Grafted into Deceit

by Sherri Wilson Johnson

  But for now, she didn’t want to think about purpose or the future. Clinging to Steven and drinking in his care for her met her needs.

  He pulled away from her but continued to hold her face, rubbing her cheeks with his thumbs. “I love you, Marina.”

  “What?” She pulled back and gazed into his eyes, the moonlight casting a glow across them.

  “I love you. I know it sounds crazy, but I do. I can’t deny it. I refuse to hide it.”

  “Steven…”

  “I know. You’re not ready to hear it. You don’t fall for cops. You’re…”

  “I’m in love with you too.”

  “You are?”

  “I am. It’s crazy. How is this possible?”

  Steven squeezed her cheeks. “I don’t know. But it is. And I’m never going to let you forget how much I love you.”

  “I won’t let you let me forget.”

  Beneath the moonlight, they kissed again and embraced until Marina’s arms ached.

  When Steven released her and guided her toward her office with his arm around her waist, Marina asked again, “Where’s Ginger?”

  “She’s gone.”

  A twinge of fear gripped her causing her throat to constrict. “She got away?”

  “No, I killed her.” Steven shook his head and sighed. Marina’s heart ached for him. He hated killing people, and killing a co-worker had to be extra hard.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “I’m sorry too. But at least now we know the truth.”

  Marina nodded. “Iris and Mack started growing marijuana and tricked me into starting this business. They allowed Ronald to use the house he once owned to manufacture drugs. Iris used my money to pay for the manufacturing. Ronald used Rex’s ranch hands to transport the drugs. Jason was going to expose Iris and Mack to me, so she killed him. Kemar tried to run me down and kill me. One of them tried to do the same to you. And someone involved in all this mess killed your brother.”

  “Right.”

  “And all of this brought me and you together.” She rested her head on Steven’s upper arm as they walked out of the cornfield.

  They stepped out into the clearing and Marina gasped, her whole world coming to a halt. Although three fire trucks pumped water from a tanker truck and from the creek, all her greenhouses were burned to the ground, charred like her relationship with Iris. Half of her office building was destroyed, except for the end where her office was.

  Steven wrapped his arm around her waist and squeezed her close to him. “I’m sorry. I know they tried.”

  Marina wiped her tears away and smiled up at Steven in the dimness of night, the smoke-filled air blowing around them and choking out their breath. “It’s okay. Really. I didn’t know how I’d start over here anyway. It was going to be too hard. When Rex made his offer to buy the place, I knew I had to sell.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. I’m okay. I’ll be okay. You’re okay. That’s what matters.” She tucked her head against his chest.

  “I love you.”

  “I love you too, Detective Steven Pennington.”

  THE END

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  To my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ—thank you for giving your life for me and for giving me a love for spreading the Good News through my writing.

  To my husband, Dan, who keeps on believing that I can write more stories.

  To Kayla, Seth and Thea, chase after your dreams and keep walking in the Lord. He’ll never fail you.

  To Rich, thanks for answering all my drug-related and law enforcement questions.

  To Steven and Jason, thanks for letting me use you in my book.

  To my test readers for taking the time to give me input.

  To Lynnette for creating (once again) a gorgeous cover!

  To all of my family and friends, for your love and support.

  To my writing friends, for talking shop with me.

  Song of the Meadowlark

  Intertwined Series

  Book One

  By Sherri Wilson Johnson

  Chapter One

  Cora Buchanan drove her ’68 Camaro through town down Columbia Avenue, the places she’d become accustomed to in her years of living in South Carolina with Clark zooming past her. She pointed her car toward I-26 East, her green eyes filling with salty tears. This picturesque place had become a prison to her since Clark had left her to fend for herself, giving her no choice but to move in with his parents.

  Merging on to the highway symbolized the launching of her new life—slow, cautious at first, and then no looking back. She’d waited for a year—to the day—for Clark’s return. She couldn’t wait any longer. Moving away from Lake Murray would leave more of a void in her than moving away from her Florida childhood home had when she’d betrayed Mom and Dad and married Clark against their will. But it had to be done.

  Ben and Judy, the best in-laws anyone could ask for, seemed sure God would work out the details of her life, that their son would return to Cora. If only her faith could be that strong. She still had so many doubts. When he’d left last June, he’d taken most of her hope with him.

  When Cora crossed into Georgia, Taylor Swift’s latest cd blaring through her speakers, she smiled at the welcome sign boasting a giant peach. She was one state closer to seeing this thing through. The temperature held at 85 degrees, and the sunshine beaming down on her car warmed her chilled heart; the wind whipped her cares away. White, fluffy clouds painted pictures across the Georgia sky, blue like a bluebird’s wings today. Hopefully, the weather would remain clear until she got to Florida because she hated driving in the rain.

