Next of Kin (14 page)

Adam jumped out of the car and stormed into the house. The door flew back against the wall with a bang, bringing Beatrice running. She saw him striding angrily through the foyer and stopped.

“Oh. It’s you, Mr. Adam. I didn’t know—”

“Where’s my father?”

“I packed a bag for him earlier today. He said to tell you he had a meeting in New York City.”

“Did he say when he was coming back?”

“No, sir.”

When Adam hit his fist against the side of his leg, Beatrice flinched. “Will you be home for dinner tonight?” she asked.

“No. In fact, I won’t be living here anymore,” he said, and ran upstairs into his father’s room.

He knew Ike was too smart to leave anything lying around that could incriminate him, but he intended to piss off his father. He also knew the confrontation they would have afterward, when the truth came out. He stopped in the middle of the room and then started looking around. The three pieces of art that hung on the walls of his father’s bedroom had cost nearly three-quarters of a million dollars. The rug beneath his feet was the finest Turkish carpet money could buy, woven in rich colors of crimson, royal blue and deep yellow. The bedroom furniture was handmade; the bed, which was once and a half the size of a king-size and three feet longer, had handmade white satin sheets and a white silk comforter. The chandelier was a stunning construction of cut-crystal diadems.

He kept picturing his mother with her throat cut and the blood spilling out of her body, and in that moment, he knew what he was going to do.

He opened his pocketknife and pushed up his shirt sleeve. Without hesitation, he jammed the blade into the fleshy part of his arm, then swung his arm over the bed from top to bottom and all around the edges while his blood flowed, until the bed looked like something out of a horror film. Red blood on white satin.

He walked into the bathroom, dripping blood onto the Turkish carpet and the white tile flooring, grabbed a hand towel and wrapped it around his arm, and then strode out of the room without looking back.

He threw several days’ worth of clothing into a bag, along with his toiletry items, then stormed back out of the house and drove himself to the emergency room to be stitched up. After that, he bought a bottle of Scotch and headed out of town for the family lodge up in the hills. It remained to be seen how the future would play out, but he’d spent the last day of his life under a roof with his father.

Ryal could smell coffee and bacon. Either Beth was already up or Quinn had let himself in. He rolled out of bed, put on his jeans and made a trip to the bathroom before he followed his nose to the kitchen.

Quinn was standing at the stove taking crispy strips of bacon from a cast-iron skillet. He turned around as Ryal walked in.

“Mornin’, brother.”

“Mornin’. How did it go last night?”

“Had visitors. A raccoon, two young bucks and a porcupine. They left me alone, and I returned the favor.”

Ryal grinned. “Who’s there now?”

“Vance. He’ll stay until I get back this evening.”

Vance Walker was another member of the clan and a young enough man not to have a family to tend to.

“Did he take off work from the mine to do this? ’Cause if he did, the boss man will frown on that.”

Quinn shook his head. “No. It’s his day off.”

“Okay, then. Hey, Quinn, I’d be happy to spell you tonight. You could sleep here, and I’ll take the watch.”

“No, thanks. I like the solitude, and I’m pretty sure you and Beth still have things to discuss.”

Ryal quickly turned away, unwilling for Quinn to see what he was feeling. “I don’t know that Beth and I have anything to talk about beyond keeping her alive.”

Quinn snorted lightly as he removed the last of the bacon.

“It’s your story. Spin it however you want.”

“Are we having eggs with that, or are you planning on bacon sandwiches?”

So Ryal wanted to change the subject. Quinn could live with that, too. “I figured you’d want eggs. Is Beth up?”

“I don’t think—”

“Yes, she’s up,” Beth said, as she walked into the kitchen. “And something sure smells good.” She handed the hairbrush she was carrying to Ryal, along with a hair band.

Ryal eyed her sleepy look and tousled hair, and wished he’d been the one to mess it up with a session of morning lovemaking, but since that was nothing but a fantasy, he ignored the sexual pull and focused on the task at hand.

“Turn around.”

Beth promptly obeyed, wincing slightly as he immediately got the hairbrush tangled in her hair.

“Quinn’s already made bacon and coffee. Want some eggs with that?” he asked, as he slid the hair band over the long ponytail he’d just brushed up, then gave it a couple of twists to keep it tight.

“Thank you, Ryal. As for the eggs, I’ll have one over easy.”

“You got it,” Quinn said, and began cracking eggs into the hot grease. “Oh, Beth, I almost forgot. I stopped by Aunt Tildy’s yesterday evening and picked up some ointment for your hands. It’s in that little blue jar by the sink.”

