by Sylvie Kurtz
The mention of Freddy’s name made her bristle. “I have a copy of the study. They found nothing worth killing me over.”
“We’ll see.” Tyler kept talking, his voice becoming a soothing drone.
Before long, they arrived at the castle. Grace must have been waiting because the gate rolled up.
“Here we are.” Tyler stopped the Jeep outside the stables, then turned to her and smiled. “Two more reasons to celebrate.”
She sent him a scalding look, fumbled with the seat belt and scrambled out of the car. He reached for her wrist and gently held her back.
“You made the trip home without sedation. And you had your first driving lesson.”
She realized then what he’d done. He’d kept her so distracted, so angry, the panic hadn’t had a chance to take root and bloom.
Damn you, Tyler Blackwell.
Thank you.
She was home now; she’d be okay.
“One hour, Melissa. If you don’t show up in the dining room, I’m coming to get you. We have to talk.”
Chapter Nine
An hour later Melissa hadn’t shown up, so Tyler went to look for her. He wasn’t going to let her isolate herself now that she’d had a breakthrough. Granted, she’d made it under unpleasant circumstances, but once she thought about it, she’d realize that everyone who’d dealt with her was too harried to see her as anything more than another piece of business on an already overfilled slate. Her scars had made her too self-conscious in public. What she needed to get over this was repeated exposure. Once they unmasked her secret tormentor, he planned on doing just that.
In the meantime he would get her used to baring her face to him. If he concentrated on her problem, the whiskey demon wouldn’t catch up with him.
Tyler knocked on her door, but didn’t give her a chance to answer. He simply walked in. “I hope you’re ready.”
She wasn’t. Still dressed in the black T-shirt and jeans, she was petting Selma and staring out one of the windows of what he assumed was her studio. His heart gave a lurch. Don’t give in, Blackwell. She doesn’t need pity. She needs tough love. Love? The notion put a slight hitch in his step. Yeah, love. Not flowers and chocolates, but a mirror of reality.
Hearing him, she scrambled to reach the piece of silk draped over a nearby chair. He scooped it up before she could. Caught in the middle, Selma meowed her displeasure. Tail wringing, she walked regally out of the room.
He crammed the silk scarf into his pocket. “You don’t need that.”
Fury lit Melissa’s eyes and she jerked her chin up defiantly. “Get out!”
“I’ll give you a few more minutes to change.”
She sat on the window seat, giving him a view of her stiffened spine and the back of her head. The soft waves of black hair made him want to run his hands through them, but it was too early, and he wasn’t the right man.
He wanted to derail her fears, but he wouldn’t break her heart in the process. He had too many demons of his own to sort out to give her what she needed in that department. But keeping his mind from dwelling on those deep-green eyes, his gaze from following the unconsciously sexy movements of her body, his fingers from touching the sleek mane of hair, was becoming more difficult by the day.
He’d made Freddy a promise to keep her safe, and that included safe from his own base nature.
Strolling around her studio, he took in the dozens of paintings stacked against the wall. The pretty pastoral scenes were rich in color and detail. They lured the viewer into exploring them only to shock him with their tortured undergrowth. He came to rest near her worktable and turned on the light. The layers of color before him looked as he imagined the dawning of the world must have. Parts of a storm were starting to take shape against a background wash. In the roiling of clouds, in the innumerable shades of gray, in the silent screams trapped in the waterlogged fury, she seemed to have captured the essence of his soul. The thought frightened. He didn’t want to be sucked in. He needed to stay in control. “What will it be?”
“I don’t know. It hasn’t revealed itself to me yet.” Go away, she willed. I can’t handle you right now. She wanted to be alone. Ignoring even Dee’s calls, she’d tried to lose herself in her work. When it refused to draw her in, she’d simply let the cloak of dark feelings settle on her shoulders.
