Pitch Black (5 page)

“You’ve seen the light.” He pointed at her shirt. “Abandoned Penn State football for UT.”

“It’s Ethan’s. His first purchase after we moved here.” Quirking her brow, she said, “
I’m
still a staunch Nittany Lions fan.”

“Don’t let anyone in this state hear you say that.”

She chuckled. “I have been getting the impression that not embracing the big orange T is an offense punishable by law.”

He sauntered closer, Western-style, hanging his thumbs on an imaginary gun belt. “Well, ma’am, as county sheriff, I’m in charge of enforcing the law around here. Lucky for you, you’re wearing orange.”

She turned and handed him a coffee mug—a Penn State coffee mug. “I guess I’d better make you drink out of this one, then.”

He took the mug with a grin.

Sitting at the table, she motioned for him to do the same. “I forgot to ask if you take cream or sugar.”

“Neither.”

“That’s what I like, a man who can stand up to my coffee without flinching.”

He lifted his mug in a mock toast and took a sip. The coffee hit his tongue with the power of a sledgehammer. By the time it reached the back of his throat his body was already cutting it off at the pass. He only managed to swallow it with concentrated effort.

He closed one eye with a shiver and a grimace. “Good God, woman. How can you drink this?”

“I suppose it’s an acquired taste.”

“Only after you’ve completely annihilated your taste buds.”

She smiled, somehow looking both sweet and condemning at the same time. “I’ll try not to let your candy-ass taste in coffee stand against your masculinity, Sheriff.”

He pushed the mug away. “Nice try. You can’t even shame me into drinking that stuff.”

She answered with a shrug as she took a drink from her own mug.

“How’s Ethan?” he asked.

“Shaken. Exhausted.”

“Did he talk any more about what happened up there?”

With a half-shake of her head, she said, “I gave him plenty of opportunities. But he said he was too tired to talk about it. He went to bed as soon as we got home.” She set down her coffee. “I’m not sure how to help him.” Her gaze locked on the mug she turned in absentminded circles. “I’m afraid I bit off much more than I can chew. What made me think I could raise a teenager? Ethan started out in this world behind the eight ball. He needs someone who knows what they’re doing.”

Her hair curled in an utterly feminine way that begged to be touched. He took a lock between his fingers. “From what I’ve seen, you’re doing great.”

She raised her gaze to meet his and those brown eyes became a clear window to her soul. Tucking her chin, she gave a breathy scoff. “Yeah, well, things always look better from a distance.”

Then, before he could respond, that open window snapped shut. She straightened her back, the movement pulling free the curl wrapped around Gabe’s finger. “What about Mr. McPherson? Did you get his body off the mountain?”

“Yes.”

“And Kate knows?”

“I stopped at the hospital and told her and Todd before I came here. I didn’t get far enough into the room to get a read on Jordan’s condition though.”

With a sad shake of her head, she said, “Ethan went to see him before we left—no change.”

“Poor kid. The other two boys have been sent home. I plan to question them tomorrow.”

“Question? Why?”

“You’re a journalist. You know the drill; unattended death has to be investigated.”

“Yes, but . . . the boys told you he fell. No one else was up there. What other explanation could there be?”

“The law says
every
death, not just those I personally question.”

She gave him a sly look. “Extra vigilant with your father running for governor?”

He leaned his forearms on the table and leaned closer. “That sounds like a probing, journalistic question.”

Lifting her chin, she said, “I do have a paper to run. Gotta keep abreast of the current political winds.”

He held her gaze and tapped his index fingertip against the tabletop. “Here’s a quote you can print. ‘I’m always vigilant when it comes to my job. My father’s political career is moot.’”

“Oooooh, touchy.”

Leaning back in his chair, he ran a hand through his hair. He’d been working hard to distance himself from his father’s political campaign. He admired his dad and his commitment to serving their state. And he and his dad got along fine . . . as long as they didn’t discuss politics. So while Marcus Wyatt was on the campaign trail, Gabe kept a very low profile.

“Not touchy,” he said. “Tired.”

