
outside felt thick, almost too warm and too stifling to breathe. Perspiration
instantly broke the surface of his skin. He stood, then started down the stairs
with no goal in mind other than to move.
Security lights dotted the grounds
of the vast estate, highlighting the driveways, the doors to the house, and the
area just inside the rim of trees circling the lawns. Down on the highway
outside the city, he heard an eighteen-wheeler shifting gears as the driver
maneuvered around a curve in the road.
Crickets rasped. A night bird
called. A stringy cloud floated past the surface of a pale half-moon. Ryder
lifted his head, inhaling the scents, absorbing the sounds. Ordinary sounds.
But there was nothing ordinary about his situation, and there hadn't been since
he'd walked out on his life six months earlier.
For lack of a better destination,
he aimed for the trees at the far edge of the estate. It felt good to move, to
be doing something besides lying in the dark and wishing for something he
couldn't have. He glanced up at the mansion as he passed, trying to imagine
what it would be like to grow up in such an austere environment. He'd had wide
open spaces and brothers. Horses to ride and endless days of childhood where
nothing ever changed and the status quo was your security blanket with which to
sleep each night.
Music drifted to him from
somewhere out beyond the ring of lights, probably from a passing car. It
reminded him of the nights at home when he and Roman and Royal had been kids;
of watching his mother and father dancing cheek to cheek out on the front porch
while an old portable radio played nearby. He wiped a shaky hand across his
face, remembering the night Barbara Justice had died leaving Micah to raise
their three young sons alone.
Ryder paused, blindly reaching for
the nearest tree as his composure crumpled.
You were the strong one, Daddy.
You survived everything … except what I did to you.
Long, silent moments passed while
Ryder stood in judgment of himself. Moments in which his heart broke and bled
countless times over. And finally, it was the sound of laughter from another
passing car that brought him to his senses.
Laughter. Proof that life does go
on.
Angry that he was still part of
that life, he moved deeper into the trees and away from temptation, unaware
that he was being watched from the upper windows of the family home.
* * *
When Ryder moved out of sight, Erica
stepped away from the window and flopped down on her bed, but the intensity of
her conversation with Miles was still going strong. Although it was not
necessary, she caught herself whispering into the phone.
"I said, I don't know what
he's doing, but he's not sleeping in our dear sister's bed, that's for
sure."
New Orleans at midnight was
lively. More than once, Miles had given serious thought to never going home. He
downed the last of the bourbon in his glass and then waved to a passing
waitress for a refill before shifting his cell phone to his other ear.
"Look, sister darling, I
already told you. It doesn't matter if he and Casey never get it on. The terms
of the will have been met. She got married. She's living under his roof—under
his protection. If it lasts a year, she's done her part."
Erica pouted. "It isn't
fair."
Miles lifted his glass in a silent
toast to a woman across the room before answering. "Who ever said life was
fair?"
Erica kicked off her slippers and
stretched out on her bed, absently admiring the color of polish on her fingers
and toes. Practicing a pout she hadn't used in years, Erica's voice rose an
octave. "I can certainly vouch for the fact that life around here is
deadly dull. When are you coming home?"
The woman in the bar lifted her
own glass in a long-distance toast to Miles and smiled. His pulse reacted by
skipping an anticipatory beat.
"Soon. Maybe tomorrow. The
day after for sure."
Erica frowned. "Well, all I
can say is you'd better hurry. Grandmother is beginning to waffle. In fact, if
I didn't know better, I'd think she was quite smitten with Casey's honky-tonk
man."
That wasn't something Miles wanted
to hear. "You're kidding!"
"No, I'm not. She missed a
lunch date with me and has been closemouthed about the reason why. All I know
is, she scolded me for a comment I made about the chauffeur and then took
herself off to her room."
The woman across the room was
smiling openly now. Miles knew an invitation when it was being sent, and
listening to his sister whine about an old woman's bad attitude was ruining the
moment.
"Look, Sis, I've got to go.
When I know my flight, I'll call. Someone will have to pick me up at the
airport."
He disconnected in Erica's ear. She
tossed her phone aside and picked up the television remote, but there was
nothing on the tube that was as interesting as the man who was wandering
through their woods. Curiosity won out over caution as she rolled out of bed in
search of her shoes. She wouldn't go far. Certainly no farther than the back
lawn. Definitely not into the trees. But she was going. She couldn't stand the
suspense any longer.
* * *
Ryder walked until the darkness
lifted from his spirit. When he came to himself enough to stop, he realized he
could no longer see the house. In fact, he wasn't even sure which way it was
and right now he didn't much care. Out here there were no walls to hold him
back. He could run as far and as fast as his legs would take him, just as he'd
been doing before he'd walked into that bar down in the flatlands. Casey had
changed everything. And he'd let her.
Now his running days were over.
Maybe he had no purpose on which to focus, but she certainly did. He'd never
seen a woman so driven, so determined to succeed at all costs. He'd given her
his word—and the Justice men did not go back on their word.
In the distance, a hound bayed and
another answered. He recognized the sounds. They had keyed on a prey. At that
moment, in the dark, alone in the woods, he could almost empathize with
whatever creature was on the run. He knew what it felt like to be lost with
nowhere to go. To run and run and then wind up at a dead end and facing
destruction. That's where he'd been going when Casey Ruban walked into his life.
In a way, he'd come to look upon her as his anchor, because without her, he had
nowhere to go.
He turned back the way he'd come.
A short while later he emerged from the woods to find himself within yards of
the place at which he'd entered. Instinct and the need to get back to her had
led him home.
He started across the lawn when a
shadow moved between him and the bush to his right. Instinctively he doubled
his fists, preparing to do battle when Erica stepped into the light.
"Sorry," she said.
"Did I frighten you?"
He combed a shaky hand through his
hair as adrenaline began to subside. "No."
She giggled nervously and took a
step closer, then another, then another, until she could feel the heat
emanating from his body. Her eyes widened as a single bead of sweat pooled at
the base of his neck, then spilled over onto the broad surface of his chest.
When the sweat split the middle of Ryder's belly, she moved another step
closer, tilting her chin until their gazes met. The invitation was in her eyes
… in her voice … in the thrust of her breasts beneath pale yellow silk.
"Ummm,
I didn't know little sister liked them this rough-cut. Poor Lash. He never
stood a chance against a stud like you."
Like a moth drawn to a flame, she
reached out, her intentions painfully clear, and found her arm suddenly locked
in a painful grip.
Their gazes met. His dark and
wary, warning her away; hers wild and frightened by what she perceived as an
imminent threat.
"Let me go!" she gasped.
"Then back off," Ryder said,
his voice just above a whisper.
She gasped, stung by the outrage
of such an obvious refusal of her company, and yanked herself free.
"How dare you?" she
said.
"No, sister dear, how dare
you?"
Heat suffused her face. "I
don't know what you mean," she cried.
His voice lowered, his words
wrapping around her conscience, burning deeper and deeper with each angry
syllable. "Like hell. Don't tell me you only came out here to see if your
sister's new husband would play hide-and-seek."
A sense of shame she didn't expect
kept her momentarily silent. He was right, and she hated him for that and so
much more. Unfortunately, Erica had never learned the wisdom of silence.
"I came out here because I
thought I saw a prowler."
Ryder raked her with a gaze that left
her feeling as if she'd been stripped and branded. If she hadn't been so afraid
to turn her back on him, she would have dashed into the house.
"The only thing on the prowl
out here is you," he said, and then walked away.
Her fear subsided as the distance
between them grew, but it was obvious to Erica that Ryder wasn't afraid of the
dark—or of anything else on this earth.
Erica clenched her fists and
thought about screaming—actually thought about tearing her own nightgown,
scratching her own face and arms and crying rape just to get the son of a bitch
in trouble. But she was too vain to deal with marring her skin and too angry to
fake being scared.
"Damn you," she
muttered, and spun on one heel before stalking back into the house. "Damn
you and that stupid wife of yours all to hell!"
She slammed the door shut behind
her, her breasts heaving, her face flushed with a rage she hadn't felt in
years, and suddenly found herself standing in a wash of white light.
She shrieked. "Tilly! My God!
You scared me to death! What do you mean by sneaking around down here in the
middle of the night?"
Tilly loomed over her like a dark,
avenging angel. "Well, now, Miss Erica, I was just about to ask you the
same thing."
At a loss for words, Erica pushed
past her. She didn't have to explain herself to the help. She was halfway down
the hallway when Tilly spoke, and her voice carried all too clearly in the
quiet of the house.
"I saw what you did."
Erica stumbled, then picked up the
tail of her gown, and started running toward the stairs. When she reached the
safety of her room, she turned the lock and then threw herself on the bed and
burst into tears. Somehow, she was going to have to find a way to make this
right. It wouldn't do to make her baby sister angry. Not now. Not when she
controlled the purse strings and everything else that mattered in Erica's
world.
* * *
Ryder shut the door behind him,
then stood in the darkness, listening. Casey was asleep. Even though the
bedroom door was closed, he imagined he could hear the soft, even sounds of her
breathing. The air-conditioning unit kicked on and the hum quickly drowned out
all but the angry thunder of his own heart.
He looked down at himself, at the
sweat running down his body, at the grass stains on the legs of his jeans, and
took off his boots. He dropped his jeans by the bedroom door and kept on
walking. Careful not to wake Casey, he closed the door to the bathroom before
turning on the light.
Completely nude, he stepped
beneath the showerhead before turning on the water, uncaring that the first
surge came out fast and cold. He reached for the soap and began to scrub
himself clean. This time when he was through, he knew he'd be able to sleep.
His mind was as weary as his body.
He wrapped another towel around
his waist before turning off the light, then opened the door, standing for a
moment and letting his eyes adjust to the shadows. When he could see without
stumbling, he started across the room.
Later, he would tell himself if he
hadn't looked down … if he hadn't seen all that long dark hair strewn across
her pillow and thought about what it would feel like to sleep wrapped up in its
length, he might have made it out of the room.
But, he had looked, and the
thought had crossed his mind, and now he stood without moving at the foot of
her bed, studying the face of the woman to whom he'd given his name.
She slept on her back with one arm
flung over her head and the other resting on her belly. His first impression of
her hadn't changed. She was truly a beautiful woman. But he'd learned since
that first meeting in Sonny's Bar that the essence of Casey Ruban Justice did
not lie in the strength of her features, but in the strength of the woman who
wore them.
There in the quiet intimacy of a bedroom
they had yet to share, Ryder realized he might not know the woman who was his
wife, but he respected the hell out of what she stood for, and for tonight,
that was enough on which to sleep.
He walked out, taking great care
not to let the door bang shut behind him. The sleeping bag was right where he'd
left it. He dropped his towel and crawled into it as bare as the day he'd been
born, then closed his eyes, waiting for sleep to overtake his weary mind.
In the room next door and in the
bathroom beyond, water dripped from the showerhead at a slow, methodic rate.
And they slept, and finally, morning came back to start a new day.
* * *
Erica was playing it cool. In her
mind, the incident with Casey's husband had never happened. She strode down the
hall with purpose, heading for the kitchen, fully aware that was where Ryder
would be eating his meal.
"There you are," she
said, as if he'd been in hiding. "Miles called. You need to go to the
airport and pick him up."
Tilly set a stack of dishes in the
sink and wiped her hands on her apron as Ryder stood up from the table.
"Oh, set yourself down and finish your food," she told him.
"That boy won't be here any earlier than noon. He doesn't like to get up
in the morning, so I dare say he won't be on any of the morning flights."
Erica refused to rise to Tilly's
bait. "Here's his flight number and the time of his arrival. Don't be
late. Miles doesn't like to be kept waiting."
Ryder slipped the note in his
pocket without comment.
Erica pivoted, her duty done, and
got all the way to the hallway before she got the guts to turn and ask,
"Has anyone seen Casey this morning? I needed to talk to her about
something."
"Board of directors meeting
this morning. Been gone since seven," Ryder replied.
"Pooh," Erica said.
"Business, always business."
"And that business keeps you
off the streets, missy," Tilly told her sharply, banging a lid on a pan
for good measure.
"And you in the kitchen where
you belong," Erica retorted, and walked out, wishing she'd made a more ladylike
exit by keeping her mouth shut. It seemed so common to argue with the help.
Next time she wouldn't give the old biddy the satisfaction of a response.
"That woman makes my teeth
ache," Tilly muttered.
Ryder kept silent, but he knew what
she meant. A woman who would willingly seduce her sister's man wasn't the kind
of woman who could be ever be trusted. He took a long sip of coffee. Even if
the sister wasn't sleeping with the man herself, it was still crossing a line
no family member should ever cross.
Tilly topped off Ryder's coffee,
then did something she'd promised herself years ago never to do. She meddled in
family business.
"You watch out for that
woman," Tilly warned.
Ryder glanced up, more than a
little surprised.
"I know more than you think I
know," she said softly. "I saw what she tried to do the other
night."
Ryder's eyes narrowed as he braced
himself for a retribution that never came.
"And I heard what you
said."
He shifted uncomfortably in his
chair and busied himself with adding sugar to coffee he didn't want.
Tilly put her hand on Ryder's
shoulder and kept it there until he looked up.
"I have my notions about
things," she told him.
"I'll just bet that you
do."
Tilly refused to be swayed by the
engaging grin he gave her.
"First time I laid eyes on
you, I knew you were a good man. After what I saw the other night, I know
you're going to be good for my Casey, too."
This time, Ryder was more than
uncomfortable.
"Look, what's between Casey and
me is strictly business," he said. "She asked for help. I offered.
It's as simple as that."
Tilly lifted her chin and turned
away, refusing to listen to what he had to say. "You're wrong, you know.
Nothing is ever simple between a man and a woman."
Ryder set his cup down with a
thump, sloshing the freshly sweetened brew out onto the white-tiled tabletop.
"I better be going," he
stated. "The Lincoln needs gas, and I've got to find out where the airport
is before noon."
Tilly turned. "You go on and
get your gas. You find that airport and do your job and bring Mr. Miles on
home. But you just remember this. It doesn't matter how long and how hard you
work during the day, come nighttime, you and Casey Dee are going to be all
alone."
Ryder reached for his hat. He damn
sure didn't need anyone reminding him of that.
"Find yourselves some common
ground," Tilly called out as he left the room. "You hear me? You have
to start somewhere. Forget the gap and look for the bridge."
* * *
He was still thinking about that
bridge Tilly had been talking about when he took the highway exit leading to
the airport.
A small, twin-engine Cessna lifted
off directly in front of his view and he found himself stopping in the middle
of the road to watch its ascent.
Even though the plane was a good
half mile away and already several hundred feet in the air, his toes curled in
his boots and he caught himself holding his breath until the plane leveled off.
He lost sight of it when it turned toward the sun.
A car honked behind him, and he
slipped his foot off the brake and drove on. But the damage had already been
done. The hunger to fly was mixed up in his mind with the fear of repeating a
deadly mistake all over again.
Get it in gear, he reminded
himself, and began looking for a place to park. He didn't have to fly. He was
only here to give a man a ride home. No big deal. But his hands were shaking
when he got out of the car, and the closer he got to the terminal, the slower
his stride became. It was all he could do to make himself walk inside, but he
did it.
Cool air hit him in the face, and
he inhaled deeply, welcoming the change in temperature as his nerves began to
settle. He paused while he got his bearings, then started toward the arrival
gate of the flight on which Miles Dunn would arrive.
His nerves were strung so tight,
he caught himself holding his breath. Twice he had to remind himself to ease
up. And he should have known this would happen. Just because he wasn't piloting
the planes didn't make this experience any easier.
He settled the Stetson firmly upon
his head and gave the announcement boards a closer look. Being here brought
back too many bad memories. That was all. Just too many memories. And no man
ever died from memories.
"Flight 1272 from Atlanta and
New Orleans is now arriving at Gate Three."
Buoyed by the announcement, Ryder
took his bearings then started walking. Erica had claimed that Miles didn't
like to be kept waiting and God knows he didn't have any desire to linger in
the place himself.
* * *
Miles was hung over. His head
throbbed and his belly kept lurching from one side of his rib cage to the other
as he filed out of the plane along with the other passengers. Bile rose as he
stared at the drooping diaper of the toddler in front of him. An all too
pungent odor drifted upward, adding to the nausea he already had. That kid was
carrying a load and badly in need of a change. When a sickly sweat broke out on
his upper lip, he mumbled an excuse and shoved his way past them, desperately
searching the waiting crowd for Erica.
He saw the Stetson first, then the
man beneath it and groaned. Damn her, why didn't she come herself?
"Here are my claim
stubs," he said shortly, slapping them into Ryder's hand. "I'll meet
you in baggage."
Ryder took the stubs without
comment and waited beside the men's room until Miles came out.
"I thought I told you I'd
meet you in baggage," Miles muttered.
Ryder gave him a pointed look.
"Wasn't sure you'd make it that far."
Miles's face turned red.
"Lead the way," Ryder
said, and Miles did.
Luggage was just beginning to come
through the roundabout as Miles dropped onto a nearby bench.
"Rough flight?" Ryder
asked.
Miles looked up from where he was sitting
and belched. Ryder cocked an eyebrow and stifled a grin. "Tell me which
ones are yours," he said, pointing toward the varied assortment of
circling suitcases.
"Four pieces. Brown-and-green
alligator. Can't miss them."
Ryder nodded and a short while
later, pulled the last one from the rack. Miles watched with a bleary eye,
unwilling to move until he had to.
"That's it," Ryder
announced, and lifted a bag in each hand. "I'll get these. You bring the
rest," and started toward the exit without looking back.
Miles sat with his mouth agape
while blood thundered wildly through every minuscule vein in his head. He
stared at the remaining two bags in disbelief. The nerve of the man! Expecting
him to carry his own luggage!
Miles staggered to his feet and hefted
a bag in each hand before following Ryder's retreat.
"This just figures," he
mumbled, as he staggered out of the door. "You can't get good help these
days no matter how hard you try."
When they started home, Miles
began to relax, reveling in the cool, quiet ambience of the Lincoln's spacious
back seat. But that was before the car phone rang. After that, Miles's
homecoming took an unexpected turn.
Chapter 7
The car phone rang as
Ryder was leaving the airport and turning onto the highway. He answered on the
second ring. "This is Ryder."
When that slow, deep voice settled
in her ear, Casey breathed a sigh of relief.
"Ryder, where are you?"
He frowned. "Casey, is that
you?"
She turned away from the noise
behind her, trying to block out the paramedics' voices, as well as the police
officer on the scene. "Yes, it's me."
"I already picked him up. Just
a minute and I'll hand him the phone."
"Picked up who?" she
asked.
"Your brother, Miles."
"I don't want to talk to
Miles. I want to talk to you." Ryder's frown deepened as her voice
suddenly shattered. "I have a problem. Can you come help me?"
Before he could answer her, the
ambulance that had been parked behind her took off for the hospital with sirens
running. Startled by the unexpected noises in the background of their
conversation, it began to dawn on him that there was more behind her request for
help than the obvious.
"Casey, what's wrong?"
He heard her inhale, and then she
spoke, and her voice was so soft he had to strain to hear her answer.
"I had a wreck."
The car swerved beneath him and
Miles began to curse from the back seat. Even though it was broad daylight and
Ryder was driving down the highway leading into Ruban Crossing, in his mind, he
saw light flash across a dark, storm-filled sky, heard the sharp crack of
lightning as it struck the fuselage of his plane, and smelled smoke, even
though the air inside the car was cool and clean.
His fingers curled around the
steering wheel in reflex, and it took him several seconds to realize what he
was experiencing was a flashback, and that everything was safe and under
control. He took a deep breath and started over, asking what mattered most.
"Are you hurt?"
"No … at least not
much."
An odd tension settled inside his
belly. Her voice was shaking. If she wasn't hurt, then she'd at least scared
herself to death.
"Are you at the
hospital?"
He thought he heard a sob in her
voice as she answered. "No, I'm still at the scene."
"Easy, honey. Just tell me
where you are and how to get there."
She told him, and only afterward
realized what he'd called her, but by then it didn't matter. He was already
sliding to a stop at the intersection where the accident had occurred, and it
would seem from the way the back door was flung open, he'd stopped just in
time.
Miles leaned out and threw up on
the right rear tire as Ryder jumped out of the front seat. After that, Casey
didn't see anything but the look on her husband's face. She took a deep breath
and started toward him.
Ryder felt sick. He could see a
bump on her forehead that was already turning blue, and there was a small
trickle of blood at the edge of her lip.
Wrecks. Damn, damn, damn, but he
hated the sight of spilled fuel and crumpled metal. It reminded him of things
he'd spent months trying to forget.
"Come here," he said
softly, and pulled her close against his chest while he surveyed what was left
of her car. The front half had been shifted all the way to the right,
compliments of a one-ton truck that had run a red light. "Thank God for
air bags," he said, eyeing the one that had inflated inside her car.
Her voice was shaking as she
reached up, tentatively testing the size of the bump on her forehead. "It
wasn't my fault."
Ryder caught her fingers, then
lifted them to his lips in a quiet, easy gesture before cupping her face with
his hand. "It wouldn't matter if it was. What matters is getting you to a
doctor. Why didn't they send an ambulance for you?"
"I told them I wanted to wait
for you. Besides, I didn't think I needed…"
He missed whatever it was she said
next. He kept hearing her say she'd been waiting for him. That did it. Whatever
hesitation he'd had about holding her close was gone. He tilted her chin,
carefully surveying the burgeoning bruises and angry red scrapes on the tender
surface of her skin.
"I don't care what you think.
You're going and that's that."
Casey rested her forehead against
his chest. How long had it been since she'd had someone upon whom she could
lean? When his grip around her firmed, for the first time in as long as she
could remember, she felt safe … really safe. As she ran her tongue along the
lower edge of her lip, tears began to well in her eyes.
She looked up at him for
confirmation. "My lip is bleeding, isn't it?"
He wanted to kiss away the shock
and the pain and the stunned expression in her eyes. He thought better of the
urge and hugged her instead.
"Easy now. Let's get you in
out of this sun. You can wait in the car with Miles while I tell that officer
where I'm taking you."
"It's probably okay for me to
leave," Casey said. "He already took my statement."
But she did as she was told,
grateful for the fact that someone was taking over. It seemed her good sense
and practicality was lost somewhere in the wreckage of her car and she couldn't
think what to do next.
When she got inside, Miles was
ominously silent. Casey glanced over her shoulder, wincing slightly as a
strained muscle rejected the motion.
His condition would have been
funny if it hadn't been too painful to laugh. He lay stretched out in the back
seat with his arm thrown over his eyes, shielding them from the sun. He looked
worse than she felt.
"Rough flight?"
He groaned and mumbled something
she didn't understand. She turned around and closed her eyes, wishing that the
world would stop spinning so she could get off.
Seconds later Ryder slid behind
the wheel. He leaned over and fastened Casey's seat belt without giving her a
chance to respond, then glanced in the back seat at his other passenger.
"Buckle up."
A brief, quick click broke the
silence. It would seem that Ryder had made a believer out of Miles.
The trip to the emergency room was
faultless, and it didn't take the doctor long to address Casey's bumps and
bruises. They were minor. The injury that would take the longest to heal was to
her peace of mind.
"While you're at it, you may
as well give this one a going over," Ryder said, pointing at Miles who was
slumped in a chair near the emergency room door.
Doctor Hitchcock frowned.
"Was he in the accident, too?"
Ryder shook his head. "No. I
had just picked him up at the airport when Casey called. He's a little the
worse for wear. Guess his stomach's had a longer ride than it could
tolerate."
Hitchcock gave Miles a judgmental
look. He'd been doctoring the Ruban family for years, and it wasn't the first
time he'd seen this one in a condition of his own making.
"Looks to me like he just
needs a little of the hair of the dog that bit him."
It was the word hair that did it.
Miles's stomach was too queasy for anything, including metaphors. He bolted for
the bathroom seconds ahead of another surge.
Hitchcock snorted beneath his
breath, but his eyes were twinkling as he glanced at Ryder.
"Casey will be ready to go by
the time you bring the car around. Meanwhile, I suppose I can give the party
animal something to help his nausea."
Casey tried a smile, but her lip
was too swollen to do much about it, and her head was beginning to throb.
"Thank you, Doctor Joe."
He patted her on the arm.
"Don't thank me. Thank the good Lord for sparing you worse injury."
"Amen to that," Ryder
said quietly, and went to get the car.
The doctor stared after him, then
turned, giving Casey a long, intent look. "So, that's the new husband, is
it?"
She sighed. "You heard."
He shook his head. "Lord,
honey, who hasn't? Your sudden marriage has set the biggest piece of gossip in
motion that Ruban Crossing has ever known. I don't know what Delaney was
thinking when he pulled that stunt, but I can guarantee it wasn't these
results."
Casey's eyes darkened in
frustration. "I know what he wanted. He'd been after me for years to …
let's see, how did he put it … marry well."
Hitchcock frowned. He'd known
Delaney Ruban all of his life. In fact, they'd grown up together, and while
Delaney had acquired more money in his lifetime than a man had a right to
expect, he'd been obsessed about overcoming his upbringing as the son of a
flatlands sharecropper.
"By that, I suppose you're
referring to a socially acceptable marriage, such as to a fellow like Lash
Marlow?"
Her shoulders slumped. "I
couldn't do it, Doctor Joe. I couldn't marry a man I didn't love."
An odd smile broke the wrinkles in
the old doctor's face. He looked toward the cowboy who was pulling that big
white car to a stop outside the door.
"So, it must have been love
at first sight for you two, then."
Casey looked startled. "Oh no!
It was nothing like that. Ryder is a good man … at least I think he is. But we
have an understanding. I'm just fulfilling the terms of Delaney's will. Nothing
less. Nothing more. In a year, this will all be over."
Unaware that he'd been the topic
of their conversation, Ryder came up the hallway, shook the doctor's hand, and
all but carried Casey out to the waiting car.
Hitchcock had his own ideas about
understandings. That's what you say now, Casey Dee, but a year is a long, long
time. As Miles Dunn staggered out of the bathroom with a wet paper towel
pressed to his forehead, Hitchcock reminded himself of the vows he'd taken to
administer to all who were sick or in need of healing and took him by the arm.
"Come with me, boy."
Miles looked out the door toward
the car. He could see Casey was already seated inside. "But they're about
to—"
"They'll wait,"
Hitchcock said. "Besides, this will make you feel better."
The doctor had said the magic
words. Miles followed without further comment.
* * *
"Lord have mercy!"
If Tilly had said it once, she'd
said it a dozen times since Ryder's arrival at the Ruban estate. And she was
saying it again as Joshua passed through the kitchen on his way upstairs with
an ice bag for Miles's head. The soup bubbling on the stove was for Casey. The
tears running down her face were those of relief after she'd seen for herself
that her girl was all right.
The house phone rang just as Ryder
came in the back door. Startled by the sound, Tilly jumped and the soup she was
stirring sloshed over the side of the pot and splattered with a hiss onto the
hot cooktop.
"Lord have mercy!" she
muttered again.
"I'll get it," Ryder
offered, and answered the phone before Tilly burst into a fresh set of tears.
Well aware that the call had to be
from someone in the family, Ryder's answer was less than formal.
"This is Ryder, what's
up?"
Erica's complaint was left hanging
on the edge of her tongue. Somehow she didn't have the guts to say what she'd
intended to say, at least not in the same tone of voice.
"Umm … I was wondering if
someone was bringing up the ice bag for Miles's poor head."
Miles's poor head be damned, Ryder
thought, but kept his opinion to himself. He glanced at Tilly.
"Erica wants to know about
some ice bag."
"Tell her it's on the way
up."
"It's on the way—"
"I heard her," Erica
said. "Thank you."
"No problem," Ryder
said, and started to hang up.
"Wait!" Erica shouted.
Ryder waited. It was her call. Her
question. Her move.
"Is Casey all right? I mean,
Miles said she'd had an accident."
"Come see for yourself,"
he offered. "She's at the apartment lying down, and I think she'd
appreciate her sister's presence."
The thought of being in close
proximity with Ryder gave Erica a chill. "Oh, I couldn't possibly leave
Miles on his own. Grandmother isn't here and when she comes in, she's going to
be beside herself that all of this happened while she was having her hair
done."
A quiet anger he'd been trying to
stifle suddenly bubbled over. "There's not a damned thing wrong with
Miles. He's hung over, not hurt. Casey is the one who could have died
today." He slammed the phone sharply onto the cradle and hoped that the
disconnect popped in her ear.
Tilly hid her reaction, but she
was secretly pleased. It was comforting to see someone else willing to champion
her girl, especially a man who wasn't afraid to speak his mind.
Ryder turned, anger still evident
in his voice. "Did Casey grow up in the same house with Miles and
Erica?"
Tilly nodded.
"Then tell me something—how
in blazes did she turn out so right and them so wrong? That pair must have been
raised on ice water, not milk."
"They had each other,"
Tilly said. "After Casey's parents died, she didn't have much of anyone to
baby her. Delaney loved her, but his intentions were focused on giving her the
skills to run his empire, and truth be told, Mrs. Deathridge played favorites
with the twins."
"Casey had you," Ryder
said.
Tilly nodded. "Yes, that she
did." She handed him a pot filled with the soup she'd just made.
"It's vegetable beef, her favorite."
Ryder accepted the offering.
"Thanks. Considering the blow Casey took to her mouth, that's about all
she's going to feel like eating."
Tilly let him out the door, then
watched as he crossed the courtyard, went up the stairs and into the garage
apartment, carrying the hot pot of soup as if it were the crown jewels. When he
was safely inside, she stepped back and closed the door. For the first time in
weeks, she felt confident that things in this household were about to change
for the better.
Not only did Ryder seem to respect
Casey, but it looked as if he were willing to become her protector. However,
just to be on the safe side, she might concoct a little potion. It wouldn't
amount to much. Just a few herbs for good luck that she could sprinkle on their
doorstep. Not a real spell.
* * *
Reclining in a nest of pillows,
Casey winced as she reached for the phone, then had to shift the stack of papers
in her lap to allow room for the smaller pillows beneath each of her elbows.
Even though the accident had caused her to miss a stockholder's luncheon, it
hadn't taken her long to regroup and bring the business to her.
At her request, her secretary had
sent files on the most pressing issues and left the others that were pending
back at the office. With a bowl of Tilly's soup for sustenance and the
knowledge that Ryder was no farther away than the sound of her voice, she set
up office in the middle of her bed and began going over the reports in
question.
She read until the pain between
her eyebrows grew too sharp to ignore and changed her tactics to returning the
phone calls that had come to her office during her absence. It wasn't any
easier. By late afternoon, it felt as if her lip was swollen to twice its
normal size and the left side of her jaw was becoming increasingly sore. The
last time she'd gotten up to go to the bathroom, she'd groaned at the sight of
her face. The abrasion on her cheek was starting to scab, and by tomorrow, she
was going to have one heck of a black eye.
Twice during this time, Ryder had
appeared in the doorway.
Once he'd frowned at the stack of
work in her lap before disappearing without comment. The second time he'd come,
the glare on his face was impossible to ignore, yet he'd still maintained a
stoic silence about her behavior.
But the shock of the wreck was
beginning to take its toll. Casey was near tears and wishing she could sweep
everything off her bed, curl up in a ball beneath the covers and maybe cry
herself to sleep. She heard footsteps coming up the outside stairs, then again
inside the apartment. It was Ryder. She recognized the rhythm with which he
walked.
He entered her bedroom without
knocking just as the phone rang near her elbow. Before she could answer, he had
it in his hands.
"Ruban Enterprises. No, I'm
sorry, she is out for the rest of the day. Call 555-4000 and make an
appointment with her secretary."
He tossed the portable phone
completely out of her reach. Casey frowned. "Hey! I wasn't through…"
"Yes, you are. Besides, I
brought you a surprise."
Casey sputtered in useless dismay
as Ryder swept aside the files on which she'd been working. When he held out
his hand, she sighed and took what he offered, using his strength to lever
herself to an upright position on the side of the bed, then groaned when her
muscles protested.
"Oh! I feel like I've been
run over by a truck."
"That's not funny,"
Ryder said, and scooped her into his arms before she had time to argue.
"Besides, if you think you hurt now, just wait until tomorrow."
If it hadn't been so painful, she
might have smiled. "Thank you for such inspiring words of wisdom,"
she said, and slid her arm around his neck for balance as he carried her into
the living room.
When he settled her down on the
couch, she put her feet up on the footstool and eased herself into a
comfortable position.
"Trust me, I know what I'm
talking about," he said. "By morning, every muscle you have is going to
protest. At any rate, you should have been in bed hours ago."
"I was in bed," Casey
argued.
"I meant, alone. Not with a
half-ton of papers and that damned phone. If you'd wanted company, you should
have let me know. I would have been glad to oblige."
When she blushed, Ryder knew he'd
gotten his point across.
Refusing to give him the benefit
of seeing how much his words had bothered her, she folded her hands in her lap
and looked around the room. "So, where's my surprise?"
He went to the kitchen, returning
moments later with a handful of paper towels and a box he'd taken out of the
freezer.
"What's this?" Casey
asked, as he plopped it in her lap.
"Popsicles. Assorted flavors.
