The Gift (2 page)

“Just across the square, ma’am.”

“Thanks. That’s where I’m heading after I unpack. Catch you later, Wilson.” She waved and jogged up the stairs, hoping her stay would prove very brief.

On a hunch, she paused at the top of the curved staircase and glanced back at old Wilson. Of course he was on the phone. She knew without overhearing that he was either calling Avery headquarters about her incidentals or alerting Malone that some “damn Yankee” was snooping around.

Good. That was precisely why she’d made sure to mention where she was going this afternoon. The sooner all the principal players came out of the woodwork—especially Lorilee herself—the sooner Beth could vacate this backwater.

And leave
y’all
behind.

Ty Malone swung the final bale of hay onto the truck bed and gave the driver a thumbs-up. The engine rumbled to life, and the flatbed took off across the field toward the hay barn.

The whirring blades of Rick Heppel’s chopper filled the sky moments before the metal bird rose above the hedgerow to the south. Ty shaded his eyes and watched, wondering what his quirky neighbor was up to now. The Vietnam vet kept mostly to himself unless one of the neighbors hired him to herd stray cattle or drive away deer with his chopper. After hovering for another minute, the helicopter rose higher and headed east.

Ty stretched, his thoughts drifting back to the woman he’d met on the highway earlier. Her tall, athletic build had awakened his hibernating libido, even though she wasn’t his usual type—petite and blonde. She had a head full of dark thick curly hair long enough to drape over a man in the heat of passion.

He groaned inwardly.

It didn’t matter anyway. She was probably halfway to North Carolina by now, tormenting some other poor sucker with those eyes. His housekeeper, Pearl, would call them haunting or brooding or something else straight out of one of those gothic novels she loved. Ty wasn’t even sure what color the woman’s eyes were, but he’d never forget the expression in them when she’d met his gaze.

She’d looked at him with interest. No denying that. But he’d seen something else there he couldn’t forget. Something…wounded. Guarded. Like a stray dog who wanted to make friends, but wasn’t sure if it would be fed or kicked.

Crying shame for a woman who looked like that to feel insecure about anything. He straightened and scanned the clouds on the horizon. On the other hand, she’d had an edge. He grinned, remembering. On the exterior, she’d come across as tough and aloof. He’d be willing to bet she had no idea her eyes gave away so much.

Besides, her problems were none of his damned business. Hell, he didn’t even know her name. He’d much rather remember her legs. A man could spend a lot of time dreaming about having those long, lean legs wrapped around his—

Whoa. Down, Malone.
He swallowed hard. Sweat trickled down his face, pooling in his collar. Damn. His reaction to the woman was one more bit of proof that he was starting to feel human again. He owed the sexy stranded motorist a debt of gratitude for that, if nothing else. In record time, she’d managed to give him a boner harder than a two-by-four. He had to grin. Amazing, considering how long it had been since—

“Hey, boss, got a phone call.” Cecil Montgomery passed Ty the cell phone.

“What happened to the days when we were safe from this crap out here?” With a sigh, Ty brought the phone to his ear, secretly grateful for the distraction. “Yeah, Ty Malone here.”

“Mr. Malone, this here’s J. D. Wilson from the Brubaker Arms.”

What the devil did that old fart want? Probably money for some cause or another. “Yeah?” Hell, it was the middle of the day, and they still had another field of alfalfa to haul before it rained. He was already
running late from that errand. And from helping the mystery lady with her flat.

“Well, sir, a guest just checked in I thought you might want to know about.”

“I’m not expecting anyone.” Ty wished the man would get down to business. “Why should it concern me?”

“I’m sure I don’t know, sir,” Wilson continued, “but she asked about you by name.”

“And…?” Ty mopped sweat from his forehead and tugged his hat lower over his eyes. “Who is she?”

The sound of a clicking keyboard filled the line, then Wilson said, “Name’s Elizabeth Dearborn.”

