by Sharon Sala
Total silence.
Meg held her breath. This was something they’d been through eighteen years ago, and she didn’t want to hear her mother spout some “I forbid you to have any contact” crap again. To her surprise, her mother’s voice was fairly calm.
“Well, it certainly took him long enough,” Dolly said.
Meg sighed. “That’s sort of what I said.”
“So, why now?”
Meg hesitated. The more she said, the more she felt she was revealing things he might not want told, but this was her family, and they needed to understand why she was even considering the possibility of reigniting the relationship.
“Six months ago he was electrocuted in an on-the-job accident. After they resuscitated him and while he was still in the hospital, he said he began dreaming about his dad, and in every dream his father kept telling him to go home. He came back for justice, Mom. Someone on Rebel Ridge got away with murder, and he’s going to open a big can of worms when he begins digging into the past. People took sides before, and they’ll do it again. But he’s not a kid anymore, and I have no doubt that he’s not going to stop until he gets the answers he came for.”
“This could become dangerous,” Dolly said.
“He knows that.”
“I don’t want to think about you getting hurt in—”
“Mom. Seriously? I’ve already been hurt by a man who has nothing to do with Lincoln Fox. If it hadn’t been for Linc showing up when he did, there’s no telling what would have happened to me. He stopped Prince White and set the law on his trail. I am safer right now because of him, so don’t go down that road, okay? A few years back we weathered Ryal protecting Beth from the mob, for God’s sake. We all went through hell with Quinn and Mariah. Can the Walker clan just please back off and let me see where this goes without trying to tell me what to do? He was my first love. I wouldn’t mind it if he became my last.”
Dolly sighed. “You’re right. Be happy, Meg. Be safe. And bring him to Thanksgiving dinner. I’ve already cleared it with everyone else that we’re having it on Wednesday evening instead of Thursday noon, so you can make your quilt show.”
“Okay.”
“If he gives you any trouble about it, remind him that because it’s Thanksgiving, we want to thank the man who continues to be your knight in shining armor.”
Meg’s vision blurred. “Thank you, Mom.”
“You’re welcome. And don’t cook those pork chops too early. They’re best right out of the skillet.”
Meg laughed through tears. The gossips had even reported what she’d bought to feed him. Lord.
“Yes, Mom, I know, and thanks.” She hung up, then dropped her head and closed her eyes. “God, please don’t let this be a mistake.”
She took the pork chops out of the skillet and put in the last two to cook. After a sprinkle of salt and pepper, she checked the heat, then tested the potatoes in the oven. When the last pork chops were done, the potatoes would be, too. Coleslaw was chilling in the refrigerator, and coffee was made. All she needed was a man to eat with.
Honey started barking.
A little shot of panic came and went as she glanced up at the clock. It was fifteen to six.
“Showtime.”
She took off her apron, checked her blue sweater and jeans for any stray bits of flour, then started for the door, pausing at the hall mirror to check her appearance. Her eyes were still shiny from the unshed tears. Maybe he wouldn’t notice.
Honey kept barking.
Meg lengthened her stride. It wouldn’t be good if her dog sent him running before she got him in the door. As it turned out, her fears were groundless. When she opened the door Linc was on the porch with the dog at his feet.
“I see you’ve met my vicious guard dog.”
Linc could hardly think what to say except what was on his mind.
“You look beautiful,” he said softly, then glanced down at Honey. “Don’t be upset with her. She just knows the good guys from the bad, that’s all.”
“Thank you,” she said, and tried not to hyperventilate as he walked past her, dwarfing her by nearly a foot. “Let me take your coat and hat.”
Linc took off the coat and Stetson. “Are they okay here on this chair?”
She nodded.
“Then I’ve got this,” he said.
It took her a few seconds to focus on something besides the ripple of muscles beneath his shirt, and the width of his shoulders.
“Something smells good. Is there anything I can do to help?” he asked.
