'Til Death (A Rebel Ridge Novel) (14 page)

“That was your grandpa.”

“Did you know that it was Fagan White who called in the
fire?”

Tildy gasped. “No. I did not.”

He tapped the table as he thought back through what he’d
read.

“Fagan called it in, but Wendell and Prince were the only ones
who came to the scene. Their names were on a witness list. And so were some of
the Walkers...Dolly, Ryal and Meg.”

“Oh yes, my goodness. I’d forgotten all about that. When the
Walkers drove up, the house was just about gone. Meg got out, running and
screaming your name. The ambulance crew was already there, loading you onto one
of them stretchers. She begged and cried for them to let her go with you, but
they wouldn’t. And then her brother pulled her back out of the way and the
ambulance left.”

The hair crawled on the back of Linc’s neck, thinking of how
panicked she must have been. If the story had been reversed, he would have gone
crazy, thinking he might lose her. As it turned out, he
had
lost her—along with everything and everyone else he held
dear.

“I was thinking it was strange that the Whites would have even
been in the area. I mean...they knew Dad didn’t like them. They knew Lucy was
gone overnight to that family funeral over by Louisville.”

Tildy frowned. “There’s no way to explain away what makes them
men tick. Their mother was a good woman, but she married a reckless man. After
he died, they fell on hard times. That was a couple of years after Marcus and
Lucy married. I remember, because he used to talk to me about how worried Lucy
was for her mama. Everyone knew the bank was about to foreclose on their
property. Marcus had already told Lucy her mama could come live with them, but
that her brothers were on their own. Then all of a sudden the bank was paid off,
and Mrs. White was painting her house and building a fence around the yard to
keep the chickens out of her flowers. They put up a good barn and were farming a
patch of tobacco right up to the day she died. Whatever windfall they come into
was a godsend for sure. Course, those worthless sons of hers let the place go to
hell, especially after Wendell was killed. He was the only one with a lick of
sense, and even he turned his smarts to no good.”

Linc realized that he’d known nothing about all of Lucy’s
turmoil. She’d just been the stepmother who’d tolerated him as he had tolerated
her. He filed the info away for future reference.

Tildy leaned forward. “I will tell you one other thing that I
know about the Whites. There was gossip before your daddy was killed about Lucy
cheatin’ on him with someone local, but no one could put a name to him.”

Linc frowned. “I never knew that.”

“Not surprised. Your daddy wouldn’t have said a word to you
about it.”

“You mean you think he knew about the gossip?”

“I know he did,” she said.

“Do you have any idea where Lucy is now?” he asked.

Her eyes widened. “Why, I guess I thought you already
knew.”

“Knew what?”

“She and Wes Duggan got married about four months after your
daddy was laid in his grave.”

“Uncle Wesley? Married Lucy?”

Tildy shrugged. “Yes. They all grew up together. I suppose it
wasn’t that big a deal, but we all were guessing when it happened that it might
have been him she was seeing. However, that was years ago, and time changes
people.”

Linc kept remembering Wes Duggan testifying on the stand about
Linc and his daddy being at odds with each other. It had been the biggest shock
of all in the whole chaotic trial. Wes wasn’t his blood uncle, but he’d loved
him like family. He hadn’t understood then why Wes would lie, and he still
didn’t. Maybe it was time to pay Wes and Lucy a visit. Shake the tree and see
how many snakes fell out of it, so to speak.

“Do you know if they’re still married?” he asked.

“Oh, yes. Wes is doing well for himself. He owns the Ford
dealership down in Mount Sterling, and he and Lucy live in a big fancy house in
one of those gated communities.”

“Thank you, Aunt Tildy. For the pie and coffee, for the
information and for sticking by me.”

She reached across the table and gave his hand a squeeze.

“We’re family, and family sticks together.” Then she winked.
“And speaking of family, you tell that pretty Meg Lewis that Aunt Tildy says
hello.”

“Yes, ma’am. I will do that. And speaking of Meg, I better get
going. There are a few other things I need to do before our supper date.”

He stood up and carried their plates and cups to the sink
before giving his aunt a quick hug.

“If you know of any more widow ladies or single women with
houses in need of a little repair, let me know. I still have some leftover
lumber and don’t mind the work.”

