Ryder's Wife

by Sharon Sala

  Out on the patio behind him, the band Libertine had hired was setting up to play. The thought of making small talk and pretending for another two or three hours seemed impossible to Lash, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave.

  Unaware of Lash’s growing antagonism, Casey undid the bow on the very last gift and then lifted the box lid, pulling out a crystal-and-silver ice bucket and tongs.

  “It won’t hold a six-pack, but it sure is pretty,” Ryder drawled.

  Casey grinned at him as everyone laughed. By now, the guests had figured out that Casey Ruban’s husband had been one jump ahead of them all night. Instead of trying to be something he wasn’t, he dared them to dislike who he was. They had tried and failed miserably. Ryder Justice was too intriguing to dislike and too handsome to ignore.

  “This has been wonderful,” Casey said. “Ryder and I thank you for your kindness and generosity.”

  Ryder took Casey by the hand and stood. “All kidding aside, it’s been a pleasure meeting my wife’s friends. Maybe one day we can return the favor.”

  Casey was surprised at his initiative, and more than a little bit pleased. He kept coming through for her, again and again.

  Libertine waved her hand above the crowd. “This way, this way, my dears. We’ve dined. We’ve showered. The evening can’t end without dancing.”

  The crowd followed her through open French doors and out onto a massive flagstone patio. People broke off into couples and soon the impromptu dance floor was crowded.

  Inside, Casey wound her arms around Ryder’s neck and leaned her head on his shoulder.

  “What’s the matter, Hoppy, are you tired?”

  She tried not to laugh, but his jest was entirely too charming to ignore.

  “Yes, but deliciously so.” His hands were stroking at the small of her back, right where it ached the most. She wondered how he knew.

  “Think you might have one good dance in you? I just realized I’ve never danced with my wife.”

  “If you don’t mind dancing with a barefoot bunny, I’d be delighted.”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “It can happen. I like bare.”

  She ran a finger down the middle of his chest, stopping just above the spot where his belly button would be. “Yes, I know.”

  He waited. She kicked off her shoes. He took her in his arms just as the next song began. Drums hammered out a rollicking beat and a guitarist joined in, running his fingers up and down the frets as the strings vibrated beneath his touch.

  “Oh darn,” Casey said. “It’s too fast.”

  Ryder took her hand and placed it in the center of his chest. “You’re listening to the wrong rhythm,” he said softly. “Feel the one in here. It’s the one to follow.”

  He glanced down at her feet. “I’d sure hate to mash one of those poor little toes. Better hitch a ride on my boots, honey, then all you’ll have to worry about is hanging on.”

  A lump came to Casey’s throat as she stepped up on his toes. Sure enough, when Ryder started to move, she could almost hear the slow, steady beat of a loving man’s heart. The ache in her feet disappeared. She laid her cheek on his shoulder and followed his lead as he circled them slowly up and down the marbled floors of Libertine Delacroix’s great hall.

  Out on the patio, Lash Marlow stood in the shadows, staring back into the house. The intimacy of the lady bunny standing on the chauffeur’s feet was not lost on him, nor were the tender kisses he saw Ryder giving his wife.

  Lash’s hand slid to the long sword hanging from the belt around his waist. It would be all too easy to draw it now while everyone was otherwise occupied and slash those stupid smiles off of both their faces, but that wouldn’t get him what he deserved. No, he had other plans for Casey, and it wouldn’t be long before he set them in motion.

  * * *

  Bunny ears hung on one corner of the bedpost, a chauffeur’s cap on the other. Clothing was strewn across the floor and the chairs. In the bed, Ryder and Casey slept as bare as the day they’d been born, entwined within each other’s arms.

  Outside, a wind began to blow. A cool front was moving in. Something clattered against the patio door leading onto the deck. Ryder shifted in his sleep and rolled onto his back as he fell deeper and deeper into the dream playing out in his head.

  Lightning flashed and the plane bucked. Seconds afterward, smoke began filling the cabin. There was a whine to the engines as the plane began to lose altitude. Ryder pulled back on the stick, fighting the pull of gravity with all of his strength.

