Sinful Secrets Box Set: Sloth, Murder, Covet

by James, Ella

  I stick my fingertip into the baggie. It’s no bigger than a business card. I feel the strips. So many of them. My jaw aches as I clench it against the urge to stuff a dozen of the little fucking triangles under my tongue.

  I’m not the praying kind, but I send one up.

  Help me. Please.

  Then I lean my head against the bathtub’s rim and breathe.

  * * *

  Finley

  Carrying a bleating lamb down a muddy trail in the midst of a storm is quite a challenge. I couldn’t do it if I didn’t know the trail by heart. But I do, and so we’re making it.

  The sky is black as night and pouring buckets, with rolling clouds that move and shift so quickly they seem supernatural. Wind blows sheets of rain across the valley out below me, turning all the dirt paths mud. Another strong gust makes me wobble, but I dig my heels into the squishy ground, wrap my little lambie baby closer, and lean my head back slightly so my jacket hood falls lower over my forehead—and I keep going. Slow and steady wins the race.

  I’m shivering as I tuck the wool blanket around my bundle. I found the ewe who birthed her dead near the feed troughs, with this wee one bleating in the grass. I helped her feed from another ewe for a bit, but when the lightning started up in earnest, I knew it was time to head downhill.

  I’ve got some ewe colostrum in the freezer at Grammy’s house. Also a thermal blanket. I wish I had stored those things down at the clinic, but…I didn’t. I’ll be dropping by and knocking, politely asking him if I might rummage through his freezer.

  I cuddle Baby closer as I reach the ridge of rocks near Gammy’s cottage, over which I see the blurry lights of the settlement. With careful footwork, I make it past the stones, down the steepest part of the path, and into view of the house.

  I see light through the windows. I hope that means he’s awake. It isn’t late, only about seven, although the storm has caused dark’s curtain to fall early.

  “Almost there,” I murmur, blinking rain out of my eyes.

  Baby bleats in reply, and I feel her rooting at my arm as I clomp through the mucky grass around the cottage. I shift her weight so I can work the key into the door. Then I remember I’ll need to knock.

  I raise my hand and knock three times, loud and steady. Then I shut my eyes and steel myself for that face. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph—but that face. I’ve never seen a man so handsome. If I’m being honest, I didn’t realize one existed. That he’s Declan Carnegie…well, it makes my heart sore. For so many reasons.

  I paste a polite smile on my face and wait, my heart tap-dancing.

  C’mon, Carnegie. I know you’re in there.

  I look around the stoop, searching for mud tracks or other signs of life, but all I see are my own boot-prints and shadows.

  Perhaps he’s not here. Perhaps someone took him home for dinner or he’s at the pub. A fellow like him—probably the pub. Dot is pouring him drinks, and Holly’s giving him that odd look I saw her give another tourist recently; she said it’s called a duck face. Dot and Holly are both young and unencumbered. Maybe he’ll sweep one of them away, across the ocean and—

  Sod off, Finley.

  I knock again, a wee bit louder. Maybe he can’t hear over the monsoon. Baby bleats, and after yet another minute, I knock as if I’d like to beat the door down. When it remains shut, I chew my lip and push my key into the lock and slowly turn the doorknob.

  “Declan?”

  Saying his name into the dark crevice between door and doorjamb makes my throat feel like it’s closing up. But Baby bleats again, and I’m not sure what choice I have. She needs warmth and sustenance. Wee ones must eat quite a lot quite quickly after birth. We’ve already lost a bit of ground on our walk.

  I push the door open and, finding the living room dark, step inside.

  “Declan?”

  I should shout, but I can’t seem to speak above a murmur. I’m shivering as I glance down the hall. The bedroom door appears cracked, just as I left it. The place feels still. Likely it’s unoccupied.

  “Declan?” Loudly this time. When I hear nothing, I release a long breath.

  He’s not here, and why would he be? The entire island wants to take him home. They’re likely stuffing him with milk tarts.

  I kick my sopping boots off gently by the door, wriggle out of my dripping coat, and creep into the kitchen. I grab a few colostrum bottles from the freezer, plunk them in a pot atop the stove. While they thaw, I’ll get some blankets from my old bedroom.

