by Sharon Sala
Carter groaned. He should have known Marker would screw up.
“For all I know, she could have three of everything,” Carter snarled. “You’re the one who claimed to be an expert. It’s up to you to find a way to accomplish what you’re being paid to do.”
“I want more money,” Marker argued. “I done been dog-bit, and that man who hangs on the Dixon woman’s arm is no slouch. I seen him take a handful of ammo and a piece out of his trunk that could blow a hole in an elephant.”
“What did you think they would do, throw rocks at you?” Carter yelled. “And hell no, you don’t get more money. If you don’t do what I paid you to do, you don’t even get the last half of what I promised.”
Then he pinched the bridge of his nose, took a slow, calming breath and stared out of the window at the rising sun. Screaming at Neanderthals was not something to which he was accustomed. Someone was going to have to do the thinking, and obviously, Bo Marker was not going to be it.
“Look, just get rid of the dog and…”
“Already done it.”
Carter sighed. “Then why are you bothering me? You know what has to be done. Go the hell out and just do it. And don’t call me again until it’s over!”
Marker frowned. “Yeah, right,” he muttered, and let the phone drop back onto the receiver, well aware that it would echo sharply in Carter Foster’s ear.
Carter winced as he disconnected, and then fell backward onto his bed, staring up at the ceiling without seeing the fancy swirls of plaster that Betty Jo had insisted upon, and contemplating how swiftly a man’s life could change.
One day he’d had a wife and a business and a fairly normal life. That he no longer had a wife was not strictly his fault. He’d firmly convinced himself that Betty Jo had brought everything upon herself. And, when he thought about it, he regretted the fact that he’d been forced to eliminate other lives in order to maintain his own…but not enough to sway himself from his chosen path. Yet thinking about that Dixon woman and what she could do to his world made him sick with fear.
“Well, damn,” he mumbled, and rolled off the bed and headed for the bath. It was time to start another day.
Chapter 8
With daylight came restraint. Glory wasn’t versed in morning-afters, and Wyatt looked even bigger and more imposing in the bright light of day as she lay in bed, watching him wake beside her.
The color of his hair was a stark contrast to the pillowcase upon which he lay. Dark to light. Black to white. His eyelashes fluttered as consciousness returned, brushing the cheeks upon which they lay like shadows moving in the night.
Glory shivered with longing as she gazed at his lips, remembering how he’d raked them across her body, and how she’d responded. He stretched, and she followed the path of muscles that contracted along his arms and chest, amazed at the size of him and of his obvious strength, yet remembering how gently he’d held her when they made love.
Nervously, she waited for those dark eyes to open, waited anxiously to see how he would respond, and reminded herself, I’m the one who started this. I asked him to make love to me.
Wyatt opened his eyes and turned to face her. An easy smile creased his lips as he scooped her up in his arms.
“And I will be forever grateful.”
Glory blushed. “I thought you were asleep,” she grumbled. “You could make a woman real nervous, sneaking in on her thoughts like that.”
Wyatt grinned, then slid his hands down the length of her back, testing the softness of her skin. Stoking new fires, he began measuring the distance of his restraint between lust and passion. He wanted her to know pleasure before he knew his. But when her eyelids fluttered and her breath began to quicken, he knew it was time to ask.
“I don’t want to insist, but I’d like to talk about, uh…losing our minds…just once more…before I get out of this bed.”
“Talk’s cheap,” she said, and ran her hand down his chest, past his belly and beyond.
He grinned again as he caught her hand before she went too far in her exploration and ruined the extent of his plans, and then he paused, remembering last night had been her first time.
“But…I don’t want you to do this if it’s going to be uncomfortable for you,” he whispered, tracing the shape of her mouth with a fingertip.
She raised up on one elbow and began digging through the tangle of bedclothes until she felt one of the flat packets beneath her hand. She handed it to Wyatt with only the faintest of blushes.
