by Sharon Sala
The intense quiet assailed him and for the first time since Casey had grabbed his arm in the airport and turned the light back on in his world, he let himself think of the brief period of time when he’d thought she was dead. Uppermost had been the overwhelming sense of pain and loss, but there’d also been regret. Regret that their lives had been so screwed up when they met. Regret that he’d never said aloud what he knew in his heart to be true.
A shuddering breath slid up and out of his throat. He’d been given a second chance, and he wasn’t going to waste precious time again. Footsteps sounded on the stairs outside. He tensed. It was Casey. The front door opened and he heard her call out.
“Ryder?”
He stood. For him, there was no turning back.
“Oh, there you are! It was so quiet I didn’t think you were here.”
He paused in the doorway, staring at her and memorizing the way she looked and the way she moved. Her long, black hair was pinned up off her neck and slightly tousled from travel. Her eyes were wide and still a little shocked, her lips looked tender, almost bruised, as if she’d bitten them to keep from crying, which he supposed she had. He watched as she absently brushed at a speck on her suit. Red was a power color, she’d told him. He could definitely agree. She held a power over him he couldn’t ignore.
When she stepped out of her shoes and bent down to pick them up, the hem of her skirt slid even higher up her legs, accentuating their length. His heart filled. That woman was his wife.
“Casey.”
She glanced up, her shoes still in her hand.
“I need to tell you something.”
That’s right! He’d told her the day she left that when she got back they needed to talk. Her heart skipped a beat as she waited for him to continue. Instead, he started toward her.
“Today, when I thought I’d lost you, do you know what I regretted most?”
She shook her head, her eyes widening as he cupped her cheek.
“That I hadn’t told you the truth about how I felt.” His gaze bored into hers. “I know what I’m going to say wasn’t part of our bargain, but dammit, sometimes things change. I am sick and tired of pretending I’m satisfied with being your husband in name only. I love you, lady. I want to lie with you, make love with you. I don’t want another night to pass without holding you in my arms. If you can’t handle this, then say so, because in about three seconds, it’ll be too late.”
Casey’s eyes were full of tears as she dropped her shoes and put her arms around his neck. “Why waste three seconds when the answer is yes… a thousand times yes?”
Ryder reached behind her and locked the door, then her feet left the floor. “Your place or mine?”
“Anywhere, Ryder, as long as you’re there.”
He headed for his bedroom with her in his arms. When he put her down, his hands went straight to the buttons on her suit. His voice was shaking. “God give me strength,” he whispered, fumbling as he tried to push buttons through holes.
“Let me,” Casey said, and finished what he’d been trying to do.
She walked toward the sliding glass doors, pulling shut the drapes as she dropped the jacket of her suit on a nearby chair. On her way back to Ryder she stepped out of her skirt.
He wasn’t prepared for the woman beneath the suit; not the wisp of red bra, the matching bikini panties, the long, silk stockings or the black lace garter belt holding them up. And this time, when he swept her off her feet, he wrapped her legs around his waist and sank down onto the bed with her still in his arms.
He nuzzled the curve of her neck, savoring the joy of being able to hold her, inhaling the faint but lingering scent of her perfume, testing the soft crush of her breasts against his chest, and knowing that the tight draw of his own muscles next to that wisp of red silk between her legs was becoming difficult to ignore. He held her close, savoring the joy of knowing she was still alive.
“Today I rode a roller coaster into hell and came out with an angel in my arms. I don’t know why we were given a second chance, but I don’t intend to waste it.”
Her arms tightened around his neck as she rained brief, tiny kisses along the side of his cheek and his chin. He grabbed her face, gazing into her eyes and watching them fill with tears until he thought he could see all the way to her soul.
“I feel like I’m about to make love to a ghost. I can’t believe I’m holding you, feeling your breath on my cheek, your arms around my neck. I must be the luckiest man in the world.”
