Wild Hearts

by Sharon Sala

  Dallas sat down at the other end of the sofa, curling her feet up beneath her as she turned to face Betsy.

  “The shoulder is still pretty sore, but the ribs not so much. I won’t complain. It could have been worse.”

  Betsy shuddered. “I still have nightmares about how you looked when they brought you into the ER. The hand of God was with you that day or you wouldn’t be here.”

  Dallas shivered. “You’re right about that.”

  Betsy’s soft brown curls slipped down across her forehead as she leaned forward. “Slap my mouth if you don’t want to answer, but what’s going on with you and Trey?”

  Dallas sighed. “It took losing Dad and a near-death experience to put perspective back in my life. I love your son to the ends of the earth, and you know it. That was never the issue. I thought I wanted fame and bright lights. Found out I’d rather have Trey.”

  Betsy started smiling.

  “I quit my job,” Dallas went on. “I’m staying here. I told him I’d never leave him again.”

  Betsy’s eyes welled, and tears started rolling as she got up and gave Dallas a hug.

  “This is the best news I’ve heard in years. Praise the Lord,” she said.

  Dallas grinned. “Your son is very persuasive.”

  “Are we planning a wedding anytime soon?” Betsy asked.

  Dallas shrugged. “We haven’t talked about any of that, and truthfully, I’d rather wait until Dad’s murder is solved. I want to concentrate on happy stuff when I start planning the wedding.”

  Betsy nodded. “I can live with that. As long as I know you two are together again, I can die happy.”

  Dallas frowned. “I thought you wanted to be a grandmother, and now you’re ready to give up the ghost because I moved back to town? We need to work on your priorities, woman.”

  Betsy threw back her head and laughed.

  “Oh, my Lord, but you remind me of your mama. She never minced words.” She glanced at the clock. “And, I’ve talked enough. I need to get home. Many thanks for the eggs.”

  Dallas walked her to the door. “And thank you for the pie. Trey is going to be a happy man when he comes home tonight.”

  She stood in the doorway and waved until Betsy drove out of sight, then went back inside to change shoes. It was time to do chores.

  * * *

  Trey spent a good part of the afternoon at the sheriff’s office, getting caught up on where Dick Phillips’s murder investigation was at, and if they had any leads on the whereabouts of the two men Teddy Pryor had given up.

  Sheriff Osmond had just received the preliminary autopsy on Dick Phillips’s body from the coroner. They were still waiting on a few results from toxicology, but there were even more findings that backed up the definition of murder.

  “See for yourself,” Dewey Osmond said, as he handed Trey a copy of the autopsy report.

  Trey took a seat and began to read, and then suddenly stopped and looked up. “I see the coroner verified the shoulder injury,” he said.

  “Yes, it definitely happened prior to the day of his death, so your witness was correct in saying he could never have hanged himself.”

  Trey kept reading, then paused again. “A fractured skull?”

  “On the back of his head,” Osmond said. “It explained why the back of his clothing was dirty and the front was not. He either fell or was yanked backward hard enough to crack his skull. And one other thing of note. There was skin beneath his fingernails, but it turned out to be his own, and from the scratch marks on his neck it appears he was trying to get the noose off when they strung him up.”

  The image that put in Trey’s head made him sick to his stomach. What a nightmare. What a horrible way to die.

  “But there’s nothing on here to give you any leads in the investigation?”

  Osmond frowned. “Not a damn thing. And forensics didn’t even find anything on the rope. Whoever handled it was wearing gloves.”

  “Anything unusual about the rope?” Trey asked.

  “No, it was the kind you can buy anywhere. And it was new, so there weren’t any traces of dirt, chemicals, or grease to lead us to a particular location where the killer might have kept it.”

  “Shit,” Trey said.

  “That’s exactly how I feel,” the sheriff said. “All we know is that Dick Phillips was murdered, and so far, we don’t have a hint of motive. Did you find anything out about that big money he was expecting?”

  Trey nodded. “Yes, but we’re not advertising it. Dallas found out by accident when a man called to confirm a deal he had with Dick, then asked if she would honor it when he found out Dick had passed away.”

  “What was the deal?” Osmond asked.

  “Ginseng. Dick Phillips had a honey hole. He expected to get over a hundred thousand dollars after harvest and was going to use part of it to pay off a loan against his farm.”

  Osmond whistled softly. “My Granddaddy used to dig sang. It would take an awful lot of roots to bring in money like that.”

  “Dallas said the patch hadn’t been dug in something like forty or fifty years, so the roots would bring a higher price.”

  Osmond’s eyes narrowed. “That’s a reason to kill right there,” he said.

  “Yes, but as soon as Dallas heard about the deal she went looking for the patch and when she found it, it was still untouched. Dick’s been dead awhile now, and if he’d been killed for the ginseng, the killer would have gone straight for the patch, trying to dig it out before he was discovered, so I doubt the ginseng had anything to do with his murder.”

  “I tend to agree, but we’ll look into it,” Osmond said.

  “No one knows about the ginseng but you, me and Dallas,” Trey said. “And the buyer, of course. It’s safer for her if it stays that way until after harvest, okay?”

