Missing (24 page)

 
"God Almighty," he muttered, and then took off his gloves and headed for the spigot that Danny had just vacated.

 
The sap was sticky on his cheek, and before he thought about it, he'd licked his lips. Almost instantly, he panicked as he remembered Roland's warning about toxicity, then waited to see if he was going to drop dead. When he didn't, the relief was so great that he almost laughed.

 
God. What a scare! The sap wasn't poison, but it was sweet. Porter felt the end of his tongue tingle just the least little bit, but that was all. Happy to be alive, he grinned.

 
"What's so damned funny?" Danny asked.

 
Porter looked at his brother, then at the water running down his face and into the neck of his shirt, and laughed.

 
"I reckon it's you," he said, then bent over and stuck his own head under the flow of running water, washing away the sticky sap, as well as the sweat and bugs that were stuck to his skin.

 
As the day wore on, the excessive amount of bugs and the steamy heat began to wear on everyone's nerves. Roland had smudge fires going in the drying shed that weren't doing much good. The bugs on the plants were crawling on everything, even one another, in some kind of frenzy. Roland wondered if this was how von Braun must have felt when he realized he'd created the atomic bomb.

 
What bothered him most was that, not once in his research, had he seen signs of this. Yes, the need for more Triple H had been evident, and the more he'd given the rats, the more they'd needed for the next fix. But having something this addictive that could conceivably be transmitted between species was horrifying. He' wasn't sure what he should do. He'd started this harvest with one goal in mind, but now all he wanted was to make it go away.

 
As he stared at the tables in growing panic, his cell phone began to ring. He checked the caller ID and frowned. It was his Chicago contact calling back, but now he didn't know what to say. It rang until voice mail picked up. He tossed the phone aside and then hurried outside.

From where he was standing, he could see the Monroe brothers bringing in another load. Then he looked past them to the field beyond. Less than a third of the

crop had been cut.

 
What in hell was he going to do?

 
Porter and Danny were silent as they drove home that same day. Their faces were streaked with sweat and bugs, their clothes sticky from the sap. The muscles in Porter’s jaw ached as if he’d been punched, and Danny had a headache that just wouldn’t quit.

 
Porter pulled up in front of their home, parked the truck, then looked at Danny.

 
“Goin’ back?”

 
Danny sighed.

 
“I guess.”

 
“Shit.”

 
Danny frowned. “You don’t have to go.”

 
Porter sat for a moment, letting the sound of the words settle the unease he kept feeling.

 
“The money isn’t worth it,” he said.

 
“It’s not about the money,” Danny said. “It’s about being a quitter.”

 
Then he got out of the truck and headed for the back of the house.

 
Porter followed.

 
Ally was taking loaves of fresh bread out of the oven when Danny came in the back door wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist. She grinned and

started to tease him, then saw the look on his face.

 
"Danny?"

 
He didn't answer but kept on walking.

 
Porter came in next, just as naked, but with an old shower curtain covering his nudity.

 
Ally's eyes widened.

 
"What on—"

 
"Don't touch those clothes that we put in the washing machine," he said shortly.

 
"But—"

 
He turned on her then, and she saw more than weariness on his face. His eyes were bloodshot, his nostrils flared, and there was a muscle twitching at the corner of his left eye.

 
"Don't argue with me, goddamn it! Whatever you do, don't touch those fucking clothes!"

 
Ally wadded the pot holders in her hands as she began to back up. It wasn't until she felt the cabinets against her legs that she stopped, and still she wasn't sure she was far enough away from Porter to be safe.

 
Porter heard himself talking and couldn't believe those words were coming out of his mouth. When he saw the look on his sister's face, he groaned, then dropped his head.

 
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Please forgive me. It's been one hell of a day."

 
"It's okay," Ally said. She started toward him, when Porter instinctively moved away.

 
"I'm filthy," he said, and headed for the bathroom behind Danny.

 
Ally had an overwhelming urge to cry and didn't know why. This behavior was so out of character for both her brothers. She knew where they'd been and what they had been doing. She trusted her brothers, but she didn't trust Roland Storm one bit.

 
She glanced toward the back door. From where she was standing, she could hear the sound of the washing machine filling with water. She couldn't imagine what they'd meant by not touching their clothes.

 
What had they done?

 
Even more to the point, what had they gotten themselves involved in?

 
With each passing day, Granny Devon's warning of danger and being her brothers' keeper wore on Ally's conscience. She was helpless to do anything to change the minds of two grown men who still treated her like their baby sister, but just maybe, if she knew what was happening, she would know who to go to for help. Still, that was something for another day. Tonight she had more on her plate than she could say grace over, and it was time to start frying chicken for the supper from hell.

 
Wes passed the Monroe house on his way home from getting groceries and noticed that Gideon Monroe was already home. But the brothers' truck was still missing, which meant they were still at work. A little surprised, he lengthened his stride, anxious to get home and clean up before coming back for supper. Instead of staying on the road, he decided to take the shortcut through the trees beyond the Monroes' yard.

 
He ran the last few yards to the house and hurried to unlock the door. Once inside, he put up his groceries, then began stripping off his clothes as he went and quickly jumped in the shower. A few minutes later, he was at the closet, sorting through his meager assortment of clothes for something to wear, then frowned at himself for being excited. It was just a meal with a woman who needed a favor. Granted, she was a pretty woman, and there was the fact that he was attracted, but that only meant he was still alive. A man would have to be dead not to be attracted to someone like Ally Monroe.

