Tyler gasped, gritting his teeth as Dana’s pulsing flesh tightened, then released him over and over as she climaxed, bucking and writhing under him. Cradling her hips in his hands, he raised her hips, lowered his head, and groaned out his release.
Heart pounding painfully in his chest, he struggled for each and every breath. Smiling, he reversed their positions, her silken legs sandwiched between his. It was perfect; she was perfect; the wait had been worth it.
They lay motionless, savoring the lingering vestiges of passion until they left the bed, walked into the bathroom, and shared a shower.
Forty-five minutes later they climbed the winding staircase in the house with a view of the Mississippi River, holding hands. They knew if they wanted to spend the night together, it couldn’t be at her house. There was enough gossip about Dana without adding her sleeping with the local doctor to the list.
Tyler had promised himself he would protect her—and he would at all costs, against all odds.
Seventeen
Turning to her right, Dana encountered a solid object. She opened her eyes, meeting the amused gaze of her lover. Ribbons of sunlight peeked under the floor-to-ceiling drapes. Smiling, she moved closer, resting her forehead on his shoulder.
“Hi.”
Cradling the back of her head, Tyler massaged her scalp. “Hi, yourself.” He buried his face in her hair. It was still damp from their shower earlier that morning. “How do you feel?”
She giggled like a little girl. “Wonderful.”
“Are you experiencing any pain?”
It came to her he wasn’t asking about her state of mind, but her body. “I’m a little sore.”
Pulling back, Tyler stared down at Dana, admiring the length of lashes touching the curve of her high cheekbones. “I’m sorry I hurt you. I promise I won’t touch you again until you’re completely healed.”
Peering up at him through her lashes, she flashed a sensual smile. “I love making love with you, Tyler.” Her cheeks flooded with heat as she revealed what lay in her heart.
He smiled. “And I you, darling.”
She moved closer to his side. “How were your hearings with the FDA?”
Tyler shifted her effortlessly until she lay over his chest, her legs cradled between his. “Just a lot of talk, but nothing conclusive.”
“Are you in favor of approving the drug?”
“I’m still undecided.” The truth was he wasn’t in favor of approving the drug, not without more tests. “How’s the job at the Herald?” He’d deftly changed the topic. His findings and statements were off the record, because he’d taken an oath not to discuss them with anyone.
“Good. I did a lot of research on my great-grandfather. I think I have enough information to write a brief but in-depth piece on him. What makes writing the piece so exciting is that I found a large tin canister in my grandmother’s closet filled with photographs of deceased relatives on both sides. My father had to have given Grandma the photographs of his family, because how else would she have gotten them?”
When she’d opened the canister, she’d sat for hours poring over letters, newspaper articles, flyers announcing fund-raisers and dinner dances. She also found engraved invitations to weddings, birth announcements, and death certificates.
She’d wondered how her grandmother had come to have possession of the Nichols family archives. Had Alicia given them to her, or had Harry for safekeeping? And if Harry had given them to his mother-in-law, was it because he wanted to save the records preserving his family’s history before he torched his home, destroying the evidence, which could possibly link him to his wife’s murder?
“I discovered several well-preserved photographs of my paternal great-grandparents on their wedding day. There is one of Silas Nichols. He was dressed in a high-collared shirt and black suit and tie. Tall, with a dark, clean-shaven face, his dark eyes literally dance with pride and excitement. I turned the photo over and the inscription read: Dr. Silas J. Nichols—Graduation Day—Meherry Medical College, Nashville, Tennessee—May 1902. I took that photograph and several others to a professional photographer in Greenville to have them restored.”
Tyler trailed his fingertips up and down Dana’s straight spine. “It’s admirable that your father followed in his grandfather’s steps by becoming a doctor.”
She shook her head. “My father, grandfather, and great-grandfather were doctors. They all lived in Hillsboro, where they’d set up their family practice, tending the sick and caring for their people during a time when white doctors refused to treat people of color.”
Tyler snorted. “Whatever happened to do no harm?”
