A Shadow on the Ground (30 page)

“Is that why you framed him for your father's murder?” Gage asked.

“Well,
yes,”
Ethan said. “I‘d seen that fancy knife of Sean’s in Dad’s toolbox, and it pissed the shit out of me. He and Dad were always using each other's tools, swapping them back and forth, laughing and joking. When I came home and found them standing in front of the slaughterhouse with Sean hunched over, patting his arm like he was so worried about him, it ran all over me. I watched them through the window, and all I could think of was that knife. And how it would look in my father's back.”

Morgan opened her mouth, then closed it again.

“He'd told me that morning his nose wouldn't stop bleeding, so I knew he was going downhill. He said the palms of his hands kept bruising when he tried to open the pasture gate. It was only a matter of time before he started hemorrhaging. After weeks of giving him fish oil and Vitamin E, and pouring warfarin-laced maple syrup on his cream of wheat, I did not want to miss the big payoff. But then Sean left, and Finch showed up with that Mexican.”

“What did Finch want?” Gage asked.

“To threaten me, I guess. He was on to me. He knew about the books, about the pickers. He knew I was the one who paid them double not to work for you. The more Finch took care of things so Bert wouldn’t have to get his hands dirty, the more he learned what was really going on. After your grandfather died, Bert thought he could get your land for a song. But he hadn't counted on Finch double-crossing him. When Finch realized how much some of the U.S. wineries were willing to pay to access the perfect soil for Chambourcin grapes, he decided to cut Bert out of the deal.

“Harlan—my dad—was a sharp man. A complete asshole in the father department, but sharp. He knew about Bert’s plan to grow Chambourcin grapes, so he held back the money Bert was paying him to let the orchard slide into bankruptcy and put it in a savings account for Maguire Orchard to grow their own grapes. That’s when he discovered I’d changed the orchard accounts and threatened to tell Sean. And he would have, too. He would have done anything for Sean. I’m sure he was planning to tell Finch about me to teach me a lesson, but Finch had already figured things out.”

Gage leaned to the left, his eyes hot and feverish. The crimson stain on his neck had darkened and spread across his shoulder. A rivulet of fresh blood ran from the back of his neck into his shirt collar. Morgan knew that no matter how deep the wound, or how much pain he had to endure, the second Gage got the chance, he would charge across the room and try to wrestle the gun away from Ethan. Even if it killed him.

Morgan couldn’t let him risk his life for her. This was her fight with Ethan, not his. And somewhere outside, a brave little boy was counting on his father to stay alive long enough to watch him grow up.

“Put the gun down,” Morgan said. “We can work this out. Your father's funeral is tomorrow. No one has to know anything. We’ll get through this, Eth. I'll get you some help.”

“I don't need any help,” Ethan said. “I need you.”

Morgan pushed herself off the bench. The hair on her arms rose, pricking the skin beneath her cotton shirt. A wave of cold slid across the back of her neck, then slipped down her spine. She turned and faced Ethan.

“Morgan, don't,” Gage said softly.

“Ethan.” He raised his pale dead eyes to hers. “Everything will be okay, honey. I promise. Just give me the gun.”

“I can't,” Ethan whimpered.

“Why not?”

He pointed it at Gage’s face. “Because I don’t want to. Because I want you to watch this jerk die. You’re in love with him. You’ve always been in love with him. And when he’s gone, I want you to feel empty and alone and hopeless. Just like me.”

Chapter 19

The sudden clatter of feet outside sent Morgan's heart racing to her throat.

Gage's eyes darted to the window.

Ethan shoved her out of the way and stood over Gage, mashing the barrel of the gun into his neck. “Don’t even think about it,” he growled.

The front door swung open. Wind rushed into the room, scattering dead leaves across the floor, rattling the glass.

“Dad!”
Jeremy cried. “
Hey!
You let go of my dad!”

“
Jeremy, run!
” Gage screamed. “Let him go, Ethan, please. He's a little boy. Let him go.”

“Can't do that,” Ethan said. “Come on in, little boy. You're about to experience something that will keep you in therapy for years.”

“No!”
Morgan said. “I won't let you scare him like this.” She wasn't sure whether it was strength or insanity that thrust her across the room, but she travelled quickly, and with purpose, ignoring Ethan's warning and the shocked, terrified look on Gage's face. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears, like a drum propelling her into battle, until she reached Gage's son in the doorway and pulled him behind her, then encircled his thin arm with her fingers to hold him in place.

