Chapter 14.

It was ten minutes to six when Ramsey checked the caller ID on her ringing cell phone. A moment later, she considered not responding. A Mississippi area code. She almost always let calls from home go right to voice mail. Then tortured herself for hours or days afterward until she worked up the fortitude to return the call.

But this number, though originating in Cripolo, was unfamiliar.

Even knowing she'd regret it, she hit connect and answered with a short, "Ramsey Clark."

There was a moment of silence. Then tentatively, "Ms. Clark?"

"Who is this?" She could see Dev pulling in to one of the slots outside her cabin. Of course he'd be early. No surprise there.

"Ms. Clark, this is Curtis Feckler, of Feckler Realty in Cripolo, Mississippi." A nervous laugh. "I admit, I wasn't 'spectin' you to answer. You must be feelin' a whole lot better. Congratulations on your recovery."

She went to the door and opened it, waving Dev inside. "I think you've been misinformed," she told the Realtor. "I haven't had any health issues. What's the purpose of your call?"

Another hesitation, during which her attention was diverted by Dev's low wolf whistle. Ridiculous to feel a flush of pleasure by the admiration in his expression as he gave her a long once over. So she was wearing different clothes. Clothes were clothes, weren't they? And these gave her nowhere to hide her weapon. She felt naked without it.

"I'm sorry, I'm not sure what's goin' on here." Feckler's voice was confused. "Your brother brought me a notarized statement that you were at death's door. He said you needed to sell your house in Cripolo to pay the medical costs, and I've found a buyer. Your number was on the copy of the deed he showed me, but this contact was mostly a formality. We're required to follow up on things like this. I'm afraid I don't understand. Your brother assured me . . ."

A familiar sense of fatality filled her. "I'm sure he did. Unfortunately my brother is an ex-con precisely because he's a conscienceless liar and thief. The house isn't his to sell, Mr. Feckler, and since I'm not interested in unloading it, you've narrowly avoided landing yourself in a lawsuit. Next time, you'd best get a better idea of who you're dealing with before you take them on as a client."

The man began to sputter. "Well . . . I've never seen such a thing. I assure you, Ms. Clark, I'm an honest businessman. I just moved to Cripolo a few months ago to open a new branch of my realty company. Granted, I don't know the townspeople well yet, but . . ."

She gave a humorless laugh. "That explains it then. When you do, you won't make a mistake like that again. Good-bye, Mr. Feckler." She disconnected the call, dropped the phone into her purse. "Ready to go?"

Dev surveyed her carefully as she walked by him. "Trouble at home?"

"Nothing out of the ordinary." For the first time that day, she was glad she had plans this evening. When it came to diversions, Devlin Stryker excelled. And she welcomed any distraction that gave her an excuse to delay dealing with her brother.

She heard the door close behind her as she headed to his car. No way to know for sure if Luverne had been acting alone or if their mother had put him up to it. Eventually she'd have to call home, immerse herself in the genetic jungle that was her family.

But for now . . . she looked up, startled to find Dev leaning in to open the car door. She slid into the passenger seat and he shut the door after her.

For now, she'd spend a few hours engaged in what passed as normal for most people. And forget for a while that her life had never shared more than a passing acquaintance with "normal."

"Given our plans for later this evenin', there wasn't time to drive out of town for dinner." Dev caught the quick suspicious glance Ramsey slanted his way, and amusement filled him. "On account of your wantin' to go by Rose Thornton's tonight."

"Right."

He was careful to hide his grin when she passed him to enter the Half Moon restaurant. It wouldn't do to let her see that he'd accurately guessed her first interpretation of his words. He figured he ought to be grateful her mind was running along the same lines as his. Damned if persistently carnal thoughts involving her hadn't about worn a path through his brain.

He caught Molly Fenton's eye, and the waitress whisked off to find them a table. The interior of the restaurant was already crowded but not nearly as packed as it would be in another few hours when it filled with more drinkers than diners.

"I suppose you know everybody in here," Ramsey muttered.

