A Gift of Bones--A Sarah Booth Delaney Mystery

by Carolyn Haines

  The wind bit my ears with a nasty snap, and my hands were frozen on the reins since I’d failed to grab riding gloves, but I didn’t care. Coleman rode beside me so close our knees were almost touching. Our horses were matched stride for stride, and the need to win fell away from both of us. We rode as one, a rhythm that wasn’t lost on me—or Coleman if the look he shot me was any indication. I went from cold to hot in a nanosecond.

  We rode through the night, covered at least five miles, before Coleman motioned me into a small brake where the thick growth of trees served as both a windbreak and an indicator that a small stream cut through. As we stepped into the secluded area, I stopped in amazement. Twinkle lights had been strung in the trees. In a small clearing, wood had been stacked for a fire. Nearby was a bale of alfalfa hay for the horses—a treat for them over their normal Bermuda grass hay. And there were pillows and blankets and champagne chilling in a bucket of ice, which was possibly unnecessary on the cold night.

  “What is this?” I asked, though I knew full well.

  “You’ve been so busy, I thought I’d plan a little Christmas celebration. Tomorrow night is the pageant, and we’ll be busy with friends all evening. I wanted to have some time alone.”

  My heart pounded as I slipped from the saddle. Coleman had thought to leave halters for the horses so we could take their bridles off and allow them to eat the hay freely. He’d thought of everything. Even a big, meaty bone for Sweetie Pie, who’d found it and started gnawing beside the fire Coleman lit.

  In the center of the blankets was a beautifully wrapped gift. “I didn’t bring a present for you.” How could I have known?

  “It’s okay. This is a present for both of us.”

  It was a very flat box to hold a present for two. “Summons to court?” I guessed. “Wanted poster of the two of us? What could it be?”

  “Let’s have a glass of champagne and then open it.”

  “You’re a master with a party agenda.” I eased under some of the soft blankets that smelled of cedar and pine. Coleman really had thought of everything, even the scent of the season. I accepted the glass of bubbly Coleman filled for me. When he had his glass, he eased down beside me under the blankets and I curled into him. This was magic, a moment of absolute pleasure—my favorite things—created for me by Coleman. And the best of all was the solidness of his body against mine, the feel of him, so real and there.

  He handed me the present and I pulled the bow loose and opened the paper and box. It took a moment for the tickets to register. Two tickets for Ireland. “Budgie is doing some research on the Delaney family, Sarah Booth. We’re going to the Emerald Isle to find some relatives for you. If it works out, next Christmas maybe you’ll have family to celebrate with, too.”

  Emotion stopped me from answering. I clutched the box and kissed his cheek. “Thank you.” Inadequate words to convey what I felt. It seemed my heart had expanded inside my ribs. “Do you think we’ll find someone I’m related to?”

  He kissed my forehead. “We will. Even if I have to pay them to accept you into the family.”

  It was the perfect answer. I laughed and felt the pressing emotion pass, leaving only wild joy and anticipation. I was going to Ireland with Coleman!

  The fire crackled and cast a warm glow on us as we snuggled, sipping the champagne and letting the night sounds of a hoot owl echo over the field. This was a moment to hold tight. I would remember it forever. A few clinging dead leaves rustled in a soft nature musical. I had a terrible thought! What if Jitty showed up dancing through the night in some nutcracker costume?

  “What’s wrong?” Coleman was incredibly intuitive.

  “I was thinking of a dead relative,” I said, opting not to lie completely.

  “Someone you love?”

  “Oh, yes. More than she’ll ever know.” I did love Jitty.

  He leaned down and kissed me, a tender kiss that built quickly to something quite different. We broke apart, tossed back the champagne, and then free of the glasses, engaged in a searing kiss. The blankets and fire had chased the chill away and so when Coleman began to remove my clothes, I was already battling an internal flame that demanded his attention.