Pick which one you want and I'll put the others back for later."
Her delight was only slightly more
than her surprise. "Popsicles? You brought me Popsicles?"
"They won't hurt your mouth,
I swear. In fact, it's going to feel pretty darn good on that swollen
lip." He took the box out of her lap and tore open the top like an impatient
child who couldn't wait for permission. "Which one do you want first? The
red ones are cherry. The green ones are lime. The orange ones speak for
themselves."
"I like grape. Are there any
grape ones?"
"Grape it is," Ryder
said, as he peeled the paper from a length of frozen purple ice.
Casey wrapped a paper towel around
the wooden stick and took a lick, then another, then carefully eased her mouth
around the end of the Popsicle and sucked gently. Cold, grape-flavored juice
ran over her lips, into her mouth and onto her tongue. She closed her eyes,
savoring the uniqueness of a childhood treat she hadn't had in years.
"Ummm,
you were right. It tastes wonderful and doesn't hurt a bit."
Ryder caught himself holding his breath
and squeezing the box of Popsicles until one broke inside the box under
pressure. If someone had ever tried to tell him that women with black eyes and
fat lips were sexy, he would have laughed in their face.
Unaware of the war waging inside
her husband's conscience, Casey looked up. "Aren't you having any?"
Ryder shuddered then blinked.
"I've had more than enough already," he muttered, and when someone
knocked on the door, was saved from having to explain. "I'll get it. Sit
still and eat your Popsicle before it melts."
Surprised by the unexpectedness of
company, whoever it might be, Casey lifted a hand to her face. "I look so
terrible."
Ryder's expression went flat.
"I think your priorities got a little confused. Be glad you're alive to
tell the tale."
The chill in his voice was only
less intimidating than the look he was wearing. At that moment, Casey realized
how little she really knew about the man who'd given her his name.
The knock sounded again and Ryder
turned with the Popsicles still in hand and strode to the door, yanking it open
with an abrupt, angry motion.
Outside heat swept inside, causing
moisture to condense on the outside of the Popsicle box. Ryder was speechless.
It was Eudora and she was clutching at the tail of her skirt with one hand and
holding down her freshly done hair with the other as a hot, hasty wind blasted
against the wall of the building.
"Are you going to ask me in,
or am I to blow away?" Eudora asked.
He quickly regained his manners
and stepped aside. "Sorry."
Eudora stepped over the threshold
and into the apartment as if it were an everyday occurrence for her to be
visiting the servants' quarters, when in actuality, she was quite curious as to
the accommodations in which Casey had chosen to live.
The furnishings inside the garage
apartment were simple compared to the elegance of the mansion, but to her
surprise, the small rooms seemed comfortable … even homey. In fact it reminded
her a bit of the first place she and Henry had shared.
Casey waved from where she was
sitting. "Gran! Come in! I'm so glad you…"
Eudora gasped and clutched a hand
to her throat as she walked toward Casey in disbelief.
"Oh my! Erica said you'd had
an accident, but she led me to believe it wasn't…"
Eudora stopped talking, aware that
whatever else she said was going to make Erica out to be thoughtless and
uncaring. And while she silently acknowledged that fact from time to time, she
wasn't willing to admit it aloud. Tears welled as she reached out to touch the
side of Casey's cheek. "Sweetheart, your face. Your poor little face. I'm
so sorry. Is there anything I can do?"
Casey shook her head and then
winced at the motion. "I'm fine, Gran. Actually, I look worse than I
feel."
"I doubt that," Ryder
said, and then extended the box toward Eudora. "What's your pleasure? We
have orange, cherry or lime. We're saving the grape ones for Casey. They're her
favorite."
Casey tried not to grin, but the
shock on her grandmother's face was impossible to miss.
"Excuse me?" Eudora
asked, eyeing the box Ryder had thrust beneath her nose.
"Popsicles. Want one?"
Casey held hers up to demonstrate,
then realized it was melting and stuck it back in her mouth and sucked,
rescuing the juice that would have dripped into the paper around the stick.
"Well, I don't think…"
Ryder dangled it under her nose.
"Oh, come on, Dora. Have one."
When she almost grinned, Ryder
knew she was hooked. "You're real fond of cherry limeade, so I'll bet
you'd like a cherry one, wouldn't you?"
Without waiting for her to answer,
he took one out of the box, unwrapped it as he'd done for Casey, and handed it
to her with a paper towel around the stick to catch the drips.
"If anyone wants seconds,
they'll be in the freezer."
Eudora stared at the icy treat
he'd thrust in her hands and then straightened her shoulders, as if bracing
herself for the worst. But when she lifted it to her mouth, the taste brought
back sweet memories that made her heart ache. By the time she'd regained her
sense of self, Ryder had made himself scarce.
"Well, now," Eudora
said, and leaned back against the sofa cushions. "He's something, isn't
he?"
There wasn't much she could add to
what Gran had already said. "Yes, I suppose that he is."
"The question then remains, what
are you going to do with him for the next twelve months? Somehow, I can't see
him playing chauffeur forever."
Eudora ran the Popsicle in her
mouth like a straw and sucked up what was melting with a delicate slurp while
Casey thought about what Gran had said. What was Ryder going to do for the next
twelve months? Even more important, what did she want him to do?
* * *
The clock on the bedside table
stared back at Casey with an unblinking response. No matter how many times she
looked, it seemed that time was standing still. It was midnight, and she'd been
in bed for over two hours and had yet to relax enough to sleep. But it wasn't
because she wasn't tired. She was. In fact, so tired that her bones ached.
She couldn't rest because every
time she closed her eyes she kept seeing that truck coming out of
nowhere—feeling the jarring impact of metal against metal—hearing her own
scream cut off by the air bag that inflated in her face.
She rolled over on her side, then
out of frustration, kept scooting until she was out of bed. If she could just
get her mind into another channel, maybe she would be able to relax.
The bedroom door was slightly
ajar, and she eased into the narrow opening like a shadow moving through space.
Her body felt like one giant bruise, and every step she took was a lesson in
endurance. As she started toward the kitchen, the room was suddenly bathed in
light. She stifled a sigh. I should have known, she thought.
"What's wrong?"
She turned and then stammered on
the apology she'd been about to make. Legs. He had the longest, strongest
looking legs she'd ever seen on a man, and they were moving toward her. Casey
made herself focus on his face.
"Uh … I couldn't sleep."
His touch was gentle on her
forehead as he felt for a rising temperature.
"You don't have a
fever," he said, and cupped her face, peering intently into her eyes and
checking for dilated pupils or anything else that would alert him to
complications from her head injury.
But that could change at any
minute, Casey told herself, and took a step back.
"I thought I'd get a drink of
water," she said.
"I'll get it for you."
He moved past her and into the small kitchen, sucking up the space and what was
left of Casey's breath.
Moments later, he thrust a glass into
her hands. Ice clinked against the sides as she lifted it to her lips and
drank.
"Better?" he asked, as
she handed it back.
She nodded and turned away. Ryder
set the glass down and followed her awkward movements through the room with a
thoughtful gaze. This was about more than a restless night. The tension in her
posture and on her face was impossible to miss.
"You're afraid, aren't
you?"
Startled by his perception, Casey
turned and then couldn't hold the intensity of his gaze.
"It's okay," Ryder said.
"Anyone would feel the same."
"How do you know so much
about what I feel?" she asked.
"Let's just say, I've been
there."
"You mean you've been in
a—"
He interrupted, and Casey got the
impression that it was because he didn't want to talk about it. "Want me
to sit with you for a while?" When she hesitated, he felt obligated to
add, "No strings attached. Just one friend to another, okay?"
Her legs ached, her head was
throbbing, and her eyelids were burning from lack of sleep. Maybe some company
would help her to relax.
"Are you sure you don't
mind?" she asked.
His eyes darkened and his mouth
quirked, just enough to make her wonder what he was really thinking.
"No, ma'am, I don't mind a
bit."
"Then, yes, I would like some
company. But just for a while, okay?"
He nodded. "Okay." He
followed her into the bedroom, leaving the door wide open between the two
rooms.
A muscle pulled at the side of her
neck and she winced as she started to crawl into bed.
"Easy," he said, as he helped
her slide into a more comfortable position. "Want me to rub something on
those stiff muscles? It might help you relax."
"Yes, please," Casey
answered.
He disappeared into the bathroom
and came out moments later with a tube of ointment. Casey's eyes widened as the
bed gave beneath his weight and she rolled over on her side, her heart racing
as she bared her shoulder at his request.
She was stiff and nervous and he
felt her resistance to his touch as if he'd invaded her space.
"Easy … just take it easy,"
he coaxed, and laid his palm on the curve of her arm.
Casey flinched, and then when he
began to move, she closed her eyes and let herself go. Gentle. His touch was so
gentle. The ointment was a lubricant between his skin and hers, smoothing the
way for the pressure of his fingers as he began to knead at the offending
muscle.
"Oooh,
that feels good," she said with a sigh, settling into the rhythm of his
touch.
Ryder clinched his jaw and tried
not to think of what else could be good between them.
The room became quiet and there
was nothing to hear but the slide of skin against skin and the uneven breathing
of strangers who just happened to be husband and wife. Several minutes passed
and Casey had been lulled into letting down her guard when Ryder spoke.
"Casey."
Her pulse jerked, a little
startled by the sound of his voice. "What?"
His fingers curled around her
shoulder, his thumb resting at the base of her neck beneath her hair.
"I'm very glad you're
okay."
Breath caught at the back of her throat
and she squeezed her eyes shut as tears suddenly seeped out from beneath her
lashes.
"Thank you, Ryder. So am
I."
"Does your shoulder feel
better?"
Her voice was just above a
whisper. "Yes."
She heard him putting the lid back
on the tube of ointment and felt the bed giving beneath the movement of his
body. And then she thought of the loneliness of the night and the fear that
kept coming when she closed her eyes, and asked the unforgivable.
"Ryder?"
Half on and half off of the bed,
he paused. "What?"
"Would you mind—" She
never finished the question.
"Would I mind what?" he
finally asked.
"Would you mind staying with
me? Just until I fall asleep?"
She couldn't see it, but a small
smile tilted the corner of his mouth as he turned to her in the dark.
"No, honey, I wouldn't mind
at all."
Casey held her breath as the
mattress yielded to the greater pressure of his body.
"Easy does it," he
whispered, and lightly rubbed her arm to let her know that he was there.
She closed her eyes and so did he,
but not for the same reason. Ryder didn't want to think about the slender
indentation of her waist so near his hand, or the gentle flare of hip just
below it. He didn't want to remember the silky feel of her skin beneath his
touch, or the way she sounded when she sighed. She had suffered much this day,
and didn't deserve what he was thinking. But as time wore on, he couldn't get
past wishing they were lying in bed for something other than rest.
Chapter 8
Sometime during the
night it started to rain. It was a slow, heavy downpour that rolled like thick
molasses off of the roof above where Casey and Ryder were sleeping, encompassing
them within a dark, wet cocoon of sound.
Ryder woke with a start, the dream
in which he'd been lost still so fresh in his mind that he came close to
believing it was real. He looked down at Casey who lay sleeping with her head
upon his chest and her hand splayed across the beat of his heart. Any man would
consider himself fortunate to be in Ryder's place. The only problem was, she
wasn't as awake and willing as she'd been in his dream.
The air felt close. The room
seemed smaller. He ached. He wanted. He couldn't have. He moved, but only
enough to brush the thick length of her hair that had fallen across her face.
Her eyelashes fluttered against his chest. Her breasts had flattened against
his side and she'd thrown her leg across the lower half of his body, pinning
him in place. He swallowed a groan and made himself lie still when all he
wanted was to be so far inside her warmth that nothing else mattered.
But lying still didn't help his
misery, and finally, he slipped out of her arms and rolled out of bed, then
stood in the dark looking down at her as she slept.
She trusts you.
Rain hammered against the roof as
need hammered through him.
She's been hurt.
Hard. Constant. Insistent. Justice
men do not use women.
He turned and walked out of the room,
grabbing his jeans from a chair as he headed for the door. He needed some air.
Some distance. Something else on which to focus besides the thrust of her
breast and the juncture of her thighs. He kept telling himself that this
overwhelming feeling was nothing more than a result of proximity, that reason
would return with daylight and distance, but his heart wasn't listening. He'd
spent time with plenty of other women in his life and had been able to separate
fact from fiction.
When he opened the door and
stepped out on the landing, all he could see was a sheet of black rain falling
directly before him. The security light was off. He reached back inside and
flipped the light switch, clicking it on then off again. The power was out.
The porch was damp beneath his
bare feet, but it felt good to be concentrating on something besides sex. He
combed his fingers through his hair and took a deep breath. The lack of
electricity explained the sultry temperature inside the apartment, but it didn't
excuse the sluggish flow of blood through his veins. That blame lay with the
woman who'd interfered in his dream.
A soft mist blowing off the rain
drifted into his face. He looked up. The small overhang under which he was
standing offered little shelter, yet it was enough for him to get by. Right
now, he couldn't have walked back in the apartment and minded his own business
if his life depended on it. The dream was too real. She'd been too willing and
so soft and he'd been halfway inside her and going for broke when something …
call it conscience, call it reality, had yanked him rudely awake. Now he was
left with nothing but a sexual hangover, an ache with no way of release. The
muscles in his belly knotted and he drew a deep breath.
"Ryder?"
He groaned. She was right behind
him.
"What's wrong?" she
asked. "Is something wrong?"
"Go back to bed," he
said harshly, unwilling to turn around.
A hand crossed the bare surface of
his back on its way to his shoulder. He pivoted, and she was right before him.
Humidity draped the fabric of her gown to every plane, angle and curve,
delineating a fullness of breasts and a slim, flat belly. Sticking to places on
her body it had no business, taunting Ryder by the reminder of what lay
beneath.
His fingers curled into fists and
he took a deep breath as he reminded himself that she was bruised and battered
and didn't deserve this from him. "Are you all right?"
"I just woke up and you were
gone and I thought…" Her voice trailed off into nothing as she waited for
an explanation that didn't come.
Silence grew and the rain
continued to fall.
Casey sensed his uneasiness but
did not immediately attribute it to herself. They were still strangers. There
was so much they didn't know about each other. This mood he seemed to be in
could have come from a number of reasons. And then suddenly the security light
on the pole beyond the apartment came on. Although it was instantly diffused by
the downpour, it was more than enough by which to see.
Dear God. It was all she could
think as she shrank from the wild, hungry need on his face.
The moment she moved, he knew that
he'd given himself away. Because he couldn't go forward, he took a reluctant
step back and walked out into the rain before one of them made a mistake that
couldn't be fixed.
Shocked by his sudden departure,
Casey cried out, but it was too late. He was already gone—lost in the downpour,
beyond the sound of her voice.
Ryder didn't remember getting down
the stairs. It was the rain that brought back his reason and calmed a wild,
racing heart. Warm and heavy, it enveloped him—falling on his face, on his
chest, down his body.
He began to walk, his bare feet
sometimes ankle-deep in the runoff. He walked until a tree appeared in his
path, then another, then another, and he realized he'd walked into the forest
at the back of the estate. He paused at the edge, aware that he could go no
farther in the state he was in, and found himself a place beneath the outspread
limbs of an old magnolia.
Rain sounded like bullets as it
peppered down on the large, waxy leaves above his head. But the longer he
stood, the more the sound reminded him of hail. He drew a deep, shuddering
breath and then cursed. It had hailed on them the night of the crash.
He closed his eyes, remembering
the dead weight of holding his father's lifeless body in his arms. Someone
moaned and as he went to his knees, he knew it was himself that he had heard.
Pain shafted through him, leaving him smothered beneath a familiar cover of
guilt.
"Ah, God, make this
stop," he cried and then buried his face in his hands.
* * *
Back at the apartment, Casey stood
on the landing, staring out at the night, anxiously watching for Ryder's
return. The urge to go after him was strong, yet she stayed her ground, well
aware that it was her presence that had driven him away.
Mist dampened her hair and her
gown, plastering both to her face and her body and still she waited. Finally,
she bowed her head and closed her eyes. "Dear Lord, help me find a way to
make this right."
And the rain continued to fall.
Some time later, it stopped as
suddenly as it had started—turned off at the tap with nothing but a leak now
and then from a low-hanging cloud.
* * *
Ryder came up the stairs in a
bone-weary daze, weary from lack of sleep and from wrestling with the demons
inside himself. His bare feet split the puddle at the top of the landing and he
walked inside without care for the fact that he would be dripping every inch of
the way to the bath.
When he closed the door behind
him, the cool waft of air that encircled his face told him the air-conditioning
was back on inside. That was good. He'd had enough of close quarters to last
him a lifetime and the night wasn't even over.
He walked quietly, so as not to
disturb Casey's slumber in the other room, and was halfway across the floor
when her voice stopped him in his tracks.
"I'm sorry," Casey said
quietly. "Very, very sorry. I asked too much of you and you were too much the
gentleman to tell me so." He heard her shudder on a breath. "I humbly
beg your forgiveness."
A puddle was forming where he
stood and yet the despair in her voice kept him pinned to the spot.
"There's nothing to
forgive."
"Only me. I was selfish … thoughtless.
I promise it won't happen again."
Why did that not make him happy?
"Just let it go."
"I laid out some fresh
towels. The bed is turned back. From this night on, we'll take turns sleeping
in the bed."
The thought of her, bruised and
aching and waiting up for him to come back from trying to outrun his devils
made him angry, more with himself than with her; however, she caught the force
of his guilt.
"Like hell. Go to bed and
close your eyes. I didn't get mowed down by a truck. I don't have a busted lip
or a black eye, and if I hurt, it's of my own making, not yours."
"But this arrangement isn't
fair to you."
He almost laughed. "Hell,
honey, there hasn't been two minutes of fair in my life in so long I wouldn't
know it if it stood up and slapped my face." His voice softened. "Go
to bed … please."
It was the please that did it. She
stood, moving past him in the dark like a pale ghost. Only after she was safe
in bed with the sheets up to her chin did she sense him coming through the
room. He paused at the bathroom door.
"If I'm gone when you wake
up, call Tilly. She'll bring you some breakfast."
"I'll need a ride to
work," she reminded him.
"No, you won't. I think you
need another day of rest. Tomorrow is Friday. That will give you a long weekend
to recuperate."
She totally ignored the fact that
he'd just told her what to do, but at this point, it made no sense to argue
with a sensible suggestion. "Where will you be?" Casey asked.
"Checking on your car that was
towed. Contacting your insurance company." This time he managed a chuckle.
"You know, doing stuff."
"Thank you," she said.
"For what?"
"For doing my stuff."
This time, he really did laugh,
and the sound carried Casey off into a deep, dreamless sleep.
* * *
Miles fought the covers beneath
which he was sleeping as his dreams jumped from one crazy scenario to another.
One minute he was flying high above the ground without a plane, flapping his
arms like a gut-shot crow and trying to find a safe place to land, and the next
moment he was standing in the middle of the intersection where Casey had had
her wreck, watching in mute horror as her black sports car and the one-ton
truck with which she had collided kept coming at him over and over from different
angles. Each time he would escape being crushed between their vehicles, the
scene would rewind and replay. On a nearby street corner, his grandmother kept
pointing her finger and shouting, "I told you so! I told you so!"
He awoke bathed in sweat, only then
aware that it was pouring down rain and the electricity was off. He cursed the
bad taste in his mouth and got up with a thump just as the power returned. He
could tell because his digital clock started blinking and the security lights
outside came on all at once, returning a familiar pale glow to the curtains at
his window.
He shoved them aside, looking down
through the rain to the lawn below, and knew that the weather tomorrow would be
miserable. The air would feel like a sauna and the bar ditches would be filled
and overflowing.
"What the hell?"
There, through the rain, he
thought he saw movement! He watched, staring harder, trying to focus on the
shape. Just as he was about to reach for the phone to call the police, the
figure moved within a pale ring of a security light and Miles froze, his hand
in midair.
"Him." He stepped
forward, all but pressing his nose against the glass for a better look. There
was no mistaking who it was below. It was Ryder, half-dressed and moving at
what seemed a desperate pace. He watched until the man disappeared from view
before settling back down in his bed, his drink of water forgotten.
Long after it had stopped raining
and he was back in bed, he kept wondering what would drive a man out of his bed
and into a night like this? Had he and Casey fought? A twinge of guilt pushed
at the edge of his conscience. She had gone through some hell of her own today.
Tomorrow he'd send her some flowers. Having settled that, he turned over and
quickly fell back asleep. It didn't occur to Miles that Casey would ultimately
wind up paying for her own flowers, and if it had, he wouldn't have cared. To
Miles, it was the thought that would count.
* * *
Lash awoke with a curse. Water was
dripping from the ceiling and onto his left cheek. He got up to push his bed to
a new location and stubbed his toe in the dark. The roof leaked. What else was
new? The real problem lay in the fact that he was sleeping on the ground floor
and it was still coming in through the ceiling. He didn't even want to think
how the upper two stories of Graystone would be suffering tonight. Cursing his
wet bed and sore toe, he crawled back between the sheets, turned his damp
pillow to the other side, and lay down.
Only sleep wouldn't come. No
matter how hard he tried, his mind refused to relax. He thought of the phone
call he'd had this afternoon from the police. Just for a moment before they'd
completely explained, he'd thought they'd been calling to inform him of Casey's
death, and then he realized that because he was the family lawyer, they'd
called to tell him where they'd towed her car.
What bothered him most about the
incident was the lack of emotion he'd felt at the news. He loved her. At least
he thought he had. Wasn't a man supposed to cry at such a loss?
He closed his eyes, trying to
imagine Casey dead, picturing the hordes of people that would come to her
funeral, of the eulogy he would have delivered expounding her life. He saw her
lying in the casket, beautiful even in death, and felt guilt that he was
letting himself play so lightly with something as serious as her life.
He rolled over, taking the sheets
with him as turned on his side, still haunted by the sight of her face. As he
tried to sleep, his thoughts began to unfurl like jumbled up scenes in an
unedited movie.
In one scene, she stared at him,
cool and patient, and he realized that he was remembering the way she'd looked
the day of the reading of the will. He tossed, rolling himself and the covers
to the other side of the bed where Casey lay in wait for his arrival. There she
stood again, her face a study in shock that slowly turned to a cold, white
rage. He remembered that well. It was the way she'd looked when he'd announced
the terms of Delaney Ruban's will.
He groaned. He could have talked
Delaney out of the foolishness. Oh God, if only I had. But it was too late.
Lash had presumed too much and he knew it. Who could have known? The Casey he
thought he knew would never have gone into the flatlands and come out married
to some hitchhiker, to some stranger she found in a bar.
And therein lay part of Lash's
dilemma. He'd bet his life and the restoration of his family's honor on a woman
who had never existed outside the realm of his imagination. In other words,
he'd bet the farm on a woman who didn't exist.
"Casey."
The sound of her name on his lips
made him crazy. He rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. If things
had gone the way they should have, she would be here, right now, in bed beside
him. He closed his eyes and saw her smile, imagined he could feel the touch of
her hand on his face, the breath of her laughter against his neck. He reached
out, tracing the shape of her body with his fingertips, watching her eyes as
they grew heavy with passion. He grew hot, then hard and aching, and when there
was no one around to take care of the need, he reached down and dealt with it
on his own, calling her name aloud as his body betrayed him.
* * *
"More flowers for little
sister," Joshua announced, carrying another vase of cut flowers into the
library and setting them on a table just out of the sunlight.
Casey smiled, more at the use of
her childhood name than for the flowers he carried into the room. She started
to get up when he waved her back.
"You stay where you're
put," he ordered. "I'll be bringin' those cards to you."
Casey laughed. "You sure are
bossy today."
Joshua lifted the card from the
flowers and dropped it in her lap. "No more than usual, I'd say."
He straightened the edge of the
blue afghan covering her legs then patted her knee as he'd done so often when
she was a child. His dark eyes searched the marks on her face. Her lip was no
longer swollen, but the bruises were spreading and the scratches had scabbed
over. The sights deepened the frown on his brow. He couldn't have cared for her
more if she'd been born of his blood.
"You be needin' anything, you
just give me a ring, you hear?"
Casey reached out and caught his
hand, pulling it to her cheek.
"Thank you, Joshie … for
everything."
He shook his head, embarrassed at
emotion he couldn't hide. "Don't need to thank me for doing my job,"
he muttered, and stalked out of the room as fast as his legs would take him.
Casey glanced at the card, then
back at the flowers. These were from Libertine Delacroix and they were pulling
double duty: get-well sympathies and congratulations on Casey's recent wedding.
She smiled. If Delaney were here he would be eating this up. Libertine was at
the top of the county's social echelon. She had a summer home in Ruban Crossing
and the family home on the river outside of Jackson.
The doorbell rang at the same time
that the telephone pealed. Aware that Joshua couldn't be in two places at once,
she picked up the phone.
"Ruban residence."
"Casey? Is that you?"
It was Lash. At that moment, she
wished with all her heart that she'd let the darned thing ring.
"Yes, it's me. What can I do
for you?"
She heard him clear his throat and
could imagine the papers he would be shuffling as he gathered his thoughts.
However, he surprised her with a quick retort.
"I heard about your accident
and am so very glad that you're all right."
"Thank you."
"Yes, well … I know this may be
an inconvenient time, but I was wondering if I might come by. There are some
papers you need to sign."
She frowned. The last person she
wanted to see was Lash and the last thing she wanted to do was think about her
grandfather's death. But if there were more papers to sign regarding Delaney's
will, she would have to do both.
"Well, I was just about
to—"
"It won't take long."
She was honest enough to know that
what she'd done by marrying Ryder had probably ended a lifetime of plans Lash
must have had. Everyone knew that Lash's father had gone through the Marlow
money as if it had been water and that his mother had run off with a trucker
soon afterward. Everyone also knew that while Lash was a lawyer of the courts,
his only ambitions leaned toward the restoration of his family name and the
family home. And, if she'd married him as Delaney had planned, it could have
happened. He would have had unlimited money at his disposal.
She shuddered. It was a wonder he
didn't hate her guts. She thought of the wedding gift he'd sent that was still
in her desk drawer at the office. In spite of his own disappointment, Lash had
found it within himself to do the right thing and wish her well. She sighed.
Guilty conscience won out.
"I suppose so," she
said. "If it won't take long."
"Certainly not, my dear. I
can promise that what I need won't take long at all."
"Then I'll be waiting."
She hung up the phone as Ryder
walked in the room carrying a bright yellow, happy face balloon. The frown on
her face disappeared.
"Oh, how sweet! Who sent me
the balloon? I haven't had a balloon since I was little."
He leaned over and kissed the top
of her head, then handed it to her.
"It's kind of pitiful
compared to all these elegant flowers, but it seemed like a good idea at the time."
Although the kiss was as harmless
as if it had come from a child, Casey felt her face flush. After last night,
the word harmless did not mesh with the man who'd walked out of the apartment
and into the rain.
"Is this from you?"
He stood at the end of the couch,
absorbing the aftermath of yesterday's wreck on her face. Finally, he nodded,
and then he grinned and Casey thought she would forever remember the way he
looked, smiling down at her with the sunlight coming through the window behind
him.
"With no strings
attached." Then he laughed aloud when she dangled the one tied to the
balloon. "Except the obvious, of course."
Casey grinned and handed him the
balloon. "Will you tie it on the back of that chair for me?"
He did as she asked, then gave the
balloon a final thump and set it to bobbing as he moved away. The big yellow
happy face smiled down at her from across the room. Casey smiled back, then
noticed that Ryder was leaving.
"Can't you sit down and talk
to me?"
Ryder stopped at the doorway. When
he turned, there was an odd, almost childlike hurt on his face.
"You don't need to pretend
with me, Casey."
Suddenly, last night was out in
the open. All the tension that had sent him out in the rain was back between
them and there was nothing to say that would change what had happened.
Angry, she threw off the afghan
and stood, unwilling to say this lying down. "The last time I played
pretend, I was six years old. I pretended my mother and father weren't dead.
When it didn't come true, I never tried again."
Ryder absorbed her anger as well
as the passion with which she spoke, letting it flow over and then around him.
Just when he thought she was finished, she came at him again. It would seem she
wasn't through.
"There are things that need
to be said between us. I would think that saying them in the bright light of
day would be a hell of a lot smarter than waiting for dark. The world closes in
when the sun goes down. Even with the absence of light, I've found it a
difficult place in which to hide."
Stunned by the truth in her words,
he couldn't find it in himself to walk away.
"So … is this our first
fight?" he asked, and was rewarded by the red flush he saw staining her
cheeks.
"Can't you be serious?"
she muttered.
"Well, yes, ma'am, I can be
serious as hell. However, I don't think you're one bit ready for that."
Casey paled. Just when she told
herself he was a comfortable man to be around, that stranger came back.
"I thought you'd like to know
that carpenters will be arriving tomorrow. I'm adding on a room to the garage
apartment. Since we won't be sharing a … I mean we can't… We aren't going
to…" She took a deep breath and started over, ignoring the heat on her
face and neck. "You won't have to sleep on the floor much longer."
He thought about waking to find
her wrapped in his arms. "That's real thoughtful of you, Casey."
"It is only fair."
His voice softened. "And
you're always fair, aren't you, girl?"
Before she could answer, Joshua
entered the room with Lash Marlow at his heels.
"Mr. Marlow is here. Says he
has an appointment."
Willing herself not to flinch at
what she perceived as accusation in Lash Marlow's expression, Casey eased
herself back to the couch.
"Lash, it's good to see you.
Ryder and I were just about to have coffee. Won't you join us?"
Lash pivoted, surprised that he
and Casey would not be alone.
"That's all right,"
Ryder said. "I'll just leave you two alone to—"
"No!" Casey took a deep
breath and made herself relax when she really wanted to scream. "There's
no need," she said, softening her words with a smile. "It's nothing
confidential. Only some papers to sign."
"She's right. Please don't
leave on my account," Lash said and then smiled, and the sight made Casey shudder.
It was the least happy expression she'd ever seen on anyone's face.
"Besides, I believe there
should be no secrets between a man and his wife," he added.
Casey couldn't look Ryder in the
face, and Ryder refused to sit down. Even after Joshua returned with the tray
of coffee and Ryder had accepted his cup, the words kept ringing in his ears.
No secrets. No secrets. Hell, there hadn't been more than ten minutes of
honesty between them since he'd said "I do."
She thought he was a footloose
drifter who'd wasted his life on the road. He didn't have it in him to tell her
the truth because he was still trying to come to terms with some truths of his
own.
There was a little matter of being
responsible for his father's death and still finding the courage to live with
it.
Every breath Ryder took was a
reminder to him that Micah could no longer do the same. Every sunset he saw,
every morning that came, came with the knowledge that, for his father, those
simple pleasures had ceased. He carried his guilt with the ease of a man who's
lived long with the shroud. Close to his heart. Selfish with the pain that
shoved at him day after day.
Casey handed back the last of the
papers. Lash took them from her, letting his fingertips accidentally brush the
palm of her hand.
When she flinched, he had an urge
to lean over and slap her face. How dare she have judged him and found him
lacking? His family could trace their lineage back to the Mayflower.
Then he glanced at Ryder, careful
to hide his thoughts. He would bet a lot—if he had it to bet—that this one
didn't have two nickels to call his own. At least I have my education and
several generations of a fine and noble name. In Lash's opinion, Ryder Justice
was nothing more than a stray, an alley cat of a man who'd been in the right
place at the right time. That's what he was. That and nothing more.
Lash slid the papers into his
briefcase and stood. "I'd better be going—let you get some rest and let
your husband get on with his work."
The sarcasm was there. It wasn't
obvious, but that wasn't Lash Marlow's way. Casey chose to ignore the dig, and
then she remembered the gift that he'd sent.
"Lash. I haven't had time to
send a card, but I want to thank you in person for the lovely wedding gift you
had sent to the office. It's stunning, truly stunning."
Lash turned, and there was an odd,
satisfied smile on his face. "It's an heirloom, you know. It belonged to
my grandfather, Aaron Marlow."
Casey looked startled. She'd had
no idea. "Why, Lash, that's generous of you, but you really shouldn't
have."
His gaze turned flat, almost
expressionless. "Oh, it was nothing," he said. "After all, if
things had been different, it would have been yours anyway. I thought you
should have something to remember me by." He ventured a look at Ryder who
had remained silent throughout their entire conversation. "I don't want
you to think I'm treading on your territory," he said. "It's just
that Casey and I have known each other for years."
Ryder set down his cup and then glanced
at Casey before looking back at Lash. "I'm not worried. Casey is a woman
of her word. Besides, I'm not a man who believes in boundaries."
Lash was more than mildly
interested in the concept of what Ryder had to say. "So by that are you
hinting at the fact that you believe in open marriages?"
Ryder took one step forward, but
it was enough to back Lash up two.
"Not only no, but hell,
no," Ryder said. "A man and woman stay together out of a commitment,
not because there's a fence they can't climb."
Feeling slightly threatened by
something he didn't quite understand, Lash started for the door. "At any
rate, I hope you both get what you deserve."
Ryder thought about what the
lawyer had said long after he was gone. There was something about him that didn't
quite mesh.
