A Shadow on the Ground (4 page)

He threw back his head and laughed. His deep, rich baritone rumbled through the empty barn like thunder ricocheting off the mountain. A dimple slashed the left side of his face.

She hadn’t expected him to laugh. Or for the sound of it to wrap around her heart like a steel band, squeezing it until the memories she'd buried clawed and scratched their way to the surface. She leaned against the door opposite him, to prop herself up more than anything else, and shoved her hands in the pockets of her jeans. She could feel them trembling against her thighs. She took a deep breath and lifted her gaze to meet his head-on.

His eyes had aged a bit, more hollow than she remembered and framed by a tiny web of lines that crinkled when he smiled. The searing intelligence was still there, and the flickering, mischievous gleam that had drawn her to him all those years ago. The dark, greenish brown irises seemed as bottomless as ever, but haunted now, as if the things they’d seen had stamped them with a melancholy imprint he couldn’t quite erase. The last twelve years had taken their toll. But she had to admit, that standing this close and gazing into the same extraordinary eyes she had fallen into the day before she left Riverbirch to get married, still sent one hell of a shiver rocketing down her spine.

“You said you’d been here for...how long?”

“Two months,” he said.

“Riverbirch is a small town. Funny I haven’t run into you before now.”

“I’m living over the mountain in Cherokee Bluff. I’ve been busy settling in with Jeremy and planning the publicity campaign for In the Black. If I have spare time, I spend it working at my uncle’s winery.”

“I could use a glass of wine right now.” She lifted her chin. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.” The muscle in his jaw clenched and released. “Ask me anything.”

“All right. I would just like to know, strictly for the record.”

“Know what?”

“Why the hell you never called me.”

His dark eyes melted into hers. As the seconds ticked by, she couldn’t look away.

“So,” he said. “You do remember me.”

“Well, yes.
Hell
, yes. I'm not brain dead. Yet.”

She fought to keep her voice steady. Her insides were shaking like a freight train.

So far, she'd held it together. Getting out of the truck, seeing Gage Kirkland standing on her front porch like something that had materialized out of thin air. For one panicked moment, she’d thought she was hallucinating. Then her heart started beating again, and the breath she didn’t realize she’d lost returned in short, silent bursts.

The man would still turn heads—lean, tall, well-built. His brown hair had been cut short, revealing a light swath of gray near the temples. Age had improved almost everything about him. Without the soft protective cushioning of early-twenties skin, his cheekbones looked more chiseled, the muscles in his arms downright powerful. Not the sculpted, twenty-hours-a-week-at-the-gym kind of powerful, but smooth and sinewy and strong. As if he actually used them. She looked at his clothes and stifled a laugh. His wardrobe choices hadn’t changed. He was wearing the same thing he'd had on the last time she'd seen him—faded jeans and a blue Oxford shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows. He looked more solid, more grounded. And sexier than ever.

He crossed his arms over his broad chest, ducked his head down, and peered up at her. Then he smiled his killer smile. “You look good, Morgan. Really good.”

Her heart crashed against her ribs. “Thanks. So do you. You always did.”

“Are you kidding? The last time you saw me, I was a twenty-two-year-old geek who thought he had all the moves. I was insufferable. I'm surprised you even spoke to me, much less let me—”

“—get to third base?”

He laughed again, a little nervously. “Something like that.”

She took another breath and forced herself to push the sentiment aside. For her own self-preservation, she needed to look past his outer shell, attractive though it was, and see the real man underneath. The man who had shattered her heart.

The shock of having him near began to evaporate, leaving the bitterness she thought she’d liberated herself from simmering below the surface. Maybe time wasn’t the great healer after all. Maybe it never wiped away the memories or the hurt. Not completely. Maybe she was destined to spend the rest of her life waking up after seeing his face in her dreams, then lying awake until dawn wondering how differently her life might have been if he hadn't been so quick to let her go.

She wasn't thinking clearly—he'd always had that effect on her—but questions kept slamming into her brain like little sonic booms.
Why was he here? What did he want? Why was he the small business consultant who had come to see Sean? What was he thinking, showing up at her house with a kid? Holy mother of—was there a wife somewhere?

Her throat ached.
He has a child
.
A son.

