for every dime, Flame was ready to settle down and be
taken care of by a man with an ample bank account. It
did not have to be billions. A modest five or six million
invested at six percent would do just fine. She could live
very happily on that.
But land and money were how men like Buck kept
score. The sale of Harris Farms, if it came to that, would
leave him cash rich. He could keep his yacht, buy two
more houses to replace the two he would have to give
up, and still have enough spare change to fly first class to
Europe or Hawaii whenever he wanted. Nevertheless, it
galled him to know that Suzu Harris could, if she chose,
force the sale of the land they had so painstakingly ac-
quired in their early years. Could even hold his feet to
the fire over their first tomato field, the thirty acres that
had been in his family since before the Civil War.
By the time she reached Wilkesboro, Flame was stone
cold sober and beginning to think that running Buck
104
HARD ROW
into the shallows was probably a mistake. She had played
him like a fish these last two years, giving him enough
line to let him think it was his idea to come to her. Start
reeling in too hard and she was liable to have him break
the line or spit out the hook. As long as she had come
this far, though, it was easier to go on than turn back.
“Thank God it’s not icy,” she muttered as she steered
to avoid a hole where the gravel had washed out and
almost scraped the car on an outcropping of solid rock.
Another quarter-mile and the drive ended in a circle in
front of a large rustic lodge built of undressed logs. She
did not see his car, but the garage was on the far side
of the house. Nor were there any lights. Not that she
expected any. Not at—she pressed a button on the side
of her watch and the little dial lit up. Not at one-thirty
in the morning.
The front door was locked and she rang the bell long
and hard until she could hear it echo from within.
To her surprise, the interior remained dark.
She rang again, leaning on the bell so long that no
one inside could possibly sleep through it.
Nothing.
A long low porch ran the full length of the house
and she retrieved a door key that was kept beneath the
second ceramic pot. Within minutes, she was inside the
lodge, fumbling for the light switches.
“Buck, honey? You here?” she called.
No answer.
With growing apprehension, she mounted the mas-
sive staircase that led to the bedrooms above.
