Uncovered: A Hearts of the South story

by Linda Winfree

  “Good morning, baby.” Mama didn’t look up from the paper. “Your eggs are in the microwave.”

  Madeline restrained herself from rolling her eyes. Mama should know by now she didn’t eat fried food in the morning. Why did she keep trying to push the damn eggs on her?

  With a sigh, Madeline pulled the plate from the microwave. The congealed eggs stared up at her with jiggly yellow centers, and her stomach turned. God, she would have to choke down a couple of bites just to please her mother.

  She grabbed a fork and leaned against the counter. “Mama, what is that in the north pasture?”

  The large metal buildings had gleamed dully in the early light. A weird, rank smell had hovered around them with the misty morning air.

  Her mother turned a page. “Alligator houses.”

  “Alligator—” Her conversation with Ash Hardison came back, slamming reality into her brain. “Why are they on our land?”

  She didn’t miss the slight way her mother’s hand trembled as she settled her coffee cup on the saucer. “It’s not our land anymore, honey.”

  “What?”

  Mama lifted her carefully composed face to Madeline’s. “I sold everything north of the creek to Tick and Ash.”

  Hot anger scalded Madeline, singeing her nerve endings. Everything north of the creek left only the house and five acres or so surrounding it. The Holtons had been centennial farmers, even though her daddy had been more of a “gentleman farmer”. Now all that was gone? In Tick Calvert’s hands.

  Madeline sucked in a harsh breath. “Mama, when did you do this?”

  “The summer after your daddy died.” Unless she’d been listening so carefully for it, Madeline would have missed the tiny tremor in her mother’s voice. The anger flashed into fury. That slimy… Taking advantage of her mother’s grief.

  So Tick wanted to deal with the past, did he? Well, first she had some more recent events for him to face.

  The damn water was colder than a well digger’s ass. Even through the rubber boots, Ash could sense the chill seeping in. At least it made the gators sluggish. He preferred them this way, a little disoriented and a lot slower than they were during the warmer months.

  “Hell.” Water sloshed. Tick swore again while he grabbed for another of the three-foot reptiles. He stumbled, and Ash muffled a laugh. They’d been at this since just after four a.m., and Tick was wearing down. “Slippery son of a gun.”

  “Maybe you’re just getting old and slow.”

  “Younger than you are.” Tick sent him a mock glare as he flipped the alligator onto its back atop the long table in the middle of the room. With one hand, he kept the gator’s mouth closed; with the other, he rubbed down the scaly abdomen. The whole body went limp. While Tick held the animal, Ash slid two gloved fingers inside the orifice just above the tail, feeling for the telltale nub.

  “Male.” He added a mark to the tally sheet.

  Still clasping the alligator’s mouth, Tick spun it over.

  “You bastard.” Madeline Holton’s infuriated voice echoed through the high-ceilinged room. Ash jerked in response, aware Tick startled next to him as well. Too late, Ash saw Tick’s hand slip on the gator, saw the tail whip a second before the reptile bent itself into a u-shape and snapped at his own gloved hand. Ash yanked back but not before the alligator got a good chomp at the fleshy part of his hand below his pinky.

  “Fuck.” Blood spurted from the wound, and he grabbed it with his other palm. Tick grasped Ash’s wrist and pushed it over his head. The alligator slid from the table back into the water. Ash smothered a groan. Now their counts would be one off. “Shit.”

  “Come on.” Tick nudged him toward the horizontal opening to the corridor, where Madeline waited, her face flushed with ire. “Let’s see how bad it is.”

  They climbed through the passageway, Ash almost toppling over since he had to balance with only one hand. Eyes narrowed, Madeline watched them, her attention focused on Tick. Ash grimaced at the pain shooting from his hand down his arm. What was she doing here, anyway?

  Tick’s gaze flared, and he glowered at Madeline. He pointed down the covered walkway. “Office. Now.”

  In the cramped room they jokingly called the office, Tick pushed Ash toward the chair and dug in the dented file cabinet. He glared at Madeline. “What the hell is your problem?”