  I unzipped his jacket and worked the buttons on his shirt. We took our time, letting the firelight play over bare flesh. The thing I loved best about Coleman—one of the many—was his ease in his own skin. He never gave a thought to his appearance as long as he was neat and clean. I never saw him look in a mirror to check his reflection. He prepared for the day and went about his work. The firelight caught the hairs on his chest and gave them a reddish gold burnish, and I ran my hands over them, marveling at the sculpted muscles of his chest and torso. He wasn’t a man who worked out in a gym—he worked out in real life. He’d chopped a winter’s worth of firewood for Dahlia House. He’d taken to showing up to fix a fence or sweep out the hayloft for the new winter supply. He did the things that all Delta boys and men knew to do to prepare for the coming season.

  “You’ve traveled far away, Sarah Booth,” he said.

  I was finally aware he was watching me. “Not so far. I was just thinking of your thoughtfulness in helping me at the farm.”

  “It’s my pleasure.”

  “I know you do the same for some of the older people.” He did. DeWayne, his deputy, told me about Coleman’s good deeds.

  “When I can.”

  “All that hard work sure looks good on you.” My hands moved over his bare chest and upper arms. “You’re a fine specimen of a man.”

  His hands circled my waist and lifted me astride him. “We’re lucky, Sarah Booth. We have everything, including good health. Now I suggest we take advantage of it.”

  I didn’t answer. I bent and kissed him, letting our passion rekindle in that flash flame of desire that swept everything else away. For a time it was just our breathing, our bodies, and the devouring passion that consumed us.

  13

  I awoke to frosty toes and the stamping of my horses’ feet. Coleman was still asleep, a man with a completely innocent conscience. With his tousled hair and resting features, he looked like the teenage Coleman that was forever imprinted in my mind. Sleep had erased his cares. And frozen my nose. Worse, I had to find my clothes and climb in them without moving from beneath the covers. It was too cold to dress.

  “Coleman.” I nudged him awake. “We have to go home.” We’d been asleep only half an hour. The night spoke to me in quiet rustlings and the flutter of bird’s wings as I went in for one last snuggle. “Hey, we have to go home. It’s two in the morning.”

  “We shouldn’t have killed that champagne.” He stretched and shivered as the cold hit his arms. Before I could stop him, he threw the covers off us. “Let’s shake a leg.”

  I considered biting him really hard on the butt. “You are a jackass.”

  “True. And you love being with me. You know what my grandmother used to say, ‘For every jenny there’s a jack.’”

  I couldn’t help but laugh. Coleman’s grandmother was an endless source of great country sayings. My aunt Loulane was legend for her repetition of axioms and sage wisdom like “a stitch in time saves nine.” But Coleman’s granny came up with wild sayings that mocked conventional wisdom and often dealt with sexual proclivities in a humorous way. Needless to say, I’d adored her before she passed on. She’d made hot cocoa and pimento cheese sandwiches for many a high school gathering at her house.

  “Roll out.” Coleman snatched the rest of the blankets off me and I had no choice but to levitate to my feet pulling on my jeans and sweater. It was going to be a cold ride home, no way around it.

  “We didn’t make it to caroling,” I reminded him as I laced my boots clumsily in the dark.

  “I have to confess, Sarah Booth. It’s the first pay-off I’ve taken but the locals gave me a nice donation for my re-election fund if I stopped you from singing.”

  “You’re certainly a frisky biscuit,” I said. This night, for all of its many pleasures, had als
o left me with a desire for payback. I would not forget Coleman’s devilish tricks.

  “Mount up and save your thoughts of revenge for a later time.” He lifted me onto Reveler’s back. While I’d been boot lacing, he’d bridled the horses. He kicked the fire to be sure it was dead, and then he mounted.

  The horses were eager for the barn and we let them gallop all the way to the driveway before we pulled them back and walked home. They had to be cooled before we untacked them and set them free. Coleman reached across and caught my knee for a warm pat. “These last few weeks have been the happiest of my life, Sarah Booth. I know I almost ruined it for us when I didn’t leave Connie.”

  Coleman’s ex-wife, Connie, was a manipulative witch and not all that smart. She’d lied and used duplicity to hold Coleman to her, but he finally caught on and divorced her with a clear conscience. By then I’d been involved with another man, someone else from my past. That hadn’t ended well either.

