Next of Kin

by Sharon Sala

  “Don’t put a date and time stamp on this, Beth. Either it’ll happen or it won’t, okay?”

  Her shoulders slumped. This was what she wanted. So why did she feel as if she’d just been kicked to the curb?

  “Okay.”

  He tugged on the end of the ponytail he’d put in her hair this morning. “How about we head back to the house? If Quinn wakes up and finds us gone, he’s liable to worry.”

  “Right,” Beth said.

  On the way back they talked about her work and his furniture business, the truckers who’d driven her cross-country to meet her uncle Will, how guilty she still felt about Sarah’s death—everything and anything they could think of except the obvious…

  Where did they go from here?

  Were there any emotional ties left between them, and if there were, did they ignore them? Or start over? It was like holding a lit match to an open gas jet and waiting to see how long it took for the thing to ignite.

  By dark, supper was over, and Quinn was out of the house and back on guard duty. The storm that Ryal had predicted arrived just before midnight. He and Beth had both been asleep when the front hit, announcing itself with a clap of thunder so loud it rattled the windows. Within seconds the power went out, plunging the house into sudden darkness. No night-lights, no glowing face on the alarm clock—nothing but the intermittent flashes of light from the lightning coming through the curtains.

  Beth had been dreaming about the safe houses and hiding from the gunshots when the first clap of thunder sounded. She sat straight up in bed just as all the power went off. Still locked into what she’d been dreaming and disoriented by her surroundings, she screamed, thinking they’d been found.

  Ryal was already awake when he heard her scream and was out of bed in seconds. He flew out of his room and into the hall just as the door to Beth’s bedroom swung open. She ran out into the hallway, straight into his arms, and then screamed in earnest and began fighting him, thinking she’d been caught.

  He grabbed her by the shoulders, then held her close within his arms to keep from being hit.

  “Beth, Beth, it’s me, baby, it’s me. You’re okay. It’s just a storm.”

  The relief of hearing Ryal’s voice was her undoing.

  “Oh, my God.” She pressed herself against his chest and wrapped her arms so tightly around his waist that he couldn’t have dislodged her if he’d tried. “I was dreaming. I thought the thunder was gunfire, and then everything went dark.”

  Ryal had one hand against the back of her head and the other around her waist.

  “You’re okay. You’re okay. Remember where you are and what the old-timers say. Storms are louder up here because we’re closer to heaven.”

  Beth couldn’t stop shaking. “Yes, I remember,” she muttered, and buried her face against his chest.

  The warmth of his bare skin and the safety she felt within his embrace were reassuring. Another clap of thunder rolled overhead, followed by a shaft of lightning so close that the momentary illumination outside was brighter than day.

  In that brief second Beth looked up. Ryal’s gaze was fixed on her face.

  The house went dark again, but now she was aware of the rising wind and the steady thump of Ryal’s heartbeat against her breasts.

  Another shaft of lightning pierced the darkness just long enough for her to see his long, bare legs and a glimpse of white briefs; then the house was in shadows again.

  The repetition of dark then light, thunder then lightning, was like being caught beneath the mirror ball in a disco.

  Ryal tilted her chin, then paused, giving her time to pull away. When she didn’t move, he took it as approval for what came next.

  The kiss had been ten long years in coming, but that only made things better. The feel of Beth’s lips beneath his, the softness of her body and the way she melted into his arms, were everything he’d dreamed of. Ryal scooped her off her feet and into his arms as another flash of lightning momentarily lit up the hall.

  She had only an instant to see his expression, but it was enough for her to get caught in the rising fever between them.

  Ryal carried her into his bedroom. Thunder rumbled as he stripped down to his skin, then pulled her pajama top over her head. Lightning flashed as he yanked the bottoms down around her ankles, then put his hand between her breasts. She fell backward onto the bed, and within seconds Ryal was on her, then in her.

  There was no time for foreplay, no time for kisses and whispers—just the blood heat of need pulsing through their bodies and the desire to be one.

