Paula Graves - Forbidden Temptation

The second book in the Browning sisters series, 2006

A brisk December wind moaned in the pines, driving Rose Browning deeper into her long wool coat. She adjusted the basket of muffins hanging at a dangerous tilt in the crook of her left arm, breathing in the warm aroma of cinnamon that almost overpowered the tang of pine needles and fallen leaves carpeting the path through Bridey Woods.

The ramshackle facade of Carrie and Dillon Granvilles home came into view. Her pulse quickening, Rose crunched over the frosty ground, speeding up the closer she got. In a minute, Carrie would open the door and smile her welcome, her expression blurred by a shimmer of transparent silver in the shape of her husband Dillons face. Dillon would appear in the door behind his wife, his smile harder to come by, but that wouldnt matter once Rose saw the image of Carrie dancing over his face.

This was the best part of what she did, getting to see the veils, each time like the first, fresh and wonderful.

She called them true-love veils, shimmery images of soul mates superimposed over each others faces. Seeing them was her gift, and shed helped a lot of soul mates find each other over the years. Shed even made a career out of it, planning weddings for the people she brought together.

It was how shed known that Carrie and Dillon were meant to be together, despite the obstacles keeping them apart.

The true-love veils were the best gift in the world, and she was grateful to be the Browning sister whod received it.

Roses footsteps rang on the rickety porch steps, usually enough to bring the sound of feet moving across the rough wood floor inside. But this morning she heard only a low keening sound, which seemed to echo the December wind in the towering pines overhead, sending a chill curling down her spine.

She lifted her hand to knock but faltered, unease slithering through her belly. The woods around her lay silent, as if the animals were in hiding. Shed heard the bark of a gun as shed left her house near town but thought little of it. Hunting season was in full swing, and, while Willow Grove, Alabama, could boast of lush green fields to lure hunters from the city, many of the locals couldnt afford to be so picky.

Maybe a hunter had spooked the animals, she told herself.

But she didnt quite believe it.

The keening grew louder. Harsh breathing, she realized, her nerves jangling. Coming from inside.

Carrie?

The breathing stopped.

Rose took a reluctant step closer to the cracked-open door. She could see nothing through the dark opening.

Carrie? Its Rose. Is everything okay?

The silence stretched and grew taut. Rose leaned toward the narrow opening, trying to peer into the darkness.

Overhead a crow shrieked; the raucous sound was like a knife sawing over her tight nerves. Rose jerked, her hand smacking into the door, stinging her cold knuckles. She swallowed a hiss of pain as the door creaked open, hinges moaning.

Daylight slashed across the dark interior to reveal Carrie Granvilles arm outstretched across the plank floor of the main room. The rest of her body was hidden in shadow.

As Roses heart clenched, something dark, thick and fluid slithered across the floor toward Carries hand.

Blood.

Rose took a step back, until a soft snicking sound brought her to a dead halt.

She made me do it. Dillon Granvilles country twang emerged from the shadows, low and pained. I didnt want to, but she made me.

Wind gusted at Roses back, blowing her dark hair into her eyes and pushing the door into the wall. Daylight flooded the cabins interior.

Dillon squinted at the sudden light, giving Rose time to turn and run. But what she saw on his face froze her in place.

The true-love veil was there, just as shed imagined it: Carries face, smiling and happy, a horrific contrast to the slack, pallid face of the woman lying dead on the floor, her eyes half open and forever sightless.

Roses arms fell weakly to her sides. Her Christmas basket hit the porch with a thud, spilling apple-cinnamon muffins across the weathered planks.

Behind the lingering true-love veil, Dillons expression shifted, hardened. Roses heart jolted.

I cant live without her. Its like you told us. Were supposed to be together forever. As the hardness of Dillons expression softened into a distant half smile, the veil over his face rippled, slowly changing to a translucent image of his own face, his left temple open and pulpy.

Before Rose could process what she was seeing, Dillon lifted the gun. Ice gushed into Roses veins and she took a stumbling step back, her legs heavy and unresponsive.

The gun barrel was pointed in her direction for only the briefest moment on its way up to Dillons right temple.

No. Roses voice came out strangled, watery with horror.

Dillon smiled at her. Together forever, he said.

Then he pulled the trigger.

The woman sat alone at a table near the narrow stage at the front of the bar, nursing a strawberry daiquiri and feigning interest in the alt-rock cover band currently grinding its way through an old Pearl Jam classic. Now and then she took a sip of her drink but mainly watched the crowd, her eyes alert.

Daniel Hartman studied her from his seat at the bar, curiosity distracting him from his own agenda. There was an odd stillness about her, a composure that set her apart from the rest of the restless liquor-soaked crowd in the small club in the heart of Birminghams Five Points South.

Who was she? What was she looking for?

The door opened and a man in a striped shirt and leather jacket entered, pausing in the doorway. Daniel dragged his attention away from the woman to give the newcomer a quick once-over. He was pushing forty, a little paunchy though his clothes hid it well. The wedding ring on his left hand quickly went into his pocket.

Classy.

Daniel looked away, losing interest. This place was a bust. He took another sip of Coke and considered moving on to another club a few doors down. But his gaze drifted back to the woman with the daiquiri, and he stayed put, watching her through narrowed eyes as she took another dainty sip of her drink and clapped politely as the cover band crashed its way to the end of the song.

The paunchy man in the leather jacket approached her table, on the prowl. Of course hed choose her-a pretty woman all alone in the middle of a bar was too much temptation. Daniel sat forward, curious to see how shed handle being hit on. Would she notice the imprint on his left ring finger where the wedding band had been? Would it matter?

She looked up at the man, her brow furrowing as he spoke to her. Her gaze drifted to the hand resting on the back of her chair and the furrowed brow smoothed, replaced by a cool, neutral mask. She murmured to the man, who stepped away with a frown. Muttering something that made the womans lips tighten, he moved on to the bar and ordered a bourbon neat.

Daniel looked back at the woman and found her watching him. When she didnt immediately look away, he lifted his glass and nodded.

Her frown returning, she looked down at her glass, stirring the red slush with slow, deliberate strokes. Her chin lifted, followed by her eyes. She locked gazes with him, her expression impossible to read. An electric shock zigzagged through him as he took the full brunt of her attention.

Was it an invitation? A rebuff? He didnt know, and hed always prided himself on being an accomplished reader of women. Of people, in general, given his chosen profession.