Chapter 9
A month to the day from
their wedding, the extra room over the garage was finished, and it was none too
soon. There had been far too many times when Casey had seen Ryder's brown, bare
body, and Ryder had spent way too many nights alone on a floor when he had a
wife who slept alone in their bed. After thirty days of marriage, they were no
longer strangers, but the strangeness of their situation was about to make them
enemies.
"Just put the bed over
here," Casey said, pointing at the wall opposite the sliding glass doors.
"And the dresser here, the easy chair there… No, there I think, nearer the
corner lamp. Yes, that's perfect."
A small, birdlike woman wearing a
stiff blue uniform and high-top tennis shoes scurried into the room with an
armload of Ryder's clothes, bypassing the deliverymen from the furniture store.
Her graying blond hair was pulled
up in a ponytail reminiscent of the sixties. Her eyebrows were thick and black
with a permanent arch, compliments of a number seven jet eyebrow pencil. The
look was topped off with sky blue eyeshadow and
frosted pink lipstick. Bea Bonnaducci's appearance
hadn't changed since 1961, the year she'd graduated high school. The way Bea
had it figured, if it had worked for her then, it should work for her now.
"Where would you be wantin'
me to put the mister's things?" she asked.
"Put that stuff in the
dresser and hang those in the closet. At last he has plenty of space."
Bea did as Casey directed and then
scooted out of the room for a second load, leaving her to deal with the last of
the furniture being carried in.
And in the midst of it all, Ryder strode
into the bedroom, his nostrils flaring with indignation. He glared at the men
who were setting the last pieces of the furniture in place, and when they left,
he exploded.
"Damn it to hell, Casey! You
waited until Dora sent me on some wild-goose chase and then you set Bea to
digging in my stuff. I know you want me out of your hair, but you could have
waited for me to get back."
Stunned, Casey stood mute beneath
his attack, unable to find a single thing to say that would calm the fire in
Ryder's eyes. She watched as he paced from one side of the room to the other.
When he stepped inside the brand-new bathroom, he gave it no more than ten
seconds of consideration before coming back out again.
"I thought you would be glad
to have your own space," she finally said.
He spun, his posture stiff,
looking for a fight that just wasn't there. "I didn't say I wasn't,"
he muttered. "What I said was…" He sighed, then thrust his hand
through his hair in a gesture of frustration. "Oh hell, forget what I
said." He stomped out of the room as suddenly as he'd appeared.
Casey plopped down on the side of
the bed and knew she was going to cry. It wasn't so much the fact that he had
yelled at her. It was the disappointment that did her in. He'd done so much for
her over the past four weeks. All she had wanted to do was return the favor.
She doubled her fists in her lap,
staring intently at a pattern on the carpet and telling herself that if she
concentrated enough, the tears wouldn't come. In the midst of memorizing the number
of paisley swirls in a square, a teardrop rolled down her cheek and into her
lap. She drew a shuddering breath and closed her eyes. It didn't stop the pain
or the tears. They rolled in silent succession.
Ryder walked back into the room
carrying the last of his clothes that were on hangers and jammed them onto the
rod. "I sent Bea back to the house," he said, and then the bottom
fell out of his world. Casey was crying, and it was all his fault.
"Oh, hell, Casey, please
don't cry."
"I am not crying," she
said, and hiccupped on a sob.
He stood, frozen to the spot by
the pain in her voice and wondered when it had happened. When had she gotten
under his skin? And there was no mistaking the fact that she was there. Why
else did he feel as if he were about to explode?
"I am a total bastard."
It wasn't what she'd expected him
to say. She looked up.
He groaned beneath his breath.
Those big green eyes, the ones he'd come to know so well, were swimming in
tears. "I am the lowest form of a heel."
She sniffed and he dug a
handkerchief out of his pocket and laid it in her hands.
"I do not deserve to see
another day."
She blew her nose and then handed
the handkerchief back. "Oh, don't be so dramatic," she said. "I
suspect you were just being a man."
He stuffed the handkerchief, snot,
tears, and all into his pocket and tried not to be offended by what she said.
"Exactly what does that mean?"
Casey shrugged. "Tilly says
when men don't want to show their emotions, they either curse or yell. You did
both, which leads me to believe you were severely upset in a way I did not
expect."
He frowned. Damn, but that woman
knew way too much about men for his peace of mind. "At any rate, I am
truly sorry. I'm sorry I yelled. I'm sorry I cursed. I will try not to let it
happen again."
She tried to glare. When angry, he
was a force to behold, but when penitent, there was something about him that
made her want to throw her arms around him and…
Her face turned red as she jumped
up from the bed. "Don't make promises you can't keep," she said, and
stomped from the room.
Ryder groaned and followed her
into the living room. She was fiddling with a stack of magazines. It made him
nervous. He had a hunch she wasn't through yanking his chain, and when she
spoke, he knew he'd been right.
"Ryder?"
If he was smart, he'd walk out
right now before she dug in her heels, but where Casey was concerned, he wasn't
smart, he was caught, and had been since that day in the bar down in the
flatlands.
"What?"
"I don't understand. Why did
you get so angry?"
"I wasn't really…"
"Truth."
He sighed. Damn. Delaney Ruban had
done a real good job on her. When she got a notion, she stuck to it with fierce
intensity, and it wasn't in him to lie.
"I don't know. I walked in the
apartment. Bea was going through my stuff. Too much was changing too
fast." His voice lowered and Casey had to concentrate to hear what he
said. "I guess I'm uncomfortable with change."
"But nothing has
changed," she said.
"No, Casey, you're wrong. We're
married." He held up his hand. "And before you tie yourself into a
little knot, I know it's not a real marriage, but dammit, I was just getting
used to, to … things."
He took a deep breath. What he was
about to say was going to reveal more than he wanted, but she'd asked for the
truth, and truth she was going to get.
"Even if we don't share
anything but a name, there is a certain rhythm to our relationship that I was
learning to accept." Then he thrust a hand through his hair and lifted his
chin. She didn't have to like this, but it had to be said. "Dammit, I
guess I wasn't ready to lose what little of you that I had."
Casey knew she was standing on
solid ground, but for the life of her she couldn't feel it. Something inside of
her kept getting lighter and lighter and she wondered if she was going to pass
out … or fly.
"I didn't throw you away,
Ryder. I only bought you a bed."
He took the magazines out of her
hands and tossed them on the table, then pulled her into his arms. His chin
rested at the crown of her head. His arms locked easily across her shoulders,
holding her in place.
"I'm sorry I made you cry. I
like my room. I promise to like the bed."
Casey closed her eyes and tried
not to think of trying it out together just to test it for bounce. "And
I'm sorry I keep bulldozing my way through your life."
His fingers itched to take down
her hair, lay her across that bed and show her what bulldozing was all about.
Instead, he counted to ten, pasted a smile on his face, and kissed the top of
her head before letting her go.
"I suppose we should
celebrate tonight," he said.
"Celebrate how?"
"You know, a room-warming.
Maybe I should take you back to Smoky Joe's for some more barbecue." He
grinned. "It's Saturday. That means it's alligator night, remember?"
She rolled her eyes.
"Well, then, maybe we could
make it a christen-the-bed party, so to speak."
Casey's voice rose an octave.
"Christen the bed?"
"Yeah, I always heard it was
bad luck to sleep in a bed without breaking it in."
"Breaking?" She winced.
She'd never heard herself squeak before.
"Yeah, come here, honey. I'll
show you."
He dragged her across the room
before she could argue and all the while she was moving she kept telling
herself to do something—say something—anything except follow him across the
room! But she didn't. She went where she was led as if she didn't have a brain
in her head. When he leaned over the bed and picked up a pillow, adrenaline
shot through her body like a bullet out of a gun.
Oh God, oh God, this is happening.
It's really happening. And then the pillow hit her square in the face.
She staggered, tasting fabric and
feathers and reeling from shock. "Why on earth did you—?"
He sidestepped her and the
question with a grin on his face and swung again. The blow landed on her
backside, sending her sprawling facedown on the mattress. She grabbed the other
pillow out of reflex, but it was instinct that made her swing and roll at the
same time, crowing with delight as it caught Ryder up by the side of his head.
"That's nothing," he
warned. "You're no match for me." He began to circle the foot of the
bed.
"I'll make you eat those
words," Casey cried, and leaped up on the mattress, using it as a bridge
to get to the other side and away from Ryder's intent.
She was turning around as he drew
back his arm and let fly.
The pillow shot through the air
like a padded cannonball and stifled the jeer she'd been about to make. Within seconds,
she found herself eating more feathers. But there was an upside to his latest
attack. She now had both pillows.
"Aha!" she shouted,
waving a pillow in each hand. The glee on his face made her nervous. When he
started toward her, she began to retreat.
"Aha? What the hell is aha?
I've never been hit with an aha before. Do they hurt?"
Casey panicked, threw both pillows
at once and then ran. "No fair," she screamed.
He caught her in a flying tackle
in the middle of the bed, at once mashing her face into the mattress and
himself onto her. The weight of him was so great that breathing was almost
impossible, and then just when she thought her lungs would burst, she found
herself flat on her back and gasping for air. When she could talk and breathe
at the same time, she looked up. Ryder was sitting on her legs with his arms
above his head in a triumphant gesture.
"I hereby declare this bed
has been thoroughly christened."
Casey doubled up her fist and
thumped him in the middle of his belly.
"You cheated," she said,
and tried to hit him again.
"Easy," he warned, and
caught her fist before it could do any more damage. "Justice men never
cheat. We just rearrange the odds."
Casey tried to stay mad, but the
grin wouldn't stay off her face. "That's priceless."
"What's priceless?" he
asked.
"Rearranging the odds.
Delaney Ruban would have loved you."
Ryder's expression stilled. He
couldn't quit looking at the woman beneath him. At the joy in her eyes. The
smile on her face. Her hand on his leg.
He touched her. First her hair,
then her face. And when she bit her lower lip and looked away, he heard himself
asking, "What about his granddaughter? How does she feel?"
Casey felt as if all the breath
had been knocked from her lungs. She was all too aware of his weight on her
legs, his hand on her face, the need in his eyes.
"Never mind," he
whispered, and braced himself above her with an arm on either side of her face.
"I think I'd rather find out for myself."
She knew what the shape of his mouth
felt like. They'd kissed before. Once, and just before dawn, in Judge Harris's
front parlor on the day of the wedding. She thought she was prepared for what
was about to happen. She couldn't have been more wrong. The man she'd kissed
before had been a stranger. This time it was different. She'd seen this man
wearing nothing but a towel—walked into his embrace on the day of her
wreck—slept in his arms—laughed with him—cried with him—fought with him. She
closed her eyes and tensed as his breath swept her cheek.
The gentle brush of mouth-to-mouth
contact was familiar, even comfortable, and all of that changed when Casey's
arms automatically wrapped around his neck. Ryder groaned and then rolled,
taking her with him until she was the one on top and he was pinned beneath. She
heard him whisper her name. Felt his hands in her hair—down her back—cupping
her hips. Urgency sparked between them as their lips met again, then again, and
then again.
Her pulse was racing, his body was
betraying him. It was all there—from the wild glitter in his eyes, to the need
coiling deep in her belly. She lowered her forehead until it was touching the
space just above his heart. In spite of the heat between them she started to
shake.
Ryder groaned. They'd gone too
fast. But, dear Lord, who could have known they would go up in flames? They'd
blindsided each other with nothing more than a kiss. He was almost afraid to
guess at what might happen if they ever made love.
"Easy, Casey. Easy,
honey," he said softly, rubbing his hands up and down her back in a slow,
soothing motion. "That just got out of hand. I didn't mean to scare you,
okay?"
She rolled off him and got as far
as the side of the bed before covering her face with her hands. "Oh, my
God. Oh, my God."
Ryder silently cursed himself for
starting something they hadn't been ready to finish. But he'd gotten his
answer. Delaney Ruban's granddaughter might not love him, but she wasn't immune
to him either. There was something there. He just wasn't sure what it was. He
rolled over on his side and reached out, touching her back with the palm of his
hand. "Casey, look at me."
When she flinched, he got up with
a curse and walked out of the room.
She couldn't think, couldn't move,
couldn't speak. All she could do was remember his weight pressing her down and
never wanting the connection to stop. Of feeling his mouth cover hers, of
mingling breaths and racing hearts and resenting the clothing that separated
her skin from his.
The phone rang, and the timing
couldn't have been worse. Moments later, Ryder walked back in the room and
tossed the portable phone near her leg.
"It's for you."
Casey looked up, but he was
already gone. She picked up the phone with shaking hands and cleared her
throat. "Hello?"
"Mrs. Justice, this is
Charles Byner, down at the bank. I just need your
authorization to clear a check. It's quite a large sum above what's in the
account and I need your approval to authorize the draw."
Casey swept a hand through her
hair, trying to come to terms with reality. "I'm sorry," she said,
trying to focus. "What did you say?"
"No problem," he said.
"I'm really sorry to bother you at home, but Mr. Ruban had specific orders
with regards to these particular accounts and since you're now the one in
charge, I need authorization from you to clear the check, although it is more
than a thousand dollars over the balance."
Casey sat up straight, her mind
immediately jumping gears as she realized what he meant.
"Which account? Miles's or
Erica's?"
The clerk lowered his voice.
"It's the one in Mr. Dunn's name. The check is for twenty-six hundred
dollars. That's about eleven hundred dollars above the balance."
Casey stood. "What is the
balance, exactly?"
His voice lowered even more.
"Let me just pull that up on the screen. Yes … here it is. The balance as
of today is exactly $1,400.17."
Casey gritted her teeth. "And
was the usual amount of five thousand dollars deposited into that account at
the first of this month?"
"Ummm,
yes, ma'am, it was."
By now, Casey was livid. Delaney
had set a precedent years ago that was about to come to a screeching halt.
"Honor the check, Mr. Byner. I'll have enough
money transferred into the account to cover it, but I'll be at the bank first
thing Monday morning to make some new arrangements."
"Yes, ma'am," the clerk
said, and hung up.
Casey disconnected, then
immediately rang the bank back through another department and dealt with the
transfer in a no-nonsense voice. When she was finished, she headed for the
house phone on the kitchen wall.
"Tilly, is Miles at
home?"
"He's in the pool,"
Tilly answered.
"Would you please ask him to
meet me in the library? There's something we need to discuss."
She hung up to find Ryder watching
her.
"You okay?"
Casey's nerves were just beginning
to settle. She hadn't expected it, but knowing that in spite of what had just
happened between them, Ryder was still able to ask about her welfare, made her
feel safe.
"No," Casey said.
"But I will be."
"Need any backup?"
"Are you offering?"
The smile on his face was slight.
"Are you asking?"
"It might get ugly," she
said.
He dropped the clothes he was
carrying onto the back of a chair.
"Honey girl, the last few
months of my life haven't been anything but."
Surprised by the revelation, she
would have given a lot to continue this conversation. Ryder was closemouthed
with regards to anything about his past, and hearing him admit even this much
was a definite surprise. But the confrontation with Miles was long overdue, and
this latest stunt was, for Casey, the last straw.
"Then come if you want. For
better or worse, you are part of this family."
"Unless I think it matters,
you won't even know I'm around."
She nodded and started down the
stairs, and it wasn't until they'd entered the house and were on their way to
the library that she had fully accepted the impact of Ryder's presence in her
life. The problems within her world were no longer just hers. They were theirs.
She entered the room wearing an expression
the board members of Ruban Enterprises would have recognized. It was her no -
holds - barred - don't - mess - with - me look. Ryder had disappeared somewhere
between the library and the hall, yet she sensed he wouldn't be far away.
Unlike Miles, he wasn't the kind of man who went back on his word.
And Miles wasn't far behind. She
could hear the splat of bare feet on marble flooring as he made his way in from
the pool. The careless smile on his face was no more than she expected as he
sauntered into the library with a beach towel draped across his neck and water
dripping onto the floor.
"I'm here. What's up?"
he asked.
Casey schooled herself to a calm
she didn't feel. "I just had a call from the bank."
If she hadn't known him so well,
she might have missed the nervous flicker in his eyes.
He strolled over to the bar and
poured himself a drink, even taking a sip before asking, "And what does
that have to do with me?"
"Everything. It seems you
wrote a check you couldn't cover."
He shrugged. "Oh, that.
Delaney never used to mind when—"
"Delaney is dead,
remember?"
Miles blinked. It was his only
reaction to the cold, even tone of his half sister's voice.
"And in the grand scheme of
things, exactly what does that mean?" he drawled.
"It means your glory days are
over, Miles. I don't know what the hell you're doing with your money. I don't
even want to know. What I will tell you is that your world is slightly out of
sync, and as your loving sister, I intend to do all that I can to bring it back
in order."
He set the glass down with a
thump. "What are you getting at?"
"It's more a case of what are
you trying to pull? Any unemployed, thirty-year-old man should not be spending
in excess of five thousand dollars a month. Therefore, I am going to do you a
favor. As of Monday, you will report to Princeton Hamilton in the legal
department of Ruban Enterprises. You have a law degree. You're going to put it
to work."
Miles froze. An angry flush began
to spread from his neck, upward. "You bitch! You can't run my life."
Casey shrugged. "You're
right. But I'm running Ruban Enterprises, aren't I? I covered this hot check,
but I won't do it again. Also, there will be no more instant deposits into your
account, because as of the end of this month, it will be closed. No more free
rides, Miles."
Miles was so angry he couldn't
form a complete sentence. His hands were shaking as he yanked the towel from
around his neck and started toward her.
The urge to run was overwhelming,
but Casey stood her ground as he shoved his way into her space and thrust a
finger up against her nose.
"Don't let your power go to
your head, sister dear. Someone might just have to knock you off that pedestal
for your own damned good."
The anger on Miles's face was
impossible to ignore and the knowledge that their relationship had come to this
made her sick to her stomach. It hurt to know she was still the outcast when it
came to family love. She reached out to him.
"I'm not trying to play God,
Miles. You're my brother. I care for you very much, but don't you see? You're
wasting the best years of your life."
He slapped her hand away and then
grabbed her by the arm, yanking her sharply until she came close to crying
aloud. "You're going to be sorry for this," he said softly.
"You're going to be very, very sorry."
He turned and walked out of the
room, leaving Casey reeling from the venom in his voice. But his triumphant
exit ended four steps outside the library door. Ryder had him by the arm and
shoved up against the wall before he had time to call out for help. Miles had
seen plenty of angry men in his life, but he'd never been afraid until now.
Ryder slammed his hand in the
middle of Miles's chest, pinning him in place. "You son of a bitch. If I
ever hear you talk to your sister again like that, you'll wish you'd never been
born."
"It's none of your
business," Miles said, and felt shame that his voice was shaking.
"That's where you're wrong.
Whether any of you like it or not, she's my wife. What happens to her is my
business. And I'm telling you now, so you'll be forewarned, if anything ever
happens to Casey, I'm coming after you first."
So great was his fear that if
Ryder hadn't been holding him up, Miles would have been on the floor.
"What the hell do you mean by
that?"
"Exactly what I said,"
Ryder replied softly. "You better hope to God she doesn't have any
enemies, because from this day forward, I hold you responsible for her
welfare."
Miles's eyes bulged. "I would
never wish Casey any real harm. I was just mad, that's all. Hell's fire, man,
she's my sister."
"Then start acting like her
brother."
Miles went limp as all the anger
slid out of his heart. Truth hurt. "Let me go."
Ryder didn't move—didn't speak—and
didn't turn him loose.
Miles saw himself mirrored in
Ryder's eyes and didn't like what he saw. "I didn't mean what I said to
her. And I suppose in a way she's right."
Ryder turned him loose, but
refused to move back. "Remember what I said. She hurts—you bleed."
Miles took off down the hall as if
the devil were at his heels. By the time he got back to the pool, he'd
convinced himself that putting his education to work was not only going to
happen, but that it could have its benefits.
Ryder watched Miles until he was
out of the house, and then stepped inside the library. Casey was at the window,
staring out onto the lawn overlooking the back of the estate.
"Casey?"
She spun, and Ryder wished he'd
given in to the urge and punched Miles right in the face before they'd had
their little talk. She looked so hurt. So lost. So alone.
"I heard some of what you
said to Miles."
Ryder could tell there was
something serious on her mind. He waited for her to continue.
"I don't know how I got so
lucky, but I am forever grateful for your presence in my life."
He wanted to hold her. He settled
for a brief smile instead. "Oh, I don't know about that," he drawled.
"I'd come near saying that I'm the lucky one. Besides, we Justice men
don't take kindly to anyone messing with our women."
Casey swallowed a sigh. If only
she was his woman in the ways that counted. "So, are you telling me that
there's more than one of you that's been turned loose on the world out
there?"
The smile slid off his face and
she knew she'd said the wrong thing. "I'm not who matters," he said
shortly. "I don't think Miles will give you any more trouble, but if he
does, you know where I'll be."
He walked out and she had the
strangest sensation that he'd just walked out of her life, rather than out of the
room. In fact, the thought was so strong that she actually followed him through
the house, then stood in the doorway and watched until he entered their
apartment.
What did I say? What was it that
turned him off and sent him running?
* * *
But there were no answers for
Casey, at least not today. However, when the mailman drove away from the
Justice ranch outside of Dallas, he gave Royal Justice a clue to solving a
mystery that had been worrying him and his brother, Roman, for months.
"Daddy, Daddy, I bwought you da mail."
Ignoring the trail of letters and
papers she was stringing as she ran, Royal Justice swung his three-year-old
daughter, Madeline, up in his arms and kissed her soundly.
"You sure did, honey. You're
getting to be such a big girl."
"Gwinny
helped," Maddie said, pointing at the
baby-sitter who was coming behind at a fast clip, picking up the pieces that
Maddie had lost.
"Good for Gwinny,"
Royal said. Gwinneth Anderson grinned, handed Royal
Justice the rest of his mail, and took Maddie by the hand. "Come on,
Scooter, it's time to feed the pups."
Maddie bolted, leaving Royal with
a handful of letters and a smile on his face. He dropped into the nearest chair
and began going through the mail with a practiced eye, discarding the junk and
setting aside the bills to be paid. Every now and then one would be addressed
to his brother, Ryder, and that one was tossed into a box with an accumulating
stack that threatened to overflow. It was all he knew to do. It was Roman who'd
saved Ryder's business from ruin.
Roman had taken over the charter
service without batting an eye, claiming he could run his private investigation
service and Ryder's charter business in the same location. He hired two pilots,
an accountant, and then dug in for the long haul, convinced that Ryder would be
back when he was ready.
Privately, Royal was a lot less
optimistic, but that was just the difference in their personalities, not a
lesser belief in the brother who was missing. He loved Ryder as much as Roman
did and worried daily about his whereabouts, sometimes even wondering if he was
still alive. It had been so long and they hadn't had a word.
He was down to the
next-to-the-last letter in the lot, and he started to toss it in Ryder's box
when he looked at the return address. MasterCard. No big deal. Everyone has
credit cards.
And then he realized what he was
looking at and took a deep breath as he tore into the flap. When he pulled out
the itemized bill, he started to shake. Someone had used Ryder's card! Over the
period of three weeks, someone had charged several hundred dollars' worth of
men's clothing in Ryder's name.
Royal was as scared as he'd ever
been in his life. Either Ryder was alive and well and buying up a storm, or someone
was using his card. The implications of how anyone might come by Ryder's
belongings was more than he could handle alone. He bolted up from the chair and
headed for the phone. Moments later, a familiar voice growled in his ear.
"This is Justice Air and The
Justice Way. State your business and we'll get back to you as soon as
possible."
Royal groaned. That damned
answering machine. When it beeped, he started talking.
"Roman, this is Royal. I just
got a letter from—"
"It's me," Roman said.
"Well, hell," Royal
said. "Why didn't you pick up the first time?"
"Wasn't in the mood to
chitchat," he said shortly.
Royal cursed beneath his breath.
That was so typically Roman. "The mail just came."
Roman snorted indelicately.
"Don't tell me. You just won the Publisher's Clearing House
Sweepstakes."
"Oh, shut the hell up,"
Royal muttered. "I'm serious."
"And I'm busy," Roman
said. "Unless my favorite niece has done something utterly charming that I
need to know about, I don't have time to—"
"Someone charged nearly a
thousand dollars on Ryder's MasterCard. The bill came today."
Sarcasm was noticeably missing as
Roman snapped, "Give me the dates. The store codes, anything that—no,
wait! I've got a better idea. Fax me a copy of the bill."
"Oh, hell," Royal said.
"You know I'm not good at making that damned thing work."
"Then get Maddie to help. She
knows how," Roman said. "And do it now. If Ryder's alive, I'll find
out soon enough. If someone is using his ID, they're going to wish they'd never
been born."
"It's on its way," Royal
said, and hung up the phone.
He turned, staring at the fax
machine on the desk near the window, facing the fact that while he knew just
about everything there was to know about ranching, the age of computers had him
hanging in air. It was humiliating to know that a three-year-old could do what
he had yet to accomplish, but this concerned Ryder, and it was no time to get
macho about a damned old machine.
He headed for the back door at a
fast clip. "Hey, Maddie," he yelled. "Come help me fax something
to Uncle Roman."
Chapter 10
By Labor Day, Miles had
become Eudora's fair-haired boy. Somehow, the fact that he was gainfully employed
had become his idea and Casey's ultimatum had never happened. She couldn't have
cared less who took the credit. His streak of ambition had even rubbed off on
Erica. She kept making noises about pursuing a career of her own and spent
hours each day poring over Fortune 500 magazines in search of ideas.
At night when it was time to go to
bed, Ryder no longer wandered in and out of the bedroom in various stages of
undress. Casey had her bathroom all to herself and began to realize why Ryder
had become so upset when she'd moved him out of her life. The routine they'd
been in had become normal, even comforting, and it was over. Because of the new
bedroom, whatever connection they'd made between themselves was gone. In an odd
sort of way, it was like being divorced.
But the awareness between them
kept growing. It was there in the way Ryder watched her when he thought she
wasn't looking—and the way his hand lingered on her arm long after the need for
keeping her balance had come and gone—even the brief, sibling-like kisses they
left on each other's cheek before saying good-night. They were wanna-be lovers,
playing at being friends. And always, in the back of their minds, was the
knowledge that the marriage they shared was a farce and the lie they were living
was the very wedge that kept them apart.
* * *
It was just past noon when Casey
turned off the highway and accelerated up the driveway into the Ruban estate,
gunning the engine of her new car and taking the curve in a near skid. She
pulled up to the garage and stopped just as Ryder slid out from beneath the
Lincoln. His black hair was windblown and the grin on his face was too
devil-may-care to ignore. His jeans were oil-slicked, his chest brown and bare.
He was wiping his hands on a rag as he headed her way. "Where's the
fire?"
She wanted to throw her arms
around his neck and beg him to crawl back under that car and take her with him,
but she couldn't. At least, not today.
She bolted for the stairs. "I
know, I was driving a little too fast, but I'm in a hurry." She hiked up
her skirt and began to run up the steps, two at a time.
"Take off those damned high
heels if you're going to run like that," Ryder yelled. When she didn't
oblige, he threw down the grease rag. "Hardheaded woman," he
muttered, and followed her inside.
She was in the bedroom. A suitcase
was open and she was yanking clothes from a hanger and tossing them on the bed
with abandon. Anxiety seized him. She was packing to travel. "What's the
rush?"
"I've got to be in Chicago by
morning. I have less than an hour and a half to get packed and get to the
airport." She turned in a helpless circle, then dived back into the bottom
of her closet, muttering as shoes came flying out behind her. "I can't
find my black heels."
Ryder bent down and picked up a
pair from the pile in the floor. "Like these?"
She straightened. A smile creased
her face as she yanked them from his hands. "Yes! You're a magician.
Thanks a bunch."
His belly was starting to turn. He
kept telling himself it was going to be okay, that the only reason this was
bothering him was because the news was so sudden.
"So, what's in Chicago?"
"Digidyne
Industries. We've been after them for years. Once before, Delaney had the deal
all but done and they backed out. I just got a call that the CEO had a heart
attack and died. The heirs are going to put it on the auction block and I want
first dibs."
Ryder started to pace,
sidestepping her trips from the closet and back as she packed what she needed
to wear. "So, it's a big deal, huh?"
"Very! I'm lucky that
Delaney's old contact even thought to make the call and let me know. Otherwise,
we would have been out in the cold."
"Yeah, that was lucky all
right." He sat down on the edge of the bed, staring at the toes of his
boots.
Casey glanced up. "You need
to hurry and clean up. We're going to have to drive like mad to make my
plane." Then she grinned. "However, that should pose no problem for
you." It was a joke within the household that the family chauffeur drove,
as Eudora had put it, "Like a bat coming out of hell with its wings on
fire."
"Yeah, no problem,"
Ryder said, and walked out.
A few minutes later, Casey burst
into his room, her face flushed with energy, her eyes alight with excitement.
"I'm ready."
Ryder walked out of the bathroom,
buttoning a clean shirt. He didn't stop to analyze the wisdom of what he was
about to do, he just knew that if he let her get on that damned plane without a
piece of his heart, he wouldn't make it until she got back.
Casey went willingly as he took
her in his arms and crushed her against his chest in a smothering embrace.
"Just be careful, okay?"
She laughed. "Tell that to
the pilot. I'm afraid it's out of my hands."
He groaned and threaded his fingers
through her hair, crushing the curls and dragging her closer. "Don't make
light of fate, Casey Dee. Sometimes when you're not looking, it'll kick you
right in the teeth."
The first thought in Casey's mind
was that he wasn't kidding. Even more, he seemed panicked about the upcoming
flight.
"I'll be fine," she
said. "This happens to me all the time. Year before last, Delaney and I
logged over seven thousand miles in the air. Of course we were in Europe three
times, but that was an unusual year."
God, keep her safe, Ryder thought,
then he lowered his mouth and drew her close. Casey closed her eyes, yielding,
bending to his will and embrace, swept away by the unexpected demands of a kiss
that left her breathless and more than a little bit stunned.
When he whispered against her
cheek, she opened her eyes. His panic had become contagious.
"I want you back in one
piece."
She shivered. She'd never seen him
like this. It was almost as if he were in some kind of pain.
"I'll certainly do my
best," she said, trying to lighten the moment. She grabbed at the undone
buttons on his shirt and started buttoning them up. "I'm sorry to repeat
myself, but we've got to hurry."
He tucked in his shirt and picked
up her bags. His heart was pounding.
"Go get in the car," he
grumbled. "I'll make sure you catch that damned plane. But when you get
back, we need to talk."
Casey looked startled. An
ultimatum?
She got in the car, watching as he
dumped her bags in the trunk and then slid behind the wheel. Something was
wrong, terribly wrong. If only they had time to talk now. She looked at her
watch. They would be lucky if they made the plane, never mind finishing a
conversation.
He only glanced at her once.
"Buckle up."
She'd ridden with him too many times
before to doubt the necessity of doing as he'd asked. She did as she was told.
* * *
Casey was the last passenger to
get on. She stood in the boarding area with her ticket in hand, waiting for the
attendant to give her a boarding pass. Ryder stood beside her, pale-faced and
stoic, yet his eyes never left her face. She reached out and touched his hand,
wishing their circumstances were different, wishing she could throw herself in
his arms and tell him he meant more to her than she could say.
"I'll call as soon as we land
and let you know where I'll be staying."
Ryder nodded, trying to maintain
his equilibrium, but he felt sick. The high-pitched whine of the jet's engines
vibrated the windows overlooking the runway. In seconds, Casey was going to be up
in that sky, and he knew only too well it was a hell of a long way down. He
wanted to grab her and shake her until she listened to sense. Ruban Enterprises
didn't need another Fortune 500 business. It was already a gargantuan
conglomerate of its own accord. Why acquire more?
But he couldn't find a way to say
what was in his heart. He couldn't say, I'm afraid I'll lose you like I lost my
father. He couldn't say, I'm afraid I'll lose you before we ever make love. He
couldn't say, I love you—because that wasn't part of the deal.
And then waiting was no longer an
option.
"Take care!" Casey
shouted, and started running down the gate toward the plane.
Ryder took several steps forward
when the attendant grabbed his arm. "Sorry, sir, this is as far as you can
go." He groaned. God help him, but he'd missed his chance. Just when he'd
found a way to say the words without coming apart, she was gone.
He went to the observation deck,
watching as the big silver plane started backing out of its slot. His fingers
knotted around the rail as it rolled onto the runway. And when liftoff came,
sweat was running down the middle of his back and he was praying with every
breath. When the plane was no longer in sight, Ryder leaned his forehead
against the vast expanse of glass, unaware of the heat against his brow. He
closed his eyes, trying to picture her face.
"I love you, Casey." But
when all was said and done, he was a case of too little, too late.
* * *
It was almost sundown when Ryder
walked into the apartment. His heart sank as a red blinking light winked at him
from across the room. He tossed the car keys on the kitchen counter and pressed
the button, waiting for the sound of Casey's voice.
"Hi, there. Sorry I missed
you. I'm staying at the Ritz Carlton. Here is the number." Ryder jotted it
down as she spoke, then settled back to listen to the rest of the message.
