Mississippi Blues (10 page)

Stealing a glance at Jace's profile, Lindy wondered if he felt any sense of loss. She couldn't read him. His features were set like one of the cliffs down at the quarry. Didn't he have any feelings? Probably not. He was a convicted murderer, after all. Her mind elsewhere, she drove into one of the rose bushes, breaking off some of the branches.

“Hey! None of that.” He grabbed her arm. “Park where no one can see the Jeep.”

Doing as he instructed, she drove into the three-sided shed and turned off the motor.

“Are you going to let me stay?” She shored up her courage and took a deep breath. “Because if you don't, I'll tell the Chief where you are.”

Their gazes collided.

He held out his hand. “Give me the keys. Spares, too. I'm not having you sneak out of here in the middle of the night to turn me in.”

She let out the breath she'd been holding. “Is that a yes?”

“For now. Now give them to me. I don't want you changing your mind and go running off to squeal to your daddy.”

“I don't have another set.” Avoiding contact, she handed him her key ring with the fuzzy soccer ball and tiny, jeweled ballet slippers on it.

“Don't lie to me,” he said in a soft voice that sent shivers scurrying down her back.

“In the glove box,” she squeaked.

“That's better. Get out and let us inside.” He took the spare set of keys and put them in his pocket.

She shot out of the Jeep and went to the empty flowerpot where Granny had stored her house key — she had never locked her doors — and retrieved the old-fashioned, rusty key and inserted it into the lock. With a groan, the door opened. With Jace at her back, Lindy stepped inside. A musty, unused scent greeted her. Wrinkling her nose at the unfamiliar odor, she stopped. This home had always smelled like fresh flowers, baking, and the rose water Granny wore religiously. Now the house seemed just as dead as her granny.

Jace gave her a push. “Go on. Get inside.”

She stumbled a few feet forward. Recovering, she whirled around and faced him. “You don't have to be nasty.”

“I have every right,” he growled. “On top of everything else, I'll be facing kidnapping charges if your daddy finds out you're with me. How the hell could I explain this one away? I can't, that's how. You're a spoiled brat who needs a spanking. I'm stuck with you until I send you home. Hopefully without getting myself back in the pen.”

The thought of him spanking her gave her a tingle she refused to acknowledge. Lindy placed her hands on her hips and glared at him. “I am not a spoiled brat. I'm eighteen years old. Plenty old enough to decide who I want to be with. You will not be facing kidnapping charges unless I press charges. Which I just might do if you don't quit being so mean.”

He considered her for a long minute. “How can you be so dense? You don't have to be the one to press charges. Your dear old daddy can do it.”

“I won't let him.” She folded her arms over her chest and planted her feet. When she made up her mind, nobody changed it.

Seeing she wasn't going to back down, he looked around. “Are there lamps?” He paced around the front room, peering out the windows.

“In the kitchen, I think.”

“Go see.” He stopped and said, “I don't want much light, though.”

She'd won round one. With a big sigh, she went into the kitchen. A cobweb stuck to her face and she shrieked, wiping furiously at her cheek. With a quick glance over her shoulder, she tiptoed to the back door and tried to push back the lock. The rusty metal squealed. Jumping away, she opened the pantry and found lanterns, lamp oil, and matches. Half expecting Jace to come yell at her, she took them all back in the living room.

He peered out of the window. “Where's the closest neighbor?”

“Old Jeremiah, down on the river.” A smile played around her mouth as she thought of the bent, ancient man. He'd always had a tale for them when they wandered down to the riverbanks near his home to fish.

He turned to look at her. “He's still alive?”

“Last time we were here he was.” A knot formed in her throat as she thought of the last time she'd seen him. Jeremiah had come to Granny's funeral, unashamed of his tears.

“Anyone else? No newcomers?” Jace turned away from the window and walked toward her.

“Not that I know of.” This remote, forested area of Mississippi was basically deserted. Used mostly by deer hunters, nobody would be around this time of year.

He took one of the lamps and filled it, turning the wick down low. The light lit up the room just enough to cast it in an eerie glow. Even spookier was the furniture shrouded in blankets. He jerked an old quilt off the sagging sofa and dust flew, making her sneeze.