She was so tired that all she wanted to do was crawl into bed and sleep. But sleep wouldn’t come. When she closed her eyes, all she could see was the harsh light in the courthouse, all she could hear was the din of chaos all around her in that jail cell, all she could feel were the dozens of judging eyes staring at her, filling her with shame and dread.
She’d hoped Tyler would forget his threat and leave her alone—as any person with an ounce of decency would have. Yet part of her was glad he’d kept his promise. But that bit of self-betrayal served only to feed her anger. Refusing to look at him, she concentrated on the horses outside. The edge of a storm shoehorned the horizon; she’d have to bring in the horses before it hit. When a dark bank of clouds skimmed across the sun, Tyler’s reflection developed on the window. Her eyes refused to obey her order to refocus on the mutating sky.
“Is that how you work?” Tyler asked, peering at her work with an intensity that made her self-conscious. Did he see the monsters? “In layers?”
“Yes. Images, colors, feelings, lines, shapes. They all come through me onto the paper in layers.” And monsters. Horrible, screaming monsters with bloody heads and exposed skulls.
“Then what happens?”
Forgetting her bare face, she shot him a questioning glance.
“Obviously they take a lot out of you,” he said, still staring at her work. “What do they leave in their place?”
“Hunger,” she said without thinking. A psychic hunger that, when the work was finally done, left her limp for days at a time. A hunger for normalcy. A hunger for things she could never have. She let her head find her raised knees and hugged her legs. How had he known there was a cost? Did he understand? No, not even Dee did.
Tyler shifted position. His footsteps toward her quickened her pulse. His fingers on her shoulders made her tense until they massaged the knots gnarling her scapulas.
“What else?” he whispered.
Wasn’t that enough? Her stomach shrunk to a tight ball and pain rolled through her body.
“Emptiness.” Even to her, her voice sounded dead.
“How do you deal with it?”
Why was she talking to this man? Don’t trust him. Don’t trust anyone, a small voice reminded her. But the warmth of his hands on her cold skin and his honeyed voice drugged her sharp senses. “I ride.”
“Yes.”
That simple word said it all. He understood. The knots unwound one by one.
“I made dinner,” he said, breaking the intimacy between them, leaving her feeling adrift. “We should eat before it gets cold.”
“You cooked?”
“Nana Leonardo’s very own secret recipe. Don’t look so surprised.”
Despite her need to remain morassed in anger, Melissa found the corners of her mouth twitching. “Grace let you mess with her kitchen?”
“She can’t resist my smile.”
As if on cue, Grace walked in, carrying a heavy tray. “If you need anything else, you fetch it yourself.”
“Thanks, Grace. You’re an angel.”
Grace grunted a response. “I expect you to clean up that kitchen.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Storm’s coming,” Grace said. “I’ll get the horses in.”
“No, I’ll do it,” Melissa said, jumping at the opportunity to end the false sense of kinship with this man.
Grace scowled. “I didn’t drag that thing all the way up here for nothing. You eat every damn bite. I’ll fetch the horses.”
For Grace food was solace—her way of mothering, her way of loving. “Thanks, Grace. I’ll check on them in a bit.”
After Grace left, Tyler turned to M
elissa. “Where should I set this?”
She didn’t like the devilish look in his eyes. Or the way the five-o’clock shadow of beard gave him a rakish look. And his easy relaxed movements in her private space managed to churn restlessly inside her. “In the kitchen. By yourself.”
“Don’t be childish, Melissa. It doesn’t suit you.”
“This is my home. I’ll do what I want.”
“That’s right. Isolate yourself. Feel sorry for yourself. Play poor pitiful me. What was I thinking? That we could share a decent meal, celebrate your victories and discuss your situation like two adults?”
When put that way, she did sound rather pathetic. “There’s nothing to discuss.”
She watched him warily as he cleared one of the small tables holding supplies and dragged it near the window. “On the contrary, there’s plenty. Someone seems to want to harm you and that same person seems to want me to be here to witness it. You have to ask yourself why.”
“What?”
