Reyn's Redemption

by Beth Cornelison

  To claim her love, first he must reconcile his past…and catch a killer.

  When firefighter Reyn Erikson returns to the small Louisiana town that branded him a killer, he doesn’t want trouble. He plans to slip in, help his hospitalized grandmother, and slip out again as silent as smoke. Instead he runs into two unintended flashpoints: his grandmother’s plea to find the truth behind his mother’s death. And sexy redhead Olivia Crenshaw.

  Olivia has found evidence that her late father, the former sheriff, suspected Reyn’s mother was murdered. The truth is still hiding somewhere in this town, and only Reyn can give his grandmother—and himself—the peace they both deserve.

  Since Olivia plans to investigate with or without him, Reyn has little choice. From the start, her tenacity and inner strength earn his respect. Despite her reservations about his priorities, Olivia is irresistibly drawn to the handsome firefighter with a uniform full of medals and a past full of mysteries.

  The deeper they dig into the past, the more they uncover dark secrets that threaten their sizzling attraction—and draw a killer out of hiding

  Warning: Contains a hero who doesn’t think he is one, and a heroine who will stop at nothing to make him believe otherwise. Hot fires, hot danger and even hotter love scenes. Fire extinguisher recommended. Just in case.

  eBooks are not transferable.

  They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Samhain Publishing, Ltd.

  577 Mulberry Street, Suite 1520

  Macon GA 31201

  Reyn’s Redemption

  Copyright © 2010 by Beth Cornelison

  ISBN: 978-1-60504-943-4

  Edited by Bethany Morgan

  Cover by Tuesday Dube

  All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: March 2010

  www.samhainpublishing.com

  Reyn’s Redemption

  Beth Cornelison

  Dedication

  To Paul and Jeffery—I love you guys!

  And thanks to my brother-in-law, Kyle Beeson of the Athens/Clarke County Fire Department, for his assistance with questions regarding firefighting.

  Chapter One

  Reyn Erikson wrapped his sweaty hand around the church’s cross-shaped door handle and steeled himself with a deep breath. He’d known coming back to Clairmont, Louisiana, would be difficult. So many ghosts lived here. But walking back inside this small country church could well be the hardest test of all.

  The last time he’d darkened the door of Clairmont Baptist Church had been his mother’s funeral twenty years ago. That day, as a guilt-ridden ten-year-old, he’d only wanted to run as far and as fast as he could. Away from that church. Away from Clairmont. Away from the fingers pointed at him.

  And never come back.

  If not for the message from his grandmother’s friend, he wouldn’t be back now. He wouldn’t be standing on the stoop of the aged sanctuary with his heart thumping like a trapped animal trying to escape. The merciless July sun baked down on his back, and the oppressive Louisiana humidity stuck his dress shirt to his clammy skin. But he could only blame dread for the sense of suffocation that squeezed his chest.

  Of all the places where Gram’s friend could have asked to meet him, why the church, damn it?

  Open the door, coward. What’s wrong with you? Just go in.

  When he tugged the door open, it squeaked a loud protest, drawing the gaze of the man in the pulpit as well as most of the congregation. Reyn stepped inside and caught the door before it banged closed.

  “As I drove through Arkansas last week,” the minister continued, despite Reyn’s late arrival, “I saw a church billboard that read, ‘So you think it’s hot here?’”

  With another glance at Reyn, the minister waited for the soft stir of chuckles to quiet before he continued.

  The man’s voice faded to a muted drone when Reyn turned his attention to the stained-glass windows that had glared down at him through his mother’s funeral. Angels in flowing robes condemned him from the brightly colored glass. Saints and prophets stared back at him with contempt and censure.

  You let your mother down. You let her die, the figures shouted at him. Coward.

  His mouth grew dry. His feet seemed rooted where he stood. Like dense, acrid smoke filling a burning house, guilt and resurrected grief billowed in his chest. He struggled to suck air into leaden lungs. Out of habit, he reached down to adjust the flow of oxygen into his breathing apparatus, only to remember he wasn’t wearing his turnout gear.