  “God help us both,” Micah said.

  Ryder jerked, his head tossing on the pillow from side to side. He hadn’t remembered hearing his father’s voice—until now.

  Lightning flashed again, illuminating the horizon and the tops of a stand of trees, but Ryder was hardly aware. It was all he could do to see the instrument panel through the thick veil of smoke. Muscles in his arms began to jerk from the stress of trying to control the plane’s rapid descent, and still he would not let go. Yet no matter how hard he fought, it would not respond.

  “I love you, boy.”

  Tears seeped from beneath Ryder’s lashes and out onto the surface of his cheeks.

  I love you, too, Dad.

  One of the windows in the cockpit shattered. Smoke dissipated at an alarming rate. Visibility cleared, and then Ryder wished it had not. There was at least half a second’s worth of time to see that they were going to die.

  He sat up with a jerk, gasping for air, unaware that his cheeks were wet with tears.

  “Oh, God.”

  He rolled out of the bed and reached for his jeans. He had to get out. He had to move. He couldn’t breathe.

  Casey felt the bed give. Suddenly she was no longer lying on Ryder’s chest. She blinked, then opened her eyes. The sight of him jerking on pants and stomping out of the room was enough to yank her rudely awake. She didn’t have to turn on a light to know something was dreadfully wrong. It was there in the shadowy movements of his body as he fled from the room. Seconds later, the front door banged, and Casey knew he was gone.

  She crawled out of bed on all fours, searching for something to wear as she hurried through the house. One of his T-shirts was hanging on the doorknob. She grabbed it, pulling it over her head as she ran. It hung to a point just above her knees, but when she opened the front door, the fierce wind quickly plastered it to her body, leaving her feeling naked all over again.

  She stood at the top of the landing, searching the grounds for a sign of where Ryder had gone. And then she saw him moving toward the trees at the back of the estate, and she bolted down the stairs after him.

  * * *

  Ryder moved without thought, trying to escape the dream clinging fast to his mind. It was just like before. No matter how fast he ran, he couldn’t escape the truth. Micah had died, but he hadn’t.

  Wind whistled through the trees just ahead. It was an eerie wail, not unlike that of a woman’s shriek. Without looking to the sky, he knew a storm was brewing. He stopped, then lifted his arms out on either side of his body like a bird in flight, and faced the force of nature for what it was. Unpredictable.

  Unstoppable. Uncontrollable.

  The first drops of rain were beginning to fall when Casey caught him. She didn’t stop to ask him why. She didn’t care that she was getting wet. She just threw herself into his arms, becoming his anchor against the storm.

  Ryder groaned and wrapped his arms around her, and although the wind still blew and the rain still fell, he knew a sudden sense of peace. He dug his hands through the windwhipped tangle of her hair and shuddered as she bent to his will.

  Rain was falling harder now and he couldn’t find the words to explain the horror and guilt that he lived with every day.

  Casey clutched at him in desperation. His gaze became fixed upon her face, and she could see his eyes. They were as wild and as stormy as the night. His fingers coiled in her hair. His body was trembling against hers. A chill began to seep into her bones, and she
knew she had to get them out of the weather. The gardener’s shed was nearby. She pushed out of his arms, then grabbed him by the hand and started running. To her everlasting relief, he followed.

  When she slammed the door shut behind them, the sound of the rain upon the metal roof was almost deafening, but at least they were no longer standing in the midst of it all.

  “Lord have mercy,” she said, and shivered as she lifted her hair from her neck and twisted it. Water ran out, then down her shoulder and onto her feet. She reached for the light switch.

  It didn’t work. It figured. In Ruban Crossing, if the wind blew or rain fell, inevitably, the power went out.

  She turned, and knew Ryder was right before her, although she could barely see his face.

  “Ryder?”

  His hand cupped her shoulder, then her cheek. He stepped closer until their foreheads were touching and she could hear the ragged sounds of his breath. She lifted a hand to his face, and even though they’d just come out of a storm, she had the strangest sensation that what she felt were tears, not rain.

