'Til Death (A Rebel Ridge Novel)

by Sharon Sala

  “Huh? Wearing...uh, no perfume. It’s probably just vanilla. I made cookies.”

  He pulled back long enough to get a good look at her face. Her eyes said yes and her lips were parted. He didn’t wait for her to change her mind.

  He centered his mouth on her lips and then groaned as the kiss deepened. She tasted as good as she smelled.

  “Cookies,” he whispered as he lifted his head. Then he kissed her again—softer, longer—before lifting his head again. “Chocolate chip?”

  Meg’s sanity was teetering. Did he want to make love or eat?

  “Yes...with pecans.”

  “Have mercy,” he whispered, and kissed her again. “Are you going to let me have some?”

  Her knees went weak. She was completely lost as to where this conversation was going.

  “Have what?”

  “Whatever you’re willing to part with.”

  “Lord have mercy, Linc. Cookies are in the kitchen. My bedroom is the last door on the left at the end of the hall. Take your choice.”

  He held out his hand. “Can I have both?”

  Her heart was pounding, and there was a slight roaring in her ears, making it difficult for her to hear what he was saying, but she could tell from the look on his face that he wanted it all. She sighed.

  “I have no shame. I want to make love with you.”

  He grunted softly as he scooped her up in his arms and carried her down the hall to her bedroom. The door was ajar as they went inside. He toed it shut and laid her down on the bed.

  Meg’s hands were trembling so hard she couldn’t unfasten her jeans.

  Linc’s shirt was already off when he saw her struggling and pushed her hands aside.

  “Let me, baby.”

  The snap popped, the rasp of the zipper was loud in the silence, and then magically the jeans were on the back of a chair. She was thinking that his skills in this department had definitely improved when her sweater was suddenly over her head. Seconds later he kicked off his boots and stripped out of his jeans.

  The burn scar spanning his body enhanced the play of muscles in his chest and arms as he stretched out beside her on the bed. She rolled toward him, arching her back as he unfastened her bra. When he hooked his thumbs in the elastic of her panties and began pushing them slowly downward, she wanted to scream. Even though it had been a very long time since she’d made love to a man, there were no awkward moments between them. He’d taught her how to make love, and she had been an exceedingly good student. She’d known everything there was to know about the boy he’d been, but this man was a stunning enigma, and she was shaking with the need to be with him.

  Their gazes caught, the passion and lust they were feeling mirrored in each other’s eyes. He cupped the back of her head and slid his mouth across her lips, then straddled her body, pinning her between the soft mattress at her back and the rock-hard muscles of his body. It was but a hint of what was to come.

  Blood was roaring in Meg’s ears. Every muscle in her body felt as if it was strung too tight to move, and yet she reached for him, curling her fingers around his forearms as he put his hands on her breasts.

  Then he rolled her nipples between his fingers, and before she could catch her breath she climaxed. Too many years of doing without—then one man’s touch and she came undone. The moan that came up her throat was an echo of every night she’d spent alone.

  The moment she began to come Linc rose up and slid inside her, taking her hard and fast. His erection was throbbing, and the wet heat of her body was like gasoline to a flame. He needed to make love to make it better, to put his stamp on the woman the same way he’d marked the girl. So he did, rocking thrust after thrust—remembering how it had been and at the same time making memories. He didn’t slow down and he didn’t let go until he felt her coming again. After that he lost his mind.

  He heard her crying, felt her arms around his neck as he collapsed on top of her, and couldn’t think—couldn’t move. Eighteen years of rejection had just been cured by making love to the girl he’d left behind.

  He felt blessed.

  He felt healed.

  And too soon or not, he felt love.

  It wasn’t his fault it hadn’t died, and there was nothing he could do to slow down the emotions rushing through him. He cupped her cheek, wiping away the tears on her face, then ran his hand down her neck, across her breast and stopped, splaying his fingers on the flat of her belly.

  “You are so beautiful, Margaret Ann.”

  A fresh set of tears suddenly blurred her vision. It was the same thing he’d said to her the first time they’d made love. Her voice cracked.

  “Ah, Linc, it makes me sad to think of all the years we lost.”

  “No regrets, Meg. No regrets. We have now, and that’s all that matters.”

  She traced the ridge of scar tissue beneath her fingers. “I used to tell you right about now how much I loved you.”

  Linc took her hand and held it against his heart. “I remember.”

  A soft sigh slid from between her lips. “I don’t know what you’re thinking, but I have to be honest because it’s how I am. For me...what just happened here didn’t happen for old time’s sake.”

  “Not for me, either. I’ve only loved but one woman in my life, and that was you. The love didn’t die. I never dreamed that when I came back I’d find you free. I’m hoping you’ll give me another chance to make this right...although I won’t make a commitment to anything or anyone until the people who killed Dad are brought to justice.”

  She gasped. “People? As in more than one?”

  He nodded. “It’s something Aunt Tildy said about Dad being too big to be taken down by one person. She said she always believed there had to be more than one killer, and it makes sense to me, too.”

  Meg’s voice was shaking. “Then that just adds to the danger you’re in.”