She beamed. “I’ll be thinking on it some. If anyone comes to
mind, I’ll let you know. You have a good time tonight.” Then her expression
shifted to a frown. “You know, those men who were here are gonna tell everyone
who you are.”

“Yes. I know.”

“You watch your back.”

“I will. Don’t worry about me. You take care of yourself, and
I’ll be up at eleven o’clock on Sunday morning to pick you up for dinner,
remember?”

“I haven’t thought of much else,” she said. “See you soon, and
thank you for the wood.”

“You’re welcome, Aunt Tildy. Take care.”

He grabbed his coat and gloves on the way out, then headed home
with a lot more to think about than when he’d come, like Wes and Lucy’s quickie
marriage, and Fagan White calling in the fire and his brothers being on the
scene soon after. It was all a puzzle yet to settle into place.

Ten

M
eg had a pineapple upside-down cake
cooling on the counter, potatoes baking in the oven and a skillet full of pork
chops about ready to come out. She was trimming the fat off the last of the
chops still left to fry when her phone began to ring. She grabbed a paper towel
to clean her hands and propped the receiver against her ear.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Meg, it’s me.”

“Hi, Mom. What’s up?”

“What do you mean, what’s up? Can’t a mother call her only
daughter without having a reason?”

Meg frowned. That sounded defensive, which was weird. Why on
earth would—

Oh, crap.

Dolly kept talking. “I just called to say hi. So, how’s that
pretty Storm at Sea quilt coming? I can’t wait to see it.”

Double crap.

“I finished it,” Meg said. “I’m working on some other stuff.
Got a new order from Louisville day before yesterday.”

“Oh, that’s nice.”

Meg frowned. “Mom. You’re about as obvious as that wart on Mrs.
Peevy’s nose. Just ask.”

“You have a date, and you never said a word about seeing
anyone. I know you’re a woman grown and I don’t need to know your business, but
I just wanted you to know I—”

“Mom. Stop. It’s obvious the mountain grapevine grows fast
around here, but the reason you don’t know anything is because there isn’t
anything to know...yet. I am not seeing anyone. I have yet to have a date.
However, tonight I
am
making supper for the man who
pulled me out of the wreck.”

“Oh. Well. A thank-you dinner. I guess everyone just
misunderstood and—”

This was about to get out of hand, and Meg knew how lies could
ruin a life.

“Look, I need to tell you something, and I don’t want
advice—I’m just informing you of a fact.”

There was a moment of silence, and then she heard a soft sigh.
“If you’re about to tell me that Lincoln Fox moved back to his granddaddy’s home
place, we already know. And if you’re
finally
going
to tell us that he is also the one who saved you the night of the wreck, we know
that, too.”

Now Meg was the one who was speechless. “But how—”

“Seriously, Margaret Ann. Give us some credit. Your brother
James carries the mail—with people’s names on the letters—and puts it in the
mailboxes, thereby knowing where they live. And your brother Ryal made it his
business to go to the E.R. and find the name of the man who saved you from the
wreck, and before you get all in a huff, he did it because you said you didn’t
know who it was, and we wanted to thank him—which we have yet to do, by the way,
because his presence seems to be a big secret.”

“It wasn’t my information to tell,” Meg said.

“I don’t understand.”

“I know. I don’t understand much, either, but I do know why
Lincoln came home.”

“What do you mean? I thought—”

“He came back to clear his name.”

Total silence.

Meg held her breath. This was something they’d been through
eighteen years ago, and she didn’t want to hear her mother spout some “I forbid
you to have any contact” crap again. To her surprise, her mother’s voice was
fairly calm.

“Well, it certainly took him long enough,” Dolly said.

Meg sighed. “That’s sort of what I said.”

“So, why now?”

Meg hesitated. The more she said, the more she felt she was
revealing things he might not want told, but this was her family, and they
needed to understand why she was even considering the possibility of reigniting
the relationship.

“Six months ago he was electrocuted in an on-the-job accident.
After they resuscitated him and while he was still in the hospital, he said he
began dreaming about his dad, and in every dream his father kept telling him to
go home. He came back for justice, Mom. Someone on Rebel Ridge got away with
murder, and he’s going to open a big can of worms when he begins digging into
the past. People took sides before, and they’ll do it again. But he’s not a kid
anymore, and I have no doubt that he’s not going to stop until he gets the
answers he came for.”

“This could become dangerous,” Dolly said.

