Butch lowered his head, letting her brush her lips over his. A touch more than a kiss. He intended to stand there, showing her he wouldn’t ask for more than she gave, but his hands rose of their own accord to cradle her head, tipping up her chin. He pressed his lips to the corners of her mouth, her chin, her eyes, and the tip of her nose before returning to her mouth for more. The hunger in him demanded more. He nipped her lower lip, pulling her tightly against him. Kate gasped, and Butch took the opening, running his tongue along the inside of her lips. She made a small, helpless sound, like she was drowning in him. God, he hoped she was, because he was quickly becoming lost in her. She tasted even sweeter than she smelled. Oh, God, he needed more.
“This here is a family town. We got laws against this type of display.”
Butch swore as Kate’s body froze, pressed against his own. “I know you got something better to do than watch us, Sheriff.” Butch held Kate still when she would have put space between them.
“Clyde, there is nothing better than busting your balls.”
“Watch your language,” Butch said. “There’s a lady present. Katie, it looks like I have no choice but to introduce you to my brother, Jebediah. Jeb, this is Katie.”
Jeb took a long, deep breath before nodding his head. “Ma’am.”
“Nice to meet you, Jeb.”
Butch rolled his eyes as Jeb stared Kate down. She held her own, not withering under the glare Butch had watched Jeb practice until he perfected intimidation. Jeb had the same gray eyes as Butch but had jet-black hair he wore military style. His expressionless face, more like a machine than a man, bore little resemblance to his younger brother.
Butch tucked Kate under his shoulder in a message to his brother. “You doing something besides disturbing my evening?”
Kate elbowed him and stepped away to stand on her own.
Jeb didn’t take his gaze off the redhead. “Have you seen Angie around?”
“She was at the Sly Dog last night. Why?” Butch leaned against the post behind him, as Kate put a prim distance between them.
Jeb leaned against the gazebo frame, mirroring his brother’s pose. “Her mother’s looking for her. Angie was supposed to take her to see her sister today but never showed. She didn’t call either.”
“That’s not like her,” Butch said.
Kate inched closer to the steps. “Did you check where the snakes are?”
Jeb scowled at her. “What?”
“Her current crusade,” Butch answered. “She’s trying to save the Northern Pine Snake.”
“Is that a real crusade?” Jeb asked.
“She thinks it is.”
Jeb whacked his leg with his hat. “Oh, Christ, Butch. What did you do?”
Butch rolled his eyes. “Nothing. I did absolutely nothing.”
Kate gestured in the direction of Butch’s truck. “If you need to go look for her, I can find my way back to the house. I want to get started on—”
“I’ll keep my eye out for Angie and tell her to call her mother if I see her. Good night, Jeb.” Butch pulled Kate to his side and talked over her. He was not telling his brother Kate was living with him. He was going to get an earful as it was.
Jeb didn’t change his expression, but he gave the slightest nod. “’Night, Butch. Ma’am.”
“Sir,” Kate said as Butch pulled her away.
Kate figured she still had about two hours of daylight left. She paced the living room as she ran down the list Butch had made. “Repair shutters. Clean gutters. Paint house. That’ll take more than a few hours. Clear creek. Fix chicken coop fence. What part of the creek needs to be cleared?”
Butch sat at the piano, flexing his fingers as if to warm them up. “Back by the pond. Some trees fell in it and are blocking it. The land by it floods when it rains.”
“By that big puddle we jumped over?”
“You mean wallowed in? Yes, right next to it.”
“They are calling for rain later this week. I should be able to make some headway on that.” Kate watched Butch’s fingers play a tune she’d heard before. She wondered if he’d written it, wondered how many of his songs she knew. “The piano’s new. It wasn’t here yesterday.”
“My manager, Landon Finch. I told him I needed a piano, and this was delivered today. I sat down, and the songs are just leaping off of the keys.”
“I love days like that. It’s like that old expression ‘Find something you love to do, and you’ll never work a day in your life.’ Do you have a chainsaw and some rope?”