  The moment Ryal entered her body, Beth was whole again. The loneliness of the past, the empty years and broken promises were gone. When he began to move, she locked her legs around his back and rode the rhythm with him.

  Outside, the wind and thunder, followed by lightning, continued until the rain finally arrived. The sudden gush of wind-driven rain against the windows mirrored the instant rush of Beth’s climax, hitting her with such force that she screamed. Ryal answered with a primal groan that became lost in the roar of the storm that was upon them. And when they had been emptied of the lust and there was nothing left between them but waning passion, they fell asleep in each other’s arms.

  When they woke again it was morning, and the scent of coffee and frying bacon was once again permeating the air. More of life had happened beneath the roof of Grandpa Foster’s old house in the past twenty-four hours than there had been in years.

  Beth opened her eyes to find Ryal watching her. She wanted to frown at the intrusion, but being plastered against his body and the erection pulsing against her leg were too interesting to get past.

  “I want to make love to you again,” he said. “But Quinn’s already in the kitchen.”

  Beth slid her arms around his neck. “As long as he stays there, I don’t see the problem.”

  Ryal arched an eyebrow. “Do you really want to let him hear you scream?”

  “I’ll restrain myself.

  “That’ll work,” Ryal said, and proceeded to show her.

  By the time they got to the kitchen, Quinn was eating the last bite of his eggs.

  “Hey,” Ryal said. “You must have been hungry this morning.”

  Quinn eyed the pair standing arm in arm in the doorway.

  “From all appearances, not as hungry as the two of you. Grease is still in the skillet. Eggs are in the bowl. I’m gonna take a shower and get some sleep.”

  Beth blushed as Ryal ignored the sexual inference.

  “Did you see or hear anything suspicious last night?” he asked.

  Quinn shook his head. “No, and the tent leaks.”

  Ryal thought of the downpour and how comfortable they’d been, and immediately felt bad.

  “Listen, Quinn, I don’t care what you say, I’m taking the watch tonight.”

  “I do better in the dark on my own. Just let it go, Ryal. For now, it is what it is, okay?”

  Ryal wouldn’t argue, but when Quinn passed by, Beth stopped him with a touch.

  “Thank you.”

  Quinn eyed her slightly swollen lips and the just-loved expression on her face, then took her hands and turned them over, giving them a quick examination before he gave her a nod.

  “Looks like Aunt Tildy’s remedy is working.”

  He walked out without saying more.

  Beth turned to Ryal. “Is he okay?”

  Ryal shrugged. “Like he said, right now it is what it is. I have to believe that in time he’ll be better. Probably never back to the old Quinn, but better. I’d settle for that. Now, how about breakfast? One egg over easy?”

  “Make that two,” Beth said. “I worked hard last night.”

  Again Ryal’s laugh rocked the silence in the little house.

  Down the hall, Quinn smiled slowly to himself, then rolled over in the bed Beth had abandoned for the one Ryal was in and closed his eyes.

  Moe drove into Mount Sterling just before two-thirty in the afternoon and stopped at a qui
ck stop to get gas. He filled up, then went inside to pick up some snacks, and fish around for some information, as well. The man behind the counter looked to be in his early thirties, sporting a red birthmark on his right cheek and missing the little finger of his left hand.

  Moe grabbed a couple of bags of cashews from a shelf and a cold bottle of water from the cooler. He wanted a beer but had a rule of no drinking on the job. He laid the snacks on the counter.

  “I got gas on pump four, too,” he said.

  The clerk nodded and rang up his purchases. “That’ll be $47.12.”

  Moe laid three twenties on the counter.

  “Did you ever hear of a place called Rebel Ridge? I can’t find it on the map and was wondering if you could give me some driving directions.”

  “There are lots of places around here that ain’t on no map,” the clerk said and handed Moe his change. “You might head on toward Boone’s Gap and ask around.”

  Moe remembered seeing a town called Boone’s Gap on the map.

  “Thanks.”

