Grave Secrets (18 page)

“Been having fun?” He reached up and swiped a smudge of flour from her cheek. “Oops.” He pulled his hand back to reveal grease still on his fingers.

Sara automatically wiped at her face, which apparently only made it worse.

“Wait.” He moved a little closer, searched for a clean corner of the rag, then rubbed her cheek vigorously. Cocking his head, he grinned. “You’re starting to look like a regular farm gal.”

“Funny.” She wanted to sound sarcastic, but couldn’t hide the laughter in her voice. After a long moment, with neither saying anything, she finally inched back. “So, Farmer John, want to show me around before dinner?”

“Supper. Dinner on this farm is served at noon.”

“Oh. Okay. Supper, then.”

Still rubbing the grease from his hands, he turned and headed deeper into the structure. “This used to be a horse barn before Pete modernized.”

“He’s been here a while, then.”

“Yeah, a really long time. It’ll be hard for him to leave.” A frown furrowed his brow before he shrugged. “Can’t change what is, though. You face whatever’s thrown at you and go on. At least that’s what he’s always said.”

Sara liked Uncle Pete without even knowing him. Of course, if sweet Aunt Nona loved him, there had to be something behind his gruff exterior. “Sometimes you don’t have a choice.”

Morgan stopped and looked at her. “No, we don’t.” He paused a moment, then headed toward a side door. “Come on. I want to show you something.”

Once outside, Sara discovered why she needed boots. Without hesitation Morgan started across a holding pen and headed for the far fence. She kept looking down, watching her step, mostly succeeding in avoiding the piles of manure.

He whistled, and to her amazement, a horse came ambling up, sticking his head over the fence for a rub.

“Sara, this is Walter.” Morgan patted him and produced a sugar cube, which he placed on the flat of his hand for the horse to eat.

“I didn’t realize they had horses, too.”

“Just a couple. Bess must be in the far pasture right now else she’d be in here begging for sweets right along with Walter. They use the horses to help kids in trouble by teaching them to ride and the responsibilities of caring for an animal. They found the kids relate to a horse when they won’t open up to a human. Kept quite a few out of jail.”

“I’m impressed. Nona didn’t say anything about it.”

“She won’t, either. It’s just something they do, not talk about so don’t bring it up.” With one last pat, Morgan turned. “We’d better get back. Uncle Pete is probably starved, and she won’t let him eat until we’re there.”

They headed back. Morgan had an uncanny ability to avoid the manure piles without even looking. The man had all sorts of hidden talents. Glancing around the farm, she felt as if she’d taken a step back into another time, another life.

A life she envied.

Supper was casual with lots chatter and good-natured harassing. Mostly the older couple reminded Morgan about how the city boy had to be taught farming. He took it in stride and even blushed a time or two. They didn’t ask if she and Morgan was a couple, for which she was grateful.

Dusk was settling when they pulled out of the driveway, Sara feeling as if she’d found a new family. It was hard to visualize the hard and cold man she’d first met at the cemetery being the warm and helpful man of today.

The quiet in the vehicle was pleasant, both lost in their own thoughts. She smelled of apple pie, he smelled faintly of grease.

In the soft glow from the dashboard, Morgan’s facial features softened. It had been a nice afternoon and evening. Not what she’d expected when she’d left the house earlier. The older couple’s obvious love and affection for each other made her smile. “They’re really nice. Do you help them out very often?”

“Some. Not enough, though, since Uncle Pete was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s.”

“Oh, no. Why is it always the decent people who wind up with those horrible diseases?”

“Wish I had an answer. And a cure. He’s worked hard all his life, and they should be able to enjoy their golden years instead of living every day as if the next day will be the one when he wakes up and doesn’t know who he is. Or worse for them, who
she
is.” His shoulders bunched before he relaxed.

“Are you related on your mother or father’s side of the family?” Almost as soon as the words were out, she regretted it. “I’m sorry. It isn’t any of my business. It’s just they’re both so sweet, even if he does seem to scowl a lot. Has he always been that way or is it because of the disease?”

“He’s always been gruff.”

