Beg To Die

“Yes, of course he tried. But I’m not some gullible, love-starved female who—”

“Neither is Jazzy. But he got his hooks into her when she was only sixteen.”

“He did mention that they’d been teenage sweethearts.”

“He told you about Jazzy?” Butler’s voice deepened with tension.

“Yes.” Reve huffed. “And yes, that’s why I came to Cherokee Pointe.”

“Because of Jamie Upton. Humph. Just as I guessed.”

“Well, you guessed wrong. I didn’t come here because of Jamie. I came here to meet Jazzy, to see if she and I might be related.”

“Any reason other than the strong resemblance makes you think she could be a cousin or—?”

“I believe it’s possible she’s my sister,” Reve admitted.

“You should talk to Sally, Jazzy’s aunt. She’d know if—”

“I talked to her earlier today. A chance meeting in the street,” Reve explained. “She swears that Jazzy’s mother gave birth to only one child.”

“Why haven’t you asked your own mama? Maybe—”

“I was adopted.”

Butler’s eyes widened.

“You see, I was abandoned when I was only a few days or perhaps few weeks old.”

“Where?”

“Not here in Cherokee Pointe, if that’s what you’re thinking. I was found in Sevierville.” No need to tell him exactly where. Sharing the information that she’d been placed in a Dumpster, disposed of like unwanted rubbish, wasn’t something she’d willingly tell anyone, least of all Sheriff Jacob Butler.

“So why leave town without talking to Jazzy again?”

“Because after meeting her briefly, I realized I’d made a mistake coming here. We’re obviously not sisters. And if we’re cousins or something, it really doesn’t matter. I mean, she and I have nothing in common, so there’s no reason we’d want to become better acquainted.”

“You’re a first-class, blue-blood snob.” Jacob glared at her with those hypnotic green eyes. “You think you’re too good for the likes of Jazzy Talbot, don’t you? Well, lady, the way I see it, it’s definitely the other way around—she’s twice the woman you are. There’s not a selfish, cruel, or unkind bone in her body. You’re as different as night and day. And you’re right, there’s no way on earth the two of you could be sisters. So it’s a good thing for Jazzy’s sake that you don’t have the guts to stick around and find out for sure.”

Reve grabbed the handle and opened the door. Butler clutched her arm.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” he asked.

“I’ve changed my mind.” She’d had a knee-jerk reaction to Butler’s goading. This man didn’t know her, couldn’t have possibly realized that by daring her to stay and unearth the truth about her relationship with Jazzy, he had hit her weak spot. She’d been susceptible to dares ever since she’d been a kid. Tell her she couldn’t do something, and she’d do it or die trying. “I’m not leaving Cherokee Pointe. At least not today. I’m going to check into the nearest hotel and—”

“Motels and cabins,” Butler said.

“What?”

“Close the damn door before you get the interior of my truck soaked. I’ll drive you over to Cherokee Cabin Rentals and drop you off. We don’t have a hotel anywhere in Cherokee County, just motels and cabins for rent.”

Reve closed the door. The right side of her body was dripping wet from the blowing rain. “Yes, a cabin will be fine, thank you. Something close to town so I can walk wherever I need to go. And sheriff, once you drop me off, let’s make a point of never seeing each other again.”

“Suits me fine,” he said. “Only problem is that this is a small town, and we’re bound to run into each other if you stay here for a while.”

“Then let’s try to avoid each other, and if by chance we see each other, let’s pretend we didn’t.”

“For once, Ms. Sorrell, you and I are in total agreement.”

Sally sat on the front porch of her small home up in the mountains. Peter and Paul, her bloodhounds, slept peacefully out in the yard, the afternoon sunshine warming their big red bodies. She spit a spray of brown juice off the side of the porch. Ludie had asked her a hundred questions after their talk with Reve Sorrell. Some she couldn’t answer because she didn’t know. She didn’t know there had been another baby. How could she have known?

Hell, Sally old girl, you don’t know for sure that this Sorrell woman is Jazzy’s sister. Could be just a coincidence that they look so much alike. Yeah, sure, and God didn’t make little green apples. She chuckled nervously. Of course, after all this time what difference did it make? Jazzy was a grown woman; she’d soon be thirty years old. Couldn’t nobody take that gal away from her. They were bound together by love, by years of being the only family they each had. There wasn’t nothing she wouldn’t do for her Jasmine, the child of her heart, if not of her body. She’d die to protect Jazzy. She’d even kill to protect her.

But if Jazzy ever learned the truth, what would she think? How would she react? Well, since you don’t know the truth—the whole truth—then it’s unlikely Jazzy or anybody else ever will, either. The truth didn’t matter. Whatever the whole truth was, it should stay buried in the past, along with all the lies Sally had told so nobody would try to take Jazzy away from her.

But what about Reve Sorrell? She ain’t the type to let sleeping dogs lie, Sally thought. Nope, that gal seemed like the type who just might stir up trouble, in her own very cultured, highfalutin way. What if she’s determined to find out why she and Jazzy look so much alike? What if shestarts asking questions, digging into the past? What if she puts doubts into Jazzy’s head?

What you gonna do then, Sally, ole girl? What you gonna do then?

Chapter 6 (#ulink_4b5f13e3-c40a-5e6a-8df6-b5be67d7505e)

Jazzy saw them as they entered the restaurant. Jamie, his fiancée, and an older couple she assumed were the bride-to-be’s parents—Mr. and Mrs. Willis, the wealthy horse breeders from Kentucky. For a split second, Jazzy froze to the spot. She glanced around, searching for a waitress who could take over her hostess duties immediately, but no one was close enough to summon before the party of four approached her. She had wanted to make her escape, but found it was too late.

“Good evening,” the slender, distinguished gentleman with silvery gray hair and neatly trimmed beard said. “We’d like your best table for four, please. I telephoned earlier and was told reservations weren’t necessary.”

Doing her best to avoid making eye contact with Jamie, Jazzy replied, “That’s right. We don’t take reservations here at Jasmine’s.” She could feel Jamie’s heated stare, knew he was watching her, and wondered if Laura noticed. Hazarding a quick sidelong glance at Jamie’s fiancée, she found herself looking directly into the woman’s speculative blue eyes. Their gazes collided, and Jazzy understood that this pretty, delicate girl was silently pleading with her. Jazzy could almost hear Laura saying, “Please let him go. You don’t want him and I do.”

With her nose tilted upward, perfecting a haughty expression, Mrs. Willis inspected her surroundings. “This is a rather quaint little place. I do hope we can find something palatable on the menu.” She skewered Jazzy with a sharp glare. “Everything isn’t fried, is it? I detest fried food. Perhaps we should speak to the owner about having the chef prepare something that isn’t fried.”

“I’m the owner.” Jazzy focused on Mrs. Willis. “Let me assure you that we have a wide variety on our menu, including broiled, boiled, baked, and grilled items.”

“Well, that’s a relief, isn’t it, my dear?” Mr. Willis surveyed Jazzy from head to toe and smiled condescendingly. “So you’re Jasmine.” He paused for effect. “The proprietress.”

Jazzy snapped her fingers at Tiffany who had just served a nearby table. The waitress rushed right over.

“Please give these customers a nice table”—she looked right at Mr. Willis—“or a booth if they prefer.”

“We prefer a table,” Mrs. Willis said.

Jazzy nodded.

Tiffany picked up four menus. “Please, follow me.”

“And their dinner is on the house,” Jazzy said.

That wiped the self-satisfied expressions off both Mr. and Mrs. Willis’s faces.

“That’s very generous of you, Ms. Talbot, but—” Mr. Willis said.