Read Online Gone to Her Grave (Rogue River Novella Book 2) by Melinda Leigh - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Melinda Leigh
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enough.
Her visit hadn’t accomplished anything. She slid into the front seat, hit the door lock switch, and took her first deep breath in minutes. Her ribs felt too tight, and she was going to need to freshen her deodorant.
She shouldn’t have let him bully her. Her supervisor knew she was stopping here this morning. If Carly didn’t report in within an hour, someone would follow up.
But a lot could happen in an hour.
She could call for backup now and make him let her into the house, but playing the hard-ass might erode any progress she’d made with Tammy and further irritate Darren. Tammy and the kids might pay for Carly’s power play. Better not to supply him with ammunition. She swept her gaze across the property one more time. There were no signs that anyone else was here.
She started her Jeep. Cool air rushed from the vents. As she shifted into reverse, she glanced back at Darren, leaning on the ax handle on his front walk. The slight smile on his lips told her he’d enjoyed every second of his intimidation.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Over the meadow, black clouds rolled across the horizon. Seth got out of his car and walked toward the cabin. A cool, moist breeze swept across his face, a precursor to the coming storm. He faced the rushing wind. Oregon didn’t get many thunderstorms, and Seth missed the violent weather clashes of his childhood in New Hampshire. He could feel the energy in the air, trapped in the clouds, restless to get on with the storm.
A loud and brash storm was exactly what he needed. An impact of fronts to clear the air, to restore the normal balance of moderation to the weather, to his life. An outlet for all the pent-up frustration that had been building for the past few months.
The strum of an acoustic guitar and Carly’s clear voice sounded from inside the cabin. Seth stopped. He recognized the opening notes of “Patience.” Normally Carly and her family stuck to the folk songs her mother loved, but when she was alone, she’d sing anything that came on the radio. Perfect pitch, she’d called it, the ability to reproduce the notes. She’d hear a song and pick the melody out on her guitar a minute later. The first time he’d heard her he’d been entranced, but she’d just shrugged off the talent as ordinary. For a man who couldn’t carry a note ten yards if he had the support of the entire Seahawks offensive line, it was hardly ordinary.
One of the things he missed most, living alone, was the sound of Carly singing. She sang when she folded laundry, when she cooked, in the shower, and any other time her hands were occupied and her mind free. The house had been too damned quiet since she’d left. He’d started turning TVs on in different rooms to block out the silence.
He waited until the notes faded before climbing the wooden steps to the covered porch. He peered through the screen door. Carly sat on an overstuffed chair, the guitar across her lap as she adjusted a tuner and plucked a string.
He knocked on the doorframe. The notes stopped. Carly got up and came to the door. Instead of letting him in, she joined him on the porch. Crossing ten feet of rough wood, she leaned on the railing and closed her eyes. That cool breeze whipped up again, rustling the tall meadow grass and ruffling Carly’s loose curls. Bare feet and denim shorts showed off long, long legs. The outline of her bra showed through a thin white T. Under those simple clothes was the body he still craved. He’d had no urge to date since Carly had left him. He didn’t want another woman. He wanted her.
But as his life had shown him, he couldn’t always get what he wanted. Personally, he thought Mick Jagger was a liar. Seth getting what he needed wasn’t a guarantee either.
She faced him, leaning her butt against the railing and hooking her thumbs in the front pockets of her shorts. “I texted you to pick Brianna up at my mom’s. You didn’t need to drive back here.”
“I must have missed that message.”
Her visit hadn’t accomplished anything. She slid into the front seat, hit the door lock switch, and took her first deep breath in minutes. Her ribs felt too tight, and she was going to need to freshen her deodorant.
She shouldn’t have let him bully her. Her supervisor knew she was stopping here this morning. If Carly didn’t report in within an hour, someone would follow up.
But a lot could happen in an hour.
She could call for backup now and make him let her into the house, but playing the hard-ass might erode any progress she’d made with Tammy and further irritate Darren. Tammy and the kids might pay for Carly’s power play. Better not to supply him with ammunition. She swept her gaze across the property one more time. There were no signs that anyone else was here.
She started her Jeep. Cool air rushed from the vents. As she shifted into reverse, she glanced back at Darren, leaning on the ax handle on his front walk. The slight smile on his lips told her he’d enjoyed every second of his intimidation.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Over the meadow, black clouds rolled across the horizon. Seth got out of his car and walked toward the cabin. A cool, moist breeze swept across his face, a precursor to the coming storm. He faced the rushing wind. Oregon didn’t get many thunderstorms, and Seth missed the violent weather clashes of his childhood in New Hampshire. He could feel the energy in the air, trapped in the clouds, restless to get on with the storm.
A loud and brash storm was exactly what he needed. An impact of fronts to clear the air, to restore the normal balance of moderation to the weather, to his life. An outlet for all the pent-up frustration that had been building for the past few months.
The strum of an acoustic guitar and Carly’s clear voice sounded from inside the cabin. Seth stopped. He recognized the opening notes of “Patience.” Normally Carly and her family stuck to the folk songs her mother loved, but when she was alone, she’d sing anything that came on the radio. Perfect pitch, she’d called it, the ability to reproduce the notes. She’d hear a song and pick the melody out on her guitar a minute later. The first time he’d heard her he’d been entranced, but she’d just shrugged off the talent as ordinary. For a man who couldn’t carry a note ten yards if he had the support of the entire Seahawks offensive line, it was hardly ordinary.
One of the things he missed most, living alone, was the sound of Carly singing. She sang when she folded laundry, when she cooked, in the shower, and any other time her hands were occupied and her mind free. The house had been too damned quiet since she’d left. He’d started turning TVs on in different rooms to block out the silence.
He waited until the notes faded before climbing the wooden steps to the covered porch. He peered through the screen door. Carly sat on an overstuffed chair, the guitar across her lap as she adjusted a tuner and plucked a string.
He knocked on the doorframe. The notes stopped. Carly got up and came to the door. Instead of letting him in, she joined him on the porch. Crossing ten feet of rough wood, she leaned on the railing and closed her eyes. That cool breeze whipped up again, rustling the tall meadow grass and ruffling Carly’s loose curls. Bare feet and denim shorts showed off long, long legs. The outline of her bra showed through a thin white T. Under those simple clothes was the body he still craved. He’d had no urge to date since Carly had left him. He didn’t want another woman. He wanted her.
But as his life had shown him, he couldn’t always get what he wanted. Personally, he thought Mick Jagger was a liar. Seth getting what he needed wasn’t a guarantee either.
She faced him, leaning her butt against the railing and hooking her thumbs in the front pockets of her shorts. “I texted you to pick Brianna up at my mom’s. You didn’t need to drive back here.”
“I must have missed that message.”
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