“Yeah. Tomorrow morning is going to be a bitch. I haven’t decided if I’m going to make Ethan go to school. He’s so worried about Jordan.”

“A boy like Ethan, having been on his own for so long and having to concentrate on his own survival . . . his concern for Jordan shows a lot about his character.”

She pressed her lips together for a long moment. “Of course, you’re right. I just don’t want him to get so involved that he’ll be hurt if Jordan doesn’t fully recover.”

“Looks to me like it’s too late. First, he’s Jordan’s friend, and a good one at that. Second, he was there when it happened. If Jordan doesn’t get over this, it’s gonna hurt. Only thing you can do is be there, make sure he knows this is one loss he won’t have to go through alone.”

Wrapping her hands around her coffee mug, she heaved a sigh that spoke of both exhaustion and worry.

Gabe stood and stepped behind her. “I should go.” He settled his hands on her shoulders. His fingers massaged the tightness he felt even through the bulk of her sweatshirt.

She rolled her neck and released a throaty moan. It was a sound that drew sensual thoughts that Gabe shouldn’t be thinking at the moment. Stopping mid-massage, he gave her shoulders a pat with both hands. . . . Had she noticed the abruptness?

Leaning her head back, she looked up at him. Her brown eyes were sharp with recognition. Raising a challenging brow—which somehow lost its meaning when looking at it upside down—she asked, “Did I scare you?”

“No. Of course not. Why would you ask some—”

“Maybe it’s that look of pure fear on your face.” She spun around in her chair to look at him without contorting her neck. Her eyes glinted with wicked humor. “I have to admit, I’m a little surprised . . . after the dogged pursuit and all.” She batted her lashes dramatically.

“Oh, but you misread. That wasn’t fear. Not fear at all.” He leaned closer, until their faces were inches apart. “Restraint. What you saw was gentlemanly restraint. Southern mommas teach their boys not to take advantage of an emotionally exhausted woman. Besides, I didn’t feel it was the appropriate time for our first kiss. But since you called me on it . . .” He moved slowly closer and brushed his lips against hers, only allowing himself the briefest taste.

But when he pulled away, she came up out of her chair, her lips following his. Slipping her hands around the back of his neck, she kissed him,
really
kissed him . . . and his momma would have slapped him clear into next week for his ungentlemanly response.

Two steps forward backed her up against the glass door. Their bodies remained intimately close as they moved. He pressed his palms against the glass to keep his hands from traveling where they really wanted to go.

She’d once told him, “Good mothers don’t have boyfriends. I can’t put my feelings before Ethan’s needs.” It had taken him months to begin to lure her away from that conviction.
Don’t blow it now.

She was a passionate woman, invested to the gills in everything she did; he’d seen that in the first five minutes after they’d met. Now, with a single kiss, a fissure began in the wall behind which she’d locked all of her own needs. Her body hummed with dammed-up passion. He tasted starvation in her kiss.

His own body responded like a tuning fork, set to vibrating in harmony with hers. It took all of his willpower to put his hands on the tines and silence them. It had taken him too long to coax her closer; he could not let this go so far that she’d regret it.

He eased away from the kiss, keeping his palms plastered to the glass.

She looked up at him with eyes clouded by passion. Her lips were reddened from his kiss. He dipped his head and kissed her nose. “I’d better go or my credentials as a Southern gentleman will be revoked.”

Her tongue traced her bottom lip. Her sensual haze began to clear. Unfortunately, watching her mouth only inflamed his own desires.

She looked up at him and although she grinned wryly, disappointment colored her expression. “Yes, well, we can’t have that happen. I’ve already stirred things up enough in this God-fearing Southern town with my Yankee ways.”

She started to slide sideways from between him and the door. He held her in place with the pressure of his body and kissed her again.

With his lips still against hers, he said, “Oh, Maddie, you have no idea what your Yankee ways do to a country boy like me.”

He felt her lips spread into a smile. “You ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”

Chapter 5

W
HAT WAS IT about that man’s voice that made her lose all sense? Madison rolled over in bed, looking out the window at the pink light of dawn. Her heart hummed happily as she ran her finger along lips that had gone too long without a kiss. Trouble was, she’d been blissfully ignorant of the lack until last night. Gabe had reawakened desires she’d buried when she’d taken on the role of guardian, and then parent.

