Whispers Under A Southern Sky

He had no business feeling one way or the other about that, given how they’d parted. But that didn’t prevent an old memory from drifting through his mind—Amy riding shotgun in his pickup truck on a hot summer day, promising she knew the perfect spot for skinny-dipping. He’d been seventeen and crazy about her, and even though he was supposed to be driving them both to work, he’d ended up following her directions to a private spot in the woods, where a bend in the creek made a shady pool.

She’d slid off her shorts too fast for him to see much—and he didn’t want her to catch him drooling over her—but he’d never forgotten the way she’d darted through the green trees, laughing and teasing him the whole time.

No doubt a woman like that had moved on. Family. Kids. He hadn’t looked her up online and hadn’t asked about her, even though his best friend was now engaged to her sister.

She’d never gotten along with her family. She’d even told him once that he was the only reason she could stand to stay in Heartache...

Damn.

Shutting down the old regrets, he moved toward his truck again. He didn’t need this kind of distraction now. His personal life had gotten about a thousand times more complicated this year, for one thing. And for another? He wanted all his professional focus on solidifying the case against Jeremy Covington. He’d given up Amy ten years ago to put this guy behind bars.

He would make damn sure the sacrifice had been worth it.

CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_870968a8-6de1-5f77-8df0-5a8cc7893b63)

RETURNING FROM THE grocery store, Amy took the Partridge Hill Road slowly, climbing the sharp incline at a respectful speed. The tarmac looked like the town had been ignoring it for decades, and she was wary of the potholes and cavernous cracks.

Her car was on its last leg—to be expected since she’d snagged it on eBay for next to nothing after her previous vehicle had died. A gray sedan built for efficiency and not comfort, the car was held together with duct tape, furnace cement, a few well-placed zip ties and a whole lot of YouTube video knowledge on DIY mechanics. She was proud she’d kept the thing running this long, but she wasn’t about to risk her luck on one of those black holes.

Even if that meant she couldn’t zip past the house where Sam Reyes lived.

She kept her eyes on the road so as not to risk any accidental sightings. Not that she wasn’t curious, of course. Her long-ago boyfriend had been hot when other teenage boys were still gangly and awkward. Her imagination could quite nicely envision him as a man full grown. She didn’t need that visual confirmed, though. Especially not after they’d had the world’s most awkward non-breakup.

He just up and disappeared. Vanished into thin air with Gabriella Chance, a particularly adorable majorette who probably would have been homecoming queen. If she hadn’t left school to run away with Sam. His mysterious email—weeks later—claiming that he’d left to “help a friend” hadn’t exactly eased her anger.

Thump!

The car dipped down into a rut she hadn’t seen. The passenger-side tire scraped something sharp, a grating noise against the wheel. She hit the gas on instinct since her vehicle was prone to stalling.

And yet, of course, her sedan died right there.

“Unacceptable.” She closed her eyes. Willed the vehicle to life. “If not for me, you would be in a scrap heap.”

Sadly, it wasn’t her first dialogue with the vehicle. But for the first time the cursed thing seemed to listen because it fired up again with a cough and a splutter.

“Yes!” She hit the gas hard, desperate to get out of sight from the last house on Partridge Hill Road.

She wasn’t a woman who enjoyed being rescued, and, thankfully, her closest neighbor wouldn’t be obliged to fill that role today. Racing up the rest of the hill, she dodged the remaining pits and crevices, flush with victory and the knowledge she had enough supplies to last her for the next two weeks. She wouldn’t need to worry about seeing anyone until she felt well settled in, and—

Oh. Crap.

A large man stood on the porch of the hunting cabin.

Dressed in black and wearing dark sunglasses, the figure stood with his back to her, his large shoulders bent over something he seemed to be examining on the front-porch swing. A hit man deciding which weapon to use? Her brain churned out a whole series of crazy possibilities when he did not turn toward her as she slowed the car.

Fear crawled up her throat since no one should be here. Her sisters had promised her—promised—that they would let her decide when she wanted to see the family. No one else knew she was here. And the guy on the porch sure didn’t look like he was selling something. Or trying to convert her.