  The sheriff nodded.

  Trey shifted gears. “What do you know about the missing campers in the Ramsey case?”

  “Not much. FBI is working that. All I know is Pitts and Warren both have rap sheets a mile long and open warrants out for their arrests. They’ll go back to jail when they’re located, whether they killed Ramsey or not.”

  “Are they still on the mountain?” Trey asked.

  “The Feds don’t think so, but whatever leads would have been left behind at the camp washed away in that downpour. Two murders in our area, two of our own dead and gone, and we haven’t caught our killer on either one. Don’t even have a lead on Dick Phillips’s death. It’s damn frustrating is what it is,” Osmond muttered.

  Trey glanced at the clock. By the time he got back to Mystic it would be time to go home.

  “Let me know when they release Dick’s body and thank you for the information,” he said.

  Osmond nodded as he shoved a hand through his hair in frustration. “We could use a miracle right about now.”

  “If I see any angels, I’ll let you know,” Trey said, and they shook hands.

  A few minutes later he was in his patrol car and heading back to Mystic.

  Summerton, West Virginia

  There was nothing in Mystic comparable to Bailey’s for Men, which was the only place to go for designer clothing in Summerton. The killer frequented the store because appearance mattered, and because it took him out of the humdrum life he had back home. He glanced up at the clock. It was almost 6:00 p.m., which was closing time. Even though the salesman was being patient, he needed to make a decision.

  “How about this jacket, sir?” the salesman suggested. “It’s from an Italian designer, and it’s a good cut for you.”

  The killer slipped it on as he stood in front of the three-way mirror, eyeing his reflection and thinking about when he would wear the jacket.

  “I like this one, but the sleeves are a good half-inch too long for my taste. Once those are altered, I’ll be satisfied.”

  The salesman beamed. This would be a good commission. “Perfect choice, sir. When do you need it?”

  “Next Friday at the latest
.”

  The salesman called the shop tailor up to the front, and the man quickly pinned the sleeves.

  Both men making a fuss over him gave the killer a feeling of satisfaction. It was ridiculous that a man had to leave town to get respect.

  The salesman made a note on the work slip, and then helped him out of the new sport coat and back into the one he’d worn into the store.

  “I’ll give you a call when it’s ready for you to pick up,” the salesman said. “And you have a nice day.”

  The killer had parked about half a block down and was walking back to his car when he heard someone yell out his name from a passing car. He turned, then smiled and waved as the driver pulled up to the curb to talk.

  “How’s it going?” the killer asked.

  “Great! How about a round of golf Sunday?”

  “You’re on!” he said. “I’ll be in touch.” He gave the driver a thumbs-up.

  He was still smiling as he got back into his car. He started the engine, glanced in the rearview mirror, and then looked over his shoulder before pulling away from the curb.

  He was driving into the setting sun as he left Summerton. It would be dinnertime before he got back to Mystic, but the drive would give him time to work out what he needed to do next. Everyone had skeletons in their past, but some of his had yet to be buried.

  * * *

  Dallas was on the computer when Trey came home. She had chicken and dumplings warming on the back burner and a fresh pot of coffee waiting. When she heard him come in the door, she called out, “I’m in here!”

  He brought the outside in as he walked into the room. His leather jacket smelled faintly of pine and his cheeks were cold, but his lips were not.

  “Mmm,” he said, as he moved his mouth to the curve of her neck. “You not only smell good, you taste good.”

  She smiled. “That’s the chicken and dumplings you smell. They’re ready when you are.”

  “Give me a couple of minutes to change out of these clothes. I don’t like to wear work to the table.”

  He winked as he left, and she thought about what he’d said about wearing work to the table. That was something she understood. She’d never wanted to bring the work part of her life home, either.

  She moved her laptop and began setting the table, and by the time she finished, he was back.

  Trey began filling her in on his trip to see the sheriff as they ate.

  “So, there’s still no timeline on when they’ll release Dad’s body?” she asked.

  “No, I’m sorry, honey. I asked him to let me know. That’s the best I can do.”

  She sighed. “It’s not your fault. It is what it is. On another note, your mom came by. She came for eggs and brought a pie, but what she really wanted was to know if I was going to mess with her son’s heart again.” Dallas pushed her half-eaten plate of food aside, no longer hungry.

  He rolled his eyes. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be,” Dallas said. “I told her I was staying, and that I quit my job. She’s already planning the wedding, although I told her we hadn’t talked about it and I didn’t want to start planning a wedding in the middle of Dad’s murder investigation.”

  “Agreed,” he said, and then got up to refill his coffee cup. He cut two pieces of pie and brought them to the table, and kissed the side of her cheek.

  She felt so much love in such a small gesture that it took her breath away. She watched him digging into his mother’s pie, and just for a moment she saw the little boy he had been. God, but he’d turned into a magnificent man, and the blessing of it was, he still loved her.

  He caught her watching him. “What?”

  “Do you remember our first day of school?”

  He grinned. “I remember you. When I got home that day, Mom asked me what school was like. I told her it was fun. She asked me what I liked best, and I said the little girl with brown hair and blue eyes who sat across the aisle from me.”