"The flight was fine, just a little bumpy. I'll be in meetings all day
tomorrow, but I'll try to call you tomorrow night. Take care." She paused,
and Ryder would have sworn he heard her take a deep breath. "Well … anyway
… I'll miss you."
The machine beeped. The message
was over. Casey was gone. He played it over once more just to listen to the sound
of her voice, and wished to hell that Dora hadn't broken a nail. She'd had a
fit the size of Dallas and nothing had satisfied her but to make an emergency
run to her manicurist to get it fixed. He'd missed Casey's call because of a
broken nail.
The house phone rang. "Now
what?" he muttered, and shoved himself out of the chair. Tilly was on the
line.
"I'm making pot roast. You
come on over here and get yourself some food."
The last thing he wanted was to
eat or to talk. Casey hadn't been gone four hours and already there was a hole
inside of him that food couldn't fill.
"Thanks, but I think I'll
just stick around here for the evening."
"If you change your mind, you
know how to get here."
"Yes, ma'am, I do."
He hung up and then headed for the
shower. After he cleaned up, maybe he'd watch a little TV, have an early night.
After all, he had the whole place to himself. And it was the loneliest feeling
he could ever remember.
* * *
By morning, it had started to
rain. By the next day, and then the next, it alternated between gray skies and
drizzle, with a downpour now and then in between. And as if the rain wasn't bad
enough, a line of heavy thunderstorms was pushing its way into the state and
today was the day that Casey was due to come home.
He sat at the window looking out
at the rain, ignoring the fact that today he'd already angered Erica and caused
Eudora to have to change her plans.
He didn't give a damn that Erica
had a lunch date with a banker to discuss buying a business. He couldn't have
cared less whether or not Dora was going to miss her bridge luncheon. Erica
knew how to drive and Dora could take a cab.
Erica argued, then whined, then
begged. When she realized that nothing was working, she started in with what
she considered simple reasoning. If she drove herself, then there was no way
she could keep from having to walk in the rain. At this point, Ryder had heard
enough.
"Where are you meeting the
banker for lunch?" he asked.
She sniffed. "The Tea
Room."
"Take an umbrella, and use their
valet parking."
Erica knew when she'd been had.
She rolled her eyes and flounced out of the library, muttering beneath her
breath about hardheaded men who did not know their place.
Eudora patted her hair and
straightened her belt. She was certain that the rapport she'd developed with
this man would bring him around.
"Ryder, dear, it's Evadine Nelson's turn to play hostess for the bridge club.
She lives right at the edge of town, remember? Hers is that big white house
with the portico that I so admire."
"Yes, ma'am, I remember the
house," Ryder said.
Eudora beamed. "Then you
won't mind just dropping me off. It won't take more than half an hour either
way. If Delaney hadn't insisted on building this place out in the middle of
nowhere, we wouldn't be so isolated."
Ryder shook his head. "Dora,
you weren't listening to me. I'm not budging until Casey calls. Dammit, look
outside. There's a storm due in within hours. Chances are, her plane will be
delayed, or the pilot will wind up trying to outrun it. Either way, I want to
know what the hell is going on. I'll call a cab for you, but I'm not playing
chauffeur today and that's that."
She rolled her eyes. "You
know, things have been upside down ever since Casey brought you into this
family. You're supposed to be the chauffeur. Chauffeurs are supposed to do as
they're told." She tried to glare.
"So fire me," he said,
and kissed her cheek, which brought a smile to her eyes that she just couldn't
hide.
"Go on with you then,"
she spluttered. "Go sit and wait for that phone call." She walked
away, mumbling beneath her breath. "Land sakes, what will Evadine say? Me coming to her door in a cab, like some
commoner."
Ryder followed her out the door.
"Dora, you are a fine lady, but you are not the Queen Mother. Taking a cab
now and then is good for the soul."
Eudora pivoted, giving him a cool,
pointed stare. "I declare," she said, about to give him a piece of
her mind, but Ryder didn't wait around to listen.
He ran from the main house all the
way across the courtyard, then up the stairs just ahead of a cool gust of wind.
Pausing at the landing, he looked up at the sky, judging the dark, angry swirl
of clouds overhead. Today was not a good day to fly.
As soon as he entered the apartment,
he turned on the television and flipped to a local station he knew would be
broadcasting weather bulletins all day. With the phone at his side, he sat down
to wait for her call.
A half hour went by. By this time
he was pacing the floor. She'd promised to call before she left. She wasn't the
kind of person who'd break a promise.
"A line of severe
thunderstorms is blanketing the state," the TV announcer stated.
He turned toward the television,
picked up the remote and upped the volume.
"Wind velocities have been
measured at fifty to sixty miles per hour with gusts up to seventy and eighty.
Authorities advise staying off of the roads and avoiding low-lying areas that
are prone to flooding."
He glanced toward his bedroom. A
sheet of rain splattered itself against the sliding glass doors that led onto
the deck. His belly tied itself in a knot and he frowned, trying once again to
focus on the weather man's report.
"The line runs from…"
Ryder groaned. On the map, the
line of storms was virtually from the top to bottom of the state and moving
eastward at a very fast pace. What was even more disturbing, the front extended
across a large portion of the northern states, including Illinois. Maybe that's
why he hadn't heard anything. Maybe her flight had been delayed and she was
waiting for new information before she called.
No sooner had he thought it than
the phone rang right near his hand. He jumped and then grabbed it before it had
time to ring again.
"Hello?"
"Ryder! It's me! I'm in a cab
on the way to the airport. Traffic is a mess, but I'll make my flight. I should
get into Ruban Crossing around three. Can you pick me up?"
"What's the weather like up
there?"
"Ummm,
it's raining a little, but no big deal."
No big deal. "It's raining
like crazy here. Why don't you just take a later flight, or better yet, take
the first one out tomorrow?"
She laughed. "Now I know I've
been gone too long. You are already making excuses as to why I shouldn't come
back."
He got up and walked to the sliding
glass doors and then jumped when a stroke of lightning tore across the sky
right above his head. "Did you hear that?" he asked, as the phone
cracked in his ear. "A storm front is moving through. Today is not a good
day to fly."
There was laughter in her voice.
"It will be fine. You know they won't take off if there's any danger.
Besides, the pilots usually just fly above the storms and land behind
them."
He felt sick. Something inside
kept telling him this was wrong—so wrong. "Casey, don't. I know what I'm
talking about. Please, for God's sake, don't get on that plane."
The underlying fear in his voice
was about to make her nervous. She decided to change the subject. "You
didn't even ask me if the deal went through!"
He sighed and shifted the phone to
the other ear. "Okay, I'll bite. How did the meetings go?"
She hugged herself, resisting the
urge to giggle. She was pretty sure that CEOs did not giggle. "We got
it!" she crowed. "It's a done deal. I swear, Delaney is probably
rolling over in his grave as we speak."
"Don't be talking about
graves."
She laughed. "Just be at the
airport. I can't wait to get home." Their connection began to break up.
"Remember," Casey said. "Flight 209. Three o'clock."
"Dammit, Casey, I don't want
you to—"
The line was dead. Ryder hung up
with a curse and sat back down, staring at the television as if it were the
lifeline between himself and sanity.
* * *
Ryder heard someone groan. That's
when he looked up at the airport monitor, watching as the On Time notice of Flight
209 from Chicago was changed to Delayed.
His gut hitched itself into a
knot. It figured. While it wasn't raining at the moment, the sky was black and
the intermittent flashes of cloud-to-ground lightning could be seen for miles.
It was an all too familiar scene. One right out of his nightmares.
He stood and walked to the
observation point overlooking the runway. A couple of planes were waiting to
take off, another was off-loading. Except for the weather, nothing seemed out
of sync.
I'm just borrowing trouble.
Fifteen minutes passed, and then
Flight 209 was a half hour late and before he knew it, an hour overdue. And the
information on the monitor hadn't changed.
He'd been up and down the terminal
a dozen times, walking, trying to pass the time and ease the nervous tension
that kept growing within him. Now he was back at the arrival gate, standing at
the windows and watching the skies.
Suddenly, the skin crawled on the
back of his neck and he turned. Nearby, a child was crying. A teenager was on a
cell phone. A weary traveler had given in to exhaustion and was sound asleep,
his head lolling, his mouth slack as every now and then a slight snore escaped.
The attendant at the check-in desk was on the phone. Nothing out of the
ordinary. Nothing to warrant the gut-wrenching instinct he'd had that he was
about to be attacked.
He glanced up at the monitor and
sighed, then out of curiosity, back at the attendant. But when her expression
suddenly froze and he saw her look up in fright, the same sensation came over
him again, this time pulling a kink in the knot already present in his belly.
Easy. It doesn't mean a thing.
Down the broad walkway, a small
horn honked three times in succession. "Coming through. Coming
through."
His focus shifted to the electric
cart coming down the terminal. It stopped in front of the attendant's desk as
she ran out from behind the counter. When she handed the driver a computer
printout, the other man grimaced and wiped a hand across his face. Ryder stared
as they scanned the list together. When the driver lifted his head and began to
scan the waiting area, Ryder knew. He didn't know how, but he knew.
He started walking—past the crying
child, past the teenager on the cell phone, past the sleeping traveler. He came
to a halt directly in front of the cart and didn't wait for permission to
interrupt.
"What happened?"
Both men looked up at him at once.
But it was the glance they shared before one of them spoke that nearly sent
Ryder to his knees. He'd been right. Something was worse than wrong.
"I'm sorry, sir? Were you
speaking to us?" the driver asked.
Ryder leaned forward and pointed
to the readout. "Don't play games."
Before either one of them could
answer, an announcement came over the loudspeaker.
"All those waiting for
information regarding the arrival of Flight 209 out of Chicago, please go to
the VIP lounge in the west wing."
Ryder stared into the eyes of the
man behind the wheel and felt the ground coming up to hit him in the face. He
leaned forward, steadying himself on the cart.
"Are you all right?" the
man asked.
Ryder took a deep breath and
lifted his head. "Should I be?"
The man looked away.
Ryder's voice died on a prayer.
"Oh, God … no."
"Sir, you need to go to the
VIP lounge in—"
"I heard," he said
shortly, and walked away, following the small crowd of people who were making
their way down the terminal. A few looked nervous, aware that the request was
unorthodox. Some merely followed directions—like cattle on their way to a slaughter.
An official from the airline was
waiting for them inside the door. And Ryder stood with the crowd, listening to
the end of his world and wondering how a man was supposed to live with so
damned much regret.
"We're sorry to inform you
that Flight 209 has crashed in a cornfield just outside the Illinois
border."
A few started to cry. Others
stood, like Ryder, waiting for the miracle that would pronounce their loved
ones okay. "At this point, we don't know why this has happened, but there
have been eyewitness reports that lead us to believe the plane might have been
struck by lightning. We do know it was on fire when it went down."
Someone's perfume was too strong.
The cloying scent drifted up Ryder's nostrils. From this day on, he would hate
the smell of musk. A woman shrieked and sank to the floor while a man somewhere
behind Ryder started to curse.
"On behalf of our airline, I
am very sorry to have to tell you…"
Ryder tilted his chin and closed
his eyes, waiting for the blow.
"…there were no survivors."
The wail that spread across the
room began as a joint groan of disbelief. Ryder covered his face and then
wished he'd covered his ears, instead. Maybe if he hadn't heard it, it wouldn't
be true.
They were saying something about a
passenger list and a verification of names, but he couldn't stand still. He
knew if he didn't get out, he was going to come undone. He burst out of the
lounge, even as someone was calling him back, and started the long walk back
down the terminal.
One step at a time. That's how he
would get out of the airport. But how would he get home? How could he face that
apartment without Casey?
But as far as he walked, he knew
he couldn't run away from the truth. He'd spent the last seven months trying to
forget what he'd done to his father and now this? How far, he wondered, would
he have to run to get away from Casey's ghost? And with every step that he
took, the thing that hurt worst was knowing he'd never said, I love you.
* * *
Casey kept glancing at her watch,
then out the window of the plane. Neither hastened the arrival time of her
flight. She was going to be at least an hour late getting home. Poor Ryder. He
would no sooner get back to the apartment and hear her message on the machine
than he'd have to come right back to the airport again.
She leaned her head against the
seat and closed her eyes, weary from the grueling three-day set of
negotiations. But it was done! She'd proven her mettle in more ways than one.
She'd been thrust into Delaney Ruban's shoes far earlier than she'd ever
envisioned, and while she'd known what to do, it was the doing she'd
accomplished that made her feel proud. Delaney had worked all his life to
create his empire. She couldn't have lived with herself if she'd been the cause
of its ruin.
Yet the glow she had expected to
feel from her success was dim in comparison to the anticipation she felt in
just getting home to the man who was her husband. She kept remembering their
first meeting in Sonny's Bar, of how he'd come out of the shadows and into her
life. Now she couldn't imagine what her life would be like without him.
Half an hour into the flight, the
plane lurched, and she grabbed at her seat belt, testing the lock that was
firmly in place. A few seconds later, it leveled back off and she relaxed. Ryder
had been right. This wasn't a good day to fly. Intermittent turbulence had been
nonstop since takeoff, and she told herself she should have seen it coming.
Right after she'd talked to Ryder,
her cab had come to a complete halt on the freeway. Traffic had snarled itself
into a knot that only time had been unable to unravel. She'd known then that
unless a miracle occurred, she was going to miss her flight.
For Casey, the miracle did occur,
but not in the way she'd envisioned. She arrived at the airport forty-five
minutes late. Not only had she missed her flight, she'd missed her lunch and
her mood was not getting better. Just when she thought she was going to have to
spend another night in Chicago after all, an airline with a later flight into
Ruban Crossing had a cancellation. At last she was on her way home.
"Ladies and gentlemen, we
will be arriving in Ruban Crossing in about five minutes. Please turn off all
electronic and computer devices and prepare for landing."
Casey did so with anticipation. If
Ryder hadn't already received her call about the change in flights, she would
call home as soon as she got to a phone. By the time she collected her luggage,
he would be picking her up.
And then the plane touched down and
taxied down the runway, then up to the gate to unload. It was one of the few
times in her life she wasn't flying first class, but she didn't even mind
having to sit toward the back of the plane, or being one of the last to get
off. She was home.
* * *
Ryder moved aside out of instinct
as a fresh swarm of passengers began to come out of the hallway to his right.
His hands started to shake as he watched a man laugh and wave to a woman and
child who were just arriving.
It isn't fair. That damned plane got
here in one piece. Why not hers?
Twice he tried to move through the
crowd and was unsuccessful each time, so he stood against the wail, waiting as
face after smiling face moved past. Finally the flow was down to single file
and he stepped away from the wall.
"Ryder!"
The hair stood up on the back of
his neck and he stopped, but couldn't bring himself to turn. He had to be
hearing things. Just for a moment, he thought he'd heard Casey calling his
name.
He took a deep breath, clenched
his teeth, and started moving again.
"Ryder! Wait!"
He groaned. God! He hadn't even
been this bad after Micah was killed.
Someone grabbed his arm and he
turned.
Casey dropped her briefcase and
threw her arms around his neck. "I can't believe you're still here! This
is fabulous luck! I thought I would have to—"
When her arms went around his
neck, he started to shake. And when he felt her breath on his face, and her
laughter rumble across his senses, he lifted her off her feet.
"My God … my God." It
was all he could say as he buried his face against her neck, turning them both
in a small, tight circle in the middle of the crowd.
His grip was almost painful, but
Casey laughed as her feet dangled off the floor. This was definitely the way to
be welcomed home.
"Maybe I should have stayed
that extra day after all," she said. "If absence makes the—"
"You're alive."
The laugh died in her voice.
"Of course I'm alive."
He set her down on the floor, then
cupped her face in his hands, and the tears in his eyes were impossible to
miss. "You missed your plane, didn't you?"
She nodded. "You wouldn't
believe the traffic jam my cab got in. I missed my flight, my lunch, my—"
"The plane crashed. There
were no survivors. I thought you were dead."
She paled and then clutched at his
arm, fixing her gaze on the shape of his mouth and the words coming out. She
shook her head, finding it difficult to believe what he was telling her, but he
was too distraught to ignore. Goose bumps broke out on her skin as the impact
began to sink in.
"When my cab got stuck in
traffic, the first thing I thought was if I missed my plane, I wouldn't get to
go home, and if I didn't get home, I would have to spend another night away
from you."
Ryder's heart skipped a beat.
"I missed you, too," he said softly.
"No, you don't quite
understand," Casey said. "I did something selfish, very selfish, as I
sat in that cab. I prayed for a miracle so I could get home. When I missed my
plane, I was certain my prayer had not been answered." Tears filled her
eyes. "Oh Ryder, why me? Why was I spared when so many others had to
die?"
He crushed her to him. "I
don't know, and I don't care. All I know is, five minutes ago I was trying to
find a reason to take another damned breath and now…" Unable to finish, he
held her close as a shudder swept through his body.
Suddenly, Casey felt like crying.
"Ryder?"
He eased up, but was unable to
quit touching her and began brushing the hair from her face. "What is it,
honey?"
"Will you take me home?"
He held out his hand.
Chapter 11
Casey kept trying to
focus on the familiarity of the countryside through which they were driving,
but all she kept seeing was the look on Ryder's face when he'd turned around at
the airport and seen her. It hadn't been filled with concern, it had been torn
by devastation. To her, that meant only one thing. He cared for her as much as
she had learned to care for him. Oh God, please don't let me be setting myself
up for a fall, she thought.
"I'm going to let you out at
the big house," Ryder said. "You need to let your family know that
you're safe just in case they've heard broadcasts about the crash."
Casey couldn't quit trembling. For
some reason, her life had been spared and she didn't understand why. Ryder's
presence was solid, unwavering; she felt a need to stay within the sound of his
voice. "Where will you be?"
Just for a second he took his eyes
off the road. "Right where I've been for the last three days. Waiting for
you to come home."
She looked out the window and
started to cry. "Oh Ryder, why? All those people. They'll never come
home."
He saw Micah's face in his mind
and as he did, suddenly realized that the pain of the last few months wasn't as
sharp as it had been. Ever conscious of the woman in the seat beside him, he
had to face the fact that if it hadn't been for a tragedy, he and Casey would
never have met. He tried to imagine his life without her and couldn't.
Something inside him clicked.
"I don't know, but I'm
beginning to accept that everything that happens to us in life happens for a
reason."
Her voice was shaking. "What
could possibly be the reason for so many deaths?"
His voice was gruff as he turned
off the highway. "Damned if I know. Maybe it was just their time to
go."
Moments later, the gray slate roof
of the main house appeared over the tops of the trees, and soon afterward, the
house itself was visible.
"You're home," Ryder
said.
Casey's gaze moved from the mansion
to the small, unobtrusive apartment over the garage. "Yes, so I am."
* * *
It was the red blinking light on
the answering machine that drew him into the apartment. He knew what it said, but
he played it anyway, reliving his joy as he waited for the sound of Casey's
voice to fill the room.
"Ryder, it's me, again. This
day couldn't get much worse. I missed my flight."
He closed his eyes, listening to
the rest of the message and feeling awed by the twist fate had taken on their
behalf. When it was over he put her suitcase on her bed, then looked around.
Some changes had taken place since he'd left to pick her up.
The apartment was clean. Bea had
probably seen to that. A fresh bouquet of flowers was on her bedside table,
more than likely thanks to Eudora. She was big on flowers. He walked out of the
room and into the kitchen. There was a note on the refrigerator door. Thanks to
Tilly, there was food inside, ready to be eaten.
He turned on the faucet and let
the water run until it was cool, then filled a glass and drank it dry; filled
it again, and did the same. When he put it down empty, his hand was shaking. He
walked into his bedroom and sat down on the edge of the bed.
The intense quiet assailed him and
for the first time since Casey had grabbed his arm in the airport and turned
the light back on in his world, he let himself think of the brief period of
time when he'd thought she was dead. Uppermost had been the overwhelming sense
of pain and loss, but there'd also been regret. Regret that their lives had
been so screwed up when they met. Regret that he'd never said aloud what he
knew in his heart to be true.
A shuddering breath slid up and
out of his throat. He'd been given a second chance, and he wasn't going to
waste precious time again. Footsteps sounded on the stairs outside. He tensed.
It was Casey. The front door opened and he heard her call out.
"Ryder?"
He stood. For him, there was no
turning back.
"Oh, there you are! It was so
quiet I didn't think you were here."
He paused in the doorway, staring
at her and memorizing the way she looked and the way she moved. Her long, black
hair was pinned up off her neck and slightly tousled from travel. Her eyes were
wide and still a little shocked, her lips looked tender, almost bruised, as if
she'd bitten them to keep from crying, which he supposed she had. He watched as
she absently brushed at a speck on her suit. Red was a power color, she'd told
him. He could definitely agree. She held a power over him he couldn't ignore.
When she stepped out of her shoes
and bent down to pick them up, the hem of her skirt slid even higher up her
legs, accentuating their length. His heart filled. That woman was his wife.
"Casey."
She glanced up, her shoes still in
her hand.
"I need to tell you
something."
That's right! He'd told her the
day she left that when she got back they needed to talk. Her heart skipped a
beat as she waited for him to continue. Instead, he started toward her.
"Today, when I thought I'd
lost you, do you know what I regretted most?"
She shook her head, her eyes
widening as he cupped her cheek.
"That I hadn't told you the
truth about how I felt." His gaze bored into hers. "I know what I'm
going to say wasn't part of our bargain, but dammit, sometimes things change. I
am sick and tired of pretending I'm satisfied with being your husband in name
only. I love you, lady. I want to lie with you, make love with you. I don't
want another night to pass without holding you in my arms. If you can't handle
this, then say so, because in about three seconds, it'll be too late."
Casey's eyes were full of tears as
she dropped her shoes and put her arms around his neck. "Why waste three
seconds when the answer is yes … a thousand times yes?"
Ryder reached behind her and
locked the door, then her feet left the floor. "Your place or mine?"
"Anywhere, Ryder, as long as
you're there."
He headed for his bedroom with her
in his arms. When he put her down, his hands went straight to the buttons on
her suit. His voice was shaking. "God give me strength," he
whispered, fumbling as he tried to push buttons through holes.
"Let me," Casey said,
and finished what he'd been trying to do.
She walked toward the sliding
glass doors, pulling shut the drapes as she dropped the jacket of her suit on a
nearby chair. On her way back to Ryder she stepped out of her skirt.
He wasn't prepared for the woman
beneath the suit; not the wisp of red bra, the matching bikini panties, the
long, silk stockings or the black lace garter belt holding them up. And this
time, when he swept her off her feet, he wrapped her legs around his waist and
sank down onto the bed with her still in his arms.
He nuzzled the curve of her neck,
savoring the joy of being able to hold her, inhaling the faint but lingering
scent of her perfume, testing the soft crush of her breasts against his chest,
and knowing that the tight draw of his own muscles next to that wisp of red
silk between her legs was becoming difficult to ignore. He held her close,
savoring the joy of knowing she was still alive.
"Today I rode a roller
coaster into hell and came out with an angel in my arms. I don't know why we
were given a second chance, but I don't intend to waste it."
Her arms tightened around his neck
as she rained brief, tiny kisses along the side of his cheek and his chin. He
grabbed her face, gazing into her eyes and watching them fill with tears until
he thought he could see all the way to her soul.
"I feel like I'm about to
make love to a ghost. I can't believe I'm holding you, feeling your breath on
my cheek, your arms around my neck. I must be the luckiest man in the
world."
Casey's breath snagged on a sob.
"I'm the one who got lucky. The day I got lost in the flatlands and found
you in Sonny's Bar was the day my life began to change. You've stood with me.
You've stood by me. I will never be able to repay you for what you've already
done in my name."
"Hell, darlin', I don't want
your money. I want your love."
"Then take it, Ryder. It's
yours."
He rolled until she was lying
beneath him in those bits of red-and-black lace. With an impatient snap, he
undid the clasps on her garter belt and rolled down her stockings, one silken
inch at a time.
Longing to be one with this man
was driving Casey to the brink of making a fool of herself. She struggled to
help as he undid her bra. But when he hooked his thumbs in the waistband of her
bikini briefs and started pulling them down, she moaned and closed her eyes.
Ryder leaned down and kissed the
valley between her breasts.
His breath was soft against her
face as he moved to her lips. "Are you okay?"
"No," she gasped, and
tunneled her fingers through his hair. "Unless you hurry, I may never be
okay again."
After that, he came out of his
clothes with no regard to order, and when he threaded his fingers through hers
and stretched out beside her, he closed his eyes and said a last small prayer
of thanksgiving that he'd been given this chance. Then Ryder Justice made love
to his wife.
* * *
Casey propped herself on one
elbow, looking at Ryder as he slept. She knew the shape of his face, the nearly
square, stubborn jaw. Her gaze moved to his hands—broad and strong with long,
supple fingers. She shivered, remembering what they'd done to her body in the
name of love. Dear Lord, but he knew the buttons to push to make a strong woman
weak with longing.
His chest rose and fell with each
even breath that he drew, yet a short while ago, she'd felt the thunder of his pulse
as he'd lain down upon her and driven himself into her, over and over, in
mindless repetition.
Her body quickened in response to
the memory and she glanced down to the bulge of him covered just below the
waist with a sheet. Hers. He was hers. Before, they'd traded vows and made
empty promises in front of Judge Harmon Harris. Today, they'd pledged their
love in a way that would endure.
She reached out, gently laying her
hand in the middle of his chest just so she could feel the steady rhythm of his
heart, and as she did, he sighed and shifted in his sleep. She watched the
thick brush of his eyelashes fluttering as some nameless dream pulled him
further away from her. From his thick, black hair to those stormy gray eyes,
she knew her man well. But she knew nothing of what made him tick.
Astute businesswoman that she was,
she knew that in business, the swiftest way to achieve success was to know all
there was to know about an enemy … or a competitor. And while Ryder was neither
of those, he still had too many secrets for her peace of mind. He wasn't the
type of man one would expect to find wandering the highways and byways of the
Mississippi Delta. His education was obvious, his breeding even more so.
Delaney would have called him a thoroughbred. Casey had an overpowering need to
know this man who called her wife. There had to be more to him than a man who
knew how to love and make love with a fine-burning passion.
She laid her head down on his
chest and closed her eyes, smiling to herself as he pulled her to him. Even in
sleep, his claim on her was strong.
Tomorrow. She would start the
wheels of an investigation rolling tomorrow. But quiet. She'd keep it low-key
and quiet. And it wouldn't be like she was snooping. She had a right to know
all there was to know about the man she had married. Didn't she?
* * *
Royal Justice raced his daughter,
Maddie, for the phone. He lost. Her tiny fingers curled around the receiver as
she lifted it to her ear, speaking fast in order to get it all out before her
daddy could snatch it out of her hands.
"Hello. This is Maddie. Is
this you?"
Roman Justice kicked back in his
chair and propped his feet on the top of his desk, absorbing the sweet sound of
his only niece's voice.
"Well, hello, little bit.
Yes, it's me. Is this you?"
Maddie giggled just as Royal got
to the phone.
"Let me talk! Let me
talk!" she shrieked, as Royal lifted it out of her hands. "It's Unca Roman. He called to talk to me!"
Royal shushed her with a finger to
his lips and then lifted the receiver to his ear. "Roman?"
Roman flipped open a folder on the
desk before him. "Brother, you're gonna have to get yourself some skates.
If you can't beat a three-year-old to the phone, you're already in hot water. Just
think what it'll be like when she's a teenager."
"Bite your damned lip,"
Royal muttered as Maddie danced around his legs, begging to be put back on the
phone. "I assume you have a reason for calling."
As always, Roman Justice did not
waste words. "Ryder's alive."
Royal turned and sank into a
nearby chair with a sigh of relief. "Thank the good Lord. What have you
learned? Why hasn't he called? Is he all right?"
"Hell, you're just like
Maddie. One thing at a time. Your guess is as good as mine as to why he hasn't
called, but if I had to bet on a reason, I'd say he hasn't turned loose of the
guilt."
"But it wasn't his fault. The
FAA told him that. We told him that. Lord have mercy, even the preacher who
preached Dad's funeral told him that."
"Yeah, well you know Ryder.
The only person he ever listened to was Dad and he's—"
"Yeah, right," Royal
said, and pulled Maddie onto his lap, whispering a promise that she could talk
when he was through. "So, what's the story?"
"Hang on to your hat,
brother. He's married and living in some place in Mississippi called Ruban
Crossing."
"He's what?"
"You heard me."
Royal shook his head.
"Married! Ryder, of all people. His wife must be something to have talked
a maverick like him into settling down. Do you think we ought to give him a
call? You know—to wish him well and all that?"
A fly buzzed past Roman's ear. He
never moved, but his gaze followed the flight of the fly as it sailed past his
nose. Somewhere between one breath and the next, he snatched the fly in midflight, holding it captive in his fist while he finished
his conversation.
"Hell, no. You know better
than that. Ryder is the one who ran away from home. If we call him, it would be
like that time Mama came after the three of us for sneaking off to the pond to
go fishing when we were supposed to be in school, remember?"
Royal laughed. "Remember?
Lord, I had nightmares for years afterward. And you're right. If Mama had just
given us time, we would have been home for supper and everything would have
been all right. As it was, we were dragged home with our tails between our
legs. It took weeks before I could look Dad in the face without feeling
shame."
"Just be glad we know where
Ryder is."
Royal sighed. "Right, and
thanks for calling."
"No problem."
Maddie tugged at Royal's arm.
"Your niece needs to tell you something, okay?"
A rare smile shifted the sternness
on Roman's face. "If it's Maddie, it's always okay."
"Unca
Roman?"
"What is it, little
bit?"
"You pwomised
to take me to the zoo."
"I know."
"So when is you gonna do
it?"
The smile on his face widened.
"Whenever you want."
"Now!" she crowed.
"I want to do it wight now."
The fly buzzed frantically against
the palm of his hand as he glanced up at the clock. "Put your daddy back
on the phone and let me ask," he said.
Maddie handed her father the
phone. "It's for you. And you gots to say
yes."
Royal pretended to frown, but it
was all a big fake. He nearly always said yes to his very best girl.
"What?"
"Your daughter and I have a date
with the zoo. She wants to go now."
"Fine with me," Royal
said. "Just remember, she can't have everything she wants to eat, even if
she begs. The last time she threw up on your boots."
"They were my boots. My
problem. I'll be there within the hour." He hung up the phone and then
smashed his hand flat on the top of his desk, ending the fly's last bid for
freedom.
Royal hung up. At least there was
one uncle left upon whom Maddie could depend. He didn't know what he thought
about Ryder getting married, and truth be told, didn't have time to worry about
it. Ryder was alive and well. That was all that could matter.
* * *
Not even in Lash Marlow's worst
nightmares had he envisioned the day that something this degrading would happen
to him. But it was here, in his hands, on plain white bond, typed all in
capitals in clear, black ink. He stuck his hand in his pocket, rubbing at the
rabbit's foot over and over and the words still didn't change.
Foreclosure.
He'd slept with the knowledge all
night, and when he'd awakened this morning, had almost convinced himself that
it was all a bad dream. Until he'd come into the kitchen to make coffee.
The letter was there where he'd
left it last night. He'd picked it up again, rereading it over and over until
his stomach rolled and his heart was thundering in his ears.
One powerful word and it was
enough to bring what was left of his world to an end. He tossed the letter back
onto the kitchen table, forgot about the coffee, and went to the breakfront to
pour himself a drink. The decanter was empty just like his life. He stared
around the room, trying to find some sense of reason for drawing his next
breath when something hit the front door.
That would be the morning paper.
He waited until he was certain the
paperboy was gone. Even the eleven-year-old boy who delivered the papers had
quit believing the check was in the mail.
The rubber band broke as he was
rolling it off the paper, snapping the palm of his hand and bringing a quick
set of tears to his eyes.
"Ow! Dammit, that hurt,"
he muttered, and tossed the paper on the kitchen table next to the letter.
He'd make that coffee after all.
At least he could have coffee with the morning paper. That was a civilized
thing to do. When the coffee began to brew, he sat down and began to unroll it,
but the edges kept curling back toward the way they'd been rolled and he cursed
beneath his breath. It should be against the law to roll up a paper. He
remembered the days when his father had insisted on having the help iron his
morning paper flat before bringing it to him to read. He grinned, also
remembering the occasional times when it would arrive with one of the pages
scorched. Such a commotion over paper and ink.
In the middle of pouring himself a
cup of freshly brewed coffee, the phone rang. Still lost in memories of grander
days, he answered without thinking.
"Mr. Marlow, this is Denzel Cusper, down at the bank.
I wanted to call you early, before you left for the office. We had several
checks of yours come in yesterday and I'm afraid your account is a little short
of funds. You know, we value your business. Your grandfather banked with us.
Your father banked with us. We value the Marlow name, and that's why I knew
you'd want to take care of this right away."
There was a sick smile on Lash's
face, although Denzel Cusper
could not see it. He bit his lip and pretended he wasn't lying through his
teeth. "Why, you're right of course! I don't know how I let that oversight
occur, but I'll take care of it on my way in to the office." He could hear
the Denzel Cusper's sigh of
relief.
"That's just fine," Denzel said. "I'll just be holding these checks until
your deposit clears."
"Thank you for calling,"
Lash said.