Why hadn’t the man noticed her yet? She debated backing down the road again. She could just slide it into Neutral and she’d be at the bottom of Partridge Hill in moments. Then suddenly, even with her heart beating hard and the car’s heater blowing on high, she realized she could hear the wail of an infant.

Even as she told herself that made no sense, the man on the porch straightened. He held a baby in his arms.

But that wasn’t nearly the most shocking thing about her uninvited guest.

Because the man in front of her was Samuel Reyes.

Seeing her, he raised his hand. A greeting? A warning?

She mimicked the movement as she sat in the driver’s seat, staring at him as if she’d seen a ghost.

So much for getting past his house unnoticed.

Shutting off the engine as he walked toward the car, she wondered about the etiquette for this situation. How did a woman act when confronting a man who’d broken her heart and run off with another girl? Did she go with a breezy, blasé manner like none of it mattered? Pretend she didn’t recognize him?

He was more handsome than she’d imagined he would be, and her imaginings had been plenty favorable to start with. He looked like a man who took his job seriously, and trained hard enough he’d be able to capture Olympian sprinters while on foot. Even in his dark pants and jacket, the muscles in his limbs were evident.

His features were more sculpted, too, his jaw and cheekbones more angular somehow, his gray eyes more hooded. Or was it that his expression was less open, his gaze more calculating? Sliding across the seat to the working passenger-side door, she reminded herself to breathe.

He was at the car door sooner than she was, opening it and holding out a hand to help her out.

Her heart beat faster for no good reason.

“Looking for someone?” she asked, ignoring his hand to step out onto the patch of gravel that counted as a driveway.

Her gaze skittered over the wriggling baby wrapped in a blue blanket in his arms. The infant couldn’t be more than eight weeks old. Round-cheeked and red-faced, the baby lay tucked into one of Sam’s arms and stared at Amy with wide blue eyes. The child had quit crying for the moment, making the sound of the silence all the more awkward.

“I came up here to see you. Hello, Amy.” Sam reached past her to retrieve her shopping bags from the car, following her example. “Let me give you a hand.”

He smelled good. Like spicy aftershave and wood smoke, as if he’d spent the afternoon near a campfire.

“I can manage,” she assured him. “And you appear to have your hands full.” She wondered why her sisters hadn’t mentioned Sam had a kid. It struck her as highly relevant. “Congratulations.”

She brushed past him to enter the cabin, needing to escape from a confrontation she wasn’t ready to have. In theory, she’d understood he lived close to the cabin. Her sister Heather, ever the family peacemaker, had warned Amy of his proximity in a letter. But she hadn’t counted on him seeking her out and trying to talk to her.

Then again, he couldn’t know she’d lost the skill of idle chitchat. Since she’d left Heartache, she no longer bothered making small talk with strangers or pretending a level of social comfort she’d never developed. While waitressing, she’d taken orders, delivered food and kept coffee cups filled. Occasionally, a chatty trucker would remind her of her father and slide past her guard, roping her into conversation about something besides the weather and how he’d like his eggs cooked. But for the most part, she kept to herself.

Besides, Sam was holding a baby.

A healthy, beautiful swaddled bundle that only reminded her of the pregnancy she’d lost a year ago. She’d faced the miscarriage alone since she’d scared off the father within weeks of discovering they were going to be parents. Amy hadn’t mourned the loss of the stockbroker boyfriend. But the baby?

The hurt of it yawned like a hole that would never close.

She was opening the front door of the cabin with the key when Sam caught up with her. She sensed his movement behind her, heard the rustle of plastic shopping bags.

“You’re in luck,” he said as she shoved open the thin pine front door. “Turns out I can carry a baby and a few bags, too.”

He followed her inside, not waiting for an invitation—or maybe guessing she wouldn’t give one. As he dropped the bags on the floor beside the ones she’d deposited there, she was reminded of the first time he’d spoken to her.

“Do you remember when we got paired to set up the archery stands in gym?” She shared the thought, protecting herself from having to ask him about the infant or himself just yet.