  A tug on his shirtsleeve yanked him back to the present. Glancing down, he found a freckle-faced boy grinning at him.

  “…to have a seat, sir?”

  He realized belatedly the minister was talking to him, and he snapped his gaze to the pulpit. Scanning the curious faces turned toward him, he recognized a few members of the aged congregation. Obviously Principal Horton remembered him too, judging from the scowl that darkened the man’s face. Mrs. Skinner directed a suspicious glare toward Reyn, and her lips thinned and frowned. No Clairmont Welcome Wagon for him.

  He hadn’t expected a warm reception. At least not from the people who remembered him. These same people had accused him, judged him and driven him out of his tiny hometown.

  Reyn stepped to the back pew and folded his large body onto the hard bench. At ten, the narrow wooden seats had been uncomfortable. For a thirty-year-old man of his considerable size, the pew promised nothing but stiff muscles.

  The minister continued his sermon, despite the growing buzz as more people recognized him and whispered to their neighbor. Had he really thought he could come to town, see Gram and make arrangements for her care, then quietly leave Clairmont without the rumor mill catching wind of it? He wouldn’t care what the people of Clairmont said about him if not for Gram. He hated to think of his grandmother being subjected to the pettiness of this small town. With his return, the Clairmont gossips would breathe new life into the embers of old fires. His name would be vilified again. He couldn’t deny that he’d earned his reputation as a troublemaker. So why should they have believed in his innocence when it mattered most?

  When the sermon ended, Reyn rubbed the tension building at the back of his neck, and the choir stood to lead the last hymn. A flash of color caught his eye, and he focused his attention on a young woman in the choir loft. As if her youth in this elderly congregation didn’t already make her stand out, a bright sunbeam shone through the stained glass, spotlighting her heavenly face. The ray of light set her thick halo of red hair on fire and made her ivory skin glow.

  The young woman raised her eyes and caught him staring. Before he could awkwardly look away, a lopsided grin tugged the corner of her mouth. Her seductive mouth. Her extremely hot, kiss-me-you-fool mouth.

  Intrigued, Reyn held her gaze and lifted one eyebrow, acknowledging her grin. Before his eyes, the angel with the flaming hair and the sexy mouth transformed into a full-fledged temptress. A come-on in a choir robe. Her lopsided grin melted into an alluring, come-hither invitation. Her eyes glittered and danced with mischief.

  “Hi,” she mouthed.

  In response to her none-too-subtle flirting, liquid heat pooled in his belly and spread through his veins. He shoved his
hands in his pockets and jerked his gaze away when he recognized the heaviness collecting in his groin.

  He drew several deep breaths and shook himself from the siren’s spell. Though he no longer cared what got whispered about him, Gram didn’t need to hear that her grandson had become aroused at church.

  After the minister dismissed the congregation with a benediction, the pianist played another verse of the last hymn. The congregation filled the aisles, and Reyn sighed his relief, eager to get out of the church that held so many bad memories. A few of the people who knew his history sent him disapproving looks, and he clenched his teeth.

  To hell with them. They couldn’t hurt him now. He was no longer the frightened boy they’d run out of town.

  He searched the crowd, wondering which of the white heads or beehive hairdos belonged to Gram’s friend, Olivia Crenshaw. He knew the name, since Gram mentioned her friend from time to time in their Sunday phone calls. But like most everything else about Clairmont, he’d forgotten the face that went with the Crenshaw name. All he had to go on was the message Mrs. Crenshaw left at the fire station when she’d called about Gram’s broken hip and asked him to meet her at the church.

  Mrs. Crenshaw had been Gram’s friend for several years now, keeping tabs on her as his grandmother became frailer. She’d been the one who found Gram on her bathroom floor, unable to walk and in desperate pain.

