Главная страница | Современные любовные романы | Out of the Depths

Out of the Depths
Pamela Hearon


Kyndal Rawlings thought she'd learned her lesson when Chance Brennan left her to pursue his Ivy League dreams. Yet here she is, in Kentucky, falling for him all over again. Maybe it's being stranded in a cave with him…the same place they first became lovers.Or maybe there's still something between them.Not that anything will change–even after four tense days of depending on each other for their very survival. Chance needs a certain kind of woman to help him with his career. And Kyndal will never be that kind. But something has changed. Something that will force them to decide what they really want.







She isn’t going down that road again

Kyndal Rawlings thought she’d learned her lesson when Chance Brennan left her to pursue his Ivy League dreams. Yet here she is, in Kentucky, falling for him all over again. Maybe it’s being stranded in a cave with him…the same place they first became lovers.

Or maybe there’s still something between them.

Not that anything will change—even after four tense days of depending on each other for their very survival. Chance needs a certain kind of woman to help him with his career. And Kyndal will never be that kind. But something has changed. Something that will force the m to decide what they really want.


Wonder and excitement glowed in Chance’s eyes as he moved toward her

Kyndal wanted to touch him the way she had the first time they’d made love. A lover’s touch. One last time.

The stubble along his jaw deepened in the hazy light. She drew the back of her fingers through it a couple of times, enjoying the way the scratchy texture left a tingle on her skin.

Their gazes locked and she answered the question in his eyes. “You had some dust in your whiskers.”

She read the almost imperceptible movement in his body. The slight bend of his torso toward her in invitation. He was going to try to kiss her, but she couldn’t let that happen.

She’d loved him, and he’d left her. She wouldn’t travel that road again.


Dear Reader,

Perhaps you’ve heard of Mammoth Cave? Kentucky, my native state, is littered with caves. Mammoth Cave is the most famous, but smaller ones honeycomb beneath the surface of much of the land area.

Some of my high school friends happened upon a cave near Kentucky Lake, and four of us set out one day to explore it. Armed with only two flashlights and the mindset of teenage invincibility, we were totally naive to the dangers that might lurk there. We thought it was a cool thing to do. And it was! Stepping into the total blackness of those new surroundings was like stepping into another world. We squeezed through crevices and crawled through passages like giant earthworms, somehow managing to find our way back to the entrance at day’s end.

My memories of that day are vivid and still wildly exciting even these many years later, so when I started pondering a unique setting for a novel, the idea of the cave took over my imagination and wouldn’t let go. Former high school sweethearts Kyndal Rawlings and Chance Brennan needed to get reacquainted. The cave was the perfect place for their reunion.

Whether your preferences lean toward the outdoor recreation region of Kentucky Lake or the rolling hills around Lexington, the Bluegrass State is an enchanting place you’ll want to visit—along with my website, www.pamelahearon.com. (http://www.pamelahearon.com)

Until next time,

Pamela Hearon


Out of the

Depths

Pamela Hearon




www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Pamela Hearon lived thirty-one years in western Kentucky before love with a handsome Yankee lured her away. She and her husband raised their family of three children and several cats while she taught English to quirky eighth-graders. Life has taught her that, no matter the location, small-town America has a charm all its own—a place where down-to-earth people and heartwarming stories abound. And, although the Midwest is now home, Kentucky still holds a generous piece of Pamela’s heart. When it’s time to tell her stories, the voice in her head has a decidedly Southern drawl.

Don’t miss any of our special offers. Write to us at the following address for information on our newest releases.

Harlequin Reader Service

U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269

Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3


To my parents, Arnold and Jo Hearon, with love.


Contents

CHAPTER ONE (#u9d83ad0a-6511-5ca1-b72e-8844b0d1a47d)

CHAPTER TWO (#u2a86fb6f-d5e1-5436-99cc-61f047563f33)

CHAPTER THREE (#u2b40080a-28fc-5afe-b2d7-30232b7f71e9)

CHAPTER FOUR (#u61966655-2495-50d5-9a50-3af7f6784d33)

CHAPTER FIVE (#u39b8d42d-845c-5559-bcf3-8cc44fb09cb7)

CHAPTER SIX (#u487e875e-4f07-5a9d-a69c-35ecb9ad6ad4)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)

EXCERPT (#litres_trial_promo)


CHAPTER ONE

THEINTERCOMBUZZEDlike a trapped insect, and Chance’s mind immediately shot to items he could use to put the old thing out of its misery. When he became a judge, his gavel would top the list.

“Sorry to bother you again, Mr. Brennan. Sheriff Blaine on line three.” Despite having fielded hundreds of calls during the day, Alice sounded as fresh as she had at eight that morning.

Chance took the opportunity to stretch his back and shoulders as he swallowed the last bite of a turkey club. “Thanks, Alice. Now, please, go on home. It’s late.” Before she could hang up, he added, “I hope your dad’s surgery goes well Monday. If you need anything, just let me know.”

“I will, Mr. Brennan, and thanks again for all your help. Good night.”

“Night, Alice. See you Wednesday.” Chance punched the button to line three, leaving the phone on speaker. “Hey, Buck. What’s going on?”

A frustrated sigh exploded in his ear.

“Caught kids at the cave again, Chance.”

Chance bit back the expletives on the tip of his tongue. He didn’t have time to deal with the teenagers and their nonsense. “How many?”

“Five. These was having an orgy and smokin’ pot. Probably got a stash hidden in there somewhere.”

“Which means they’ll be back. Or somebody’ll be back.” Chance massaged his eyelids with his thumb and forefinger. The constant hassle with kids and the cave was making him doubt his sanity about buying that property, even if it was a prime lakeshore piece. One girl already had stitches from cracking her head on a low overhang. How many more of them getting hurt was it going to take?

“That’s what I figure, too. I’ll have a look-see tomorrow. Maybe I’ll find it or find whoever comes after it.”

The sheriff’s easy manner didn’t fool Chance. If a stash was there, Buck Blaine would find it. His redneck mannerisms conned a lot of people, but underneath the hick exterior beat the heart of a criminal investigator.

“You need me to come to the office?” Chance offered halfheartedly. “I’m still in Paducah, so it’ll take a half hour or so, but if you need me…”

Buck’s customary chewing gum smacked across the phone line. “Nah, no need. Trespassin’s gonna be the least of these kids’ problems. We can hold off on the paperwork till tomorrow.”

Chance rubbed his hand down his face, relieved he wouldn’t have to add a stop at the sheriff’s office to his already late night. “Sounds good to me.”

“We’ve got most of their parents on the way, so I’m gonna make sure these young’uns have had a bad night.” Chance could almost feel Buck’s laugh vibrating the receiver. “They’ll think twice before they visit your place again.”

“I don’t know, Buck. These kids don’t even think about things the first time.” With all the secluded areas around Kentucky Lake, it was beyond Chance’s comprehension why the damn kids insisted on partying on his property. “Can we keep this out of the paper? If the cave gets any media coverage, kids will likely swarm it again.”

“Can do.”

“If that state-of-the-art, handy-dandy security system I’ve ordered ever gets installed, you may be out of a job.”

The sheriff gave a gritty chuckle. “I can only wish, but I doubt it. The Bible promises the ignorant are with us always, you know. Or somethin’ like that.”

“Amen, brother.” Chance raised his soda in a toast. “I’ve seen enough frivolous lawsuits to know ignorance is a certainty.”

“You got that right. See you tomorrow?”

“I’ll be there. Night, Sheriff.”

“Good evenin’, Chance.”

Chance hung up and looked at all the piles of paper covering his desk. The call had broken his concentration. Getting back into the wearisome Davenport case seemed unlikely now, even if his dad did expect the finished briefs by Sunday. He’d have to wait until he could see it with fresh eyes. Tomorrow.

He glanced at his watch, noting it was after nine. Friday night and still in the office. “Brennan, you need a life.” He wadded up the sandwich wrapper and pitched it into the trash.

His mom had tried to warn him what it would be like, tried to make him see joining his dad’s practice wasn’t a good idea. Bill Brennan had never accepted anything but perfection from his sons. Perfection had come easily for Hank but seemed always just out of Chance’s reach.

“‘Ah, but a man’s reach should exceed his grasp, or what’s a heaven for?’” Chance read the plaque on his office wall, a gift from his dad.

Those kids at the cave needed such a parent. One who cared enough to kick their asses if they acted stupid.

Then again, those kids at the cave would probably kick back. Kids were different now. He smiled at the memory of Old Man Turner showing up with a gun and running Kyndal and him off of his property. One look down the barrel of that shotgun made sure they wouldn’t be back.

If Old Man Turner were still alive, Chance would hire him as a guard for a month or two. But he doubted that tactic would work on these kids. They weren’t nearly as naive as he and Kyndal had been.

Kyndal Rawlings. At one time, he’d thought the two of them would be together forever. Now that was naive. Their separate ways had turned out to be in entirely different directions. She hadn’t gone to law school the way she’d always planned…had become a photographer, of all things—working for some damn liberal environmentalist website. Of course, she did stage that sit-in against hot dogs in the high school cafeteria claiming they were made from throwaway parts, so maybe the clues were there all along, and he was just too smitten to see them.

He hadn’t thought about Kyndal in a while. In fact, he’d pretty much refused to let himself think about her since they’d split. When he did, guilt still gnawed at him. Breaking up with her had been almost as hard as losing Hank, but it was the right thing to do, damn it. That was obvious now. He would never have made it through college and law school if they’d stayed joined at the hip. Every class together was unhealthy, but Kyn couldn’t loosen her hold. She demanded his total attention.

Just as his career did now.

If he wanted a judgeship by the time he turned forty, there was little room for dating.

But someday, the right woman would come along. Someone goal-oriented. Career focused. Someone with an impeccable reputation and a drive to match his own. A few connections to sweeten the deal wouldn’t be a bad thing, either.

He’d straightened the scattered papers and had switched off the desk lamp when the intercom buzzed again, startling him, ratcheting up his wish to sledgehammer the damn thing.

“Chance?” His dad’s voice boomed over the line.

“Yeah, Dad?”

“Good. I was afraid you’d left already. Your mom just called. The travel agent got us on an earlier flight Sunday morning. Can you get those briefs to me tomorrow?”

“Okay. I’ll finish them up tonight.” As if he had a choice. His parents’ first trip away together in years. Only three days, but it was a start. He switched the lamp back on.

“And I want you to take this new Farley case. Look over it. We’ll discuss it first thing Wednesday morning.”

“I’ll be ready.”

“Seeing Denise this weekend?”

“No.”

“You’re a fool. Someone’s going to snatch her up.”

“If I’m lucky.” Denise Macomb was the flavor-of-the-month his dad was trying to cram down his throat. She met all the criteria, but her voice sounded like a violin badly played.

“Get those briefs done,” his dad said by way of parting.

Chance watched the intercom light switch off. “You have a life, Brennan.” He sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “And this is it.”

* * *

SNAP…SNAP…SNAP. Three good shots before the tiny bottom lip started to pucker again.

Thank you, Lord, for digital cameras and comfortable shoes. Kyndal’s third straight day of twelve-hour shifts was almost over.

“I think we got her.” She smiled at the young couple hovering nearby, only now truly noticing them.

The young man’s shirt had Ted’s Car Wash stamped on the pocket. His zit-covered face suggested he couldn’t be much more than seventeen. A chunky high school ring hung from a chain around the girl’s neck.

Kyndal sized them up, knew immediately they were here for the free 8x10 and wouldn’t be able to afford any of the great package deals Shop-a-Lot offered at a bargain price of $29.95.