“Are the beds still here?”

“Yeah,” she admitted reluctantly. Would he expect her to sleep with him? Her thighs trembled.

“Let's catch some Zs. I'm beat.”

For the first time since they'd hooked up, she wanted to leave. What if he had more than sleep in mind? He had been in prison for more than five years, after all. Having sex was probably high on his list of things to do before he was caught. She wasn't ready for another go round like Jimmy Ray had put her through. A shudder ripped through her. “I'm not tired.”

Jace advanced a step. “Quit stalling. Move. Now.”

With a little yelp, she darted toward Granny's bedroom.

The wrought iron headboard and bare feather tick mattress brought another wave of memories. Snuggling next to Granny on rainy nights, eating popcorn in bed, telling and keeping secrets. “I'll get bedding. It'll be in the hope chest at the foot of the bed.”

Jace leaned against the doorframe, arms and ankles crossed, his expression unreadable. With jerky, uncoordinated movements, she slipped on the sheets and Granny's familiar wedding ring quilt. Done, she stood by the bed unsure what to do next.

He motioned to the bed. “Get in.”

Pulse pounding in her ears, Lindy shot a glance at his expression. The black circles around his eyes made his blue eyes even meaner. Trembling, she kicked her flip-flops under the edge of the bed. Leaving on her clothes, she climbed between the sheets. With the covers pulled to her chin, she stared at the ceiling. Jace's heavy work boots struck the floor; his jeans and shirt followed with a whisper.

Lindy lay rigid as a fishing line with a big old bass on it. Her heart sped up and her breathing came shallow and fast. She stared at the ceiling, trying to think of a reason he wouldn't want to have sex with her.

He pulled the covers back and slid in beside her.

His leg touched her thigh, and she jerked it away.

Suddenly, with the quickness of a cat, he flipped over on top of her. She gasped as his weight pressed her deep into the feather tick mattress. Too terrified to blink, she stared at his mouth. She thought he was going to kiss her. Bracing for his lips to slant across hers, she wouldn't admit a slight disappointment when he spoke.

“Let's get something straight. You don't run home and tell your daddy where I am until I figure out who set me up, nothing's gonna happen to you. I don't want to hurt you, and I won't, long as you do what you're told. Stop looking like a rabbit about to be stuffed in the stew pot and go to sleep.”

She couldn't relax long after he rolled away from her. The tension didn't leave her body until he began to snore. Her mind raced, trying to come up with a way out of this mess, but nothing concrete came to her. Finally, bone weary, she closed her eyes.

Just for a moment.

Lindy woke with a jolt.

For a moment, she forgot where she was. Her head felt like someone had hit her with a hammer. Booze was a great thing, but the hangovers were hard to take. She didn't even know where she'd slept. Rolling over, she realized she had spent the night in Granny's bed. Half expecting Granny to call her from the kitchen saying breakfast was on, come and get it, reality splashed over her like a cold shower. Granny wasn't here and Lindy had run away with Jace Hill. Where was he? Had he left her alone?

She got up to find out.

She cried out as her feet hit the ground. Her entire body felt like one big bruise. A wave of nausea crawled up her throat and she fell across the bed, too sick to care. Sharp pain pierced her heart. Had anyone at home noticed she was missing? Did they care? She doubted it. Most of the time, they didn't even know when she was around, much less not.

“You're finally awake?” Jace filled the doorway, a green canvas bag in his hand. There for a while I thought you'd died. It's late.”

He hadn't abandoned her. She faced him, hoping he didn't see her relief. “Where'd you go? Shopping at the Piggly-Wiggly?”

“From your old man's galley, actually. There wasn't anything to drink there, and I wanted a soda. And a newspaper. So I went to the old store down at the crossing.” He tossed her a package of peanut butter crackers.

“It's open? You just strolled in like a normal person?” Or, had he knocked off the old man who ran the little store for a coke?

“Naw.” He pulled a twelve-pack of pop out of the bag. “No one was around to notice me, so I helped myself.”

No one could say this man wasn't full of surprises. “Not beer? Or something stronger?”