  Ash rested his elbow on the desk blotter. A thin trickle of blood ran over his fingers, an ache pulsing in his hand. He glanced from his friend to the irate woman and back.

  “My problem is you, you son of a bitch.” Madeline’s chest heaved with a harsh breath. Her gaze darted to Ash’s, and her face darkened further. “Actually it’s both of you. How could you do this to her?”

  “Do what?” Ash deliberately kept his voice quiet, pulling up the tone he’d always used around a skittish horse.

  Madeline threw out her hands. “Take advantage of my mother to get your hands on this land. My God, I suppose I should be grateful you waited until Daddy was cold in the ground before you moved in on her.”

  Tick closed the file cabinet with a soft click. “How did you ever make it in investigations?”

  She planted her hands on her hips. “What are you talking about?”

  “The way you jump to conclusions and go from point A to point R without thinking. Goddamn, it’s a wonder you ever closed a case.”

  “Tick.” Ash leaned back in the chair, removing his arm from the desk.

  “You’re not even going to deny it, are you?” Madeline shook her head, the thick mass of her shining brown hair escaping a loose knot to spill about her shoulders. “You can’t.”

  “There’s nothing to deny. You’re so off base it’s not funny—”

  “Tick.” Ash raised his voice, finally bringing Tick’s frustrated gaze in his direction. “I’m bleeding profusely over here. Find the medical kit, would you?”

  Muttering a foul curse, Tick yanked open the next drawer. Ash examined Madeline’s furious expression as she scowled in Tick’s direction. He’d been wrong the night before. He’d assumed her obsession with Tick stemmed from a thwarted attraction. But no desire or wanting lurked under her anger. No, that was something very different, a heavy dislike, something close to hatred. Something very much like revulsion.

  Tick set the first aid kit on the desk. While he tended to the wound on Ash’s hand, Ash watched Madeline. She was still so furious she was almost shaking, a fine tremor running through her. Face pale, she glanced around the office, nostrils flaring slightly, chest moving with uneven breaths.

  “Madeline.” Ash called her name as gently and calmly as he could, considering Tick had just poured disinfectant over his hand, the raw sting threatening to take his breath. Arms crossed over her midriff, she slid that glittering hazel gaze in his direction. “It’s obvious you’re upset.”

  “Upset?” Her laugh was a harsh, ugly sound. “Upset doesn’t begin to cover it.”

  “Did you bother to ask your mother why she sold us the land?” Tick pulled the edges of the wound together and began placing butterfly bandages along the seam. “No, wait, that would have taken an open mind and foresight.”

  “I didn’t have to ask.” Madeline seemed to spit the words at him. “All I had to hear was you were involved.”

  Ash winced, both at the venom in her tone and the way his hand throbbed under Tick’s capable but less-than-gentle ministrations. “She came to us, you know. We were going to buy up the road, closer to the highway.”

  “Why would she come to you?” Madeline stabbed a trembling finger at the floor. “This land has been in my family for over a hundred years. She knew how important that was to my father. No way would she have—”

  “Because of Nate.” Tick straightened with a weary sigh.

  “What do you mean, because of Nate? What does he have to do with this?”

  Tick snapped the first aid kit closed. “The truck he was driving when he busted that stop sign and killed Amanda Harrell? Your parents had taken o
ut the note on it. The title was still in their name. That made your mama liable for the accident and Lord knows the substandard insurance your brother had wasn’t going to pay out on the lawsuit.”

  “Selling the land to us meant she didn’t have to maintain it and allowed her to keep the house, which she might have had to sell if she hadn’t found a way to settle that lawsuit.” Ash flexed his fingers experimentally and reached for the bottle of acetaminophen on the desk. “And according to the terms of the sale, if we ever want to sell out, you and your sister have the first right of refusal, so the land would go back into your family.”

  Madeline blinked hard, opened her mouth and closed it again in a firm, tight line. The color in her cheeks could have been anger or embarrassment.

  Ash held her gaze. “Talk to your mother. Let her be the one to explain.”

  She didn’t speak again, only turned and strode out of the office, letting the door close quietly behind her.

