Read Online Hatfield and McCoy by Heather Graham - Free Book Online

casually. Julie was casual herself in a short denim skirt and short-sleeved tailored white blouse. A little bit of warmth went a long way. She was wearing sandals and no stockings.
    McCoy wore black trousers and a turquoise knit shirt. The buttons were open at his neck. She didn’t meet his eyes. She was staring at the tiny space of chest covered with coarse, sandy whorls of hair that was just visible at the opening of his shirt. He was tanned, so the skin beneath the springy feel of hair would be bronze. And tight. He was very well muscled. A powerful man. She had noted that when he had ripped the coffin open, and she had felt it the several times that he had touched her.
    Her eyes met his. She was suddenly convinced that Robert McCoy had a few powers of his own. He’d been reading her mind. And of course, her mind had been on his body.
    Right in the middle of the last amen!
    He smiled. Smiled just as he had the night they had found Tracy. Smiled like a man who knew something. As if he held something over her.
    She nodded briefly, then tore her eyes from his and looked straight ahead.
    But by then, the service was ending. And when she slipped from her pew and started out, she stiffened. She didn’t need to turn to realize that he was right behind her.
    As soon as they stepped from the church and into the daylight, she felt his hand on her arm, stopping her. “Why, Miss Hatfield! Good morning. Were you in there praying for divine guidance?”
    She spun, smiling sweetly. “On the contrary, Mr. McCoy. No one wants to see things that others don’t.”
    He arched a doubting brow, then turned quickly as the woman he had been with emerged from the church. “Julie Hatfield, this is my sister, Brenda Maitland. Of course, underneath she’s really a McCoy. Being as you’re a Hatfield, I feel obliged to remind you of such a thing.”
    â€œOh, Miss Hatfield!” Brenda Maitland extended a hand to her and offered her a broad smile. “How nice to meet you. And how very wonderful that the two of you found that little girl.” She shivered, looking up the cliff toward the old cemetery. The church was on the pathway that led to the burial ground. The view from the church was stunning. There was the street, which was part of the National Park Service now, handsome with its ages-old buildings. And there were the rivers, the Shenandoah meeting the Potomac, beautiful blue with little whitecaps as water rushed over rapids. Then there were the mountains stretching onward, the spring greenery of Maryland Heights.
    To reach the church from the valley below was easy enough. Some of the original settlers had carved steps right out of the rock. The climb became more difficult once there were no more steps, but the mountain residents were accustomed to climbs. It was the tourists who panted as they walked the trek to Jefferson rock and onward to the cemetery.
    But all in all, it was a long climb to reach that cemetery.
    â€œWe’re so close to where it all happened. Imagine! Someone managed to bring that box up there, dig a big hole, then drag that poor little girl up, and no one even noticed all of it going on!”
    It was extraordinary, Julie thought. Especially when they were already into the spring tourist season.
    â€œBut it turned out well, at least,” Julie said.
    â€œAre you really a witch?”
    Julie started at the softly spoken question that seemed to come from nowhere. She looked down. The little girl with her mother’s blue eyes and the beautiful cascade of blond hair was standing right before her.
    â€œA witch?” Julie repeated.
    â€œWell, Uncle Robert said that—”
    â€œTammy!” Brenda said, distraught.
    â€œDid I say witch?” McCoy asked, his hands on his niece’s shoulders, his eyes sizzling as they touched Julie’s with no apology whatsoever.
    Fine. Julie looked from McCoy to his niece. “I don’t cook with toads or