  “Sweetheart?”

  His lips found hers, stifling whatever else she might have said. They were cool and wet and softened upon impact, molding themselves to her mouth with tender persistence.

  Casey sighed and when his arms encircled her, she leaned into his embrace. His hands were moving up and down her arms, across her shoulders, upon her hips. When he discovered she wore nothing beneath his shirt but herself, she felt him pause. His voice came out of the silence, little more than a whisper, but what he said made her blush in the dark.

  Her hesitation was brief. There was nothing he could ask that would shame her. There was nothing she wouldn’t do with or for this man who called her wife. She pulled the wet T-shirt over her head and dropped it on the floor. Her hands moved to his waist, then beneath the wet denim covering the straining thrust of his manhood.

  When she took him in her hands, he groaned. When she knelt, she heard him take a deep breath. And she knew for the rest of her life, the sound of rain on a roof would bring back the memory of what she had done in the dark to bring Ryder Justice to his knees.

  * * *

  Joshua came into the kitchen. “Found this in the gardener’s shed this morning.”

  Casey looked up from the kitchen table. Pink tinged her cheeks, but her expression remained calm.

  Ryder glanced at Casey, then looked away. Even after the onslaught of emotions they’d shared last night, he’d been unable to explain what had sent him into the storm.

  “It looks like one of my T-shirts,” Ryder said. “I know I left one in the garage, but I didn’t leave one in the shed.”

  Casey sighed. He hadn’t lied. Not really. She was the one who left the shirt. Not him.

  Joshua shrugged. “I think it will clean up all right. It’s not torn, just wet and muddy.”

  “Thanks,” Ryder said, and returned to the paper he’d been reading.

  Tilly stared at the couple sitting side by side at her kitchen table. Everything seemed the same—except her instincts told her it wasn’t.

  “Is there something you’d be wanting to talk about?” she asked.

  Ryder and Casey looked up, first at her, then at each other, before shaking their heads. Casey smiled. “No, ma’am.”

  Tilly glared. “I didn’t get to be fifty-nine years old by being a fool.” She banged a pot on the stove to accentuate her claim. “I know when something’s not right. Did you two have a fight? ’Cause if you did, I’m telling you now, the best way to end it is talk it all out.” She pointed a spoon at Joshua. “Tell them Josh! Tell them I know what I’m talking about.”

  Joshua rolled his eyes, thankful he was on the far side of the room from that spoon. “My Tilly knows what she’s talking about. She always does. If you don’t believe me, then ask her.”

  Ryder grinned behind his paper as Tilly lit into Joshua for making jest of her claims. It was just as well. It changed the subject, which was fine with him.

  He glanced at Casey. Worry was there on her face. He’d have to be a fool not to see it. But he’d give her credit. She hadn’t asked a single question. She’d just been there, giving herself to soothe his pain.

  He glanced at her face—at her mouth—at her hands. Dear Lord, but she had soothed much more than his pain. Impulsively, he leaned over, slid his hand at the back of her head and pulled her forward. Their mouths met. More than slightly surprised, she parted her lips. His were hard and unyielding, demanding that she remember what they were, what they shared.

  She gave herself up to the kiss and felt more pain than passion behind the embrace. One day. One day he would talk. Until then, she would have to be satisfied with waiting for his answers—or with what she learned on her own. The private investigator she’d hired was due back on Monday with a final report. Surely she would have some sort of answer by then. Even if it didn’t come from Ryder, she had a right to know.

  CHAPTER 13

  Last night’s rain had washed everything clean. Lash took his morning cup of coffee out onto the veranda and gazed across the yard into the trees beyond. Although it wasn’t visible from where he stood, he could hear the water rushing through the creek below. He smiled to himself and took a slow, careful sip of the hot brew, careful not to burn his lips.

  It was all falling into place. The kidnapping of Delaney Ruban’s heir was a brilliant plan. He knew exactly how it was going to happen—who was going to do the deed—even the amount of ransom he was going to ask for the safe return of Ryder Justice’s wife.