He scanned the interior, saw nothing but familiar faces. "All the locals, anyway. And I'm noddin' acquaintance with most of the others." He sent a friendly wave to Donnelle and Steve sitting in the corner. Felt a flash of annoyance when he saw Banty Whipple and a couple of his equally thick-headed buddies turn around to survey him from their stance at the bar.

"We're not going to be surrounded by more of your adoring fan club while we eat, are we?"

He thought, he was almost sure, that Ramsey was joking. When Molly gestured toward them, he placed a hand at the base of Ramsey's narrow back and nudged her forward. "Fact is, not everyone in these parts is a fan."

Her quick look this time held uncertainty. "Because of your father?"

"There's that. And others who just don't find my winnin' personality irresistible."

There was a definite smirk on her lips as she sat in the chair held out for her. "Go figure."

That curve of her lips held him transfixed for a moment. He'd never seen them glossed with lipstick before had he? As a matter of fact, he wasn't sure he'd ever seen Ramsey wear makeup at all. But she was wearing some now, though he'd been too interested in the curves and uncovered skin she was revealing to have noticed it earlier.

He took his seat across the table and studied her as she looked around at the other occupants. He gave high marks to the manufacturer of that slinky green top she had on. It left her arms bare and dipped low enough in front to hint at cleavage. He'd already noted that the long shorts she wore were trim enough to show off her very fine ass.

She turned back to him, caught him staring. One eyebrow winged up in question.

He grinned, unabashed. "Just admirin' the scenery."

To his delight, she looked discomfited. He wondered how much time Ramsey Clark set aside for a social life. Not much, he figured, giving a nod to Digger Lawton, who had shouted his name from his stance at the juke box. She struck him as someone whose life revolved around her work.

She struck him as someone who had reasons to keep it that way.

"What'll ya have?" Molly skidded to a stop beside them, flipping open her order pad.

"Lemonade," Ramsey said without hesitation.

"Bring me a Bud Lite," Dev told the woman, who nodded as she scribbled the order even as she moved on to the next table.

"Who's the sawed off little shrimp at the bar glaring daggers our way?"

Surprised, he looked over her shoulder, saw Banty giving him the evil eye. "You've had your back to him since we walked in. How'd you notice Banty Whipple?"

"I notice everybody."

He looked at her with renewed respect. He'd just bet she did. Probably took stock of the place and everyone in it upon the first few seconds of entering. Sometimes it still took him aback, those qualities of hers that must be embedded from years doing her job.

"Well, he's not the president of my fan club. Although he's probably contemplatin' bringin' a club if he ever drops by my place again."

Molly came by and dropped off their drinks then, and he paused to take a pull of the beer while returning a long level stare back at the man. It satisfied Dev to see the mark on Banty's jaw. He hoped like hell it was one he'd put there.

Setting down his bottle, he continued, "Mostly we just can't abide each other. It so happens his son was one of the kids who found the body."

A cell rang then, the muffled sound loud enough to have him automatically checking his pocket even as he realized the ring was unfamiliar. In the next instant he looked at her purse, sitting on the chair between them. "Is that your phone?"

Ramsey took a long drink of lemonade, avoiding his gaze until the ringing stopped. Only then did she reach into her purse to check the caller ID. Nothing flickered in her expression when she slipped it back inside. "It can wait until later."

Which meant it didn't concern the case she was investigating. She was too much of a professional to ignore it if it did.

Recalling the conversation she'd been having when he'd gone to pick her up he guessed, "Your brother?" And by her arrested expression, knew he was correct.

She toyed with the straw in her glass, the gesture strangely diffident. "He'll be put out that his latest get-rich-quick scheme has been thwarted. It's best to wait until he's a bit more rational before verbally kicking his ass."

He didn't smile at the words. Couldn't, not when they were accompanied by that flash of pain in her eyes. He hadn't grown up with siblings himself, but knew enough of family to recognize the emotion they engendered wasn't always positive. Not by a long shot. "If he's tryin' to steal your house, the ass kickin' might need to be more than just verbal."

