kill.
But Beau had never come. He knew then that Madeline had kept their secret. And had doomed him.
Now Beau was dead. And Madeline. They were buried together in Blessed Peace Cemetery.
It was the son now, the son who had brought the circle twisting back. From generation to generation, he thought. The son had seduced and defiled his daughter. The girl was dead.
Retribution was his right. Retribution was his sword.
Austin blinked and focused on the bars of light again. Bars that came through bars. They had shifted with oncoming dusk. He'd been sitting in the past for more than two hours.
It was time to plan for today. In disgust he stared down at his loose blue pants. Prison clothes. He would be rid of them soon. He would get out. The Lord helped those who helped themselves, and he would find a way.
He would make his way back to Innocence and do what he should have done more than thirty years ago. He would kill the part of Beau that lived in his son.
And balance the scales.
Caroline stepped out onto the flower-decked patio and inhaled deeply of summer. The light was gentling, easing quietly toward dusk, and insects stirred in the grass. She had that smug, too-full feeling she'd forgotten could be so pleasant.
The meal had been more than platters of food served on old silver trays. It had been a slow, almost languorous pocket of time filled with scents and tastes and talk. Teddy had done magic tricks with his napkin and the flatware. Dwayne, passably sober, had displayed a remarkable talent for mimicry, moving from old standards like Jimmy Stewart to Jack Nicholson and on to locals like Junior Talbot.
Tucker and Josie had kept her laughing with rambling, often graphic stories of sex scandals, most of which were fifty or sixty years old.
So different, she thought now, from her own family dinners, where her mother would dictate the proper conversation and not a drop would spill on the starched damask cloth. Those dinners had been so stifling and lifeless-more like a corporate meeting than a family meal. The peccadilloes of ancestors would never have been discussed, nor would Georgia McNair Waverly have found it amusing to have a guest pluck a salad fork out of her bodice.
No indeed.
But Caroline had enjoyed the evening more than any she could remember, and was sorry it was nearly over.
'You look happy,' Tucker commented.
'Why wouldn't I be?'
'It's just nice to see, that's all.' He took her hand, and what he felt when his fingers linked with hers was not so much resistance as uncertainty. 'Want to walk?'
It was a pretty evening, a lovely spot, and her mood was mellow. 'All right.'
It wasn't really a walk, she thought as she wound through rosebushes and the heavy scent of gardenia. It was more of a meander. No hurry, no destination, no problems. She thought meander suited Tucker perfectly.
'Is that a lake?' she asked as she saw the glint of water in the last light of the sun.
'Sweetwater.' Obligingly he shifted directions. 'Beau built his house there, on the south side of it. You can still see what's left of the foundation.'
What Caroline saw was a scattering of stones. 'What a view they had. Acres and acres of their own land. How does that feel?'
'I don't know. It just is.'
Dissatisfied, she looked out over the wide, flat fields of cotton. She was a child of the city, where even the wealthy held only squares of property and people crowded each other for space. 'But to have all this…'
'It has you.' It surprised him to say it, but he shrugged and finished the thought. 'You can't turn away from it, not when it's been handed down to you. You can't see it go fallow when you're reminded that the Longstreets have held Sweetwater for the best part of two centuries.'
'Is that what you want? To turn away?'
'Maybe there are some places I'd like to see.' His shoulders moved again with a restlessness she recognized and hadn't expected. 'Then again, traveling's complicated. It takes a lot of effort.'
'Don't do that.'
The impatience in her voice nearly made him smile. 'I haven't done anything yet.' He skimmed a hand up her arm. 'But I'm thinking about it.'
Frustrated, she broke away. 'You know what I mean. One minute you act as though there might be something inside your mind other than a thought for the easiest way out. The next thing, you shut it off.'
'I never could see the point in taking the hard way.'
'What about the right way?'
It wasn't often he came across a woman who wanted to discuss philosophy. Taking out a cigarette, Tucker settled into the conversation comfortably. 'Well, what's right for one isn't necessarily right for the other. Dwayne went off and got a degree he's never done a damn thing with, because he'd rather sit around and brood about how things should have been. Josie runs off and gets married, twice, flies off to anywhere at the drop of a hat, and always ends up back here pretending things are better than they can be.'
'What about you? What's your way?'
'My way's to take it as it comes. And yours…' He glanced back at her. 'Yours is to figure out what's coming before it gets here. That doesn't make either of us wrong.'
'But if you figure it out, and it's not the way you want it, you can change it.'
'You can try,' he agreed. ' 'There's a divinity that shapes our ends, rough-hew them how we will.' ' He inhaled smoke. '
Caroline could only stare. He was the last man on earth she'd have expected to hear quoting Shakespeare.
'You take that field there.' He put a companionable arm around her shoulders as he turned her. 'Now, that cotton-all things being equal-is going to grow. That topsoil's better than a foot deep and full of fertilizer. We spray off the goddamn weevils and when summer's gone it'll be harvested, bailed, trucked, and sold. And my worrying myself sick about whether all those things are gonna happen won't help the situation one bit. Besides, I've got an overseer to do the worrying.'
'There has to be more to it than that-' she began.
'We're taking this down to the basics, Caro. It gets planted, it gets harvested, and somewhere along the line it ends up in a pretty dress like the one you're wearing tonight. Sure, I could sit up nights worrying whether we're going to get enough rain, or too much rain. Whether the truckers are going on strike, or those dimwits up in Washington are going to fuck up again and shuck us into a depression. Or I can get myself a good night's sleep. The results would be exactly the same.'
With a half laugh, she turned to him. 'Why does that make sense?' She shook her head. 'There has to be a flaw in that logic.'
'You let me know if you figure it out, but I think it holds solid. Let me give you another example. You won't let me kiss you because you're worried you might like it too much.'
Her brows shot up. 'That's incredibly egocentric. The reason could very well be that I'm sure I won't like it at all.'
'Either way,' Tucker said agreeably as his arms slid around her waist. 'You're trying to figure out the answer before there's a problem. That's the kind of thing that brings on headaches.'
'Really?' Her voice was dry, and she kept her arms at her sides.
'Trust me, Caroline, I've made a study on it. It's like standing on the edge of a swimming hole, worrying about the water being too cold. You'd be better off if somebody put a foot to your butt and pushed you in.'
'Is that what you're doing?'
His lips quirked in a grin. 'I could tell you I was doing it for you, so you'd just fall in and stop thinking about the what-ifs. But the truth is-' He lowered his head. Something twisted inside her when his warm breath fluttered over her lips. 'Thinking about this is keeping me up at night.' He gave her chin a playful nip. 'And I need my sleep.'
Her body was stiff as his lips, light as moth wings, cruised over hers. Practiced seduction, she told herself as