Lifting her head, Dana stared up at Tyler peering down at her. She didn’t know why, but she found him sexiest in the morning. His eyelids, heavy from sleep, and shadowed jaw afforded him a sense of virility she found impossible to ignore.
Tiny dots appeared between her eyes as she frowned. “Racism and bigotry is not only an illness but a sin.” Her frown vanished, replaced by an enigmatic smile. “Speaking of sin—I attended Mt. Nebo Baptist Church yesterday. I got there early and took a seat in a pew that my family had literally paid for when the members of the building fund were soliciting money to renovate the church twenty-five years ago.
“Everyone who came in saw me, stopped, and stared as if dumbstruck before moving on to their seats. The current pastor, who had been a deacon when I left Hillsboro, nearly fainted when he stepped up to the pulpit. I look exactly like my mother did, except for this.” She touched the tiny beauty mark on her right cheekbone.
Tyler laughed, displaying his straight white teeth. “He probably forgot his sermon.”
“He fumbled and stammered so much everyone started whispering and laughing behind their handheld fans. There was so much cardboard snapping that it sounded like rushing wind. I’d sat alone until the Wilsons came. It was apparent they’d claimed the pew for themselves since my grandmother had stopped coming to church after my mother died. Mr. Wilson looked as if he was about to have a stroke, while his wife started shaking so hard her son had to escort her downstairs. I stayed until Reverend Wingate gave his sermon, then left.”
“What was the topic of his sermon?”
She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and then said, “The adulterous woman who Jesus saved from stoning by the Scribes and Pharisees. Every head in the church turned in my direction when the pastor said, ’Let the one among you who is guiltless be the first to throw a stone at her.’ I’m certain that had to be the quietest church service in Mt. Nebo’s ninety-eight-year history.”
“Lord, deliver us from hypocrites,” Tyler intoned in a grave tone.
“Amen.”
They lay in bed for another quarter of an hour, Dana outlining what she’d uncovered in the articles she’d read about Alicia’s murder and Harry’s trial. She also told him about the list of names she’d compiled and those she hoped to interview.
Tyler left the bed before Dana to shave and prepare himself for the day. She followed him ten minutes later, brushed her teeth, and then joined him in the oversized shower stall. They splashed each other like children after soaping each other’s bodies, the session ending with Tyler licking Dana from the top of her head to the soles of her feet. It ended with a passionate kiss and a promise of more—much more.
After a light breakfast of fruit, juice, coffee, and toast, Tyler dropped Dana off at her house before heading to the clinic. She offered to cook dinner later that evening when he promised to let her interview him for her column.
Dana completed a handwritten draft of her article on Dr. Silas Nichols, editing it over and over until it her prose was lean, spare. She knew she could’ve accomplished the task in half the time it had taken her if she had a computer. She’d left her laptop in Carrollton. She knew she could always use the computers at the Herald, but that would not prove convenient if she wanted to work on something in the middle of the night.
Glancing at the first name on her list, she de
cided to stop to see if she could glean some information from ex-sheriff Philip Newcomb, but first she would call Ryan to see if he had a laptop computer to loan her. If not, then she would purchase one. There was no doubt it prove invaluable during her short stay.
Dana maneuvered into an area set aside for parking at the Crescent Moon Trailer Park. Her telephone call to the Herald answered two questions: Ryan did not have a laptop, but he did have Philip Newcomb’s latest address. Mr. and Mrs. Newcomb had sold their home, bought a double-wide, and had settled in a nearby trailer park.
Following the directions given her by a skinny barefoot boy, she made her way to a new trailer under a copse of pine trees. A mailbox with the name NEWCOMB stenciled on the side identified the residence as the one owned by the ex-sheriff.
Stepping up on a large cinder block, Dana knocked on the door. Within seconds it opened, and a petite woman with a mass of jet-black hair teased and styled in a beehive hairdo glared at her. The hairstyle, doe-eyed liner on her lids, and the pale mouth harkened back to a time when miniskirts, Edwardian jackets, and love beads were in vogue.