  “I know, but I will be careful.”

  She heard him, but it didn’t make her feel any better.

  Linc rolled off and then pulled her toward him, until they were lying face-to-face with nothing between them but the truth. He slid a hand beneath her hair, searching her expression for regret that they’d gotten here so fast.

  There was none.

  “Meggie...sweetheart...losing you was always the single biggest regret of my life. There are no words to express what I’m feeling right now except that I am so damned grateful for a second chance. I don’t take this lightly, and I will do everything in my power to stay safe. What does concern me is someone using you to get to me.”

  She cupped his cheek. “We’ll figure this out. I’ll do anything I can to help you.”

  “I don’t want you involved in this in any way.”

  “But—”

  He put a finger on her lips. “No buts. I’m serious.”

  She sighed. “I get it, and okay.”

  “Thank you. Now...about those cookies...”

  She grinned. “They’re cooling on a rack in the kitchen.”

  He leaned over and gave her a quick kiss. “I’ll make coffee.”

  “Already made.”

  “Then what are we waiting for?” he said, and rolled out of bed, gathered up the clothes they’d shed and tossed them back up on the mattress.

  Meg sorted through the stack for her clothes and headed for the bathroom, leaving Linc on his own. By the time she got to the kitchen he was swallowing his first cookie and had another in his hand.

  “I poured coffee,” he said, eyeing her long stride with appreciation as she sauntered into the room. He handed her a cookie and winked.

  “Thank you,” she said, and then sat down at the table and pulled the hot mug toward her. “Tell me about your dinner with Aunt Tildy. How did it go? Was anyone mean?”

  He picked up his coffee and sat down. “Oh, there was a little dustup just as we were about to leave. I had my say, and then Aunt Tildy lit into the middle of all of them, pretty much told them my daddy’s ghost sent me back fo
r justice, threw out a verse from the Bible about no one there being clean enough to cast the first stone, then threatened to cut off her healing treatments to anyone bad-mouthing me. It was a pretty staggering vote of confidence.”

  She laughed. “Oh, my Lord, I would have liked to hear that! Most everyone on Rebel Ridge is superstitious. Throwing out the ghost business and then threatening to cut off the healing will definitely shut them up.”

  A clap of thunder abruptly ended the conversation as Honey began to bark.

  Meg frowned. “I can’t believe it’s going to rain again. Poor baby. She doesn’t like storms. I need to go let her in.”

  She darted out of the room.

  Moments later Linc heard the dog whining and her toenails clicking on the hardwood floors as she followed Meg back into the kitchen. Meg gave her a treat and then settled her on a rug by the stove.

  Linc was standing at the window, looking up at the sky as she came up behind him, then ducked under his arm and leaned against him.

  “Here it comes,” he said as he slid an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. And just like that, the sky opened and the rain came down in sheets. “Do you have evening chores?”

  “I already fed the chickens and shut them up because I knew the weather was changing. I was milking at night, but the cow finally dried up. I already fed her, too, but I’m glad not to have to milk her this winter.”

  He was quiet for a few more moments, watching the rain coming down. All of a sudden he turned her loose, shoved his hands in his pockets and turned to face her.

  “You said you wanted to help.”

  “Yes!”

  “There is something you could do, and no one would know you’re doing it. Do you have a laptop?”

  “I do now. Quinn fixed it for me so that it uses the same signal I use for my cell phone...at least I think that’s how it works. I use it to contact my customers. What can I do?”

  “Something is bothering me about the White brothers being so ‘on the spot’ the night of the fire. Their presence may have nothing to do with it but, either way, I need to eliminate them as suspects. There’s one weird thing I’ve learned that may or may not have anything to do with the murder. They owed forty thousand dollars on their home place and it was in foreclosure. Two weeks before Dad was killed it was abruptly paid off, with enough left over for renovations. I’m almost positive the money was obtained illegally.”

  “I’d believe that,” Meg said. “But how do we go about finding out?”

  “It’ll take some time and research on your part, and if you don’t have time now because of your quilt show, then wait until it’s over.”

  “I’ll make time. Tell me what to do.”

  “Find out how many unsolved thefts occurred in Kentucky in the month Dad was killed. Thefts involving large sums of money.”

  “You’ve really been thinking about this, haven’t you?”

  He nodded. “I don’t know how Dad might have played into this, but if it happened and he found out...he would have turned them in. I know it. That could be grounds for murder and the motive that has been missing all these years.”

  She was excited to be able to help him. “I’ll make a list of anything I think might fit the criteria, and you can go from there.”

  Another clap of thunder rattled the windows. The pup jumped up from the rug in front of the fire and loped out of the room. Meg shivered. “It’s getting colder. I need to turn up the heat.”

  Linc slid a hand beneath her hair and pulled her close.

  “Or we could go back to bed.”

  “Or we could go back to bed,” she echoed.

  “You have the best ideas,” he whispered, and lowered his head.

  Fourteen

  After Fagan ordered him out of the house at gunpoint, Prince had bawled for about a mile and then started working on his next step. The plan he came up with was a good one. The quickest way to get people off his back was to die. It would mean giving up his only means of transportation, but that would be fine if it worked.