She watched the way they handled the infant so carefully, saw the pride shining in the boy’s eyes as he kissed his baby girl and his baby girlfriend on their foreheads. How long before he’d be out of this picture?

“Come over here and you can see the shots.” Kyndal swiveled the freestanding monitor to face the couple.

The best part of this job was getting to see the parents’ eyes when the portraits clicked on. Without exception, they all softened instantly. If only she could capture that moment on film, those images would be priceless.

The shots were better than good, and Kyndal watched the parental expressions turn fretful when they realized they had to choose.

“They’re all so precious. Can we get all three, Danny?” The young mother’s voice held little hope, but the blue of her eyes shone intensely like the stone in the ring around her neck.

The young man’s head dropped, and he lowered his voice. “We can’t afford ’em, Lisa. We can only get the free one.”

Kyndal remembered the glow on her own mom’s face when friends admired the free 8x10 of Kyndal at twenty-eight months. She would go on and on about Kyndal’s smile looking “just like her daddy’s.”

Mason Rawlings had walked out of their lives a month after that portrait was taken, but her mom still talked about his smile to this day.

I might have his smile, but that’s the only thing I ever got from him. She couldn’t help wondering if he had any regrets.

Life wasn’t easy for teen parents—nor was growing up as the child of one as Kyndal knew firsthand.

She sighed in resignation, aware she was about to give these kids a break and forfeit her last three hours’ commission in the process. “Which one would you like? I’ll print it for you.” She allowed her mouth to droop into a pout of feigned preoccupation, tried to sound bored, glanced at her watch to let them know it was closing time.

The girl chewed her bottom lip until the young man prodded her with his elbow. “Number three.”

Kyndal pressed a key and pretended to be busy as she fumbled with some order forms. She turned back as the paper slipped from the printer. “Oh, shoot! I’ve printed billfolds of the wrong one. Here, you can have these.” She held the prints out to the young man, but he hesitated. “No charge,” she assured him. “I’ll just have to throw them away.”

“Now.” She hit another key, queuing up number two to print as two 4x6’s. “You said number two, right?”

“No, we said number three.” The young man gave her a look that could have indicated she’d sprouted an extra nose.

“Crap. I’ve done it again.” She watched their guarded looks of amusement as she thrust the second sheet toward them and sighed dramatically. “Third time’s a charm, right?”

Another keystroke sent the correct command, and the 8x10 slid from the printer. “She really is a doll.” Kyndal checked the finished product before handing it over. “Sorry for the inconvenience.”

The lights blinked, indicating five minutes until closing time. The couple moved toward the exit, the young mother clutching the photographs to her chest.

Kyndal watched until they were out of earshot. “And that’s why I have to get back to a job where I can shoot golden eagles instead of golden-haired toddlers.” The hope that tomorrow would bring that dream job back was never far from the surface. She let it rise to the top as she disassembled the gear and lugged everything to her car.

Tomorrow will bring the perfect shot that will make me somebody. Tomorrow will bring the perfect shot that will make me somebody. The mantra couldn’t block out the sluggish start of the old Jeep’s engine, but if she said it often enough, it had to come true. That’s what affirmations were for.

When she reached her apartment, fatigue convinced her to leave everything in the car except her laptop. Dover, Tennessee, wasn’t a hot spot for crime. In fact, Dover, Tennessee, wasn’t a hot spot for anything. But it was centrally located between the other two towns where she took family portraits on Wednesdays and Thursdays, and the apartment she rented was clean. And cheap.

She’d tossed a package of ramen noodles into some water before she saw the message light blinking on the phone.

The light always brought the same thought to her mind. This could be the big one. Her hand shook as she pressed the voice mail button.

“Kyn. It’s Mom. Going on a little road trip with Lloyd for a few days. Talk to you later.”

Lloyd who? When did a Lloyd come into the picture? And “a few days” meant she’d quit her job at the dog kennel. Or gotten fired. Kyndal swallowed her frustration and sent a mental warning to the little girl she had photographed at closing time: Being a parent to your forty-four-year-old mother is not an easy row to hoe.

She deleted the message, but the light blinked again, indicating a second message.

“Hey, Kyndal.” Mike Sloan’s southern drawl oozed from the handset. “Heard about a tourism magazine startin’ up in your hometown. Sounds like a good fit for you. Gimme a call.”

A job opportunity? In Paducah? She grabbed the phone and had half of Mike’s number punched in before logic reared its head. Would it be wise to trust the man whose dumb-ass moves had caused her to be blacklisted for the past six months? He and his shady contacts ultimately caused the lawsuit that became the demise of the True Tennessee website—and her own reputation by association.

But his intentions had been good. She punched another button. He was trying to make things up to her.

Four years of eye-opening, truth-seeking public awareness of pollution in the Cumberland River brought down by an asinine lawsuit over a totally unnecessary hack job. Her stomach tightened at the memory.

But it turned completely over at the thought of many more ramen noodle suppers. The ten-cent price had made them a staple when she was growing up, but she’d always dreamed adulthood would bring better fare. And it had for a few short years. Then it was back to ramen noodles—just like Mom used to fix.

But someday her luck would change when she found that perfect shot.

The lure of landing a magazine job and splurging on a carry-out pizza won out over the anxiety of talking with Mike. She dialed the rest of his number, keeping one eye on the pot on the stove.

“Hel-lo?” he drawled.

“Hey, Mike. It’s Kyndal. Got your message.” She hurried on, trying to move the conversation directly to the point. “So, you’ve heard about a new magazine starting up?”

“Hey, Kyndal darlin’. How you been?”

“I’m still getting by. Not getting rich, but paying the bills.” Thanks to the savings she’d put away during the four

good years at True Tennessee. “A tourism magazine out of Paducah, huh?”

“Yep. Outdoor magazine about your beloved old Kentucky home.”

Her heart beat faster. Four years of Nashville had been exciting and fun, but city life wasn’t her thing, and it was way too expensive after the website went under. Dover was too far at the other end of the spectrum, though. Moving back to Paducah and Kentucky Lake…now that was a dream worth having.

“You still shootin’ brats at the five-and-dime?” His words came out slightly garbled by the cigar he inevitably kept in his mouth.

“Well, I’ve wanted to shoot a few, but so far, all I’ve done is photograph them. You still smoking those cheap-ass cigars?”

Mike’s laughed turned into a vicious cough. She waited for it to subside then launched her next tactic to get him on the subject.

“Tell me about the magazine quick before those things kill you.”

“Okay, darlin’, don’t go gittin’ your bowels in an uproar. Here’s the deal. You remember Charlie Short?”

Kyndal dredged up a memory of a squatty fellow with a bad toupee. “Yeah, I remember him.”

“The state’s contracted with him for a quarterly tourism deal showin’ the natural wonders of Kentucky. Now, while I think that means its women, the guys callin’ the shots are looking more for landscape. Seasonal photos and whatnot. I thought of you. On both accounts.”

“I’m sure you did, you old codger.” Sixty-eight years old with four divorces under his belt and a huge beer belly over it, Mike Sloan would forever be a player in his own mind. “Quit flirting and stick to business. What’s Charlie Short wanting? Anything particular I can impress him with?” She stirred the flavor powder into the noodles.

“Caves.”

She stopped stirring. Had she heard him right? “Caves?” She moved the pot away from the heat and turned off the burner.

“Yep. Apparently, Kentucky’s loaded with them. Not well-known ones like Mammoth Cave. Small caves. Ones that might have had historical significance or are just interesting in formation. Know of any you could shoot, like quick? He’s wantin’ to make a decision pretty soon. Maybe the next week or so.”

Kyndal’s chest tightened, and she took a deep breath, letting it out slow and controlled. “Yeah.” Her voice cracked, and she cleared her throat. “I know of one. I can go shoot it tomorrow.”

“You’re not workin’ tomorrow?”

She responded to the sadness in his voice with enthusiasm in her own. “Five to nine, Tuesday. Nine to nine, Wednesday, Thursday and Friday. A forty-hour week with time left for freelance work. Or days at other Shop-a-Lots if I can find some that want me.”

Mike sighed, which led into a loud cough followed by a wheeze that probably saved her from further comments. “Here’s his email address.”

She took down the information. “Does Charlie know about…”

“Yes, darlin’, he knows about the lawsuit and that you had nothing to do with any of the shenanigans…just got caught in the cross fire. Says he doesn’t give a damn as long as your shots are good. So this may be the chance to get your good name back.”

“Your lips to God’s ears, Mike.” Hope flickered at his words. “Thanks. I owe you one”

“No.” He gave another long, remorseful sigh. “I owe you one, and I hope this is it. See ya.”

“Bye.” He was already gone.

She poured the noodles into a colander to drain and checked the fridge for nonexistent butter.

So the cave was drawing her back. Chance’s special place. Their special place. The place he’d taken her after his brother Hank’s funeral. The place where they cried out all their anguish, clung to each other for hours and finally lost their virginity. Tears stung her eyes at the bittersweet memory.

Could she face the cave now?

It might be good for her. Give her closure. Let her put the Chance Brennan chapter of her life behind her for good.

Chance Brennan. She closed her eyes and gave in to a minute of nostalgia. Black, curly hair. Eyes like rich espresso. Full lips that made her lick her own just thinking about them.

Theirs was one of the great love legends of Paducah Tilghman High School those two years. Most-Likely-to-Succeed and the varsity quarterback. Poor girl, rich boy. Government-subsidized housing versus country club estates. An unlikely yet somehow compatible pairing—to everyone except Chance’s dad.

She could still see the relief in his dad’s eyes when Chance got his acceptance letter from Harvard and she didn’t. Bill Brennan never thought she was quite good enough for his son. If he’d known how serious things had gotten between them, he probably would have sent Chance to a military school his senior year.

An involuntary shudder shook her. How careless they’d been about unprotected sex that day in the cave. Jaci had her convinced she couldn’t get pregnant the first time. Some best friend. It was a miracle they didn’t end up like her mom and Mason. Or those kids in the store tonight. Where would they be but for a little bit of luck?

Probably back in Paducah, eating at Max’s Café instead of having ramen noodles. She scanned her spice rack for nothing particular.

Chance was back in Paducah, practicing law with his dad, according to Jaci. That news came as no surprise.

What would it be like to have a life like that? Being somebody from the day you were born? Having money for everything you needed? A ready-made career? Parents who were around?

There was the rub, of course. Repayment for Chance came in the form of having to put up with Bill Brennan’s constant presence.

Kyndal took a bite, but the noodles had lost their flavor. She gave the mixture a heavy dousing of pepper and took another bite.

Tomorrow will bring the perfect shot….

A warm tingle ran up her spine. She wasn’t sure if the cause was the pepper or the thought of going back to the cave. No way would she let it be because of Chance Brennan.

She would show him…and his dad…show them all.

She was going to be somebody.


CHAPTER TWO

“WHEREYOUHEADEDSOearly on a Saturday morning? The LBL?” Mrs. Crain set the large to-go cup on the counter.

Kyndal nodded as she counted out the exact change, feeling guilty she’d forgotten to include coffee on her grocery list. “I’m gonna take The Trace through the Land Between the Lakes and try to get some shots of the bison or elk. Then I’m going around to the Kentucky Lake side to a cave.”

Mrs. Crain’s eyebrows knitted in disapproval. “You taking anybody with you?”

“No, ma’am.” Kyndal shrugged sheepishly. She’d given up trying to make people understand that a photographer had to take chances sometimes. A male photographer was considered brave or adventuresome. A woman was just dumb.

“Caves can be dangerous, you know. Couple of boys disappeared in one around Carlisle a few years back. They was never seen again.” Mrs. Crain popped open a sack and slid a quiche-filled puff pastry inside. “A tiny thing like you hadn’t got any business traipsing alone around some cave.” She rolled the top down tightly and held it out. “Here. Take this.”