  Another two hours went by as Cora admired the beauty of the land—pine trees and crape myrtles, black-eyed Susans and old oak trees. Unique mailboxes dotted the edge of the road along the way—a giant emerald green fish, a miniature mail truck, and a mailbox about the size of a washing machine. An old man in overalls climbed down off his tractor to retrieve his mail from his cow shaped mailbox, scratching his belly. “Aww, he’s so cute.”

  The green grasses and golden hay made way for the city. Cora’s stomach growled, and she stopped at a sandwich shop outside of Atlanta for a roast beef sandwich, fries and water. The cold drink burned as it slid down her throat.

  Cora rubbed her bleary eyes and jumped back into the car again, stopped for gas and checked her tires, then headed toward I-75 South. She squinted in the afternoon sunlight, and cars zipped by like something from a futuristic movie. “Good grief, where are they in such a hurry to get to?”

  Once on I-85, Cora battled construction along the highway. The roads were extra narrow with cement barriers along the shoulder to keep cars from veering into the construction zone. “I hate this!” She gripped the steering wheel until her knuckles whitened. If she could make it through this stretch of road and get to Columbus before having a nervous breakdown, she’d stay the night there and give her body a respite.

  Cora passed rolling hills and tall spindly oak trees. Call boxes were every mile or so and white crosses lined the roadway. It seemed like forever since she’d seen another vehicle.

  “I didn’t think 85 was this remote.” It had been a while since Cora had seen a road sign, a mileage marker, or an exit. By now she should be to Columbus. A sinking feeling reached her stomach. Had she missed an exit and headed in the wrong direction? Up ahead, a sign read I-185.

  “I-185? How did I get on 185? What happened to 85?” She hit the steering wheel with her hand and let out a scream. Why hadn’t she brought her GPS? The late afternoon sun caused a glare on her windshield, and she rubbed her tired eyes again, scratchier than sandpaper. “I’m going to have to stop and ask for directions.”

  The sign up ahead read Lewistown, and Cora clicked on her blinker. As she pulled off the highway, looking for somewhere to get coffee and use the restroom, her car lunged forward, and her gears shuddered. She gripped the steering wheel to keep it on the road. She drove down Main Street and passed a Piggly Wig
gly, a Burger Hut, Mike’s Barber Shop, and there, a block up the road, a service station.

  Cora made it to the station and climbed out of her car, rubbing her hands on her jeans. What type of people would she encounter here in this out-of-the-way town? The red lettering on the white sign at the top of the building announced Millburn Service Station. Maybe there’d be someone nice inside.

  Inside the office, a young man stood behind the counter locking up the cash register and the desk drawer. The smell of gasoline, new tires, and oil filled Cora’s nostrils, sending a wave of nausea to her stomach.

  “Excuse me.” Cora scratched the back of her neck. “My car just died. Can you help me?” She fiddled with her keys.

  “We’ll see. Let’s go take a look at it. You new in town or just passing through?” The attendant wiped grease off his hands with a rag covered in oil and pushed open the door, leading the way outside to the parking lot.

  “I’m passing through. I’m from Lake Murray, South Carolina headed for Florida.” The man seemed pleasant enough and not creepy.

  “You got a long way to travel. Welcome, even if it’s only for a short time and under bad circumstances. My name’s Bobby Millburn. I own the place.” He regarded the station with a prideful grin.

  “I’m Cora.”

  Bobby lifted the hood, looked around, and wiggled some wires. He got down on the ground and slid his body underneath the car. After a few minutes, he pushed himself out from underneath and stood, wiping his hands on his rag, then adjusted his cap.

  “Do you think you can repair it?”

  “From the looks of things, it’s your transmission. I can repair it, but I ain't so sure if we can get the parts for ya right away.” Bobby considered her with a slight frown on his grease-smeared face, his plain blue eyes teeming with obvious empathy. A pickup drove past, and the driver honked. Bobby waved his rag in the air.

  “I was afraid the transmission had gone out. It’s been slipping a bit lately. How long?”

  “A week, probably. We don’t get many cars like this in here.” He took a long admiring look at the classic automobile.

  “Is there anyone else around who could get me out of here by tomorrow?”

  “I don’t think so. I’m pert near the only repair place around these parts. I’ll tell ya what, though. I’ll try to find someone for ya—maybe someone a town or two away. Do ya know where you’ll be staying tonight?”

  “No, wasn’t planning on staying. I got off the exit and came straight here.”

  “I could check around for ya in the mornin’, and let ya know if anyone has the parts or if the repairs can be done sooner than a week.”

  “That’d be great. Do you know of an inexpensive place to stay?”