Casey’s breath snagged on a sob. “I’m the one who got lucky. The day I got lost in the flatlands and found you in Sonny’s Bar was the day my life began to change. You’ve stood with me. You’ve stood by me. I will never be able to repay you for what you’ve already done in my name.”
“Hell, darlin’, I don’t want your money. I want your love.”
“Then take it, Ryder. It’s yours.”
He rolled until she was lying beneath him in those bits of red-and-black lace. With an impatient snap, he undid the clasps on her garter belt and rolled down her stockings, silken inch at a time.
Longing to be one with this man was driving Casey to the brink of making a fool of herself. She struggled to help as he undid her bra. But when he hooked his thumbs in the waistband of her bikini briefs and started pulling them down, she moaned and closed her eyes.
Ryder leaned down and kissed the valley between her breasts.
His breath was soft against her face as he moved to her lips. “Are you okay?”
“No,” she gasped, and tunneled her fingers through his hair. “Unless you hurry, I may never be okay again.”
After that, he came out of his clothes with no regard to order, and when he threaded his fingers through hers and stretched out beside her, he closed his eyes and said a last small prayer of thanksgiving that he’d been given this chance.
Then Ryder Justice made love to his wife.
* * *
Casey propped herself on one elbow, looking at Ryder as he slept. She knew the shape of his, face, the nearly square, stubborn jaw. Her gaze moved to his hands—broad and strong with long, supple fingers. She shivered, remembering what they’d done to her body in the name of love. Dear Lord, but he knew the buttons to push to make a strong woman weak with longing.
His chest rose and fell with each even breath that he drew, yet a short while ago, she’d felt the thunder of his pulse as he’d lain down upon her and driven himself into her, over and over, in mindless repetition.
Her body quickened in response to the memory and she glanced down to the bulge of him covered just below the waist with a sheet. Hers. He was hers. Before, they’d traded vows and made empty promises in front of Judge Harmon Harris. Today, they’d pledged their love in a way that would endure.
She reached out, gently laying her hand in the middle of his chest just so she could feel the steady rhythm of his heart, and as she did, he sighed and shifted in his sleep. She watched the thick brush of his eyelashes fluttering as some nameless dream pulled him further away from her. From his thick, black hair to those stormy gray eyes, she knew her man well. But she knew nothing of what made him tick.
Astute businesswoman that she was, she knew that in business, the swiftest way to achieve success was to know all there was to know about an enemy…or a competitor. And while Ryder was neither of those, he still had too many secrets for her peace of mind. He wasn’t the type of man one would expect to find wandering the highways and byways of the Mississippi Delta. His education was obvious, his breeding even more so. Delaney would have called him a thoroughbred. Casey had an overpowering need to know this man who called her wife. There had to be more to him than a man who knew how to love and make love with a fine-burning passion.
She laid her head down on his chest and closed her eyes, smiling to herself as he pulled her to him. Even in sleep, his claim on her was strong.
Tomorrow. She would start the wheels of an investigation rolling tomorrow. But quiet. She’d keep it l
ow-key and quiet. And it wouldn’t be like she was snooping. She had a right to know all there was to know about the man she had married. Didn’t she?
* * *
Royal Justice raced his daughter, Maddie, for the phone. He lost. Her tiny fingers curled around the receiver as she lifted it to her ear, speaking fast in order to get it all out before her daddy could snatch it out of her hands.
“Hello. This is Maddie. Is this you?”
Roman Justice kicked back in his chair and propped his feet on the top of his desk, absorbing the sweet sound of his only niece’s voice.
“Well, hello, little bit. Yes, it’s me. Is this you?”
Maddie giggled just as Royal got to the phone.
“Let me talk! Let me talk!” she shrieked, as Royal lifted it out of her hands. “It’s Unca Roman. He called to talk to me!”
Royal shushed her with a finger to his lips and then lifted the receiver to his ear. “Roman?”