  Reyn’s gut clenched thinking of Gram laid out on the cold tile floor and suffering. While he worked in Atlanta, fighting the enemy fire week after week, praying for redemption, Gram was alone. Though he’d urged Gram to move to Georgia, had flown her to Atlanta every Christmas and Easter for years, he still worried about Gram living alone. He owed Mrs. Crenshaw, whoever she was, a tremendous debt for her attentiveness to his grandmother.

  He searched the milling congregation, the townsfolk apparently in no hurry to get home, and noticed the redheaded seductress from the choir making a beeline for him. She’d removed her choir robe and draped it over her arm. Without the robe to hide her figure, he discovered she had dangerous curves to match the promise of trouble glinting in her eyes.

  Reyn groaned. Tempting as she was, the last thing he needed during his brief stay in Clairmont was trouble. He couldn’t do anything to cause tongues to wag and leave another scandal to haunt Gram.

  He turned to leave through the back door of the church, hoping Miss Trouble would take the hint and find another target. But the press of bodies clogging the doorway, where people waited to shake the minister’s hand, blocked his path.

  The redhead came up behind him and gripped his arm. “James Reynold Erikson, better known to his family and friends as Reyn, lieutenant with the Atlanta Fire Department and Mr. August of the Firefighters Association’s charity calendar.”

  Stunned, Reyn turned to the beauty with the flaming hair.

  She stuck her hand out for him to shake. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

  After staring at her outstretched hand for a moment, he gave her a polite smile and wrapped his fingers around hers. Her hand was small, but her grip was strong.

  He cleared his throat. “How did you know—?”

  “Oh, puh-leeze. Your grandmother can’t stop talking about you and your heroic deeds with the fire department. I’ve heard about every cat you’ve rescued and every blaze you’ve put out. She loves to brag on you. Why, she talked for six months about the little girl you pulled out of the burning car.”

  A prickling suspicion crawled through him. “You’re—”

  “Olivia Crenshaw. I called you a few days ago about your grandmother. My car’s outside, and I’m headed to the hospital to visit Lila now if you want to ride along.” She gave him another lopsided grin.

  His focus dropped to her mouth, riveted by the wicked allure of her full lips. The idea of being alone in a car with the loquacious flirt tantalized him, but his conscience reared its head. Better not play with fire.

  “Um…yeah. Sure. But I can take my truck and fol—”

  “Leave it here. I’ll drop you back here after we visit Lila and maybe grab a bite of lunch at Burdeaux’s.”

  “How is Gram? She was asleep when I called the hospital last night, and I haven’t gotten a chance to call again this morning. I left Atlanta at three a.m. and drove straight through.”

  Her expression modulated. “Physically she’s doing quite well, considering. But her spirits have been low lately. I know having you here will do her a world of good. She misses you.”

  Did he detect a note of censure in the woman’s tone?

  With a short, wry laugh, he dragged a hand along his jaw. “You’re Mrs. Crenshaw? I was expecting an old biddy. Someone with gray hair and support hose.”

  “Ah.” Her smile brightened again, and laughter sparkled in her eyes. “Sorry to disappoint you. And it’s Ms. Crenshaw, not Mrs. Furthermore, I don’t wear pantyhose of any kind, especially not in the summer. The things are too dang hot.”

  Reyn battled the urge to check out her legs and confirm what she’d said. Instead he locked his gaze on her face, studied the parade of freckles across her nose and cheeks, the shimmer of peach lipstick on her lips.

  She cocked her head to one side and caught her bottom lip in her teeth. “Hmm. Your pictures don’t do you justice. Well, that calendar shot does maybe, but—” she picked a loose string off his shirt at the shoulder, “—with that shot, who’s looking at your face, huh?”

  She gave him another devilish grin, echoed by the gleam in her eyes.

  No doubt about it. The woman was a mistake waiting to happen. He’d made enough mistakes to last him a lifetime, thank you. And she clearly had misconceived notions about him based on his grandmother’s boasting and the damn calendar picture.