  In her car, Madeline rested her forehead on the steering wheel. The adrenaline crash rolled through her, leaving a sick nausea trembling in her throat. Why did she just know the two men were having a good laugh right this second?

  At her expense. She wanted to hold on to her anger, but her detective’s instincts whispered that Ash had seemed sincere in his explanation. Talk to her mother.

  Talk to her mother, when Madeline knew sometimes her mama would produce a half-complete version of events. She preferred living in a reality of her own making, rather than deal with the hard stuff. Look how she’d ignored Nate’s problems for years. Look how she’d ignored the brewing tension between Madeline and her father so long ago.

  She smacked her open palm against the steering wheel lightly. Damn it, why hadn’t she remembered that before she went looking for Tick with both barrels loaded? She’d made things worse and now she had to spend the entire day with him.

  And Lord knew, he could be an ass when he was in a mood.

  Eyes dry, she lifted her head and gazed at the neat farming operation. Talking to her mother was out of the question. She needed someone who would be relatively objective, someone who would still have access to the inside facts. She glanced at her watch and fired the engine. She had time to go by Stanton and Autry’s before she had to be on duty.

  A few minutes later, nerves twisting through her, she knocked on her sister’s back door. Authoritative footsteps thudded on hardwood floors and Stanton swung open the door. Madeline forced herself to smile up at him. At six-six, he nearly towered over her; obviously, her sister liked tall men as well. Weird, having something in common with the sister she barely knew.

  He nodded, his greenish-gold gaze wary and a little distant. “Morning, Madeline.”

  “Hey.” She tucked her hands in the back pockets of her khaki slacks. “I was wondering if I could talk to you and Autry a few minutes?”

  He stepped back, but the wariness in his eyes didn’t diminish. “She’s getting dressed but come on in. You’re up early. You don’t have to be on duty until nine today, right?”

  “I went for a run.” And more than likely, made a complete and utter fool of herself. Damn but she was good at that. An image of Ash’s pained grimace, the blood trickling down his wrist rose to torment her. That had been her fault too.

  Stanton returned to the kitchen island, where he’d been preparing a cup of coffee. He held the carafe aloft. “Want some?”

  “No thanks.” The universal cop’s caffeinated drink of choice had never really been her thing.

  “Juice? Milk?”

  “I’m good.” She leaned on the counter, her stomach tied in knots. “Stanton, what do you know about Mama selling the farm to Tick and Ash?”

  He stopped with his mug halfway to his mouth and darted a quick look at her. “She didn’t tell you?”

  Madeline made a moue. “Mama doesn’t deal real well with harsh-reality conversation. I’d never get the whole story out of her.”

  “The Harrell family sued after the accident.” Stanton ran a hand over his jaw. “Because your mama legally owned the truck, their lawyer went after her, since it was obvious Nate didn’t have anything to take. Ash and Tick were looking for a place to put that alligator operation of theirs. It seemed like a good solution, especially since it would allow her to offer the Harrells a settlement.”

  Madeline closed her eyes. Why couldn’t her mama have simply told her that? And why hadn’t she stopped to question further before going off on Tick and Ash?

  That would have taken an open mind and foresight.

  Tick’s censure echoed in her mind. Ah, damn it all, why did she consistently let her anger get the better of her? She was always making a mess of everything.

  “Madeline?”

  At Stanton’s quiet voice, she lifted her lashes. He watched her with steady concern and she made herself produce a nonchalant smile. “Thanks for telling me. I should be going—”

  “Is there anything I should know?”

  Other than the fact she’d stepped in it royally once more and working with Tick for the next six weeks would be even harder? Probably not. “No, I was just curious. Thanks again and tell Autry I said hello.”

  He followed her to the door. “I will. Have a good day, all right?”

  A good day. Like there was ever such a thing in her life.

  Tick remembered at the last second not to slam the back door. Simmering anger pulsed under his skin. Damn Madeline Holton for her hard-headedness and inability to think before she spoke. Damn Stanton for hiring her in the first place. Damn Ash, too, for being so freakin’ calm about the whole mess. Even as he’d planned to go into town for a tetanus shot as soon as the doctor’s office opened, he’d already been excusing Madeline’s behavior.

