by Nora Roberts
Zane rose, crossed to the bed. “I’m sorry I missed the chance to take you on one-on-one, old man. But a woman beat me to it, and she kicked your ass. That must be really humiliating for someone like you, and knowing that is incredibly satisfying. Here’s something for you to chew on while you’re doing life without parole. A tough, smart little girl ruined your plans for me nineteen years ago. And a tough, smart woman ruined them today.”
He started for the door, stopped, looked back one last time. “If any part of where you ended up before, and where you’re going now, is my fault? That’s just one more cause for celebration.”
Silas walked over when Zane stepped out. “You okay, man?”
“I’m just fine. From my experience, there’s enough on record for the DA’s office to charge him with second-degree murder along with the rest. He’ll get a lawyer and they’ll work on pleading it down to man one, but he’s gone. He’s done, and whatever time he has left in the world he’ll do on the inside.”
“Well, he earned it. Listen, if you need to hang out, have a beer, I’ll be there.”
“I know it. Tell Lee I’ll talk to him later. I need to get home, make sure Darby’s behaving herself.”
And he needed some good, clean air.
He didn’t think someone like Darby had a favorite flower, so he bought a bunch of everything that looked colorful and happy, that smelled good. Then realized the couple of vases he had at home wouldn’t do the job, so with the help of a delighted salesclerk, bought small vases, big vases, square vases, tall vases, and a big galvanized bucket to hold all the flowers until he got home.
Since he was in that deep, he decided what the hell and bought a couple bottles of champagne.
He rarely bought jewelry, didn’t intend to now, but a charm caught his eye, seemed predestined. Rather than a bracelet he figured she wouldn’t wear, he had it put on a chain.
When he drove the rest of the way home with the top down, the wind blowing the scent of flowers, the mountains green against the blue of the sky, he realized something had changed inside him.
The hook Graham and Eliza had lodged in his guts had pulled free. Done, he thought again, really done now.
He pulled over by the lake to get out, just to look at the sky, the hills reflected on it. Maybe there were undercurrents and always would be, but they’d never drag him down again.
He’d keep building his law practice, and he’d take Darby sailing. Maybe, shit, yeah maybe he’d play some baseball.
And put the past where it belonged. Locked away, like Graham.
He cruised up his drive, saw the solidity of his house—he’d done that—the charm of the terraces, the new trees—Darby had done that.
He wondered if, like him, she’d begun to see this place, this home, as a blend of them. And what that could mean to him, what it might mean to her.
For now he parked in the front, hauled everything inside. He watched through the door, studying the way Darby placed stone, how she and Ralph used the elevation in that placement, in the design, with Gabe doing the hauling.
He couldn’t follow it yet, but figured if he didn’t trust her vision by now, it made him an idiot. And a man smart enough to have Darby McCray in his life was no idiot.
He opened the doors, left them wide, and walked out into the backbeat of rock and roll.
Ralph spotted him, lifted a hand. “She ain’t lifting over the limit, boss. We’re sitting on her good there.”
“Glad to hear it. Where’s everybody else?”
“Maintenance job.” Darby swiped sweat. “Are you checking on me? Haven’t I got enough keepers?”
“She’s a little pissy,” Gabe told him.
“Who wouldn’t be?” She muttered it, jabbed a finger where she wanted Gabe to set a stone so she could arrange it.
“It’s coming up on time for her to pop the pills.”
Darby sent Ralph a stare from under her ball cap. “I know what time it is.”
“Hot work,” Zane observed. “How about I make a big pitcher of lemonade?”
Darby shifted her stare to Zane. “You know how to make lemonade?”
“Sure I do. You get the can out of the freezer, open it, dump it, add cold water, stir.”
Some humor leaked through. “Funny, that’s my family recipe, too.”
“I’ll do that, then y’all can take a break, Darby can pop the pills.”