"No problem. Always glad to
give a valued customer a helping hand."
Lash hung up the phone and poured
his coffee down the sink. He didn't need caffeine. He needed money. He'd
already spent his monthly retainer from the Ruban family, and the other clients
he often represented were worse off than he was.
The foreclosure letter was still
on the table right where he'd left it. Now this. Checks were going to bounce.
He didn't even want to know how many. He had represented people who'd written
hot checks, and he couldn't remember a one who'd gotten off without serving their
time. The law was swift with regards to stealing, in any form.
Shame filled him. Thank God his
grandfather hadn't lived to see this day. What his father hadn't lost, Lash had
wound up selling to stay afloat. And now it was gone and Lash Marlow was sinking
fast. In days gone by, there would have been only one honorable way with which
to deal with this shame. Lash thought of the handgun in the drawer beneath the
phone. He glanced at the paper he had yet to read. He could just picture the
headlines.
LOCAL LAWYER—DOA
Dead on arrival. He shuddered.
There would be a scandal, but he wouldn't be around to face it. And while he
was contemplating the virtue of an easy way out, his gaze fell on the corner of
a familiar face pictured on the front page of the paper. He pressed the page
flat.
RUBAN HEIR SAVED BY TRAFFIC JAM
His eyes widened and he began to
read, and when he was through, he stared down at Casey's picture in disbelief.
Why? Why did someone like her keep getting all the breaks while everything he did
threw him further and further off course?
"You bitch."
Startled, he looked up, expecting
to see someone standing in the doorway of the kitchen. When he realized it was
himself that he had heard, he looked back down and started to shake.
"You selfish, worthless,
little bitch. I'd give my life to find a way to make you sorry for what you've
done."
Casey's face smiled back up at him
from the page, taunting him in a way he could not accept. He let go of his
rage, giving hate full rein, and began to consider the wisdom of what he'd just
said.
He knew people who would do very
dirty deeds for very little money, which was exactly what Lash Marlow had. But
if his scheme worked, when he was through, he would be the one in the dough,
and that sharecropper's granddaughter would be sorry she'd thumbed her nose in
a Marlow's face.
* * *
"Oh, my."
Casey's quiet remark got Ryder's
attention. In the act of dressing for the day, he came out of the bedroom in
nothing but his blue jeans. Casey was standing by the kitchen table, her
morning cup of coffee forgotten as she stared at the headlines in disbelief.
RUBAN HEIR SAVED BY TRAFFIC JAM
"How do they find these
things out so fast?"
Ryder put his arms around her,
reading over her shoulder as he cuddled her. When he saw the headline, he
sighed. Because of who she was, she would always be news.
"It doesn't matter. As long
as they leave you alone, they can print your favorite recipe for toast for all
I care."
She dropped the paper on the table
and leaned against him. "I don't have a recipe for toast. I can't cook.
Remember?"
He grinned. "Then you have
nothing to worry about, right?"
She laughed and turned in his
arms. "So it would seem."
His eyes darkened as he cupped her
hips and pulled her close, letting her feel what was on his mind.
Her robe slipped open, revealing
the clean bare lines of her body beneath. Ryder groaned and lowered his head,
razing the tender skin on her neck with a series of nips and kisses that left
her trembling for more than this sensual tease.
Casey shivered. "Make love to
me."
With a flip of his wrist, her robe
fell to the floor at his feet. He reached out, tracing the shape of her breast
with the tip of his finger, then encircling her waist with his hands, holding
her fast—wishing he could hold on forever.
"You are so beautiful, Casey
Dee."
Her head lolled as his hands began
to work their magic.
Skin tingled. Nerves tensed.
Muscles coiled.
He lowered his mouth, trapping her
lips and swallowing her sigh.
Heat built.
When his hand dipped between her
thighs, she groaned. Honey flowed.
She reached for his zipper, then
for him, needing him—guiding him—to her—in her.
It happened fast. One minute she
was standing, the next she was on the cabinet with Ryder between her legs.
"Buckle up," he whispered.
Casey wrapped her arms around his
neck and her legs around his waist. It felt as if everything inside of her was
fighting to get out. Her heart was pounding against her chest. Her blood was racing
through her veins. That sweet, sweet heat was building in her belly and she
wanted the release. Clutching at him as hard as she could, she buried her face
against his shoulder.
"Oh, Ryder, please now."
He began to surge against her in a
hard, even rhythm. Over and over. Minute upon minute. Rocking. Hammering.
Driving toward pleasure. Too close to hold back.
Casey's senses were swimming.
There was nothing upon which she could focus except him inside her. And
suddenly gravity shifted and she lost her sense of balance. Grabbing him
tighter, she arched toward a thrust, crying aloud. "Ryder … Ryder … I'm
coming undone."
Sweat ran down the middle of his
back as she held him, encompassed him, pulling him deeper and deeper toward
total release. He shifted his hands from her back to her hips—pulling her
forward—moving faster. His voice was harsh, his words low and thick with
oncoming passion.
"Then let it happen. I'm
coming with you."
One cry broke the silence, then
another, deeper and more prolonged, followed by soft, shaken sobs and gentle
words of praise.
A short time later, Ryder picked
up his wife and carried her out of the room. The newspaper that had sparked the
mood lay forgotten on the floor. Had Casey seen it again, she would now have
disputed the claim. The traffic jam wasn't the first thing to save her life. It
was the man she'd found in the flatlands down at Sonny's Bar.
Chapter 12
"This is all I have to go on. See what you can come up with. Oh, and
I want this kept confidential, understand?"
"Yes, Mrs. Justice. Of
course."
Casey hung up the phone then
swiveled her chair until she was gazing out the office windows. Outside,
sunshine beamed down on Ruban Crossing, sweltering the inhabitants with a
humidity that left everyone limp and weary. A flock of seagulls swooped past
her vision, then disappeared around the corner of the building. On their way to
the river—on their way to someplace cool.
She told herself what she'd done
was for the best, and that no matter what her investigator found out about
Ryder, she would love him just the same. But in the following weeks since
they'd first made love, she sensed he was holding something back and it made
her nervous. What if the revelation of his secrets brought an end to their
relationship? She closed her eyes and said a small, quiet prayer. That just
couldn't happen. She couldn't give him up. Not when he'd become the most
important thing in her life.
The intercom buzzed. She turned
back to her desk. "Yes?"
"Libertine Delacroix on line
two for you."
Casey picked up the phone.
"Libby, it's been a long time!"
"Yes, darlin', way too
long," Libertine said. "I would have called about this sooner, but I
thought that with Delaney goin' an' dyin' on us like he did, and then you
gettin' married and all, well—I just thought I'd give everythin'
time to settle."
Casey grinned. Libertine
Delacroix's southern drawl was too thick to be believed, especially when Casey
knew for certain that Libertine had been born and raised in Utah. The only
thing south about her upbringing had been the window over her bed. However,
after marrying Winston Delacroix and moving to their family home outside of
Jackson, Mississippi, Libertine's speech had become as rich as southern fried
chicken.
"How is that darlin' husband
of yours, anyway?" Libertine asked.
An image of Ryder's face above
hers as he slid into her body flashed through Casey's mind. She closed her eyes
and leaned back in her chair, suddenly weak with longing.
"Why, he's just fine. Thank
you for asking," Casey said.
"Good. I'm havin' a little
party Saturday night. I want you two to come. You'll be the guests of honor, of
course." Casey opened her eyes and sat up straight. Libertine had never
had a little party in her life.
"That sounds wonderful,"
she said. "But what do you mean by little?"
"Oh, no more than forty or
fifty. It'll be fun! Come in costume of course, and be prepared to be showered
with belated wedding gifts as well."
Casey rolled her eyes. Good grief.
A sit-down, costume party, wedding shower dinner? Only Libertine would attempt
to pull off such a stunt.
"Thank you, Libby, Ryder and
I will be looking forward to it."
Libertine giggled. "I do
declare. I hear he's just the handsomest thing. Leave it up to you to pull the
coup of the decade. I wouldn't have had the nerve, you know—goin' down in the
Delta like that and callin' Delaney's bluff. Oh well,
see you Saturday night, sugar. Eightish-
costumes—prepare to have fun!"
Casey winced as Libertine
disconnected. Lord have mercy! Costumes. She hadn't been able to get him in a
chauffeur's uniform. What was he going to say about this?
A dragonfly darted past Casey's
nose as she leaned on the fender of the Lincoln, watching while Ryder poured
oil into the engine. Still in her work clothes, she was careful not to get
grime on her suit. It was an original and one of her favorites.
Ryder didn't seem to have the same
set of worries. He was minus a shirt, minus his hat, and as of moments ago when
she'd unloaded the news about Libertine's call, minus his good humor.
"So, you're going to put me
on parade. I was wondering when this might happen."
Casey winced. "That's not
fair. I'm not the one hosting this party, therefore I am not the one putting
you anywhere. Libertine Delacroix is famous for her parties. She was also one
of my mother's closest friends—at least, that's what Tilly says."
Ryder tossed the empty oil can
into the trash and wiped his hands. "Step back," he ordered, and
slammed the hood shut with a resounding thump.
Casey followed him into the
garage. "Her food is always fabulous. She has the best chef in the county,
you know."
"Can't be better than
Tilly's," he said shortly.
"They're giving us a belated
wedding shower. I didn't know how to say no."
Ryder turned, and there was a
light in his eyes she recognized all too well. "Oh, I don't know about
that. You pretty much said a big loud no to the terms of your grandfather's
will."
She glared. "That's
different."
He grinned.
"We're to go in
costume."
The grin slid off of his face.
"Like hell."
Casey groaned. "Ryder,
please. Don't be difficult about this. I love you madly. You can't blame me for
wanting all of my acquaintances to meet you."
"Yeah, right, and I'm
supposed to remember these people the next time I see them when I've been
introduced to them in costumes? Let's see, what would I say? Oh, I know. You
were the pirate, right? And you—weren't you that Playboy Bunny?"
She grinned. "I can heartily
assure you that there will not be a single Playboy Bunny present."
He yanked his shirt from a hook
and pulled it on with a jerk. "Well hell, you know that refusing you is impossible.
However … just remember you're going to owe me, big time."
Casey threw her arms around his
neck and kissed him full on the lips. "Thank you, thank you, thank
you."
The corner of his mouth tilted as
he nuzzled the spot just below her right ear. "You're very welcome."
Before their play went beyond a
point of no return, Tilly stepped out the back door. "Casey, honey,
telephone call for you."
Casey waved to let Tilly know that
she'd heard, then turned back to Ryder. "So, what kind of costume do you
want to wear?"
He cursed beneath his breath.
"Ryder, you promised."
"You don't worry about what
I'll wear," he muttered. "I said I'd go, so I'll dress the
part."
It wasn't what she wanted to hear,
but knowing Ryder, it was the best she was going to get.
"Want to go out to
dinner?" she asked.
"Want to go to Smoky
Joe's?"
Casey groaned. She knew when she'd
been had. "It's not alligator night."
He grinned. "I don't care. I
have a hankering to see someone else's tail get slapped in the mud besides mine."
She made a face and then ran for
the phone.
"Don't run in those damned
heels," he yelled, but it was too late. She'd already done it. He frowned.
One of these days she was going to break her leg pulling a stunt like that.
* * *
Casey leaned over the deck and
waved at Miles and Erica as they came out of the main house. Erica's white
antebellum dress floated just above the ground, billowing out around her and
swaying with every step that she took. Miles looked dashing in black and quite
reminiscent of a riverboat gambler. Eudora was sick with a cold and had
declined the invitation with no small amount of regret. But she couldn't show
up at a party with a box of tissues beneath her arm, no matter what costume she
might wear. It just wasn't done.
"Hurry up!" Miles
shouted, pointing toward a long white limousine pulling up in the driveway.
"The limo's here."
"I'll be right down!"
she called, and ran back into the apartment, closing and locking the patio door
behind her. Without Ryder, the apartment seemed too large and empty. He'd been
gone for more than two hours, and although he called over an hour ago, claiming
his costume had been undergoing alterations, he still wasn't back.
"Oh, Ryder, if you let me
down at this late date, I'll never forgive you," she muttered, as she made
a last-minute check through the apartment, making sure she had everything she'd
intended to take.
She paused before the mirror then
turned, glancing over her shoulder, making sure her own costume was in place,
then smiling in satisfaction at the fluffy, white bunny tail right in the
middle of her backside. She turned, ignoring the plunge of fabric barely
covering her breasts and readjusted her long white ears. The black fishnet
stockings made her legs look sexy, and her three-inch heels completed the
picture. Yes, she made a darn good Playboy Bunny, even if she did think so
herself.
As she started down the stairs to
the waiting limo, she made a bet with herself. By the time I get to the bottom
of the stairs, Ryder will be driving up. When her foot hit the last one she
looked up. The Lincoln was nowhere in sight.
"Damn and double damn,"
she mumbled, and started across the courtyard. Okay, by the time I get to the
limo, he'll be home.
When she drew even with the
limousine's back bumper, she lifted her head to gaze down the long empty
driveway. Her expression fell. She couldn't believe it. He'd actually let her
down. What was she going to say to Libertine when they arrived?
The driver hurried around the car
to where she was standing, then opened the door.
"Watch your ears—and your
tail, darlin'. Wouldn't want either one of them to fall off before you got the
chance to shine."
She looked up, then gasped.
"Ryder!"
"Your ride awaits. Now don't tell
me you're about to change your mind after I went to all this trouble."
She blinked. It was him.
Resplendent in a dark, double-breasted chauffeur's uniform with more gold braid
and buttons than an admiral might wear.
He tipped his cap and held the door
ajar. "Ma'am?"
She threw her arms around his
neck. "You are going to steal the show."
He held her close, patting at the
fluff of her tail. "I'd a whole lot rather steal me a rabbit."
"Oh, for Pete's sake,"
Miles grumbled from inside the car. "Let's get a move on or we're going to
be late."
Casey quickly took her seat, quite
out of place beside a riverboat gambler and an old-fashioned southern belle.
Erica glared. Leave it up to
Casey. "I swear, little sister, whatever you do tonight, don't bend over.
You'll positively spill out of that disreputable thing you are wearing."
Miles grinned, for once taking
Casey's side instead of his twin's. "Oh, I don't know about that, Erica.
Even if she is our sister, she looks rather stunning."
Erica sniffed. "You would say
that. After all, you're just a man."
The glass door slid open behind
Casey's head. Ryder's voice drifted out into the uneasy silence. "Buckle
up."
"Have mercy," Erica
shrieked, and grabbed for a seat belt as the limo took off, leaving a black streak
of rubber to show where it had been.
Miles needed no warning. He was
already strapped and waiting for takeoff when the limo accelerated. He'd ridden
with this man before.
Casey laughed aloud, then blew
Ryder a kiss as he turned to the highway. Tonight was just about perfect.
Of the guests who'd come in full
costume to Libertine's party, nine were in Rebel gray. Of those nine, only Lash
Marlow wore the uniform of a southern general, and he wore it with pride. His
great-great-grandfather Marlow had been a general during the War of Northern
Aggression. It seemed fitting that he carry out the tradition, if only for the
night.
But his pride in the past died a
humiliating death when the Ruban party arrived. His gaze went past Miles and Erica
Dunn. They were Rubans by marriage only. In the grand scheme of things, and
blood being thicker than water, it was Casey who counted. But when he saw her
and then the man at her side, it was all he could do to stay quiet. How dare
she flaunt what she'd done to him?
Libertine Delacroix, who for
tonight had dressed as Lady Liberty, was speechless for all of twenty seconds
when she saw them, and then broke into peals of laughter.
"Casey, darlin', I should
have known you'd outshine us all. And just look at this man on your arm!
Introduce me this instant, you hear?"
Casey grinned. "Libby, this
is my husband, Ryder Justice. Ryder, my very dear friend, Libertine
Delacroix."
Libertine held out her hand. Ryder
took it, then lifted it to his lips. "I'm real partial to liberated women,
Mrs. Delacroix. It's a pleasure to meet you."
Libertine giggled at his play of
words on her costume and name. "The pleasure is all mine, I'm sure,"
she drawled, then slipped her hand beneath his elbow. "Come along, you
two. There's a ton of people who are just dyin' to meet you."
"I'll just bet," he
muttered beneath his breath.
Casey pinched his arm. He looked
down and winked at her. "You promised to be nice," she warned.
"No, I didn't. I just
promised to come."
She laughed at the sparkle in his
eyes. Dear Lord, but she loved this man, so much that sometimes it scared her.
She threaded her fingers through his, content for tonight to follow his lead.
An oblong silver tray glittered
beneath the lights of the chandelier in the great hall as the wedding gifts
were unwrapped before the guests. Crystal sparkled, fine china gleamed. Lash
stood among the crowd, oohing and aahing
along with them as each new piece was put up on display, and all the while, the
idea he'd been fostering took deeper root in his mind.
Damn her—and him. He stared at the
tall man in the chauffeur's uniform and resented him for not being ashamed. How
can he hold his head high? By wearing that ridiculous costume, he'd all but
announced to the world that he was nothing but hired help. Yet when Ryder
casually tucked a wayward curl on Casey's forehead back beneath the rabbit ears
she was wearing, Lash's stomach rolled. The look she gave him made gorge rise
in his throat. Damn her to hell. She never looked at me like that. And that
hurt, more than he was able to admit.
Out on the patio behind him, the
band Libertine had hired was setting up to play. The thought of making small
talk and pretending for another two or three hours seemed impossible to Lash,
but he couldn't bring himself to leave.
Unaware of Lash's growing
antagonism, Casey undid the bow on the very last gift and then lifted the box
lid, pulling out a crystal-and-silver ice bucket and tongs.
"It won't hold a six-pack,
but it sure is pretty," Ryder drawled.
Casey grinned at him as everyone
laughed. By now, the guests had figured out that Casey Ruban's husband had been
one jump ahead of them all night. Instead of trying to be something he wasn't,
he dared them to dislike who he was. They had tried and failed miserably. Ryder
Justice was too intriguing to dislike and too handsome to ignore.
"This has been
wonderful," Casey said. "Ryder and I thank you for your kindness and
generosity."
Ryder took Casey by the hand and
stood. "All kidding aside, it's been a pleasure meeting my wife's friends.
Maybe one day we can return the favor."
Casey was surprised at his
initiative, and more than a little bit pleased. He kept coming through for her,
again and again. Libertine waved her hand above the crowd. "This way, this
way, my dears. We've dined. We've showered. The evening can't end without
dancing."
The crowd followed her through
open French doors and out onto a massive flagstone patio. People broke off into
couples and soon the impromptu dance floor was crowded.
Inside, Casey wound her arms
around Ryder's neck and leaned her head on his shoulder.
"What's the matter, Hoppy, are you tired?"
She tried not to laugh, but his
jest was entirely too charming to ignore.
"Yes, but deliciously
so." His hands were stroking at the small of her back, right where it
ached the most. She wondered how he knew.
"Think you might have one
good dance in you? I just realized I've never danced with my wife."
"If you don't mind dancing
with a barefoot bunny, I'd be delighted."
He cocked an eyebrow. "It can
happen. I like bare."
She ran a finger down the middle
of his chest, stopping just above the spot where his belly button would be.
"Yes, I know."
He waited. She kicked off her
shoes. He took her in his arms just as the next song began. Drums hammered out
a rollicking beat and a guitarist joined in, running his fingers up and down
the frets as the strings vibrated beneath his touch. "Oh darn," Casey
said. "It's too fast."
Ryder took her hand and placed it in
the center of his chest. "You're listening to the wrong rhythm," he
said softly. "Feel the one in here. It's the one to follow."
He glanced down at her feet.
"I'd sure hate to mash one of those poor little toes. Better hitch a ride
on my boots, honey, then all you'll have to worry about is hanging on."
A lump came to Casey's throat as
she stepped up on his toes. Sure enough, when Ryder started to move, she could
almost hear the slow, steady beat of a loving man's heart. The ache in her feet
disappeared. She laid her cheek on his shoulder and followed his lead as he
circled them slowly up and down the marbled floors of Libertine Delacroix's
great hall.
Out on the patio, Lash Marlow
stood in the shadows, staring back into the house. The intimacy of the lady
bunny standing on the chauffeur's feet was not lost on him, nor were the tender
kisses he saw Ryder giving his wife.
Lash's hand slid to the long sword
hanging from the belt around his waist. It would be all too easy to draw it now
while everyone was otherwise occupied and slash those stupid smiles off of both
their faces, but that wouldn't get him what he deserved. No, he had other plans
for Casey, and it wouldn't be long before he set them in motion.
* * *
Bunny ears hung on one corner of
the bedpost, a chauffeur's cap on the other. Clothing was strewn across the
floor and the chairs. In the bed, Ryder and Casey slept as bare as the day
they'd been born, entwined within each other's arms.
Outside, a wind began to blow. A
cool front was moving in. Something clattered against the patio door leading
onto the deck. Ryder shifted in his sleep and rolled onto his back as he fell
deeper and deeper into the dream playing out in his head.
Lightning flashed and the plane
bucked Seconds afterward, smoke began filling the cabin. There was a whine to
the engines as the plane began to lose altitude. Ryder pulled back on the
stick, fighting the pull of gravity with all of his strength. "God help us
both," Micah said.
Ryder jerked, his head tossing on
the pillow from side to side. He hadn't remembered hearing his father's
voice—until now.
Lightning flashed again,
illuminating the horizon and the tops of a stand of trees, but Ryder was hardly
aware. It was all he could do to see the instrument panel through the thick
veil of smoke. Muscles in his arms began to jerk from the stress of trying to
control the plane's rapid descent, and still he would not let go. Yet no matter
how hard he fought, it would not respond.
"I love you, boy."
Tears seeped from beneath Ryder's
lashes and out onto the surface of his cheeks.
I love you, too, Dad.
One of the windows in the cockpit
shattered. Smoke dissipated at an alarming rate. Visibility cleared, and then Ryder
wished it had not. There was at least half a second's worth of time to see that
they were going to die.
He sat up with a jerk, gasping for
air, unaware that his cheeks were wet with tears.
"Oh, God."
He rolled out of the bed and
reached for his jeans. He had to get out. He had to move. He couldn't breathe.
Casey felt the bed give. Suddenly
she was no longer lying on Ryder's chest. She blinked, then opened her eyes.
The sight of him jerking on pants and stomping out of the room was enough to
yank her rudely awake. She didn't have to turn on a light to know something was
dreadfully wrong. It was there, in the shadowy movements of his body as he fled
from the room. Seconds later, the front door banged, and Casey knew he was
gone.
She crawled out of bed on all
fours, searching for something to wear as she hurried through the house. One of
his T-shirts was hanging on the doorknob. She grabbed it, pulling it over her
head as she ran. It hung to a point just above her knees. but when she opened
the front door, the fierce wind quickly plastered it to her body, leaving her
feeling naked all over again.
She stood at the top of the
landing, searching the grounds for a sign of where Ryder had gone. And then she
saw him moving toward the trees at the back of the estate, and she bolted down
the stairs after him.
Ryder moved without thought,
trying to escape the drew clinging fast to his mind. It was just like before.
No matter how fast he ran, he couldn't escape the truth. Micah had died, but he
hadn't.
Wind whistled through the trees
just ahead. It was an eerie wail, not unlike that of a woman's shriek. Without
looking to the sky, he knew a storm was brewing. He stopped, then lifted his
arms out on either side of his body like a bird in flight and faced the force
of nature for what it was. Unpredictable. Unstoppable. Uncontrollable.
The first drops of rain were
beginning to fall when Casey caught him. She didn't stop to ask him why. She
didn't care that she was getting wet. She just threw herself into his arms,
becoming his anchor against the storm.
Ryder groaned and wrapped his arms
around her, and although the wind still blew and the rain still fell, he knew a
sudden sense of peace. He dug his hands through the wind-whipped tangle of her
hair and shuddered as she bent to his will.
Rain was falling harder now and he
couldn't find the words to explain the horror and guilt that he lived with
every day. Casey clutched at him in desperation. His gaze became fixed upon her
face, and she could see his eyes. They were as wild and as stormy as the night.
His fingers coiled in her hair. His body was trembling against hers. A chill
began to seep into her bones, and she knew she had to get them out of the
weather. The gardener's shed was nearby. She pushed out of his arms, then
grabbed him by the hand and started running. To her everlasting relief, he
followed.
When she slammed the door shut
behind them, the sound of the rain upon the metal roof was almost deafening,
but at least they were no longer standing in the midst of it all.
"Lord have mercy," she
said, and shivered as she lifted her hair from her neck and twisted it. Water
ran out, then down her shoulder and onto her feet. She reached for the light
switch.
It didn't work. It figured. In Ruban
Crossing, if the wind blew or rain fell, inevitably, the power went out.
She turned, and knew Ryder was
right before her, although she could barely see his face.
"Ryder?"
His hand cupped her shoulder, then
her cheek. He stepped closer until their foreheads were touching and she could
hear the ragged sounds of his breath. She lifted a hand to his face, and even
though they'd just come out of a storm, she had the strangest sensation that
what she felt were tears, not rain. "Sweetheart?"
His lips found hers, stifling
whatever else she might have said. They were cool and wet and softened upon
impact, molding themselves to her mouth with tender persistence.
Casey sighed and when his arms
encircled her, she leaned into his embrace. His hands were moving up and down
her arms, across her shoulders, upon her hips. When he discovered she wore
nothing beneath his shirt but herself, she felt him pause. His voice came out
of the silence, little more than a whisper, but what he said made her blush in
the dark.
Her hesitation was brief. There
was nothing he could ask that would shame her. There was nothing she wouldn't
do with or for this man who called her wife. She pulled the wet T-shirt over
her head and dropped it on the floor. Her hands moved to his waist, then
beneath the wet denim covering the straining thrust of his manhood.
When she took him in her hands, he
groaned. When she knelt, she heard him take a deep breath. And she knew for the
rest of her life, the sound of rain on a roof would bring back the memory of
what she had done in the dark to bring Ryder Justice to his knees.
* * *
Joshua came into the kitchen.
"Found this in the gardener's shed this morning."
Casey looked up from the kitchen
table. Pink tinged her cheeks, but her expression remained calm.
Ryder glanced at Casey, then
looked away. Even after the onslaught of emotions they'd shared last night,
he'd been unable to explain what had sent him into the storm.
"It looks like one of my
T-shirts," Ryder said. "I know I left one in the garage, but I didn't
leave one in the shed." Casey sighed. He hadn't lied. Not really. She was
the one who left the shirt. Not him.
Joshua shrugged. "I think it
will clean up all right. It's not torn, just wet and muddy."
"Thanks," Ryder said, and
returned to the paper he'd been reading.
Tilly stared at the couple sitting
side by side at her kitchen table. Everything seemed the same—except her
instincts told her it wasn't.
"Is there something you'd be
wanting to talk about?" she asked.
Ryder and Casey looked up, first
at her, then at each other, before shaking their heads. Casey smiled. "No,
ma'am."
Tilly glared. "I didn't get
to be fifty-nine years old by being a fool." She banged a pot on the stove
to accentuate her claim "I know when something's not right. Did you two
have a fight? 'Cause if you did, I'm telling you now, the best way to end it is
talk it all out." She pointed a spoon at Joshua. "Tell them Josh!
Tell them I know what I'm talking about."
Joshua rolled his eyes, thankful
he was on the far side of the room from that spoon. "My Tilly knows what
she's talking about. She always does. If you don't believe me, then ask
her."
Ryder grinned behind his paper as
Tilly lit into Joshua for making jest of her claims. It was just as well. It
changed the subject, which was fine with him.
He glanced at Casey. Worry was
there on her face. He'd have to be a fool not to see it. But he'd give her
credit. She hadn't asked a single question. She'd just been there, giving
herself to soothe his pain.
He glanced at her face—at her
mouth—at her hands. Dear Lord, but she had soothed much more than his pain.
Impulsively, he leaned over, slid his hand at the back of her head and pulled
her forward. Their mouths met. More than slightly surprised, she parted her
lips. His were hard and unyielding, demanding that she remember what they were,
what they shared.
She gave herself up to the kiss
and felt more pain than passion behind the embrace. One day. One day he would
talk. Until then, she would have to be satisfied with waiting for his
answers—or with what she learned on her own. The private investigator she'd
hired was due back on Monday with a final report. Surely she would have some
sort of answer by then. Even if it didn't come from Ryder, she had a right to
know.
Chapter 13
Last night's rain had
washed everything clean. Lash took his morning cup of coffee out onto the
veranda and gazed across the yard into the trees beyond. Although it wasn't
visible from where he stood, he could hear the water rushing through the creek
below. He smiled to himself and took a slow, careful sip of the hot brew,
careful not to burn his lips.
It was all falling into place. The
kidnapping of Delaney Ruban's heir was a brilliant plan. He knew exactly how it
was going to happen—who was going to do the deed—even the amount of ransom he
was going to ask for the safe return of Ryder Justice's wife.
The ideal location in which she
would be hidden had all but fallen into his lap. An aging client had been
admitted to a nursing home via letter and phone by a distant cousin. The law
offices of Marlow Incorporated had been given power of attorney to see to her
monetary needs, as well as prepare for the impending funeral that was bound to
occur.
Lash had done as the family had
asked. Fostoria Biggers was now residing in the
second room on the right at the Natchez Home for the Aged. Fostoria's money was
in the bank, but Lash Marlow's name was on the signature card of her account.
Her home out in the country was to be put on the market, and it would be as
soon as he no longer had need of it, which would be right after the Rubans
coughed up three million dollars for Casey's safe return.
Friday he'd closed his office and
gone to Natchez. The two men he'd hired with five hundred dollars he'd borrowed
from Fostoria Biggers's account had come into town
last night and were in a motel waiting for his call. The five hundred dollars
was just a down payment on what he'd promised them when Casey's abduction was
completed.
He took another sip of his coffee
as he came down from the steps. He laughed to himself, and the sound caused a
pair of white egrets roosting in an overhead tree to take flight. Fifty
thousand dollars. Last month he couldn't have come up with fifty dollars, and
now he had promised Bernie Pike and Skeet Wilson fifty thousand. And, compared
to what he would have in his pocket before the week was over, it was a
pittance.
The air was rich with the scent of
bougainvillea that grew wild within the skeletal arms of a long-dead oak. The
grass was still wet from last night's rain and by the time he reached the
ivy-covered gazebo, the hems of his slacks were damp.
He stepped inside, then set down
his cup and looked around. For the first time in more years than he cared to
count, he could see light at the end of his tunnel of financial woes. It
wouldn't be long before he could begin the repairs on Graystone and he could
hardly wait. Even the gazebo was long overdue for a face-lift. And while it
would have to wait just a little bit longer, there was one thing he could do.
He began gathering up the unpaid
bills he'd been tossing on the gazebo floor, making a pile of them in the
middle of the yard. Since the grass was damp, he had no qualms about what he
did next.
He struck a match and gave it a
toss. The papers were damp as well, but finally one caught—then another—then
another, and while he watched, the ugly reminders of his past went up in smoke.
* * *
The folder from Childers
Investigations lay on Casey's desk unopened. The private investigator was
gone—had been for over twenty minutes, and Casey hadn't been able to bring
herself to read the report. Fear overlayed curiosity
as she stared at the name beneath the Childers logo.
Ryder Justice—Confidential
Right now her world was just about
perfect. But when she opened this up, it could reveal a Pandora's box of
despair that no amount of money could buy, sell or fix.
She walked to the window
overlooking the downtown area of Ruban Crossing and stared out onto the street
without seeing the traffic or the flow of people coming and going into the
Ruban Building itself. And because she was so lost in thought, she didn't see
Ryder drive up and park, nor did she see him getting out of the Lincoln with
her briefcase—the one she'd left in the kitchen chair during breakfast.
She glanced back at her desk, then
walked to the far side of the room to refill her coffee cup. Another cup
couldn't hurt. And it was as good an excuse as any to put off reading the
report.
Her intercom buzzed, then Nola
Sue's voice lisped into the silence.
"Mrs. Justice, your husband
is here with your briefcase. He's on his way in."
A smile of delight broke the
somberness of Casey's features as Ryder came through the doorway, dangling her
briefcase from the ends of his fingers.
"Hi, darlin', sorry to
interrupt, but I thought you might be needing this. I'll just lay it on your
desk and get out of your hair."
Casey gasped. The report! It was
on her desk! Before she could think to move, Ryder was halfway there.
Hot coffee sloshed on her fingers
as she shoved the cup on the counter and made a run for the desk. "Ryder,
wait!" Startled by the urgency of her shout, the briefcase slid across the
desk and then onto the floor, taking everything with it as it fell.
"Sorry about that," he
said quickly, and knelt, intent on gathering up what he had spilled. But he
froze in the act, unable to ignore the fact that his name was on every sheet of
paper he picked up.
"It's not what you
think," Casey said quickly, as she grabbed at the papers he was holding.
The look on Ryder's face had
undergone a frightening transformation. The sexy smile he'd worn into the room
had been placed by a grim expression of disbelief. He stood, his words ck with
anger.
"What does this mean?"
"I … uh—"
"You had me
investigated?"
"You don't understand."
"So—you're telling me you
didn't have me investigated."