  He wasn’t surprised to learn Gram bragged on him. She always gushed about how proud she was of him when he called her. She’d always had a blind faith in him, even when he was a kid. Even when the rest of the town condemned him and his penchant for trouble. Guilt rose up to prick him again. Gram refused to see the truth, which was just as well. She didn’t know the whole story about the night of the house fire that killed his mother. He hadn’t had the guts to tell her what had happened, hadn’t wanted to hurt her any more than his inaction already had.

  Reyn ran a finger under his collar to loosen the tie that threatened to strangle him. “Can we get outta here? This place is starting to close in on me.”

  “Sure. Follow me.” Olivia pivoted gracefully on her toes and sauntered up the center aisle of the church. Her hips swayed beneath her short, flouncy skirt, and heat coiled inside Reyn as he watched her walk away. Recklessness and curiosity overrode the voice of caution, and he peered down to check out her legs. Long, sleek and sexy. Just as he’d expected.

  It would have been a hell of a lot easier if Olivia Crenshaw had been old and arthritic. But when had anything in his life ever been easy? The sooner he took care of Gram and got out of town the better.

  “’Livia, wait!” A girl, who looked to be about five years old, waved to Olivia from the pews. “I wanna ride with you.”

  Olivia stopped and waited for the girl who, Reyn realized with a second look, wore braces on pencil-thin legs. Tucking a wisp of dark hair behind the girl’s ear, Olivia shook her head.

  “I’m not going home yet, sweetie. I’m taking Lila’s grandson up to the hospital to see her.” The girl pouted, and Olivia tugged her ponytail. “Reyn, this brat is my sister, Katy. Katy, this is Reyn.”

  Katy turned wide eyes to Reyn. “The fireman?”

  Reyn held his hand out to Olivia’s sister and gave her a friendly smile. “Nice to meet you, Katy.”

  Katy shook his hand with hero-worship in her eyes. The girl’s awe caused a funny catch in his chest, his usual discomfort with receiving undeserved adulation.

  “Ride with your dad, Katy. I’ll see you at home later, and we’ll play Clue. Okay?”

  Her sister nodded and plodded down the aisle toward the crowd near the ex
it. Turning, Reyn followed Olivia to a side door. When he stepped out of the church and into the blinding sun, he slipped on his shades and glanced around the parking lot. Gravel crunched under his feet, and the fresh scent of cut grass perfumed the air. Olivia headed to a rusty sub-compact parked in the shade of a live oak.

  “I’m gonna have to move some things off the front seat before you can get in.” She dangled her keys from one finger while she opened the driver’s side.

  “If you’d rather take my truck, I don’t mind—”

  “It’ll only take a second. I just have to move a few books. I take a night class at ULM, finishing my degree in pharmacy.”

  “ULM, huh? That’s a long commute. You go every night?”

  “Naw, just Tuesdays and Thursdays this semester.” Her short skirt rode higher when she bent and stretched to clear a seat for him. He looked away from the tantalizing view and watched the family parked beside them pile into their van.

  “Reyn? Reyn Erikson, is that you?”

  He turned to the middle-aged woman with graying black hair who addressed him as she approached from the opposite end of the lot. He searched his memory to place the familiar face.

  “I’m Hannah Russell,” she said. “Your mother was a dear friend of mine for years.”

  “Was she? Well, then it’s a pleasure to meet you.” He offered his hand, but she bypassed his proffered handshake and gripped his shoulders. “My goodness, look at you. All grown up and handsome as the devil.”

  He fumbled for a response to the compliment, but before he could reply, Hannah added, “You must be home to see your grandmother. I heard she was in the hospital.”

  “Yes, ma’am. A broken hip.”

  Hannah clapped a hand to her chest. “Oh, the poor dear. Give her my best, will you?”

  “We sure will. That’s where we’re headed now.” Olivia stepped up beside him, and he cut a sideways glance to her.

  Reyn detected a slight shift in Hannah’s mood. She greeted the younger redhead with cool reserve. “Olivia. How’re you?”