  He got in the car, set the GPS and then followed its directions out of town. It took nearly an hour of negotiating winding mountain roads before he began to see signs of habitation in the form of rusting trailer houses and old, run-down homes as gray as a December sky. The exteriors didn’t appear ever to have seen a lick of paint. The weather was hot, so the windows were open, but few had screens to keep out flies. Some houses had several old rusting car bodies up on blocks sitting off to the side. Others had kids of assorted ages running about, with the occasional dog thrown in for good measure. A few had all three. He seemed to remember discovering during his research that the chief source of income in the area was coal mining. From the looks of the properties, coal mining didn’t appear to be a profitable occupation for anyone but the mine owners.

  A short while later he came upon a weather-beaten sign that read Boone’s Gap, 2 Miles.

  When he finally drove into town, he was hit by even more culture shock. Although they’d strung it out into a semblance of four blocks, the entire town would have fit into two blocks of downtown L.A. with room to spare. There were a gas station/deli, a small grocery store, a tiny building that was a branch of a savings and loan company, a post office and a video rental place. He looked farther and saw a couple more businesses and a café called Frankie’s Eats. The rest of the buildings were empty. Seven cars were parked in random spaces along the curbing, which told Moe he probably wouldn’t have to wait for a table at Frankie’s Eats.

  It had been hours since he’d had breakfast, and the snacks he’d bought in Mount Sterling hadn’t satisfied his hunger. He made a quick decision and parked in front of the café. As he got out, he stretched wearily before heading inside.

  The scent of something fried went up his nose as he opened the door. A tall, skinny waitress with a blond ponytail and a grease stain on the front of her apron waved him toward a booth.

  “I’ll be right with you,” she said, and disappeared into the back with a tray of dirty dishes.

  He sat down, picked up the menu standing between the napkin holder and the salt and pepper shakers, and scanned the options.

  Unsurprisingly, there was nothing vegan on offer. Ah well, he could always do a cleanse when he got home.

  “Hey there, how ya’ll doin’?” the waitress said, as she slid a glass of ice water in front of him. “Do you know what you want, or would you like a couple of minutes to read the menu?”

  Moe shook his head. “No, I’m good. Give me a cheeseburger and fries, and hold the onions.”

  “You got it,” she said. “Anything to drink?”

  “I’ll have iced tea.”

  “One sweet tea comin’ up,” she said.

  Moe frowned. “Not sweet tea. I’ll have plain.”

  “Sorry, hon. Only sweet tea here.”

  “Then I’ll stick to water.”

  She shrugged. “Yeah, sure. Food comin’ right up!”

  She left to turn in his order, then came back with that big tray and began bussing another table. He watched her for a few minutes and then decided to see if she had any info he could use.

  “Hey…uh, miss…?”

  She looked up and smiled. “I’m SueEllen. Whatcha’ need?”

  “A little information.”

  She walked over to the booth.

  “Have you lived here long?” Moe asked.

  “All my life.”

  “Great. Maybe you can help me. I’m looking for someone who lives in a town called Rebel Ridge. Do you know where it is?”

  SueEllen’s smile didn’t disappear, but it didn’t get bigger, either.

  “It sounds familiar. Who you looking for? If I know the name, I can probably tell you where they live.”

  Moe hesitated. He hadn’t planned on divulging the name of the family he was searching for, but he needed to satisfy Pappas within a reasonable period of time.

  “I’m looking for a family by the name of Venable. Have you heard of them?”

  “Hey, SueEllen! Pickup!”

  The waitress held up a finger. “Hold that thought. Your order’s ready.”

  SueEllen’s mind was racing as she went to the pass-through to pick up the order. Her mother was one of Sam Venable’s sisters. Beth was her first cousin. The whole family knew about what had happened to her. They also knew she was in hiding somewhere up on the mountain. The way SueEllen looked at it, the only strangers who would be trying to find her family were up to no good.

  She took a deep breath and picked up the order, then sashayed back with a big smile on her face.