“Everything we need should be in the barn. Let me change, and I’ll meet you out there.” Butch stood but ran his fingers over the keys one more time. Obviously he wanted to be at his piano.
“Just point me in the right direction. You don’t need to help.”
Butch frowned. “Well, that doesn’t seem right.”
She cocked her head. “Do you want to go clear the stream?”
“Want to? No. But have you ever done it before?”
“Sure. I clear the horse trails on a non-profit park system every year. When it comes to this kind of work, I’m older than my years. Plus, I like it. I’ll get to work off Miss Etta’s ice cream while playing with power tools. What more could a girl want?”
Butch laughed. “I have so much I could teach you. But seriously, you might need help.”
“I might, and if I do, I’ll save it for another day. I’m proud of my ‘smart girl’ title. I’m not going to risk it by doing more than I know I can. I appreciate the offer, but let me do this for you. Okay?”
“Still doesn’t seem right.” Even as Butch said the words, he turned back to the piano. “I’ll be right here if you need anything.”
Kate stood behind him, listening to his music. His fingers rained up and down the keys, the notes tumbling joyously like children rolling down a hill. The tones washed over her, cleansing her. More than once, Kate had walked through construction sites when an April rain had chased everyone else indoors. Now, like then, she felt like she was the only person in a peaceful world. She swayed, mesmerized, feeling as though falling into a dream. This was his gift. This is where he needed to be.
Butch stopped playing, looking up at Kate. “Did you need something?”
“No, sorry. I’ll get out of your way.” She left him to his work and went to tackle her own. The big dog found Kate inside the barn and attached himself to her hip.
“If we are going to be friends, you need to give me some space. Sit.” She gave his ears a good rub and went to work. Kate found the chainsaw and did a quick inspection. The chain was tight and oiled, and the fuel tank was full. Kate piled the chainsaw and coils of rope on the tractor. She retrieved her protective eyewear and ear plugs from her truck, along with the heavy leather gloves made to fit her smaller hands and the rubber boots that came up to her knees. “Are you ready to do this, Chubsy?”
The dog barked and trotted out of the barn. Kate followed in the tractor. The two rambled along the perimeter of the fields companionably until she met the small stream.
The juvenile trees cluttered the stream bank, the largest one less than half a foot in diameter. The heavy-duty chainsaw would cut through the wood like butter. Kate cut the fallen trees with practiced efficiency and used the tractor to pull the trunks up to the top of the bank to be trimmed and hauled another day. This would be enough to open the flow of the creek when the next rain came. Kate worked her way upstream toward the pond, cutting leaning trees and clearing brush. Something about the way a chainsaw made her arms hum gave her a feeling of accomplishment.
The sun hovered an inch above the horizon when Kate reached the pond. Fifteen minutes and she would be done for the night. She ran her arm across her forehead, clearing away the sheen of sweat. “I think we can do it, Chubsy. I think we can beat the sun.”
Kate stepped down a steep section of slope. The rubber boots that kept her feet dry lacked the traction she needed on this section of the stream bank. Her gloved hands wrapped
around branches as she lowered herself to the water’s edge. A slender but tall tree had snapped and toppled across the creek. Kate secured the loose end of the rope to the ragged trunk then picked along the bank, looking for an easier climb up. Bright colors caught her eye. Something pink and stringy lay tangled in the fingers of a low branch. She took off her gloves and fingered the thick, finely woven material.
“Somebody had to be upset they lost this,” Kate said aloud as she worked to unwind what became a long scarf. She stretched to her right, rising to her toes to unhitch the material when the muddy slope of the stream bank gave way under her feet. Kate scrambled for firm footing, but gravity pulled her downward. One heel caught on something, but the other didn’t. Arms flailing, Kate found no hand holds and landed in the creek.