  I move quietly down the hall, as if he might pop up at any moment. If he did, we could be stranded here together. Lunacy. How disappointing that I’m such a base creature. One fine-looking male specimen, and it’s farewell to Godly morals and good sense.

  In the bedroom, I find the quilt a wee bit wrinkled, and I wonder if indeed he was here. Surely I’d have left it tidier than that. I move toward the bathroom, Baby squirming in my arms now.

  “Shh,” I murmur. “Just a moment and I’ll get you fed, dear.”

  I want to dry her off and get her wrapped more tightly. Then the bottle will be thawed, and I can feed her underneath the awning on the patio so I won’t be inside should he return. After that, it’s down the road and to the Patches for me. When it pours like this, the flocks end up stranded on the foothills near the fields where we grow potatoes and graze cattle, afraid of the flowing gulches, mired in the mud, or caught in flash floods. Since Uncle Ollie hurt his back last year, it’s been my job to tend them.

  I step into the bathroom, my head filled with such thoughts, and stop dead in my tracks.

  Stone the cows!

  He’s in the tub.

  I gape down at him, sprawled out in a bubble bath. His dark head rests against the tub’s rim, exposing his thick, tanned throat. His eyes are shut, so he can’t see me as I blink down at his massive shoulders, round biceps, and thick, hair-dusted forearms.

  One big fist is locked around…a bottle? As I squint, he shifts his shoulder, wincing like he’s had a long day at the nets and needs a good soak.

  What in the name of the Blessed Mother?

  He rubs at the shoulder, shifting his big body underneath the cloak of bubbles, and I see his thick pectoral—

  “BAAAAAAAAH!”

  Baby bleats, I jump, and Declan jolts up in a slosh of bubbles. He looks stunned, confused, then horror-stricken as his gaze falls to the bubbles.

  “FUCK!” He bats at his lap, sloshing water all about. Then he jumps up, slapping at the water’s surface, yelling, “FUCK! FUCK! Aghh, goddamn it…”

  I’m gaping at his bubble-covered bum when his hand connects with the tub’s side instead of the bubbles, making a sharp, metal sound that sets my heart racing.

  “I’m sorry,” I manage.

  He leans lower, shoveling water from the tub onto the floor. Then he steps onto the rug, his massive body dripping bubbles. He mutters something, spins away from me. “FUCK!”

  I step back. His backside...it’s so muscular. Quite unreal, really. He turns sideways, facing the wall, his arms drawn up about his head, and I can see his—

  Don’t look!

  I make a noise—something like “whoawhoa”—and he whirls toward me, looking murderous. “And who the fuck are you?”

  MALE PARTS! Not for long, merely an instant before my gaze leaps to his furious face. But I can feel my own cheeks burning.

  “I’m sorry. I came to get—”

  “How the hell did you get in here?”

  “This was my Gam— err, my grandmother’s home.”

  His face is pure fury: that lovely mouth pulled taut, his brows drawn down, his ocean-blue eyes narrowed with contempt.

  “Your grandmother used to live here, so you thought you could let yourself inside, wander around, then into the bathroom, without knocking?”

  I take another step back. I’m not looking down, but I can sense the size of it in my periphery, the way it simply hangs there, dripping bubbles on the floor.

  “I’m t
erribly sorry. I didn’t mean—what I mean to convey is, I thought you weren’t home.”

  He steps forward. “You knew I was staying here? And you still barged in?”

  My neck and cheeks are burning, suddenly with irritation. “I knocked quite a lot and called for you. You didn’t answer.”

  “What kind of person lets herself into a house where she knows someone else is staying? Even if the person isn’t home? Is that how you do things here? No regard for other people’s privacy?”

  Anger stiffens my spine. “Absolutely not. I required something I could only get here. Frozen milk for her.” I hold up Baby, who bleats woefully, as if on cue.

  Declan tilts his head, then makes a show of looking around the bathroom, as if to point out there’s no milk in the bathroom.

  I grit my molars. “I had no clue you were here. As I said, I knocked—”

  “I was asleep.”

  “I knocked loudly on the front door, many times.”

  “And then you let yourself in.”