And just like that, the awkwardness was gone. “I need to turn the pork chops. You can set the table.”
“Yes, ma’am. Lead the way.”
His steps on the hardwood floor were sure and long as he followed her into the kitchen—as if he knew where he was going and it wasn’t going to take him long to get there. Then he saw dessert and groaned.
“Oh, Lord. Pineapple upside-down cake. I haven’t had that in ages.”
Meg hid a smile as she pointed. “Plates are in the cabinet above the sideboard. Tableware is in the top drawer.”
“Got it,” he said, and began setting down their plates with an easy motion. “Oh...I want to tell you how much I appreciate that beautiful quilt. You’re the last thing I think of when I pull it over me at night and the first thing I think of when I throw back the covers every morning.”
Meg’s heart stuttered. She felt heat rising from her neck up to her cheeks, and there wasn’t a damn thing she could do to stop it. Less than two minutes in the house and he’d already made her blush.
“I’m glad it’s keeping you warm.”
“And then some,” he said. “Are we having coffee?”
She nodded.
“Which cups do you want me to use?”
“Use the white mugs. They’ll keep it warm longer.”
He took down a couple and set them in the proper places, then had begun to add the knives, forks and spoons when he paused to study the design.
“I remember these,” he said softly.
Meg sighed. It was inevitable that their past would resurrect itself in an infinite number of ways, but she hadn’t expected him to remember her grandmother’s flatware.
“It was Grandma Foster’s service.”
Linc paused and looked over at her, remembering a picnic dinner up at their place one Fourth of July. “Are they both gone?”
“Yes, and the old house, too.”
She wasn’t going to get into the fact that it had been blown up by the mob who’d been after Beth for witnessing a murder. If he stuck around, he would find all that out in good time.
“Just like my grandpa Fox and his place,” he said, and finished setting the table.
Meg took up the last of the pork chops and carried the platter to the table, then went back to get the baked potatoes out of the oven.
“What next?” Linc asked.
“We’ll need butter for the baked potatoes, and there’s also a bowl of coleslaw in the refrigerator. If you can get both of those things, then we’re good to go.”
She had baked three potatoes and brought them to the table in a wide, shallow bowl, then poured coffee in the mugs while Linc added the other items to the table.
“Please tell me we’re ready to eat, because I’m starving,” he said.
She chuckled. “We’re ready.”
“Praise be,” he said, and then once again surprised her by seating her first. As soon as he sat down, he reached for her hand. “I assume you still say grace?”
“Uh...yes,” she said, and closed her eyes as Linc blessed the food, but she couldn’t remember a thing he said for thinking of how it felt to be holding his hand. It wasn’t until he said “amen” that she realized he was through.
The meal that had begun with a blessing continued with an ease she hadn’t expected. By the time they got to dessert she knew all about Beulah Justice’s door falling off, and that he was taking Tildy to Sunday dinner down at Frankie’s Eats. He’d tal
ked about the two crews of men who worked for him in Dallas, how many houses they’d already built this year, the name of his favorite Mexican restaurant in Dallas, and the old stray tomcat they called Chili who lived in the warehouse where Linc’s equipment was stored.
She was struck by the differences in their lifestyles, and yet he’d come back to this isolated world without bemoaning the lack of amenities he’d taken for granted. She had not asked him what it had been like to be in prison until he’d turned twenty-one, and he had not mentioned a word regarding her failed marriage to a killer. It seemed they were on the same page about moving forward. It was the only option they had if this was going to work.
When he got up to carry plates to the counter, she cut the cake and refilled their cups.
“I’m assuming it’s fair to ask for seconds,” he asked as he took the first bite of cake. Then he rolled his eyes as he chewed. “Oh, man...make that thirds.”
Meg laughed. Success was a heady thing. “You can have all you want,” she said.
He paused, his fork halfway through the cake, and looked up. “Of cake.”
“Is that a question or a verification?” she asked.