“Mrs. Crain, I don’t want you to—” Kyndal protested.

“Stick it in your knapsack. If you get lost in that cave, least you’ll have some sustenance.”

The hair on Kyndal’s neck prickled at the words. She hadn’t considered the cave would bring on anything more dangerous than a severe bout of oversentimentality. She gave a nervous laugh. “Don’t you be worrying about me. I’m not going exploring. Just getting some shots for my portfolio.”

She took the sack and held it to her nose, catching the warm scent of the rosemary Mrs. Crain used in her pastry. “Mmm. Thanks, Mrs. C., but this won’t make it to my backpack. I’ll have to gobble it up while it’s hot.” She lifted her coffee in salute as she backed out the door of the little bakery.

“White beans and corn bread if you’re back in time for lunch,” Mrs. Crain called as the door closed.

Kyndal climbed in the Jeep that was still running and flipped the heater off. She’d just wanted to take the chill off the October morning, but the coffee coupled with the down vest and thermal top left her toasty.

She shrugged out of the vest as she pulled from the parking lot onto The Trace, the road which cut through the heart of the Land Between the Lakes. The sleepy little Tennessee burg of Dover was ideally located five miles east of the southern entrance to the LBL. What better location for a photographer than a two-hundred-and-sixty-square-mile stretch of government wildlife preserve almost literally at her back door? With Kentucky and Barkley Lakes as its western and eastern boundaries, the LBL was an outdoorsman’s paradise.

She munched on the free quiche as she debated whether or not to spend the five bucks to drive through the Elk and Bison Prairie. Twenty-three dollars was all she had left of this week’s budget, but that should be enough if Mom didn’t call again needing to borrow some.

Twenty miles into the LBL, she threw a kiss at the sign telling her she was in Kentucky. By the time she reached the entrance of the prairie, she’d convinced herself it was not only worth the price but a necessity. How many photographers east of the Mississippi got a chance to shoot elk—and the chance to visit with her favorite ranger—for the bargain price of five dollars?

Rick Warren’s tall form, silhouetted against the early morning sun, brought a smile to her lips. A former marine, he still had that military look: straight posture, broad squared shoulders, blond crew cut…and a gentleman in every way.

Jaci saw it as an omen her husband’s friend from college had taken a job in western Kentucky. She was convinced Rick and Kyndal were a perfect match and had been relentlessly trying to hook them up.

Not that Kyndal would mind a hook-up with the handsome ranger. Under the guise of photographer, she’d become a regular on the hikes he led—The Snake Crawl, The Night Prowl, The Eagle Watch—but it wasn’t until The Owl Outing two weeks ago that she’d been certain he was interested in her…or anything other than deer droppings.

As the only person to show up in the drizzle, she’d shared two hours alone with the hot, but very mannerly, ranger. The evening had been quite chaste, but she and Jaci held out hope. Rick Warren definitely had potential—if she could break through that reserved exterior.

Rick’s smile spread as she approached the guardhouse and rolled her window down. The cool air brought a rosy glow to his cheeks, lending him an additional boyish charm.

“Morning, Ms. Rawlings.” His strong drawl warmed her twice as fast as the coffee had.

“Morning, Ranger Rick.” She watched his dimples deepen at the nickname.

He glanced at his watch. “You’re out early on a Saturday morning.”

“Living in Dover doesn’t give much reason to be out late on Friday night.” She shrugged and gave an overly dramatic sigh. “Getting up early on Saturday’s not too difficult.”

“I know what you mean. In Camden, they roll the sidewalks up at nine.”

Kyndal laughed. “At least Camden’s got sidewalks.”

Rick wiggled his eyebrows a couple of times as his blue-green eyes held hers. “I hear Clarksville leaves its sidewalks out all night on Saturday. Maybe we should have dinner together and check it out.”

“Why, Ranger Rick.” Kyndal tilted her head in question. “That sounds like you’re asking me out on a date.”

“Well, it’s only a date if you accept. If you decline, it was a humiliating attempt at humor.” He coughed, an awkward little sound that sent white puffs of breath into the morning air, and the color of his cheeks intensified.

Kyndal squinted, trying to look serious. “You know, Rick. In spite of our mutual friends and all those hikes we’ve been on, I hardly know you. You’re not an axe murderer, are you?”

“No, ma’am.” He shook his head.

“In that case, I accept. And it’s about time.”

His shoulders dropped into a more relaxed position. When he tipped his broad-brimmed hat back, she noticed the faint wisp of sweat on his brow. “The department’s got two more weeks of Saturday night Ghosts and Goblins Tours, so I won’t be free until November. Can I call you then?”

Kyndal fished her wallet out of her purse and found the stash of business cards tucked in the side pocket. “I didn’t make it into the phone book, so here’s my number.” She handed it to him, along with the five-dollar entrance fee. “I’ll look forward to dinner.”

He tucked the card into his shirt pocket but shook his head at the money. “Accepting a date with a ranger should have some perks.” He motioned toward the stretch of road leading into the prairie. “Now be careful in there. It’s mating season, you know.”

His wink sent a surge into areas of her body that had lain dormant far too long. She gave him a flirty wave as she pulled away.

The drive through the prairie turned out to be a lucrative venture. Within forty-five minutes, she photographed two bull elk with their antlers intertwined in a struggle for supremacy, an eagle perched on a massive stump, bison in various stages of leisure and another bull elk nuzzling a female about the ears and neck. He tried to mount her once, but she moved away.

“You’re gonna have to give her more foreplay, big guy,” Kyndal murmured as she clicked off her shots.

On her way out, she stopped at the guardhouse to show Rick the scenes she’d caught on her digital camera.

He gave a low whistle of approval. “You have that artist’s eye. My pictures always turn out terrible. Heads cut off or out of focus.”

“Well, maybe I can give you some lessons sometime.”

Rick handed the camera back through the window. “I’d like that.” A subtle nuance in his tone made her think he wasn’t talking about photography. The idea caused her hand to quiver under the weight of the camera. “So where you headed now?”

“I’m going to shoot a cave on the western side of the lake.”

A crease formed on Rick’s forehead. “You’re going spelunking? By yourself?”

“Not spelunking.” Kyndal kept her voice light. “No crawling around through narrow passages. Just going through some rooms near the entrance and taking a few shots.”

A car turned into the reserve and headed toward the security gate.

“Well, I know caves, and they can be dangerous. You be careful,” he said.

She nodded and waved a quick goodbye as she pulled away. Jaci would be thrilled!

Pleasant daydreams of Rick occupied her mind through the drive to the northern exit of The Trace. It wasn’t until she crossed Kentucky Dam to the western shore of Kentucky Lake that she realized she didn’t know exactly where she was going.

She was relatively sure she could hike to the cave through the woods from the nearby boat ramp, the way Chance had taken her the first time. She still remembered her awe at the size of the cave. A network of small caverns connected by narrow passageways, some so low, crawling was the only way through. She’d felt as if she was roaming through a gigantic block of Swiss cheese. They’d gone back a second time, taking a road that dead-ended close to the mouth of the cave.

Try as she might, she couldn’t get her brain to remember enough details to know where that turnoff would be. She’d have to take her chances with the hike through the woods.

When she pulled into the parking lot for the boat ramp, littered with trucks pulling trailers, her heart crawled into her throat.

This cove had been Chance’s favorite fishing hole, and he always swore someday he’d own the piece of property flanking the southern rim. They’d spent so many days out on Kentucky Lake in his little rowboat—fishing, picnicking, occasionally sneaking one of his dad’s beers into the cooler, making out on the beach. Fishing became her favorite sport that summer although she never picked up a pole.

During one of Chance’s fishing trips without her, he’d found the cave. His plan had been to show it to Hank, but he never got the opportunity.

Kyndal took in the small cove, surrounded on three sides by the reds and oranges of fall foliage and the dark blue of the lake beyond. She breathed a deep, contented sigh. Some things in her life had changed greatly over the past nine years, but this site hadn’t changed one bit.

With that assurance, she armed herself with her camera bag and backpack and headed through the woods. Her heart pumped fast. She loved being outdoors on a mission, a world of possibilities before her.

Dew still clung to the leaves underfoot, and she made the passage almost in silence. Even if she hadn’t been able to see the lake as she climbed the hill toward the gray limestone bluff, she would’ve known it was there. Mist lay low in places where the sun hadn’t yet reached, and a pungent fishy odor hung in the air.

She’d often heard people complain about the stench. Not her. To her, it smelled like home. The lakes. The rivers. Any time she was in Paducah, she drove to the foot of Broadway below the flood wall for a glimpse of the Ohio and Tennessee Rivers that converged there. If she was down or feeling low, she only needed that sight to feel soothed. As long as the rivers were still there, everything would be okay.

The thought put a spring in her step as she mounted the steep incline to the bluff. Coming to the cave this morning was the right thing to do. She could feel it. She would get her photos and get this job. The date with Rick was a sign.

Kyndal crossed the ridge to the plateau that held the entrance to the cave and stopped dead in her tracks, reading the large signs posted to nearby trees. No Trespassing! Violators Will Be Prosecuted.

Evidently Mr. Turner, the old codger, was still around. Should she try to find his house and get permission?

She didn’t remember seeing a house anywhere in the vicinity. Even if she found it, there was no guarantee he wouldn’t turn down her request.

The only chance she had at this job was photographs of a cave.

She edged toward the entrance, half expecting an alarm to trigger, yet feeling pretty certain that fear was absurd. Who ever heard of an alarm on a cave?

She checked the trees for surveillance cameras. Unless they were hidden in squirrel or bird nests, she was unobserved.

She stepped closer. It wasn’t as if she was going to hurt anything. She was there out of appreciation for the beauty, not to mar it in any way. Freedom of the press should bring nature’s delights to everyone, not just those who could afford to be landowners.

Her indignation pushed her to the mouth of the cave. She could feel the cool dampness of its interior as she leaned her head inside.

She looked at her watch. Twelve after eight. Forty-five minutes would get her all the shots she wanted. She’d be in, out and gone.

Allowing no further debate of the matter, she made her way to the edge of the meager sunlight. She turned the flashlight on and moved through an open crevice from the first cavern into an adjacent one.

Nothing looked familiar, but the primordial green, earthy scent catapulted her back in time. Closing her eyes, she could almost hear echoes of the sobs and sighs and cries of ecstasy she and Chance had left behind nine years ago.

A surge of warmth rushed through her despite the chilly surroundings and a sentimental breath caught in her throat. She scanned the area with her flashlight. So many openings, all probably leading to other rooms. No time for nostalgia.

“Today will bring the perfect shot that will make me somebody.” Her voice slid around the smooth bowl of the cavern and returned to her.

She ducked through an opening into another area, not sure what she was looking for but confident she would know it when she saw it.

Before moving another step, she pulled the masking tape from her backpack and hung a strip from the opening she’d passed through. The afternoon in the cave with Chance taught her more than lessons in life. If he hadn’t unwound a ball of twine to follow back, they might still be here. She chuckled, remembering how pleased he was that Mrs. Cooper’s mythology class had rendered information worth remembering.

Several caverns later, she found what she was looking for. A natural column of sandstone in the middle of the room gave it an interesting feel. She arranged the portable lights from her backpack on each side, in precisely the right spots for dramatic shadows, and clicked away.

When she adjusted one of the lights, her foot knocked it over. As it fell, a brilliant spark of light reflected from the opposite wall. She picked up the lamp and moved it about, tracing the trajectory it took as it fell. There it was again! The light glinted from a horizontal crack in the wall roughly fifteen inches tall, maybe two or three feet wide. The crevice narrowed and turned down at each end, causing her to shudder. It looked like a frown in the face of the wall.