Her wild response to his gentle kiss had taken her by surprise. The simple sweet kiss he had offered should have been enough. But instead of keeping her butt in that chair, she’d given in to her aching need for comfort. In doing so, she’d leapfrogged over several steps in laying the foundation for a good, stable relationship, which was the only kind she could allow herself now that she was a mother.

No matter how much she liked Gabe, Ethan’s wellbeing had to remain foremost in her mind. Last night she’d begun to hope that Ethan’s best interests didn’t preclude a relationship for her and Gabe. But she had to take it slowly; as much as she might want to, she could not embark on a wild ride with no guarantee where it would end. No more bunny-in-heat behavior.

Lucky for her, last night Gabe had come to his senses—and managed to coax her to hers without making her feel like a love-starved bubblehead.

Yes, with a considerate, selfless man like Gabriel Wyatt, there just might be some way to balance a relationship with her responsibilities to her son.

She pulled the covers up over her shoulder, delaying facing the realities of the day. Ethan would no doubt want to go to the hospital. She had to prepare, just as she prepared herself for an important journalistic interview. She wanted to be ready with her arguments and explanations, ready to go to battle for what was best for Ethan in the long run. As his mother, it was her job to make the hard decisions.

When she’d first taken on this role, she’d read every book on parenting and adolescent behavior she could get her hands on. One element that ran true in every one of them was the deep need a child, no matter what age, has for rules and boundaries. In the beginning Ethan had chafed under newly imposed restraints. After a while, beneath the bristling protests, she’d begun to sense his feeling of gratitude, his appreciation that someone cared enough to be concerned about where he was and what he was doing.

It was funny really; their no-bullshit pact didn’t seem to come into play in this particular area of their relationship. When push came to shove, they squared off just like every other adolescent and parent. And afterward, just like most parents and half-grown children, they never came right out and said what they felt, but saved face by resorting to subtle conciliatory nuances.

Of course, having started this whole parenting thing halfway through the process, she had to be extraordinarily careful in choosing her battles. So, before she laid out judgment, she always thought it through, making certain she could justify her stand. That way there was no destructive waffling or backing down.

Today would be crucial. She had to consider the pros and cons of Ethan missing school, and of his visiting Jordan at the hospital. Even though Ethan had experienced more trauma than most boys his age, he was at such a vulnerable stage, agewise as well as socially. He was still adjusting as “the new kid.” Considering that, wouldn’t it be better for him to face school today, and not delay the inevitable questions of curious classmates?

As far as she could tell, Jordan Gray was his only close friend. And Jordan might well be in for a long recovery. Ethan had to be prepared for that possibility. Keeping to his normal routine might be the best way in which to do that.

On the other hand—

A soft knock sounded on her bedroom door. “M? Are you awake?”

Decision time. He was going to school. “Yes. Come on in.”

Pushing open the door, he hung in the doorway. He was already dressed and his face looked as if he hadn’t had a single minute of sleep. His hair looked like a rat’s nest, as if he’d been tossing and turning, or repeatedly running his hands through it.

She had to choke back the sympathetic sound that automatically formed in her throat and ignore the urge to draw him into a hug. Instead she said, “You’re up early.”

“Yeah. I was hoping to go by the hospital to see Jordan before school.”

She was just a little ashamed of the relief she felt. She wasn’t going to have to take the role of Dictator-of-What’s-Good-for-You and force him to attend school today.

“What if he’s the same?” she asked. “Maybe it would be better to give him the day and go see him after school. I can be done early at the office—”

“Come on, M! You know I’m not gonna freak if he’s still . . . out of it.” He locked gazes with her. “I won’t be able to think in school unless I see him—just for a minute. And maybe it’ll help him to see me, too.”

She sighed, sat up, and pushed the hair out of her eyes. Sometimes her own teachings came back to bite her in the ass; thanks to her, the kid knew how to present an argument.

“Give me a minute to throw on some clothes. I’ll come back and shower after I drop you off at school.”