“Here. You’re the one who feels uncomfortable, not me.”
Again, in the midst of a most intimate moment, she had made him laugh by acknowledging that his manhood was hard and, most probably, aching. And in that moment, Wyatt knew a rare truth. Going from laughter to passion, without foreplay in between, was a rare and beautiful thing. Like the bloom of the morning glory, a thing to be treasured.
He took what she offered, and moments later he rolled across the bed, taking her with him until she was firmly in place beneath the weight of his body.
Glory looked up. The breadth of his shoulders swamped her in size. The weight of his body was twice that of her own, and yet she knew that she was in total control.
One word.
That was all it would take to change the drift of Wyatt Hatfield’s thoughts. But Glory wasn’t a fool. If one word need be uttered, it would be one of compliance, not rejection. The question was in his eyes, the thrust of his body against the juncture of her thighs was all the proof that he could show of his need. The muscles in his arms jerked as he held himself above her, waiting for her decision.
“Glory…sweetheart?”
She lifted her arms and pulled him down. “Yes.”
And when he slid between her legs and filled that in her that was empty, she sighed with satisfaction. “Oh, yes.”
Wyatt smiled, and then it was the last thought he could manage as morning gave way to love.
Everything was wet. Last night’s rain had soaked ground, grass and trees, and the creek below Granny Dixon’s old cabin was frothed with mini whitecaps from the swiftly flowing stream. Wyatt stood lookout at the top of the creek bank, watching as Glory searched the thickets below, calling and calling for a missing pup that never came.
“Give it up, honey,” he called. “If the pup was anywhere nearby, you know it would come to you.”
She looked up, and the sorrow on her face was more than he could bear. He started down the bank toward her when she waved him away, and started up instead.
“We can go up to your house. Maybe the pup spent the night in the barn,” he suggested.
She shook her head and all but fell in his arms as she reached the top. “Even if he had, he would have come back this morning begging for something to eat.”
Weary in body and heart, she wrapped her arms around his waist and then suddenly gasped, jumping back in shock when her hands accidentally brushed across the pistol he had slipped in the waistband of his jeans. Her eyes widened with shock, turning more silver than blue as she looked up at Wyatt’s face. It was all she could do to say his name.
“Why are you carrying a gun?”
His expression flattened. Once again, she saw the soldier that he had been.
“I want you alive. I want you safe. This is the only way I have of helping to keep you that way.”
She paled, then spun away, and Wyatt watched as her hair fanned around her like a veil of pale lace. He wanted to touch her, but her posture did not invite intrusion. Instead, he waited for Glory to make the next move.
Glory stared blindly about her at the pristine beauty of the thick, piney woods that had always been her home, searching for the comfort that had always been there. Yet as she looked, the shadows that she’d once sought to play in no longer offered cool solace. Instead, they loomed, ominous by their mere presence. Trees so dense that it would be impossible to drive through no longer seemed a source of refuge. Now they seemed more like a prison. She doubled her fists and started to s
hake. Anger boiled up from her belly, burning and tearing as it spilled from her lips.
“I hate this,” she muttered, and then turned back to Wyatt, her voice rising in increments with each word that she spoke. “I hate this! It isn’t fair! My family was taken from me. I no longer have a home. And now J.C.’s puppy is gone.” Her voice broke as tears began to fall. “It was the last thing I had from before.”
Wyatt reached for her, but she was too fast. Before he knew it, she had started toward what was left of her home, splattering mud up the legs of her jeans and coating her boots as she stalked up the road.
He didn’t argue, and he didn’t blame her. Fighting mad was a hell of a lot healthier than a silent grief that never healed. He began to follow, never more than a few steps behind.
A slight mist was beginning to rise from the puddles as the midmorning sun beamed down through the trees, evaporating the water that had not soaked into the ground. The cry of a red-tailed hawk broke the silence between them as it circled high above, searching for food. Wyatt shaded his eyes and looked up, and as he did, missed seeing Glory as she suddenly veered from the road and dashed into the edge of the trees.