She walked over to examine it more closely. The hole had formed a couple of feet above her head, but even her limited view brought a gasp. The ceiling on the other side appeared to be solid quartz, glittering like millions of diamonds.

The pounding of her heartbeat thudded in her ears. The shot from this angle through the gap was intriguing but from inside that next cavern, aiming up directly at it… She could barely breathe at the thought.

The crevice was large enough to fit through, but reaching it was the problem. Her fingers just bent at the opening if she stretched. Augh! Why did she have to be so short?

She walked around the area, tracing the wall with the beam from her flashlight. The light showed no other way to reach the other side, so she returned to the crack with new determination.

If she jumped, she could get her palms flat onto the facing of the hole. Her arms were strong from lugging around equipment, but the wall was so smooth, she couldn’t get any purchase with her boot. After four or five tries, she noticed a bit of scraping left from her feet, though.

She jumped again, trying to suspend herself long enough to batter the soft wall. It worked. Her toe sank in a tad, enough to give her leverage to move an arm deeper through the opening.

Her arms burned and threatened to rip out of their sockets, but she held on and heaved, scrabbling her toes against the wall for any hold she might find.

The rim of the hole was only five or six inches thick, and her fingers soon clasped the inner side. Giving a scream that could have landed her a role in a horror film, she hauled her torso onto the ledge, balancing precariously like a human teeter-totter.

She eased the flashlight out of her pocket and focused the beam into the small room. Her position didn’t allow much air into her lungs, and what little was there rushed out at the sight that met her eyes. She’d been wrong. The ceiling wasn’t the focal point. The entire room was floor-to-ceiling, wall-to-wall crystals.

The room reminded her of the geodes she’d gathered at the LBL’s Geology Station as a kid. On the outside, they looked like lumpy dirt clods, but inside, they were solid crystal. This one was big enough to hold her rather than the other way around.

She’d never imagined a find like this. Shots from inside that cavern were once-in-a-lifetime occurrences and the opportunity she’d waited for her whole life…the one that would make her somebody. Her head whirled with possibilities.

First, she’d have to find a way in and out of there that wouldn’t make her dizzy. She lowered herself back to her starting point. Having both feet on the ground helped her think more clearly.

The obvious solution would be a ladder. Nothing too tall. A stepladder would work. But she’d also need a partner. Someone who could pass it through the opening so she could climb out and keep all her equipment safe.

Jaci.

Oh, she’d pitch a fit and whine a lot but eventually she’d agree. Cajoling her would take some time. Kyndal needed to get started right away so they could make it back by early afternoon.

She stuffed her camera and lights into the bag, grabbed her backpack and made a mad dash for the entrance, following the strips of masking tape like beacons.

Once outside, she halted, blinded momentarily by the bright sunlight. She squinted and swallowed great gulps of fresh air.

“Hold it right there, young lady.” The voice was male and gruff.

Kyndal let out a frightened yelp and swung around to face a burly man in a sheriff’s uniform. She supposed she should be relieved that she wasn’t looking down the barrel of a gun, the way she and Chance had years before. Still, the sheriff’s presence was nothing to celebrate, not with all the signs posted.

“You got permission to be here?” His tone implied he already knew the answer.

Kyndal’s clenched gut warned her not to lie, but it didn’t seem prudent to confess that she’d deliberately chosen not to ask for it, either. “Well, no, but—”

“No buts about it. It’s clearly posted there’s no trespassing.” His eyes narrowed suspiciously as he took in her appearance. “What’s in the bags?”

“My camera and equipment.” Kyndal went for an innocent look, opening her eyes wide. She slid the camera bag into the crook of her arm and started to unzip it.

The sheriff moved quickly for a man his size. In one smooth move he stepped back and drew his gun. “Drop the bags!”

Kyndal’s heartbeat shot into overdrive. She released the bags with a thud beside each foot.

The sheriff spoke in a low, no-nonsense tone. “Now put your hands ’hind your head and turn around real slowlike. I’m placing you under arrest.”

Kyndal willed her legs to do as he commanded. A violent shiver made the rounds through her body. Under arrest? She’d never been arrested! This was all a mistake. Surely he’d listen to reason. “I’m sorry.” She fought to keep the vibration out of her voice. “Really. I was just trying to get some photographs of a cave. I didn’t think the owner would mind.”

A strong grip held her wrist and brought it down to the small of her back. She gasped as cold metal encircled one hand. The same grip on her other arm caused a surge of panic, but the sound of the closing handcuffs brought out sheer anger. Restraints were clearly uncalled for. “I can’t believe this!” Her ears burned with humiliation. “This is all a misunderstanding.”

The sheriff took her bags with one hand and her arm with the other and steered her toward his car. “Well, Miss Unbeliever, let’s get to the office so you can start explaining how you misunderstood all these signs.” A sarcastic chuckle curled his lips into a sneer. “Your English sounds pretty good to me. Now then, you have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you…”


CHAPTER THREE

THEGRAYBRICKSOFTHE holding cell reflected Kyndal’s mood. Leaning back against the bars allowed a visual escape from that part of the reality, and she refused to make contact with the thin mattress on the cot that took up one wall. The only other fixture was a stainless-steel toilet stuck in the back corner. The thought of having to use the odious thing brought bile to her throat. She gripped the sheriff’s telephone tighter, trying to bring her nerves under control before she made the call.

When they’d first arrived at the Marshall County Sheriff’s Department, a teenage girl had been in the first cell. She was crying softly when the sheriff opened the door leading from his office into the narrow corridor that gave access to the cells. He stopped Kyndal in front of the girl.

“Melody,” he barked like a drill sergeant. “You know this woman?”

The girl shook her head and started to bawl. “N-No, sir. Isn’t my mom here yet? My stepdad’s gonna kill me.”

Sheriff Blaine’s grip tightened on Kyndal’s arm. He marched her past the empty second cell and into the last.

The girl’s incessant wailing had frayed Kyndal’s nerves to the point where she’d wanted to cry, too, but she’d fought the urge. Tears wouldn’t help. From what she’d seen, showing any sign of weakness to Sheriff Blaine was like waving a red flag in front of a bull.

Later, after the sheriff came and removed Melody, things got eerily quiet for a few short moments. Suddenly, a burst of shouting ensued from the next room, and a man’s voice bellowed obscenities Kyndal never knew existed along with “smart-ass bitch,” “slut” and “little whore.”

Kyndal cringed at the abusive verbal attack. It reminded her of her second stepdad, Hal. Melody’s fears of her stepfather’s reaction were obviously well-grounded.

A couple of other male voices—Sheriff Blaine’s and a deeper one, perhaps a deputy’s—tried to calm him down.

Nothing had any effect until the sheriff threatened him with arrest. “We’ll be seeing a lot of Melody, and don’t think I won’t be checking out her condition.” Sheriff Blaine’s voice had an edge that would slide through metal. “So don’t go thinking you’re safe to tie into her when you get home. Now go on out front and let’s get these papers signed. I’m ready to get the hell finished with you.”

The door to the cell block opened. Sheriff Blaine’s heavy breathing preceded him down the narrow passage to Kyndal’s cell. He glared at her, red-faced, through the bars. “Made that phone call yet?”

She shook her head, momentarily losing her voice.

“Make it quick.”

He turned and stalked back down the hall, slamming the door behind him so hard it bounced back open a sliver. Kyndal heard the shuffle of papers and the sound of another door opening and closing. Then silence.

She took a deep breath and dialed Jaci’s number. She’d need a ride back to her car. With Mom who-knows-where with the jerk-of-the-month, it would have to be Jaci. If Jaci wasn’t home, she’d take her chance walking before she’d get back in the car with Sheriff Blaine. One ride in the sheriff’s car was enough for a lifetime.

“Hello?” Thank God.

“Jaci, it’s Kyn.”

“Hey, Kyn. Bart and I were just talking about you. Thought we’d give you a call and see if you wanted—”

“Jaci, listen.” In his present mood, Sheriff Blaine might come jerk the phone out of her hand if she took too long. “I’m at the Marshall County Sheriff’s Office in Benton. I’ve been arrested.”

Jaci’s voice exploded over the line. “You’ve what? What in the corn bread hell happened? What’d you do to get arrested?”

“I trespassed.” Kyndal kept her voice level, not giving in to her emotions now that she heard a sympathizing voice. “I needed some shots of a cave, so I went to the one…you know. There were no-trespassing signs, but I thought—” Her voice broke, and she stopped to gain control. “Can you come pick me up?”

“I’m on my way.” The phone went dead.

The drive from Paducah to Benton would take thirty to forty-five minutes. Kyndal paced the cell and waited, the minutes creeping by.

Twelve forty-three. Seven hours ago, she’d gotten up with the hope of a new job and a world of possibilities. Now she sat in a jail cell, facing a huge fine, at best.

She wouldn’t allow herself to ponder the worst-case scenario. What if it hit the newspapers and her name got linked back to the True Tennessee debacle? She might end up photographing kids the rest of her life.

And how much would a fine cost her? Probably more than the fifty-seven dollars left in her checking account. She was loath to dip into the savings she’d put back while working for the website. She’d already had to do it a few times to help out her mom. But a fine—or bail—wouldn’t leave her with any choice.

She lambasted herself. How could she have even considered such a prank? Now Old Man Turner—Mr. Turner, she corrected herself—would never allow her to go back to shoot the amazing crystal cavern, and she couldn’t bring herself to ask about the shots she’d already taken. She’d have to kiss this job goodbye.

As if the money part wasn’t bad enough, facing the old codger and confessing her crime still lay ahead of her. They wouldn’t let him bring the shotgun, would they? Her face burned, remembering the baleful look in the old guy’s eyes.

Would Sheriff Blaine consider a plea bargain? Maybe she could work off the fine in family photographs. Or staff pictures. A holiday calendar, maybe. With the office number to call in case of emergency. The knot in her stomach loosened a smidgen.

Or would he consider the suggestion a bribe and run the cost up even higher? The knot yanked tighter than ever.

While she debated the wisdom of this tactic, male voices and chuckles filtered through the cracked door. Sheriff Blaine and the deputy came back into the office. Evidently, Melody was on her way home.

Kyndal brushed at the dirt on her jeans, trying to make herself as presentable as possible. Climbing the cave wall had left streaks down the front and sides of her clothes. Running her hands down her hair, she could feel how the humidity had wreaked havoc on it.

Maybe the sheriff would feel sorry for her or think her slightly deranged.

The voices moved closer to the door.

“We questioned the kids. They swear they don’t know her. The bags turned up nothing. No pot. Not even a trace. She’s not who we’re looking for.”

Kyndal’s breath came out in a rush. They thought she’d been making a drug drop!

“Even so, she was trespassing in a clearly marked area.” The voice was smooth and deep, and Kyndal’s stomach fluttered at the sound of it. She imagined the tall, dark and handsome deputy it might belong to. “Professional photographers know better than to go on someone’s property without permission. I mean, she’s not the paparazzi, right?”

The words stung.

They laughed together, and Kyndal’s eyes burned with indignation. She’d always prided herself on her professionalism. They knew nothing about her or her work. Hadn’t they ever had an occasional lapse in judgment for an exciting opportunity? Everybody did. It wasn’t a crime. It was part of being human.

Of course, trespassing was a crime.

Anger came on the heels of the other emotions. Anger at the sheriff who had the audacity to think she might be connected with drugs.

Anger at the deputy who obviously considered her an amateur.

But mostly, anger at herself, for getting into this asinine situation.

The door to the office opened wide. The sheriff took his time, stopping to peer into the vacant cells before he finally unlocked hers.

