When Noonday Ends: A Southern Romantic-Suspense Novel - Nantahala - Book Two

by Carmen DeSousa

  A loud crack jolted him from his thoughts, sending him to the floor of his vehicle. Gunfire?

  He poked his head up above the door and saw the old Chevy pickup from yesterday. Andy’s truck. He must have heard about his sister’s arrest again. He laughed that he’d thought a truck backfiring was a gunshot. But when you’ve been shot at by your fiancée, you take guns seriously.

  He opened his door, jumped out, and trotted toward the man, who looked as though he’d crawled out from under a bridge based on his appearance. Splotches of dirt covered his jeans and t-shirt. One sleeve hung down his left arm as though someone had ripped it from the seam.

  “Andy!” Tom shouted as he ran up behind him.

  The man whipped around, his eyes narrowing as if he didn’t recognize him. “She didn’t do it,” he screeched, then whipped back toward the jail.

  Tom caught up with him again and laid his hand on his shoulder. “I know—”

  Andy turned with lightning speed, his fist connecting with Tom’s jaw, cutting off his words and knocking him to the ground. “I told you I’d take care of him, lawyer man. Shelby didn’t do it! I did. Where is she?” The tiny man, who had a fist like a missile, hovered over him as he spat his words.

  How was it he never saw a punch coming? He definitely needed to ask Chad to teach him how to fight. He rubbed his jaw and pulled himself up on his haunches, not certain if he should attempt to stand. His face felt as though the man had hit him with a mallet.

  “I already told you, Andy, I’m not her lawyer. Her attorney is in there right now. She’ll be released soon.”

  “Andy!” Tom and Andy both turned to see Shelby running across the parking lot. “Oh, my God, Andy! What are you doing?” Shelby approached Tom and helped him get to his feet. “Are you okay, Mr. Turner?”

  Tom straightened his back and brushed the dirt off his pants. This situation was starting to feel a lot like déjà vu. Only the last time he was in this position, he’d deserved the punch Chad had thrown, and Brandy had helped him to his feet. “I’m fine.”

  Shelby smacked her brother on the arm. “What the heck are you hittin’ him for?”

  Andy shrugged. “They’re not arrestin’ you? I heard on the radio you’d been arrested on account of Carlin bein’ dead.”

  “They don’t have any evidence to keep me.” Shelby placed her hands on her hips. “You’ve been drinkin’ that crap you make again, haven’t you? No wonder you’re acting plum crazy. Why did you hit Mr. Turner?”

  Randall Belcher and Clayton Castle made their way to the circle. Randall lifted his chin toward Tom, grinning. “You want to press charges for assault, Mr. Turner?”

  Tom shook his head. He just wanted to get away from these messed up, crazy hicks—all of them.

  Clayton rested his hand on Shelby’s forearm. “Come on, Shelby. Let’s go home.”

  “I’ll have my brother take me. Or rather, I guess I’ll drive him since he looks as though he’s drunk off his butt.”

  Mr. Castle nodded and walked off toward his Lincoln, Belcher trailing behind him. Randall turned once and chuckled, but Clayton didn’t seem to find any humor in the scene and walked off shaking his head.

  Shelby walked closer to Tom, and he instinctively stepped backward. He needed to get out of here.

  “Are you okay?” Her soft voice instantly soothed him. In seconds, she transformed from the hick’s sister to the refined southern girl he’d met only a few days earlier.

  Tom shook his head and pulled her away from her brother, peering over her head to make sure Andy remained where he was. “Your brother said he killed Carlin.”

  “What? No, he didn’t.”

  He hushed her. “He’s obviously drunk and thought that I would keep him from going inside and confessing so they’d release you.”

  “Andy didn’t kill Carlin,” she whispered.

  Tom narrowed his eyes. “How do you know that? Yesterday, he told me he would…to save you.”

  “Because Andy is all talk…he wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

  Tom couldn’t help the burst that shot out of his mouth. “Andy just took down a six-two, 210-pound man.”

  Shelby’s cheek lifted for a brief second, and then she turned to look at her brother. “Carlin drowned is all. No one killed him…he just drowned.”