“Don’t know anybody by that name, Wilson, but thanks any—”

“She’s from an insurance company, Mr. Malone.”

Ty’s blood turned to ice, despite the soaring afternoon temperature. “Avery Mutual?”

“Yes, that’s it.” Silence stretched between them. “Well, sir, I just thought you might want to know. In case it’s important, she did mention she’s going to the library this afternoon.”

“Yeah, thanks.” With a thick knot in his gut, Ty disconnected the call and handed the phone back to Cecil. “I guess Avery Mutual didn’t want me to know when they were coming.”

“Lorilee’s insurance company?” Cecil wiped his brow with the back of his hand. “Well, you knew this was gonna happen.”

“I suppose.” Ty studied his old friend’s dark, weathered face. “Sooner or later.”

“If you’re serious about goin’ through with—”

“I am.” Ty clenched his teeth and looked across the field.

“What’d Wilson say?”

“Just that a woman checked in who works for Avery Mutual, and she asked about me by name.” Ty wished it didn’t matter. But it did. Damn.

He stared out across the fields. The Smokies created a bold backdrop to the valley, and puffy white clouds dotted the June sky. Even so, rain would come and he had hay to haul. “We’d best get back to work.”

“I started haulin’ hay when I was nine,” Cecil said, rubbing his chin. “That was forty-two years ago…
boy.
”

“You bucking for a raise, Cecil?”

The man shook his head. “I reckon I could use one, but that ain’t my point.”

“What is?” Ty narrowed his eyes, trying to pay attention to his old friend and mentor, though his thoughts strayed to his conversation with Wilson.

“You get your ass into town and talk to that insurance lady.” Cecil propped both fists on his hips. “I can take care of these fields in my sleep, and you dang well know it.”

Ty chuckled, though dread oozed through him. He didn’t want to face the investigator, but it would be better to end this quickly. “All right, Cecil.”

“You’re kiddin’ me. Ty Malone givin’ up without an argument?” Cecil rolled his eyes heavenward and slapped his palm against his chest. “Lord, ain’t this a
glorious
day?”

“Watch it, old man.” Ty knew his warning would be greeted with good humor, and Cecil’s chuckle confirmed that. “No reason for us to beat around the bush here. We both know why that investigator’s
here.” He swallowed hard. “Damn.” That seemed to be his word of the hour.

Cecil’s expression softened and he patted Ty’s shoulder. “Man’s gotta do what he’s gotta do.”

“Yeah.” Ty drew a deep breath and nodded. “All right, you take over and I’ll go to town.”

Cecil arched a salt-and-pepper eyebrow. “And once this is over, I expect you to get on with your life.” He sighed again. “Can’t wait forever, son.”

Ty closed his eyes for a moment and nodded. Then he met Cecil’s sympathetic gaze. “All right, I’m going. That’s a start.”

“Great, I’ll just tell the boys it’s quittin’ time, and we’ll head to town for a beer.”

Ty knew Cecil was kidding, but he didn’t have the heart to play along. “Thanks, old man. For everything.”

Cecil gave a solemn nod and ambled away, leaving Ty alone with his memories. “Damn.” Definitely the word of the hour.

He jerked open the door of his pickup and climbed into the cab. Time to end this nightmare once and for all. Seven years was a hell of a long time to wait for someone to come home.

As planned, Beth headed for the local library to pore over old newspapers dating from around the time of Lorilee’s disappearance. The first few articles reflected the town’s certainty that foul play had been involved, but the tone gradually changed over subsequent weeks.

And that was putting it lightly. The town of Brubaker had turned on Lorilee like a mob of Puritans on a suspected witch.

Letters to the editor suggested she’d run away with a handsome stranger, and others hinted at drug use, prostitution, and alcoholism—just Beth’s luck. Of course, the articles had remained vague about Lorilee’s continuing absence, but the editor’s willingness to run that kind of defamation at all intrigued Beth. The catalyst for the attacks was, apparently, an article about a typewritten letter received by Lorilee’s father, postmarked London—allegedly from Lorilee herself. In the letter, she claimed to have left voluntarily to start a new life. After that, the town decided she was a hussy.