Casey couldn't look him in the
face. "I didn't say that."
"Then … what you're trying to
say is that file is not a dossier of my life story."
Because she was so afraid, she
took the defensive. "What I did was—"
"What you just did was stand there
and tell me a lie."
She paled. The cold, hard glitter
in his eyes was scaring her to death. Dear God, what had she done?
"I did it for you," she
said. "For us."
He pivoted, then picked up a cup
full of pencils from her desk and flung them against the wall. They shattered
and scattered like so much buckshot against a tin barn. Moments later, Casey's
secretary burst into the room.
Ryder spun. "Get out."
Nola Sue gave Casey a wild,
helpless glance and left at Casey's quick nod.
Ryder was so hurt, so betrayed by
what she had done that didn't trust himself to touch her. When she reached for
him, he shoved her hand aside. "Well? Did you find what you were looking
for?"
Panic-stricken, she wanted to
throw herself into his arms and beg his forgiveness. But she couldn't weaken
now, not when their future was at stake.
"I didn't read it."
The curse he flung into the air
between them was short and the point. Casey took it as her just due.
"But it's true. I was afraid
to read it."
He grabbed at the scattered sheets
he'd tossed on her desk and waved them in her face. "Why, Casey? Don't you
know enough about me by now? Couldn't you trust that there was nothing in my
past that could hurt you?" He groaned, and threw the papers on the floor.
"Damn you. I would die before I let anyone hurt you—even myself."
This time she couldn't stop the
tears. They spilled in silent misery.
He kicked at the papers on which
he was standing, sending them scooting across the floor. "Then if you haven't
read them, I'll save you the trouble. Depending on the depth of the report the
investigator did, you will see that I'm the middle child of three sons born to
Micah and Barbara Justice. They were ranchers. My older brother, Royal, still
lives on the family ranch south of Dallas. My younger brother, Roman, is
ex-military and is now a private investigator. I am a pilot. I own and run a
charter service out of a private airport on the outskirts of Fort Worth. I also
own a little under fourteen hundred acres of prime real estate on the outskirts
of San Antonio, Texas, and unlike what you believed about me when we met, I am
comfortably solvent. Before you, I had never been married, but last winter, I
did something I'd never done before in my entire life."
Casey tensed.
"I ran away from home."
It wasn't what she'd expected him
to say. Truth be told, she didn't know what she'd expected, but that certainly
hadn't been it.
"I don't understand. What
happened to make you turn your back on family and friends? Has it anything to
do with the nightmares you have? The ones that drive you out of our bed? The
ones you won't talk about?"
He started to shake, and Casey
wished to God she'd never meddled.
"I was piloting a plane that
crashed. I walked away. My father did not. He's dead because of me."
The look that passed between them
was full of painful memories. For Casey, they were of the panic she'd seen on
his face when he'd taken her to the airport. Of the plea in his voice not to
fly in the storm. Of the desperation in his touch when he'd seen she was alive.
For Ryder, it was the death of a
myth he'd been living. Of pretending that everything between them was perfect.
Of hiding behind a marriage of convenience instead of facing the truth.
"You know, wife—I don't think
you should be so judgmental about the terms your grandfather put in his will.
From where I'm standing, you've picked up his manipulating ways all too
well."
With that, he turned and walked
out of the office, ignoring the sound of her voice crying out his name—calling
him back.
* * *
It was all Casey could do not to
cry. "Are you sure you haven't seen him all day?"
Joshua shook his head. "No,
sugar, I'm sorry. The last time I saw him he was on his way to your office with
your briefcase."
She groaned, folded her arms on
Tilly's kitchen table and hid her face from the truth. Please don't let him be
gone.
Tilly sat down beside her. "I
knew something was wrong between you two the other day. I told Joshua so,
didn't I?"
Joshua nodded.
Casey slammed her fist down on the
table. "The other day was nothing." She stood, unable to sit still
any longer. "If only I could turn the clock back to that morning, none of
this would have happened."
Eudora came hurrying into the
kitchen. "What on earth is wrong? I could hear shouting all the way down
the hall."
"Mr. Ryder is gone,"
Tilly said, and then started to cry. Eudora looked startled, then glanced at
Casey for confirmation. "Is this true?"
Casey threw up her hands. "I
don't know. He isn't in the habit of telling me anything important in his
life," and slammed the door behind her as she left.
"Well, I declare,"
Eudora said, and dabbed at her eyes with tissue as Erica came into the kitchen.
"What's going on?" Erica
asked.
"Ryder is missing,"
Eudora said.
Erica looked startled and turned
as her brother, Miles, sauntered into the kitchen with his hands in his
pockets, as if he didn't have a care in the world. "What's everyone doing
in the kitchen?"
"Ryder ran off," Erica
said.
His expression changed from one of
boredom to intrigue. "Really?"
Eudora frowned. "I don't
believe it. I've seen the way he looks at Casey. I suspect they've just had an
argument." Miles scratched his head, as if a thought just occurred.
"If he's gone, I wonder what
that does to the terms of Delaney's will?"
It was one of the few times in his
life that his grandmother chose to slap his face.
* * *
Sometime toward morning, Casey
cried herself to sleep. She would have been happy to know Ryder hadn't gone too
far. But she didn't know, and because of the press it would cause, she hadn't
called the police. If she had, though, it wouldn't have taken them long to
locate that familiar white Lincoln. It was parked at the airport in very plain
sight. And it wouldn't have taken all that much longer to locate the driver. He
was standing outside of the fences that separated the highway from runway,
watching as planes took off and landed, trying to exorcise the demon that had
driven the wedge between him and the woman he loved. It had taken hours before
his conscience would let him admit that while she'd gone about it all wrong,
she'd had the right to know.
As he watched, a small private
plane was taxiing for takeoff, and he curled his fingers through the holes in
the chain links, forcing himself to stand as the plane belied the laws of
gravity. Since his arrival, over fifty planes had moved past his location, and
not a one had crashed on takeoff or landing.
Then why spare me?
The question haunted him as much,
if not more, than the fact that his father was dead. Weary in body and soul, he
finally moved from the fence toward the car. He didn't know how, but he and
Casey had to find a way to make things right. Living life without her wasn't
worth the breath it would take.
But when he reached the car, it
wouldn't start. The battery was so dead that jumper cables wouldn't even work,
and because the battery was dead, the car phone was also inoperable.
Ryder cursed luck and fate and
everything in between, knowing that all he had to do was go inside the terminal
and call home, but the idea of getting Casey out at four in the morning didn't
seem all that wise, especially after the fight they'd had.
Forced to wait until daybreak when
a mobile repairman could be called, he crawled into the back seat of the car,
locked himself inside, and lay down and went to sleep. When he awoke, sun was
beaming in the window on his face and it was long past nine. He groaned. Casey
would be at the office. It would be tonight before they could talk.
* * *
"So," Miles said.
"You're saying if Casey doesn't fulfill the terms of Delaney's will by
staying with her husband for the entire year, it could still mean
default?"
Lash leaned back in his chair and
nodded, while his heart skipped a beat. This was his chance. This was the
opportunity he'd been waiting for. Adrenaline surged as he contemplated the
call he would make. Suddenly, he wanted Miles Dunn out of his face and he
wanted it now.
"Look, Miles, it's simply a
matter of wait and see. All married couples argue and they usually make up. I
don't advise you to put too much hope in what you're thinking."
Miles looked slightly embarrassed
as he stood. "Of course you're right. And I hope you don't think I was
looking to gain anything by Casey's misfortune."
"Of course not," Lash
said, as he ushered him out of his office.
When Miles was finally gone, Lash
told his secretary to hold all his calls, then he slipped out the back door. He
intended to make certain that the call he was about to make could not be traced
back to him.
* * *
Casey was trying to concentrate on
a stockholders' report when the phone by her elbow suddenly rang. It was the
private line that only family used. She grabbed at the receiver, answering on
the first ring. It had to be Ryder. Please God, let it be him.
"Hello?"
"Is this Miz Justice? Miz
Ryder Justice?"
She frowned. The voice was crude
and unfamiliar. "Yes, to whom am I speaking?"
"This here is Taft Glass.
There's a fellow out here by my place who done went and had hisself
a bad wreck. I found him myself when I went out this mornin' to check my trot
lines. Looks like he'd been there all night. He's pinned in this big white car
and all, and they're workin' to get him out, but he keeps callin'
out your name. I told them medics I'd come up here to the bait and tackle shop
and give you a call."
All the blood drained from Casey's
face. She gripped the phone in desperation. Oh my God, she thought. I lay in
bed and slept last night while Ryder was alone and hurt and crying out for
help. Her hand started to shake and she gripped the phone tighter. This was why
he hadn't come home.
She reached for paper and pen.
"Give me the directions to the scene of the accident," she demanded,
and wrote at a furious pace as Taft Glass continued to speak.
She grabbed for her purse at the
same time she disconnected. Her legs were shaking and she wanted to cry, but
this was no time for her to be weak. Ryder's well-being was all that counted.
Halfway to the door, she thought
of the wallet she'd tossed in the desk drawer this morning and raced back to
get it. She reached in and grabbed, getting a handful of pens along with the
small leather case. Without taking time to sift through the mess, she tossed it
all in her handbag and dashed out the door.
"Nola Sue, cancel all of my
appointments. I don't know when I'll be back, but I'll call. My husband has
been injured in a wreck."
Nola Sue was still registering
shock as the door slammed shut behind Casey's exit.
* * *
"It's got to be here
somewhere," Casey muttered, glancing down again at her hastily written
map, as she had more than once during the last half hour.
This part of the countryside was one
she'd never been in. She was deep in the Mississippi marshlands and hadn't seen
a house since she'd turn off the last gravel road.
She took the upcoming curve at a
high rate of speed, skidding slightly as the road suddenly straightened.
Suddenly, her nerves went on alert. A few hundred yards up ahead she could see
a cluster of parked vehicles. She'd found them!
It didn't occur to her to wonder
why there were no police cars in sight, and no medical units trying to get
Ryder free. All she saw was the front half of a white car buried in a bayou and
the back half sticking up in the air, like an awkward straw in a giant cup of
thick, soupy mud.
Fear for Ryder made her miss the
fact that the buried car was a '59 Ford and that it had certainly been in the
water longer than overnight. Fact was, it had been there closer to a year, and
it was still there because the owner had moved away soon after, leaving it
stuck the same way he'd left owing rent.
But to Casey, the sight was
appalling. Her heart nearly stopped. Dear Lord, the man hadn't told her the car
had gone off into water. She couldn't bring herself to think about Ryder not
being alive. She had to explain to him about the investigation. He had to
understand that she'd done it because she loved him, not because she didn't
trust him. In a panic, she braked to a skidding halt, unable to contemplate the
idea of growing old without him.
A heavyset man separated himself
from the cluster of vehicles and started toward her, while another man, tall
and skinny with long, graying hair, watched from the tailgate of his truck. The
man coming toward her was short and his T-shirted belly had a tendency to laze
over the waistband of his faded blue jeans. The baseball cap he wore scrunched
over his ears accentuated the fact that he was in dire need of a haircut.
Unruly blond wisps stuck out from beneath the rim of the cap like greasy duck
feathers.
A niggle
of warning ticked off in Casey's head. This wasn't what she'd been expecting.
When he leaned in the window and leered, she knew something wasn't right.
"Miz Justice?"
"Yes, I'm Casey Justice.
Bernie Pike grinned and yanked her
out of the car. "Damn, lady. It took you long enough to get here."
Panic shafted through her as she
struggled to pull herself free.
"Where's Ryder? Where's my
husband?"
He laughed. "Now, that's
probably about what he's going to be asking himself when you don't show up
tonight."
"What do you mean?"
He slapped a rag on her face. It smelled
of hospital corridors and science classes she thought she'd forgotten.
"Consider yourself kidnapped,
honey, and hope that someone in your family thinks you're worth the price it's
gonna take to get you back home."
She screamed and fought, tearing
the cloth from her eyes and kicking off her shoes as she tried to run.
Something sharp pierced her arm, then the world opened up and swallowed her
whole.
* * *
Ryder got as far as the edge of
town and knew he couldn't wait any longer to see his wife. Night was too far
away. In spite of the fact that he looked as if he'd slept in his clothes,
which he had, he needed to see Casey now. He parked in front of the Ruban
Building and told himself they would find a way to make things right.
Nola Sue gasped as Ryder walked
into the office. "Mr. Justice, thank goodness you're all right!"
Casey's secretary wasn't making
much sense. "What do you mean?"
"You know. With your wreck
and all, we had no way of knowing how serious your injuries might be."
He frowned. "I wasn't in any
wreck."
Her hands fluttered around her
throat as his words sank in. "But Mrs. Justice said you'd had a wreck. She
raced out of here in a terrible state."
Suddenly there was a knot in the
pit of his stomach. He didn't want to think about what this might mean.
"When?"
Nola Sue glanced at the clock.
"Oh, at least an hour ago, maybe longer."
A muscle jerked in Ryder's jaw.
"Who told her something like that?"
She shrugged. "I don't know. I
just know that someone called her on the private line. You know, the one the
family uses." She blushed. "I heard it ring. The walls aren't all
that thick."
Damn, this doesn't feel right.
"I want to look inside her office. Would you come with me? You'll know
better than I would if something important is missing."
Nola Sue followed Ryder inside,
and together they made a thorough search of the place.
"No, I'm sorry, sir, but
everything looks the same."
Ryder tried a smile. "I'm
sure we're just borrowing trouble. She's probably at home, cursing the fact
that someone sent her on a wild-goose chase."
Nola Sue nodded. "I'll bet
you're right."
Even though he suspected it was
useless, Ryder continued to stand in the middle of the room. He kept thinking
that they'd missed something. He could almost feel it.
When they'd started their search,
her top desk drawer had been half-open, but Nola Sue had said nothing was
missing. There was a pad of paper and a pen right by the phone, just like—
He froze. The pad. Maybe she'd
written something on there that would give him a clue. He raced to the desk,
then dug a pencil out of the drawer. Carefully, he rubbed the side of the lead
on the blank piece of paper, going from side to side as he moved down the page.
Inch by inch, a set of directions was slowly revealed.
Nola Sue leaned over his shoulder.
"Oh my goodness. That's way out of town. In fact, if I remember correctly,
that's out in the marsh."
His gut kicked, reminding him that
fate was not kind. "Call the house. See if she's home."
Nola Sue did as she was told and,
moments later, gave him the bad news. No one had seen her since early this
morning. Ryder looked down at the pad, afraid to consider where his thoughts
were leading, and picked up the phone.
"What are you doing?"
she asked.
"Calling the police.
Something's not right. Someone has played a pretty sick joke on Casey, or her
life could be in danger. Either way, I'm not waiting to find out."
* * *
Casey woke up with a start. Several
things became obvious to her all at once. She couldn't see. She couldn't move.
Her arm was sore and there was a bitter taste in her mouth. And she remembered
why. She took a deep breath and heard herself sob.
"So, girlie, girlie, I see
you're comin' around." She froze. Oh God, I am not alone.
"Please, let me go."
He laughed, and Casey felt like a
fool. It had been a stupid thing to ask, but she'd had to, just the same.
"Now, we can't be doin' that.
Not until your people come up with the dough. We went to a lot of trouble to
set this all up, you know. Don't you think we ought to be paid for our
time?"
Dear God, I've been kidnapped!
"They'll pay," she said, and then choked on a sob.
He laughed again. "And why
the hell not? It ain't like you're short on dough, now, is it?"
Something skittered across her leg
and she kicked and screamed in sudden fright.
"Hey! Ain't no need for all
that screamin'. If you can't keep your mouth shut,
I'll just have to gag you, too—you hear?"
Her voice was still shaking, but
there was just enough indignation to get the man's attention. "Something
ran across my leg."
"Probably just a lizard. They's all kinds of water critters down here. Be glad it
wasn't no snake."
She shuddered and thought of
Ryder. Obviously, he hadn't been in any wreck. They'd used that excuse to
sucker her right into their hands. If she'd had a foot free, she would have
kicked herself. And along with that knowledge, came a question she was afraid
to have answered. If Ryder wasn't in a wreck, then where was he? The thought of
never seeing him again, of dying and not being able to explain to him why she'd
done what she'd done was devastating.
"I need to go to the
bathroom."
The man cursed. "I told 'em not
to leave me out here. I told 'em somethin' like this was bound to happen. But
hell no, did anyone listen?"
"Please."
He yanked at the cord binding her
wrists to get her attention, then untied her ankles, dragging her up from the
bed and standing her on her bare feet. A few steps later, he gave her a push.
"You got a couple of minutes,
no more. And don't try nothin', either." His hand cupped her breast, and
Casey could feel his breath on her face. "You'll be sorry if you do."
Casey wouldn't move, wouldn't let
him know how scared she was, or how repulsed she was by his touch.
"Well, what the hell are you
waitin' for?" he yelled.
She held out her hands. "For
you to untie me."
He cursed, but moments later, she
felt the rope come loose around her wrists and heard the door slam shut between
them. "No funny business," he yelled. "And remember, I'm right
outside this door."
Her hands were shaking as she tore
at the rag covering her eyes. When it fell free to the floor, she staggered
from the unexpected glare of light. Quick to take advantage of the privilege
she'd been granted, she did what she had to do, aware that it could be hours
before he might let her get up again.
As she washed her hands, she
searched her surroundings for something—anything, that might help her escape.
But there was nothing in sight. Not even a window in the tiny, airless room.
The only remarkable thing she
could see was a varied assortment of crocheted knickknacks sitting on floors,
on shelves, even hanging from the walls. It explained nothing.
"Get out here, now!" the
man yelled, and Casey jumped. "And put that blindfold back on your face or
you'll be sorry." She did as she was told, although she was already as
sorry as a woman could be and still be breathing. If only she could start this
day over.
Her hand was on the doorknob when
the man suddenly yanked it open. He grabbed her by the hand, retied her wrists
and ankles, and shoved her back down on a bed.
Loath to recline in a room with a
man she could not see, Casey sat with her back against the bedstead, her knees
pulled toward her chin. It wasn't much, but it was as good a defensive position
as she could manage. The urge to come undone was almost overwhelming, but she
refused to give way. She was going to need all of her wits to survive.
Chapter 14
Just as Ryder had
feared, Casey's car was found at the location she'd written on the notepad. What
broke his heart was learning they'd also found her shoes. For once, she must
have heeded his warning and kicked off her shoes before trying to run.
Unfortunately, it had done her no
good. There wasn't a clue as to where she'd been taken.
Now, just like before when she'd
gone to Chicago, Ryder sat by the phone, again waiting for word. Only this
time, the phone had been tapped, and when they heard—if they heard—he knew the
request wouldn't be for a ride home. If Ryder's fears were correct, it would be
for money in return for his wife.
Eudora had been given a sedative
and was in her room asleep.
Erica was curled in a chair in the
corner with her head on her knees, trying to come to terms with the fact that a
member of their family was a possible kidnap victim and trying not to let
herself think that if Casey didn't ever come home, everything that had been
Delaney Ruban's would then belong to her and Miles. It shamed her to realize
that she'd already envisioned what she would wear to her sister's funeral. She
didn't want Casey to be dead. Not really. Right now, she would be perfectly
satisfied if Casey were back and being the constant source of discord in their
lives.
* * *
Before Mason Gant had become a
detective on the police force in Ruban Crossing, he had been a star running
back on his college football team. He'd planned on a career in the NFL, not one
behind a badge. But a single tackle had changed his plans and the rest of his
life. Before he knew it, fifteen years had come and gone and he was now
Detective Gant, and carried a notebook and pen, not a pigskin.
Because of the identity of the
missing person, he knew that is could very well be one of the most important
investigations of his career and was not giving an inch as to protocol. He'd
interviewed all of the hired help and the immediate family, except one. Miles
Dunn had been the last to come home and the last to be apprised of his sister's
situation. And as Miles slumped in a chair, it was Gant's opinion that Dunn
wasn't nearly as bereaved as he would have liked.
"And where were you?"
Gant asked, pinning Miles in place with a casual stare.
Miles raised his eyebrows in
disbelief. "Why on earth should it matter where I was at? My sister is
missing. Why aren't you out trying to find her?" Taking heart in the fact
that several of Ruban Crossing's finest were present, he glanced at Ryder,
confident that he could say what was on his mind without coming to harm.
"Better yet, why aren't you questioning her husband? We don't really know
a thing about him."
"Oh, but we do, and his story
checks out clean. Besides, he has nothing to gain from her demise. On the other
hand, you and your sister have several hundred millions dollars at stake. Am I
right?"
Erica stood up with a gasp of
indignation as Miles shifted nervously in his seat. "Of course not. Casey
inherited."
The detective persisted. "But
what happens if she dies?"
Miles shrugged. "I wouldn't
really know."
As the family lawyer, Lash was in attendance.
At this point he interrupted, but seemed hesitant to do so. "That's not
exactly true, Miles. You did come to my office this morning and ask what would
happen if Casey defaulted on the terms of Delaney's will."
Ryder came to his feet, and if there
hadn't been a desk and a chair between them, he would have put his fist in
Miles's face.
Miles spun, his face livid with
anger. "You're twisting everything. You knew I was asking because we all
thought Ryder had flown the coop."
Lash looked repentant. "I'm
sorry, Miles, but I felt obligated to tell the truth. If anyone needs me, you
know where I can be reached." He picked up his briefcase and made a quick
exit.
Ryder was shaking with anger.
"You son of a bitch. Do you remember what I told you? If Casey hurts—you
bleed."
The low, even tone in Ryder's
voice frightened Miles far more than any shout of rage could have done. He
scrambled to his feet and backed toward the door, looking frantically toward
the police for protection.
"Sit down!" Gant said, and
then glanced at Ryder. "While I can understand your indignation, this
isn't getting us anywhere. A woman is missing and all you people seem able to
do is fight among yourselves."
Ryder hunched his shoulders and
stalked to the windows overlooking the courtyard, looking up at the small
apartment over the garage. Precious minutes passed as pain twisted within him,
drawing and pulling like a dull knife. The night before last, he'd slept in
Casey's arms. They'd made love with an abandon that had surprised even him. And
less than thirty-six hours later, someone had lied to Casey and stolen from
Ryder the thing he cared for most—his wife.
And then suddenly the phone rang,
and everyone jumped as if they'd been shot.
"You answer it," Gant
directed, pointing at Ryder.
Ryder said a prayer and picked up
the phone. "Hello."
"This is a recording. I will
not repeat myself, so pay attention. Casey Justice is with me. At the moment,
she is alive. If you choose to ignore my conditions, she will not stay that way
long. For her release, I want three million dollars in small, unmarked bills,
none of them larger in denomination than a fifty, none of them smaller than a
five. I will call you at five o'clock, day after tomorrow, and tell you where
and when to make the drop."
The line went dead, with the
computerized sound of an altered voice still grinding in his ear. "Did you
get that?" Ryder asked.
Gant nodded. "All we can do
now is wait."
Ryder slammed the phone down.
"Like hell. That's three days. In three days, anything could happen to
Casey. Don't you have any leads? Didn't anything turn up when forensics went
over her car?"
Gant was a man who believed in
telling it like it was. "Forensics is still going over her car, and you
know as well as I do that we don't have any other leads. However, we will
actively be pursuing the investigation."
Ryder covered his face with his
hands and turned away. He felt sick to his stomach and couldn't quit shaking.
He kept thinking about Casey. Of how afraid she must be. "Dear Lord. Why
is this happening?"
Gant briefly touched Ryder's arm.
"Because someone got greedy, Mr. Justice. Now I suggest you try to get
some rest. The next forty-eight hours will be crucial. The FBI should be here
by morning." He grinned wryly. "You'll probably have to repeat
everything you've told me to them. They're kind of partial to taking their own
statements." His smile faded. "I think you should be prepared for the
possibility that the kidnappers are going to want you, or another member of the
family, to make the drop."
"I'll do whatever they ask,
but I'm not very good at waiting." He exhaled slowly, as if the action
pained him. "There will be time to rest after Casey gets home."
Gant looked away. He was too aware
that the odds of that happening weren't all that good.
"If anyone needs me, I'll be
at the apartment," Ryder said, and started down the hall when Erica caught
up with him. "Ryder."
He stopped and turned.
Looking him straight in the face
was the hardest thing she'd ever done. From start to finish, she was ashamed of
the way she'd behaved, but she didn't know how to say it without admitting
she'd been in the wrong.
"What do you want?" he
asked.
"If you don't want to be by
yourself, I know Casey would want you to stay here in the main house. You could
have her room."
"I don't think so, but
thanks." He turned away.
"Ryder, wait, please!"
He took a deep breath and turned
around again. "Yeah?"
"I'm sorry."
He didn't respond.
"I have never regretted
anything as much as I have regretted the stunt I pulled with you. All I can say
is, I have envied Casey her place in this family all of her life, and it's not
even her fault. She was born a Ruban. Our mother became one by marriage. Miles
and I have been on the outside looking in ever since the day Mother said, 'I
do.'" Her chin quivered as she continued. "However, not even in my
ugliest moment have I ever wished Casey to come to harm. I ask your
forgiveness, and when Casey comes home, I will ask hers, too."
Ryder knew truth when he heard it,
and in his opinion, it was probably the first time in her life that Erica Dunn
had been completely honest, with herself, and with someone else. And because
she was Casey's sister, he held out his hand. "Truce."
She smiled. "Truce." And
she accepted the offer of friendship.
"Sure I can't change your
mind?"
He shook his head and then hurried
out the door. Erica watched as he ran up the stairs to the apartment, and
although she couldn't hear it, imagined the thud as he slammed the door shut
behind him.
Ryder grabbed the phone as soon as
he came in the door, then sat down with it in his lap. Within seconds, he was
punching in numbers, then waiting as it began to ring. Four rings later, the
answering machine kicked on.
He closed his eyes as he listened
to the message. It had been so long—too long since he'd heard the sound of his
brother's voice.
"This is Justice Air and The
Justice Way. State your name, your business, and if you want a call back, leave
your number. Wait for the beep."
It didn't register to be surprised
that Roman was now in charge of his business as well. Casey was foremost on his
mind.
"Roman, it's Ryder. For once,
pick up the damned phone." A distinct click sounded in Ryder's ear, and he
closed his eyes with relief.
"It's about damned
time," Roman growled.
"Give me grief later,"
Ryder said. "Right now, I need you, brother, as I have never needed you
before."
Roman sat up. Ryder was thirty-three
years old and to Roman's knowledge, he had never asked a soul for help before
in his life. "What's wrong?"
"My wife has been kidnapped.
I want her back, Roman." His voice broke. "Dammit, I need her back.
If anything happens to her, I won't—"
"Where are you?"
"Ruban Crossing,
Mississippi."
"Hell, I knew that,"
Roman muttered. "I mean physical directions to your home."
Startled, it took Ryder a moment
to reconnect his thoughts. Then he sighed. He should have known. After all, his
brother was a private investigator.
"Got a pen and paper?"
he asked.
"Does a bear—"
Ryder laughed aloud, drowning out
the rest of Roman's remark. It made him feel good, almost normal, to hear
Roman's ever present sarcasm. Some things never change.
He gave Roman directions to the
Ruban estate, and when he hung up, for the first time since this nightmare had
started to unfold, he knew a small sense of relief.
* * *
In a small, unused room in a
forgotten part of Delaney Ruban's house, candles were burning, on pedestals, in
cups, on plates, even on the floor. Candlelight flickered upon the walls and on
the bare, lithe body of Matilda Bass, giving the cafe au lait
color of her skin a rich, golden glow.
Her hair was undone and hanging
well below her waist and she moved as one in a trance, methodically unrolling a
cloth she'd brought into the room. A handful of small, white bones fell out of
the folds, arranging themselves in a crude sort of circle as they rolled to a
stop.
She leaned forward, her bare
breasts shifting, and she was barely aware of the thick, silken length of her
hair against the skin on her back, blind to the candlelight surrounding her as
she sat.
At her side lay a knife, the shaft,
old and yellowed. The blade was long and thin, the kind that pierces and kills
and leaves nothing behind but a tiny, red mark. The carvings on the handle were
old and held a power all of their own.
When Joshua entered, Tilly sensed
the air in the room stirring, and somewhere within her mind, she sifted through
the change and knew that nothing threatened what she was about to do. Her focus
shifted again as she went to her knees before the circle of bones, whispering
in a language that she'd learned at her grandmother's knee.
* * *
Lash downshifted Fostoria Biggers's small white compact and turned into the overgrown
driveway leading up to her house. It was nearly dark, and he knew that coming
out here was risky, but he wanted to see for himself that the mighty Casey
Ruban had been brought to her knees. Using Fostoria's car was just another way
of blurring his trail.
The house was small and nearing
total dilapidation. In fact, if possible, it was in worse condition than his
beloved Graystone. Fostoria's porch had sagged some years ago, and was nearly
rotted through from the wetlands upon which it had been built. Paint had peeled
off all the siding except in a few sheltered places, and the curtains that hung
at the windows were faded and limp. The grass in the yard was ankle high and
Lash winced as he thought of walking through it. There was no telling what kind
of reptiles were lying in wait.
He made it through the yard and
onto the porch. Sidestepping the worst of the sag in the planks, he walked into
the house as if he owned it. Bernie Pike spun toward the sound, his gun pointed
directly at Lash's chest.
"Dammit, Marlow, you scared
the hell out of me." Lash frowned. "Point that thing somewhere
else."
Bernie did as he was told.
"Where is she?" Lash asked.
Bernie pointed toward the first
door on the right down the hall. "I put her in there. It was the only room
that had a bed."
Lash nodded.
"When's Skeet comin' to
relieve me?"
Lash frowned. "I told you two
to guard her. I didn't think I would have to set up a work schedule for you as
well. Call him and find out for yourself."
Bernie shivered and glanced
nervously out the open door. "I'm ready to get my money and get the hell
out of this swamp. There's snakes and lizards and all matter of critters out
here. When is it all goin' down?"
"Day after tomorrow."
Bernie frowned and then cursed.
"What's the holdup? I thought them people had plenty of money."
Lash glanced down the hall at the
closed door and then grinned. "Oh, they do, but I intend to delay the
inevitable as long as possible. Why put her out of her misery—until she knows
what real misery is like?"
There was an expression on Lash
Marlow's face that made Bernie Pike shudder. He shifted his gun to his other hand,
thankful that he was working for this man, not running from him.
"So, what do you want me to
do?" Bernie asked.
Lash took a deep breath, his pulse
quickening as he glanced at the closed door. "Get out. Get out and don't
come back inside until I tell you to."
Bernie looked startled and then a
slow grin spread across his face as he did what he was told.
When the house was quiet, and Lash
could hear nothing but the sound of his own heartbeat in his ears, he gave his
rabbit's foot a last quick rub, and started down the hall.
* * *
Casey's hands were numb and her
throat was dry. She needed a drink in the very worst way, but calling attention
to herself was the last thing she wanted to do. As long as her abductor thought
she was asleep, he pretty much left her alone.
Something was crawling on the
floor beside the bed and she prayed it stayed there. But the scratch-scratch of
toenails on hardwood flooring was impossible to ignore. She kept telling
herself that as long as she couldn't see what was making the noise, then she
couldn't be afraid.
And then the air shifted, and
another sound blended with those in her head and she tensed. That was the door!
Someone was inside the room. Casey had learned a trick from Delaney early on in
her life to take control of a situation by being the first to speak. She saw no
reason to change her strategy now. "I would like a drink of water."
A low, ugly chuckle centered
itself within the waiting silence and Casey gasped. That didn't sound like her
abductor. Someone else had entered the picture.
"Casey, Casey, ever the prima
donna, aren't you? Tied up like a sow going to market
and still giving orders. Now what do you suppose it would take to bring you to
your knees?"
"Lash?"
The blindfold was yanked from her
face.
Casey blinked rapidly, trying to
clear her vision as her eyes adjusted to the change in light. Lash leaned down
and pinched the sides of her cheeks with his thumbs and fingers, squeezing and
squeezing until speech was impossible and tears sprang to her eyes.
"That's it. Cry for me,
honey. Show me you care."
Casey jerked, trying to free
herself from his grasp, and then to her surprise, he turned her loose and
shoved her, sending her sprawling. Before she could think, he had untied her
ankles and straddled her legs.
Panic shafted through Casey's
mind. Lash's intentions were all too plain. And when he leaned forward,
pressing the palms of his hands against the swell of her breasts, she groaned
and wrestled with the ties still binding her wrists. They wouldn't give.
"Lash, for God's sake,
don't."
His slap ricocheted off the side
of her jaw. "You don't tell me what to do. I'm the one in control. I'm the
one who calls the plays, princess, and right now, I'm going to take a little of
what was rightfully mine."
His fingers curled in the top of
her blouse, and when he yanked, buttons flew, hitting the wall and scattering
across the floor. Something scurried out from under the bed and Casey knew that
one good thing had come from Lash's arrival. At least that creature was gone.
If she only knew how to get rid of this one for good, she would never ask for
anything again. He laughed, and then grabbed at the hem of her skirt as
adrenaline surged through him. This was power. He wished he'd thought of it
sooner. At last he felt like a man.