And he thought as he went inside, he’d call his office afterward, do some work from home. Later he’d grill up some chops and sweet corn, put some potatoes on with them.
Because like it or not, he intended to take care of her.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Sweaty, sore, and satisfied, Darby took a couple pictures of the water feature in progress before she knocked off for the day.
She knew Zane sat at the back patio table with his laptop, a Coke, and one of the baseballs he tended to cart around. She’d tolerated Ralph’s ribbing.
“Somebody’s keeping an eye on you, boss.”
Just as she’d tolerated having a teenager hand her a fresh ice pack every hour or so and remind her to take a break and ice her shoulder.
She wasn’t an idiot, Darby assured herself, and she was perfectly capable of doing her job and being pissy while still appreciating the concern.
Now the workday done, her crew gone, she prepared herself to tolerate Zane’s fussing over her.
So she walked over to the table, picked up his Coke, gulped some down. “You know, you didn’t have to stick around and sit out here. I already had Gabe and Ralph on my case about doctor’s orders.”
“Uh-huh.” He finished up a last email. “Actually, I was enjoying an afternoon working at home and outside while surrounded by the landscape my lady created. A nice change of pace for me.”
He lifted a chin toward the progress of the water feature. “Coming right along.”
“It is. And if you go away, go to work the rest of the week like you’re supposed to, you should see the finished product by end of the day Saturday. Barring rain delays.”
“Yeah? That’s great because I’m figuring, if you’re pretty much done with the works by the end of the month, I’m going to throw a big, bust-out Fourth of July party.”
“Really?”
“We’ll have a hell of a view of the fireworks on the lake from up here.”
“Hmm.” After tipping down her sunglasses, she narrowed her eyes on his face. “You look like a man in a pretty good mood.”
“I’d say that’s accurate.”
“And unexpected.”
“I’m in a good enough mood to fire up the grill in a bit. Interested?”
No fussing, she concluded, and didn’t know quite what to think about it, or his good mood.
“I could be. I’ll grab a shower.”
She walked inside, then nearly straight back out again. “Are you opening a sideline flower shop out of your kitchen?”
“What? Oh.” Shaking his head, laughing, he got to his feet. “Slipped my mind. They’re for you.”
“For me? Walker, there has to be seven or eight dozen flowers in there.”
“I couldn’t decide, so I got a bunch. And the vases,” he added as they walked back in. “I thought about sticking them in vases, but then I decided you’d do a better job of it.”
“Well.” She searched for a word, settled on “Wow.”
“I didn’t get a card because I didn’t think they made one that covered all of it. Like thanks, I’m sorry, heal up soon, maybe a congratulations thrown in there. And the overall important you matter. You matter, Darby.”
“Wow” didn’t measure up, she realized, to what he made her feel at that moment. The words, the way he looked at her, the glory of scent and color surrounding them.
“I’m really dirty, but too bad.” She went to him, wrapped around him, and hoped what she felt in that moment came through the kiss.
“This is ridiculously beautiful, Zane. Insanely thoughtful.” Before stepping ba
ck, she pressed her hands to his cheeks. “I’m going to have the best time arranging all these.”
“We can have some champagne while you do.”
She blinked. “Champagne.”
“I picked up a couple bottles.” He got one out of the fridge, started to open it. “I didn’t think to ask if you liked champagne.”
“I’d be crazy not to. Zane, where did you go when you left here this morning?”
“We’ll talk about it.” He opened the bottle with a cheerful, muffled pop. “Meanwhile, open this.”
He handed her a small, wrapped box, then pulled out champagne flutes.
Overwhelmed, even a little anxious, she stared at the box. “Zane, I’ve got a few bruises. For all this I should be in a coma.”
“If you were, you couldn’t drink champagne. Open it. If you don’t like it, I’ll keep it myself because it made me think of you.”
Anxiety didn’t erase curiosity, so she pulled the ribbon, ripped the paper. And had to smile when she opened the box to a book-shaped charm on a chain with its flowing script quote.