“Go on out into my office. We have some questions we want to ask you. Made your call yet?”

Kyndal nodded and handed him the telephone. She took deep, calming breaths as she made her way down the narrow hall and through the door into the sun-brightened office. She squinted at the figure standing by the window.

Not a deputy, unless he was dressed for undercover work. Jeans and a cashmere crewneck? Expensive taste. Her eyes moved up his frame. Tall. Dark. And, from what she could see of his profile, handsome, indeed.

She blinked.

He turned and her eyes met the steeliness of his rock-hard gaze. Her heart made a quick jaunt into her throat and then plummeted to the bottom of her stomach. The face was a bit fuller. The jaw a tad firmer. The hair several inches shorter. But the eyes hadn’t changed at all.

“Chance?” Had the sheriff called her a lawyer? Was her situation that serious? She locked her knees to keep them from buckling. “Why are you here?” The words came out startled and clipped—harsher than she would have used in more congenial circumstances.

A number of emotions crossed his features and she read them as easily as she always had. Confusion. Understanding. Amusement.

So he found her predicament amusing? She held back the smile of recognition and greeting that had been on the edges of her lips, keeping her face neutral and composed.

Chance gave a chuckle, and her mind flashed to the deep voice she’d been hearing—the one she thought belonged to a deputy. Chance’s. How could she not have recognized it?

His dark eyes danced, and his full mouth turned up slightly at one end as he walked over to her and extended his hand. “It’s good to see you, too, Kyndal.”

She clasped his hand. “Did they call you to be my attorney?” A tremor moved up her arm when she spoke the last word. His grip tightened and he covered her hand with his other one. The touch was warm and familiar; it should have been comforting, but it wasn’t. It made her want to curl up in a fetal ball.

The three worst moments in her life—when Chance broke up with her, when the website got closed and now this. She cringed. The website was the only one that had nothing to do with him.

He gave her a questioning look as his smile broadened. “No, I’m not here to represent you.”

His eyes held hers and she was back in Mrs. Cooper’s junior English class, meeting his gaze. She pulled her hand free, not wanting to give him the opportunity to feel it tremble again.

Kyndal’s mind raced. Why would Chance Brennan be standing there in front of her? He was a lawyer…but he wasn’t there to be her lawyer. Was he the prosecuting attorney here to press charges? Oh. My. God! “Chance, I can explain all this. I wanted to get some shots of a cave and the only one I knew of was the one where we, um…” Don’t bring that up! Her mouth was moving too fast. She paused to let her brain catch up. “The one we…we went to—on the lake. There were signs posted about trespassing, but I wasn’t going to hurt anything.” Chance’s eyes danced with amusement. Inside, he was laughing at her! “I’m not stupid, like you’re thinking.”

“Kyndal, I—”

“I know I shouldn’t have trespassed.” She talked faster to explain before he went into his prosecuting spiel. “I could read the signs. But sometimes professional photographers like me—” she emphasized the words “—have to take chances to get the shot we need. As long as nobody gets hurt and property doesn’t get damaged, it’s usually not a problem.” She swallowed hard. “My boots might have done a little damage to one of the walls, but tell Mr. Turner I’ll be glad to pay for the damage.” What if he was unreasonable and tried to make her pay a bunch of money she didn’t have? “As long as it’s within reason. I mean, is he even approachable?” She bit her bottom lip to keep it from trembling.

“It’s okay, Kyn. It’s me.” Chance reached out. His finger brushed her cheek in a gesture that shook her to her core.

She turned away quickly, not letting him finish. “I know it’s you, but you’re working for him.”

A movement caught her attention. The sheriff crossed his arms and leaned against a file cabinet, silently taking this all in. She’d forgotten about him. “Can you get me a lawyer?”

His eyebrows shot up at her sudden address, and he shrugged.

“Kyndal.” Chance’s voice was right behind her and then his hands were on her shoulders, turning her around to face him. “You don’t need a lawyer. I won’t be pressing charges.” The mature take-charge tone of his deeper-than-she-remembered voice screamed the changes in him. He was a man now. With very large, warm hands.

He was studying her, no doubt weighing the girl he had known against the woman before him.

Much as she hated to admit it, she hoped a few years had added more character and wisdom. And she found herself hoping he found those traits attractive. Not that it made any difference, of course. But she did hope he didn’t sigh with relief at his lucky escape.

No sigh. An appreciative smile instead. “I’m the owner, Kyn. I own that land, cave and all.”

His hands dropped to his sides, and her temperature dropped a few degrees at the loss of his touch. But the cooling-off period lasted only until his words sank in. He was the owner! He should’ve told her that first thing. Instead, he’d been having fun at her expense. Her cheeks burned with humiliation. “You’ve been enjoying this, haven’t you?” She lit into him full force. “Seeing me squirm. Why didn’t you tell me as soon as you came in?”

“I tried. You wouldn’t—”

“You should’ve tried harder.”

“Apparently.” He ran his hand down his face, and turned his attention to the sheriff. “Buck, Kyndal and I are…old friends.”

The dismissive wave of his hand when he said those words hit Kyndal as soundly as a slap in the face. The derisive snort shot from her before she could control of anger. “Yeah. We sort of lost contact in college.”

Chance’s eyes darkened. “I’m sorry you went through this, Kyndal. I’ve had some trouble with teenagers.”

“Apparently.” She mimicked his previous tone.

“Did you see anything?”

She jumped at the sound of Sheriff Blaine’s voice behind her. “Did I see anything that looked like somebody had been there?” She moved mentally through the areas she had seen this morning. “No. But there are a lot of different ways to go from that first room.”

A blast of voice and static came over the sheriff’s two-way radio. “Sheriff, there’s been a wreck in front of the bank in Draffenville. No one’s hurt, but one of the drivers is drunk.”

Sheriff Blaine pulled the radio from his belt. “I’ll be right there.” He zipped up his leather jacket, which stretched tight over his paunch. “Hate to break up the reunion, but, Ms. Rawlings, we need to get you back to your car. I’ll stop in Draffenville and send you the rest of the way with Deputy Howard.”

Before Kyndal could answer, Chance waved away the suggestion. “I’ll take her back to her car.”

“Your stuff’s at the front desk.” The sheriff nodded his head toward the front room. “Hope I don’t see you again.” He smiled, and Kyndal heard a pleasant tone to his voice for the first time. “Unless it’s social.” He winked and clapped Chance on the back as he passed.

The sheriff’s exit cut her humiliation in half. If only Chance would leave, she could wallow in what must be a ten-ton vat of self-recrimination hanging in her stomach.

Instead, the weight increased when he crossed his arms and frowned. “Now, what were you really doing at my cave? I’m not aware of any problem it might be creating for Kentucky Lake. No pollution, no chemical dumping—unless it’s pot from the kids, which I’m trying to get stopped.”

So he’d heard about True Tennessee. She squared her shoulders, determined not to shrink from his tense look. “I told you why I was there. I need photos of a cave. A tourism magazine is starting up.”

“Tourism, eh?” He smiled then, but a smirk seemed to hang around the edges of his lips. “Does that mean you’ve left the dark side?”

“I was never on the dark side,” she huffed.

“Liberal environmentalists who stir the shit that closes companies and causes good people to lose their jobs are the dark side personified.”

“On the contrary, Counselor, liberal environmentalists save lives by enlightening the public about the way these companies ravage our natural resources.”

“Damn, Kyndal.” He wiped a hand down his face in a gesture she’d seen him make thousands of time. “Have you forgotten completely about who you are and where you’re from?” He bent toward her, bringing his eyes level with hers. “You’re a Paducah girl, and Paducah’s a river town. The Ohio means industry. Jobs—”

“Birth defects…cancer.” She raised on her tiptoes, causing him to straighten. “And death if we sit back idly and allow the dumping of poisons into our rivers to continue.”

He peered closely at her. “You’ve changed,” he said, making it sound like an accusation.

“And you haven’t.” She allowed a smirk of her own. “I hear you’re working for your dad.”

His jaw tightened. “With, not for. I’m a partner in the firm.”

“Well…good for you.”

The small office was getting awfully warm and the conversation had moved into a sparring phase she wasn’t up to at the moment. Pretty soon, he would start questioning her again about the new magazine and figure out how far she’d actually fallen. What category ranked below “Total Loser?” Oh, yeah, that would be “My Dad Was Right about You.” She couldn’t face that on top of everything else today.

She moved toward the door the sheriff had closed behind him. Escape seemed to be the best plan. “By the way, thanks for offering the ride, but Jaci’s on her way to pick me up.”

Chance moved more quickly and claimed the doorknob. He didn’t turn it immediately, pausing momentarily as if weighing his next comment. “I’m sorry, Kyn. This is no way for us to act. Are you in town long?” His free hand touched her casually below the shoulder blade.

There was nothing casual about her body’s reaction to his touch. Her nipples tightened as though they had no memory of his walking out of her life without a backward glance. A thin line of perspiration popped out along her upper lip and made her cringe. Before answering, she camouflaged a quick wipe of the area with a cough. “No, I’m going back to Tennessee this afternoon.” He removed his hand, and she immediately felt the loss.

“Ah. Well, I was hoping I could make this up to you somehow.”

This he wanted to make up for. Not for breaking up with her and breaking her heart. Not for his major role in the whole men-as-deserters drama of her life.

“This isn’t something you need to make up for,” she snapped.

He smiled. Nothing forced this time. A genuine, tender, gorgeous, all-the-way-into-his-eyes smile that indicated he took her at her word instead of reading the nuance in her voice.

She considered another comment. Something more pointed than the last. Something that would wipe the smile from those yummy lips. But he opened the door, and a welcome rush of air cooled her face. This would all be over soon. She let her comment drop.

The lady working the outer office placed Kyndal’s bags on the counter with a curt “Here’s your stuff” then went back to typing without giving them a second look.

“We need to get together sometime, and you know…catch up.”

Yeah, sometime when I’m gainfully employed…in an awesome job…and married to an awesome guy. Kyndal unzipped her bags and made a cursory check of their contents. She didn’t expect to find anything awry, but it was a good way to avoid eye contact. “Um, yeah. That’d be nice. Sometime.”

Chance’s cell phone rang before he could follow up, and Kyndal sighed her relief when the yellow of Jaci’s VW Beetle flashed through the window blinds.

“It’s all in the file on Alice’s desk, Dad. I finished it last night.”

Hearing Chance address his father stirred up memories, but Kyndal had no intention of allowing them to surface, considering how the rest of her day had gone. She inclined her head toward the window to indicate Jaci’s arrival, gathered her bags and hurried out the door.

Chance was close behind her, still talking, with obvious irritation. “I told you I’d be there before two, and I’m on my way.”

Jaci’s eyes widened when Kyndal and Chance exited the sheriff’s office together, and Kyndal answered her unspoken question with a don’t-you-dare-ask-any-questions-yet glare.

* * *

JACIGAVEATIGHTSMILETO indicate the message had been received although her brain was spinning at the sight.

Kyndal and Chance Brennan? Had hell frozen over?

She popped the trunk open and rolled her window down as Chance shoved his phone into his pocket. “Hey, Chance.” She forced a smile. “Haven’t seen you in forever. How are ya?”

“I’m doing well, Jaci. How are you and Bart?”

“We’re fine.” But what have you done to my best friend? If you’ve hurt her again, so help me, I’ll—

“I’ve been hearing good things about Décor and More.”

“That’s music to my ears.” She grabbed a few business cards from the stash in the sun visor and handed them to him. “Keep spreading the word.”