He grinned. “I figured it wouldn’t hurt to ask.”
“One thing at a time,” she said.
“Right,” he said, and kept eating, but the proverbial hat had just been tossed into the ring. At least he’d given her something to think about. God knows, he’d been thinking about it—a lot.
Linc was finishing his second piece of cake when they both realized the wind was rising.
Meg pushed her coffee aside and got up to look out. “That storm front is finally here.”
“As long as it’s liquid,” Linc said, repeating what he’d been thinking earlier.
She turned around and then stopped, caught by the sight of him sitting at her table. This still didn’t feel real.
He looked up and caught her staring.
“What? Got cake on my face?”
“No. I was just thinking how surreal this moment feels.”
He stood and walked toward her.
She watched him coming and felt as if she’d been waiting for this moment all her life.
He cupped her cheeks, brushing a thumb across her lips.
“One of my biggest regrets was that I never got to tell you goodbye. But I’m close enough now to tell you hello.”
He lowered his head slowly, giving her plenty of time to back off. Instead, she lifted her face and closed her eyes. The beginning of the kiss was a tentative foray, but it exploded into lust so fast they both stopped and pulled apart simultaneously.
Linc took a deep breath.
Meg was trembling with a need she hadn’t felt in years.
“So...hello, Margaret Ann.”
She sighed. “Hello, Lincoln Wade.”
The wind blew rain beneath the porch roof, splattering the droplets against the glass like little bullets, but they didn’t hear.
“So now what?” he asked.
She took a deep breath. “I will be honest. I would seriously like to go to bed with you.”
His heartbeat slammed against his rib cage, then skittered back into rhythm.
“Why do I feel like there’s a ‘but’ coming?”
“Do I really have to say it?” she asked.
With great reluctance, he shook his head. “No, you do not. The fact that you want to is good enough.”
All the tension she’d been feeling was gone. “Thank you. Oh...I almost forgot. You’re officially invited to Thanksgiving dinner at Mom and Jake’s. They already knew you were back. And coming here.” She rolled her eyes. “My brother James carries the mail. My brother Ryal went to the E.R. after you left and asked who brought me in. The fact that they never said a word and waited for me to tell them is still surprising. Also, we’re having Thanksgiving Wednesday evening instead of Thursday noon, because I leave to go to Lexington on Thursday for a craft-and-quilt show. I’m sorry they—”
He shrugged. “It’s no big deal, honey. I already let the cat out of the bag myself. If I had to guess, I’d say pretty much everybody on Rebel Ridge knows I’m back by now, and why I came.”
“That’s good, right?”
“Yeah, that’s good. And you can tell your mother thank-you and I’ll be happy to come.” Then he pointed at the dirty dishes. “Now...you wash and I’ll dry.”
“Oh, I’ll clean up after—”
“No. You cooked. I’ll help clean. And while we work, can I pick your brain a little? I have copies of all the paperwork about the fire and my arrest, and a lot of questions without answers.”
“I’ll do anything I can to help,” she said.
At that point Honey began barking. Meg jumped. Visitors were rare for her at night, and they never came without calling ahead.
Linc frowned. “Are you expecting anyone?”
“No.”
“I’ll go look,” he said, and strode out of the kitchen, with Meg right behind him.
The security light was already on outside, and Honey was on the front porch, still barking. Even through the rain, Meg recognized the man standing beside the truck and grabbed Linc’s arm.
“That’s Fagan White. What in the world?”
Linc frowned. “Let him in and we’ll soon find out, only don’t tell him I’m here.”
“He can see your truck.”
“But he won’t know who it belongs to. Talk to him. I won’t be far. We might be able to figure out what Prince was up to.”
She turned on the living room light and opened the door to a blast of cold and rain. As soon as she stepped out she grabbed Honey’s collar.
“Good girl, Honey,” she said. “That’s enough.” Then she waved Fagan up to the porch.