“Almost stayed dry.” The cold, clean water quickly soaked into her jeans. The front of her legs were wet, the back coated in mud. Her wet hands and arms chilled in the evening air. Kate looked for her gloves, relieved to see them waiting for her on the soft mud of the bank. “Okay, enough of this.” She imitated Bambi on ice, the wet stones of the creek and slick soles of her boots made getting upright downright impossible. Kate rolled to one side and ungracefully scooted to the muddy edge. First, she retrieved her gloves, shoving her fingers into the latent warmth. Then, she looked for the best route up.
Washout around a large drainage pipe created a clear path to the top. Small trees and exposed roots promised to make the climb doable. Kate picked her way along the back and stepped onto a small cluster of debris pushed aside by the washout. She picked her first foot position carefully, then placed her left foot next to the corrugated metal of the drain pipe. Kate checked the pipe, making sure some animal wasn’t going to jump at her from its depths, and saw two thick trunks, half buried in mud. Kate stared at them, and the trunks became a pair of legs. Human legs.
Chapter Five
Kate rubbed her hand over her pounding heart to soothe it, to stop it from bursting out of her skin. She looked around while her mind raced. She was alone on unfamiliar ground. In minutes, it would be dark.
Her hands shook as she lowered herself down the few steps she had taken. She couldn’t hear anything except her own breathing, fast and ragged.
It couldn’t be a body. It couldn’t. It probably was just two logs trapped in the washout and a healthy dose of an overactive imagination.
She shivered as though it were twenty degrees colder.
A hand on the lip of the drainage pipe, Kate stepped onto the fine, washed earth, her foot sinking an inch. She planned to lean down, brush the mud away and prove to herself it was nothing but wood.
She planted her other foot inches from the log, closed her eyes, and turned her head away as she reached blindly with her gloved hand.
Stiff, woven material moved under her touch.
Fear burst from her in a piercing shout. Kate staggered back, her feet sliding on the mud. She tumbled to the water, falling to her hands and knees, and she violently emptied her stomach. The sound of movement came from nearby.
“Help! Help me!”
The shadows had taken the lead as the sun continued to fade. In that moment, Kate realized she was alone with a body. Would someone who killed once hesitate to kill again?
Shallow breaths tortured her lungs, her body, as she ran as much as her boots, the night, and the earth allowed. Back to the downed tree, to the rope that led up to the tractor.
Night had claimed the creek. Though Kate couldn’t see, she knew something followed her.
Faster. Faster, faster. She needed to be faster.
“Wooof!”
“No!” Kate shrieked into the darkness, tripped, and fell hard to the earth. With another thunderous bark, Chubsy leapt to her side.
“Oh my God. Oh my God.” As she repeated the litany, Kate clung to the massive dog.
He seemed to understand her distress and pressed his strong body to hers.
“I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do. We should get help. Absolutely. We should do that. Okay.” Rational thought slowly emerged. “The first thing they are going to ask us is if the person is alive.”
Kate jerked her head up. “You don’t think they would be alive, do you?”
Chubsy looked straight at her, his eyes beacons in the night. His breath turned her stomach again.
Kate pulled back and climbed to her feet. “Come on. We have to look. We have to try.”
With her hand on Chubsy’s thick neck, Kate walked back to the drain. She found the legs, but the light had faded. She could tell the body lay face down. She found the feet—small bare feet—but couldn’t break the grip of the earth.
She needed a flashlight.
She remembered her phone, sealed up tight in a pocket. “Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.” Kate dug it out and dialed the number Butch had programmed. The screen said “connecting,” but the call never did. “Stupid service.”
The flashlight app still worked. She and Chubsy winced as a thousand points of white LED light assaulted their eyes. Kate shone the light on the body. The legs lay in the washout, but the torso was in the forty-eight inch pipe. Kate looked at Chubsy, who calmly sniffed at the legs. His silent confidence steadied her. She bent low and walked into the pipe, straddling the body. Fine silt made for a soft bed. Clear water ran over that bed but only a few inches deep. The last of the rain from the days before. The body, unable to sink in the pipe the way the legs had in the ground, wore a wet and matted sweater, the face pitched to one side, blond hair cast in all directions. With a steadying breath, Kate used a gloved finger to rake the hair from the face.