She eyed the small jar and picked it up. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me until you smell it,” Quinn drawled.

Ryal saw the look on Beth’s face and hid a grin. The old woman had a tendency toward vile concoctions, even though they were usually effective.

Beth opened the lid and sniffed cautiously. The aroma of mint was strong and refreshing.

“You guys were teasing, right?”

Quinn shrugged. Ryal was still smiling.

“It smells good, anyway,” Beth muttered. “However, I’ll wait until breakfast is over before I use it, or all we’ll smell and taste is mint.”

Ryal began taking plates out of the cabinet. “Yeah…there’s all kinds of ways to use mint. Like mint eggs, mint bacon, mint toast, mint salt, mint—”

Beth threw a pot holder at the back of his head. “Enough, funny man.”

Quinn laughed out loud, then stopped abruptly and turned back to the eggs, but Ryal caught it.

He hadn’t heard Quinn laugh very many times since he’d come home from his last tour of duty, and it was a good feeling to know it could still happen.

A couple of hours later, with the dishes done and Quinn asleep in Ryal’s bedroom, Beth’s hands had been doctored with Aunt Tildy’s remedy and she was rocking in the porch swing just outside the kitchen door, trying to figure out how to bring up the subject of the letters with Ryal, who was still out beneath the trees where he’d parked his pickup. The hood was up, and he was checking the oil and fiddling with the radiator hose with so much intensity you would have thought he was searching for car bombs. She’d been out there for almost an hour, and not once had he turned around to acknowledge her presence or say hello.

Beth frowned. She suspected he was as much at a loss as to what to do with her as she was with him. She knew how they’d gotten this way, but it was pitiful how it had come to pass. He was nursing a ten-year grudge at her, as she was at him, and though none of it was of their making, somehow that didn’t seem to matter. She’d called him a liar, and he’d given her the letters to prove her wrong. The next step was up to her.

Ryal cursed beneath his breath as he checked the oil and transmission fluid for the fifth time. There were only so many things that could be checked in a car engine without crawling underneath the vehicle, but if he stopped and turned around he would have to face Beth, and he didn’t know what to say.

All of a sudden he heard the squeak of the old screen door, and then a bang.

Thank God. She’d finally gone inside.

He slammed the hood down on the truck and was wiping the grease off his hands as he turned toward the house. Then he stopped short.

Shit.

Beth was leaning against the porch post, her arms folded across her chest and her chin up. She looked as if she was ready to fight.

And she’d tricked him.

“I thought you went inside.”

“Obviously, or you’d still be hanging upside down inside that pickup.”

He didn’t answer.

She didn’t move.

An entire minute went by without a word passing between them. Finally Ryal broke the silence.

“How long are you going to stand there?”

“Not as long as you dug around underneath that hood.”

His eyes narrowed. Her tongue and her wits had sharpened perceptibly over the past ten years. Bethie Venable was all grown up.

Beth stepped off the porch and started toward him. “We need to talk.”

He straightened his shoulders. “I know.”

“My schedule’s free. How about yours?”

He grinned.

She frowned. “What?”

“You’ve changed,” he said.

“Ten years will do that to a person.” But her frown deepened. “Changed how?”

“It’s all good. Don’t get defensive on me.”

“Ryal, don’t start—” Beth stopped, closed her eyes and took a deep breath, and then started over. “About that talk…”

“Let me wash up,” he said.

She stepped aside as he walked past her into the kitchen. She heard the water running at the sink. Such an ordinary act, but she couldn’t get past the fact that she was back in Kentucky with the only man she’d ever loved, and all because someone wanted her dead.

It was nothing short of a dream come true turned into a nightmare.

The sun was hot on the back of her neck. The scent of Aunt Tildy’s mint ointment wasn’t as potent as it had been, and her hands weren’t as tender. Thanks to Quinn, at least one good thing was coming out of this day.

The screen door slammed. She took a deep breath, and then turned around and walked back up on the porch where Ryal was standing.

“I popped the top for you,” he said, handing her a cold can of Pepsi.

“Thanks,” Beth said, as she sat back down in the porch swing and took a sip.

He slid into the seat beside her and took a big drink from his own can. “Good and cold.”

“I read your letters.”

Ryal felt naked. Every ounce of love he’d ever had for her had been put on those pages and he’d been rejected, or so he’d thought.

Beth took a deep breath, willing herself to a calm she didn’t feel. “I am ashamed and appalled at what my parents did to us. I’m sorry.”