  Andy cocked his head as if asking permission to come over. “I’m sorry, Mr. Turner. I didn’t mean to hit you. I was worried ’bout my sister.”

  Tom released an exhale. “I have to go to work. Y’all take care now, ya hear,” he drawled obnoxiously in his best southern imitation, turning to leave.

  “Wait!” Shelby called from behind him.

  He stopped walking, closed his eyes and sighed, but didn’t turn to her.

  “Thank you, Tom,” she said as she stepped in front of him. “Thank you for everything.”

  As ridiculous as it was, something inside him longed for this woman. He crossed his arms to keep from reaching out for her. Such a beautiful woman, such trouble. He had no business wanting her.

  He shook his head to dispel the thoughts. “This isn’t over yet, Shelby. Your ex-husband is dead. And if they arrested you, they had a reason. Belcher may have gotten you out on bail, but it’s not over.”

  With that, he stepped to the side of her and opened his car door. He jerked the door closed without even a glance in her direction, turned on the ignition, and pulled out of the parking space, away from Shelby.

  Chapter Ten

  Shelby whirled on her brother. “What on God’s great earth is wrong with you? You know what—never mind. Give me the keys.”

  Andy handed her the keys and stumbled off toward the passenger door of his truck.

  After jumping behind the wheel, Shelby turned to glare at her brother. “Andy, when’re you gonna realize that you can’t live my life, fight my battles. I’m a grown woman, and I need to make my own way.”

  He leaned against the seat, exhaling deeply. “You got Justin to take care of, Shell. I don’t want him growin’ up without parents the way we did.” He stopped talking, then ran his hands through his long hair, sweeping it off his face, and pulling the entire strand behind his head. He held his hair up with one hand, then grabbed a rubber band off the floorboard and pulled the long lengths through the tie twice, letting it fall low behind his neck. “So, they let you go? They know you didn’t do it?”

  Shelby turned the key in the ignition, then shifted the gear shifter into first. “Do what? Carlin drowned…that’s all. And they don’t have any evidence proving otherwise to hold me.” She maneuvered the tattered old pickup out of the parking space, then headed toward her house. “I don’t wanna talk about him anymore. D’ya hear me?”

  Andy nodded, picked his NASCAR cap off the seat, and pulled it low over his eyes.

  “You can clean up at my place. I have some sweatpants that’ll fit ya.”

  Her brother grunted once, then turned in his seat, resting his head on the passenger door. Within seconds, his breathing was deep and even. Within minutes, a soft snore emanated from his side of the truck.

  Shelby glanced at his clothes. Her brother wasn’t the sharpest dresser in town, but he usually put on clean clothes in the morning—and showered. She cranked down the window to let fresh air inside the truck. He smelled as though he’d rolled around with the hogs all night, and he looked like it too. She needed to help him somehow. He’d had a hard life, and he deserved better.

  If he’d been born in a different family, he could have been anything. Though uneducated, he was smart as a whip. And he was a good-looking man. It was hard to discern under the dirt and grime that he worked in daily, but his features rivaled any Hollywood superstar. Under platinum hair and baby-blue eyes, his face had sharp angles that gave him a Greek godlike look. She could easily see him playing Thor or even Legolas from Lord of the Rings.

  Though only five-ten he stood tall, with power behind those soft blue eyes. And he was strong. Years of working on a farm had provided a diffe
rent type of strength than working out in a gym, and he’d do anything to protect the one he loved, which was her—only her.

  She chuckled as she thought about how he’d taken down Tom Turner. Even Tom had been amazed. Andy had trained her how to fight too. Unfortunately, the quick moves he’d taught her to get away from an oncoming attack didn’t help when her attacker lived in her home.

  Carlin only had her by three inches in height, but about a hundred pounds in weight. The only way she could fight him when he attacked was with a weapon. The frying pan had evened the odds when he’d held the phone book up against her head and then slammed his fist into the book. As she’d fallen forward against the counter, realizing it was Carlin behind her, she reached for the stove and grabbed the nearest thing she could.