Dana flashed a friendly smile. “Mrs. Newcomb, I’m Dana Nichols and I’d like to know if I could have a word with your husband.”
Mrs. Newcomb’s face flushed a deep red, making her mouth look even paler. “He doesn’t want to talk to you. He doesn’t want to have anything to do with you.”
Venom radiated from the woman, and Dana was tempted to turn and go back to her car. But she didn’t, deciding to stand her ground. She needed answers—answers she knew the ex-sheriff could give her.
“Your husband doesn’t even know that I’m here. Why don’t you ask him whether he’ll see me?”
Folding her hands on her hips, Mrs. Newcomb shook her head from side to side. “No! Now you git the hell out of here and go back where you came from.” Stepping back, she slammed the door in Dana’s face.
Dana stood motionless, staring at the closed door. If she hadn’t been so shocked, she would’ve laughed at how she’d been dismissed. At least the angry woman could’ve warned her that she was going to slam the door in her face.
Stepping down off the cinder block that doubled as a step, she made her way back to her car. She’d struck out with the first name on her list, and wondered how many more doors would be slammed in her face before it was time for her to return to New York.
If Philip Newcomb refused to help her, then perhaps the current sheriff would. She would call Lily, asking for her husband’s assistance. After all, William, a former special agent with the F.B.I. and now the current sheriff, had married her best friend. She doubted whether he would refuse to help her.
The sheriff’s office was located in a brick structure behind Hillsboro’s town hall. Parking in a municipal lot, she walked the short distance to the sheriff’s office. Pushing open the door, she stepped into a cool space with several desks and an area set aside for a state-of-the art computer system, office machines, and a large display case with colorful arm patches from police departments all over the country. There were several rooms in the rear of the building, one a holding cell for prisoners.
William Clark hadn’t changed much in twenty years, except to bulk up. His starched tan uniform fit his muscular body like a second skin. His sandy-brown hair was cropped close to his head, while his clear brown eyes sparkled in his burnished gold face. Rising slowly to his feet, he stared at her as if she were an apparition.
“Lily told me you were back.”
Dana smiled. Even his voice was the same—deep and soulful. Everyone said he should’ve become a radio disc jockey, but Billy preferred law enforcement.
He returned her smile, extending his arms, and she walked into his embrace. “Welcome home, Dana,” he said, pressing his mustached mouth to her cheek.
She pressed her lips to his smooth cheek. “Thank you, Billy. Lily came to see me last week, then I saw her and your mother at church yesterday, but I didn’t stay to talk to her.”
“My mama told me about everybody’s reaction to seeing you.” A slight frown marred his forehead. “The only argument Lily and I ever have is about my not going to church. I keeping telling her that I have no intention of sitting down with a bunch of Bible-thumping, psalm-singing vipers who grin in your face from eleven to one on Sundays, then cuss you, your mama, and your firstborn the other six days of the week. She calls me a heathen, but this heathen would rather spend his Sundays driving to Three J’s, where I can put my feet up, down half a bushel of blue crabs, suck on a couple of long-neck beers, while listening to a jukebox filled with the best music in the whole damn state.”
Dana had to smile. It was apparent Tyler wasn’t the only one who liked patronizing Three J’s. Pulling out of Billy’s loose embrace, she told him what she needed from him. She also told him about Mrs. Newcomb’s refusal to let her talk to her husband. Billy listened, not interrupting until she was finished.
“I’m certain I can retrieve Newcomb’s records, but it may take me a while. When would you need them?”
“Anytime before the end of September.”
“I should have them to you next week.”
She offered him a bright smile. “Thank you, Billy.”
“Think nothing of it. Expect a call from Lily. We usually throw a little something every July Fourth. We’d love for you to come. We bought the place where the Bowdens used to live.”
“Thanks for the invitation. I wouldn’t miss it.” Moving closer, she kissed him again. “Your daughter is beautiful.”