He nodded and backed away, pulling closed her bedroom door.

Twenty minutes later, they entered the hospital. Madison said, “Visiting hours don’t start until one in the afternoon, so just keep walking like you’re supposed to be here.”

On a normal day, Ethan would have given her a load of crap, throwing her own lectures about picking and choosing which rules to follow right back in her face. Today wasn’t a normal day.

They took the elevator to the third floor and walked past the nurses’ station without pause. Not that it looked like any one of them had an interest in who was coming and going anyway; they were deep in conversation about a television drama that had aired last night.

The door to Jordan’s room was closed.

“Let me check it out first,” she said.

Ethan looked uneasy. She resisted the urge to smooth his hair away from his eyes.

Easing the door open, she slowly peeked inside. The drapes were open. Bright sunlight flooded the room and reflected in Jordan’s unblinking stare. Disappointment sat like an indigestible meal in her stomach. If it hit her this hard, how was Ethan going to feel?

Before she could consider that question further, he walked past her and up to Jordan’s bedside. To her surprise, Ethan took Jordan’s hand. “Hey.”

Jordan didn’t show a flicker of response. She was struck then by his eerie resemblance to a wax figure. If anything, he looked worse than he had yesterday.

Madison tensed, waiting to see how Ethan handled the lack of improvement.

He only hesitated a second. “You’re lucky, dude,” he said in a tone remarkably close to regular guy talk. “You get to lay here in bed all day instead of going to listen to Mrs. Hillenberg go on and on and on about O. Henry’s ‘incredibly deep and multi-layered’ short stories.” He altered his voice to sound remarkably like the English teacher. Then he reverted to himself to add, “She never mentions the fact that the guy was a drunk and a convict.”

Madison was impressed with the way he managed to make this one-sided conversation seem natural. And she was more than a little shocked with his expanded knowledge of O. Henry. It made her wonder if maybe his outward derision of the author was just for adolescent show—a defensive carryover from his previous life.

It hadn’t taken long for her to see that he used posturing and tough talk to camouflage his fascination with books and language. She supposed in the cruel world of his childhood, such interests would have been considered weak. And to show weakness was to open the door to being a victim.

After a short pause he said, “It’s okay. You don’t have to talk until you’re ready.” Suddenly his face brightened, as if he’d found the key to a mystery. “In fact, I want to be the first one you talk to. So keep quiet until I get back to torture you with all of the garbage Mrs. Hillenberg lays on us today.”

She wondered if his challenge had gotten through to Jordan. Would it be motivation for the boy to reach out when Ethan returned?

He took a step back from the bedside, keeping his gaze on Jordan for a second longer. Then he turned his eyes toward Madison. He was a master at disguising his inner feelings, but she swore she saw relief there, running somewhere just beneath the worry and sadness.

THE BUZZ AT THE SMOKY RIDGE CAFÉ
was all about Steve McPherson’s accident. Gabe didn’t need to hear the comments to know that. It was written on every face in the place as they looked at him when he walked in. Curiosity filled the eyes of people who knew from experience he wouldn’t discuss anything associated with his job. That fact didn’t keep them from wanting to ask.

He took a seat at his usual breakfast table in the rear of the dining room. Today he placed his back to the crowd, just in case anyone’s inquisitiveness overrode their good sense.

He didn’t pick up a menu. Every weekday morning for the past two years Gabe had sat at this table and ate the same breakfast. All he had to do was show up and the rest was on autopilot. So he was a little surprised when the waitress, Little Peggy—who couldn’t be called just Peggy because that was her eighty-five-year-old momma’s name and she was still using it—stopped at his table without coffee or food.

“Just you this mornin’, Sheriff?” Her eyes traveled to the empty chair across from him.

“It’s just me every mornin’, darlin’.”

“Well . . . um, yeah . . . but I heard that yesterday you had some company. I just thought . . . ” She let the suggestion hang there.

He should nip this now, before Maddie got wind of it. But he kinda liked the idea that people linked the two of them together as a couple.

He smiled and winked. “Just me today.”