“Get out of the way, Morgan,” Ethan said evenly. “I'm not afraid to shoot you. You’re nothing to me now.”

“Then shoot me,” Morgan said. “But I’m not moving.”

“Did you hurt my Dad?” Jeremy wriggled beneath her grasp. “Because if you hurt my dad, I'll...I’ll—”

“It's okay, son,” Gage said. His voice cracked with emotion. “
Shhhh
.
I'm fine. Everything's gonna be okay.”

“Not a good idea to lie to your son,” Ethan said. “My father lied to me my whole life, and you see how I turned out.”

Jeremy tapped Morgan’s shoulder from behind.

“Forget about the poor bastard in the kettle,” Gage said. “You're holding a woman and a child hostage. Where can this go?”

“I don't know,” Ethan said. The gun trembled in his hand. “I don't care.”

“Just calm down.” Gage’s gentle baritone brushed over each word, soothing and low.

Behind her, Jeremy shifted to the side, then slid the cool metal neck of the baseball bat into her hand. Her fingers shook as she slowly drew the bat around to the front. Her heart knocked against her ribs.

She knew what she had to do, but the thought of slamming a bat into Ethan’s head made her sick to her stomach. She'd been ready, even eager, to break Lawrence Finch's toes. But Finch wasn't Ethan. Ethan had loved her, understood her, been her friend. But that was all in the past. Now, her old friend, wild-eyed and vicious, was standing over the man she loved, holding a gun to his head. Ethan Spannagel was one more thing she'd been delusional about. He had hurt her family. He had tricked her into staying in Riverbirch. And now, he was going to kill her.

She grasped the bat tightly. If her aim was good, one decent swing could knock the gun out of his hand. But her aim had always been rotten. No, her best bet was to hit him in the head.

Adrenaline streamed through her arms like an electrical current. She eyed her target, the swirling cowlick growing above Ethan’s collar, and pulled the bat back. A sudden flash caught her eye.

She glanced at the wall behind Gage. A white glint darted across her line of vision, like a spark ricocheting off glass. Her gaze shot to the oval convex mirror hanging above the sideboard. She looked at her own distorted reflection, then dropped her gaze to meet Ethan's eyes, staring at her intently behind his shiny silver frames.

Fear shuddered through her.

Ethan twisted around. He ripped the bat out of her hands and sent it hurtling through the front window. The high-pitched crash shattered the air. Morgan bent over to shield Jeremy from the splintered glass. It flew at them, covering the windowsill, sticking to the rug and floor like ice crystals. Gage was on his feet, bounding toward them in a blur.

Ethan yanked Jeremy out of Morgan’s arms. He held him, squirming, out in front of him, then swung around and pointed the gun at Morgan. He blinked his eyes like a mole surfacing into sunlight.

“Ethan,
no
!” Morgan cried. “Let him go!”

He glanced at Gage. “You take one step closer, and I'll shoot them both.”

Gage stopped. He held his hands out, palms up.

“That's better,” Ethan said.

Gage reached out and pulled Morgan behind him. “Stay,” he whispered.

She stared at the back of his neck in horror. A ragged gash carved the flesh behind his right ear. Blood dripped from a wet, matted circle of hair. He swayed slightly then steadied himself. Every muscle in his body had tensed, but his breath came in quick, shallow pants, so faint, she could barely hear it. A surge of heat pulsed from his hand to hers. “You all right, son?” he asked quietly.

“Yeah, Dad,” Jeremy said.

Ethan jerked Jeremy back, then shook his own head as if he were trying to shake the cobwebs out of his brain. “I wish my dad was here,” he said in a quiet voice. “If Harlan was here, he’d know what to do. He'd know how to fix this.”

“I know what he’d say,” Jeremy said.

“Shut up,” Ethan said.

“He'd tell you to back your way out the door, then run as fast as you can to your car. You’ve lived in these mountains all your life, right? I bet you know a lot of shortcuts. More than the sheriff, probably. If you hurry, you can get a head start before she gets here.”

“The sheriff?” Ethan's eyes narrowed. “How does the sheriff know—”

“I called 911,” Jeremy said. “I used Sean’s cell phone, like Morgan told me to.” Jeremy glanced from Morgan to his father. “She should be here real soon. So, if you’re going—”

“Jeremy’s right, Ethan,” Morgan said. “You should get out of here. But I wouldn’t take too long to think about it. Because if you're planning on staying out of prison for murder, attempted murder, assault, breaking and entering, arson, and kidnapping, then you need to go...
now
.”