“‘Though she be but little, she is fierce.’”
Holding it up so it dangled in the light, she looked at him. “I’m five-seven. That’s not so little.”
“Comparatively. And God knows the ‘fierce’ works.”
“Well, I love it, so you don’t get to keep it for yourself.” She slipped the chain over her head. “Now I might start milking every bump and scrape I get on the job to see what I can get out of it.”
He didn’t smile. “This was personal.”
“Okay. Why don’t we sit outside and drink this fancy wine, and you can tell me why you left here angry and upset, and came back in a damn good mood.”
“We’ll do that, get it done. Then I’m going to fire up that grill while you do something with these flowers.”
He sat out with her, dived right in because he wanted this part of their evening opened and closed. “You know I talked to Britt this morning, then I went to talk to Emily—and I’m going to round back to that. Then I drove into Asheville to see Graham.”
“I figured you would.”
“He looks like he did ten rounds with the champ, which he did. Pair of black eyes, broken nose. They wired his jaw. Can’t say I saw his balls, but I’m told they’re busted up pretty good. Don’t look distressed. Don’t.”
“I’ve never hit anybody, hurt anybody like that. It’s different in training. Even that time with Trent, it wasn’t like this.”
Zane reached over, tugged down the shoulder of her T-shirt to expose the bruising. “Do you think he’d have stopped there?”
“No. I know I did what I had to do.”
“Lee let me sit in while he interviewed him in the hospital. They tracked down his motel room, found his car. There’s evidence, plenty of it, on what he planned to do. And eventually, like I knew he would, he couldn’t stand me being in there. Couldn’t stand me just sitting there, looking at him, and all that hate, that rage, took over.”
He told her, not softening any of it, just cutting through to the meat.
“He confessed.” Shocked, appalled, Darby gripped her hands together under the table. “To killing his wife, to coming here to try to kill you.”
“I want to say he changed since I saw him last, but it’s not really true.” He picked up the ball, studied it, turned it in his hand. “I think prison and life after it stripped away the veneer. He isn’t able to polish himself up, to hide behind that layer now. What he is, it’s just there.”
It helped to sit here with her, smelling flowers, feeling the air while he emptied himself of the day.
He set the ball down again.
“Lee got the preliminary report on Eliza about an hour ago. Graham had the cause of death right. Subdural hematoma, resulting from the blow to the head. She had fresh bruises, old bruises. I expect they’ll plead it down to man one before it’s finished.”
“But—”
Zane waved a finger. “Due to the circumstances, the pattern, the evidence, he’ll get twenty years for it. Add in the aggravated assault and battery on you, breaking probation, and so on, his past history with violence, he won’t get out again. He’ll die in prison.”
Pausing, he looked out at what was his, what she’d made of his, the blooming where he’d never have thought to put it, the young trees, the pots spilling with color.
“I never confronted him after that night. I was the one in the hospital then, in cuffs then. After, I testified in court, but I didn’t confront him face-to-face. I did that today, for myself. For Britt and Emily. For my grandparents. For you.
“And I realized, when I walked away, that it’s over—and it hadn’t been, because I had it buried inside me all this time. Now I don’t. I ripped it out, like … a poisonous plant, root and all. It’s gone.”
“It took courage to do what you did.”
“He couldn’t touch me.”
“Not physically. Emotional wounds run deeper, we both know it. It took courage, and smarts. Serious smarts there, Walker. You knew just what to do to push him. I bet you were a hell of a prosecutor.”
“I wasn’t bad.” He flashed a grin. “Not bad at all. Now let’s round back, end this on a high note. Emily’s going to be fine. It’s rough on her, and my grandparents, but we’ll get through it. Britt, too, because they’re all—we’re all—going to be focused on something good and positive. Britt’s pregnant.”
“She’s— That’s great!” With a quick chair dance, Darby lifted her glass, tapped it to his. “The best of the best kind of news. When’s she due?”
