A Shadow on the Ground (20 page)

“It isn't your fault Opal threatened to contest the will, and we gave in. We didn’t have a choice.” She looked at him, her heart ravaged with guilt. “But it is my fault I didn’t tell you I had the means to save the orchard. It was selfish of me. And I am so sorry.”

He smiled at her. The same sweet, crooked smile her father used to give her. “I'm glad Denny gave you that flag, and you have a nest egg to fall back on. Don't you dare give it back to him. You deserve it.”

“Sean, I—”

“Stop it, Morgan. Turn your brain off and stop thinking. You're my twin, remember? And you may think I don't know you better than anybody else. But I do.”

“And I know you.” She sighed. “You’re dying to say something. Let’s have it, then.”

“Here’s what I know. I know you’re not as cynical as you pretend to be. I know you love me. And I know you don’t want to get rid of the orchard because you’re sick of the smell of rotten apples and cow manure. You're afraid the stress of running this place will end up killing me like it did our grandfather. He had cancer, but we all know how stress can lower your resistance.”

“I hadn’t even thought of that.” Tears welled up in Morgan's eyes.

“Hadn’t you?” he asked gently.

She shook her head no, then slowly nodded yes.

“I also know that one of the reasons you hate Riverbirch is because you think you don’t belong here. But you do. You belong here as much as any of us. This farm has been in our family for four generations. It's in your blood.”

“But it's not in my heart.”

“I’ll get to your heart in a minute. Stop being so tough. You’ve got a hard shell around you, like one of those snapping turtles on the banks of Deer Creek. And you’re just as stubborn. You won't let anybody make things easier for you.”

“You’re the one who needs help. Somebody's trying to frame you for murder.”

“You have to start trusting people, Morgan. And you can start with the sheriff. Teresa will solve this case. I have faith in her.” He cocked his head and smiled. “It’s not hard to have faith. All you have to do is swing out over the lake, let go of the rope, and jump in. You can swim. I’ve seen you.”

“I wish I was more like you. But I can’t stop being me.”

Sean shook his head. “The guy who finally gets you is gonna have his hands full.”

“So, who do you think killed Harlan?” she asked, shifting the subject away from her.

He set his coffee cup in the sink. “This may sound completely off the wall, but I wouldn’t write off Opal.”

“Seriously? You think our step-grandmother killed Harlan Spannagel?”

“You know what she’s like. She has a mean streak, especially when she doesn’t get her way. If we hadn’t backed down from her lawsuit, she would have kept the estate tied up in court for years, until she’d drained it dry. I knew she had her eye on Harlan. I even caught them kissing once. I came in from the barn, and Harlan had lip prints all over his face, like Barney making out with Thelma Lou. For a while, I thought they might get together, but then things seemed to go sour. The last few weeks, I’ve heard them arguing. They fought the day before Harlan died.”

“You think she could have slipped something into all those cakes and pies she’s been taking him that would thin his blood? Why would she take him a cake if they’d argued the night before?”

Sean shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe at their age, eating cake is the equivalent of makeup sex. I also think that Lawrence Finch framed me. I believe he went to Harlan’s to convince him we should sell, found him dead in the slaughterhouse, then found my knife in Harlan’s toolbox and couldn't pass up a chance to get me out of the picture.”

“But Finch wasn't after the farm. He was working for Bert Kirkland. That's why Gage and Jeremy moved out of Bert’s house.”

“And into our house?”

“They thought I needed protecting.”

“Uh huh.”

“Sean!”

He laughed. “You've got a bigger problem than I thought.”

“What?”

“Your heart. I said I’d get back to it.”

“What’s wrong with my heart?”

“It’s a little misguided. It may not be into running an orchard with apples no one wants to pick. Or making apple butter no one wants to buy. Or living in the country where, if you're lucky, you might get two piano students a year. But your heart’s not in Nashville either.”

“Then, where is it?”

“Well.” Sean raised his eyebrows and grinned. “Judging from the electricity flying back and forth across this room every time you and Gage looked at each other, I'd say your heart, and his son, just walked out that door.”

Chapter 12

Gage stomped up the path to the barn. If Morgan wasn’t there, he was sending out a search party.