But when she screamed, he found himself running toward her with the gun in his hand before he realized that he’d even moved. Years of training, and an instinct that had kept him alive in places like Somalia had kicked in without thought.
By the time he reached her, she was coming back to him on the run. He caught her in midstride, holding her close as he trained the gun toward the place she had been, expecting to see someone behind her. Someone who meant her great harm.
“Talk to me,” he shouted, shaking her out of hysterics before it got them both killed. He needed to know what was out there before he could help.
She pointed behind her, and then covered her face with her hands and dropped to her knees in the grass.
“The puppy…back there…it’s dead.”
God! Wyatt ran his hand gently over the crown of her head, then patted her shoulder, his voice was soft with regret and concern. “Wait here, sweetheart. I’ll be right back.”
It had been dead for some time. That much was obvious, due to the fact that while it had been shot, there was no blood at the scene. Last night’s rain had taken care of that…and any other clues that might have led Wyatt to some sort of answer. And yet he knelt near the carcass, searching the ground around it for something, anything, that might lead to an answer.
He stared at the hole in the side of the pup’s head, and another just behind one of its front legs. For Wyatt, it was total proof that it hadn’t been some sort of hunting accident. One shot maybe, two, no. And then he noticed something beneath the pup’s mouth and tested it with the tip of his finger. It was soft and wet and blue. Frowning, he pulled, then rocked back on his heels when a bit of cloth came away in his hands. It had been caught in the pup’s teeth.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” he muttered, fingering the small bit of fabric. “Looks like you got a piece of him before he got to you, didn’t you, fella?”
He stuffed the fabric in his pocket, then looked back at Glory. She was only a short distance away, and he could tell by the way she was standing that she’d been watching every move that he’d made.
Damn. He stood, then started toward her.
“Someone shot him, didn’t they?”
He nodded.
“What was that you put in your pocket?”
He frowned, yet keeping the truth from her was dangerous. It could very well get her killed.
“I think maybe you had the makings of a good watchdog, honey. There was a piece of fabric caught in its teeth.”
The anger that had carried her up the road simply withered and died as she absorbed the ramifications of what that could mean. Had the puppy died defending its territory from a trespasser? Maybe the same man who’d been in her house?
“So what do you think?” she finally asked.
What he was thinking didn’t need to be said. He slipped an arm around her shoulder and hugged her gently. “Just that I need a shovel.”
Her shoulders drooped. “There’s one in the barn.”
He held out his hand and then waited. This time, they traveled the rest of the distance hand in hand. But when they came out of the barn, Glory groaned in dismay. Edward Lee was walking toward them up the road, carrying the pup’s limp body dangling across his outstretched arms.
“Oh, no,” she said softly.
“What?” Wyatt asked.
“Edward Lee gave J.C. the puppy for a birthday present about six months ago. He’s not going to take this well.”
Sure enough, Glory was right. Edward Lee was sobbing long before he reached them.
“Look, Mornin’ Glory, someone went and killed your dog.”
“We know, Edward Lee. See, we have a shovel. We were about to bury him. Would you like to pick a place?”
Tears slowed, as the idea centered within the confusion in his brain. He blinked, and then lifted his gaze from the pup to Glory.
He nodded. “I will pick a good place,” he said. “A place that James Charles would like.”
In spite of her pain, Glory smiled, thinking what a fit J.C. would have had if he’d heard that. Edward Lee was the only person who occasionally insisted upon calling her brother by his full given name. Everyone else had been forced to use the nickname, J.C., which he preferred.
And then Edward Lee looked at Wyatt, suddenly realizing he was there. “Wyatt is my friend,” he said, assuring himself that the new relationship still held true.
Wyatt nodded. “Yes, I am, Edward Lee. Now, why don’t you tell me where to dig, and we’ll make a good place for the puppy to rest.”