  Dallas smiled. “I saw you, too. You had a black eye and a busted lip, and you winked at me.”

  Trey laughed. “Yeah, I was already working on my moves,” he said, and took another bite.

  “You call it what you want,” Dallas said. “But you taught me something as we were growing up that I’ve never found anywhere else.”

  “What was that?”

  “What it means to be steadfast. That’s what you are to me, Trey. You’ve never wavered in your faith in me or your love for me. Even when I left, you didn’t let your disappointment turn to hate. You just continued to love me. I don’t deserve it, but I’m so very grateful you are in my life.”

  Trey hadn’t expected this. He wasn’t prepared for the feeling that went through him. He shoved the pie away and reached for her hands.

  “Some people come into this world already knowing who they are and what they want out of life. I knew I was going to be a cop and that the only girl I would ever love was you. I knew it at six. I know it now.”

  Dallas tried to smile, but she was too close to tears. “I think you should probably just give up your apartment and move the rest of your stuff out here, don’t you?”

  “I think that’s a stellar idea. I already think of this as home,” Trey said.

  “I think we should commemorate this decision,” she added.

  “But not with pie,” he said.

  She smiled. “No, not with pie.”

  “How about I put up the pie and start the dishwasher while you get ready to commemorate?”

  “It won’t take long,” Dallas said. “All I have to do is strip.”

  She got up.

  Trey started grabbing plates and putting food away as she was walking out of the kitchen.

  He could hear her footsteps going down the hall as he was throwing dishes in the dishwasher and then locking up the house.

  When he walked into the room she was standing in the dark near the window, her body outlined by the moon glow seeping through the blinds.

  Trey grunted like someone had punched him in the gut.

  “God bless America and the decision we are about to commemorate,” he said softly, and kicked off his boots.

  He was naked in seconds and then reached for her.

  Her skin was silk against his body and when she wrapped her arms around his waist the contact was an instant turn-on. Her hands were cupped tight against his butt, and she was kissing his chest everywhere she could reach. He was hard and hurting so fast he didn’t think he would make it to the bed with her, but he did. He sat as she straddled his lap and eased down onto his erection.

  “Oh, baby, you feel so good,” he whispered.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck and moved just enough to make him groan, and then his hands were on her breasts before moving around her waist. Then she began to rock against him, and in the silence of the room they began the dance of love.

  Soft gasps.

  A guttural moan.

  The slap of flesh against flesh.

  The soft rustle of a sheet.

  The slight creak of wood against metal somewhere beneath the bed.

  The dance steps varied, but the end result was still the same: a climax of magnificent proportions that left the dancers spent and shaking.

  Trey eased her down onto the bed, taking care to cradle her shoulder, and then started all over. When they were lying arm in arm, stroking bodies and kissing lips, they made sparks fly, but when they were one, they made magic.

  When the last climax finally shattered Dallas’s mind and she grabbed hold of his shoulders to keep from falling, he went with her.

  She moaned. “Oh, my Lord, you’re a drug to my body. Being without you could drive me insane.”

  “One damn fine decision commemorated,” he said softly.

  “God bless America—and you,” Dallas added.

  * * *

  Morning came softly, the sun’s rays sneaking quietly up over the mountain, down through the trees, and creeping over the flatlands before crossing the pasture
and coming to rest on the roof of the barn. Just when it appeared the brightness was fixed there for the day, it spilled off the edge, painting the side of the chicken house and then slathering light across the ground like a knife spreading butter.

  Trey was awake, watching Dallas sleep. He saw the first rays of light trying to penetrate the curtains, as if saying, Wake up, wake up. It’s time to wake up.

  He thought of the engagement ring being sized back at the jeweler’s and couldn’t wait to put it on her finger.

  He thought of the life that lay ahead for them, the babies they would raise, the years and the love they would share as they grew old.

  For six years, four months, three weeks and two days he had believed that life would never happen. He had been wrong, and he would never lose faith in her again.

  He leaned down and kissed her awake.

  “Good morning, sunshine,” he said softly.

  Dallas groaned, stretched, and then winced when her shoulder muscles pulled.

  “Good morning to you,” she said, and then slid a hand behind his head and pulled him back for another kiss.

  “If I make omelets, all you get is a kiss. If we have cereal, you get so much more,” she said.

  “I’ll have so much more,” he said, and proceeded to work his way through the menu, leaving her too stunned to comment and too weak to walk.

  He planted one last kiss on her lips. “I’m going to take a shower,” he said.

  She blinked. “What did you say?”

  He grinned. “I’m going to take a shower.”

  She groaned. “How did you do that?”

  “Do what?”

  “You know.”

  His grin widened. “Did you like it?”

  “Oh, dear Lord, did I like it? Did you not hear me scream?”

  “Why, yes, I believe I did,” he said.

  “I can’t feel my legs.”

  He ran a hand down the long slender length of one. “Feels just fine to me.”

  She groaned and punched him on the arm. “Go! And wash that smile off your face while you’re at it.”

  He rolled out of bed and tried not to strut as he walked out of the room.