The Singing River (16 page)

Chapter 24

River

It only took three days stuck in a house with Marley, Marissa, and Roman before my sanity was gone. Three days of Marley’s crazy obsession, Roman’s constant pacing, and Marissa’s dogged determination to keep busy. She’d been to more Belle meetings than a woman should be allowed to attend and then some, but nothing was worse than her actually entertaining them.

“It’s like being surrounded by rabid dogs with manners,” Roman mumbled.

Turning away from the kitchen window, I threw my brother a look. “Just don’t let Marissa hear you say that.”

Roman shrugged before opening the refrigerator door. Pulling out a jug of orange juice, he took a swig before replacing it.

“Why?” he asked. “She has to know they are vultures by now.”

I turned back to the window, my eyes going to the gardens beyond. A group of young women ranging in age from sixteen to fifty lounged delicately around decorated round tables enjoying catered tea and cakes. Their dresses were a sea of pastel colors, their large sun hats obscuring faces brushed delicately with makeup.

“You mean wolves,” I mumbled.

Roman joined me by the window. “Now you’re getting in the spirit.” There was silence followed by, “You realize I can still leave this house without my car, right?”

I refused to look at him. “I do, but it’s enough for me to know I tried.”

His gaze followed mine to the yard. “I have a lead on dad’s killer.”

The rise he was trying to get out of me didn’t come. “And what would it do to find him, Roman? Do you plan to kill him? Or just turn him into the police?”

“How do you know it’s a man?”

I snorted. “I saw his body, remember? I’d be shocked if a woman could do that. Not because she wasn’t capable, but because it took a lot of strength to get that knife as deep as it went in some places.”

Roman grew quiet, and I let him stew a moment before I asked, “You think Greg Hinkley was involved?”

I didn’t see Roman’s startled gaze move to my face, but I felt it. “How do you know that?”

My cheeks hollowed as I sucked them in. “Because I remembered you asking Haven if she knew him in the truck on the way to the river, and I did a little digging.”

Roman’s hands went to the sink in front of us. “There’s a lot of evidence pointing in that direction.”

“All circumstantial.”

Roman grunted. “Which is enough for me.”

I shrugged. “But not enough for everyone else. Keep digging if you want, but make it about justice, Roman. Not vengeance.”

My brother sighed. “Justice doesn’t feel like enough.”

“No,” I agreed, “it doesn’t.”

In the yard beyond, Marissa approached a young woman in a pink dress, her hands gesturing at the house. The woman’s hat lifted, and I groaned.

Roman laughed. “Cecily Davies. You’re in trouble.”

Backing toward the kitchen’s exit, I threw him an amused look. “Not if they can’t find me.”

Roman’s voice followed me as I moved into the hall. “You can run from them, but you can’t hide.”

He was right. Daniel Davies had been after me for a year to date his daughter, and as much as I’d love to keep ignoring her, she would make a great high profile wife one day. It didn’t hurt that Daniel had a lot of connections in business and politics.

My Mustang was hot when I climbed in it, and I rolled the windows down to let some of the heat out as I pulled out of the drive, my eyes on the white-washed colonial in my rear view mirror. Something in my heart clenched. Even as desperate as I felt in that house, it was still home. It was still my legacy. It was mine.

“And a damned nuisance,” I mumbled, my affection for it obvious in my tone.

My thoughts went to Haven Ambrose, as it often had the past couple of days, to the crumbling trailer we’d dropped her off at. There had been something beautiful about that trailer, something hopeful. There’d been plants on the leaning porch, some of them dying but not for lack of trying, and a white plastic chair with a romance novel draped on the armrest. It might be crumbling, but the home was loved, I had no doubt.

I was so preoccupied by the thought it shouldn’t have surprised me when I found myself pulling up at Haven’s trailer. My dashboard clock read 5:15. The green Cadillac sat in the drive. A large, matted dog barked, his tail wagging hard, his beady eyes on the Mustang. He didn’t jump on the car, but he did lift his leg to pee on my tires, his barking never ceasing.

The door to the trailer opened, and a middle-aged woman with blonde, poofed hair and big brown-framed glasses stepped out onto the porch.

“Hush, Mangy Beast!” she yelled as she limped down the concrete blocks leading down to the yard.

I cracked my door open. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

When she reached the front of my Mustang, she paused, her black dress pants contrasting greatly with her buttoned-up red blouse.

“River Brayden, right?” she asked.

Stepping free of the car, I nodded, watching as her eyes perused me slowly.

“You looking for Haven?”

I nodded again. “Is she home?”

Haven’s mom shook her head, shading her eyes with a calloused hand. “She’s down the road, first house on this stretch, helping Mr. Nelson with his garden. She often does that after her shift at work.”

I slid back into my Mustang. “Thank you.”