“He knows that.”

“I don’t want to think about you getting hurt in—”

“Mom. Seriously? I’ve already been hurt by a man who has
nothing to do with Lincoln Fox. If it hadn’t been for Linc showing up when he
did, there’s no telling what would have happened to me. He stopped Prince White
and set the law on his trail. I am safer right now because of him, so don’t go
down that road, okay? A few years back we weathered Ryal protecting Beth from
the mob, for God’s sake. We all went through hell with Quinn and Mariah. Can the
Walker clan just please back off and let me see where this goes without trying
to tell me what to do? He was my first love. I wouldn’t mind it if he became my
last.”

Dolly sighed. “You’re right. Be happy, Meg. Be safe. And bring
him to Thanksgiving dinner. I’ve already cleared it with everyone else that
we’re having it on Wednesday evening instead of Thursday noon, so you can make
your quilt show.”

“Okay.”

“If he gives you any trouble about it, remind him that because
it’s Thanksgiving, we want to thank the man who continues to be your knight in
shining armor.”

Meg’s vision blurred. “Thank you, Mom.”

“You’re welcome. And don’t cook those pork chops too early.
They’re best right out of the skillet.”

Meg laughed through tears. The gossips had even reported what
she’d bought to feed him. Lord.

“Yes, Mom, I know, and thanks.” She hung up, then dropped her
head and closed her eyes. “God, please don’t let this be a mistake.”

She took the pork chops out of the skillet and put in the last
two to cook. After a sprinkle of salt and pepper, she checked the heat, then
tested the potatoes in the oven. When the last pork chops were done, the
potatoes would be, too. Coleslaw was chilling in the refrigerator, and coffee
was made. All she needed was a man to eat with.

Honey started barking.

A little shot of panic came and went as she glanced up at the
clock. It was fifteen to six.

“Showtime.”

She took off her apron, checked her blue sweater and jeans for
any stray bits of flour, then started for the door, pausing at the hall mirror
to check her appearance. Her eyes were still shiny from the unshed tears. Maybe
he wouldn’t notice.

Honey kept barking.

Meg lengthened her stride. It wouldn’t be good if her dog sent
him running before she got him in the door. As it turned out, her fears were
groundless. When she opened the door Linc was on the porch with the dog at his
feet.

“I see you’ve met my vicious guard dog.”

Linc could hardly think what to say except what was on his
mind.

“You look beautiful,” he said softly, then glanced down at
Honey. “Don’t be upset with her. She just knows the good guys from the bad,
that’s all.”

“Thank you,” she said, and tried not to hyperventilate as he
walked past her, dwarfing her by nearly a foot. “Let me take your coat and
hat.”

Linc took off the coat and Stetson. “Are they okay here on this
chair?”

She nodded.

“Then I’ve got this,” he said.

It took her a few seconds to focus on something besides the
ripple of muscles beneath his shirt, and the width of his shoulders.

“Something smells good. Is there anything I can do to help?” he
asked.

And just like that, the awkwardness was gone. “I need to turn
the pork chops. You can set the table.”

“Yes, ma’am. Lead the way.”

His steps on the hardwood floor were sure and long as he
followed her into the kitchen—as if he knew where he was going and it wasn’t
going to take him long to get there. Then he saw dessert and groaned.

“Oh, Lord. Pineapple upside-down cake. I haven’t had that in
ages.”

Meg hid a smile as she pointed. “Plates are in the cabinet
above the sideboard. Tableware is in the top drawer.”

“Got it,” he said, and began setting down their plates with an
easy motion. “Oh...I want to tell you how much I appreciate that beautiful
quilt. You’re the last thing I think of when I pull it over me at night and the
first thing I think of when I throw back the covers every morning.”

Meg’s heart stuttered. She felt heat rising from her neck up to
her cheeks, and there wasn’t a damn thing she could do to stop it. Less than two
minutes in the house and he’d already made her blush.

“I’m glad it’s keeping you warm.”

“And then some,” he said. “Are we having coffee?”

She nodded.

“Which cups do you want me to use?”

“Use the white mugs. They’ll keep it warm longer.”

He took down a couple and set them in the proper places, then
had begun to add the knives, forks and spoons when he paused to study the
design.

“I remember these,” he said softly.