“I don’t know. It’s really new. She wasn’t going to announce it yet, then figured she would. She’s good at knowing how to balance things out.”
“I’ll say. You should’ve taken her flowers.”
“You’re right. I’ll do it tomorrow. You can deal with yours, get your shower, ice your shoulder. I’ll deal with dinner. And we’ll get seriously buzzed on champagne.”
“I can get behind that plan.” She reached over for his hand. “The day may have started on a really shitty note, but we’re going to end it happy, well-fed, and a little bit drunk.”
* * *
While her bruises healed, Darby talked to the Asheville police, the prosecutor, dealt with reporters from the Lakeview Weekly to reporters from Asheville, from Raleigh, and from the Associated Press.
The original case against Dr. and Mrs. Graham Bigelow had generated considerable media at the time. The current one dredged all of that up while layering on the new.
She knew Zane dealt with reporters, too, just as she knew both of them breathed a sigh of relief when the news cycle switched to some other scandal.
As June wound down toward July, she finished up work at Zane’s, squeezed in the stonework between guests at Emily’s last bungalow, started the Marsh job on the lake.
With the help of her crew, and the surprise that Zane knew his way around a nail gun, she had her equipment shed under roof, and a sweet little garden shed completed and stocked, and the skeleton of her greenhouse erected.
Maybe she’d neglected the interior of the house for now, but she built her business, client by client.
She worked with two of those clients on a pretty Saturday afternoon while their little boy took a nap in the shade.
“When you deadhead?” She demonstrated to both Charlene and Joe. “You not only tidy up the plant or bush, you encourage new blooms. And your herbs there? You want to pinch off the flowers.”
“Oh, but they’re pretty,” Charlene objected.
“But the plant’s energy’s going to the flower instead of the vegetation, and once they flower, your leaves can get bitter. You also want to pinch back the plant to encourage it to fill out. Look here at the branch point, now count up a couple leaves, pinch off the stem. You’re going to use that in something you cook, and your basil’s going to be stimulated at the same time. It’s going to grow back even better.”
&nbs
p; “We’ve just been taking off a few leaves here and there,” Joe explained.
“Yeah, so I see.”
He studied the plants through his horn-rim glasses. “And that’s why they look a little straggly?”
“Yeah. Try this way, and by the time you want to harvest, you’re going to have tons.”
“If we do, I’m going to make you pesto.”
Darby angled her head at Joe. “I’ll take it.”
She moved around the yard with them, giving advice, delighted that they both took notes.
“Uh-oh. The boss is waking up. I’ve got him, babe.” Joe tucked away his notebook as he went to his little boy.
“We really appreciate you coming over just to talk us through some of this, again. Your crew is so helpful.”
“It’s what we’re here for.”
“Your bruises are healing. Any trouble with the shoulder?”
“None. It’s down to that ugly yellow stage, maybe still a little stiff first thing in the morning, but not as much. And it works out quick.”
“The advantage of being active and in shape,” Charlene declared. “We were surprised to get an invitation for the Fourth.”
“Why? You and Britt are friends. You’re basically my doctor at this stage.”
“Now that we know the whole story of what happened in this house, we thought Britt and her family would want to keep their distance.”
“You had nothing to do with it. Neither did the house.”
“When I think he might have broken in that night. The baby. Babies,” she said, with a hand pressed protectively to her bump.
“Don’t. He’s back where he belongs, and he’s going to stay there.”
“Joe keeps telling me exactly that. I wonder—Even in a friendly, safe community like this, there can be trouble. I wonder if you’d consider teaching a self-defense course.”
“Oh, I’m not qualified.”
Charlene let out a wide-eyed laugh. “Are you kidding me? Think about it. Maybe over the winter when your work slows down.”
“I’ll think about that if you and Joe think about getting a composter.”
“I know we should.” Charlene let out a sigh. “It feels like another chore.”