“I found a queen and a copy of my wife’s obituary this morning. Then I found a pawn in my apartment.” On the table he laid out a lacy tablecloth, silverware and two domed plates, along with a salad, some bread wafting a divine garlicky scent and a silver candlestick with a red candle. She’d had nothing to eat all day, and her traitorous stomach had the nerve to gurgle.
“I think the message is fairly clear,” Tyler said. “Somehow, I’m being played as a pawn in this twisted game.”
He stood next to her, reached for her hand and led her to the table. “I don’t like being played, especially not as a pawn.”
With a flourish, he lifted both domes. “Fusilli di Leonardo. Ah, Nana would be proud.”
Melissa hid her confusion by sitting down and taking a giant bite of the aromatic pasta. Might as well get this ordeal over and done with as soon as possible. “Is there really a Nana Leonardo?”
“Of course. And she’s not of the sweet variety. Her tongue is acid. Her opinions cutting. Her praise rarer than water in a desert. When she’s around, she’s in charge and everybody knows it.”
“Sounds like someone I know.”
He flashed her his dimples. “What can I say? Leonardo genes are powerful.”
“Tell me about your family.”
He dug into his meal with gusto. “I was raised by a brood of women. The men in our family don’t seem to hang around very long. Maybe it’s because the women are so strong. After Grandpa Leonardo died, Nana came to live with us. Dad checked out soon after. Heart attack. Can’t say I blame him. Nana made his life a living hell. So it was Nana Leonardo, Mom, three sisters and me.” Tyler reached for a slice of bread. “Did I mention I was the youngest?”
She couldn’t help herself, she laughed. “That explains everything. I’ve heard the youngest tends to be a spoiled brat.”
“It’s a wonder I’m sane with all that female hovering and manipulation.”
Remembering his way with horses, she asked, “Where did you learn to ride?”
“Pennsylvania. One of my sisters evented and dragged me along to be her groom at shows. It didn’t take me long to realize that stables were overrun with girls, and that girls who loved horses tended to be very passionate.”
She tried to ignore the fluttering of her stomach at his steady gaze and concentrated, instead, on the flavors of tomato and cheese melding so beautifully with the garlic, oregano and pasta. “Why doesn’t that surprise me? So why did you leave such a haven?”
“Actually I left because of all the females in my life. They were driving me crazy. They all wanted to run my life and each one of them was pulling me in a different direction.”
“So you escaped.”
Smiling, he shook his head. “Barely made it out alive, too. A scholarship was an acceptable reason to leave, and I never looked back.”
Melissa twisted her fork in the pasta, feeling a pang of regret she didn’t understand. “Don’t you miss your family?”
“Sure.” He shrugged. “I visit a couple of times every year. But I’m always glad to be back.”
“You’re lucky to have a family that cares about you.”
He looked up from his meal and his gaze seemed to reach right inside her. “I know. But sometimes that’s as much a handicap as a family who doesn’t care enough.”
She nodded and swallowed around the sudden constriction in her throat. Too bad they couldn’t somehow subtract their families’ shortcomings and end up with one that cared just the right amount. “Was your wife suffocating, too?”
“Lindsey?” He placed his fork and knife just so on his plate and slid away a few inches. “No, she was sunshine.”
And I’m shadow. Had she really believed Tyler could see her as a woman?
“When we met, we had the same goals, the same ideals. The job was exciting, and we fed off each other’s enthusiasm.” His features changed as he spoke, growing more serious, clouded. “We pushed each other to achieve more, to reach higher, to reach deeper for the truth.”
“You loved her.”
“I loved her.”
“And you’re here for her.”
He shook his head. “No, I’m here because truth still matters. I forgot that for a while. I ran away from my ghosts, but they came back to haunt me, anyway.” He looked at her thoughtfully. “Someone’s gone through an awful lot of trouble to get you in trouble and to involve me in it. I have to know why. You have a chance to face one of your monsters, too.” He jerked his head toward the pile of paintings propped against the wall. “And maybe they’ll stop showing up in your art.”
