Sweet Destiny. Rochelle Alers

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СКАЧАТЬ his eyes off the narrow unlit road for a second, his gaze caressing Mia’s face as she stared directly at him. “There’s Delta blues, Chicago and Detroit blues.”

      “I like B. B. King.”

      “Good Mississippi bluesman.”

      “What about Eric Clapton?”

      Kenyon smiled, and attractive lines fanned out around his luminous eyes. “Another fine bluesman, albeit from across the pond.”

      Mia noticed the harsh edge in Kenyon’s voice was missing. Could it be he wasn’t that resentful of her moving into his town? “Should I assume you are the law in Jones burg?”

      The vocalist had stopped, and there was only the sound of harmonica playing, the haunting beats keeping tempo with the sound of tires slapping the roadway. She thought he hadn’t heard her, so Mia shifted again to stare out the side window. It was beginning to snow. Tiny flakes fluttered from a sky too dark to see, landing on the asphalt roadway. Naked tree branches along the highway broke up the occasional flecks of light that shone through the windows of those who were still in the partying mood or had left the lights on for latecomers.

      They crossed the state line from Kentucky into West Virginia, and if it hadn’t been for the highway marker Mia would not have been able to discern one state from the other. She was in mining country, where the hills rose and fell, and where great mounds of earth were stripped for their rich mineral deposits.

      “Yes, I am the sheriff of Jonesburg.”

      It had been a full two minutes since Mia had asked the question—so long that she thought Kenyon hadn’t heard it or he had decided not to answer.

      She turned to look at him again. He and Selena were cousins, but the only physical resemblance they shared was in their coloring, and she wondered if perhaps they were related by marriage. “How long have you been in office?”

      “Why do you want to know?”

      “If I’m going to live in Jonesburg, then I believe I should know something about the people who live there.” She’d turned the tables, repeating what he’d said to her.

      Kenyon decelerated as he maneuvered around a sharp curve in the road. The snow was coming down harder. “How long do you plan to live in Jonesburg? Two months?”

      “Try two years,” she countered. “I have another two years before I complete my residency.”

      “What happens after you complete your residency?”

      “You’re asking a lot of questions, Sheriff Chandler. If you suspect I have some ulterior motive, then I suggest you have me investigated. That shouldn’t be too difficult. I’ll even help you out. My name is Mia Isabel Eaton. I was born in Dallas, Texas, on June—”

      “There’s no need for you to be facetious, Mia,” Kenyon interrupted.

      “I’m not being facetious, Kenyon. My living in Jonesburg serves two purposes—completing my residency and helping a semiretired doctor who can no longer make house calls.”

      A muscle twitched in Kenyon’s jaw. The image of the woman he’d observed at Selena’s wedding reception was imprinted in his mind like a permanent tattoo. Her hair had been brushed off her face and knotted loosely on the nape of her neck with jeweled hairpins that matched the large diamond studs in her earlobes. She’d worn a one-shouldered dress in a shade that was the exact color of the pumpkins in the centerpieces on each table. She had on snakeskin stilettos in various colors of yellow, red, orange and brown, which added at least four inches to her statuesque figure. She even towered over some of the men in attendance.

      A woman’s height was never an issue with Kenyon. At fourteen he was just shy of the six-foot mark, and by the time he’d turned eighteen he stood six-four and his body had filled out where his ribs were no longer visible. By the time he received his official discharge from the Air Force he’d tipped the scales at 220 pounds.

      He would’ve asked Mia to dance but didn’t, even after Selena had offered to introduce him to her. The woman with the beautiful face and perfect body, wearing priceless jewelry and haute couture, was a snob, and she hadn’t bothered to hide her disdain for his folk. And for as long as he’d stared at her—not once had she smiled or approached anyone other than her relatives. It had appeared as if the talk about the joining of two families didn’t apply to her.

      Now, four weeks later, she had returned to Mingo County, this time to live. Kenyon wanted to warn Mia that her haughty manner would not endear her to the people who didn’t cotton to folks who put on airs.

      Mia was right—he had asked a lot of questions, but it been years since someone had come to Jonesburg to live. Most times it was people moving out because they’d either tired of living in a small town where everyone knew everyone and their business, or they were offered better employment opportunities elsewhere. For those living in towns like Jonesburg, generations became miners because their fathers, grandfathers, great-grandfathers and great-great-grandfathers were coal miners.

      He’d decided not to ask any more questions and instead watched her closely. Six months. That was how much time he’d give Mia before she packed up and returned to the pampered life she’d left behind.

      The drive to Matewan took Kenyon twice as long as it would have if it hadn’t been snowing. He’d had to slow down because the snow was falling at a rate of two inches an hour, but it was also wet and heavy. The sound of branches breaking under the weight of the frozen precipitation resounded like gunfire in the stillness of the night. Heavyweight snow also meant loss of power when electrical wires snapped, plunging homes and businesses into darkness until utility crews could get to the region to repair them.

      Downshifting, he turned off the county road and onto a local one leading to the house where his grandmother lived with his aunt and uncle. His mother had tried to get her mother to come and live with her, but Lily Yates refused to move out of the converted garage Kenyon and his uncle had renovated into a one-bedroom apartment after her husband passed away.

      He maneuvered into the carport next to a late-model sport utility vehicle with Texas plates. The silver Volvo hadn’t been there when he’d left for the airport. Apparently Mia had arranged for her vehicle to be delivered to coincide with her arrival. Kenyon had to admire her for planning ahead. What he still found disturbing was that he hadn’t been informed that Dr. Lyman would have a partner.

      He turned off the radio and the engine. “Don’t move. I’ll help you down.” Mia had unsnapped her seat belt.

      Mia waited for Kenyon to get out, come around and open her door. He extended his arms and she slid off the seat, her arms going around his neck as he held her aloft for several seconds before her boots sank into a mound of drifting snow.

      She smiled. “Thank you.”

      A beat passed as he stared at her mouth. Even her smile was sensual. “You’re welcome. Go inside the house where it’s warm.”

      Mia hesitated. “Aren’t you going to unlock the door?”

      “It’s probably unlocked.” Kenyon motioned with his head. “Go! Now, before you catch a chill.”

      Rolling her eyes and carefully putting one foot in front of the other to keep from falling, she walked tentatively up the four steps leading to the porch. She’d left the Lone Star State for СКАЧАТЬ