  The next step was how to off himself and make it believable that there would be no body to be found. The solution came to him just before daylight as he was crossing a long bridge over the Kentucky River. He began looking for another access and found a smaller bridge over another arm of the river, and that night he went back, wedged a beer can against the gas pedal to rev the engine, put the truck in gear and aimed it at the gap between the bridge railing and the highway. The truck hit the bridge as it rolled toward the river, raking paint off on the driver’s side door before going airborne.

  Prince watched as it hit the water nose first and then began to sink. He’d left the windows down, his wallet in the console and a suitcase full of clothes on the floor, hoping that when the truck was found the authorities would think he’d drowned and been washed downstream.

  “Rest in peace,” he said, and then laughed at his own joke as he started walking the highway in the opposite direction of Mount Sterling. It was miserably cold, and he was wishing he’d had the sense to keep his hat and gloves.

  Just before daybreak he stole a car from a trailer park and finally headed back to the only person he knew who might still take him in: his sister, Lucy. Once he got to Mount Sterling he found another motel and hid out in the lot. Then, when no one was looking, he traded license plates with a traveler who’d stopped at the motel for the night. He watched as the man left the next morning, unaware of the switch.

  Prince knew it could be days, if not weeks, before the man ever discovered the theft, which gave him plenty of time to work his next con. He drove by Lucy’s house the next morning, then lost his nerve and spent the next two days holed up in a motel by day and driving by her house at night, trying to work up the courage to go to the door.

  What surprised him during his surveillance was Wes’s absence. He finally found Wes’s car parked at the motel across the street from the dealership. Whatever was going on with Lucy wasn’t good, and Prince was happy to get the gist of how desperate she just might be.

  The next night, as he was watching the late news, eating take-out burritos and downing beer, he realized the story they were doing was about him.

  The law had finally found his pickup.

  There was his brother Fagan standing on the riverbank beside the sheriff and the truck that had been winched out of the river, and damned if the bastard wasn’t crying. Prince sloshed beer down the front of his shirt as he reached for the remote to turn up the volume.

  “I’ll be a son of a gun,” he said, and then chortled with glee.

  The camera panned to a close-up of the sheriff as someone shoved a microphone in front of him.

  “So, Sheriff Marlow, have you found the body yet?”

  “No. It’s been raining a lot lately, and the current is strong. Of course we have searchers already at work, but there’s no way to know how long the vehicle has been in the water.”

  “Has the family made a statement of any—” the newsman asked.

  Marlow nodded curtly. “That’s all. If you’ll excuse me...”

  The camera swung toward Fagan again.

  Prince grinned. The little bastard was bawling big-time.

  Good. It’s what he gets for running me off like that.

  And if they thought he was dead, the warrant for his arrest would slide right off Marlow’s list of things to be done.

  Prince swung his feet from the bed and began getting dressed. If Lucy thought he was dead and he showed up suddenly resurrected, she might be more likely to forgive and forget. A few minutes later he was in his car, taking alleys and back roads to get to her house.

  * * *

  The liquor cabinet was empty. The two bottles of champagne that she and Wes had been saving in the fridge for New Year’s Eve had long since been popped and emptied, as well. Lucy was more sober now than she’d been in days, and it was only because everything alcoholic was gone and she was too hungover to drive. She had called a liquor store tha
t they frequented to see if they would deliver, only to have her credit cards—all of them—rejected when she’d tried to pay.

  At first she’d been shocked, then confused. It didn’t occur to her that Wes had anything to do with it until she called the bank and found out the bank accounts had been emptied, as well. For all intents and purposes she was broke and about as close to being homeless as she’d ever been. She was scared, and she was desperate.

  When she got a phone call from Fagan telling her that they thought Prince was dead and the law was pulling his truck out of the river, she didn’t have any emotion left to spare on anyone else.

  “Fagan...will you help me? I’m desperate!”

  “Help you how? Our brother is dead, and all you can think about is yourself?”

  “Wes cut off my money. The next thing coming will probably be divorce papers, and I can’t let that happen. I can’t lose everything I’ve worked so hard to get.”

  It was the silence on the other end of the phone that made her panic, thinking he’d hung up on her again.

  “Fagan? Fagan! Are you still there?”

  “Yes, I’m here. What do you expect me to do about your marital problems? Whatever is going on between you two is not my business.”

  She hesitated, then blurted it out. “I need to stop Wes before he can get to a lawyer. For all I know, he may already have done it. But until I’m served with papers, technically I would know nothing about it.”

  “So?”

  “So...make me a widow. If something happened to him before he had time to file, then everything would be mine.”

  This time there was no mistaking what she’d asked, and there was no mistaking the click in her ear when he hung up.

  This latest setback was yet another nail in her coffin.

  She sat, staring blankly at a painting over the mantel, going back over the past few days and trying to figure out what she could have done differently that would have kept her out of this mess.

  She still had one hand to play. If she could just find a way to appeal to Wes’s sympathies, she could handle the rest. She took a deep breath and dialed Wes’s number, praying he would answer.