Mr. Write (Sweetwater) (38 page)

She thumped her fists against his chest
.  “You weren’t the one who had to explain to your father that you’d been spied on having sex on your office floor.  You weren’t the one who had to relay to the police – word for word – that someone had compared you making love to being humped like a dog.”

“No.”  Guilt
was a living thing that twisted and writhed in his belly.  “But I was the one who put you in that position.  Not like that.”  He shook his head when he realized how it had sounded.  “It’s my fault.”

“Tucker, no.”

“Would you have been making love on your office floor if I’d been able to strap my hormones down until your father left?  I don’t think so.  And by the way, I appreciate the fact that he didn’t come after me with a gun.”

“He’s not an idiot.”

“No, he’s a father.  A good father, despite everything.  I envy you that.”

When she star
ed, simply stared, Tucker finally said “What?”

Sighing, Sarah dropped down onto the dock.  “Kick your shoes off, Pettigrew,” she said, and did just that.
“The water feels nice.”

Confused, but w
illing to indulge her, he toed off his sneakers and sat.  The water was warmer than he’d expected – like bathwater – and the current, for all that it looked lazy, surprisingly strong.

“Tide’s going out,” she commented.

If she wanted to discuss what amounted to the weather, so be it.  God knew he hated to have conversation forced upon him.  “I like the way the sky looks.  Big, and just a little mean.”

“It does.”  She kicked at the water as she examined it.  “It really does.  You’re so good at that.  The verbal equivalent of the quick sketch.  It’s one of the things I admire about your writing.
”

“Thank you.”

“You said your mother worked in a bookstore.  She must have been proud of your career.”

Bursting.  “I like to think so.”

She waited a beat, then started to laugh.  But it didn’t sound like she’d found anything funny.  “What?”

She studied his face.  “You really don’t know, do you?”

“Know
what?”

“It’s… no.”  She shook her head.  “It doesn’t mean anything if I have to pull it out of you.  So, I appreciate you coming here to check on me, but there’s no need for your worry, or your guilt.  I’ll be fine.”

When she started to rise, Tucker got the feeling that he was messing something up.  And that the something was pretty damn important.  “Sarah.”  He grabbed her hand.  “Tell me.”

She
watched the water swirl around their ankles for a long moment.  “I feel… vulnerable,” she finally said.  “Exposed, in so many ways.  I feel like you’ve gotten a peek into every dark or dirty little corner of my life, through circumstance, or because I’ve told you.  But you.”  She lifted her hands in a helpless shrug.  “You’re still this enigma. That’s one of the reasons I haven’t returned your calls, why I took off an hour early to come here this evening.  To be by myself.  Because I can’t decide if it’s because you’re private, or because you don’t think it’s my business to know.”

He had to loosen the tongue that wanted to stick to the roof of his mo
uth.  “What do you want to know?”

“I want to know what you want to
tell
me.”

He managed not to sigh.  “Give me a hint.”
 

“Okay.  Okay then, if you’re going to be obtuse. 
How did
you
feel about having your sex life put on public display?  Why didn’t you seem shocked when my father told you that your grandfather may have been involved in something illegal?  And though I know you have to be hurting still, I don’t even know how your mother died.  If you want me to lean on you, Tucker, then I have to know that you’re willing to lean on me.  Otherwise all we have is sex.”

“I was pissed off.”  Especially when the police discovered that
Linville had likely slipped into the unoccupied apartment over the gallery next door to spy on them.  And that there was evidence he’d used it before.  “My mom died from an epidural hematoma.  She slipped on the icy sidewalk in front of her work, bumped her head.  She laughed it off when I talked to her, said she must be getting clumsy in her old age.  A few hours later, she was dead.”

Sarah didn’t say anything, just
reached over and took his hand.

“I miss her.  That’s inadequate, but any words would be.  She would have liked you.”  He kissed her hand.  “And we have great sex.”

He turned his head, saw the smile glimmer through the tears.  “We do.”

“I don’t lean easily.  But it’s not because I don’t think you’re sturdy
enough to handle it.”

“Sturdy.” She pursed her lips.  “There’s an adjective every woman longs to hear.”

“I like a woman with a little substance.  Hey,” he said when she splashed him.

“Now you’re just being a jerk.”

“You like that about me.”

“God help me.”  Then she slanted him a glance.  “You never said anything about your grandfather.”

The decision was surprisingly easy to make.  “Get your shoes,” he told her and pulled them both to their feet.  “There’s something I want to show you.”

ALLIE
glanced at her watch as she double-checked the lock on the store’s back door.  Bran would be waiting for her, and since her car was in the shop – again – she was going to have to hustle to make it across town on foot before the storm that was threatening broke.

Tucking the keys into the pocket of her madras dress,
she hustled off the porch, around the corner… and screamed.

“Easy love,” said the man whose chest she just barreled into full throttle.  He took hold of her arms to steady her as her knees went to jelly.  “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

Mortified, Allie looked up into Mason’s concerned face.

“No, really, I wasn’t watching where I was going and
I…” She was babbling.  Allie forced herself to rein it in.  “I guess I’m just a little jumpy.”

“Understandable.”  Mason
’s tone was grim.  “Having a peeping tom in the neighborhood’s bound to make everyone a bit nervy.”

It made her sick.  Poor Sarah.  “My brother has stepped up routine patrols.  Hopefully that will deter him.”

“Yes, I’ve seen the cars driving by.”