  That was the problem. Tick tossed his damp socks in the laundry room and strode toward the bedroom. No one had ever made Madeline face up to anything she’d ever done. Not even himself. Maybe if he’d refused to go along with Virgil all those years ago, maybe if he’d been stronger…

  Maybe nothing. Living in the past was a sure way to go crazy. He planned to go to work, do his job, deal with her the best he could. It was only six weeks. Correction, five weeks and six days. He could deal that long.

  The shower was running, steam curling under the bathroom door. He stripped his shirt over his head, muscles protesting the work he’d put in already that morning. He’d be stiff later, after sitting in a patrol car all day. Memories of Caitlin rubbing the tension away the night before, putting him into the best sleep he’d had in weeks, sifted through his head and a grin quirked at his mouth. Maybe he could convince her to do that all over again.

  Maybe he’d actually stay awake long enough to convince her to let him seduce her when she was done. Some of his ill temper evaporated. Even if they weren’t making love, he’d enjoyed having her touch him with a sense of affection and intimacy once more. Maybe the whole patience thing was paying off.

  He shoved off his jeans and was considering joining her in the shower, as he’d done too many times to count in the past, when the water stopped. He shrugged off the lost opportunity. He’d be ready for a long soak in the clawfoot tub when he returned home. If Lee was in a cooperative mood, perhaps Tick could entice Caitlin into joining him.

  The bathroom door opened and Caitlin emerged, damp hair pinned in a knot, a large bath sheet wrapped around her sarong-style. Relaxing further, he resisted the urge to pull her against him and settled for brushing a quick kiss over her cheek. He smelled of alligator funk and she wouldn’t want him all over her after her shower.

  “Hey. I’m gonna get cleaned up.” Without waiting for her reply, he headed for the shower. Minutes later he surfaced, feeling cleaner and more human. The bedroom was empty, the quiet noises of Caitlin setting up her files and laptop in the living area filtering in. Whistling an off-key version of an old REM tune, he tugged on khakis and his uniform polo and added his gear: badge, holster, cuffs, keys. Maybe Mama would watch the baby for a couple of hours that ev
ening. Much as he loved his son, he was jonesing for some one-to-one time with Caitlin, even if it was only coffee and a walk, or a quick dinner at Wutherby’s.

  He grabbed his duty jacket from the closet and strode through to the living room. Caitlin laid out photos on the dining room table, frowning in concentration.

  “I’m going to be late if I don’t get a move on.” Laying the jacket over the back of a chair, he stopped behind his wife and wrapped his arms about her. At the first touch of his hands, her entire body stiffened. The nonverbal rejection slammed him in the gut, and his question about wanting to do something together later died on his lips.

  He stepped back, eyeing the tight line of her posture. She’d been fine last night, but now she was wound tighter than a two-dollar watch. “Cait? What’s wrong?”

  She didn’t look at him, merely moved a crime scene photo to a different place in the array. “Nothing.”

  Oh, holy hell. He knew that “nothing” well enough. During the frustrating roller coaster of trying to conceive, she’d taken hormone injections daily, and they’d suffered through her resulting wicked mood swings together. That “nothing” meant anything but. He sighed. “Cait—”

  “Tick, not now. I’ve got to get this done before the baby wakes up. It’s impossible to think about patterns once he gets going.” She shifted another picture with tense, edgy movements. “Besides, didn’t you say you were going to be late?”

  “Yeah.” He jerked a hand through his hair and reached for his jacket. They didn’t normally part without even the quickest of kisses, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to risk it right now. He’d leave this particular move up to her. If she turned into him, then he’d know it was all right to lean in. “I’ll see you tonight. I shouldn’t be too late. Call me if you need anything.”

  She didn’t look around at him. “Sure.”

  With all the tension from the morning back in full force and frustration stinging him, he pulled on his jacket and strode out to his truck.

  Somehow, he just knew this day was going to get worse.