Right. As if no small-town wife had ever strayed from her husband.

Beth rolled her tight shoulders. Her mental picture of Lorilee Brubaker-Malone was confusing at best. She ran another search on her name and came up with earlier articles about Lorilee’s contributions to the community over the years.

Interesting…

Leaning closer to the monitor, Beth tucked a wayward curl behind her ear and squinted. An article published two months prior to Lorilee’s disappearance called her “Brubaker’s guardian angel.” Beth leaned back, crossing her denim-clad legs and rubbing her chin.

“Who are you, Lorilee?” she whispered.

“Were. Past tense,” a strong male voice corrected from behind her. “Who
were
you, Lorilee?”

Beth sucked in a breath and snapped her head around to face the intruder. A familiar intruder. Tall, dark, handsome, and blue-green eyed, her Good Samaritan from the highway stood there with one eyebrow arched, thumbs hooked through his belt loops, the kind of rugged tanned features that made most women drool.

Even though Beth wasn’t most women, she still had to admit he was a fine male specimen. She swallowed hard, poised to stand. “You know Lorilee Brubaker-Malone?”

“
Knew
her.” He shifted his weight and lifted his chin a notch. “Past tense.”

Of course. Her knight in shining armor had to be none other than Ty Malone—the dearly departed’s beneficiary. Small world. Beth rose and thrust out her hand. “I’m Beth Dearborn. Avery Mutual sent me. And you are…?” She feigned ignorance.

“Ty Malone.” He eyed her hand for a moment, then took it in a firm but brief handshake. “You’re the woman with the flat tire.”

Beth nodded. His straightforward manner and strong handshake surprised her. Most Southern men took her hand like a snotty lace hanky. She sometimes used her height to intimidate people, but Malone stood a full head taller. Not many men made her feel small, let alone insignificant, and she wasn’t about to let this one get to her, even if he did pack one hell of a sexual wallop.

“Thanks again. I ordered a new tire at Gooch’s.”

He hesitated a beat, his expression wary. Suspicious. “I guess you’re here about the claim.”

“Yes, I’m the investigator assigned to the case. I’ll bet you wish now you hadn’t changed my tire.”

His expression softened. “Look, I just want this nightmare over with. It’s time to let Lorilee rest in peace.”

“We want a resolution, too, Mr. Malone,” she said with complete sincerity. “But when we have a claim this large and no body or witness to the alleged death, we have to investigate.” She shrugged. “It’s standard procedure. You aren’t being singled out for any reason.”

He narrowed his gaze, then gave an emphatic nod. “Fair enough. Guess I’d be curious, too, given the circumstances.”

“Since we all want this over with, I’m sure you won’t have any objections to answering a few questions.”

One corner of his sensuous mouth slanted upward. “What do you want to know?” he asked, his voice smooth and rough at the same time.

A shiver skated along the surface of her skin. Beth remembered the sexual heat that had erupted between them out on the highway. It had
not
been onesided. She glanced at her watch. “Is there somewhere else we can talk?”

“Diner down the street,” he said, inclining his head toward the door.

A man of few words. That suited Beth, since she was eager to settle this case and leave town. She crossed her arms and smiled. “I have a better idea.”

“Oh?”

“We both want to resolve this investigation quickly, Mr. Malone,” she said steadily. “Let’s just cut to the chase.”

“By all means.”

“Avery Mutual’s records indicate you still live at the same address you did at the time of your wife’s disappearance.”

“True.” He folded his arms across his abdomen, and Beth wondered if he realized he was mimicking her. “And?”

She dropped her arms to her sides. “I need to look around your house, since that’s the last place anyone saw Mrs. Malone.”

Furrows appeared on his brow. “I don’t want the kids upset by this.” He removed his straw cowboy hat. “They’ve already lost their mother. That’s bad enough.”