Allie didn’t want to be rude, and would have liked – more than was wise – to continue shooting the breeze with Mason.  But she really needed to get moving.
  “Um, I would love to stay and chat, but I’m afraid I have to go meet my brother.”

“Of course.”  But Mason frowned as he glanced around the parking lot.  “Where’s your car?”

“It’s in the shop.”

“Again?”  The tsk was disapproving.  “Whether that speaks to British manufacturing or your local mechanics, I can’t say.  But regardless, you shouldn’t be walking around
alone.  I’ll escort you.”

“Oh.”  Her heart fluttered.  “That’s sweet.  But I
’m sure it isn’t necessary.”

“Don’t be silly.”  He cupped her elbow, and heat shot
through her.  She remembered perfectly – though she’d been doing her best to forget – how his body had felt, brushing and bumping against hers as she’d led him through the steps of the dance.

“Are we heading to the police station?” Mason wondered as they moved toward the street.

“Oh.  No, not that brother.  I’m meeting Branson, my twin.”

“Ah.  I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.”

“No.”  Thunder rumbled, and Allie sent the sky a cautious glance.  “As Will and I are both working such long hours, I’m afraid that a lot of my father’s care has fallen to Bran.  He hasn’t been out and about much.”

Though hopefully, that was about to change.

The wind picked up, an angry breath, and Allie wished she’d thought to bring an umbrella.

“We seem to be developing a habit of strolling around town outrunning storms,” Mason commented.
  

“We might just beat it,” she said as they
turned down the alley that ran behind the Playhouse.  Then the first drops fell in noisy splats.  “If we run.”

“You never did tell me where we’re headed.”

“The Sweetwater Playhouse,” Allie said, and because she was already racing ahead, missed Mason’s expression. “I’m trying to talk my brother into opening it again.”

SARAH
walked with Tucker across ground broken by gnarled tree roots, and blanketed with needles from loblolly pines, and the prickly little balls from sweetgums.

The river
spread wide here, just below the bluff, rustling stands of chartreuse cord grass as it meandered out to sea.  The exposed mud banks were the color of espresso, and the consistency of wet concrete.  She’d lost many a shoe to their quicksand-like depths in the pursuit of oysters for roasting.

An egret, flushed from its hiding spot in the grass, soared white and elegant against a sky that
was turning ominous.

“It’s a beautiful spot.”  She turned to examine the blackened ruins of the old building that had stood for
over a century before fire took it to the ground.  She hated to think of the books that had been lost, and the life with them.

“My grandfather owns it.”

His voice was as hollow as the burned-out shell of the library.

“Prime piece of real estate,” she commented casually.  “Of course, local lore says it’s haunted.  A ghost light, which apparently
swoops down on the unsuspecting.  Or the really drunk.  Mostly, I think it’s just an excuse for teenagers to come out here and mess around.  I’m surprised Carlton hasn’t put up a fence, or at the very least a couple of
no
trespassing
signs.  Or a big ass house, come to that.  I’m sure someone would pay a pretty penny for that view.”

Tucker continued to stare at the water.  “Two men already paid for it with their lives.”

“I’m sorry?”

Sighing, Tucker pinched the bridge of his nose.  “The bank statement, the one you saw on the table that day that you brought me the flyer.”

“Tucker, I really hope you don’t think that I was trying to calculate your net worth.”

H
e turned his head, lips quirked.  “That wouldn’t take too long.”  But the amusement was short-lived.  “When we left Sweetwater after my dad died, it was a real clothes-on-our-backs kind of thing.  My mom packed up and took off in the middle of the night.   And we moved around a lot, even after we’d been living in the city for a while.  I used to think it was due to work, or finding a nicer place to live or a better school district, but now I’m starting to believe she might have been scared.”

“Of your grandfather trying to take you away from her?”

“That’s part of it.  And more, what he may have been willing to do to get me.”

“You mean she thought he would…
what, kidnap you?”

“I think she knew – or at least suspected – he was a man who wasn’t above circumventing the law to achieve an objective.  It’s a prime piece of real estate,” he agreed with her earlier assessment
as he admired the view.  Even with the failing light, it was spectacular.  “But there was a public library here, and it, and the land it sat on, essentially belonged to the citizens of Sweetwater.”

Sarah
peered through the gloom at the crumbling tabby, the broken and blackened remains.  And remembered her father’s story of arson.  “You think he had the library burned down.”

“I’m pretty sure my mom thought so.  She left articles – newspaper clippings – following the investigation, and my grandfather’s single-handed funding of the construction of the
new
Sweetwater library in a safety deposit box in the bank.  The one from which you saw the statement.”

“A man died.”  She felt sick.

“Which makes it first degree arson, and carries a prison term of at least thirty years.  I looked up the South Carolina penal code.”  

“You said two men died.”

“My father.”  The wind gusted off the water, blowing Tucker’s dark hair around his rugged face.  He reminded her of Heathcliff, romantic and tragic all at once.  “There was a note in the box from him.  He told my mom that his conscience was eating him, and he had to go confront someone.  Someone with a ‘chief’ in his pocket.”

“Wait.” She pressed her fingers against her temples.  “You think your father was involved?”

“I don’t know.  If I had to speculate, I’d say it was more a matter of him being aware that his father engaged in some shady business practices.  Only this time, a man was killed.”

“So he… what, was going to threaten your grandfather?  Encourage him to turn himself in?”

“Or maybe just wash his hands of him.  The note also said that if the confrontation didn’t go well, he and my mom would pack up for New York.”

But he hadn’t gone with them.  Tucker and his mother had run away, alone.