It wasn’t fair. All those years ago, he hadn't lost anything. Not a damn thing, except her. She wanted to scream at him, demand to know why he was there, stirring everything up again—the hurt, the hope. Then she wanted to curl her hand into a fist and punch him in the face. Pain cut through her heart then blazed into anger. She welcomed it. Anger was safe. Anger was something she knew how to do.

“Let me get this straight,” she said. “Your company—what’s it called?”

“In the Black.”

“In the Black. Out of the blue, In the Black sent my brother a letter saying he had won a two hour consultation to—how did you put it?—‘help revitalize and reinforce small businesses in these exciting but uncertain times.’”

“Too wordy?”

“Too fishy. Is it true? Did Sean win a consultation?”

“Absolutely. I started In the Black last year. I helped my father-in-law save a friend’s interior design business.”
So, there was a wife.
“I didn’t do much, just came up with some fresh ideas. But I was looking for a new line of work, and I seemed to have a knack for it. Then I saved a cupcake bakery from going under, and an organic herb farm, and a landscaping business. Suddenly, I became the go-to guy in Atlanta if a small business was about to tank. Then I moved up here, and I’m having to start from scratch again. Giving away free consultations is great publicity and more cost effective than paying for ads in the newspaper.”

“Oh, I’ve heard
The Riverbirch Gazette
is a goldmine when it comes to advertising. There are so many people here. So many small businesses to revitalize and reinforce.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Of course, I’m kidding. Do you really think you can make a go of business like that in a town this size? Riverbirch is a farming community, separated from Cherokee Bluff by a freakin’ mountain. The nearest Wal-mart is thirty miles away. Who are you going to help? Maxie’s Diner and Taco Bar? Spannagel’s Feed and Seed?”

“Businesses everywhere are failing, no matter where they're located. I’m planning to expand, maybe as far as Knoxville and Asheville.”

“How did you choose our orchard? Open the phonebook, close your eyes, and point?”

“Pretty much.”

She leveled her gaze at him. “And you expect me to believe that?”

“Well...yes.”

“You know what I think? I think you moved back here and got bored, then decided to contact my brother so you could get a look at me and make sure you did the right thing not calling me all those years ago. You went to a lot of trouble.” She stepped back and held out her hands. “You wanted to see me? Well, here I am. Good old Morgan Maguire. Except for the extra fifteen pounds I’ve packed on—and I’m chalking that up to the fact I eat ice cream instead of screaming when I’m upset, which is
now
—I’m the same girl. I don’t have my nose pierced, or a tongue stud, or sixteen butterflies tattooed on my ass. You'll have to trust me on that one.”

“Morgan, I—”

“You know what stinks most about this? How cruel you’ve become. This orchard is my brother’s life, and it’s not exactly thriving. Sean was thrilled when he got your letter. For four days he's been floating around this farm in a bubble, believing the thing he cares about most in the world might actually have a chance to survive. Because of you.”

“I didn't think—”

“No, you didn’t. That much hasn't changed about you. Well, you know what? I want to thank you for not calling me twelve years ago. You did the right thing. You saved me from a life of...
you
.” She turned and started down the path.

“Whoa!” he cried, following her. “Hold on. I have every intention of honoring my offer to Sean. I’ll admit it’s a little bogus. But I swear, it's sincere. When I heard Maguire Orchard was ready to fold, I wanted to use my skills to find a way to help without making it look like charity.”

“That’s ridiculous. Why would you want to help me? Because, after all this time, you’ve decided to feel guilty about dumping me? Well,
don’t
. You don't owe me anything.”

“I know,” he said softly. “But I wanted to—” He took a step toward her. “Morgan, please. Okay, I’ll admit I wondered what you were like now. But that’s not the reason I set this up.” He laughed. “Come on. Haven't you ever wondered about me?”

“Well, sure. Years ago. When I still gave a damn. Lately? Not so much.”

Gage glanced up. His eyes caught the light. A spray of golden flecks shimmered near the dark green iris like sunlight scattered across the deep, clear water of Lacey's Pond. “I'm living in Cherokee Bluff now, and I would like it if we could be—”

“We can’t be anything.” She held his gaze without flinching. “You understand that, right?”

“I do now.”