Casey kicked and bit and screamed
until her throat was hoarse. It served no purpose other than to arouse him
more. His hands were at the juncture of her legs when the room began to grow
dark before her eyes. A fresh sheen of perspiration broke out on Casey's skin
as the sensation of fainting became imminent. Horrified at what he would do if
she was unconscious and helpless, Casey thought of a prayer that didn't make it
aloud. The darkness in the room was growing, and it was beginning to pull her
in.
Her submission was so unexpected
that Lash also paused, wondering what trick she was trying to pull. But she was
far too limp and far too still for a joke. Frustrated that she would not be
awake to suffer his touch, he thrust a knee between her legs, readying to shove
himself in as well. And then Casey began to speak.
Surprised, he looked down. Her
eyes were still closed. She was still limp—almost lifeless. And he would have
sworn the voice that he heard was not her own.
Her breathing had slowed, and at
first glance, she seemed to be asleep. But the words pouring out of her mouth
were fluent in cadence, foreign in sound and speech, universal in intent. One
brief, staccato sentence after another, she was invoking a curse of such
magnitude upon Lash Marlow's head that he couldn't do anything but stare. Word
after word, the curse continued, pouring upon every living person hereafter who
might carry an ounce of his blood in their veins. Spoken in the old patois of
French-speaking slaves, the threat became even more insidious as the promises
continued.
Lash jerked his hand back from her
legs as if he'd been burned. Pale and sickening, a cold sweat suddenly beaded
upon his face. Lash was a true son of the south. He'd been born and bred in the
ways of the past. He, too, spoke French like a native, and although he was a
well-read, highly educated man, there was that part of him that had grown up
believing in curses and superstitions and extremely bad luck.
"Shut up! Shut up!" His scream
rent the air as he drew back and slapped her in the face.
It was after Casey tasted her own
blood that she took a deep breath and opened her eyes.
Horror crawled up the back of
Lash's spine. The woman looking out at him from Casey's face wasn't the
green-eyed woman he'd known and coveted. This woman's eyes were black, and she
was staring at him from hell.
He grabbed at his clothes,
scrambling to get off of her legs and away from her body like a man gone crazy.
When he was on the other side of the room, he pointed a finger toward where she
lay and told himself it didn't matter. Words were just words. She couldn't stop
the success of what he'd set in place. But everywhere he moved, her eyes
followed him, staring—blaming—reminding him of what she'd just said.
"Say what you will, you
stupid bitch," he growled. Then he laughed. But it was a nervous, jerky
sort of bark. "Day after tomorrow it will all be over. I'll be rich, and
you'll be dead."
And then he was gone, and while
she lay on the bed, she came to an acceptance she didn't understand. Even
though she was locked in this room and helpless in the face of her abductors,
for a while, she had not been alone. Instead of being afraid, she took comfort
in the knowledge. All she could remember was feeling sick and then falling into
a deep, black hole. What had transpired after that, she could only guess, but
she knew she had not been raped. And in the face of all that, it still wasn't
the biggest horror of all.
Lash Marlow had purposefully let
her see his face. She closed her eyes. She would never see Ryder again.
* * *
It was 3:00 a.m. when the knock
sounded on Ryder's front door. Half in and half out of a weary doze, he
staggered to his feet and made his way through the darkened rooms, turning on
lights as he went. He grabbed the doorknob and jerked.
Roman walked inside, tossed a
suitcase on the sofa and kicked the door shut behind him. Brother to brother,
the two men looked at each other, judging the changes in each that the last few
months had made. Finally, it was Roman who broke the silence.
"You look like hell."
Ryder walked into his brother's
outstretched arms. Their embrace was brief, but it served its purpose. It was
proof to Ryder that the connection he'd tried to sever with his family was still
as strong as it had ever been.
"You got here fast," he
said.
Roman glanced around the room.
"I figured I'd better."
Ryder hadn't expected to be so
overwhelmed by the sight of his brother's face. It was all he could do to speak
without breaking down. "Help me, Roman. Help me find her and get her
back."
Roman's grasp was strong on
Ryder's arm. "That's why I came, brother. That's why I came."
Like the sleuth that he was, Roman
began to move about the room, picking up things and laying them down again,
feeling, judging, absorbing the world in which his brother had been living. A
photograph sat on a nearby table. Roman picked it up.
"Is this her?"
Ryder nodded. It had been taken
the night of Libertine Delacroix's party. It hurt to look at it and remember
how happy they'd been. "Yeah, minus the ears and tail," Ryder said.
One of Roman's rare grins slid
into place. "Leave it up to you to run away from home and come out
smelling like a rose."
* * *
"Well, I do declare!"
Eudora's ladylike gasp that accompanied
her remark was in reaction to seeing the Justice brothers coming through the
front door of the main house.
From the cold, handsome faces to
the dark straight hair and those square, stubborn chins, they were alike as two
peas in a pod. Their blue jeans were pressed and starched and their
long-sleeved white shirts were a perfect contrast to the tan of their skin. The
tilt of their Stetsons rode at the same cocky slant, and their steps
synchronized as they stepped off space on the pale, marble floor.
"Dora, this is my brother,
Roman Justice. Roman—Casey's grandmother, Eudora Deathridge."
Roman's expression never changed
as he tilted his hat. "Ma'am."
A shiver moved through her as she
looked into Roman's eyes. They were dark, and the expression seemed hard and
flat. And she knew if he hadn't looked so much like Ryder, she would have been
afraid of this man.
Ryder touched her arm. "We're
going to use the library for a while, okay?"
"Why, yes, dear. Whatever you
need," she said, and then made as graceful an exit as she could manage.
"There it is," Ryder
said, pointing to the computer system in the far corner of the room.
Roman headed for it with unerring
intent. Within moments, he was into the system and had it on-line.
"How did you do that?"
Ryder asked. "I can never make those things do what I want them to
do."
Roman looked up. "You just
don't use the right kind of persuasion," he replied, then moved his eyes
back to the screen.
Ryder found himself a chair and
sat down. This morning, Roman had asked him for a list of names of people with
whom Casey most closely associated. The question had surprised him. All this
time he'd been thinking in terms of faceless strangers, not a betrayal from
family or friend.
He'd asked why and was still
shaken by his brother's cold answer. "Because trust will betray you every
time."
It hurt him to know the depth of
Roman's bitterness toward the human race. But his own life was in such a mess,
he couldn't argue the point. All he could do was trust the fact that Roman had
been in this business long enough to know what he was doing.
"Well, now, this is
interesting."
Ryder came out of his chair like a
shot. They were the first words that Roman had spoken since he'd sat down at
the computer over an hour ago.
"What?" Ryder asked.
Roman leaned back in his chair.
"Besides being the family lawyer, what is Lash Marlow to Casey?"
Ryder frowned. "Nothing,
although I think her grandfather would have wished it otherwise. Remember what
I told you about the will, and how we met?"
Roman nodded.
"Casey once mentioned that
when Lash Marlow read that clause in the will, he was almost gloating. You
know, like an I've-got-you-now look."
Roman stared at the screen.
"He's broke."
Startled, Ryder moved to look over
Roman's shoulder. "You must be mistaken. His family is old money. That's
what everyone says."
"He has been served with a
foreclosure notice, and up until two weeks ago, his accounts were all
overdrawn."
Ryder frowned. "How the hell
did you get that computer to do that?"
"That's privileged info,
brother."
"Did you hack into the bank's
computers?"
Roman spun his chair around as one
of his rare smiles slowly broke across his face. "Now, Ryder, why would I
do a thing like that? It's illegal."
Ryder started to pace. "Okay,
so Lash Marlow is hard up for money. I'd venture to say at least half the
people in Ruban Crossing could say the same."
He paused to look out the window
overlooking the grounds. His gaze fell on the gardener's shed. Despair surfaced
as he thought of holding Casey in his arms, and what they'd done that night in
the name of love. It was all he could do to focus on what had to be done.
"Look Roman, there's no
guarantee that whoever has Casey is even a local. In the business world, the
Ruban name is known worldwide. Their holdings are vast. Casey's inheritance has
recently been in all the papers … twice. Once when Delaney died. Again when
that plane she was supposed to be on crashed and burned with all aboard."
Roman listened without comment,
but when he turned back to the computer, his gaze was fixed, his thoughts
whirling. He kept thinking of what his C.O. used to say just before they'd go
out on a mission. Never overlook the obvious. It will get you killed every
time. In Roman's opinion, Lash Marlow had an obvious axe to grind. What
remained to be seen was if he was the kind of man who could betray a client …
or a friend.
* * *
The family was gathering in the
main salon, and while they whispered among themselves as to the possible reason
Detective Gant might have for calling them all together again, Ryder's thoughts
were on something else. A few moments ago, he'd glanced up at the clock.
Forty-eight hours ago to the minute, he'd walked into Casey's office a happy
man. Within the space of time it took to spill papers from a desk, his world
had come to an end. All last night he'd kept hearing the sound of her voice as
she'd begged him to come back inside her office. If only he had.
A few moments later, the doorbell
chimed and they heard Joshua directing Mason Gant into the room.
"Thanks for being so
prompt," Gant said, waving away Joshua's offer of coffee. He glanced
around the room. "I have some news," he announced, and when Ryder took
a step forward, he held up his hand. "Sorry, I phrased that wrong. It is
news, but not of Casey."
The doorbell pealed again and
Joshua hurried from the room. Moments later, Lash Marlow followed him back.
"Sorry I'm late," Lash said, smoothing his hand over his windblown
hair. "Had to be in court first thing this morning." Gant nodded.
"I just got here myself." He looked around. "Is everyone
here?"
"Everyone but Bea. Today's
her day off," Tilly said.
Gant pulled out his notebook.
"I have her address. I'll catch up with her later."
"Detective Gant, before you
start, there's someone I want you to meet."
Gant looked up, surprised by
Ryder's remark. He thought he'd met everyone when he was here before. Suddenly
a man walked into his line of vision and he realized that the fellow had been
standing in plain sight all along, but had been so quiet and so still that he'd
completely overlooked his presence. His first impression was that the man was
military. His second was special forces. And then he focused on his face and
Gant knew before he spoke that this man was Ryder's brother … if not his twin.
"I'd wager your last name is
Justice," Gant said.
Roman held out his hand.
"Roman Justice, private investigator out of Dallas. I won't get in your
way if you don't get in mine."
Gant grinned as they shook hands.
He liked a man who said what he thought.
A coffee cup shattered, breaking
the brief silence as everyone turned toward the sound. Lash was against the
wall. He was pale and shaking and staring down at the floor.
"It slipped out of my
hands."
Joshua ran to get a broom as Tilly
fussed with the splatters that dappled the edge of a soft, moss-green rug.
Ryder stared at Lash, as if seeing
him for the very first time. He couldn't bring himself to believe that anyone
who knew Casey would want to cause her harm. And Marlow was, as usual, every
inch the gentleman—from the cut of his clothes to the style of his hair. But
why was Lash so upset over a spilled cup of coffee? Ryder kept staring and
staring, remembering his brother's words and trying to see past the obvious to
the man beneath. Suddenly, something about Lash's appearance struck a sour
note.
"Hey, Marlow."
At the sound of Ryder's voice,
Lash jerked as if he'd been slapped. He looked up. "Yes?"
"What the hell happened to
your hand?"
He didn't have to look down to
know they were referring to the row of skinned knuckles on his right hand and
the long red gash that ran from one edge of his wrist to the other. Gorge rose
in his throat as he struggled with an answer they all might believe. He could
hardly tell them it was the remnants of his bout with Casey.
He managed a laugh. "I locked
myself out of the house last night. Graystone may be past her prime, but like
the lady she is, she does not easily part with her virtue. I broke a window
trying to get inside. Lucky for me I didn't cut my own wrist, right?"
The answer was plausible enough.
Ryder shrugged. If the man had cut his own throat, he couldn't have cared less.
If there was news that pertained to Casey, he wanted to know now.
"Look, Gant, let's get down
to business. Why did you call us all together?"
Lash was counting his blessings
that the subject of his wounds had been changed. But his relief was short-lived
when Gant started to talk.
"Forensics came up with a
print on Casey's car that doesn't match anyone else in the family."
Ryder stiffened. Was this their
first break? "Do you have an ID?"
Gant nodded. "Belongs to a
low-life hood out of Natchez named Bernie Pike."
Lash felt his legs going out from
under him and slid into a chair before he made another social faux pas. By the
time everyone present had assured the detective they knew nothing about the
name, he had himself under control.
Although Gant's meeting with the
family had been necessary, he hadn't really expected anything to come from this
lead. At least, not from this quarter. He was gathering his things and readying
to leave when he suddenly remembered another fact he needed to verify.
Lash Marlow was on his way out the
door when Gant called him back.
"Marlow! Wait!"
Lash spun, his nerves tightening
with every breath that he took. "Yes?"
"About the ransom. Will you
be able to get it all together by tomorrow?"
He went weak with relief. "Yes,
sir. The bank has been most helpful in this case. Some of it arrived today by
armored car. The rest should be here before noon tomorrow."
Gant nodded. "Good. I don't
want any last minutes hitches. When that call comes in, I want to be ready to
roll."
Lash stifled a smile. "I
couldn't agree with you more."
Chapter 15
Now that Casey was no
longer blindfolded, the thick layer of dust covering the floor in the room
where she was being held was obvious. The footprints marring the gray-white
surface were evidence of the degree of traffic that had come into Fostoria Biggers's home since she'd been gone. The absence of glass
in two of the three windows of her temporary cell did little to offer an avenue
for her to escape. They had all been boarded up from the outside. She couldn't
get out and fresh air couldn't get in.
Last night when they thought she'd
been sleeping, she'd dug and pulled and pushed at the boards until her fingers
were raw and her nails were gone. Only after she heard one of the men stirring
around had she ceased her futile bid for freedom.
Now, she thought it was some time
after daybreak. The smell of morning coffee had drifted into the room. On the
one hand, she felt justified in celebrating the arrival of a new day, but if
Lash was to be believed, she would not celebrate another.
She stood at the door, holding her
breath and desperately trying to hear what the two men in the other room were
saying.
It was impossible. Their voices
were too low and the door was too thick to hear anything other than an
occasional murmur. A plate lay on the floor near her feet. Remnants of the
sandwich they'd given her yesterday to eat. She'd taken the food and a good
look at the filth on their hands and decided she would rather go to her grave
hungry.
Whatever it was that kept coming
and going through a hole in the floor had made a meal of it last night. By now
she didn't much care what she shared the room with, as long as it came on four
feet instead of two.
In deference to her constant
requests for drinks of water and bathroom privileges, her feet and hands were
no longer tied. And, since Lash's departure yesterday, the blindfold had also
been discarded. But while she now had an odd sort of freedom within the small,
boarded-up room, the implications behind it were frightening. They no longer
cared if she saw their faces because she would not be alive to tell the tale.
The sound of a chair being scooted
across the floor made Casey bolt for the other side of the room. Ever since the
arrival of Skeet Wilson, Pike's cohort, Casey had been afraid to sleep. Bernie
had threatened her, but it was Skeet Wilson whom she knew would willingly do
the deed. He was tall and skinny and walked with a limp. His hair was long and
gray and tied at the back of his neck with a piece of shoestring. Some sort of
blanket fuzz was caught in the knot and it was Casey's opinion that the
shoestring had been there for a very long time. Skeet bore more scars on his
face than teeth in his head, and he carried them all with a wild sort of pride.
He had a face straight out of a nightmare with the disposition to match.
She stood with her back against the
wall, holding her breath and praying that it would be Bernie who came in the
door. If she'd been betting on the odds of that happening, she would have lost.
Skeet Wilson stepped inside then
paused, carefully eyeing the tall, slender woman with her back against the
wall. Even though the blue suit she was wearing was filthy and torn and her
legs and feet were bare and scratched, there was an odd sort of dignity to the
way she was braced. In a way, he admired her. But it didn't matter what he
thought. Skeet was a man who could be bought. And right now, Casey Justice
wasn't a woman to him, she was fifty thousand dollars on the hoof.
"What?" Casey asked, as always, choosing to be the first one to
speak.
Skeet grinned and smoothed his
hand down the front of his fly, just to remind her who was boss. "Bed
check."
Unless a miracle occurred, today
was the last day of her life, but she refused to go out screaming and crying
and begging for mercy they weren't capable of giving. She lifted her chin and
squarely met his gaze.
"It's certainly obvious where
you spent your last vacation."
It crossed his mind to be pissed,
but her reference to the fact that his speech was peppered with penitentiary
lingo was too good to ignore. He grinned, revealing his lack of a full set of
teeth. And she was right. His world did revolve around the legal system. Just
not on the side of law and order.
"Don't get too prissy, lady.
You're real close to meetin' your maker."
Don't let him see your fear.
The thought came out of nowhere, and
somehow Casey knew that at that moment, Ryder was with her in the only way he
could be. Her hands fisted as she stared him down.
"That's what the mugger said
before he snatched the old lady's purse and ran into the street."
Skeet's smirk froze on his face.
Either she was losing her mind or it was already gone. He'd never known a woman
with the balls to try to tell a joke to someone who was holding her captive.
"That don't make much sense."
"It does if you know that,
seconds later, the mugger was run over by a car. The old lady then walked into
the street, lifted her purse out of the dead mugger's hands and bent over and
whispered something in his ear."
Skeet knew he shouldn't ask, but
he was too intrigued to let the subject lie.
"So, what did she say?"
Casey grinned. "To tell her
maker hello."
Skeet cursed and slammed the door
shut between them. He wasn't all that smart, but it didn't take a genius to
figure out what she'd been getting at and he didn't like it.
He and Bernie had gone through a lot
these last two days.
Marlow had threatened them with
everything from murder to reneging on the last of their money if they so much
as touched a hair on Casey Justice's head. Marlow had all but frothed at the
mouth, claiming that right was to be his. Sick of his ranting, they'd finally
complied. But Skeet wouldn't be sorry to see the last of her. She was too
damned mouthy for her own good.
He kicked at an empty bean can in
the middle of the floor and flopped back down in his chair. There wasn't any
way this plan could fail. By tonight, he and Bernie would be rolling in dough.
After that, he didn't give a damn what Marlow did with the bitch. Whatever it
was, it was still less than she deserved.
* * *
"What are those?" Ryder
asked, as Roman sorted through a small case in his lap.
"Tracking devices, something
like the ones the FBI will probably put in with the ransom money."
Ryder nodded, although his opinion
of the FBI left a lot to be desired. In his opinion, they asked too many
questions and didn't give enough answers. They acted as if what was going on
was none of his business.
"Won't the kidnappers be
expecting something like that?"
Roman looked up. "That's why
I've got these. The Feds can do their thing. I'm going to do mine."
"They're not going to like
it," Ryder warned. "You already ticked Wyandott off yesterday."
Roman leaned back in his chair,
remembering the confrontation he'd had with the special agent in charge.
"No one dies from being ticked."
"You are a hard man, Roman
Justice."
"Tell it to Uncle Sam. He
took credit for making me this way. He can take the blame, as well."
If the situation had been anything
else, Ryder could have laughed. As it was, he almost felt sorry for the man who
got in his brother's way.
He glanced at the clock. It was
almost noon. Where the hell was Lash Marlow with the money? He kept remembering
what Roman had told him about Marlow's financial situation. It seemed to him
that there was a fault in the theory that Lash should be responsible for its
deliverance. It was like giving a starving man the keys to the cupboard.
The doorbell rang. Ryder jumped,
then started down the hall, unwilling to wait for Joshua to let whoever it was
in. Maybe there was news of Casey. But the Feds beat him to it. Lash was admitted
carrying two large duffel bags.
"I've got it!" he
crowed.
Two men in dark suits relieved him
of the bags, leaving him standing in the hall with a jubilant smile on his
face. Lash could hardly contain his joy. It was almost over.
"The armored car was late,"
Lash said, by way of an explanation for his tardiness.
Ryder listened without comment.
Lash smoothed a hand over his
hair. "Any news?"
Ryder shook his head.
"No."
What seemed to be a genuine
grimace of dismay spread across his face. "You know, sometimes this all
seems like a dream."
"More like a nightmare, if
you ask me."
Lash nodded. "Of course,
that's what I meant."
A man Ryder had never seen before
came out into the hall from the main salon. Another Fed.
"Mr. Marlow, Detective Gant
wants to speak with you."
Lash straightened his suit coat
and followed the man into the room. Ryder was right behind.
Gant waved his hand toward the
open bags. "It's all here, I presume?"
Lash nodded. "Three million dollars
in unmarked bills. None of them larger in denomination than a fifty, none of
them smaller than a five."
Gant nodded and turned back to the
desk while Ryder struggled with a notion that wouldn't come. Something Lash had
just said rang a chord of memory, but he couldn't figure out why.
Lash started toward the door.
"If you have no further need of me, court awaits."
Gant paused and looked to
Wyandott, who was officially in charge of the investigation. Wyandott didn't
bother to look up.
Gant shrugged. "I guess not.
But if something comes up, I'll know where to find you, right?"
Lash chuckled. "One can only
hope."
Ryder's hands were itching. The
urge to grab Lash was overwhelming. It was all he could do to stay put as
Marlow left. But at this point, Ryder couldn't pinpoint what it was that was
bugging him.
The front door slammed behind Lash
as Roman walked in the room.
"Who was here?" Roman
asked.
"Marlow. He brought the
ransom money."
Ryder pointed toward the bags on
the desk and the men who were working on securing tracking devices within the
bags.
It was when Roman started toward
the desk that the notion hovering in the back of Ryder's mind started to take
shape. "Hey, Gant."
Gant looked up. "Yeah?"
"Marlow was gone when the kidnapper
called, remember?"
Gant nodded.
"Then who told him how the
money was to be paid?"
"I did," Gant said, then
glanced at Wyandott, who had already expressed some displeasure in the way Gant
had handled things thus far. "I knew it wouldn't be easy to accumulate
that much money in small bills. Thought he needed as much time as
possible."
But that wasn't what Ryder needed
to know. "No … exactly what did you tell him?"
"I don't follow you,"
Gant said. "What are you getting at?"
Ryder's nerves were on edge. The
more he thought about Lash, the more certain he became. "I want to know
what you told him to bring."
"I said something to the
effect that we needed three million dollars in small, unmarked bills by noon
today."
"Did you tell him what
denominations?"
"I told him no hundred
dollars bills. Everything had to be smaller than one hundred dollar
bills."
Oh, my God. What if Roman was
right on target about Lash Marlow's involvement all along? "Then did you
or any of your men ever play that tape for Marlow?"
"What tape?" Gant asked.
"The one you made when the
ransom call came in."
Gant shrugged. "I don't know.
I know I didn't." He looked at Wyandott. "Did you or any of your
men?" All answers were negative.
The flesh crawled on the back of Ryder's
neck. "Then can any of you explain to me why Marlow just quoted the
kidnapper's exact terminology of the request he made for ransom?"
Roman pivoted, already following
the line of his brother's thoughts. "I wasn't in here. What did Marlow
say?"
Ryder stared around the room,
daring the men to disagree. "You all heard him. He said, 'Three million
dollars in unmarked bills. None of them larger in denomination than a fifty,
none of them smaller than a five'."
"Son of a bitch." Gant's
epitaph was echoed in more than one man's thoughts. "If memory serves,
that's just about word for word."
Wyandott looked surprised, then
began issuing new orders as Ryder turned and started running. Roman caught him
at the door.
"You can't do what you're
thinking."
Ryder yanked himself free. His
words came out a cold, even tone. "You don't know what I'm thinking."
Roman tightened his hold.
"That's where you're wrong. I know exactly what you're thinking, and I
don't blame you one bit. But you've got to think of Casey. If Marlow is
involved and he's alerted before the drop even goes down, what's going to
happen to her? Better yet, how the hell would we know where to find her?"
Ryder hit the wall with the flat
of his palm and then wiped hand across his face. Every time he took a step he
wanted o run, but to where? What had they done with his wife? "My
God," he said. "What the hell do you expect me to do? Wait until
someone brings her back to me in a body bag?"
Roman got up in his face, and this
time, he was the one on the defensive. "No, I expect you to let me do my
job."
Ryder doubled his fists and
refused to give an inch, even to his brother. Helpless in the face of so much
logic, the urge to lash out was overwhelming.
Roman sighed. He didn't understand
this kind of commitment between a man and a woman, but he'd seen enough of it
to know it went beyond any blood ties. And as he gazed into his brother's face,
he had a flashback of a little boy with mud in his hair and fire in his eyes.
He remembered that same little boy had not only whipped the boy who'd beaten
him up to take away his baseball, but he'd gotten the ball back, too. Even
then, Ryder Justice had been a force with which to reckon.
"So, what's it going to
be?" Roman asked.
Even though the urge to argue was
overwhelming, Ryder relented, slumping against the wall. "Then do it. Just
know that every step you take I'm going to be on your heels."
"Wouldn't have it any other
way, brother, but that will come later. Right now, there's one little thing I need
to do before the day gets any older, and I don't want help in getting it
done."
It felt wrong, and it hurt like
hell to watch Roman going out the door without him, but Ryder stood his ground.
Roman was right. He'd asked for his help. The least he could do was give him
the leeway to do it.
"Give 'em hell, Roman."
Roman looked back, just as he
started out the door. "Is there any other way?"
* * *
Lash was making himself a ham and
cheese sandwich. He'd even gotten out his mother's good china on which to eat
it. He slathered mustard on one slice of bread and mayonnaise on the other. And
why not? It's about time things started going my way.
The sandwich was thick with meat,
cheese, and lettuce. He pushed a toothpick into an olive, then topped his sandwich
by stabbing the toothpick into the bread with a flourish. Now there was only
one thing left. He opened the refrigerator and took out a bottle of wine.
Chilled to perfection.
He walked out of the kitchen
toward the old dining hall with china, wine and food in hand. When he stepped
inside, there was a feeling of relief unlike any he'd ever known. Spiderwebs
draped the dust-covered chandelier above the table like torn and tattered lace.
One of the panes was out at the top of a floor-to-ceiling window overlooking
the back of the property and there was a bird's nest in the corner of the room.
But Lash didn't see the ruin and decay. His jubilation was focused on former
glory and future renovation.
The cork popped on the wine and he
smiled to himself as he filled his glass. As he sipped, the chill of the grape
and the dry, vintage taste of fine wine tingled on his tongue. He set the
half-empty glass down in a patch of sunlight, admiring the way a sunbeam
pierced the liquid.
He pulled the toothpick out of his
food, popped the olive into his mouth, and chewed down. There was an instant
awareness of an odd, unfamiliar taste as he gasped and spit the olive out into
his hand.
And the moment he saw it, his
flesh crawled. Somewhere within his mind, a drumbeat sounded. Then it began to
hammer, faster and faster until he couldn't move—couldn't speak. He heard a
cry, and then the faint, but unmistakable, sounds of a woman's soft voice. The
language was French, spoken in the patois of the slaves his great-great-grandfather
had once owned.
He jumped up from his chair and
flung what was left of the olive onto the dust-covered table before running out
of the room. The celebration and his meal were forgotten in the horror of what
he'd just seen. And as the sounds of his footsteps faded away, the carcass of a
small, white worm fell out of the olive and into the patch of sunlight beaming
down through the wine.
Lash ran out of the house and into
the woods, searching for a solace his mind couldn't find. To any other person,
it would have been an unfortunate choice of an olive from a nearly full jar,
but to Lash, it was the first step in a curse that had started to come true.
Decay. Everything around you will
fall to decay. Flesh will fall off of your bones and be consumed by the worms.
Raised in a superstition as old as
the land itself, in Lash Marlow's mind, the curse Casey invoked had begun. He
thought about what would happen if he just called the whole thing off. If he could,
he would have turned back the clock, stopped what he'd started before it was
too late. As always, Lash's instinct for good was too little, too late.
* * *
Roman crouched beneath the
low-hanging branches of a weeping willow, watching as Marlow came out of his
house and ran into the woods bordering the backyard. He frowned. Whatever it
was that had sent him running couldn't have come at a better time. And still he
waited, ever cautious, searching the grounds around the house for signs of
other life. Except for the leaves in the trees, nothing moved.
Like a shadow, he came out from
hiding, heading straight toward the dark blue sedan parked in front of the
house. Within seconds of reaching it, he had secured a tracking device under
the frame and was on his way back when he saw something that gave him pause.
The fender of a small white car was just visible through the partially opened
door of a nearby shed.
He frowned. According to the
information he'd pulled from the Department of Motor Vehicles, Lash Marlow
owned one car—a midnight blue, four-door sedan. He swerved in midstep and
bolted for the shed, constantly searching the area for signs of Marlow's
arrival.
The car was a small, white
compact—at least eight, maybe ten years old. He glanced in at the gauges and
whistled softly beneath his breath as he saw the odometer. Less than thirty
thousand miles on a ten-year-old car?
What the hell, he thought. So,
maybe Marlow just bought himself a second car and the change of ownership had
yet to be registered. The mileage alone would make the car worthwhile. But he
couldn't let go of the notion that he was wrong. This was a little old lady's
car, not the type a man like Marlow would want to be seen driving.
And then it hit him. Little old
lady! As in a woman named Fostoria Biggers? Her name
had come up in conjunction with Marlow's when he'd been into the bank records
and he'd thought little of a lawyer being an executor of an estate. It was done
every day. But what if…?
He dropped to his knees.
Regardless of why it was here, it was another vehicle that would be at Lash
Marlow's disposal. Without wasting any more time, he affixed a bug to this car
as well, and while he was on his knees, his attention was drawn from the car
itself to the condition of the tires. He crawled closer. The treads were packed
with mud and grass. He picked at the grass. To his surprise, it still bent to
the touch. He frowned. Someone had recently been driving this car. But where?
A door slammed. Roman's nerves
went on alert. It was time to get out. He'd done what he'd come to do.
* * *
The call came in at exactly one
minute to five. Every man in the room went on alert as Ryder reached for the
phone. "Ryder Justice speaking."
Like before, the voice had been
altered. A mechanical whir was audible in the background.
"This is a recording. In
fifteen minutes, Ryder Justice is to bring the money to the corner of Delaney
and Fourth. There is a newsstand nearby. It will be closed. Set the bags inside
the stand and drive away. If anyone attempts to follow the man who picks them
up, Delaney Ruban's granddaughter will be meat for the 'gators. If you do as
you're told, Casey Justice will be released."
The recording ended long before a trace
could be made. Ryder cursed beneath his breath as he hung up the phone. He felt
sick to his stomach. 'Gator meat? God help them all.
He started toward the front door.
"Put the bags in the car."
"Wait!" Wyandott
shouted.
Ryder turned. "Do what I said,"
he ordered. "Delaney and Fourth is halfway across town. I'll be lucky to
get there in fifteen minutes as it is."
"I want one of my men in the
back seat of your car."
Ryder grabbed him by the arm and
pushed him up against a nearby desk. His voice was shaking. "I don't give
a tinker's damn what you want. That's not your wife someone threatened to feed
to the 'gators, it's mine. Now put the damned bags in the car or I'll do it
myself."
Roman peeled Ryder's hands off of
the agent's jacket. "Easy, brother. He's just doing his job."
Ryder spun, his eyes blazing with
anger. "Don't push me, Roman. I've been hanging on the edge of reason for
so damned long it hardly matters." His voice broke. "If I lose
Casey—"
"Put the bags in the
car," Wyandott said. "We won't be far behind."
Ryder pointed at Wyandott. "I
don't know who will pick up these bags after I'm gone, but if one of your men
even sneezes in his direction and my wife dies as a direct result, I will kill
him … and then you for giving the order."
Wyandott's face reddened, but he
stepped aside.
Within seconds, Ryder was in the
car and out of the driveway, leaving a cloud of dust and a group of men running
for their cars to keep up. Roman watched from the step until they had all
disappeared, and then he jumped in his car and drove out of the driveway in the
opposite direction. He had his own agenda to follow.
Eudora watched from an upstairs
window and then returned to her bed in tears. Downstairs in the library, Miles
and Erica sat in uneasy silence, now and then venturing a glance at the other
without voicing their thoughts.
Out in the kitchen, Tilly sat in a
chair near a window overlooking the drive. Her posture was straight, her
expression fixed. Only her eyes revealed her pain. They were wide and tear-filled
as she watched for someone to bring her sweet baby home.
Everyone was waiting for a
miracle.
* * *
Bernie Pike opened the door to
Casey's room as his partner, Skeet, entered carrying another plate of food and
a can of some sort of cola.
"Last meal," Skeet said,
waving the plate in Casey's direction.
The urge to cry was almost more
than she could bear. If only she was somewhere else and lying in Ryder's arms.
But she didn't cry, and she wasn't in Ryder's arms, and she crawled off of the
bed with undue haste. She wouldn't put herself in the position of giving Bernie
and Skeet any more ideas than they already had. She didn't know that Lash had
threatened everything but death to them if they so much as touched a hair on
her head. She didn't know he'd saved that joy for himself.
"I thought prisoners were
given a choice as to what they wanted to eat."
Skeet chuckled and dropped the
plate at the foot of the bed and tossed the unopened can of soda beside it.
"Sorry, sweet thing. You get
beans and weiners."