  “Hardly novel!” I’m surprised by the edge in my voice, more surprised to find that I feel angry and not frightened when his face tightens. “I knocked many times, as is the proper custom universally. When no one answered, I came in to get something essential. Is that a crime where you hail from?”

  “Yeah.” His mouth twists. “It’s called breaking and entering.”

  “I didn’t break anything. And it’s my house!”

  He gives a little shake of his head. “There are Peeping Tom laws, too.”

  “Excuse me?”

  His mouth twists in a devilish smirk.

  Shame sweeps through me as I realize what he means, followed by sheer outrage. “I didn’t know you were here! And I’m not peeping at anything.”

  He shifts his stance, lifting his brows as he attempts to draw my eyes downward.

  “You’re…horrid.” The ache in my chest blooms like a wound. All these years, since Prince Declan—

  Baby bleats. I cradle her closer. “If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t even have a place to stay.”

  “You don’t think so?”

  “What, because your last name is Carnegie?” I see a smirk lift his lips, and it makes want to pop him. “You think you’re so vitally important? Do you think we owe you something? No one asked you to come!”

  “Actually, Mayor Acton begged me to visit.”

  “Well he’s deluded! Baseball is an awful sport. I don’t find you impressive in the slightest!”

  “No?” He looks down at himself. My eyes dip down on reflex—only for an instant before I jerk my gaze back to his face.

  “You’re a pig!”

  “And you’re in heat.” He arches his thick brows, as if to challenge me.

  “That is absolutely vile.”

  He shrugs. “You should own it. You may think baseball is boring, but you’re not bored by this bat.” A tight grin rounds his cheeks, and I struggle to use words.

  “That’s repulsive as well as completely untrue. As it happens, I’m repelled by knob-heads.”

  His eyes narrow. “I don’t think so.” He points to his chest, and I glance down in horror. I can see the hard points of my nipples through my blouse.

  Stricken beyond coherence, I whirl and fly into the kitchen, where I start tossing frozen milk bottles into a canvas bag. Baby bleats her hunger. I’m shaking with fury.

  “Rushing out?” I hear him say behind me.

  “Jump off a cliff!”

  “I don’t think so. Not yet, anyway.” I hear a sigh-like sound. “Why don’t you sit down there for a minute? We can start this over.”

  I whirl. “Sod off!”

  I hate myself for how my eyes peruse his body—clad now in a towel—before I brush past him, setting Baby on the floor so I can jerk my boots and coat on.

  I feel him watching from the doorway between den and kitchen. When I’m dressed to go, I grab a blanket off the couch, scoop Baby up, and grab my bag.

  “Try to stay dry,” he calls.

  I stick up my middle finger as I stomp out the door and into the storm once more.

  Chapter Five

  Finley

  When I awaken, curled on my side with Baby cuddled near my chest, I see sunlight streaming through the blinds into the clinic’s main room—but a glance outside reveals it’s streaking through more dark clouds. The radio confirms what I can tell by looking at the sky: more rain expected. When I step outside to urge Baby to go poo in the grass, I can feel it in the air—a kind of pause. The air feels too still between breezes, too heavy as it tosses my hair.

  Lower Lane is fairly sunken, just a muddy river lined by dripping houses. Someone drives by—Father Barnard, I believe. The tires of his Jeep spray mud. I gather Baby back inside and spend the morning feeding her and working out a sort of diaper.

  “What am I to do with you?” I smile down at her.

  She prances over to the waiting area and back to our bed, tossing her head back, as if to make me laugh. I’m doing just that when a knock sounds at the door.

  “Mmm? And who could this be?”

  Baby stands beside me as I pull the door open, revealing Anna and wee Kayti. “Well, hello there.”

  “Oh, my shoes!”

  Anna’s Mary Janes are caked in mud.

  “Oh no. It’s a river out there, and more coming, I hear.”

  “Right monsoon.”

  I smile at Kayti. “Hello, lovely.”

  “Are you going to let us in?”

  “Of course, but—”

  “What is that thing?”

  I follow Anna’s wide eyes to my fuzzy comrade. “Baby?”

  “You let a lamb into the clinic?”

  I shrug. “She’s an orphan, needed frozen milk. Did we have a well check this morning?”