Roman flipped open a folder on the desk before him. “Brother, you’re gonna have to get yourself some skates. If you can’t beat a three-year-old to the phone, you’re already in hot water. Just think what it’ll be like when she’s a teenager.”
“Bite your damned lip,” Royal muttered as Maddie danced around his legs, begging to be put back on the phone. “I assume you have a reason for calling.”
As always, Roman Justice did not waste words. “Ryder’s alive.”
Royal turned and sank into a nearby chair with a sigh of relief. “Thank the good Lord. What have you learned? Why hasn’t he called? Is he all right?”
“Hell, you’re just like Maddie. One thing at a time. Your guess is as good as mine as to why he hasn’t called, but if I had to bet on a reason, I’d say he hasn’t turned loose of the guilt.”
“But it wasn’t his fault. The FAA told him that. We told him that. Lord have mercy, even the preacher who preached Dad’s funeral told him that.”
“Yeah, well you know Ryder. The only person he ever listened to was Dad and he’s—”
“Yeah, right,” Royal said, and pulled Maddie onto his lap, whispering a promise that she could talk when he was through.
“So, what’s the story?”
“Hang on to your hat, brother. He’s married and living in some place in Mississippi called Ruban Crossing.”
“He’s what?”
“You heard me.”
Royal shook his head. “Married! Ryder, of all people. His wife must be something to have talked a maverick like him into settling down. Do you think we ought to give him a call? You know—to wish him well and all that?”
A fly buzzed past Roman’s ear. He never moved, but his gaze followed the flight of the fly as it sailed past his nose. Somewhere between one breath and the next, he snatched the fly in midflight, holding it captive in his fist while he finished his conversation.
“Hell, no. You know better than that. Ryder is the one who ran away from home. If we call him, it would be like that time Mama came after the three of us for sneaking off to the pond to go fishing when we were supposed to be in school, remember?”
Royal laughed. “Remember? Lord, I had nightmares for years afterward. And you’re right. If Mama had just given us time, we would have been home for supper and everything would have been all right. As it was, we were dragged home with our tails between our legs. It took weeks before I could look Dad in the face without feeling shame.”
“Just be glad we know where Ryder is.”
Royal sighed. “Right, and thanks for calling.”
“No problem.”
Maddie tugged at Royal’s arm. “Your niece needs to tell you something, okay?”
A rare smile shifted the sternness on Roman’s face. “If it’s Maddie, it’s always okay.”
“Unca Roman?”
“What is it, little bit?”
“You pwomised to take me to the zoo.”
“I know.”
“So when is you gonna do it?”
The smile on his face widened. “Whenever you want.”
“Now!” she crowed. “I want to do it wight now.”
The fly buzzed frantically against the palm of his hand as he glanced up at the clock. “Put your daddy back on the phone and let me ask,” he said.
Maddie handed her father the phone. “It’s for you. And you gots to say yes.”
Royal pretended to frown, but it was all a big fake. He nearly always said yes to his very best girl.
“What?”
“Your daughter and I have a date with the zoo. She wants to go now.”
“Fine with me,” Royal said. “Just remember, she can’t have everything she wants to eat, even if she begs. The last time she threw up on your boots.”
“They were my boots. My problem. I’ll be there within the hour.” He hung up the phone and then smashed his hand flat on the top of his desk, ending the fly’s last bid for freedom.
Royal hung up. At least there was one uncle left upon whom Maddie could depend. He didn’t know what he thought about Ryder getting married, and truth be told, didn’t have time to worry about it. Ryder was alive and well. That was all that could matter.
* * *
Not even in Lash Marlow’s worst nightmares had he envisioned the day that something this degrading would happen to him. But it was here, in his hands, on plain white bond, typed all in capitals in clear, black ink. He stuck his hand in his pocket, rubbing at the rabbit’s foot over and over and the words still didn’t change.
Foreclosure.
He’d slept with the knowledge all night, and when he’d awakened this morning, had almost convinced himself that it was all a bad dream. Until he’d come into the kitchen to make coffee.