“I've got to keep my wits. Besides, I never liked the stuff.” He popped the top off one of the bottles and took several long swallows. “Unlike you. Bet your hangover is a bitch.”

Lindy glared at him without answering. She wasn't going to justify herself to him. She had been thirteen when he was sent to Angola, but he stood in her memory as clearly as he stood before her now. But the boy in her recollections bore almost no resemblance to this man. Tall and skinny then, he had filled out, his arms and legs now heavily muscled. He reminded her of a lion with a mane of shaggy, blonde hair that fell past his collar, and blue eyes so dark they were nearly black. Or maybe it was just the bruising around them that made them seem so deep and mysterious.

More than the physical, though, his lack of humor struck her. He had been a crackup, always making everyone laugh. She loved to be around him back then. He treated her like a kid sister, but he hadn't been mean. However, he'd also had a hot head. Quick to anger, quicker to forget it and make a joke.

“What're you staring at?” he growled.

“You need a doctor. Your face looks awful.”

“I'm fine. You're no prize yourself. Eat up. I need you to be strong so you can keep up with me. You're a scrawny thing. When are you going to fill out?” He tossed another pack of crackers at her. She let them fall to the floor.

“Some guys like skinny girls.”

His gaze roamed over her face, then dropped to her chest. His eyes remained there. “Take off your shirt.”

“What?” Had her big mouth gotten her into more than she could get out of this time? Her pulse and heart rate sped up as she looked desperately for an escape route. His big body blocked any way out.

“Take off your shirt.” His gaze locked on her breasts.

Stalling, she followed his line of sight. A dark red stain colored her light blue tee, just a little below her bra line. “What on earth?”

“You're bleeding.” Without waiting for her to act, he reached forward and lifted the hem of her shirt, tugging it over her head. As the shirt pulled free from her skin, it felt like a hot iron and she cried out.

She covered her breasts with her hands. “That hurts.”

“Let me see.” With surprisingly gentle fingers, he removed her hands then pushed the flimsy material aside. And stared. “Jesus.”

Dropping her own gaze, she gasped. Blue and purple bruises, red welts and bite marks covered her right breast. The left one didn't look much better.

“Does the rest of you look this bad?” Jace's voice sounded as raspy as her brother's.

She refused to give into the desire to cry. She noticed her hands. Sore, the knuckles were bruised. Every one of her nails broken. She must've really fought hard to get Jimmy Ray off her. Where had he gone after she kneed him in the nuts? Hopefully, he crawled all the way back to town. “I don't know. I ache everywhere. I've never hurt this badly. Not even after hours of riding or dance lessons.”

“Take your pants off. Let me see.” His tone, sarcastic moments earlier, sounded almost gentle.

Lindy shook her head, embarrassed. “I'm okay. You must feel just as bad, maybe worse.”

“You're not okay. Stand up.” Without making any comment about his own battered body, he took her by the arms and lifted her to her feet. When he reached for the zipper of her borrowed jeans, she shook her head.

“I can do it.” She reluctantly undid the snap and stepped out of the denim. She thanked God she'd replaced her torn panties with a pair of bikini bottoms she kept on the boat.

His gaze roamed her legs. “That bastard.”

“Yeah.” Not as bad as her top, ugly, bruises and jagged scratches crisscrossed the inside of her upper thighs. She hadn't realized how hard she had fought Jimmy Ray until she saw the evidence in the daylight.

“You said you weren't raped.” His eyes met hers. He looked like the boy she remembered. Kind and sweet.

She struggled to find her tongue. “No.”

“You telling me the truth?” His eyes resembled two lifeless blue stones. “Because if he did that to you, I'll — ”

“What? Kill him?” She couldn't believe her own bravery, but the look in his eyes scared her. He seemed as if he could hunt down Jimmy Ray and beat him to death. She hastened to add, “I know what they say you did to Deke Soloman because of what he did to your mama.”

His mouth twisted into a bitter line. “You don't know anything about my mama. Don't talk about things you don't understand.”

She laughed a bitter chime. “Oh, I think I get it.”

“You're together mentally. You'll survive without any scars. So don't compare yourself to my mother. Ever.”