A worried look crossed his face, and he seemed about to say something else when Kyndal slammed the trunk. He hurried around to the passenger side, but not before Kyndal had herself safely tucked into the seat. She closed the door and stuck her hand out the window. “Thanks, Chance. You always said you’d buy that cave someday. I’m relieved that you own it today.”

Chance owned the cave? Wow, this should be some story.

Chance’s dark eyes softened as he leaned down to peer in the window. “It was good to see you again. It’s been way too long.” He shifted his eyes to Jaci. “Um, Jaci, I heard something about Julia recently…”

Her throat tightened at the mention of her business partner. Chance was Julia’s attorney, and if he’d already heard, her bad news must be out. She nodded. “It’s true. Breast cancer. Bilateral mastectomy. But they caught it early, so no chemo or radiation.”

Sadness shadowed his face. “That’s good news, at least. Do you think she’d mind if I called? I’d like to let her know I’m thinking about her.”

His words dissolved some of the anger she’d been allowing to surface toward him in regard to Kyndal. “I think she’d like that.”

“I’ll give her a call, then.” He straightened up and pulled out a business card, scribbled something on the back, and handed it to Kyndal. “If you ever need anything, Kyn, here’s my card. My cell number’s on the back.”

Kyndal nodded. “Thanks.”

She waved goodbye, and Jaci could see the strain as Kyndal forced her lips in a smile.

When they got onto the street, Jaci reached into the backseat, grabbed a box of tissues and tossed it into Kyndal’s lap. “I can see you’re in no condition to drive. We’re going to my house, and we’ll get your car later. Now tell me everything.”

Kyndal told her long, dramatic story all the way to Paducah, pain evident in her voice, though nothing like it had been those weeks after Chance broke up with her. Thinking about that time still made Jaci want to castrate him.

She and Chance were the only two people in the world Kyndal had ever fully trusted. When he betrayed that trust, Jaci had watched her best friend fall apart…and she’d been the one left to pick up the pieces.

She pulled the car into the garage and turned it off. They sat in silence while the garage door closed behind them.

She couldn’t bear to think about Kyndal going home to that sad little apartment tonight. Meeting up with Chance again had been bad enough, but doing it when she was out of a job went beyond rotten luck. Classic Kyndal. “You’re gonna stay here tonight.” She held up a hand to silence Kyndal’s protest. “And we’re gonna go out and end this day on a happy note.”

Kyndal shook her head. “I can’t afford it, Jaci. I have to keep an eye on everything I spend right now. I’m sure Mom’s going to want to leave this new jerk she’s with, and she’ll need gas money or bus fare to get home from wherever.”

Jaci had tired years ago of this person Kyndal called “mom” who was no mother at all, but always referred to herself as Mrs. Rawlings no matter who she was married to “to keep a strong connection to my baby girl.” Pffft! The only connection that woman cared about was the one that provided her public aid…and now Kyndal’s banking account, which was dwindling because of her.

“We’re not gonna argue about this, and we’re not gonna talk about your mom right now. Tonight’s my treat.” She turned to face Kyndal squarely, leaning against the driver’s

door. “What we are gonna talk about is this job you’re letting pass. You need this job, Kyn, and you need those pictures of the cave.”

She snatched Chance’s business card from the cup holder in the console and waved it in front of Kyndal’s face. “Meeting up with Chance again hurt your pride, I know, but the worst part’s over. It’s happened for a reason, and maybe that reason is to get you this job.” She laid the card on Kyndal’s lap where it nestled among the wadded mass of used tissues. “An opportunity has landed right in your lap. Call him.”


CHAPTER FOUR

CHANCERUBBEDHISTHUMBSacross his brow, noticing the tenderness underneath. Sinus pressure? Tension? Maybe both.

Saturday night. Eight thirty-seven. He’d hoped to be done with work by now. A normal day would’ve found him finished an hour or two ago. But this was no normal day. Kyndal Rawlings stepped back into his life for less than an hour, and he’d been unable to concentrate on anything else since.

“Dad, you were so right,” he mumbled to himself. “Tree hugger or not, that woman drives me to distraction.”

But, man! She’d looked good. A little on the thin side even for her tiny frame, but the tight thermal top and jeans she’d worn showed she still had curves in all the right places.

Her green, catlike eyes had been alarmed when she first recognized him. What was that about?

Fear wasn’t an emotion he associated with Kyn. She’d always shown so much spunk. Taking care of herself when her mother would leave and stay gone for days. Never missing school. Graduating as valedictorian. Kyndal was a fighter and a survivor.

He’d only seen her truly afraid twice. Once when Amos Turner showed up with his gun to run them away from the cave. And the day he’d broken up with her. The terror of losing him had radiated from her eyes. God, he could still feel her arms around him in that death grip as she pleaded for him to change his mind. These nine years later, the guilt and regret still ate at him. Guilt that he couldn’t make what they had gel with what he needed. Regret that he had to end it the way he did because he’d had no other option.

“Damn it! I’m doing it again.”

This was crazy. Yes, for a couple of years, he and Kyndal spent every possible minute together, but that finished long ago. They went their separate ways, became different people, grew up, grew apart. End of story.

He snatched up the notes he’d made on the Farley case, determined to divert his attention. It was clear why his dad had passed the case to him. The Farleys’ son, Morton, had been killed in a car accident so similar to Hank’s it made him nauseous to read.

College kids on summer vacation. Drinking to excess. Driving too fast. Crossing the center line and meeting a semi head-on.

No civil suit would ever bring their son back. Couldn’t they see that? Their lives would never be the same. But if they didn’t let go of the grief eating them alive, they’d soon be consumed by it, and it would destroy anything they’d ever had together.

The judge who’d presided over his family’s case had been a showboat, working hard toward reelection. He hadn’t demonstrated a true sense of right and wrong, or given a damn about fairness. He’d turned the whole fiasco into a venue to generate publicity with no regard of the pain he caused. That the idiot ruled in their favor against the tired truck driver was a travesty of justice.

Not a day went by that Chance didn’t remind himself how Hank’s civil suit ripped apart the last vestiges of family life for them and brought only heartache instead of closure. And it left him with a relentless drive to become a judge who would treat people with fairness and dignity no matter what their circumstances.

He stood and walked away from the desk, trying to leave behind the haunting image of his parents as they’d been since his brother’s death.

To this day, they’d never really dealt with Hank’s death. Never let their grief out like he had the day of the funeral with Kyndal. Thank God, he’d had somebody like her back then.

Damn it! Back to Kyndal. This round-robin thinking was getting him nowhere and getting nothing taken care of…but he couldn’t get her off his mind.

He sat back down and typed Kyndal Rawlings into the search engine on his computer and clicked on the first link that appeared—an interesting and eye-opening account of a lawsuit that shut down the True Tennessee website. She hadn’t mentioned any of that during their short visit. Not that he blamed her. The article indicated quite a scandal.

If it had been anybody but Kyndal, he would’ve thought it served her right. But it was Kyn, and damn liberal or not, she deserved better. She would survive, though. She always had.

His stomach growled as he closed his laptop, reminding him he’d skipped lunch. Only a wood-fired oven pizza and a cold beer from Max’s Café would satisfy the craving.

* * *

MAX’SWASCROWDED, but that was expected. Everybody came to Max’s. Getting a seat would take at least an hour, even as a single, but Chance thought he could hold off starvation with a couple of beers. Axel put his name on the list and said he’d find him in the bar when something opened up.

Tripp, the bartender, saw him making his way through the throng and had a cold one waiting for him by the time he got to the bar.

“You look like you need this.” Tripp handed him the frosted mug.

“Tripp, have I ever told you you’re my favorite person?” Chance swigged the beer, relishing the biting chill on his tongue and down his throat. “Wanna marry me? Have one of these waiting for me when I get home, and I’ll never ask any more of you.”

“Never knew you swung that way, Chance.” The high-pitched voice by his shoulder could only belong to one person.

“Jaci.” Chance turned toward her with a shake of his head. “Are you stalking me today?”

“Nope, but I thought maybe you were stalking Kyndal.” Jaci tilted her head toward the door.

Through the opening, he could see the fire pit blazing in the middle of the beer garden. Kyndal sat close enough for the fire to lend a rosy glow to her skin.

Her head fell back as she and Bart laughed together, unaware they were being watched. The firelight sparkled on her silky, black hair cascading down her back. Relaxed and carefree, she looked even better than she had earlier in the day.

Chance’s mouth went dry. He took another gulp and shook his head in answer to Jaci’s remark. “She told me she was going back to Tennessee this afternoon.”

Jaci wrinkled her nose as she smiled. “We talked her into staying the night. Why don’t you join us—unless you’re waiting for someone?”

Much as he’d like to visit some more with Kyndal—maybe on a friendlier note this time—she hadn’t seemed to share those sentiments this morning. She’d been shaken at first, then she’d almost seemed pissed. He shook his head. “I’d better not. I don’t want to make Kyn uncomfortable.” He leaned his elbow on the bar and set his beer down.

Jaci snatched it and looped her arm through his, giving him a tug. “Actually, she said she might give you a call. She wants to talk to you about something she found in that cave of yours.”

She’d found something in the cave? She’d denied it when Buck asked. Chance’s interest was piqued. And if she was going to call him, anyway… “But I haven’t eaten yet.”

“Neither have we. We’ve just ordered appetizers and pizza. C’mon.”

Chance allowed Jaci to pull him through the door. If Kyndal seemed distraught about seeing him again, he could blame her friend for dragging him over.

“Lookee here who I found in the bar.” Jaci’s words drew Kyndal’s attention.

Chance read the shock that registered in her eyes, followed by daggers aimed at Jaci. A flush spread across her face so quickly it couldn’t have been from the fire’s proximity. Whether that was a good sign or a bad one, he couldn’t be sure. Finally, a cool smile settled on her lips.

“Chance. How weird is this?” Her eyebrows drew together in question when she returned her gaze to Jaci. Probably thinking she’d been set up.

“I never expected to see you here, either.” Chance waved away the conspiracy theory. “You told me you were going home.” He shook hands with Bart, who was smiling as if he was thoroughly enjoying the drama. “How’s the uranium enrichment business, Bart?”

Bart laughed. “When we let go, check your palm. If it’s not glowing, I’ll make it to my shift Monday.”

Jaci wore her cat-who-ate-the-canary smile as she sat down next to her husband, leaving the chair next to Kyndal available. Chance made no move to sit. If Kyndal wanted him there, she’d have to invite him. And, if she didn’t, he’d make an excuse and mosey back to the bar.

Jaci handed over his beer, and he took another sip to cover the awkward silence.

“So I guess that time to catch up came sooner than we thought.” Kyndal’s smile was tight as she pulled out the chair and patted the seat. “Here. Sit down.” Her tone wasn’t ecstatic about seeing him again—but certainly friendlier than at Buck’s office. But then people weren’t usually at their best in Buck’s office.

Chance took the only relaxed gulp of beer he’d had since leaving the bar, but the downtime didn’t last long. When he sat, he found the space tighter than it looked. His right arm pressed against Kyndal’s left from shoulder to elbow. He started to scoot over some, but the contact felt pretty good—damn good, really. He’d just have to enjoy the friction that sent little bursts of heat through his sweater every time he raised his arm for a sip—and he’d make it a point to sip often.

“Wow, y’all. This is just like old times.” Jaci was almost squealing. The saucy redhead looked and sounded the part of mischievous imp. If nothing exciting was happening, she’d make it happen.

Chance was sure there was more to the comment, and he braced himself for what would come next.

“Except, when we leave, Bart and I will be together, and y’all will go off and be with other people. Seems weird, huh?”

So Kyndal had “other people.” Chance’s mouthful of beer tasted rather flat.

