Twists and Tears (Hawg Heaven Cozy Mysteries Book 5) Read online

  ***

  Rossalyn knew that she was in a hospital, but she didn’t know why until she tried to move her head and searing pain shot through her.

  “Ahhh!” she cried out, gritting her teeth.

  “Take it easy, sweetie,” a soft voice with a slight southern twang cautioned her, as a cool hand touched her brow on the non-injured side. “I know that hurts. We can give you something for the pain as soon as you can stay awake.”

  “What happened?” she murmured, trying hard to focus on the young nurse by her side.

  “You were injured in the storm, but you’re safe now, it’s all over,” the woman reassured her with a smile.

  “Ryan!” Rossie tried to sit up, and the resulting pain was so intense that the world went grey for a moment and her stomach churned alarmingly.

  “Your son is fine. He’s with… a responsible adult.”

  “Oh thank goodness, Tom has him,” she breathed, her eyes closed.

  The nurse didn’t reply for a few seconds. “You’re on IV fluids right now, but are you thirsty? Would you like some water?” she asked.

  “Yes, please.”

  ***

  Ryan Channing was an easygoing, well-mannered teenager, and he wasn’t trying to be difficult, but he was confused, frustrated and angry.

  “Why can’t you go see her in the hospital? That’s crazy,” he shook his head stubbornly, his mouth set in a thin line that made him look just like his mother. “It’ll help her get better because it’s like the best thing in our whole lives,” he insisted.

  “Rye, your mom was injured. This kind of shock is not something that’s going to help her right now. I’m not gonna talk to her until she gets out, and neither are you,” Will gave his son a pointed look.

  “Oh, yeah, okay. I see how it is. You disappear, let us all think you’re dead for months and then come back and act like you’re in charge?” Ryan challenged, his eyes flashing fire. “Is that how it’s going to be? Because, news flash, Dad… Mom has been strong enough to take care of us, even without you.”

  The words hung in the air, and Ryan closed his eyes tightly, regretting having said them the moment they were out of his mouth.

  “So… I should have stayed dead?” Will whispered.

  “I didn’t mean…” Ryan shook his head, staring at his father as though he was a mirage which might just disappear.

  “You may be right, Rye,” Will stood, shaking his long hair out of his face, his eyes distant and pained.

  “Dad!” Ryan stood, a terrified look on his face.

  Will gazed at his son, his heart breaking, knowing that he had caused great pain, even though he hadn’t intended to. “You’re better off without me. I didn’t want to admit it, but it’s true,” he swallowed hard and looked away.

  Ryan turned beet red and clenched his fists by his sides. Through gritted teeth he spoke, furious.

  “Don’t. You. Dare,” he commanded quietly, his tone and manner catching his father’s attention. “You left us once, don’t you dare do it again. You always told us, ‘Be brave, be true, get it done.’ Was that just for us? We’re supposed to do that, but you don’t have to? Is that how it is?” the teenager’s chest heaved with emotion and his chin quivered a tiny bit, though he tried hard to contain it.

  His son’s words broke him, and he rushed to the boy, wrapping him in a bear hug like he used to.

  “No, Rye, that’s not just for you, it’s for all of us. I’m sorry. I’m so, so, sorry,” he whispered into his son’s hair, hugging him hard. “We’ll figure it out, I promise.”

  ***

  Tom Hundman sorted through the shiny pile of metal scrap that used to be his motorcycle. There was minor damage to his house, but a tree had crashed through the roof of his garage, destroying the bike that he’d packed with supplies to get out of town.

  “Never thought I’d see you again,” Will Channing’s voice, from what used to be the garage door, broke into his thoughts.

  “Rossalyn never thought she’d see her husband again,” Tom commented, staring hard at the man in front of him. “What happened to you?” his expression was not kind as he took in the unkempt, long-haired, battle-scarred veteran.

  “I was in a special covert ops program. Even the guys in the unit couldn’t know about who we were and why we were there. There were five of us who were on special assignment. Two of us were in your unit…” Will began, picking his way through debris, toward where Tom stood, arms crossed.

  “You and Spencer Bengal?” the biker guessed.

  Will nodded.

  “Where’s he?”

  “Down in Florida, living a normal life now that Command’s turned us loose,” Will’s eyes had a faraway look.

  “Bengal ain’t his real name either, is it?”

  “Nope.”

  Tom shook his head. “We fought side by side with you two. We thought we knew you,” his tone was neutral, but his eyes spoke volumes, the accusation evident. “Thought you were lost when they airlifted you out.”

  “Almost was, but they patched me up. Physically anyhow,” Will glanced away.

  “I hear ya. Nightmares?”

  “Worse than nightmares,” the scarred man said in a low voice, with a haunted look in his eyes that Tom knew all too well.

  “Been there. Still happens sometimes,” he said gruffly.

  “I can’t do this,” Will couldn’t manage much more than a whisper.

  “Do what?” Tom’s eyes narrowed.

  “Life, family, being normal. I’ve spent the past year trying to become normal again, and I can’t do it. I’m not the man I was when I left. I’m a paranoid monster who doesn’t know how to act around people. I’ve been living off the land like an animal, and it’s where I belong.”