Ethan moved toward the door with Jeremy in tow.

“I'll let the boy go when I get to the car,” Ethan said. “If either of you move, I'm taking him with me.” He slowly backed his way across the floor. Broken glass crunched beneath his feet. When he reached the door, he pushed the screen door open with his left shoulder and stepped backwards across the threshold.

A bloody arm came out of the dark. It grabbed Ethan around the neck and jerked him onto the porch. Ethan cried out. The gun fired. A bullet whizzed over Gage's head, shattering a wall sconce above the piano.

Gage looped his arm around Jeremy’s torso and jerked him away from Ethan. He shoved him at Morgan then lunged for the gun in Ethan’s hand.

“Could you speed things up?” Sean asked, still holding Ethan’s head in the crook of his arm. “I’ve got about two more seconds before I pass out again.”

“Sure thing,” Gage said. He grabbed Ethan’s arm and banged it against the oak pedestal table. The gun launched into the air, knocking an earthenware bowl of apples onto the floor, then slid across the rug like a shuffleboard puck. Gage seized Ethan's shoulders and slammed his face on the floor. “Not so tough without a gun in your pocket. Or were you just glad to see me?” He looked at Morgan. “I could use some help here.”

Morgan located a roll of duct tape in the pantry. She tore off strips and handed them to Gage while he bound Ethan's hands and feet.

“You bitch!” Ethan hollered, wriggling on his stomach.

“Did you just call me a bitch?” she asked. “Is that the best you can do?”

Ethan reeled off a string of curses.

“I think I've heard enough,” Gage said. He righted the bowl of apples and selected a large Rome Beauty. He blew on it then buffed it on the front of his shirt. “I'm sure the Maguires can spare one of these.” He stuck it in Ethan's open mouth, stifling a howl. “Now that the orchard is doing so well.”

Sean held on to the hall tree. “So, it’s over?”

“Yeah,” Gage said. “And thanks, man. Nothing like having the cavalry show up in the nick of time.”

“Just so you know,” Sean said. “Your son is the one who saved you. He helped me back to the house, thought up the plan, and went in as a decoy. That kid’s almost as brave as he is smart. We would have gotten here sooner, but I kept passing out. And now, I think I’m gonna stumble out the door, lie down on the porch, and wait for the real cavalry to arrive.”

Morgan rocked back on her heels. She looked up as Gage's dark gaze met hers. “You're hurt,” she said. “You need to sit down before you fall down.”

“I'm fine.”

She had forgotten to steel herself against the flip-flop her heart always did when he looked at her. She pulled her gaze away and scrambled to her feet, then picked up the cordless phone and dialed 911.

Jeremy came out of the dining room. He stood shyly in front of his father. “Dad? You’ve got blood on your neck. Are you okay?”

Gage smiled. “I am now.” He put his hand on Jeremy’s shoulder. “Thanks for saving us, sport. How did you think of such a brilliant plan?”

“I read a magazine article at my therapist’s office called, ‘How to Get a Raccoon Out of Your House.’” He grinned up at Gage. “I figured it would work on hamsters, too.”

Gage laughed, then pulled the boy into a bear hug and held him tight.

Morgan reeled off the information to the operator, including the gasp inducing fact that her ex-husband was simmering face down in a kettle of apple butter. When she was sure all available help was on the way, she stood watching Jeremy and Gage. The sharp realization that she would never be part of their lives tightened in her chest. She hated Gage for dangling the possibility of happiness in front of her then snatching it back with a lie she didn't know how to forgive.

Hot tears pricked her eyes. Seeing Jeremy and Gage together, forging a bond that would shelter them from the rest of the world, filled her with longing. The pain of loss cut into her, slashing its way through her heart until it hurt to breathe. In another, kinder universe, Jeremy might have been destined to be her little boy. But he wasn't. And never would be.

“Morgan, forgive me,” Gage said. “I had my reasons for recovering the flag. Good ones. But after seeing you again, I never could have gone through with it.”

“Right,” she said.

“I’ll get the flag back. I swear. If I have to fight my way through hell and half of Georgia, I’ll get it back for you.”

She laughed and shook her head. “How stupid do you think I am, Gage? Stupid enough to hide something as rare as General A. S. Johnston’s personal battle flag under a floorboard in my bedroom? The flag your friend Cal took was a fake. I bought it at a gift shop in Gettysburg. Twenty-six bucks, plus tax.”