With Tucker.
It seemed wrong to think of being nestled up against him, in absolute peace, when there was so much grief and heatbreak around them. Another woman was dead, and she lay alone in some cold, dark room while her family was left to weep and wonder.
It had to be wrong to feel this soft glow of happiness, this insistent spring of hope when death hovered so close.
But she was in love.
Sighing, she curled on the window seat, where she could see the moonlight stream into the garden. The flowers were silver-edged and still, a touch of magic waiting to be plucked. Beyond, far beyond, was the glint of the pond that was Sweetwater. She couldn't see the willows, and was glad. If that was hiding from pain, then for one night she would hide. For now it was only a beautiful spot laced by moonlight.
And she was in love.
It wasn't possible to choose the time and the place to lose your heart. Caroline had come to believe it wasn't possible to choose the person who would take it. Surely if she could have chosen, it wouldn't have been here and now. It wouldn't have been Tucker.
It was a mistake to fall in love now, when she was just beginning to understand her own needs and capabilities. Now, when she had only begun to learn she could stand on her own, in charge of her life. It was foolish to fall in love here, in a place torn apart by tragedy and senseless violence, a place she would have to leave in a matter of weeks.
It was ridiculous to fall in love with a man who had made a study of romance and seduction. A charmingly lazy womanizer. A murder suspect. A poetry-spouting wastrel.
Hadn't she told herself he was just another Luis with a southern twist? And that by falling for him, she was proving herself to be the kind of woman who always chooses poorly and lives to regret the results?
But she couldn't make herself believe it, as much as she'd once wanted to. There was more to him than that, more than he admitted to himself. She'd seen it in the way he cared for Cy, in his loyalty to family, in the way he quietly held the reins of Sweetwater and a dozen businesses without strutting his power or demanding gratitude.
With Tucker it wasn't self-deprecation, it was simply his way. Here was a man who did what needed to be done, and did what was right without thinking about it. And who did it without stirring up the air with demands and worries and desperation about tomorrow.
No, the air around Tucker Longstreet was as calm and placid as the naps he was so fond of taking in the summer shade. As peaceful as a long, lazy tale spoken in a drawl to the music of a porch rocker. And as smooth as a cold beer savored on a hot night.
That was what she needed, Caroline thought as she rested her head against the window glass. That basic acceptance that life was usually a joke, and a person should be able to smile her way through it.
She needed to smile right now, Caroline thought. She needed that island of serenity he so effortlessly carried with him.
She needed him.
So why was she sitting here, searching for sleep, when what she wanted was within reach?
On impulse she uncurled from the window seat. On her way to the terrace doors she plucked a sprig of freesia from a vase. She stopped by the gilt-framed mirror long enough to smooth her hair. Just as she touched her hand to the knob of the doors, they opened to the sultry night. And to Tucker.
Her heart gave a quick, giddy leap that had her stepping back.
'Oh, you startled me.'
'I saw your light.' He wore loose cotton pants and carried a blade of sweet peas. 'Figured you couldn't sleep either.'
'No, I couldn't.' She looked down at the freesia in her hand, then smiled and held it out to him. 'I was coming to you.'
The gold of his eyes deepened as he took her flower and offered Caroline his. 'Isn't that something? Here I was thinking that since your notions of propriety wouldn't let you come to my room, I'd have to come to yours.' He skimmed his fingers through her hair, then cupped her neck. Against her cool skin, his hand was hot and firm. ' 'Desire hath no rest.' '
She stepped forward, into him. 'I don't want rest.'
Reaching behind, he pulled the door closed. 'Then I won't give you any.'
He caught her against him, and the first kiss was hungry, as if it had been years rather than hours since they'd tasted. The flavor of need was potent and addicting. They fed on it, enhancing appetites with murmurs and sighs.
Breathless, she pressed her lips to his throat, clinging to him as they stumbled toward the bed. He caught her hand as she reached for the lamp, drew her fingers to his mouth to nibble and suck.
'We don't need the dark.' Then he smiled and covered her body with his.
While they made love in the light, and most of Innocence slept uneasily, McGreedy's bar was hopping. It was the beginning of a long weekend that would culminate in Fourth of July celebrations. The town council, which consisted of Jed Larsson, Sonny Talbot, Nancy Koons, and Dwayne, had-after heated debate-decided against canceling the annual parade, carnival, and fireworks display.
Patriotism and economics had swayed the vote. FunTime, Inc., had already been paid a hefty deposit for the carnival's two-night stand, and the fireworks had cost the town treasury a pretty penny. As Nancy had pointed out, the Jefferson Davis High School band and the Twinkling Batons majorettes had been practicing for weeks. To cancel the celebration at this late date would disappoint the kids and lower everyone's morale.
It was pointed out that it was unseemly and disrespectful to ride Crack the Whips and have pie-eating contests with Darleen Talbot barely cold. It was argued back that the Fourth was a national holiday, and that Innocence had ordered up its own patriotic celebration for more than a hundred years.
It was finally decided that a short speech honoring Darleen and the other victims would be given from the bandstand, and a moment of silence would be observed.
So banners and bunting had been hung while Teddy autopsied Darleen in Palmer's embalming room.
In McGreedy's some of the patrons had already begun the celebration. If the laughter was a bit wild or forced, if tempers were edgy, McGreedy was content in the knowledge that his Louisville Slugger was handy behind the bar.
He kept an eye on Dwayne, who was drinking quietly and steadily at the end of the bar. Since he was sticking to beer tonight, McGreedy didn't worry overmuch. It was whiskey that set Dwayne off, and at this point Dwayne looked more unhappy than drunk.
He knew he'd probably have to swing his bat and kick a few butts before the weekend was over. Tonight seemed friendly enough, though there were a few hardcases huddled in the corner, tossing them back and talking quiet. Whatever they were planning, he'd see that they took it elsewhere.
Billy T. Bonny took a slug of house whiskey. It pissed him off that McGreedy watered it down, but tonight he had other things on his mind. Every damn body in town knew he'd been seeing Darleen on the sly.
It was a matter of pride that he do something about her murder.
The more he drank, the more it seemed to him that he and Darleen had been in love.
He was among friends, half a dozen like-thinking men, including his brother, who were tanking up on liquor and hate. They spoke in undertones, wanting to keep their circle closed.
'It ain't right,' Billy T. muttered again. 'We're supposed to sit around with our fingers up our asses while some jerkoff from the FBI takes care of things. Well, he sure as fuck didn't take care of Darleen.'
There was a general murmur of agreement. Cigarettes were lit. Deep thoughts were considered.
'What the hell good did some Yankee lawman do her?' Billy T. demanded. 'Him and Burke and the rest of them're running around in circles while somebody hacks up our women. Oh, we're good enough to go out and look for bodies, but we're not supposed to do anything to protect what's ours.'
'Probably raped 'em, too,' Will said to his beer. 'Probably raped the shit out of 'em before he sliced 'em. You gotta figure it.'
Wood Palmer, cousin to the undertaking Palmers, nodded sagely. 'Them psychos always do. It's 'cause they