Kyndal’s arm flinched against his, and he felt her stiffen. “Jaci…” Her tone held a warning.

“Yeah, let’s not talk about that now.” Jaci signaled the waitress for another round of beer. “Private lives, politics and religion are officially off-limits tonight. Let’s just enjoy the moment.”

Damn. Staying away from politics was a good idea if he and Kyn were going to try to remain civil, but he’d like to hear about this relationship just to satisfy his curiosity. Maybe he could ease into it from a different angle. “How’s your mom, Kyn?”

“She’s fine.” She picked the corner of the label loose from her bottle. “Your parents?”

“They’re okay. In fact, they leave in the morning for the first trip they’ve taken together since Hank—” He stopped and an emotional silence fell over the group.

Kyndal cleared her throat and raised her beer over the middle of the table, but her eyes fixed on his. “Here’s to letting go of old hurts.”

He doubted total forgiveness was a toast away, but maybe this was a start. As they clinked their bottles together, everybody seemed to relax.

“You know, Chance, you’re lucky I showed up when I did.” Jaci pointed at the bartender as she let Bart and Kyndal in on the joke. “Tripp was seriously considering Chance’s marriage proposal.”

“Don’t sell your soul for liquor.” Bart nuzzled Jaci’s hair playfully. “Hold out for home-cooked meals and wild sex—in that order.”

They all laughed together, and for the first time since he’d sat down, Chance felt as if it really was like old times.

A plate of cheese-stuffed potato cakes showed up and gave everybody an opportunity to focus on food rather than conversation. Chance glanced at Kyndal’s hand as she passed the plate. No ring, so she wasn’t engaged. Chance relaxed even more and gave himself permission not to analyze why.

“Hey, Kyn.” Jaci’s wide-eyed expression was the picture of innocence. “I told Chance you were going to call him about what you found in the cave.”

Kyndal choked on her potato cake.

Chance patted her between the shoulder blades. “You okay?”

She coughed a couple of times, cleared her throat and nodded. “Yeah.” She smiled, and for a brief moment he was lost in the watery depths of those green eyes. She cleared her throat again. “Really. I’m okay.”

She gave a tug that made him realize he had a firm grasp on her arm with his left hand, and the pats on her back had morphed into soft rubs. His grasp nearly circumvented her arm. Though not very big around, he could feel the taut muscles underneath and the strength in them. Reluctantly, he let go and shifted his attention from the feel of her under his hands to what she found in the cave.

She chewed her lip before speaking. “I found a small room made completely of crystals.”

“Crystals?” It wasn’t the type of news he’d expected, and he had to let the information sink in.

“Yeah, crystals. Walls, floor, ceiling. Everything was white, shiny crystals.”

Chance stared into his beer, searching his memory. “I’ve heard of that before. What’s it called?” He waved his hand, trying to reel the word out of his memory. “It’s a bubble left over after volcanic activity…a vot…a vut…no, a vug! That’s what it’s called. A vug. It’s sort of like a big geode.”

“That’s exactly what it looked like!” Kyndal’s excitement drew his gaze. The firelight danced in her eyes, made them emeralds.

The bottle was at his lips, but his breath caught. He set it down without taking a sip. “Where is it? I can’t believe I’ve never seen it.”

Between bites, Kyndal explained she’d been looking for interesting shots when a sandstone column caught her attention.

Chance nodded, picturing which room she was in. He’d seen the column. Bats were in that room sometimes, so he generally avoided it, but right then he wished he were there. With Kyndal.

A bit of cheese from her last bite of potato cake clung to her bottom lip. He controlled the urge to brush it off with his thumb. Or nibble it off.

Luckily the pizza arrived, giving him something to think about other than being alone in the cave with the mesmerizing woman sitting next to him…the liberal environmentalist who’d recently been involved in a scandal sitting next to him.

“Well, the opening is about seven feet up.” Kyndal helped herself to a slice of pizza, which remained untouched as she continued her story. “It’s on the right-hand side when you first enter that room. I wouldn’t even have noticed it if I hadn’t knocked my lamp over. The crystal wall caught the light.”

“Serendipity at work, eh?” Chance chuckled. “Did you see any bats?”

“Bats? Ewww!” Jaci’s squeal made Chance aware there were two other people at the table. He’d been enthralled in Kyndal’s story, or at least in watching her tell it. All breathless and excited. The same way she used to be when they made love.

The memory shot straight to his groin and left him with a raging hard-on. That kind of urgency hadn’t happened lately. It was a bit of a relief to know it could still happen. He shifted in his seat to relieve some of the pressure.

Kyndal was explaining to Jaci and Bart about the beauty of bats and photographing all aspects of nature. God, she was gorgeous with her conviction shining in her eyes. Too bad that conviction wasn’t focused in a more productive direction.

Reaching for another piece of pizza, his gaze tangled with Kyndal’s for a moment, and he watched her eyes harden as if she’d read his thoughts. Or maybe she’d covered it well until that moment but obviously still harbored resentment toward him. He lowered his eyes and took a bite. Guilt didn’t mix well with pepperoni.

Yeah, he probably deserved her anger. Breaking up without ever calling to check on her was a chicken-shit thing to do. Especially after all they’d been to each other. But, damn it, the women he’d encountered at Harvard had been so sophisticated and ambitious. None of them would’ve given up their dream of being a lawyer to pursue photography.

He chewed slowly, an idea forming in his mind. A way to help her out now and make up for the heartache he’d brought her…maybe even rid himself of the guilt he’d carried for nine years.

He waited for a pause in the conversation. “Would you like to go back to the cave tomorrow?”

Kyndal’s look went from startled to something unreadable.

The issue suddenly became important to him, and he pressed for an answer. “Jaci said you’re staying over, right? It wouldn’t take long. You could show me the vug and get some more shots. We could all go.” He waved his hand to include the four of them.

“Don’t count us in.” Jaci shook her head at Bart, whose mouth was pursed to comment. “I’ve got to work tomorrow after church.”

“On Sunday?” Doubt was evident in Kyndal’s voice.

Jaci’s face tightened as she shrugged. “We’re behind because of Julia’s—” she hesitated “—um, surgery.”

The mention again of Julia Reinholt’s condition nipped at Chance’s heart. Had Jaci heard the other rumors—the ones that linked Julia’s husband, Stuart, with a young waitress in town? The son of a bitch. Chance kept his thoughts to himself.

Remembering what had veered the conversation in this direction, though, and trying to lighten the mood, he turned back to Kyndal. “So Jaci and Bart are out, but what do you say, Kyn? Do we have a date?”


CHAPTER FIVE

KYNDALCHECKEDTHEMAP Chance had drawn for her the night before. His driveway should be coming up around the next bend. For the gazillionth time that morning, she told herself going back to the cave with Chance was not tempting fate—it was shaping destiny. The shots of that crystal room would get her the job with the magazine, give her back her good name and prove to Chance Brennan she really was somebody, after all. So those shots were worth whatever the cost. An hour or two of emotional discomfort seemed reasonable enough.

She’d survived last night, hadn’t she?

Seeing the success he’d become juxtaposed with her failures dredged up old insecurities with a vengeance, and pushed this job higher on her necessity scale than just a means to a steady paycheck.

Adding to that misery was her realization that, in spite of the animosity between them, Chance Brennan still had an effect on her mentally and physically—an over-the-top effect.

Yesterday in the sheriff’s office, she’d had some freedom to move around. But, last night at Max’s, she’d been trapped for three hours in the torture of his occasional touch. Keeping a safe distance today was her only hope of coming out of this with pride and dignity intact.

Jaci had been adamant the strategy-of-choice today was to be an outrageous flirt, talk incessantly about Rick Warren and make it sound like they were a hot item, then leave without a backward glance. And Jaci could probably pull that off. Flirting came as natural as eating for her.

Kyndal, on the other hand, had been unable to finish a piece of pizza or a breakfast roll since Chance made his suggestion to go back to the cave. If eating didn’t come naturally, where did that leave flirting?

She unclenched her jaw. Decision made. Strategy set. No flirting. No Rick discussion. No way. No how. Friendly—but distant. All business. Casual business. And above all, no touching.

Two reflectors and a mailbox with the numbers 343 stenciled on the side signaled Chance’s driveway. She quelled the trembling in her hands by gripping the steering wheel. The long gravel path meandered uphill through the woods, which were ablaze in the fiery reds and yellows of maples and wild dogwoods. In the spring, it would be a fairyland of creamy-white blooms—a stunning shot she quickly pushed from her mind. No returning to this place after today. Blooming dogwoods could be found anywhere in Kentucky come spring.

The chimney, followed by a roof and the second story of a charming old farmhouse rose into sight as she approached the summit of the hill. Its fresh coat of white paint stood out against the fall colors, yet it didn’t look at all out of place. The trees surrounding the house had grown tall, and their branches spread shade across it like protective arms. They’d obviously been there a long time—living proof some things were meant to be together.

A porch wrapped around the front and side of the house, inviting with its cushioned wicker chairs and couches and a swing at one end.

She squeezed the steering wheel a bit more tightly when she spotted Chance waving a folded newspaper in welcome. No doubt about it—he looked as good in person as he had last night in her dreams.

Idiotic dreams!

A chocolate Lab jumped from the front porch and ran to meet her, carrying a Frisbee and wagging its tail.

Kyndal brought the car to a slower-than-necessary stop, hoping it appeared she was careful rather than stalling. “Today will bring the perfect shot that will make me somebody. No flirting. No touching,” she whispered, plastering on her most confident smile.

As soon as she stepped from the car, the Frisbee was offered at her feet. She laughed and picked it up, much to the delight of the dog whose tail wagged vehement approval. The Lab shot after the spinning disc the second it left her hand, stretching and jumping to bring it down from midflight.

Kyndal clapped in praise.

“You’ll be sorry you did that.” Chance’s voice startled her with its nearness. She turned to find him only a foot away, a cup of coffee poised at his lips.

She shifted her weight and took a step back, holding her palms out to check them for mud. “Why will I be sorry?” The gesture gave her a couple of seconds to examine the striking form in front of her—something she hadn’t really had the opportunity to do the day before.

The day was warm enough that they’d both chosen

T-shirts. His black one stretched across his chest, showing the outline of very pronounced pectorals, hidden the day before under his sweater. He’d been put together nicely during high school, but he’d never had biceps like these, threatening to burst the seams of his sleeves.

As she put her hands down, her eyes drifted up to his face. Boyish charm had been replaced by rugged sensuousness. Coarse stubble filled the lower half of his face—another change since high school. Back then, he’d fretted he’d never be able to grow a beard. Didn’t seem to be an issue now.

In answer to her question, he nodded to her feet where the Frisbee lay again and a pair of hopeful eyes beamed from a chocolate snout. “Because Chesney doesn’t know when to stop. She’ll chase and fetch as long as you’ll throw.”

Chance’s closeness brought the tangy smell of Irish Spring soap to her nose. The scent chased her memory across nine years to a morning when his parents left early, and she’d gone to his house before school. They’d showered together, making love standing up, enveloped in warm water and Irish Spring-scented steam.

She grabbed the Frisbee and tossed the memory away with it. “One more and that’ll have to hold us.”

“I was afraid you’d stand me up.” The corners of Chance’s mouth lifted as he took another sip of his coffee.

He wouldn’t be grinning if he knew how many times that thought had crossed her mind since last night.

“Wouldn’t think of it,” she lied. She covered her guilt by a quick look around. “You have a beautiful place. How long have you lived here?”

“Just over a year. I’ve still got a lot to do.” He motioned toward the three-car, detached garage where a row of window shutters leaned against the side in various stages of being painted forest-green. “But it’s coming. Would you like to see the inside?”