  The only lucid thought that had entered her head as she spun around, trying to bring his face into focus, was self-preservation. He’d had his fist raised, ready to land another blow. He didn’t see the cast-iron pan in her hands until she slammed it on his arm. As he reached for his arm, she brought the skillet back up, and with both hands, swung it as hard as she could against the left side of his head.

  He’d dropped to his knees and then fell over onto his side. She’d run toward the door, thinking he’d be up and on her in seconds.

  Not hearing anything behind her, she swung around once she was standing in the doorway. Blood oozed out of Carlin’s ear, and he hadn’t moved an inch. She should have left him there, but her brain had taken over, forcing her to call 911.

  Shelby pulled onto the long driveway that led to her and her in-laws’ homes. As she pulled up in front of her house, which was really a guesthouse they’d allowed Carlin and her to live in since they’d married, she saw Clayton on the front porch.

  The cottage, as they referred to it, was larger than most peoples’ homes. The Castles’ home was an old southern-style manor with a wraparound porch. The sunny-yellow siding with its bright-white trim and railing had always made her feel at home, imagining scenes of families sitting on the front porch sipping lemonade while watching their kids play in the front yard.

  But that was only in books and movies. The Castles had only had one child, Carlin, and he’d been living in the guesthouse for the last several years. The house was entirely too big for two people, but that’s the way most rich folks were. Nothing was ever big enough or expensive enough.

  Her home, which was about a quarter of the size of their ten thousand square feet, was more than enough. Too much. She didn’t even know what to do with the extra rooms. However, she did enjoy the matching porch that overlooked the sloping backyard, leading to their private lake.

  Sitting on the dock in the morning, drinking coffee, and dreaming about a day when she could be free was the one luxury she’d always enjoyed. But now that she’d burnt the image of Carlin’s dead body into her brain, she wasn’t sure if she’d be able to go down there again.

  Clayton stood up from the rocking chair and walked across the front deck to the top of the stoop.

  Shelby touched Andy’s shoulder, and he jumped in reaction. “It’s okay, Andy. It’s me. We’re home. Come on inside and get cleaned up.”

  Andy cleared his throat, taking in his surroundings. He’d only been here a couple of times, as he’d refused to socialize with the Castles. She never understood his dislike for Carlin, even before he’d found out about the abuse.

  After all, Andy was the one who’d pushed her through school and college, insisting that she do something with her life. But the moment she’d introduced him to Carlin, he’d freaked. Said that she was to stop seeing him immediately.

  When she’d told him that she was pregnant and getting married, she saw her brother cry for the first time in her life. He evidently thought that she’d end up like their mother, a single woman with no job to support paying for daycare. He’d left the house and hadn’t come home until the next day.

  The next morning he’d knocked on her door wanting to talk. He apologized for how he’d acted and said everything would be okay. But he refused to come to any of the Christmas or Thanksgiving dinners she’d invited him and her mother to each year. And of course, he’d been right, as always. Carlin turned out to be no good.

  Shelby tromped up the stairs, Andy on her heels. She stopped in front of Clayton and peered up at him. He was tall, taller than Carlin had been, even taller than Tom Turner.

  When she stood in front of him, she felt like a child. He also wasn’t as husky as Carlin; Clayton Castle was lean and strong. Even at the age of fifty, with a headful of shiny silver hair, he reminded her of a rodeo cowboy who could hogtie with the best of them.

  He’d been running his wife’s family business for years, but Shelby always assumed that Clayton preferred to be a redneck over a CEO any day. She never saw him happier than when he was riding one of his thoroughbreds.

  “Where’s Justin?” she asked, the only important question, though, she had plenty. The question she really wanted to ask was…why did you bail me out of jail?

  Clayton motioned his hand toward the house. “Taking a nap.” Her father-in-law locked eyes with her brother, raising his head a notch in recognition. “Andy,” he greeted him in a somber tone.

  Andy grunted something sounding like ‘Hello’ or it could have been a harrumph, but then walked to the front door, waiting, it seemed, for her to escort him inside.

  “How’s June?” Shelby asked.