 
Choosing the least wrinkled of his clothes as the best bet, he dressed in jeans and a clean white T-shirt, grabbed a clean pair of socks and used his dirty ones to brush the dust off his boots.

 
Once he was dressed, he checked his appearance in the mirror—a holdover from his military days, when everything about him had to be spit-shined and in place.

 
Satisfied that he was presentable, he started for the door, then stopped. It was customary to take something to the hostess who was preparing the meal, and he wished he'd remembered that before he'd left Blue Creek. Then he thought of the wisteria blooming all over the roof. It would be perfect.

 
Quickly he went outside and cut an armful of the heavy, purple-hued blooms, then wrapped them in an empty brown paper sack from the supermarket and hit the road. It would take a little longer, but he wanted to arrive looking as neat as possible, and cutting through the forest was just asking for a torn shirt or leaves in his hair.

 
A short while later he was at the mailbox and starting up the Monroes' drive. The old hound was lying at the side of the driveway between the house and the road. When he saw Wes, he lifted his head and managed a soft bugle.

 
"Hey there, old fella," Wes said, and stopped to give the dog a pat.

 
Buddy took it in stride and then plopped back down, as if satisfied that he'd done his duty.

 
Wes shifted the flowers in his arms to a more comfortable position and looked up at the house. There were three vehicles in the driveway now, which probably meant he was the last guest to arrive.

 
"Well, Buddy, here goes nothing."

Fourteen

Ally was at her wits' end. Freddie Joe had arrived with his children, who were in sad need of care. The oldest, the only female of the trio, introduced herself as Loretta Lynn Detweiller. Freddie Joe filled in by mentioning her age. She was eleven and, in Ally's opinion, in serious need of a shampoo and a bra. The middle child was a boy who glared at her without speaking. Freddie Joe introduced him.

  
"His name is Freddie Joe Detweiller the third, but I call him Booger."

 
Ally considered it wise not to ask why he'd gotten that nickname and then bit the inside of her mouth to keep from laughing when he stuck a finger up one nostril and gave it a poke. He was eight.

 
The youngest child was four. And if Ally had been weak-minded and desperate, the little fellow would have been reason enough to marry his dad. Thankfully, she was neither weak-minded nor desperate, but she gave him a welcoming smile as he told her his name.

 
"My name is Toot. I four."

 
Again Ally refrained from asking about the nickname as Freddie Joe quickly filled in more blanks.

 
"That there is Johnny Cash Detweiller. I'm a big country music fan. How about you?" Freddie Joe asked.

 
"It's fine," Ally said. "But I'm partial to bluegrass."

 
Freddie Joe frowned. He couldn't abide a woman who argued, but he remembered that the last time he'd started to argue he'd been ushered out before he'd had time to eat his dessert. And since they had yet to sit down to supper and everything was smelling so good, he figured he would wait a bit to let her know who was boss.

 
"Food smells good."

 
"Thank you," Ally said, and ignored her father's beaming smile.

 
"Is it done yet?" Freddie Joe asked.

 
"Yes."

 
"Good. Kids are hungry. I reckon it's time to eat."

 
"Not yet," Ally said. "My brothers are still cleaning up, and we have one more guest who has yet to arrive."

 
Freddie Joe glared at Gideon.

 
"I didn't know this was gonna be a party," he said.

 
"It's not...I mean...Ally! What do you mean, someone else is coming? You knew I'd invited Freddie Joe and the kids."

 
She gave her father a sweet smile.

 
"Why yes, I knew you'd invited them. You've reminded me at least twice a day, so I thought since you were inviting your friends, the least I could do was add one of mine to the list. He should be here anytime."

 
Danny and Porter entered the living room just as Ally made her announcement.

 
Porter remembered Storm's complaint about the stranger in Uncle Doo's house, but before he could comment, there was a knock at the door.

 
"That must be him now," Ally said, and rushed to the door.

 
In truth, she was not only nervous but downright afraid that her family would do something to hurt Wes's feelings. Despite her request for Wes to act as a buffer, she was feeling guilty for having drawn him into the mess. Then she opened the door and saw him standing on the porch holding an armful of wisteria, and turned loose with a smile.

 
"Welcome," she said. "I'm so glad you're here."

 
Her smile rocked Wes where he stood, but he managed to maintain some good sense as she grabbed him by the arm and pulled him inside.

 
Immediately, Wes found himself facing the stares of four suspicious men and three curious children. He only glanced at the children, knowing that they could be the trigger to him coming undone.

 
The sweet, heady scent of wisteria beneath his nose suddenly reminded him of his manners. He handed Ally the bouquet.

 
"A small gift for the hostess," he said.

 
"They're wonderful," Ally said. "I'll put them in water just as soon as you're introduced." Then she blasted the men with a glare.

 
"Everyone...this is Wes Holden. He's renting Uncle Doo's house and working down in Blue Creek at the feed store."

 
If shock had been a physical emotion, Gideon Monroe would have been flat on the floor. Danny and Porter, having already been forewarned by Storm that he existed, were withholding their opinions, while Freddie Joe was in a panic, taking Wes's appearance as an immediate threat to his own plans for a wife.

 
Gideon was the first to recover.

 
"Ally Monroe! Why is this the first I've heard about this man's presence?"

 
"I don't know....Maybe because not once in my entire life have I heard any of the three of you ever come into this house and ask me how my day went, or if I needed any help. If I thought you were interested in my business—and you do remember that house is my business—then I suppose I would have mentioned Wes earlier. However, he's here and the food is ready, and since Wes is my guest, I'll show him to the table and put the wisteria in water as we all sit down."