  “I try not to think about the fact we’re finally together without anyone standing in our way,” I confessed. “I’m afraid of jinxing us.”

  “My parents didn’t have a happy marriage,” Coleman said. “But you had the opposite experience. Your mom and dad loved each other. It was clear to every kid in the county who saw them. You have no idea the envy kids had for your family and home.” He shook his head. “I wonder what kind of man I’d be if I’d had that in my life.”

  “You’d be the same man, only with better memories.” I knew that to be true, but I realized listening to him that he was as afraid of ruining what we had as I was. We weren’t old fogeys, but we were cautious adults. As Aunt Loulane would tell me, “Everyone goes over fools’ hill. Best to do it when you’re young and your bones aren’t brittle.”

  “I think about your loss, Sarah Booth. To have had that kind of parental love and then lose it, that’s a blow. And you were a child. I think about the car accident that killed them. I’d give a lot to know what made your dad lose control on a flat, straightaway with no traffic. Most likely a deer jumped out or something.”

  That he understood the incident that defined who I was made me realize how lucky I was to know him. People survived tragedy all the time, but we were always marked. Always. “It did change who I am.” Understatement of the universe. “I learned I can stand alone, whether I like it or not.”

  “I can hear your aunt Loulane right now. She’d say, ‘The hardest things in life we always do alone.’”

  “‘And she’d be right.” As I’d learned the hard way. Loss, death, illness, those things could be shared only so much. The darkest paths, we walked alone. While some few could keep us company a piece down that road, the long journey was primarily a solitary one.

  “I love the way Cece and Madame Tomeeka decorated the front porch.” Coleman adeptly changed the subject, realizing that sometimes the past is a bog that can sink a person.

  “They did a great job.” Dahlia House was festive in her holiday finery. And even walking by on the horses I caught a whiff of the delightful cedar and pine.

  “And why was it they were decorating your house?” he asked.

  He was far too clever and slick. “Because they’re good friends. Sometimes friends go out on a limb for each other.” It was a coded message that was completely clear if he chose to get it.

  “I don’t know what you and Cece and Tinkie are planning, Sarah Booth, but I know you’re up to something. I can help you find Eve or at least make the money drop. Don’t shut me out. The guilt will kill y’all if this goes south.”

  He was right about that, but wrong about my ability to share with him. “I would tell you everything, Coleman. I trust you and love you.” The “l” word came out so easily. “But it isn’t mine to share. Trust me with that. I have you on speed dial if a crisis arises. That young woman is due to give birth and there’s no sign of her, no indication that she’s getting medical care. I’m heartsick.”

  “She disappeared in Bolivar County. The only crime scene I’ve seen is in Tallahatchie County. I don’t have jurisdiction, but I do have a world of experience. A kidnapper is no one to play with. Once he has the money, Eve becomes a liability. She most likely can identify him. Or her. Or them. The thing is, it may be more expedient to kill Eve than release her, no matter what promises are made.”

  We’d reached the barn and I slid from the saddle and quickly began untacking. I was freezing, and now my black little heart was a sad lump of frozen coal. Because I knew Coleman was right. “I can only promise that the minute I can, I’ll let you know everything.”

  “Just let me know you’re safe. And Cece and Tinkie, too. I hope that young woman is okay. Now let’s untack and get inside. I need to sleep a little. Tomorrow is Christmas Eve and I have to lead the city parade at eleven. Santa is throwing candy and toys.”

  Zinnia still followed the tradition of a big parade with the high school bands and dancing cheerleaders and majorettes and floats from all the local businesses. It was a lovely part of my childhood that still continued. So many local traditions had been lost.

  “Can I ride in the patrol car with you?” I asked.

  Coleman gave me a wicked grin. “Only if you’re wearing handcuffs.”

  “You don’t need handcuffs for me. I’m a prisoner of your heart.” I tried to play it demure and sincere.

  “Want to try that line again?” Coleman asked.