Christ, the woman could be stubborn! He’d asked her—no,
told
her—to let Sean or him know exactly where she was at all times. They couldn’t be too careful with Harlan’s killer on the loose and a drugged up ex-husband lurking around. But then she’d disappeared. So, when he found her on the other side of the barn, loading wooden boxes into the back of a truck bed, he didn’t know whether to chew her out or take her in his arms.

“I thought we had a deal,” he said.

“You and Sean and Jeremy had a deal. No one asked me how I felt about having three full-time bodyguards.”

“All right. How do you feel?”

“Claustrophobic.”

She glanced at him from beneath the tattered brim of her straw hat but kept working. Her sleeveless denim shirt lay open at the neck, giving him a bird’s eye view of some of the most thigh-hardening cleavage he’d ever seen. The muscles in her upper arms were tanned golden, and sculpted just enough to make him realize that the reason she hadn’t asked for help moving the heavy boxes was because she hadn’t needed any.

“I take it you’re going apple picking,” he said.

“Yep.” She lifted her hat and wiped her forehead with the back of her wrist. “I know it’s ridiculous to think I can even make a dent in those damned apples, but I can’t sit around doing nothing.”

He started rolling up his sleeves. “Okay if I go with you? Jeremy and I could help.”

“Sure. But I've got to warn you, it gets old. Real fast.”

“I don't scare that easily.”

“So I've noticed.” Amusement flickered behind her eyes. And something that looked so much like a promise, it made him want to give in to the merciless tightening in his groin and pull her to him.

Ten minutes later, the three of them were bumping down the long, uneven slope to the orchard. She hadn’t been too keen on letting him drive, but had relented after he confessed he’d always wanted to rappel a hill in a pickup. Jeremy and Morgan hung on to their seatbelts as the pickup rumbled over the rough terrain, bucking and squealing its way from one gear to the next.

“If y’all don't stop yelling, I'm gonna make you get out and walk,” Gage said, laughing.

“I've had smoother rides on a runaway mule,” Morgan said.

“Go faster, Dad!”

Morgan held onto her hat. “Like father, like son?”

Gage grinned. “I think I'm exhibiting admirable restraint. And that's a hard row to hoe with you sitting this close.”

“You can park now,” Morgan said. “If you can remember where the brake is.”

Gage guided the truck between two rows of apple trees. They got out and threaded the wide canvas bags over their shoulders.

Morgan showed Jeremy how to twist and pull an apple from the branch. “Gently. Like this,” she said. “When the bag gets heavy, dump them into those padded boxes. But slowly, so they won't bruise. Nobody wants to buy a bruised apple.”

They worked side by side in amiable silence, filling up bags, transferring them to the wooden boxes. Jeremy worked hard, without complaint, and after an hour or so, Morgan suggested he take a break. He didn't argue and was soon settled beneath the shade of a tree with a cold soda and his book.

“He's starting to come around, isn't he?” Morgan said.

“Thanks to you.”

“Me? I didn't do anything.”

Gage smiled. “More than you know, Morgan Maguire.” He stood looking out across the meadow. “Look at this place. Mountains in the distance, horses grazing in a field of goldenrod, Lacey's Pond sparkling in the sun. How can you leave something this magnificent?”

“Easy. I pack my little suitcase and throw it in the car.”

“But how can you leave Riverbirch? Isn't this place a part of your soul?”

She shifted the apple bag on her hip. “I can leave because I've never fit in here.”

“I can't believe that.”

“Why not?” She pulled off her hat and shook out her hair. “I may have been born here, but I am not a Riverbirch girl. I always wanted to be someone else, somewhere else.”

“Sometimes it takes leaving a place, then coming back to appreciate it.” He handed her a bottle of water.

“Riverbirch, Tennessee, is about as rural as it gets. Any girl who doesn't know how to drive a tractor, or saddle and foal a mare, or cook up a mess of creasy greens and a skillet of cornbread is considered uneducated. If a Riverbirch girl doesn't have a framed photo of her prizewinning 4-H cow on the mantel by age six and a ring on her finger by eighteen, her parents are either prayed for or pitied. In my case, both.”

“Okay. I get that. But I think you like the country more than you let on. I think you love it here.” He took a deep, satisfying breath. “I know I do. I'll never live in a big city again. I want a quiet life, a safe life for my son. The air is bigger here, and cleaner. It's easier to breathe in a place like this. And right now, I need to breathe.”