“Oh, so that’s where you learned it. Hard on the outside, marshmallow creampuff underneath.” She giggled.

“Woman, I’m not any kind of a creampuff.” He gave her a mock scowl, then grinned. “Hadn’t ever thought about it, but maybe you’re right. And they aren’t really my relatives.”

Weren’t related? “But—”

“They helped me out of a jam once when I was a kid, then sort of adopted me. Everyone else called them aunt and uncle so I did, too.”

“Were you a
bad
boy?” She enjoyed teasing him.

“Yeah,” he said flatly.

“Oh.” She didn’t know what else to say. “But you still help them out.”

“Course I do. I owe them that and a lot more.”

“That’s not why you do it.” Had he been one of the troubled teens he’d talked about earlier? She wouldn’t ask. If he wanted to volunteer the information she’d gladly let him, but didn’t think he would. He didn’t realize it, but she had a pretty good idea of what made him tick.

After a long moment, he said, “Look I don’t know why I brought it up. I just thought...”

Sara smiled. “I promise not to tell.”

This time his look was quizzical. “What?”

She let him wait, deliberately making him wonder. “There really is a heart beating under the cold exterior you love to project so much.”

****

Morgan worked to keep his grip on the wheel light. Her comment brought back in a flash the hell-raiser he’d become after his mother’s death. He didn’t join a gang, he
started
one. Being the biggest, the toughest on the block had its advantages. Until he’d gotten caught one too many times. Pete and Nona had stepped in, taking him under their wings, making a man out of him when no one else could. Everyone in his life seemed to desert him in one way or another.

Except Andy. He’d stuck by Morgan’s side even though he wouldn’t have anything to do with the gang. He’d been there when Morgan’s mom died and tried to convince him to stay on the right side of the law. He hadn’t listened very well, but Andy had stood by him, anyway. When Morgan first started going out to Pete and Nona’s, Andy went too and learned to farm right along with Morgan. He had been the closest thing Morgan had to a brother.

He preferred to keep that part of his life where it belonged, in the past. He was as expert at digging into other people’s pasts as he was at keeping his own private. For good reasons. Thankfully his juvenile records were sealed and the only people who knew about his wayward teen years kept it a secret.

Grateful they were within Riverbend’s city limits with heavier traffic, he pretended to concentrate on his driving and ignored her comment about him having a heart. She didn’t push, letting the conversation drop. The quiet in the truck became thick, palatable.

As they pulled into her drive, she blurted, “Want some coffee?”

Morgan deliberately used his intense “dark alley, run the other way if you know what’s good for you” expression to see if she’d back down. “You sure?”

For a moment, she hesitated, then nodded. “Of course.” She climbed out of the Navigator before he had a chance to respond.

As soon as they were in the house, she rushed to reset the alarm. Odd. She hadn’t done that before. Morgan trailed behind her as she headed to the kitchen. He took a seat on the farthest barstool. Sara stiffly jerked the coffee pot out and filled it with water.

“You all right?”

Her muscles tensed just enough for him to notice. She stilled for a moment, then continued making the coffee. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

He paused, then said, “Because you’re acting awful skittish. If you didn’t want me to come in you shouldn’t have invited me.”

She bumped the pot, sloshing water before she managed to set it on the counter. When she finally turned around, her face was pale. “Sorry. Of course I wanted you to come in.” Her voice was high and almost squeaky.

What the hell? “You were a little quiet but fine before we walked in your door. Care to explain?” It had to be this weird ass house. He’d hated it from the moment he first walked in. His impression hadn’t changed any. The way Sara was acting confirmed there had to be something seriously wrong with the place.

She waved him off and even made an attempt at smiling. It didn’t work. In the glaring kitchen light, and with a lot of her make-up worn off, the dark circles under her eyes were more visible.

“I’m fine.”

“Sara—”

“Um, let me show you the nursery. Maybe there’s something there the others missed that might help you in your search.” Ignoring the partially made coffee, she turned and walked out of the room.

Morgan followed at a slower pace as they climbed the stairs, noting the cleaning lady hadn’t been by in a while. A fine layer of dust coated the surfaces of the furniture. She was a few steps ahead of him when she flipped on the light to the nursery.