"I know how to handle Luverne." Then, catching his gaze on her, she blew out a breath. "I bought the house long ago for my mother to live in." One bare shoulder lifted in a shrug. "She never did move out of that tin can of a trailer we were raised in. Saw an opportunity to get some extra cash monthly by renting it out instead. I let that go, but it was only a matter of time until one of them came up with this idea." Her smile was little more than a grimace. "We're not close."

He had a feeling that was an understatement. One he could fully appreciate. His occasional calls home were fueled more by duty than familial devotion. He could mourn the lack of emotion even while realizing there was no other way. It was hard saying who had been more relieved when Dev had stopped making infrequent trips home. His mama, his stepdaddy, or him.

"Looks like Doc Thiesen has some company tonight."

Dev recognized the change of topic for what it was, and followed the direction of Ramsey's nod to a corner of the room. Although the older man had his back to them, there was no mistaking his identity. Especially when he saw the man's dining companion.

Dev lifted a hand in greeting in response to the woman's wave and turned back to Ramsey. "That's his daughter, Martha Jane. She lives in Knoxville but gets back here regular to see her dad. She and Doc have always been tight. He raised her alone after his wife left them years ago. He never remarried."

Which was a far cry from his mama, who'd had someone new lined up less than a year after his daddy's death. Dev reached for his beer again, tipping it back for a swallow. He wasn't sure what to make of that, but he thought there should be a happy medium between pining for decades and a too-quick plunge back into the matrimony pool.

Because the mood had grown too serious, he deliberately sought to lighten it. He let his gaze linger on her until that heat was back in her eyes.

"You're staring, Stryker."

"Just wonderin' where you're packin' your gun."

"Armed or not, I can still handle the likes of you."

He relished the half-serious challenge in her voice, raised his bottle to her in salute. "And I'm lookin' forward to bein' 'handled.' "

She shook her head, a slight smile curving her lips. And he fancied he could see the tension easing from her muscles. "You've got disgracefully low standards. I refuse to find that appealing."

He gave her a slow wink as the waitress returned to take their order. "You've appealed to me since the first time I laid eyes on you, sugar. Only seems fair that the feelin' be returned."

"So tell me about Rose Thornton."

Dusk had already settled over the road to the woman's cabin. They'd gotten a later start than Ramsey had wanted due to the slow service at the restaurant. Dev refused to feel guilty about that. She'd been as relaxed as he'd ever seen her over dinner, and despite her fears, he had no doubt they'd find the old woman at home. There was simply nowhere else for her to be.

"Not much to tell. I always heard she'd been married for a long time, but her husband was dead long before I was runnin' 'round these parts. Always been as cranky as a cat with its tail in a crack, that's for sure. Caught some of her buckshot in my-ahem-nether regions once when Matt and I were hangin' out on her property drinkin' beer he'd stolen from his daddy's fridge."

He felt rather than saw her look at him. "Your . . . nether regions?"

"The scarring," he informed her with great dignity, "was more emotional than physical."

"I'll bet."

The road narrowed past the cemetery as they got closer to her place, and he slowed accordingly. "She's not much for people, I'd say, although she always treated those in need of medical assistance. At least those who didn't hold with doctors and hospitals. I s'pose that's how she's made ends meet, although she's lived pretty simply all these years. Only goes to town every month or so to pick up what she can't grow or hunt."

"Sounds like there's some bad blood between the two of you," Ramsey observed, looking out the window. "I'm not sure you'll be much help in getting her to talk to me."

"She wouldn't talk to a stranger," he corrected her. "And even if she isn't in the mood to chat with me there, at least I present a bigger target if she's totin' a rifle."

"There is that." There was amusement in Ramsey's voice. "But since my medical knowledge tends to be pretty rudimentary, you may want to be careful about catching any more buckshot."