  “Don’t you give up on them,” the biker warned, his heart breaking in his chest as he realized that his chances with Rossalyn and Ryan had just been shattered. He loved them fiercely, even though he wouldn’t admit it, even to himself, but right was right. Will Channing was a husband and father, and Tom would just have to step away.

  “I never gave up on them. It’s not them,” Will’s jaw tightened. “It’s me. I’m too damaged to be in their lives. I should’ve never come back.”

  “Think Rossie will see it that way?” Tom deliberately, painfully, used her familiar name as a means of snapping her husband back into reality. It worked.

  “No.”

  “Then man up, Marine, and do what’s right,” Tom went back to working with the remains of his bike, signaling that the conversation was over.

  “I ain’t weak,” Will straightened his shoulders.

  “Never said you were,” the biker didn’t look up.

  Without a word, Will Channing turned and left, the thought of his wife in the arms of Tom Hundman causing a painful fury in his chest. He’d seen them together, and knew how the biker felt, it was written all over him. He’d also seen his Rossie looking back at his fellow veteran with a look that used to be reserved just for him. What he could do about that, he had no idea.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  * * *

  Officer Morgan Tyler was first on the scene when Melba Rogers called to be rescued after having weathered the storm in her barn. She knew she couldn’t make it back to the house in time, so she’d hunkered down with the goats and waited for it to pass. Unfortunately, the doors had blown in, and a shard of wood had lodged in her thigh. Thankful that she’d had her cellphone with her, she’d called for help after the storm had subsided.

  Morgan and another officer helped Melba off of the wet, muddy barn floor, and supported her on either side to get her back to her house to wait for an ambulance. While she was in a tremendous amount of pain, the stalwart woman merely grimaced, insisting that they allow her to limp along on her good leg rather than be “carried like a helpless old woman.”

  Morgan and his partner got her settled in a chair in the kitchen, having come in the back door; soon after, he heard the approaching sound of the
ambulance and went to the front door to let them in. What he saw on the way made him freeze in his tracks. He radioed for additional units and backed away from the living room and hall, hand on his weapon, returning to the kitchen.

  “Melba, do you live here alone?” he asked, a muscle in his jaw flexing.

  “Course I do. Ain’t been nobody here but me for years. Why?” she asked wearily, her strength focused on fighting against the pain in her leg.

  “How tall are you?”

  “Five foot seven.”

  “Must be pretty scary out here all by yourself. How do you stay safe?”

  “Got my gun,” she shrugged.

  “You hunt?”

  “Yeah, some.”

  “What was your last kill?”

  “Rabbits. Three, four days ago.”

  “Do you skin them in the barn?”

  “Yup,” she nodded, thankful that he was distracting her with conversation.

  “Melba?”

  “Yeah?”

  “We’ll take you to the hospital and get you all fixed up, but you’re also under arrest for the murder of Warner Carnes. Thompson, read her her rights,” he instructed the other officer, who had been watching the exchange, puzzled.

  The forensics team arrived shortly after the ambulance had spirited Melba Rogers away. She hadn’t bothered to try to hide her crime, thinking that no one would suspect her. She’d killed Warner in the living room, leaving DNA evidence on the floor and walls, then had dragged his lifeless body out the front door. She lived far enough out in the country that there were no neighbors around to hear the gunshot, or witness her loading Warner into the trunk of her car after wrapping him in a bed sheet. The car also tested positive for Warner’s DNA, and the old sheet was found in Melba’s burn pile that she hadn’t quite gotten around to lighting. The angle of the shot that killed Elsa’s husband fit perfectly with having been fired from a gun held by a woman who was Melba’s height; even if she hadn’t confessed, there was more than enough physical evidence to convict her.

  Once Morgan sat across from her at the interrogation table, her leg bandaged, a pair of crutches at her side, Melba had spilled the entire story. She had taken Warner Carnes out drinking, pretending to drink herself, but secretly slipping her drinks into his glass when he wasn’t looking, intending to get him so drunk that he could conceivably have an “accident” that would lead to his demise. It turned out, however, that she’d vastly underestimated his capacity for alcohol; when she brought him back to her farm, he was more interested in making moves on her than in passing out so that she could throw him down the stairs and make it look like an accident.

  “He made advances toward you?” Morgan clarified, wondering if Melba was going to claim self-defense.

  “As best he could. He was staggerin’ and clumsy as all get out,” she made a disgusted face.

  “Were you having an affair with Warner Carnes?” the officer asked directly.

  “Pshhh! Warner Carnes? Well, ain’t you just a cute young pup,” she gave him a rueful half smile and patted the table. “Honey, I don’t swing that way. I wasn’t having an affair with Warner, I was in love with Elsa. I thought if I got him out of the way, she’d sell that stupid farm and we could go away together, and live somewhere outside of this small town where folks wouldn’t look at us funny.”

  It took a great deal of effort for Officer Morgan Tyler not to gape at the older woman in front of him. Crusty old Elsa Carnes had a lover who had tried to feed her husband to the pigs.