Beth glanced at her watch again. “What time do they come home?”

“Not until four today.”

“That gives us most of the afternoon.” Beth grabbed her notes and backpack from the table. “Lead the way.”

A grin split his handsome face and her breath hitched. The transformation from cynic to charmer caught her off guard. Mr. Sex Appeal from the highway had returned with some to spare. She had to struggle for her composure. This guy had more mood swings than Jekyll and Hyde. She had to watch more than her back around him.

“Does that grin mean yes?” she finally asked.

He nodded and swung toward the door. “Let’s get on with this.”

“Good. We’re on the same side here.” Beth followed him down the staircase and outside. The sky had turned a leaden shade.

He paused on the stone steps leading to the sidewalk and faced her. “That remains to be seen, Miss Dearborn.”

“
Ms.
Dearborn, or just Dearborn.” She flashed a smug smile. “We both want the truth. Right?”

He pinned her with a steely stare. “Yep.”

“Then we’re on the same side.”

“My truck’s right there.” He jabbed his thumb over his shoulder. “Let’s go.”

Normally she preferred the independence driving her own car afforded, but the way it had been running—and without a spare—she didn’t want to risk it. Beth followed him down the steps and opened the passenger door, amazed to find a Southern man who didn’t race ahead to do it for her. Should she be insulted?

Get a grip, Dearborn.

The powerful engine rumbled to life and he backed out of the parking space. “I don’t know what you expect to find at the house,” he said quietly, tugging
the brim of his hat lower over his brow. “Sheriff never found anything.”

“Maybe nothing.” Beth gazed at the passing countryside. “Then again, maybe he missed something.”

“It’s been seven years.” He shot her a sidelong glance. “We’ve cleaned a time or two.”

He’s nervous.
Beth made a mental note to keep an eye on Ty Malone. Actually, it was damned hard
not
to keep an eye on him. He looked good enough to eat.

Too long without some good, old-fashioned, bonecrunching sex.
She let her gaze drift downward to where his belt buckle rested above slim hips and other very male equipment.
Yep, and long is the operative word here.
Heat flashed through regions of her body that should have been disengaged during business hours. Beth drew a deep breath and dragged her gaze away from the rippling muscles in his forearms as he steered the truck away from town.

She needed to maintain her perspective, and his good looks were distracting. “Why are you so convinced your wife is dead, Mr. Malone?”

He peered at her again from beneath the brim of his hat. “I
know
she’s dead.”

“Ah, yes, that’s right.” Beth remembered his comments when he’d first confronted her. “You believe she’s dead.
Why?
”

“Like I said, I don’t
believe
she’s dead.” He kept his gaze straight ahead. “I
know
she’s dead.”

“You saw her die?”

He cleared his throat. “No.”

“Then why do you insist your wife is dead?”

He slowed the truck, turned onto a dirt road, and
stopped. Draping both large hands over the steering wheel, he half turned to face her. With the tip of his finger, he tilted his hat back off his brow, again revealing those incredible eyes. “I know, because Lorilee never would’ve left her babies. Anyone who really knew her will tell you that.”

“Anyone?” From what she’d read in the newspaper, Beth wasn’t so sure. She made a few more mental notes about Malone. Stubborn as hell. However, she had to admire his conviction. Or was it acting? “Without proof, it’s still just your belief, Mr. Malone,” she said steadily. “What we need are facts.”

Or a body…

“Facts like that bogus letter her father got?”

“Now that you mention it.” Beth smothered her grin. He’d played right into that one.

“Lorilee didn’t write that letter.” Malone’s voice was flat.

“Who did?”

“I don’t know.” He faced her, and his expression seemed sincere. “But I do know this—”

“What?”

“Whoever wrote that letter knows what happened to my wife.”

Beth held his gaze for several seconds. He was either completely convinced his wife was dead, or a damned good actor.

“Did you have her signature analyzed?”