I was closing the door when a hand suddenly gripped it, and my gaze found Mrs. Ambrose’s face as she leaned into the vehicle.

“She’s a good person, my Haven.”

It was all she said, but there was a lot of insinuation beneath her words, some accusation, and even a little warning.

“I’m not here to hurt her,” I answered.

Her eyes searched mine. “Aren’t you?”

She slammed the door closed before I had a chance to reply.

Chapter 25

Haven

“Seriously! Where did you get all of these?”

Mr. Nelson laughed. “At Granger’s farm.”

I eyed the huge sacks of peanuts sitting on Thomas’ back porch. “And you plan to eat all of them?”

He grinned. “No, I plan to boil them down and freeze them. I figured since you didn’t have anything else to do …”

I threw him a look.

He chuckled. “Right good one you are.”

“Only because I plan to take a few bags with me,” I argued.

He winked at me. “Of course, of course …”

The sound of tires crunching on gravel followed by a slamming door had us both pausing. I walked through Mr. Nelson’s house, stopping just short of his screen door, my eyes widening at the sight of the Mustang in the drive.

“You expecting company?” Thomas asked.

I looked back at the old man as he hobbled toward me, his gaze on the drive beyond.

“Not that I know of,” I replied.

Pushing open the screen door, I stepped onto the porch, my hands rubbing my arms even in the heat.

River Brayden stepped clear of his Mustang, his jeans dark against a white button-up dress shirt he’d pulled free of his pants.

“Hey,” he called up to me.

I took a step down. “Hey.”

His hands went to his pockets, his shoulders shrugging. “Your mother told me I’d find you here.”

There was something endearing about the way his dark hair fell over his forehead, and about the way the tails of his shirt were wrinkled where they were bunched around his hands.

“Was there something you needed?” I asked.

He didn’t answer, just shrugged again.

I gestured at the house. “Wanna come in?”

His gaze moved past mine to Mr. Nelson, who stood with his dark, wrinkled hand against the door.

“Gotta lot to do here, young man. Hope you ain’t afraid of work,” Mr. Nelson said.

River moved up the stairs, pausing next to me a moment before moving past, his hand out to shake Thomas’.

“River Brayden,” he introduced, “and I’ve never been afraid of work.”

Mr. Nelson nodded and held the door open. “Thomas Nelson, and I ain’t never turned a soul away for wanting to help. You ready, Haven?”

I followed them in, my gaze going back to River’s Mustang as the screen door slammed shut. It was dark and beautiful next to Thomas’ small house.

“We’re just getting ready to boil and bag some peanuts,” Mr. Nelson was saying as River accompanied us to the back porch.

Mrs. Nelson’s plants were suddenly magical in the small space, green and full of love. A fly buzzed near my head, and I swiped at it.

“It’s a hot job,” I pointed out.

River looked at me, his mouth turning up at the corners. “Are you trying to talk me out of staying?”

I frowned at him. “No … I’m trying to figure out what made you come.”

Mr. Nelson cleared his throat. “I’ll just be getting the pots. We’ll be boiling them on my outside cooker.”

Thomas brushed past us and shut the door behind him. The sound of cabinets opening and closing in the kitchen was loud and obvious.

River glanced around us at the porch, his gaze pausing on the peeling screen and hanging plants.

“I’m not quite sure what made me come,” he admitted, his gaze finally resting on mine. “It seemed right.”

Maybe it was best I didn’t question his intentions. His presence made me feel safe and uncomfortable at the same time. It was a feeling I didn’t like, and yet didn’t want to give up.

“You don’t have friends you’d rather be with?” I asked him.

He shook his head. “Most of my close friends are away at college, and my newer ones are at Cambridge.”

I laughed. “So it was loneliness that brought you here?”

The smile I got in return was a soft one. “If that’s what you want to believe.”

There was mischief in his eyes, and I found myself caught up in the glint, the dare he left between us making me feel reckless and maybe even a little immoral.

The back door opened again, and Mr. Nelson returned carrying two large cooking pots.

“These’ll do,” he murmured, his dark eyes meeting mine as he handed me one. I could see the caution in his gaze.

River relieved him of the other pot, his gaze taking in the two large bags on the porch.

“You have to do all of these today?” he asked.

Mr. Nelson cleared his throat.

I laughed. “He doesn’t have to, but Thomas here doesn’t like to leave things unfinished once he’s decided to start something. It’ll be a late night.”

Mr. Nelson glared at me, and I hugged him affectionately.

“We’re burning daylight,” Thomas grumbled as he led the way into the yard. An old rusty cooker sat in a cleared off section of the lawn next to the porch, and Mr. Nelson laid one of the pots on it as I dragged the water hose to him.