Casey glanced at the plate. The
only thing good about it was that the small, lunch-size can of beans and weiners was still unopened. "And I was so hoping for
your head on a platter."
Skeet slapped his leg and laughed,
then elbowed Bernie and laughed again. "She's a hoot, ain't she Bernie?
It's a damned shame Marlow is gonna 'do' her." Before Casey could think to
react, Skeet reached for her breast. "I still think I'd like a little
taste of what she has to offer. What Marlow won't know won't hurt him,
right?"
Casey grabbed the can of beans
from the plate and bounced it off of his head.
Skeet ducked, but it was too late.
He yelped in pain when the can hit the corner of his temple. Seconds later, she
was flat on her back on the bed with Skeet on top of her.
"You bitch! I'll make
you…"
Bernie cursed and grabbed, pulling
his partner off the woman and the bed. "Get away from her, dammit. You
heard Marlow. You might want to part with your dilly-dally, but I don't.
Besides, you asked for it."
Skeet's rage was slow to subside
as he considered whether or not Lash Marlow was capable of castrating anyone.
Finally, he decided he didn't want to test the theory enough to try again.
"You got about two more hours
to play hell on this earth, then you can die on an empty stomach," he
yelled, and out of spite, took the can of beans and weiners
and stomped out of the room.
Bernie looked at Casey and
shrugged, as if to say it was all her fault, then shut the door behind him. The
lock turned with a sharp, distinct click and when they were gone, Casey dropped
to the floor and pulled her knees up close to her chest. For the first time
since the ordeal had begun, she was losing all hope. And the worst was in
knowing Ryder would never know how sorry she was for betraying him by the
investigation. They'd parted in anger and she would die with that on her
conscience.
Despair shattered the last of her
resolve. She slumped onto the floor, her legs drawn up against her chest in a
fetal position, and she started to cry—slow, aching tears that welled and
spilled in a continuous flow of pain.
Casey cried until she lost all
track of time. Had it been two hours or two minutes since Skeet's warning that
her time to die was close at hand? Was Lash already on his way? She remembered
the wild expression on his face when last she'd seen him.
"God help me," she
prayed, and then choked on a sob as she realized she was lying in a position to
see directly beneath her bed.
The elongated neck and small,
unblinking eyes of the creature beneath her bed were startling, but for Casey,
who'd lived in imminent fear for the last three days of being eaten alive, it
was a large relief.
"Well, my word," she
said, and reached under the bed, pulling out a small, brown terrapin that had
taken her move as threatening and disappeared into its shell. "So it was
you I heard all the time."
Sympathetic to the fear that had
caused it to retreat, Casey quickly set it free, and as she did, saw something
else under the bed that made her heart leap. There, in the corner beneath her
bed! It looked like—
She crawled to her feet and pulled
the bed away from the wall just enough to reach behind. When her fingers curled
around the butter soft leather, she pulled. She was right! It was her purse.
She clutched it to her chest as
she crawled onto the bed, then held her breath, listening to make sure that
Bernie and Skeet were not about to come in.
Three days ago seemed like a
lifetime. Casey couldn't remember what she'd been carrying in her purse, or
even what she'd been doing when she'd gotten the call about Ryder's wreck. Her
fingers were shaking as she undid the clasp. But when she opened it up, her
hopes fell. Her shoulders slumped as the dumped the meager contents onto the
bed.
Her wallet was gone, as was the
compact cell phone she usually carried. She should have known this would be too
good to be true. There wasn't anything left but a handful of tissues, some
pencils and pens, her lipstick and a small, plastic bottle of lotion.
Frustrated by the letdown, she
slammed the purse down on the bed beside her and then winced when something
within the purse itself hurt her hand.
"What in the…?"
She opened it back up. There was nothing
inside but the black satin lining. She tilted it, then thrust in her hand,
feeling within the bag itself. Something was there … but not inside … it was
beneath … no, between. She pulled at the lining like turning a sock inside out,
and saw the rent in the fabric near the clasp.
Curious now as to what was inside,
she stuck her finger in the fragile lining and pulled. It ripped and then
parted. Carefully, Casey thrust a finger inside, then another, and searched
until she felt something cool and hard and sharp. And as she traced the
object's length, realization dawned. Her hands were shaking as she pulled it
out. She tried to think of how the letter opener Lash had given her as a gift
had gotten out of her desk drawer and into her purse.
And then she remembered running
back to grab her wallet on the day of the call, and of grabbing a handful of
pens along with it as she dropped it inside her purse. That must have been it.
She'd gotten the letter opener with everything else. And because it had been so
sharp, it had gone straight through the lining and lodged in between.
She looked toward the door as her
fingers curled around the miniature rapier's silver shaft. It wasn't much, but
it was the first means she'd had of self-defense and she had no intention of
letting it go to waste.
A laugh boomed out in a nearby
room. Casey flinched, then shoved the dagger beneath her pillow. Not now, she
told herself. Only when it was time. When it was time.
Chapter 16
Ryder pulled up to the
newsstand with less than a minute to spare. He double-parked in the street and
grabbed the two bags, moving in an all-out sprint. The stand was closed, just
as the kidnapper had promised, but a small, side door stood ajar, and he
shouldered his way inside.
It was little more than three
walls and a roof. The half wall that opened up to the public could be propped
overhead like a porch, shading the counter beneath. The concrete sidewalk
served as its floor, and Ryder dropped both bags on it with a thump and walked
out.
All the way back to the car, he
had the impression that he was being watched. He didn't know whether that came
from the Feds who had followed him here, or from the kidnapper waiting for him
to leave. When he slid into the driver's seat and started the car, his
instincts kept telling him not to leave—not to leave Casey's welfare up to
kidnappers. But he ignored the urge and drove away, and had never been this
afraid in his life—not even the night his plane had crashed—not even when he'd
known that Micah was dead. He left with the knowledge that he'd done all he
could do. The ransom had been delivered. Hopefully, his next point of contact
would be the phone call telling him where to pick up his wife.
As Ryder drove away, Wyandott and
his men began to slip into place around the area. A couple of blocks away, Gant
watched from his car with binoculars trained on the door through which Ryder
had come and gone.
And the wait began.
Five minutes passed, then ten,
then twenty. In spite of the coolness of the evening breeze blowing through his
window, Gant was starting to sweat. He could just imagine what was going
through Wyandott's mind. The Feds must have been made. If the kidnappers got
spooked and didn't pick up the ransom, he wouldn't give a plug nickel for Casey
Justice's chance of survival.
Just when he thought it was over,
an old man turned the corner and headed down the street, pulling a little red
wagon behind him as he made toward the stand. Gant thought nothing of his
presence until the man paused at the door, opened it up and then stepped in,
leaving his wagon just outside.
Gant sat straight up in the seat,
adjusting his binoculars for a clearer view as the man emerged. But it wasn't
the bags Ryder had put inside that he was carrying out. It was a large black
garbage bag. He tossed it into the wagon and started down the street when
Wyandott's men suddenly converged upon him.
Gant threw down his binoculars in disbelief
and started his car. In spite of the kidnapper's instructions, Wyandott was
pulling him in. God help them all if this stunt got Casey Justice killed.
"You're under arrest!"
Wyandott shouted, as two of his agents wrestled the old man to the ground.
The terror on the old fellow's
face seemed sincere. "What did I do? What did I do?"
An agent slapped handcuffs around
his wrists while another tore into the bag. But they all stared in disbelief as
a cascade of crushed aluminum cans fell onto the street.
"What the hell?"
Wyandott muttered.
"They're mine, fair and
square," the old man cried, as they pulled him to his feet. "Anthony
gave them to me."
Wyandott turned. "Who the
hell is Anthony?"
"The man who owns the
newsstand. I pick them up once a week, regular as clockwork. Everyone knows.
Anthony doesn't care. He saves them for me."
A knot was beginning to form in
the pit of Wyandott's belly. He pivoted and pointed toward the stand.
"Check it out!" Two of the agents were already running as Gant's car
slid to a halt near the curb.
Gant strode toward Wyandott with
murder in his eyes. "Have you lost your mind?"
Wyandott hunched his shoulders and
thrust out his jaw. "Mind your own damned business."
"This is my city. That makes
it my business," Gant yelled.
One of the agents came running.
"Sir! You'd better come take a look."
Everyone converged on the stand,
leaving the old man handcuffed and alone in the street near his cans.
The bags were gone!
"This is impossible,"
Wyandott muttered. "We didn't take our eyes off of this stand for a
second. Not a damned second."
Gant stepped inside, and, as he
did, caught his toe. He staggered, then looked down. A certainty came over him
that they'd been lying in wait for nothing. Chances were that the bags had
disappeared seconds after Ryder had left.
"He didn't take them out, he
took them down," Gant said, pointing toward the slightly raised edge of a
lid covering the opening that led down to the sewers.
Wyandott paled. "Hell."
He grabbed his two-way. "Ambrewster … is that
bug sending?"
The radio crackled, and then the
man's voice came over the air loud and clear. "No sir. Everything is
status quo."
Gant was on his knees and pulling
at the lid when several of the agents followed his lead and began to help. A
flashlight was produced, and even though they were yards above them, and it was
black as a devil's heart down below, there was enough light to see two empty
bags lying at the foot of the ladder.
And they had their answer. The
signal wasn't sending because the bags were more or less right where Ryder had
left them … minus the three million dollars that had been inside. The radio
crackled again. Wyandott jerked.
"Captain … this is Tucker …
come in, sir."
"Go ahead."
"Sir, we've been following Marlow
as you ordered. He parked his car and went into the courthouse at fourteen
hundred hours. We have men stationed at every exit and he has yet to come
out."
Wyandott was starting to worry. He
kept thinking of the threat Justice had made to his face. This wasn't going
down as he'd planned.
"I want to know if he's
inside. Look for him, dammit, and don't stop until you do. He's mixed up in
this somehow, I know it."
* * *
Ryder turned off of the highway
without slowing down and skidded to a halt in front of the mansion. He was out
of the car before the dust had time to settle.
But when Roman came around the
house on the run, Ryder paused at the front door with his hand on the knob. He could
tell by the look on his brother's face that something had happened.
"What?"
Roman grabbed him by the arm.
"Gant just called me. The drop went sour. The kidnapper went underground
into the sewers. He's got the money and all they've got left are those damned
bags."
Disbelief, coupled with a pain
Ryder couldn't name, nearly sent him to his knees. It was coming undone.
Roman grabbed him by the arm.
"Don't give out on me now. We're going to plan B. Come with me. We don't
have much time."
For the first time since Ryder had
exited the car, he became aware of a loud, popping sound, but he was too
focused on Roman to consider the source. "Where are we going?"
"Marlow is on the move,"
Roman said. "I've been tracking him, but he's moving out of range. You're
going to have to help me, brother, or we're going to lose our best chance to
find your wife."
They had just cleared the corner
of the house in full stride, when Ryder stopped in his tracks.
"Son of a bitch."
Roman grabbed him by the arm,
almost yelling in his face to be heard above the noise. "It's a Bell Jet
Ranger, just like the one you have at home."
"I know what it is,"
Ryder said, staring at the helicopter's spinning rotors. "Where the hell
did you get it?"
Roman almost grinned. "I
borrowed it, so don't wreck the damned thing. I have to take it back when we're
through."
Ryder started to sweat. Wreck?
Hell, that meant making it fly first.
Roman grabbed him by the shoulder
and jerked. "Are you going to stand there, or are we going to try to save your
wife?"
Ryder started to run. "If you
stole this, I'll break your neck."
"Just shut up and get
in," Roman yelled, as he leaped into the passenger seat and grabbed at a
laptop computer he'd laid on the floor.
A strange sensation swept through Ryder's
body as he climbed into the seat. The sounds were familiar, even the feel of
the seat at his back and the scent of fuel mixing with the dust and debris
flying through the air caused by the rotor's massive pull.
Then he glanced at his brother and
the moving blip on the computer screen in front of him. The tracking devices!
Roman had bugged Marlow's car after all. His pulse surged. "Is that
him?"
Roman nodded. "Yes, but I'm
losing him. Take her up!"
Ryder stared. That blip kept
blinking-blinking-blinking like a pulse. Like Casey's pulse. He grabbed the
seat belt. It snapped shut with a click he felt rather than heard. He took a
deep breath and pushed in on the throttle and it felt as if the helicopter took
a deep breath. Ryder glanced at the blip one last time and the guilt he'd been
living with for the better part of a year simply disappeared.
"Roman."
Roman glanced at his brother.
"Buckle up."
Seconds later, the chopper went
straight up in the air, then flew into the setting sun like a hawk flying out
of a storm.
* * *
Lash was ecstatic. It had all been
too easy. Just this afternoon, he'd driven Fostoria Biggers's
little car to an abandoned garage near the downtown courthouse, then taken a
cab back home. A short time later, he got in his own sedan, drove to his
office, picked up some legal briefs, then drove to the courthouse and parked in
his usual place.
Only when he got into the
elevator, he didn't go up, he went down. Down into the basement. Down through a
maze of heating pipes and furnaces, past the janitor's quarters where he picked
up two large bags he'd hidden earlier, as well as a pair of gloves which he
immediately put on. He was smarter than Pike. He wasn't leaving traces of
himself anywhere to be found.
Down he went into a shaft leading
straight to the sewers beneath the city. Counting tunnels and watching for
numbers written on the walls beside the ladders with something akin to delight,
Lash knew when he reached number seventy-nine that he was directly beneath the
newsstand.
He waited, and minutes later, he
heard the echo of boots against metal as Ryder Justice walked across the sewer
lid and dropped the bags full of money … his money. A smile broke the
concentration on his face. So far, so good.
He knew the bags were bugged. He'd
watched the Feds planting the bugs himself. So he transferred the money from
their bags into the ones he'd brought, and left the original bags and their
bugs right where he knew they would eventually be found.
Once again, he was using the
underground sewers of Ruban Crossing as a means by which to travel. With the
narrow beam of a small flashlight for guidance, he began to count tunnels and
ladders again until he came to ladder number sixty-five. This time he went up,
coming out in the alley just outside the abandoned garage where he'd parked
Fostoria Biggers's car. When he drove out of the
city, he was three million dollars to the good. As for the fifty thousand he
was supposed to pay Bernie and Skeet, it was unfortunate, but he was going to
have to renege.
It wasn't his fault Bernie had
left fingerprints behind when they'd yanked Casey out of her car. Eventually
the police would find Bernie Pike. And if they found Bernie, Skeet Wilson would
not be far behind. Lash didn't trust them to keep quiet about his part in the
crime. He couldn't leave witnesses. Not after he'd gone this far.
As he drove, he reached down and
felt the outside of his pocket, reassuring himself that his gun was still
there. Once or twice, as he pictured pulling the trigger and ending two men's
lives, he came close to rethinking his decision. And then he would remind
himself that, for three million dollars, he could live with a little bit of
guilt.
All he had to do was walk in the
house, pull the trigger two times and they would be out of the picture. At this
point, his imagination began to wane. He kept picturing himself opening the
door to the room in which Casey was being kept and pointing his gun at her as
well. After that, the image faded. Would she beg? Would she cry? Would he be
able to kill the woman he once thought he loved?
Fostoria Biggers's
little car fishtailed in loose dirt as Lash sailed down the road toward her
home. Only a few more miles.
* * *
"He's turning south,"
Roman said, and held on to his laptop as, moments later, the helicopter took
the same turn, yielding to Ryder's skill.
Roman's gaze was completely
focused on the screen before him. And the farther they flew, the more certain
he was of where Lash Marlow was going.
"There's nothing out here but
swamp grass and trees," Ryder muttered, as he banked the chopper sharp to
the right, sometimes skimming so close to the treetops that the skids tore the
leaves as they flew by.
Roman frowned, grabbing at the
computer and leaning into another sharp turn. "If you were partial to
driving there, you should have said so—I'd have gotten one of these things with
wheels."
"Am I still on course?"
Ryder asked.
Roman looked down at the screen.
"Yes. We can't be more than a half a mile behind."
Half a mile. Would that be the
difference between Casey's life—or Casey's death?
"I don't like this,"
Ryder said, glancing down at the blur of terrain beneath them. "There's
nothing out here but snakes, alligators and wildcats."
"And the house where Fostoria
Biggers was born and raised."
The helicopter dipped. Not much,
but enough to let Roman know Ryder had been startled by what he'd said.
"Who is Fostoria Biggers?"
"One of Marlow's clients. I
thought it was a little too convenient that Marlow has her car and her power of
attorney. I checked land records at the courthouse. Would you believe that her
house is just a little farther south … in the direction in which Marlow has
been driving?"
Ryder looked startled. "How
long have you known about this?"
Roman shrugged. "Bits and
pieces of it since the first day. But it didn't all start falling into place
until you caught Marlow repeating the kidnapper's demands, word for word. After
that, we didn't exactly have time to talk. I figured you wouldn't mind if I
took the initiative."
Ryder's expression was grim.
"I don't care what you do. But when we get where we're going, Marlow is
mine."
Roman nodded. That much he
understood. He glanced back at the screen. "Read 'em and weep, brother. It
looks like our runner is about to stop."
Ryder's heart skipped a beat as he
looked down at the screen. For the first time since they'd gone airborne, the
blip was stationary. He glanced out the windows, searching for a sign of the
car and a place to set down.
It was Roman who saw it first.
"There!" he shouted. "I see the top of a roof up ahead in that
clearing." He leaned farther forward and pointed across Ryder's line of
vision. "There's the road, just to your left."
"I see it," Ryder
drawled. He gave his brother one last glance, and there was a wealth of
understanding between them in that single look. "Hang on. We're going
down."
* * *
It was getting late. Casey could
tell by the temperature of the bare wooden floors beneath her feet. Every nerve
she had was on alert. She'd said her prayers, and such as it was, her little
game plan was already in place. The contents of the bottle of lotion she'd
found in her purse was in a puddle on the floor just inside her door. Her
letter opener was in one hand, held fast at the hilt, and an unopened can of
beans was in the other.
Oddly enough, Bernie had had a
change of heart, and sneaked them back in to her when Skeet wasn't looking.
From the size of his belly hanging over his belt, she supposed he didn't think
a person should die on an empty stomach. And, she was as ready to die as she
would ever be, but not without a fight.
Just as she was about to get
herself a drink of water from the bathroom sink, she heard a shout of
jubilation outside her door. Her thirst forgotten, she stifled a moan. That
could only mean one thing. Lash had arrived. Bernie and Skeet were about to get
paid.
* * *
Lash pulled up to the house and
put the car into Park, but left it running. This trip was going to be a real
hit-and-run. He had to get back into the city and pick up his car at the
courthouse. It was the final stage of his plan, and one that would tie up the
last loose ends.
He was halfway up the steps when
Bernie Pike met him at the door. "Did you get it?!" Bernie asked.
Lash grinned and nodded as he put
his hand in his pocket. "Where's Skeet?" Lash asked. "I want to
pay you both at the same time."
"I'm right here," Skeet
said.
"Hot damn," Bernie said.
"My horoscope said this was my lucky day."
The gun was in Lash's hand before
either man thought to react. Bernie went down still wearing his smile. Skeet
had started to run and then stumbled and fell when Lash's second shot caught
him square in the back. The echo of the gunshots beneath the roof of the old
porch were still ringing in Lash's ears as he nudged each man with the toe of
his shoe. Neither moved, nor would they ever again.
While Lash was staring down at
their bodies, something fell on his sleeve. He looked down and then shrieked in
sudden panic. Frantic, he brushed it off with the butt of the gun, then stomped
it flat. What was left of a caterpillar lay squashed on the floor of the porch.
Another worm. A rapid staccato of
drumbeats began again, ricocheting through Lash's mind as he backed away from
the worm and into the house with his gun drawn. He was all the way inside and
halfway across the floor before he realized he had his back to the door of the
room in which Casey was being kept. He crouched and spun. Heart pounding and
slightly breathless, he aimed the gun at the middle of the door.
It took a bit for him to calm
down. And when he did, he went to the door, rattling the knob just enough to
let her know he was coming.
The tone of his voice took on a
high, singsong pitch. "Here I come, ready or not."
He opened the door, saw her
standing across the room, and stepped inside, right into the puddle of lotion.
One second Lash was looking at
Casey and the next he was staring at the ceiling and struggling to breathe. He
clutched his chest with a groan and rolled as air began to fill his deflated
lungs.
"Damn you," he gasped,
crawling to his feet just in time to duck an object that came flying through
the air. Although he knew it wasn't Casey, he pulled the trigger in
self-defense, then gasped as something splattered all over his face. He looked
down at himself in disbelief. Beans? He'd shot a can of beans?
For Casey, the two shots outside
the door were unexpected. But when total silence followed, Casey suspected her
worst fears were about to come true. Not only was Lash capable of killing her,
but she'd bet her last dollar he'd just done away with Bernie and Skeet. It
figured. He wasn't the kind of man to leave loose ends untied. Lash was nothing
if not neat.
She backed against the far wall,
and when his voice taunted at her through the door, she traded the dagger in
her right hand for the can of beans, then held her breath and waited.
The door opened, and to her
undying relief, Lash hit the oil slick of lotion and fell flat on his back.
While he was struggling for breath, she hauled back and sent the beans sailing,
then ducked when his shot went wild.
While he was still brushing at the
thick sauce and beans splattering his coat, she came at him. It was only
through an inborn sense of self-preservation that he looked up in time to see
her coming, but he didn't move in time to save himself from the dagger's sharp
thrust.
He swung at her head with the butt
of his gun just as the pain began to burn through his chest. Casey went limp,
slumping to the floor at his feet as Lash stared at the familiar silver shaft
sticking out of his chest.
The drumbeat got louder. He kept
thinking of the dagger sticking out of that fat rat's body, and now it was in
him. The analogy was as sickening as the nausea rolling in his belly.
By now, the drumbeat was so loud
in his head that he couldn't hear himself scream. And yet the soft patois of
the French-speaking slave, warning—predicting—promising, could still be heard
above the drum.
Sharp like a serpent's tooth, if
will spill your blood and your flesh will be eaten by the worms of the earth.
In a wild kind of panic, he yanked
at the handle, ignoring the pain, losing sight of the fact that, with Casey
Justice unconscious and helpless at his feet, his goal was well within reach. Blood
welled then poured out of the wound, and Lash staggered from the shock of
seeing his life spilling on Casey's legs.
And then he heard her groan, and a
certainty came upon him. Kill her now, before it's too late.
He wiped at the sweat beading on
his brow and aimed the gun. He had to do it now while she was unconscious. He
no longer had the guts to let her witness her own death. Not anymore.
He leaned down, jabbing the barrel
of the gun at her head as the room began to spin around him. And then footsteps
sounded on the porch outside and he turned and froze. A gourd rattled, like a
rattlesnake's warning, and the drumbeat grew louder, hammering—hammering—in
what was left of his mind.
Crazed with pain and the impending
vision of his own mortality, he lifted his gun, his wild gaze drawn to the
shadow crossing the floor ahead of the man coming in.
When the first two shots came
within seconds of each other, Ryder panicked. He tightened his grip on the gun
Roman had given him and picked up his pace as he moved through the marsh beyond
the old house. Brush caught on his blue jeans and tore at his shirt. Limbs
slapped at his face and stung his eyelids and eyes. Water splashed up his legs
to the tops of his knees and he kept on running, assuming that whatever was in
his path would have to move of its own accord. His focus was on the house just
visible in the distance, and the small white car parked nearby.
A hundred yards from the house, he
saw the bodies of two men sprawled upon the porch and fear lent fresh speed to
his steps. That explained the two shots. Water splashed a bit to his right and
he knew that Roman was there on his heels as they ran out of the marsh and into
the clearing.
Another shot rang out and Ryder
almost stumbled. Dear God, it wasn't possible that they'd come this far just to
be too late. He couldn't let himself believe that God would do that to him …
not twice.
Two seconds, then ten seconds, and
Ryder was up on the porch. He cleared Bernie Pike's body in a smooth, single
leap and came in the front door on the run.
"Dammit, Ryder, look
out."
Roman's warning came late, but it
would not have slowed his intent. He kept thinking of that blip on the computer
screen.
Had his wife's heart stopped when
it had, too?
He saw them both at the same time.
Marlow was straddling Casey's body with his gun aimed at Ryder's heart. And the
knowledge that he'd come too late filled his soul. Despair shattered his focus.
Rage clouded any caution he might have used.
His mind was screaming out her
name as he pointed the gun at Marlow's chest.
"You lying son of a
bitch."
They were the last words Lash
Marlow would hear as Ryder pulled the trigger.
Lash's shot went wild as Ryder's
bullet struck Marlow in the chest. He bucked upon impact, and Ryder fired
again, then emptied his gun in him just to see him dance.
Roman was only seconds behind. He
came through the door with his gun ready, the echo of Ryder's last shot roaring
in his ears. But hope died as he saw the woman on the floor and Marlow lying
nearby. It looked as if Ryder would have his revenge, but little else.
Ryder's gun was clicking on empty
chambers when Roman took it out of his hand. Ryder jerked, then groaned and let
it go. The pain in his chest was spilling out into his legs and into his mind.
He couldn't think past the sight of her battered and broken body lying still
upon the floor.
Roman started toward the two
bodies but Ryder stopped him. With tears streaming down his face, he grabbed
his brother's arm. "No. Let me."
Roman ached for his brother's pain
as he stepped aside, and Ryder walked into the room, absorbing the filth and
degradation of the place in which she'd been kept. Dropping to his knees, he
lifted her from the filth on the floor and into his arms.
Blood ran down her legs as her
head lolled against his shoulder, and then he couldn't see her face for his
tears. His heart broke as he cradled her against his chest.
His voice broke along with his
heart. "No more! No more!" Laying his head near her cheek, he choked
on a cry. "Ah God, I can't take anymore!"
His shoulders hunched as he bent
from the burden of living when those he loved kept dying around him.
Roman knelt at his side, sharing
his brother's pain. He glanced at the woman in Ryder's arms. Even through the
bruises and dirt, her beauty was plain to see. Years ago, he'd shut himself off
from this kind of loss. He'd seen so much death and too much misery to let
himself be hurt by it anymore, but this was too close to home. This woman,
Ryder's wife, was gone too soon. He reached out, lifted her hair from the blood
on her face, and as he did, his finger brushed the curve of her neck.
His eyes widened as he tensed and
shoved Ryder's hand aside. When he felt the pulse beating strong and sure, he
rocked back on his heels. A miracle! That's what it was. A heaven-sent miracle.
Ryder choked on a sob.
"Don't, Roman. Just leave us alone."
Roman grabbed his brother's hand,
his voice shaking as he pressed it at the pulse point on Casey's neck.
"She's alive, Ryder. I swear to God, your wife is alive!"
* * *
At that same moment in the Ruban
household many miles away, Matilda Bass heard a whisper. She froze, and then
tilted her head, straining to hear. As suddenly as the whisper had come, it was
gone, and Tilly's body went limp. She leaned against the cabinet as the bowl
she was holding slipped out of her hands and onto the floor, shattering into a
thousand tiny pieces, just like the weight that had been on her heart.
Joshua spun, wide-eyed and
startled. And then he saw her face.
"Tilly?"
"They found her, they found
her. My baby girl is alive."
Epilogue
From below, the shiny black
helicopter flying high above the earth resembled an oversize dragonfly charging
through the air. From up above, the earth resembled a vast crazy quilt in
varying shades of greens and browns that covered the landscape over which they
were flying.
As if at some unseen signpost up
in the sky, the pilot suddenly shifted course and soon, a long black rooftop
became visible in the distance, along with the roofs of several outbuildings,
connected together with a chain stitch of holding pens and corrals.
Casey leaned forward, grabbing at
Ryder's leg as her eyes lit with excitement. "Is that it? Is that the
Justice ranch?"
Ryder grinned at her. "That's
it, darlin'. All seven thousand acres."
Her smile was nervous as she
glanced at him. "I'm a little anxious about meeting your family."
"Easy now, you know they're
going to love you."
She sighed. "I wish I could
have promised you the same thing when I took you home to mine."
Ryder laughed. "At least they
like me now."
"Like! Oh, Ryder, in their
eyes, you are the next best thing to sliced bread and you know it."
His grin widened. "Only
because Miles's new girlfriend keeps him too busy to meddle in our
affairs."
Casey nodded in agreement.
"And who would have thought that Erica would go on vacation and come home
with a husband?"
"Yeah, and he has a job,
which was more than you could say for me when you dumped me in their laps. Dora
is walking in tall cotton over the fact that they are moving to Atlanta and
taking her with them."
Casey laughed aloud. "Gran will
miss you. You were the best chauffeur we ever had."
"Dora and I understand each
other," he said. "But let's be honest, I was the worst chauffeur, and
you know it. However, now that I have moved my planes and the charter service
to Ruban Crossing, I have become a bona fide, acceptable businessman."
She patted his leg in a tender
gesture. "Tilly was right all along. Somehow she knew you belonged. You
are the best thing that ever happened to my family." Her voice broke.
"And to me."
Ryder gave her a quick, nervous
glance. A few months ago he'd cradled her body on the floor of Fostoria Biggers's bedroom, certain that his world had just come to
an end. Sometimes at night he still lay awake just to watch her sleep. What she
had endured was beyond his understanding; that she had endured it at all was a
miracle in itself.
Now, most of the time she was
fine. But once in a while, when things got too quiet, he saw her soul slip into
a shadow and he knew she was fighting a dark demon of her own. He knew from experience
that it would take time, and a whole lot of love, for the memories of what
she'd endured to recede.
"I love you," he said
softly.
Casey shivered, as if struck by an
unexplained chill, and then she lifted her head and smiled and Ryder relaxed.
For now, Casey was back in the light.
"I love you, too, wild man.
Now take me home. I have a need to feel Texas under my feet."
Relieved that the moment had
passed, he grinned. "Royal is going to love hearing you say that. He's a
real homebody. He lives for his daughter and the ranch, and I can tell you
right now that, except for a remarkable resemblance which we all share, Royal
is nothing like Roman."
A small shudder rippled through
Casey's body, but she refused to deny it access. Remembering Roman also meant
remembering when they'd first met. Of waking up and seeing Ryder—of being
lifted into the helicopter and looking up at an echo of her husband's face as
Ryder laid her in Roman's arms—of helicopters and hospitals—of police and FBI.
Of fearing the dark and doctors and needles. Of Tilly's hand on her cheek and Joshie's kiss on her brow. And always, overshadowing
everything and everyone, was Ryder. Ever present, ever faithful, everlasting.
She turned to look out the other
side of the helicopter, marveling at the size of the cattle herds in the far
distance. From up here, the cattle looked like so many ants. Finally, she was
able to say what she thought.
"Roman will always have a
special place in my heart. I like him a lot."
Ryder's grin slid a little off
center as his emotions betrayed him. "Oh, hell, honey, I like him, too.
He's my brother. And I owe him more than I will ever be able to repay."
The look they shared was brief,
but it was enough to remember they had a lot for which to be thankful.
Moments later, Ryder shoved the
controls of the helicopter forward and it started to descend, aiming for a
wide, flat area behind some barns like a horsefly heading for the rump of a
steer.
* * *
That night, and long after Royal and
Maddie had gone to bed, Ryder walked the halls of the house in which he'd been
raised, visiting the ghosts that had driven him away. Unable to sleep, he'd
checked on Casey one last time and then gone outside to the wide front porch to
listen to the night.
It was spring, and the air was
sweet and cool. The scent of flowers in the nearby flower bed reminded him of
Casey. To him, she would always be a fresh breath of spring. She'd been his
savior in so many ways that he couldn't begin to take count, and they'd come
too close to losing that which made life worth living. That day in Fostoria Biggers's house, when he'd touched her skin and felt the
pulse of her life beating beneath his fingertips, he'd known then that they'd
been given a second chance.
A night owl hooted from a nearby
tree and Ryder paused, listening to the familiar sound. A cow lowed in a nearby
pasture, calling for her baby. Moments later, a plaintive bawl announced the
baby's location, and all was well. Ryder took a deep breath, absorbing the
peace of home and the assurance that he'd done the right thing by bringing
Casey here to visit.
A quick breeze came up, lifting
the hair away from his forehead and brushing against his chest like a lover's
fingers. He glanced up at the sky and then to the faint wisps of clouds
overhead, judging the possibility of a rain before morning.
And while he was looking at stars,
the breeze seemed to shift, and the skin on his flesh tightened in warning. A
sound came out of the night, like a whisper, or a memory, but it was there in
his mind. And he knew who it was that his heart finally heard.
Welcome home, son.
He turned toward the house. But it
wasn't Micah who came out of the door.
Casey came off of the porch and
out into the dew-damp grass to stand beside him. She lifted her hand to his
cheek, feeling, rather than seeing the tears that had started to fall.
"Sweetheart, are you all right?"
Ryder wrapped his arms around her,
holding her close until he could feel the even beat of her heart. He buried his
face in the curve of her neck and took a deep breath. Flowers. She always
smelled like flowers.
"Now that you're here, I'm
more than all right."
Casey sighed, and held him even
closer. "Come to bed, Ryder. I can't sleep without you."
He lifted her into his arms.
"Then buckle up, darlin', and I'll take you to dreamland."
* * * * *