He pulled over to the shoulder of the road alongside Rose's property, hugging the ditch. "She doesn't have much in the way of a driveway, and I think it's safer all around to walk up to the house and knock." The twin bare tire trails leading from the road made a wide swoop around the cabin to the ramshackle lean-to to the rear of the structure. There was no telling from here what kind of shape the "drive" was in, and he wasn't anxious to scrape off vital parts of his car finding out.

Turning off the ignition, he said, "Better slide across this way. Don't want you tumblin' into the ditch on your side."

Dev waited for her to follow him out before closing the door and locking the car. Shoving the keys in his pants pocket, he took her hand and headed toward the tire tracks leading to the house. He felt the immediate tension that shot through her at the gesture.

"Ground's gonna be uneven," he observed casually. "Don't know what Rose is drivin' these days, but figure it's still that big ol' barge of a Buick she's had since the sixties. She doesn't use it enough to keep the drive level."

As they strode closer to the cabin, he was struck by the tranquility of the scene. Already the locusts were tuning up, and fireflies blinked as they darted about. The property boasted a large clearing, mostly filled with knee-high weeds, and was fringed on two sides by woods. "Pretty place."

"If you like nature."

Humor flashed. "If you like nature," he agreed. "I 'spect Rose mostly likes the privacy."

"There are no lights on," Ramsey pointed out. She stumbled then, just a little, and he paused to support her.

"I can still recall when Rose had this place outfitted with electricity. I doubt she'd be one to waste it." They were standing in front of the steps now, and the dark windows didn't have him lessening his guard. It was the old woman's penchant for shooting first and asking questions later that had him wary. "Be best for you to wait here, and I'll go up and knock. Get an idea what our welcome will be." Although with Rose, welcome was a relative term.

"Nice try." Ramsey began striding to the house ahead of him. He caught up with her at the steps of the porch. "But I don't need protecting."

"You've never met Rose," he muttered. But rather than arguing, he inserted himself in front of her so he'd be first at the door. And hoped Rose hadn't exchanged buckshot for bullets in the years since he'd seen her.

But knocking for a full five minutes failed to rouse anyone. "Odd." He looked at Ramsey, who was trying to peer into the curtained windows. "Haven't heard anythin' in town 'bout her health. But I s'pose she could have gone to visit those relatives of hers." He had a hard time imagining it, though. He doubted she was any closer to them than she was to her neighbors.

"Even if she's sleeping, you'd think the knocking would have wakened her."

"Not if she's in the habit of takin' something to sleep." Who knew-the woman might even be self-dosing with something holistic for some age-related ailment. "Probably the best thing to do would be to come by sometime in the daytime, since you've missed her twice in the evening."

"I suppose." Disappointment tinged Ramsey's tone as they made their way back down the steps. "I'll be out of town for a day or two, so it'll be a while before I have an opportunity."

It was on the tip of his tongue to question her about that, although he assumed her trip had something to do with the case, meaning she wouldn't tell him much. But as they rounded the edge of the cabin to head back to the road, his mind was wiped clean by the sight of a shotgun pointed at them.

"Jesus!" Dev shoved Ramsey aside and stepped to place himself between her and the woman wielding the gun. "Ms. Thornton. It's Devlin Stryker. Good to see you again."

Surprisingly, she looked much as she had when he'd last seen her, although that had to have been five or six years ago. He recognized the tattered wide-brimmed straw hat she wore, with the spiky iron gray tufts of hair poking out beneath it. The shapeless man's coat, flannel shirt, suspenders and jeans also looked familiar.

But damned if the gun wasn't even more memorable.

"Stryker." Her voice was the same raspy croak he remembered. "You haven't outgrown your habit of sneakin' round where you ain't wanted."

"Actually, we came to see you." He shifted just enough so she could glimpse Ramsey but hopefully not enough to provide her with a clear target. "This is Ramsey Clark. She's interested in talkin' to you 'bout your healin' work."

The weapon lowered as the woman eyed them both suspiciously. "She don't look sick."

"I'm not sick."

Too late Dev recognized that Ramsey had stepped out from behind him to face the woman. "I'm working with TBI on a homicide case. I understand you're very knowledgeable about healing herbs and plants."