Appalachian Prey. Debbie Herbert

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СКАЧАТЬ heart skittered, even faster than when the stranger had suddenly appeared at her door minutes ago. Could it be...

      Oh, yes, it most definitely was.

      Harlan Sampson. The man who’d quickly won her heart three months ago and then had dumped her twice as fast after a week of fun and games. Her left hand involuntarily fluttered over her stomach, and Lilah hastily jerked it away.

      “Well, looky here,” Harlan drawled, eyeing the man carting his haul off into the woods. He faced her and pushed the dark sunshades up on his head, revealing the startling beryl-blue eyes that had enthralled her on her last ill-fated visit, which—damn it—still sent her heart pounding into overdrive. He walked toward her. “Looks like I finally caught a Tedder point-blank in the act of distributing illegal whiskey.”

      “Wrong. I wasn’t selling. I was giving. Ain’t no money exchanged hands here.” Inwardly, Lilah winced at the slip into the local vernacular. It had been twelve years since she’d called Lavender Mountain home, but in times of high emotion—and now definitely counted—she lapsed back into the lingo.

      “So you say.”

      She pinched her lips together. “What brings you here?”

      “Came to pay my respects, see how you’re getting on.”

      Weeks ago, she would have flung herself on Harlan at those words. But not now. “I’m jim-dandy,” she replied, lifting her chin a fraction. “I saw you at Dad’s funeral. No need to come over.”

      “I believe I owe you an apology.”

      “Forget it.” There was no way she’d admit how much his silence had hurt.

      His eyes smoldered, and he slowly climbed the porch steps, close enough now to make her breath hitch. “I can’t forget it. And I can’t forget you.”

      * * *

      EVEN GLARING AT HIM, shotgun by her side, Lilah Faye Tedder was a hell of a sight. Harlan drank it in—the long blond hair that tumbled past her shoulders, the elfin delicate face with the determined chin, the slight womanly curves of her body. He had tried to wipe away the memory of her, but with one glance, the old familiar pull returned. He nodded at the firearm. “Mind putting that thing away? Hard to talk to an angry woman holding a shotgun.”

      A smile ghosted across her face before the hardened set returned to her chin. “You said what you came to say. Apology accepted.”

      “C’mon, Lilah. Let’s talk.”

      She hesitated, then shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

      With that, Lilah spun on her heel and entered the cabin. Not much of an invitation, but he’d hardly expected her to welcome him with open arms. The place smelled as clean and as fresh as the pine breeze that blew through the open windows, but with a touch of lemon cleaner. It already had the stale antiseptic look of a bare shell of a dwelling. No knickknacks or frivolities, just an old sofa and a couple of chairs.

      “I see you’ve been hard at work.” He’d been here before. Chauncey’s old place had been filled with junk when he was alive.

      “It’s all set for the realtor to list as soon the reading of the will is over. After that, I’ll head on home.”

      Probably for the best, at least for his career. According to Sheriff J.D. Bentley, associating with any Tedder wouldn’t reflect well on him or the office. His boss planned on retiring soon and understood that he had ambitions to run and take over the top law enforcement job in the county. And as such, J.D. had driven home the point that he had no chance of winning the sheriff’s election if he was a known associate of the outlaw family.

      Personally, Harlan couldn’t care less about the piddly amounts of money some moonshiners made. No, what disturbed him were the rumors that Lilah’s family had turned to the new Appalachian cash crop of growing marijuana.

      Following her lead, he took a seat in one of the old chairs that remained. “No reason to hurry home, is there? Now that school’s out, I thought you would be free for the summer.”

      She leveled him with a glacial stare. “That was the original plan. Things changed.”

      Ouch. Yeah, he caught her barb. Last time she had been home, they’d planned on her returning to Lavender Mountain this summer so they could see each other regularly.

      “Sorry about your dad. Must be hard—”

      “Any news on who shot him?” Her voice was sharp and cold.

      “Not yet,” he admitted. “But we’re working on it.”

      “I bet.”

      This wasn’t the same Lilah from March, the woman with the ready smile, the soft eyes and the gentle voice. But she had every reason to be bitter, especially with him.

      “We’re working ’round the clock. No leads have panned out yet, but we’re interviewing his friends and—” he hesitated a beat “—known associates.”

      “Meaning y’all suspect this was related to his moonshining.”

      If only it were that simple. He hedged. “The theory is it revolved around his illegal activities, yes. You and Darla already said he had no enemies or problems with others that you know of.”

      Silver eyes clouded in pain. “It makes no sense. Why would anyone shoot Dad? It’s not like he made a fortune.” Her neck turned a fraction toward the back of the cabin.

      “Maybe an irate customer?” he suggested.

      “Doubt it. Most were regulars.” Again, her eyes darted to the rear of the cabin as she folded her arms at her waist.

      “Okay, what’s going on?” he asked sharply.

      Her eyes widened. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Nothing’s going on.”

      He strode past her, down the narrow hallway and peeked inside the two bedrooms at the end. One was completely empty, nothing suspicious there. The other housed only a double bed and a dresser. A lacy pale yellow nightgown was draped across a plaid bedcover. An image of Lilah in that nightgown flashed through his mind, and he gritted his teeth at the wave of loss that churned his gut.

      “What do you think you’re doing?” She followed close behind him, her bare feet padding on the old wood flooring. “You have no right to search my place.”

      “It’s not yours until you can show me the deed has been transferred to you in writing.” He crossed the room and glanced cursorily inside the small bathroom with the old-fashioned iron claw-foot bathtub. Nothing out of place there, either.

      “Mind telling me what you’re looking for?”

      He felt a tad foolish for wondering if an unwelcome visitor might have forced his way in and held her hostage.

      “Well?” she demanded.

      “I’m not sure. But you kept looking back this way, as if something was worrying you.”

      A flush stained her cheeks. СКАЧАТЬ