  “Here you go! Nice and hot. You gonna want ketchup with those fries?”

  “Yeah, sure, why not?” Moe said.

  She scooped up a ketchup bottle from a nearby table and set it in front of him.

  “Now, then…you said you’re looking for the Venables, right?”

  Moe nodded as he took a big bite of the burger, then groaned in ecstasy, trying to remember why he’d gone vegan in the first place.

  SueEllen pulled out her order pad and a pen, and began writing.

  “When you leave here, you need to keep going east on Interstate 64. When you connect to Highway 32 outside of Morehead, head north.”

  Moe stuffed a forkful of fries in his mouth, talking as he chewed. “You sure about that?”

  “Yep, I’m sure. I’m real sure. Here, I wrote it down for you.”

  “Thanks a lot,” he said.

  “No problem. If you need anything else, just holler.”

  “Yeah, okay,” he said, already sidetracked by the food.

  He wolfed the burger and fries down without thought as to what it would do to his digestive system later, washed it down with water, then chased it with the refill SueEllen poured for him. She left the bill on his table as she walked away.

  Moe looked at the ticket. $7.13. Holy crap. This would be fifteen bucks at least back in L.A., or more, depending on where you ate it. He laid a twenty on the table.

  SueEllen called out, “Ya’ll drive safe now.”

  Moe didn’t respond as he headed back to his car. The sun was already sending heat waves up off the pavement like mini desert mirages. He couldn’t wait to get inside and turn on the air-conditioning. As soon as he had the car going and the AC jacked up to high, he entered the directional info into his GPS. The fact that it didn’t register as he’d expected concerned him, but this was a blind hunt in more ways than one.

  SueEllen watched until the car had disappeared, then grabbed her cell phone.

  “Hey, Justin! I’m going outside to make a call. Be right back.”

  With no other customers in the café, the cook nodded an okay. She made a beeline for the back door and the nearest shade tree to make the call, then nervously counted the rings before she got an answer.

  “Hello?”

  “Granny Lou, this is SueEllen.”

  “Hi, sugar, how’s your mama feeling since that kidney stone passed?”

 
; “Better, thank you. I called to tell you something. A stranger stopped in here asking about Rebel Ridge and the Venable family.”

  Lou gasped. “Oh, no! What did he look like? What was he driving?”

  “He was a skinny, middle-aged white guy driving a rental. Don’t worry. I sent him on a wild-goose chase. He’s gonna wind up real lost.”

  SueEllen could hear Lou’s smile as she answered, “Way to go, sugar. I’ve got to let the others know. I’ll talk to you later.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Satisfied that she’d done her part to keep a cousin safe, SueEllen couldn’t help but wonder how long it would take that man to figure out he was going in the wrong direction, and then she hoped he didn’t come back all pissed and looking for her for what she’d done.

  It took less than two hours for Moe’s belly to start cramping and about a half hour more before he began to break out in a cold sweat. All he could taste was the grease on his tongue from that burger and fries. He knew he was going to throw up. It was only a matter of time. When the urge finally hit, he was still on the interstate. He pulled off the highway onto the shoulder of the road and jumped out just as the first wave of nausea hit. He bent over with a groan and hurled up the burger from Frankie’s Eats, along with a good portion of the fries. One wave after another came and went, until there were nothing but dry heaves, before he collapsed against the car. His legs were shaking, and his belly was still cramping.

  He didn’t know if it was food poisoning or the fact that red meat and grease had not passed his lips in such quantity in years.

  Just when he thought the worst was over, he got cramps of another kind and knew his troubles were about to get worse. He tore through the car looking for something to use for toilet paper and then bolted for the woods lining the road.

  It was dark by the time he reached another town of any size. He rented a room at the first motel he came to, locked the door behind him as he entered and then collapsed on the bed in exhaustion, only to be revisited again throughout the night by a repeat of his afflictions. On his fourth trip, he staggered toward the bathroom with a vow on his lips.