The eagerness in his voice made Kyndal swallow the refusal on her tongue and nod an okay instead. She’d have a home of her own someday to show off, so it was easy to understand his pride.

He led the way up the side steps into a spacious country kitchen with glossy hardwood floors, white marble countertops and black cabinetry.

“This is gorgeous.” Kyndal nodded her approval at the stainless appliances and hardware brushed to look like pewter. “You’re quite a decorator.”

“Thanks, but I can’t take much credit. When I first began looking at the place, I started buying designing magazines and clipping pictures. Luckily, I found a contractor with some vision.”

The smell of fresh coffee against a backdrop of cinnamon made Kyndal’s stomach growl fiercely.

His eyebrows drew in with concern. “Are you hungry?”

She didn’t think her stomach would agree to food yet although the smell was tempting. She shook her head.

“How about some coffee?”

“Mmm. It smells wonderful, but I’d better not unless you’ve had a bathroom installed in that cave.” She laughed, letting go of some nervousness but reminding herself not to tilt her head sideways because that might be construed as flirting.

The tour went quickly since most of the walls had been knocked down, forming an enormous great room with strategically placed columns where support was needed. The room was warm with leather furniture the color of molasses and a fireplace crackling at one end. Chance silenced it with a remote. “Gas,” he explained to her surprised expression. “It felt good early this morning before I went outside, but we sure don’t need it now.”

Upstairs was still under construction with plastic sheeting hung across doorways. Two of the bedrooms were being combined into a large master suite. One was full of boxes from his move, and the last held only a bed, dresser and bedside table.

Kyndal took a peek and then hurriedly turned away as her heartbeat rose to a pounding in her ears. Chance’s old mahogany bedroom suite. She was so not going to let herself think about times spent in that bed.

A couple of inconspicuous deep breaths brought her heartbeat under control as she moved to the railing. She gripped it and focused on the fireplace below. “Everything is really lovely.” Her voice came out high and strained like an old beagle’s howl.

“Sorry about the dust.” Chance mercifully closed the door to her nostalgia. “It’s more house than I need right now.” He leaned his elbows on the banister, his arm and leg brushing hers. “But I hope to fill it up with a family someday.”

She glanced at him and found his espresso gaze locked on her. “Oh?” She scooted over a couple of inches and coughed, hoping the knot in her chest would shake loose. “Is Chesney pregnant?”

Chance rubbed his hand down his face. “Lord, I hope not. She’s just a baby herself.” He gave a low, meaningful chuckle. “Besides, someday means years from now—when my practice is built and I’m well on my way to being a judge.”

“So you plan on getting involved in politics.” Obviously since judges are elected officials.

He shrugged. “Nonpartisan…but yeah.”

She wouldn’t allow herself to analyze why his words squeezed at her heart. She just wanted to go to the cave, get her shots, then hightail it back to Dover, Tennessee, and dreams of a new job—with a few fantasies of Ranger Rick thrown in for good measure.

She turned her back to Chance. “Do you have a stepladder?” She threw the question over her shoulder as they made their way down the stairs. “We may need it to reach the opening to the vug.”

“Yeah, I have one, but we don’t want to lug that with us for a half mile.” Chance waved away the idea. “If the opening’s no higher than you said, I can boost you up and then make the jump myself.”

His hands were going to have to touch her body in various places. Her mouth went dry at the thought. She’d have to steel herself not to react. It had been a while since anybody had touched her anyplace interesting.

Chance grabbed the backpack by the kitchen door as they headed out.

The temperature had risen even higher, and the sky had darkened appreciably since they went inside. Humidity hung heavy in the air with a cloying stickiness.

“It’s so warm, they’re calling for a chance of hail. Better put your car in the garage.” Not giving her time to argue, Chance went to the keyless entry by the garage door and punched in a code.

Kyndal pulled her Jeep in, allowing only a brief comparison of her car to the black SUV and the sleek, silver Porsche Boxster occupying the other two spots. She was careful not to crowd the corner obviously set up for Chesney with a doggie door, blankets, and food and water dispensers.

She pulled her backpack out of the backseat and slung it over her shoulder. “Will Chesney follow us?”

Chance shook his head as he punched the button to let the garage door down. “She wears an electric collar that gives her the run of about two acres. She’ll know when to turn back.” He motioned toward a well-worn path through the trees behind the garage. “Follow the yellow brick road.”

The Munchkin voice coming from such a body was too incongruous, and Kyndal laughed in spite of herself.

“Well, it’s about time.” Chance’s arm went around her shoulder in a quick hug as they walked. “I’ve been waiting to hear a real laugh from you for almost twenty-four hours.”

The hug felt nice. Not flirtatious. Almost like the one this morning from Bart.

Maybe she was being too sensitive. Maybe it was time to let go of her hurt and embarrassment. Loosen up. Count her blessings. She had a night out with her best friends, a photo-worthy cave and an old friend to share it with, a promising hope of a new job—not bad for someone who’d been facing jail time the day before.

All right, it didn’t have to be just business. She threw her arm around Chance’s waist and hugged back. “Sorry I’ve been so uptight. The whole experience yesterday messed with my mind, you know? Too many shocks to the system for one day.”

Thunder rumbled through the trees, sending Chesney scurrying back toward the garage. “Well, don’t let your guard down just yet. There are some surprises still in store.” His arm tightened briefly around her, then he let go and quickened his pace.

As if to punctuate his words, a raindrop plopped onto the end of her nose.

She broke into a jog to keep up.

* * *

THEYMADEITINSIDETHECAVE just before the storm broke. Chance watched Kyndal shiver as the coolness dropped over them like a wet blanket.

He rubbed the back of his fingers against her arm. “Cold?” It was a lame excuse to touch her again, but touching her was all he’d been able to think of since she’d gotten out of her car. The pink T-shirt hung loose from her shoulders, giving no hint of the curves that had been so obvious yesterday. He wanted to touch them, feel for himself they were still there and ignore the voice of reason telling him that would be a mistake

She shook her head as two hard buds poked through the cotton, contradicting her answer but enhancing the appeal of the T.

“I’ve got a couple of things to show you if you’ve got the time.” He watched the debate play across her face when she checked her watch. Her “other person” was probably expecting her. He threw out additional enticement. “Some interesting things about the cave…if the kids haven’t vandalized them since I was here last.”

“Are vandals a problem?” Kyndal’s brows knitted.

“You decide for yourself.” He pulled a battery-operated lantern from his backpack.

“Whoa!” Kyndal leaned back, squinting against the light shining in her face. “You’re packing a big one!”

“Well, you ought to know.”

Kyndal snorted at his innuendo. Her eyes darted away before coming back to meet his. “I remember reading somewhere that alcohol shrinks the male genitals.” She let her eyes drift downward, stop to squint at his crotch, then brought them back up to lock with his. “Sooo, how much drinking did you do at Hah-vahd?”

The last word dripped with sarcasm, more biting than funny, and it wasn’t difficult to read the tension in her posture. The merest mention of their past and she’d gone from friendly to pissed in thirty seconds. He would heed the warning and watch what he said. No use getting her riled for the short time they were going to be together.

He turned the lantern so the beam illuminated the dark end of the entry room, bringing to life the neon paint graffiti from the past two months that marred the beauty of the past ten thousand years. Beer cans and liquor bottles littered the floor.

Kyndal’s gasp spoke her horror at the sight.

“My feelings exactly.” His stomach turned at every name scrawled across the limestone. Levi. Mattie. Rachel. Brant. “‘Fools’ names like fools’ faces—’”

“‘Always seen in public places.’” Kyndal shook her head slowly. “This is awful. How can they do this? Why do they do this?” Anger and sadness flashed in her eyes, which deepened to emerald in the dim light.

“They’re just young.” He shrugged, not really having an answer. “They don’t realize how special it is.”

“We were young, too, but we knew exactly how special it was.” Her eyes widened. The words hadn’t meant to be spoken, but had somehow escaped. She bit her lip and turned away, moving closer toward the wall of names. “Will anything take it off?” She skimmed the wall with her fingertips, a mother soothing a wounded child.

“Time.”

“Time.” She heaved a sigh. “Heals all wounds.” She pulled her camera from the pack and made a few shots of the names.

Her back was toward him, and the light caught in her black hair, which hung loose and sleek. He itched to touch it, to run his hand down it and into it, to turn her around and look into those emerald eyes, to run his fingers from her temples to the tips of those strands of black silk.

He raised his arm, stretched his fingers hesitantly.

Don’t be stupid.

He dropped his hand back to his side and breathed. “C’mon.”

They stopped for a few minutes to survey the damage in the next room. No permanent damage, but clear indications of what the teens had been up to. A couple of air mattresses surrounded by handfuls of condom wrappers, empty liquor bottles, some roach clips and meth pipes. When Buck had used the term orgy, Chance thought he was exaggerating.

Kyndal cleared her throat self-consciously, but remained silent. Did the leftover sexual litter remind her of their time there, the way it did him? Talking about it felt too edgy, so he kept quiet, as well.

Leading the way through passages long familiar to him, he pulled her into the adjoining cavern and then deeper into another one.

“You know where you’re going?” Her voice held an edge of skepticism.

“Yep.” He turned the beam of light onto a slab of limestone that looked slightly out of place—as if it had fallen from the ceiling and had been propped against the wall. He let go of her hand and pushed the slab to one side revealing a narrow tunnel. “We have to crawl through, but it’s not very far.”

Kyndal bent down for a look. When she raised back up, her eyes were hooded with doubt.

“If you want your backpack, you’ll have to take it off and shift it through ahead of you. It might be easier to hang your camera around your neck, but push it around to your back.”

Her derisive sigh let him know he’d better not be wasting her precious time, but she shrugged out of her backpack. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Brennan.” She gave him a push. “You first.”

“I know what I’m doing,” he assured her. “I’m going to show you one reason I think Old Man Turner ran us away that day.”


CHAPTER SIX

CHANCESLIDHISARMS out of his pack and dropped it on the ground beside hers. As he squeezed his way through the opening, he realized it had been a while since he’d been through this tunnel. Too much time sitting behind a desk. Not enough time doing fun things like this.

Nothing in the tunnel indicated the teenagers had found it, but he dreaded what he might find at the other end. He shimmied the last few feet and came out into the small dead-end room, sighing his relief. Nothing had changed since the last time he was there, but he’d forgotten the ceiling was so low. He had to keep his neck bent so as not to bump his head.

Kyndal scooted out of the tunnel effortlessly. Her tiny frame probably hadn’t even touched the sides. He helped her into a standing position, which proved to be no trouble. She even had a foot to spare. He watched her expression as she scanned the strange contents of the room.

Mounds and indentations—nine of them all together—circled the outside perimeter of the cavern, and each had a leather collar lying at its center.

Kyndal knelt by the nearest one and picked up the collar, reading the name inscribed on the small metal tag. “Ajax?” Her bottom lip protruded in a thoughtful pout. “His dog?”

Chance nodded and knelt beside her. “All of Mr. Turner’s

dogs, I think. This is where he buried them.” He focused the light on a collar about three feet away. “That collar is really old. No name on it. And the depression is the deepest, so it’s probably the first grave. Maybe a childhood pet.”

“Oh.” Kyndal’s hand spread across her chest. “That is so sweet.” The light glistened in her eyes as she blinked back tears. “All these years, I’ve thought he was a mean old man. But he had a soft side behind that gun-toting exterior, didn’t he?”

A wild urge to kiss away those tears came over him and he stood up abruptly, whacking his head against the low ceiling. He let loose a string of expletives, which did nothing for the pain but eased his frustration somewhat.




Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.


Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/pamela-hearon/out-of-the-depths/) на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.