A muscle twitched in his jaw. “No.”

“Why wasn’t it analyzed by the authorities?”

Malone remained silent for several moments. “Her father wanted to let it drop. The letter was mailed to him. Not me.”

“Where’s the letter now?” Beth asked, determined to have a look at that crucial piece of evidence.

“Sheriff has it.”

“Then he must’ve had it analyzed.”

He snorted. “Don’t be so sure.”

Convincing.
She wished the man weren’t so attractive, and especially that she hadn’t reacted to him so carnally earlier today. Of course, she hadn’t known who he was then. Still…

He dropped the truck into gear again and drove. “The house is just over yonder.”

“Good.” They crested the hill and Beth held her breath. The house was pristine white against a backdrop of green so lush it looked as if an artist had painted the setting. “Nice.”

Malone pointed toward the house as he continued to steer the truck closer. “Lorilee’s great-great-grandfather built it after the War Between the States.”

Beth rolled her eyes. No true Southerner would ever refer to it as the Civil War. More often than not, she heard it called the War of Northern Aggression. Sheesh.

“It’s beautiful.”

“Her grandfather built a more modern home over that ridge, and that’s where her father and stepmother still live.” Malone’s sigh drew Beth’s gaze back to his impressive profile. “Lorilee wanted to live here, so we bought the place from her father. Lord, it was a dump when we first got married.”

Making more mental notes, Beth tried to concentrate on information, rather than the man himself—not an easy task. “So you and your wife fixed it up?”

“Right, though it was a lot more
fix
than
up
at first.”
His expression hardened again as he brought the truck to a stop in front of the house. “She called it…”

“What, Mr. Malone?” Beth watched that same muscle in his jaw clench and release several times as he stared at the house. “What did she call it?”

He opened the door and climbed out; Beth did the same. Staring at her from over the hood, he said, “She called it her castle.”

His pain was clear, but that didn’t prove anything. Even the guilty could feel and show genuine pain. “Well, let’s open the drawbridge and have a look around.”

After a curt nod, he headed for the massive wraparound porch and turned the knob. The door swung open easily.

Another old building. Full of lingering memories, lingering…spirits?

A ball of lead settled in her gut, and her palms turned clammy. The world was full of old buildings. She had a job to do.

Buck up, Dearborn.
She braced herself and followed him to the door.

Something stopped her at the threshold. Her belly churned and this morning’s egg-and-muffin sandwich turned on her. That would teach her to skip lunch and live on coffee all day—a bad habit remaining from her detective days.

“Come on in and look your fill,” Malone invited.

Beth gritted her teeth and stepped through the door. A powerful sensation gripped her. Fear. Gut-wrenching terror. Her throat tightened. Sweat trickled between her breasts. She couldn’t breathe. She had to get away. They were hurting her.

They who? What the hell? She’d felt this before. Was it happening again? No, it couldn’t be. Her gift was gone. It had to be. She was safe now. But then an icy chill swept through her. She’d let down her guard—grown too confident and allowed this crack in her armor. She wouldn’t let it come back.

A moment later, the creepy sensation vanished completely. Had it been her imagination? Maybe it really was nothing more than an empty stomach compounded by the long drive, and that would be the end of it.

“Where do you want to start?” He dropped his hat on a table near the door.

Beth shook her head and walked slowly through the entryway. The sensation she’d detected at the door returned for a fleeting moment, then passed. It definitely hadn’t been strong enough for her to call it one of her empathic experiences. She breathed a tentative sigh of relief, though niggling doubts still lurked in the back of her mind. Sucking in her breath, she faced Ty Malone, pinning him with her gaze.

“What is it?” He took a step toward her, his expression a tentative blend of wariness and concern. “You look kinda puny.”

“Mr. Malone…,” Beth began, hoping her worries were unfounded. “Has anyone ever…died in this house?”

The investigator swayed and Ty reached out to grab her arm. All the color had drained from her face. “You okay?”