  “I’m not afraid of you,” I said boldly. “You wouldn’t dare put handcuffs on me.”

  There was a glint in his eye that was downright dangerous. “Maybe not. Then again, do you really want to test it?”

  I turned Reveler loose and he shot out of the barn snorting and bucking, glad to be back with his lady love, Miss Scrapiron. Lucifer followed him out when Coleman set him free. Hoof beats on solid ground pounded away. The horses whinnied wildly as they ran around the big pasture, loving the crisp weather and the freedom. I loved that I could give the three horses as natural a life as a horse could have in captivity. They were not free on the range, but they also never went hungry or faced predators. They had a farrier every six weeks, their teeth checked at least once a year, wormers, vaccinations, hay and feed, and a regular veterinarian visiting.

  “Now, what was that about handcuffs?” Coleman asked.

  I was five feet from him and about ten feet from the barn door. I knew he was raring for a confrontation. I broke and ran as fast as I could, thrusting the barn door open and screaming as I ran into the night.

  “You can run but you can’t hide. I’m gonna getcha!”

  Coleman was right behind me, which only spurred me to run faster. I aimed for the front door with the wide porch that had multiple paths of escape, if I needed them. The back door was a death trap. Steep steps to the door and no way out if I wasn’t quick enough. Coleman was gaining on me.

  I pushed at the front door and screamed again as he captured me crossing the threshold. “Kings! Kings!” I held up my crossed fingers in the age-old sign of safety. When we’d played as children, we’d always honored the call. Coleman totally ignored it.

  “A little late with that,” he said. “I think my prisoner is trying to escape.” He was trying hard not to laugh. He swept me into his arms and carried me into the foyer, kicking the door closed behind him after he made sure Sweetie Pie was inside. He stared into my eyes, somehow reading my intentions with that police officer’s sixth sense. He knew my one goal was to reach the ice bucket in the parlor. My game plan was to dump the ice down his pants. “What wicked plans you lay,” he said. “Too bad they’ll never come to fruition.”

  “I just want to get warm,” I lied. “You’ve captured me and proven you’re the faster runner. What more do you want?”

  That was the wrong question to ask. He didn’t put me down. Instead, he bent his head down so that his scruff teased my cheek. Then he took it one step further and nibbled on my ear—sending chill bumps over me—as he said, “I have my own plans for you, my dear.”

  Though
I wanted to kiss him, I couldn’t yield without a fight. “Hey, Cro-Magnon. Let me go. I can walk.” I couldn’t let him melt me like a pat of butter in a hot skillet. He’d always have the upper hand if I didn’t put some starch in my spine. I wiggled with force, which only made me more aware that Coleman’s intentions were amorous. So were mine—but I couldn’t be too easy. A girl had a reputation to uphold.

  “I’m not putting you down. You’re a sly fox, Sarah Booth. I’m weighing my options.”

  Before I could protest, he tossed me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and started up the stairs.

  “Coleman!” I beat his butt with my hands. “Put me down.”

  “In due time,” he answered.

  “I’m going to vomit on the backs of your legs,” I warned him.

  “Not a chance. When you were a kid, you’d rather explode than vomit. I doubt that’s changed.”

  Oh, he was taking full advantage of our long friendship. He took me into the bedroom and tossed me on the bed. Before I could scramble up, he pinned me with his body weight, holding my wrists in each of his hands.

  “Let me up.” I tried bucking him off, but he was solid muscle, even though he was weakened by laughter.

  “You should see your face. You look exactly like you did when you were ten years old and Andy Calhoun accidentally knocked you down when you both went out for the same pass.

  It had been an accident during a game of touch football in the schoolyard before the bell rang. “Andy apologized. I doubt you’ll do that.”

  “Nope. But I have my ways of making it up to you.”

  “Don’t you dare! Don’t you dare manipulate me into having sex with you after you’ve treated me like produce!”

  “Not produce. My captive.”

  He shifted my wrists to a one-handed hold over my head. His fingers lightly traced my rib cage. He was going to tickle me. Oh, he would pay for this. It might take me years, but he would pay.