He saw too much. “Can’t we forget about all of this for one night?”
“No.”
She pushed her plate away and was surprised to see she’d eaten every bite. “I haven’t done anything. The sheriff will have to drop the charges. There’s no evidence. It’s not a monster. It’s—”
“A setup. The sheriff found a can of goat’s blood in your tack room. The brush that was dropped by his front door is the same brand I saw on your worktable. The sheriff had to note that detail, too. They found foot prints that match your boots at the sheriff’s house and near the altar. And the knife found beside the goat is the same brand Grace uses in the kitchen.”
“But that’s all it is, coincidence. You were here. You know.”
“But it’s my word against what the sheriff thought he saw. And the town seems bent on feeding his case with more witch sightings and more witch destruction. I don’t like being manipulated, Melissa. I would think that, by now, neither would you.”
“I keep to myself and I’ve never done anything to harm anyone.”
“Which is why I think we should draw this person out and not wait for him to make his next move.” He rose from his chair and stalked the room.
“How do you propose doing that if you don’t even know who’s behind all this?”
He stopped before the carved chess set next to her computer and stared at the men frozen in play. “Give him rope and let him hang himself.”
“How—”
A horse’s panicked trumpet splintered the night.
Melissa sprang from her chair to the window. “Oh, my God!”
“What?”
“Someone’s in the pasture,” she said, and turning she raced out the door and disappeared down the stairs.
“Melissa!” She heard Tyler cursing his sore ribs behind her. But she didn’t dare slow down to wait for him. “Melissa!”
People who are afraid do stupid things, Dee had said. They let the crowd sweep them along. Is that what was going on in her pasture? How dare they trespass on her land? How dare they take out their anger against her horses?
“Grace!” Melissa called out in the courtyard. “Call the sheriff!”
Not waiting for Grace’s answer, Melissa raced into the stable, grabbed the shotgun from the tack room and sprinted out the pastern door. Focused on the horses, she paid the driving rain no heed.
At the pasture gate, she skidde
d to a halt and wiped the rain from her face. The sight of three men beating on Grace with baseball bats churned her stomach. Grace was struggling to keep Journey and her foal out of the path of the blows, taking each whopping hit on her wide back.
“Hey!” Raising the shotgun, Melissa ran into the pasture.
Journey’s struggles weren’t making Grace’s task easy. And Grace, bless her heart, was putting herself between the horses and the attackers just as she’d put herself between her son and her raging husband. Melissa couldn’t let anything happen to Grace. Grace was her strength.
“Leave her alone!” Melissa shouted. Steadying her breath, she aimed at the tall man in the middle.
The three men froze, bats in midair.
“Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live,” the squat, beady-eyed one said, thumping his bat against the palm of his hand.
“Burning for burning, wound for wound, stripe for stripe,” snuffled the prune-faced gnome beside him as he waved his bat in an arc.
“Your sin will find you out,” the tall, flame-haired one said, and brought his bat down on the back of Grace’s skull. The crack was sickening. The mountain that was Grace crumpled as if she were a bag of sand. Journey and her foal galloped away.
Deliberately aiming high, Melissa pressed the trigger. “Next time I won’t miss.”
None of them moved. Melissa stared them down. The leader with the beady eyes and walrus mustache looked away first. The gnome beside him cowered behind his friend. And the flame-haired, wide-eyed lunatic who looked more like a witch than either she or Grace, spat. “Next time, we won’t, neither.”
Keeping the shotgun level, she moved toward Grace. The men backed away and once at the edge of the fence, scattered like rats in three directions.
Melissa squatted next to Grace and shook her. “Grace? Are you okay?”
Melissa peeled back the wet rain cape. Blood covered the top of Grace’s hair and streamed down her face. “Grace.”
It was then Melissa realized that Grace had donned the black rain cape Melissa usually wore. They’d called her witch as they’d beat on her.