  “Shore do. Go up this street and over two blocks. There’s a bed-and-breakfast, Apple Springs Inn, on the corner. Ms. Lottie McCallister runs the place. You can get a wonderful meal and a comfortable room. She won’t charge ya much neither. Tell her I sent ya.”

  “Thanks so much. I really appreciate your kindness.”

  “Would ya like me to drive ya up there?” Bobby shut the hood and clapped his hands together.

  “Oh no, that’d be asking too much of you.”

  “But you have your luggage with ya. You can’t carry all of it.”

  “It’s on wheels.”

  “I don’t mind.” He grinned.

  Cora sighed. “I am pretty tired. I’ve been driving all day.”

  “Give me a few minutes, and I’ll lock up.”

  ***

  No more than fifteen minutes passed before Cora stood in front of the Apple Springs Bed-and-Breakfast Inn. This historic home, probably from the early 1900s, had elegant country charm with its porches, ferns, and swings. The oak trees towering above the house had to be more than a hundred years old.

  Cora’s nerves settled, and she relaxed her tense shoulders. Bobby helped her with her bags as they entered the inn. Cora’s nose filled with the scents of potpourri and lemon polish on antique furniture.

  “Can I help you?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I’d like to get a room for the night.”

  “She’s leaving her car with me for the night. I told her you’d do her right. Have a good day, Ms. Lottie.”

  “Thank ya, Bobby.”

  Ms. Lottie, barely over five feet and round like a ball of dough, gray hair gathered into a knot on top of her head, wasn’t a quiet woman. Her voice demanded attention as she led Cora up creaking stairs to her room. “Supper is at six o’clock. I like my guests to be on time.”

  “I won’t be late.” Cora closed the door behind her and surveyed the room’s antique furnishings. More lemon and potpourri scent wafted over her. The first door she opened revealed an ample closet. The next door, a bathroom. She let out a gasp of excitement. She wouldn’t have to share a bath with the other guests. She stashed her bags in one corner of her room and opened only the suitcase with her traveling clothes and toiletries. After freshening up in the bathroom, she changed into a pair of jeans and a cotton blouse.

  Cora turned on the television and flung herself onto the soft antique bed. The room resembled Grandmother’s cozy guest room; vermilion walls darkened the space. She had thirty minutes until dinner. She should go help Ms. Lottie, but her legs felt cramped from riding all day, and her head pounded. And, after all, she was a guest. She’d rest up a bit before going downstairs.

  This would be a good time to call Ben and Judy. What should she say to them though? Should she tell them her car had broken down or leave out that little detail? If she told them, they’d want to come get her.

  Swallowing her pride and inhibitions, she plugged her cell phone into the wall to charge her dead battery and dialed her in-laws. As she’d suspected, they wanted to come get her, but she insisted she’d be fine and that she was enjoying the adventure.

  Next Cora called Mom and Dad to let them know only that she’d stopped in Lewistown for the night and would be on her way soon. If she told them about her car breaking down, Dad would leave immediately to come get her.

  She left her room for dinner, and it hit her. How was she going to pay for her car repairs? She had no idea how much it would cost—or how much the expenses of staying at the inn would be. Would she run out of money before she even left Lewistown?

  Marriage was the last thing on her mind. Now it may be her only choice.

  Debutante Lydia Barrington lives a carefree, protected existence on Live Oaks Plantation in Florida. While her sisters happily prepare for their traditional roles as women and talk of courting, Lydia dreams of adventure and independence. She counts the days until she can leave home to explore the world, to leave behind the confining expectations of her family and community—and her God. Even her friendship with handsome Hamilton Scarbrough isn’t enough to hold her back…until they dance, and her heart considers love.

  Confused by her heart’s betrayal, Lydia struggles to gain her independence. Then she overhears a private conversation about a business deal that has everything to do with her future. Now she’s faced with the biggest decision of her life—to concede or to fight. Either choice will require great sacrifice…and, perhaps, countless rewards. In an attempt to escape her imminent destiny, Lydia scrambles to find a solution—at all costs. Amidst the trials that follow, as Lydia runs out of time, she learns the meaning of sacrifice, forgiveness, hope and faith. Stripped of her future, will she concede or fight?

  Will she ever be able TO DANCE ONCE MORE?

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Sherri Wilson Johnson is an Inspirational Romance novelist, a speaker, and a former homeschooling mom who’d rather have laugh lines under her eyes than worry lines across her forehead. She lives in Georgia with her husband, her two children and her Chihuahua, Posey. Her favorite thing to do when she’s not with her family is to curl up with a good book or work on her current work-in-progress. She loves to dream of visiting romantic places and is passionate about the Lord, motherhood, homeschooling, and writing. S
herri is the author of To Dance Once More, To Laugh Once More, When Love Must Wait, Song of the Meadowlark, and Secrets Among the Cedars.

  http://sherriwilsonjohnson.com