Meg sighed. It was inevitable that their past would resurrect
itself in an infinite number of ways, but she hadn’t expected him to remember
her grandmother’s flatware.

“It was Grandma Foster’s service.”

Linc paused and looked over at her, remembering a picnic dinner
up at their place one Fourth of July. “Are they both gone?”

“Yes, and the old house, too.”

She wasn’t going to get into the fact that it had been blown up
by the mob who’d been after Beth for witnessing a murder. If he stuck around, he
would find all that out in good time.

“Just like my grandpa Fox and his place,” he said, and finished
setting the table.

Meg took up the last of the pork chops and carried the platter
to the table, then went back to get the baked potatoes out of the oven.

“What next?” Linc asked.

“We’ll need butter for the baked potatoes, and there’s also a
bowl of coleslaw in the refrigerator. If you can get both of those things, then
we’re good to go.”

She had baked three potatoes and brought them to the table in a
wide, shallow bowl, then poured coffee in the mugs while Linc added the other
items to the table.

“Please tell me we’re ready to eat, because I’m starving,” he
said.

She chuckled. “We’re ready.”

“Praise be,” he said, and then once again surprised her by
seating her first. As soon as he sat down, he reached for her hand. “I assume
you still say grace?”

“Uh...yes,” she said, and closed her eyes as Linc blessed the
food, but she couldn’t remember a thing he said for thinking of how it felt to
be holding his hand. It wasn’t until he said “amen” that she realized he was
through.

The meal that had begun with a blessing continued with an ease
she hadn’t expected. By the time they got to dessert she knew all about Beulah
Justice’s door falling off, and that he was taking Tildy to Sunday dinner down
at Frankie’s Eats. He’d talked about the two crews of men who worked for him in
Dallas, how many houses they’d already built this year, the name of his favorite
Mexican restaurant in Dallas, and the old stray tomcat they called Chili who
lived in the warehouse where Linc’s equipment was stored.

She was struck by the differences in their lifestyles, and yet
he’d come back to this isolated world without bemoaning the lack of amenities
he’d taken for granted. She had not asked him what it had been like to be in
prison until he’d turned twenty-one, and he had not mentioned a word regarding
her failed marriage to a killer. It seemed they were on the same page about
moving forward. It was the only option they had if this was going to work.

When he got up to carry plates to the counter, she cut the cake
and refilled their cups.

“I’m assuming it’s fair to ask for seconds,” he asked as he
took the first bite of cake. Then he rolled his eyes as he chewed. “Oh,
man...make that thirds.”

Meg laughed. Success was a heady thing. “You can have all you
want,” she said.

He paused, his fork halfway through the cake, and looked up.
“Of cake.”

“Is that a question or a verification?” she asked.

He grinned. “I figured it wouldn’t hurt to ask.”

“One thing at a time,” she said.

“Right,” he said, and kept eating, but the proverbial hat had
just been tossed into the ring. At least he’d given her something to think
about. God knows, he’d been thinking about it—a lot.

Linc was finishing his second piece of cake when they both
realized the wind was rising.

Meg pushed her coffee aside and got up to look out. “That storm
front is finally here.”

“As long as it’s liquid,” Linc said, repeating what he’d been
thinking earlier.

She turned around and then stopped, caught by the sight of him
sitting at her table. This still didn’t feel real.

He looked up and caught her staring.

“What? Got cake on my face?”

“No. I was just thinking how surreal this moment feels.”

He stood and walked toward her.

She watched him coming and felt as if she’d been waiting for
this moment all her life.

He cupped her cheeks, brushing a thumb across her lips.

“One of my biggest regrets was that I never got to tell you
goodbye. But I’m close enough now to tell you hello.”

He lowered his head slowly, giving her plenty of time to back
off. Instead, she lifted her face and closed her eyes. The beginning of the kiss
was a tentative foray, but it exploded into lust so fast they both stopped and
pulled apart simultaneously.

Linc took a deep breath.

Meg was trembling with a need she hadn’t felt in years.

“So...hello, Margaret Ann.”

She sighed. “Hello, Lincoln Wade.”

The wind blew rain beneath the porch roof, splattering the
droplets against the glass like little bullets, but they didn’t hear.

“So now what?” he asked.

She took a deep breath. “I will be honest. I would seriously
like to go to bed with you.”

His heartbeat slammed against his rib cage, then skittered back
into rhythm.