She halted, and he could almost see the tension in the set of her shoulders. “No, no, no!” Her voice rose with each word. She stood frozen in the doorway, hand still on the switch.

Instantly on alert, he entered the room. Nothing looked out of place or out of the ordinary. Crib, rocker, dresser, changing table. It seemed pretty normal to him. Except she was staring at the rocker as if seeing it for the first time. He moved into her line of vision, one eyebrow raised waiting for her to explain.

“Th—that isn’t supposed to be there.”

“You don’t have a rocker?”

Stiffly she shook her head and pointed a trembling finger to the other corner of the room. “I—it’s supposed to be over there. That’s where I left it. That’s where it’s always been.”

“Someone’s been in here?” He looked around but still couldn’t see anything unusual. He wasn’t sure he’d ever been in a nursery, so how would he know if it was right or not?

Slowly she shook her head. “Everything’s locked, and the alarm's always on.”

“You moved it, but don’t remember?”

“I—I don’t know. I didn’t think so, but...” She looked around the room carefully and stopped when she came to the family picture on the changing table. “I didn’t move this, either. Please tell me I didn’t move it.”

Childhood memories of his mother slammed into him. She’d move things, do things, then not remember them later, accusing him or his dad of doing it. Morgan hid his mother’s illness from the outside world, just like the rest of the family. Then the day after his tenth birthday, he’d come home from school to find her in the car in the garage, the motor still running. If he’d done something—anything—maybe she wouldn’t have died. At least not so young, alone and by her own hand. Guilt had overridden the shame of her suicide and that’s when his own downward spiral had begun.

Sara’s sobs, the first he’d heard from her, broke through his stupor. Was this the reason behind those dark circles under her eyes? The logical side of his brain said to back out of the room and get the hell out of the house. He didn’t need another mental case in his life, didn’t need the responsibility, and later the guilt, when he failed them.

Instead, he gathered her in his arms, then pressed her head against his shoulder. She cried so hard, her entire body shook, and her keening touched him in places he’d thought long dead. He had the feeling this was the first time she’d truly cried since they’d dug up her husband’s body. No wonder there were so many tears.

His shirt was soaked. He didn’t care. He forgot about his mom, about how Sara could already be headed down the same road, and simply held her close. When the tears had abated and she’d blown her nose on the handkerchief he’d offered, he kissed the top of her head, whispering it would be all right. She looked up at him, parting her lips. Remnants of tears still trailed down her cheeks. Without thinking, he lowered his head and gently pressed his lips to hers to comfort her. Sara had been clinging to his shirt, but now moved her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. She opened for him, inviting.
Am I out of my mind?
He couldn’t get involved with a client. Or a suspect. Sara Adams fell into both categories.

He chuckled to himself. He was about to make the biggest mistake of his life, but right now he didn’t care. When she whimpered he scooped her into his arms, her weight a turn-on by itself, and strode across the hall to the nearest bed he could find.

She squirmed in his arms, pressing her breasts against his chest. Without breaking contact with her lips, he lowered her feet to the floor. They were acting like love-starved teenagers, ripping and tearing at each other’s clothes. At one point, he thought he might be able to stop the madness. Then she moaned. Deep. Throaty.

Inviting.

He couldn’t resist. From the first moment he saw her walking up the hill in the cemetery, standing all alone as they opened up her husband’s grave, he’d been drawn to her. Suspected her of murder, yes, but still admired her strength. Now, she’d all but fallen apart and Morgan knew this was just sex. Something to take her mind off of whatever demons tormented her to the point she thought she was losing her mind.

A tiny part of his brain said this was a huge mistake and to walk away, to not go any further. But he couldn’t stop. Not when Sara—as beautiful as a Greek goddess—offered him so much.

After laying her on the bed, he began kissing his way down; her eyelids, cheek, ear. He nuzzled her neck, loving the way her pulse throbbed at his touch, with his caresses.

“You have no idea, how...” He couldn’t finish the sentence, words failed him.

“Ssshhh. Make love to me.”