She closed her eyes and hung her head. “Dear God. Angie.”
Butch closed the door after his brother left around four in the morning. Kate curled in the corner of the couch beneath a thick blanket, Chubsy stretched across the floor below her. The dog usually slept at the big house with the other dogs his parents kept. This one made an exception tonight.
Butch squatted down and ran his fingers along Kate’s jaw. She hadn’t said a word in hours. “Time to go to bed, Katie.”
Kate shook her head and whispered in a rusty voice. “There’s no point. I have to be up in two hours anyway.”
Butch kept his touch light. “Take the day off.”
“I can’t. I have things to do. Meetings.”
“You can’t do them on no sleep.”
“I don’t think I would sleep even if I closed my eyes.”
Butch understood. He had gone to watch, to help pull Angie from the stream. Jeb wouldn’t let him down into the water, but Butch had seen her. He had seen Angie when they put her on the stretcher, before they zipped the black bag over her head. She hadn’t been in the water long, but neither the water nor the animals had been kind.
Kate looked into his eyes with an eloquent misery on her face. Dark smudges dulled her bright eyes. Her brows pressed together and up in an unanswerable query.
Butch read the exhaustion and suspected she was afraid of nightmares. Hell, he was, too. Butch left her to pull a pillow from his bed. Then he considered doing something he had never done in this house: locking the doors. He punched his bed, angry that somebody made him feel threatened in his own home, in his own town. “Screw that. If somebody wants a piece of me, let them try to take it.” He pulled the revolver from his bedside table.
His air of righteousness lasted until he stepped into the living room. The strong woman he’d come to admire looked beaten. He didn’t care what happened to him, but he wasn’t alone anymore. He locked the front door then the back door before going to her.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Lying down.” Butch put the pillow against the arm of the couch. He tucked the gun under the couch, the butt within easy reach. He took the blanket from around her shoulders and then stretched out, taking her body with his. He draped the blanket over them, tucked her in, wrapped his arm around her waist, and buried his nose in her hair.
Kate squi
rmed away from the edge of the couch. “We don’t fit.”
“We fit just fine.” Butch locked his arm down, trapping her against him. He felt the tension that racked her body and drew little circles on her back to ease it.
“I’m afraid.” She whispered the confession against his throat.
“I have you. Just rest, Katie. We’ll get to the bottom of it in the light of day.”
Butch woke to the bright light of day and the dark scowl of his brother. He propped himself up on one elbow and looked for Kate.
“She’s not here,” Jeb said in that cold, emotionless tone of his.
Butch fell back on the couch. “What time is it?”
“Eight-thirty, you dumb son-of-a-bitch. How long has she been living here?” Jeb paced in front of the couch with fisted hands. His teeth clenched tight enough to make the muscles of his jaw twitch.
Butch stared at the ceiling. “Who said she was living here?”
Jeb pulled the pillow from the floor and brought it down on his brother’s gut. “Don’t. Just don’t. I saw her stuff in my room.”
Butch rolled off the couch and looked up at his brother. “Your old room. You don’t live here. Why are you snooping around my house?”
“How long?” Jeb asked quietly.
“Since Sunday night. She was staying in one of those flea bags on 31. I couldn’t leave her there. I just couldn’t.”
Jeb kicked the couch making it up jump back three inches. “Goddamn it, Butch. You have a freaking hero complex. You don’t have to save every woman with a sad story and a pretty face.”
“This is different—”
“Different? Of course this is different. Every damned one of them is different, except they’re all the same! What the hell is wrong with you?!” Jeb stalked away from Butch as he ranted.
Butch sat up straighter, narrowing his eyes at his brother. Jeb had been gone a long while. What did he know about Butch’s life, the choices he’d made? It had been a long time since he’d needed his big brother around, a longer time since he’d had him. “It’s none of your business what I do and who I do it with.”
Lost in Tennessee Page 8