He came running. Once he got out of the rain, she stopped him.
“That’s far enough.”
Raindrops were running off Fagan’s poncho onto the legs of his pants and his boots. He shifted from one foot to the other as he looked down at the dog and then at the porch ceiling above her head—anywhere but her face.
“I’m real sorry to just show up like this, and I didn’t want to scare you none, especially after what my idiot brother has done.”
Meg stayed in the doorway, still holding on to Honey. “What are you doing here?”
“I’ve been gone all day and I’m just on my way home. I intended to come by before now and tell you how sorry I am about how Prince treated you, but the time got away from me, and then the storm hit. I was about to lose my nerve and just keep driving, but I decided I couldn’t sleep another night with that guilt on my soul. I had to apologize for my brother’s actions.”
“Okay, so you’re sorry. Thank you for coming by,” she said, and started to back up into the house.
Then Fagan called out, “Uh, wait up, Meg. There’s another matter I wanted to speak to you about.”
“And what would that be?”
“I don’t know if you heard about Bobby Lewis’s health, considerin’ how long you two have been divorced.”
“I know he’s dying,” she said.
Fagan nodded. “Right. So here’s the deal. I’ve been trying to buy a piece of land for some years now that Bobby owns. I’ve mentioned it now and then to Claude, but he never said much, then Claude went to visit Bobby a few weeks back, and it seems Bobby has finally decided to give a bit of it up. He sent word by Claude to tell me to come see him, but I wasn’t home, so Claude told Prince instead. I just found all this out after Prince lit out for parts unknown, so I went to visit Bobby myself today, but he’s too sick for visitors. So I don’t know exactly which piece of his land he was willing to sell...just that he’s only selling enough to pay for his buryin’.”
Meg listened to the rambling explanation and knew every word coming out of Fagan’s mouth was a lie. She knew because Fagan had yet to look at her. He had talked to the dog. He had talked to the porch light and her left shoulder. He had done everything but meet her gaze.
>
“And what does this have to do with me?” she asked.
“All I know is that the piece he’s willing to sell is five acres near where he supposedly buried Ike, who I was told was his favorite hunting dog. I don’t suppose you would remember where that was? I’d like to take a look at it myself before I give him any kind of a bid. It might not be to my likin’.”
Meg stifled a gasp. She knew exactly where that land was—right behind the old barn on the homestead. And it was proof Fagan was lying, because Bobby didn’t own that land by himself. It belonged to him, Claude and their sister, Jane.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t have the faintest idea. That must have happened after we were divorced.”
Fagan frowned. Either she was lying to him or Prince had lied. He took a step forward.
“Are you sure? I mean—”
“She’s sure,” Linc said.
Fagan stopped in his tracks. The man who’d just appeared behind Meg was so big he blocked the light. Who the hell is that?
He began to mumble. “Uh...I didn’t know you... I mean, I was just...”
Linc put his hands on Meg’s shoulders and moved her gently aside, then walked right up to where Fagan was standing.
“It looks like you and your brother don’t know when to stop.”
“Well, here now...I didn’t mean nothin’ by... Uh, wait a minute! That’s not true! I didn’t come to hurt her. I just thought she could save me another trip back to the prison before it was too late.”
“But obviously she can’t. And it’s time you said good-night.”
Fagan shaded his eyes against the porch light as he continued to stare at Linc’s face.
“You look familiar, but I can’t seem to place—”
“Lincoln Fox. Tell the lady good-night.”
Fagan took a quick step backward and then stumbled on the top step. He would have fallen out into the rain if Lincoln hadn’t grabbed him by the arm. He didn’t know whether the firm grip Lincoln had on his arm was because he’d saved him from a fall or because he wanted to break his neck.
He quickly pulled free, his heart hammering inside his chest.
“Well, it’s been a long time since we seen you here. You just visiting, or you planning to stay?”
“I came home for a reason. It remains to be seen whether I stay or not afterward.”