“Good. So, here’s how we’re going to do this. You can give your phony consultation prize to Sean. I want you to. He's counting on it. And it had better be good or I will sue you for false advertising. When you’re done, I want you to slink back into oblivion and leave us alone. I'm sure it won't be too much of a stretch, since disappearing seems to be something you excel at. But I do not want you near my life.”

A white Taurus with the word
Sheriff
painted on the side turned into the driveway.

“Excuse me. I have company.” She turned and hurried down the path, grateful to put some physical distance between them.

Sheriff Teresa Stallard stepped out of the car and took off her sunglasses. The soft roll of flesh above her holster jiggled as she walked. A single salt and pepper braid, a proud tribute to her Cherokee heritage, hung down her back like a thick rope.

Morgan met her on the flagstone walk.

“How are you holding up?” the sheriff asked. “We didn't find any vomit in the slaughterhouse. Most people get sick when they stumble on a grisly scene like that.” She shook her head. “Lord, I've never seen so much blood in one place. If it had been me, I would've blown my cookies clear across the valley. I'd still be blowing them.” Her gaze shifted to Morgan’s left shoulder. “Hey, there. I’m Sheriff Stallard. I don’t think we’ve met.”

“Gage Kirkland.” His deep baritone rumbled in Morgan's left ear.

“Bert Kirkland’s nephew,” Morgan said. “He was just leaving.”

The sheriff nodded. “Honey, is Sean here? I need to talk to him.”

“Not yet. He drove over to Barkerstown to see if he could line up some pickers. Everything's running late this year because of the bee situation. The Rome Beauties are in, but our regular pickers are working for Mr. Finch.”

“For Lawrence Finch? Doing what?”

“Actually, he's paying them
not
to work here. Harlan was trying to work out a compromise, but now that he’s gone—”

“Hey, there's a guitar in the house!” Jeremy cried, banging open the screen. “Does she give guitar lessons? Can I take them?
Please?
” He stopped short when he saw the sheriff.

The sheriff squinted at Gage. “You don't look like Bert Kirkland, but you do look familiar. Have I seen you around town?”

“My son and I have been here a few months. We moved to Cherokee Bluff after my ex-wife died.”

“Sorry to hear it,” the sheriff said. “What happened to her?”

Jeremy's head jerked up. He stared to the left of his father's face. “Yeah, go ahead, asshole. Tell the sheriff how you killed my mother.”

Gage opened his mouth to reply, then closed it again. Pain appeared in his eyes. The boy's words reverberated across the porch like the last jarring notes of a steel drum.

“Time to go,” Gage whispered.

Jeremy jumped off the porch and raced across the yard to their car. He climbed in and slammed the door. Without another word, or glance, Gage turned and followed him.

Chapter 3

“Jeremy, son, we can’t go on like this. You have to talk to me.”

Jeremy turned his face away and stared out the side window of the car. His chin jutted forward. His small hands, one fist nestled tightly in the other, pressed together then released, as if he wanted to smash something. His father’s face, maybe.

A car wasn’t the best place to have it out with Jeremy. But the back roads were deserted, and unless the boy jumped out of a moving vehicle, he had no choice but to sit and listen.

“I know you’re angry at me,” Gage said. “Angrier than you’ve ever been in your life. I know I should tell you that you have every right to hate me for what I did, but I don’t believe you do. The night your mother died, my only concern was for your safety.”

“Shut up.”

“I didn’t know how bad things had gotten with her.”

“Because you were never there, asshole.”

“I wanted to be, but your mother wouldn’t—” He stopped. The truth didn’t matter. If he criticized Suzanne now, Jeremy would never forgive him. Gage took a breath and chose his words carefully. “I’m...I’m sorry about that, sport. Your mother...hid her condition from everyone but you. I thought she was getting better—we all did—and I didn’t know how much she depended on you to look out for her.” His voice caught. “But that night, I was only trying to protect you. When you were born, your mother and I agreed you would always come first. For both of us. No matter what. If the tables had been turned, she would have done the same thing.”

The sudden appearance of a tear sliding down Jeremy’s smooth cheek shook Gage to the core. Jeremy batted it away with the heel of his hand. “Shut up,” he said evenly. “I don’t want to talk about this with you. Ever.”