Glory watched from the shade of the barn while Edward Lee led Wyatt to a nearby lilac bush in full bloom. When he began to dig, she said a quick prayer and let go of her fear. A short time later, there was a new mound of dirt near the thick cover of lavender blossoms. It was a fitting monument for a short, but valiant, life.
They walked with Edward Lee to the end of the road, and then watched as he disappeared into the trees. A few moments later, as they were about to enter the cabin, the persistent ringing of an unanswered phone could be heard.
“Shoot.” Wyatt suddenly remembered the phone that he’d tossed on the bed while getting dressed. He darted inside, and then toward the bedroom, answering it in the middle of a ring.
“Hello.”
“Where have you been?” Lane growled. “And why didn’t you take the damned phone with you? I left it so I could stay in touch. I was just about call out the National Guard.”
“Sorry,” Wyatt said, and dropped onto the side of his bed. “We were burying a dog.”
“You were what?”
“The pup. Someone shot it while we were in town yesterday. We didn’t find it until this morning.”
“The hell you say. How’s Glory taking it?”
“About like you’d imagine. It was her brother’s dog.”
Lane frowned. He didn’t like what he was thinking, but it had to be said. “Look, Wyatt, remember when I was laid up at Toni’s after the plane crash and your nephew’s dog was killed?”
Wyatt grinned. “Yeah, was that before or after you got my sister pregnant?”
“Just shut up and listen,” Lane muttered. “The point I’m trying to make is that the inmate we all thought was dead was actually hiding in the woods. He killed the dog to keep it quiet during one of his trips to forage for food. I’m warning you to be careful. Bad guys have a habit of eliminating all obstacles in their paths, no matter what.”
Wyatt dug in his pocket and pulled out the bit of fabric.
“Don’t think it hasn’t already crossed my mind. The pup got a bite of whoever it was that did him in, though. I found a piece of fabric caught between his teeth.”
“Well, well! That’s real good detective work. Maybe there’s hope for you yet,” Lane drawled.
Wyatt grinned. “Is there a real reas
on you called, or were you just checking up on me?”
“Oh, yeah, right! Look, I’ve been running a check on any or all missing person reports filed in the past two months in a five-hundred-mile radius of Larner’s Mill. There are only two, and both of them are males. Glory is real sure the body she visualized was a female?”
“Absolutely,” Wyatt said, and heard Lane sigh in his ear.
“Okay. I’ll keep searching. Meanwhile, for God’s sake, carry the phone with you. You never know when you’ll need to reach out and touch someone…understand?”
“Understood,” Wyatt said, and disconnected. When he looked up, Glory was standing in the doorway. She’d been listening to their conversation. There was a slight, embarrassed smile on her face, but stifling the question on her mind was impossible.
“Lane got your sister pregnant?”
Wyatt laughed. “It’s a long story, honey. But don’t feel sorry for my sister. She got exactly what she wanted. In fact, old Lane was the one who got caught in the Hatfield cross fire.”
She smiled, trying to imagine anyone as big and forbidding as Lane Monday getting caught by anything.
“You’re very lucky,” she said.
Wyatt frowned as he tried to follow her line of thinking. “How so, honey?”
“You have a large family. I think it would be wonderful to be a part of that.”
“I’ll share mine with you,” Wyatt muttered. “Sometimes they can be a royal pain in the you-know-what.”
If only I could share your family, Wyatt Hatfield. But she didn’t say it, and walked away.
Wyatt sat on the side of the bed, calling himself a dozen kinds of a fool for not responding to her wish. But how could he say it, when he wasn’t sure what to say? All he knew was that he lived for the sound of her voice, rested easy only when she was within eyesight, and came apart in her arms from their loving. It was definitely passion. But was it true love?
He followed her into the kitchen. “Don’t cook. We need to get out of here for a while. Why don’t you make a list? We’ll do some shopping and then eat supper out before we come home?”