Beaming, he nodded. “Along with her mother, she’s the love of my life.”
Turning on her heel, Dana walked out of the sheriff’s office to where she’d parked her car, a satisfied smile on her face; she was batting .500. Billy Clark would give her what she hadn’t been able to secure from Philip Newcomb.
It was later that afternoon, as she stood in the kitchen washing a whole chicken for a dinner she planned to cook and share with Tyler, when Dana recalled Billy Clark’s statement: Along with her mother, she’s the love of my life.
Lily had taken a chance on love and married her childhood crush. Why, then, was it so difficult for her to trust Tyler enough to accept what he was offering her? The whys attacked her relentlessly as she forced herself to concentrate on preparing a special meal for a man she’d not only given her body to, but also her heart.
Eighteen
Dana set the table on the back porch with her grandmother’s best china, silver, and stemware. Lighted candles flickered in the lengthening shadows, creating a surreal look. Smoothing down the bodice of her dress over her flat middle, she surveyed her handiwork, pleased. The music coming from the speakers of a radio set the mood that screamed romantic.
Tyler had called her at six-twenty, informing her he was leaving the clinic to return home to shower and to expect him at her place around seven-thirty. The chiming of the doorbell echoed throughout the house. Glancing at the watch on her wrist, Dana had to smile. It was exactly seven-twenty-eight. Taking a deep breath, she walked back into the house.
Tyler skirted a few puddles left over from an earlier thunderstorm, hoping to avoid Janie Stewart. The elderly woman sat on her front porch rocking and protecting the block from foreign invaders.
“Dana feeling poorly again, Dr. Cole?”
Forcing a smile, Tyler nodded to her. “No, Miss Janie.”
“Why you bringing her flowers then? They are for her, ain’t they?”
Stopping, he gave her a long stare. “Yes, these flowers are for Dana. I’m giving them to her because she and I are keeping company.”
He knew if he hadn’t told Janie Stewart the truth about his visits to Dana’s house, then she was certain to make up her own version as to why he’d come so often. He couldn’t stop people from gossiping, but he’d try to shield Dana from lies and untruths by being open about his relationship with her.
His explanation seemed to please Miss Janie. “That’s so nice, Dr. Cole. Your mama must be so proud of yo
u. She sure raised you nice and proper. I thought my daddy, God rest his soul, was the last gentleman in Hillsboro. Tell Dana I said she’s a lucky girl. I just hope she doesn’t make the same mistake her mama did with her daddy.”
Ignoring the woman’s parting remark, he stared at Dana, waiting for her to unlatch the screen door. “Save me,” he groaned under his breath.
She smiled at him. “Miss Janie?”
“Yes,” he said between his teeth.
“Hurry up and come in.”
Tyler stepped into the entryway, closing and locking the door behind him. He loomed over Dana, dwarfing her with his height, although she wore a pair of high-heeled sling-strap sandals. “She asked me about coming to see you, and I told her we were keeping company.”
Dana shrugged a bare satiny shoulder under a silk dress with a squared neckline. Each time she inhaled, a soft swell of breasts rose above the revealing décolletage, drawing Tyler’s heated gaze to the spot.
“Telling Miss Janie our business is akin to free advertising.”
Leaning down, he brushed his mouth over hers. “It doesn’t bother you that she’ll announce it to everyone who’ll stand still long enough to listen to her?”
Wrapping her arms around his slim waist, Dana smiled up at Tyler. “No, it doesn’t, because when I walked out of Mt. Nebo Baptist Church yesterday, I took Reverend Wingate’s sermon with me. ‘Let the first one among you who is guiltless be the first to throw a stone, at her.’ Words, stones, or stares can’t hurt me. Right now I will not permit anything or anyone to hurt me.”
An inexplicable look of withdrawal came over Tyler’s face as he noted the stubborn set of Dana’s delicate jaw. She’d offered him her body, but continued to withhold her heart. He successfully hid his disappointment when he forced a smile he did not feel.
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