  The ideal location in which she would be hidden had all but fallen into his lap. An aging client had been admitted to a nursing home via letter and phone by a distant cousin. The law offices of Marlow Incorporated had been given power of attorney to see to her monetary needs, as well as prepare for the impending funeral that was bound to occur.

  Lash had done as the family had asked. Fostoria Biggers was now residing in the second room on the right at the Natchez Home for the Aged. Fostoria’s money was in the bank, but Lash Marlow’s name was on the signature card of her account. Her home out in the country was to be put on the market, and it would be—as soon as he no longer had need of it, which would be right after the Rubans coughed up three million dollars for Casey’s safe return.

  Friday he’d closed his office and gone to Natchez. The two men he’d hired with five hundred dollars he’d borrowed from Fostoria Biggers’s account had come into town last night and were in a motel waiting for his call. The five hundred dollars was just a down payment on what he’d promised them when Casey’s abduction was completed.

  He took another sip of his coffee as he came down from the steps. He laughed to himself, and the sound caused a pair of white egrets roosting in an overhead tree to take flight. Fifty thousand dollars. Last month he couldn’t have come up with fifty dollars, and now he had promised Bernie Pike and Skeet Wilson fifty thousand. And, compared to what he would have in his pocket before the week was over, it was a pittance.

  The air was rich with the scent of bougainvillea that grew wild within the skeletal arms of a long-dead oak. The grass was still wet from last night’s rain and by the time he reached the ivy-covered gazebo, the hems of his slacks were damp.

  He stepped inside, then set down his cup and looked around. For the first time in more years than he cared to count, he could see light at the end of his tunnel of financial woes. It wouldn’t be long before he could begin the repairs on Graystone and he could hardly wait. Even the gazebo was long overdue for a face-lift. And while it would have to wait just a little bit longer, there was one thing he could do.

  He began gathering up the unpaid bills he’d been tossing on the gazebo floor, making a pile of them in the middle of the yard. Since the grass was damp, he had no qualms about what he did next.

  He struck a match and gave it a toss. The papers were damp as well, but finally one caught—then another—then another, and while he watched, the ugly reminders of his p
ast went up in smoke.

  * * *

  The folder from Childers Investigations lay on Casey’s desk unopened. The private investigator was gone—had been for over twenty minutes, and Casey hadn’t been able to bring herself to read the report. Fear overlayed curiosity as she stared at the name beneath the Childers logo.

  Ryder Justice—Confidential

  Right now her world was just about perfect. But when she opened this up, it could reveal a Pandora’s box of despair that no amount of money could buy, sell or fix.

  She walked to the window overlooking the downtown area of Ruban Crossing and stared out onto the street without seeing the traffic or the flow of people coming and going into the Ruban Building itself. And because she was so lost in thought, she didn’t see Ryder drive up and park, nor did she see him getting out of the Lincoln with her briefcase—the one she’d left in the kitchen chair during breakfast.

  She glanced back at her desk, then walked to the far side of the room to refill her coffee cup. Another cup couldn’t hurt. And it was as good an excuse as any to put off reading the report.

  Her intercom buzzed, then Nola Sue’s voice lisped into the silence.

  “Mrs. Justice, your husband is here with your briefcase. He’s on his way in.”

  A smile of delight broke the somberness of Casey’s features as Ryder came through the doorway, dangling her briefcase from the ends of his fingers.

  “Hi, darlin’, sorry to interrupt, but I thought you might be needing this. I’ll just lay it on your desk and get out of your hair.”

  Casey gasped. The report! It was on her desk! Before she could think to move, Ryder was halfway there.

  Hot coffee sloshed on her fingers as she shoved the cup on the counter and made a run for the desk. “Ryder, wait!”

  Startled by the urgency of her shout, the briefcase slid across the desk and then onto the floor, taking everything with it as it felt.

  “Sorry about that,” he said quickly, and knelt, intent on gathering up what he had spilled. But he froze in the act, unable to ignore the fact that his name was on every sheet of paper he picked up.