She tilted her graying head and winked back. “All righty then. I’ll be right back with your coffee.” She started away, then stopped and turned to him again. “Glad to hear that newspaper woman is finally mixing with the rest of us folks. Gotta be lonely, bless her heart.”

Even with the “bless her heart,” there was an undeniable undertone of censure in the statement. Gabe wondered how long it would be before everyone stopped thinking of Maddie as an outsider, an interloper in their community.

Probably just after hell froze over.

Was Maddie lonely? He couldn’t imagine her ever admitting to being lonely. But he agreed with Little Peggy. Sometimes, in unguarded moments, Maddie’s eyes revealed her desire for closeness. But those moments were always gone in a flash, long before he could capitalize on them.

So far anyway.

Just after his coffee arrived, so did Dottie Zinn.

She slid into the chair opposite him. “Morning, Gabe.”

“Morning, Dot. Surprised to see you here. I thought you shied away from cholesterol in the morning.”

The waitress arrived and set Gabe’s standing order of bacon, sausage, eggs, grits, and biscuits in front of him.

Dottie gave a visible shiver. “Jesus, Gabe, you tryin’ to cement up your arteries?” Then she smiled at the waitress and ordered black decaf coffee and oatmeal with skim milk.

“If I had to eat oatmeal every morning,” he said, “I’d be
looking
for a way out.”

“Big talk from a strapping, healthy thirty-five-year old.”

He forked half of a sausage link into his mouth. “Thirty-three.”

She grunted. “Rub it in.”

The waitress delivered Dottie’s coffee and a bowl of globular tan muck. Gabe mimicked Dottie’s earlier shiver. “How can you eat that stuff?”

“I plan on living long enough to annoy my grandchildren. It’s worth the sacrifice.” As she poured the watery-looking milk onto her oatmeal, she said in a quiet tone, “Listen, I just sent Steve McPherson’s body to the forensic pathologist in Knoxville. He said it had been a slow weekend, so we should have his preliminary results tonight.”

“Slow weekend, huh? He and the undertakers are probably the only people who are disappointed.”

“Hey, don’t get sassy.” She pointed her spoon at him. “Somebody’s gotta do those jobs. Besides, he read me the report on Zach Gilbert that you’ll be receiving later today.”

Gabe’s fork paused halfway to his mouth. “And?”

“Cause of death is officially heart failure. Kid’s cholesterol was sky high, he had liver cysts—”

“And let me guess, toxicology screen tested positive for anabolic steroid use.”

She nodded.

“Damn. I hate to have to tell a mother her kid’s death was totally avoidable. What a friggin’ waste.”

“I’ll contact the Gilberts. You’ve delivered more than your share of bad news this past week. Of course, that’s only half the issue.”

He set down his fork and exhaled. “I’ll talk to the football coach today—make sure he’s keeping close tabs on his players. Let’s hope this is an isolated incident.”

“Let’s hope.”

Gabe’s grandma always said bad things came in threes; plane crashes, natural disasters, deaths. Gabe chose to lump in Jordan Gray’s mental state with the two deaths and call this rash of crap done.

MADISON DECIDED TO WRITE THE ARTICLE
on Steve McPherson’s accidental death herself. She hoped Kate would see her personal interest as a nod to Jordan’s friendship and appreciation for Steve’s inclusion of Ethan.

According to back issues of the
Daily Herald,
McPherson had damn near been a saint when it came to donating his time to the youth of Buckeye. He coached basketball at the Boys & Girls Club, helped with peewee football, and had been a major force behind the formation of youth club baseball. He’d received a service award from the mayor just last year.

As she researched further with a few phone calls, she discovered that Steve had never missed a single one of Todd’s football or baseball games. Also, it appeared McPherson had focused more on his extracurricular activities than on a career. Although he held a degree in electrical engineering, he was completely content with his hourly-wage job in the Chevrolet dealership service department. The co-workers she interviewed all spoke very highly of him.

Madison wondered if perhaps she should offer to set up a scholarship fund in McPherson’s name. She’d bet his co-workers would be willing to help. Maybe Todd could be the first recipient. Certainly no consolation for his father’s death, but it could offer a boost toward his future. She really liked that idea.