  Her father-in-law released a heavy breath, collapsing onto the old wooden rocker. “She’s a mess. I had to have our doctor sedate her.”

  Shelby nodded in understanding. As much as she hated Carlin, she couldn’t imagine losing her only son, no matter what he’d done in life.

  Not that she could ever imagine her sweet little Justin ever hurting a soul, but she supposed June had felt that way too at some point in his life. No one suspects that their son will grow up to be an abusive husband and father, and Shelby knew that it was only a matter of time before Carlin turned a hand on Justin.

  Not that she would have ever allowed that to happen, but she couldn’t be with her son around the clock. Eventually, Carlin would have been with him alone.

  “You probably shouldn’t go near her,” Clayton continued. “June blames you for Carlin’s death.” He gestured his hand toward the backyard. “I went to the dock and had a look around. The rowboat is missing. He probably got drunk again, took out the dinghy, and capsized.” Clayton exhaled a breath. He looked so tired, she noticed. “But you know how ornery she’s always been. She and Carlin are exactly alike.”

  Yes, Shelby knew that. Clayton and she had always gotten along, but she’d never quite connected with June. “I’m sorry he’s dead, Clayton.”

  He cocked his head and his face contorted. “Why would you be sorry, Shelby? He beat you. We thought he’d changed. I never would have asked you to return if I didn’t think he’d changed. You know that, right?”

  Shelby wasn’t certain how to answer. No, she didn’t know that. “What do you mean ‘asked me to return’? You never asked me to return or stay before last night.”

  “June and I made Carlin go after you. We threatened to cut him off if he didn’t get you back. We couldn’t lose our grandson.”

  She blanched, taking a step backward. The entire family was so manipulative. Maybe Carlin had never wanted her. He just didn’t want to lose access to the family money. He had no skills, no way of living the standard of life he’d been accustomed. The only reason Carlin even had a job was because of the fact that his father ran the family business.

  “Well, you’re right about one thing, Clayton. I shouldn’t be sorry, but I am. Sorry I ever got involved with this unscrupulous family. I’ll be gone as soon as I can save enough money to move away for good.”

  “No, Shelby, you won’t. I already told you. You can’t take Justin away. If you want to move out of the house, that’s fine. But I won’t allow you to move out of the area.”

  Shelby turned on her heel and march
ed toward the door.

  No man would tell her what to do ever again.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Watch my body, not my fists,” Chad ordered. “Keep your chin lowered, hands up in front of your body, not your face.” Chad smacked Tom’s own fist against his face, as he shouted.

  “Dang. What the heck.” Tom jumped out of Chad’s reach.

  “I told you to keep your hands in front of you, not in front of your face. Most men can tell when a man doesn’t know how to fight by where he keeps his hands.” Chad beckoned him forward again with his gloved hand. “Come on, Tom. I thought you wanted to learn how to fight.”

  “Yeah, I want to learn how to fight, not get beat up. You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

  Chad smiled. “Nah…I got the last punch in. Served you right coveting my wife. Now get your butt over here. I can’t believe you let someone smaller than your sister take you out.”

  Tom inched his way forward, bladed his body as Chad had instructed, and kept his fists up just under his head, pulling in his chin. “He wasn’t that small; he was only a couple inches shorter than you. And Michelle can take me out. Heck, she hit me the other day too. Though in fun, it still hurt. I think she forgets she’s a trained deadly weapon.”

  Chad grabbed Tom’s fists and positioned them where he wanted. “There’re two jabs I love,” Chad started his teaching again. “First of all, your opponent will expect a right cross. I prefer a straight left jab to my opponent’s left eye, which blocks his view, followed by a right uppercut. And as you know, that’s normally enough.”

  Tom did know this. The first and last time his best friend had hit him, he thought he’d broken his jaw. Chad hadn’t given him a two-punch combo; he must not have been thinking that day or still remembered that they were friends at one time.

  Instead, he’d given him a right hook that knocked him on his butt, swearing Chad had hit him with a chair. He hadn’t broken his jaw, but it’d sure felt like it.

  “Okay. Your turn.” Chad held the pads up for Tom to hit.