It only took a few minutes to fill the first pot with water and peanuts, but the heat was a beast, and having the cooker on under the afternoon sun had us all drenched before the peanuts had even started to boil.

Rolling my tank top up, I shoved it under the bottom of my bra before braiding my hair with my fingers and securing it with a rubber band. River had unbuttoned his shirt while Thomas had removed a striped, short-sleeve button-up, leaving him in a white T-shirt with suspenders pulled over it.

River swiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “What do you plan to do with these?”

I fought not to stare at him, at his wide chest and chocolate eyes. “We’ll bag them to freeze. After that, they can be taken out to boil any time of year, though I personally like hot peanuts best during the winter.”

Mr. Nelson grunted in agreement.

 
River stared at us. “Can you believe I’ve never had boiled peanuts.”

I blinked. “And you’re from the South?”

He laughed, his hands coming up in a gesture of defense. “I know. Such a shame, huh?”

“An utter one!” I insisted.

Thomas clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Gotta fix that, boy.” He moved to the porch, pulling down several citronella pails before lighting them to lay around the yard in order to keep the mosquitoes at bay. I kicked off my flip-flops, digging my toes into the grass as I helped place them in a circle around the cooker.

“So you do this every summer?” River asked.

He seemed genuinely interested, and I looked up at him. “No, just when there are peanuts, but there are other things that need canning or put up.”

“And pickled,” Mr. Nelson added.

I scrunched my nose. “My least favorite thing to do.”

Thomas snorted. “Mrs. Nelson used to love it.”

I grinned. “Keep telling yourself that, Mr. Nelson.”

Pulling a chair off the porch, I held it out to Thomas, and he took it, sitting carefully. River watched us, his gaze following me as I brought another chair into the yard and offered it to him.

There was a hammock hung between two trees in the yard not far from the cooker, and I sat on it, letting it rock me back and forth as I stared at the cooker’s flame. River ignored the chair and sat beside me, making the hammock swing wildly, his arm going around my waist to keep me from falling out.

“You break my hammock, you replace it,” Mr. Nelson grumbled.

River grinned. “I’ll do that, sir.”

It was a little disconcerting sitting this close to him after we’d been together at the river. Every place his leg and arm touched, my skin burned.

“You have a funny way of enjoying the summer, Haven Ambrose,” River commented.

 
I stared out into the yard, at the cooker in the corner, the way the shadows grew long around it in the late afternoon. Mr. Nelson leaned back, his eyes closed, resting. Bees buzzed around potted flowers sitting on the porch steps, and a grey bob-tailed cat slunk from under the stairs to rest at Thomas’ feet.

“It’s the best way to enjoy it,” I said. It surprised me how much I meant it.

The hammock swayed gently, our legs rubbing together as River rocked us. The cat purred.

My gaze went to River’s profile. His head was back, his eyes on the leaves above our head, his white shirt splayed open.

He caught me looking, his eyes meeting mine briefly, his mouth turning up in a grin.

Out of nowhere, he said, “I came here because I found myself thinking about you a lot.”

I gripped the netting on the hammock. “About me?”

He didn’t say anything, just stared at the cooker before letting his gaze move over the yard. Mr. Nelson snored, the sound loud enough that I had a sneaking suspicion he was faking.

“You’re right,” River whispered. “This is the best way to enjoy summer. The way my life is … I’d forgotten.”

My fingers were so close to his, I found them itching to touch him.

“You don’t spend a lot of time outside?” I asked, my fingers fisting so hard around the netting I could feel the fabric digging into my skin.

River sighed. “When my grandmother was alive, we were always outdoors. There’s a place in the gardens behind our estate that reminds me of this spot. My grandmother put a gazebo there with cushioned seats. She always said it was her special place. A place where she could think away from the humdrum noise of our life.”

I leaned back, my grip on the netting lost. “Humdrum noise? From the outside, your life looks easy.”

River snorted. “From the outside maybe. And I guess financially it can be. But outside of that … there’s a lot of humdrum noise. Trust me.”

We fell into silence, both of us leaning back, the hammock rocking steadily back and forth, back and forth.

“I could get you a better job,” he said suddenly.

I froze, my gaze flying to his. He was watching me, his glinting eyes moving over my face, over the hasty braid I’d done, frizzy strands attempting to escape in the heat.

“What?” I whispered.

His hand found my hand, his fingers entwining with mine. The contact sent tingles all the way to my toes.

“A better job, Haven,” River repeated. “Maybe an office job.”

I stared. His voice was full of sincerity. There was no pity in his gaze.

Shaking my head, I murmured, “No, I’m happy where I’m at for now.”

He didn’t pursue the topic. Maybe he sensed arguing about it would be a serious blow to my pride.

His fingers tightened on mine. “We should really talk about the river.”

I nudged him with my shoulder. “No, we really shouldn’t.”