She took a long swallow of water and leaned against the stepladder.

“Jeremy said Ethan surprised you in the woods. He stopped by the house, you know. I don’t think he liked me being there.” Gage shook his head. “I'm sorry, but that guy seems a little off.”

“Who, Ethan? He's harmless. A bit intense at times. And very serious. But harmless.”

“Thinking someone is harmless when they’re not can come back and bite you on the ass.”

“Mild-mannered, then. Sweet. He’s...soulful.”

“And those eyes of his. They remind me of those weird children’s eyes from
Village of the Damned
. When he looks at me, all I want to do is think of a brick wall.”

“He can be a little strange. But he's had a hard life. His mother killed herself, and I think Harlan blamed him for it, though I'm not sure why. Harlan’s always been distant toward him. The Spannagels are a dysfunctional family. I liked Harlan, but I don’t think he was much of a father. Ethan had to grow up on his own without a lot of guidance.”

“He's got the hots for you, you know.”

“No, he doesn’t. We're friends.” She laughed softly. “Like you and me.”

“Uh, huh. Then I
am
worried.”

Morgan laughed.

Gage sat on the ground opposite her. “You know, there’s something else I’ve been worrying about ever since Denny tried to bully you into giving him that flag. You don't keep it in the house, do you?”

“Yes.”

“Wouldn’t it be safer for you, and the flag, if you locked it in a safety deposit box?”

“Don't worry. It's safe.” She gave a little half-shrug. “But you're probably right. With Denny sneaking around, the smart thing to do would be to take it to the bank on Monday.”

Gage swung around. “
What the
—do you hear that?”

A black Cadillac came barreling down Milltown Road, followed by an open bed truck. They pulled into the Maguire driveway and turned down the hill toward the orchard. Jeremy came to stand beside his father. For the first time in months, he didn’t flinch when Gage placed his hands on his shoulders. As the vehicles came closer, their horns blew. Wild cheering broke out, much of it in Spanish.

“Uncle Bert!” Jeremy cried, jumping up and down. “Hey, it's Uncle Bert!”

“The man never ceases to amaze me,” Gage said. “I think he’s brought some workmen to help pick the apples. And brother, does he know how to make an entrance.”

“Yeah,” Morgan said. “Like Darth Vader
.
”

****

Gage leaned against the door and watched Morgan process apples, a task he found both hypnotic and sexy. Of course, she could stand on a stool in a potato sack reading the phone book, and he would find it sexy.

She lifted a clean apple from the water bath, pushed it into a metal food mill, and pulled the lever. Pieces of apple shot through the sieve. Seeds and core went one way, soft apple pulp another.

“I know you're not happy about Bert showing up with the pickers,” he said.

She scooped up another apple, shoved it in the mill. “Bert Kirkland is not someone I want our family to be obligated to. I understand he’s trying to make amends for what he did, but having him pay their salaries doesn't feel right.”

“The pickers seem happy. They're getting double the pay.”

“I know, but you’ve seen the orchard. It would take two pickers weeks to bring in this harvest. By then, the apples will be unsalable.”

“What does Sean say?”

“Oh, Sean’s looking on the bright side. He thinks it's fine and dandy as long as the apples are coming off the trees. To him, all is forgiven.” She dumped the apple pulp into a large plastic bucket. “But I'm not as forgiving as Sean.”

“You were last night.”

She lifted her head and stared at him. Her eyes sparkled. The corners of her mouth twitched, causing the little dimples beside it to appear, then disappear. “Last night I was cold.”

“Not for long.”

He held up Harlan’s cell phone.

“Oh, my God,” she whispered. “Did you do it? Did you figure out the password?”

He nodded slowly and grinned. “Wasn’t too hard once I found out his birthday. There are some very interesting voicemails on it. Three from Ethan. Sixteen from Peach. And one from your step-grandmother.”

She wiped her hands on a dishtowel. “What did they say?”

“Ethan seemed a little panicked, and wanted to know why Harlan had ditched his doctor’s appointment. But the sixteen messages from Peach were very informative. Seems your old friends Peach and Harlan were having an affair. Although, technically, I don’t guess you can call it an affair, since neither one of them were married, but—”

“Tell me.”