  Anna laughs. “I’m supposed to be the one with mum brain, Finley!”

  “You were in the morning, before Wills and Doris?”

  She waves Kayti’s hand at me. “I need a vaccine! So the tourists don’t kill me with their horrid germs!”

  “Ugh—speaking of.”

  I roll a football from a basket in the corner across the rug. As Baby trots after it, I lead Anna and Kayti to the birth and baby room, where I tell Anna what happened with the Carnegie and check Kayti over. Well, not all of what happened. I leave out the part about his bull-sized male parts. And my own parts. I can’t bear repeating it.

  “I think he dropped a soda bottle in the tub. Some sort of bottle.”

  Anna shakes her head, frowning.

  “He was a right knob-head, that’s the primary point of my story. Spoiled, entitled, rude. The worst sort.”

  “Disappointing, but perhaps I’m not surprised,” she says. “I saw him.”

  “Meaning?” I ask as I press on Kayti’s belly.

  “Well, he is uncommonly easy on the eyes. You know how that can go to one’s head a bit at times.”

  I check under Kayti’s diaper, and then Anna re-fastens the Velcro. “I wouldn’t know.”

  “Oh, c’mon. You’ve always been one of the pretty girls, Fin-Fin.”

  “Not so.” I take a bit to listen to Kayti’s heart then pull the stethoscope away from her pudgy chest and smile. “Sounds healthy to me.”

  Anna smiles. “On to the fun now?”

  I nod. While I prep the syringe, Anna asks, “Are you missing Doctor?”

  I grab a swab of numbing lotion. “I think not so terribly.”

  “That’s good. Does he call often?”

  “Every few days, unless there’s something to discuss. I’m holding up quite well, though. I know how to get along without him.” I wince. “Okay, Kayti, it’s that time. Ready to give those lungs a workout?”

  I clean her fat thigh with an alcohol wipe and rub numbing lotion over that spot.

  “I’ll make it quick, okay?”

  I do just that, but there are many tears, so many Anna rushes out with Kayti so she needn’t see my evil face longer than nece
ssary.

  “I’m sorry, Kayti! Have a nicer day now!” I call out behind them.

  After they leave, I offer Baby another bottle and try to keep my mind away from him.

  What does it matter if he’s a lout? What has he to do with me? There is something, of course, but…that’s no matter. It’s hardly my only option.

  I think of other things, like what the night will bring for me. I didn’t check the slopes last night for wayward sheep; Baby was shivering so badly by time we neared the clinic, I felt I should stay put with her. Later, though, I’ll have to leave her somewhere—perhaps with Petunia White—and go and round them up before a mudslide gets them.

  Baby guzzles four bottles between the time that Anna leaves and Wills arrives. I draw his blood without much incident; he’s required growth hormone injections since he turned two, so he’s accustomed to needles. After he leaves, Doris hobbles in and laughs at Baby in her cloth diaper.

  “She looks more a mess than I do!”

  Doris checks out fine despite her kidney disease. I help her down the muddy steps and into one of the community Broncos, driven by her daughter, May.

  When the vehicle pulls away, I find I’m face to face with him.

  The Carnegie stands in the mud pie that is Lower Lane, wearing a blank face and a black T-shirt. His dark hair is messy, his full lips turned down. From where I stand, some twenty meters away, he looks preternaturally large—like a cowboy ready for a showdown in some Western film.

  I stare at him. Well, glare at him. Why is he taking up good space in Lower Lane? Why am I wasting my time looking at him?

  Without another moment wasted, I march back inside the clinic.

  * * *

  Declan

  After a stop at the café, confirming what I know in my bones—I’m fucked—I walk back to the house in a steady drizzle. The house that belongs to her, to Finley Evans—keeper of the clinic keys. Tristan’s one and only temporary doctor in the absence of the real one, who’s gone on some kind of trip to Capetown.

  I didn’t sleep more than half an hour last night—not just because I dropped my whole stash into the tub and had no sleeping pills. I felt like shit when she left. Not just bad, but kind of surprised that I was such a fucking dick. And not to just anybody, either. I was a fuckface to this red-haired girl who might be the girl: Finley Evans.