The letter was there where he’d left it last night. He’d picked it up again, rereading it over and over until his stomach rolled and his heart was thundering in his ears.
One powerful word and it was enough to bring what was left of his world to an end. He tossed the letter back onto the kitchen table, forgot about the coffee, and went to the breakfront to pour himself a drink. The decanter was empty—just like his life. He stared around the room, trying to find some sense of reason for drawing his next breath when something hit the front door.
That would be the morning paper.
He waited until he was certain the paperboy was gone. Even the eleven-year-old boy who delivered the papers had quit believing the check was in the mail.
The rubber band broke as he was rolling it off the paper, snapping the palm of his hand and bringing a quick set of tears to his eyes.
“Ow! Dammit, that hurt,” he muttered, and tossed the paper on the kitchen table next to the letter.
He’d make that coffee after all. At least he could have coffee with the morning paper. That was a civilized thing to do.
When the coffee began to brew, he sat down and began to unroll it, but the edges kept curling back toward the way they’d been rolled and he cursed beneath his breath. It should be against the law to roll up a paper. He remembered the days when his father had insisted on having the help iron his morning paper flat before bringing it to him to read. He grinned, also remembering the occasional times when it would arrive with one of the pages scorched. Such a commotion over paper and ink.
In the middle of pouring himself a cup of freshly brewed coffee, the phone rang. Still lost in memories of grander days, he answered without thinking.
“Mr. Marlow, this is Denzel Cusper, down at the bank. I wanted to call you early, before you left for the office. We had several checks of yours come in yesterday and I’m afraid your account is a little short of funds. You know, we value your business. Your grandfather banked with us. Your father banked with us. We value the Marlow name, and that’s why I knew you’d want to take care of this right away.”
There was a sick smile on Lash’s face, although Denzel Cusper could not see it. He bit his lip and pretended he wasn’t lying through his teeth. “Why, you’re right of course! I don’t know how I let that overs
ight occur, but I’ll take care of it on my way in to the office.” He could hear the Denzel Cusper’s sigh of relief.
“That’s just fine,” Denzel said. “I’ll just be holding these checks until your deposit clears.”
“Thank you for calling,” Lash said.
“No problem. Always glad to give a valued customer a helping hand.”
Lash hung up the phone and poured his coffee down the sink. He didn’t need caffeine. He needed money. He’d already spent his monthly retainer from the Ruban family, and the other clients he often represented were worse off than he was.
The foreclosure letter was still on the table right where he’d left it. Now this. Checks were going to bounce. He didn’t even want to know how many. He had represented people who’d written hot checks, and he couldn’t remember a one who’d gotten off without serving their time. The law was swift with regards to stealing, in any form.
Shame filled him. Thank God his grandfather hadn’t lived to see this day. What his father hadn’t lost, Lash had wound up selling to stay afloat. And now it was gone and Lash Marlow was sinking fast. In days gone by, there would have been only one honorable way with which to deal with this shame. Lash thought of the handgun in the drawer beneath the phone. He glanced at the paper he had yet to read. He could just picture the headlines.
“Local Lawyer—DOA.”
Dead on arrival. He shuddered. There would be a scandal, but he wouldn’t be around to face it. And while he was contemplating the virtue of an easy way out, his gaze fell on the corner of a familiar face pictured on the front page of the paper. He pressed the page flat.
“Ruban Heir Saved by Traffic Jam”
His eyes widened and he began to read, and when he was through, he stared down at Casey’s picture in disbelief. Why? Why did someone like her keep getting all the breaks while everything he did threw him further and further off course?
“You bitch.”
Startled, he looked up, expecting to see someone standing in the doorway of the kitchen. When he realized it was himself that he bad heard, he looked back down and started to shake.
“You selfish, worthless, little bitch. I’d give my life to find a way to make you sorry for what you’ve done.”