  “Was Elsa aware that you planned to kill her husband?” he asked, after taking a breath.

  “Oh no, I’d never put her in that position. I think she may have wondered a little bit when he went missing after we went out drinkin’, but she never said a word to me about it. She was just hopin’ that he’d be back from wherever he was in time for the harvest. She was upset that he went and got himself killed just when they needed to be planting,” Melba sighed.

  Everything made sense to Morgan now. In the video at the bank, he’d seen an older woman go into the safety deposit box viewing room with Warner Carnes. There was no audio, and the picture had been too grainy to make a positive identification of the woman, but now he knew who it had been. Melba Rogers confessed to convincing Warner to take out an insurance policy on himself, so that Elsa would be able to keep the farm running if something happened to him. That money, plus the money from selling both Elsa’s farm and Melba’s, would’ve been enough to set them up nicely in a small city somewhere.

  “You killed a man,” Morgan said quietly, after Melba had signed her confession.

  “And if I had it to do over, I’d do it again. I love her. She’s my world,” had been the sad reply as the farm-hardened, determined woman broke down into tears.

  ***

  “Wow, that’s crazy. Poor Dylan, this is going to be a tough one for him to deal with,” Rossie murmured, after Morgan related his conversation with Melba to her.

  “Well, it’s better news for him than if his mother had killed his father,” the officer shrugged, pragmatic.

  “I suppose,” Rossie nodded. “I guess I’m going to need to hire another employee,” she sighed.

  “I’d say so. Melba will most likely be spending the rest of her life in prison.”

  “Poor Elsa. She lost both her husband and her lover.”

  “Life is short,” Morgan gazed at her intently. “Sometimes, if we don’t reach out and take hold of what’s in front of us, we miss out.”

  A slow blush crept up Rossie’s neck and ears. Fortunately she was spared from having to respond when a very disgruntled-looking Tom Hundman entered the room and glared at Morgan.

  Rossie wondered how much of the conversation he’d heard, and her blush darkened further in the awkward moment of silence when he entered.

  “Ready to go?” he asked gruffly, not quite meeting her eyes.

  “Uh, yeah,” she replied, sliding off the bed and reaching for her purse.

  “See ya, Rossalyn,” Morgan brushed past Tom Hundman, giving him a scathing look on his way out.

  “Um, yeah, bye… Officer… uh… Morgan.”

  Tom turned without a word and led her from the room, making her wonder at his cold manner.

  “The nurse said that Ryan didn’t stop by while I was here,” she said, trying to make conversation.

  “He was a little shaken up. Just wanted to stay home with his dog once he heard that you were okay,” the biker answered, taking long enough strides that she had to hurry to keep up.

  “That makes sense, I suppose,” Rossie frowned, having no idea that Will had made Ryan stay away so that he didn’t talk with her about his father while she was in the hospital. “Is something wrong?” she asked, as he opened the passenger door of her SUV for her.

  “No.”

  “You’re acting funny,” she observed. “It’s not Ryan is it??” her eyes widened at the thought. “Oh my gosh, is Ryan okay? You’d better tell me right this second if something’s wrong with…” she began to panic.

  “Ryan’s fine,” Tom said shortly.

  “Has something happened? Are you mad?” she persisted. Things had gotten a bit… comfortable between them lately, and she’d been enjoying it.

  “No.”

  “Fine. Just ignore me then,” her jaw jutted forward as tears stung the back of her eyelids.

  Tom turned to look at her, and there was an expression in his startling cobalt eyes that she’d never seen before. It was yearning and admiration and profound sadness all in one.

  “Tom,” she whispered, her heart beating fast. She reached out to touch his hand, her fingertips brushing against the tanned and wind-burnished skin.

  A muscle in his jaw flexed and he swallowed hard, never dropping his gaze. He took her hand and slowly brushed his lips over her creamy white skin, lingering for just one sweet moment, as her heart skipped a beat. He closed his eyes, and when he opened them, it was as if he’d shut down entirely. He released her han
d, dropped his gaze and started the car, pulling out of the parking lot while she stared at him, speechless and feeling bereft.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  * * *

  “Rye!” Rossalyn exclaimed, when she saw her beloved son and his dog waiting for her on the porch. She got out of the SUV slowly and carefully, but rushed to embrace him, surprised when he seemed preoccupied. “I’m so glad you’re safe,” she whispered into his hair. “I was so worried when I didn’t hear from you. Were you still at the movie theatre when the storm hit?”

  “No, we were walking home. We only got as far as Mr. Hundman’s, so he took us into his basement,” Ryan pulled back a bit.

  Rossie turned grateful eyes to Tom, who looked away and handed her the keys. “I gotta get going,” he muttered.

  “Tom, wait!” Rossie called after him. “Don’t you want to come in for some tea or something?” she hated the plaintive sound of her voice, but she really didn’t want him to go. Tom Hundman was a hero. He’d saved her boy, and in some strange way, she felt like he’d saved her as well.

  “Nah, I got stuff to do,” he raised a hand in farewell, without turning around.

  “How strange,” Rossalyn murmured.

  “Not so strange,” Ryan commented, biting his lip nervously.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, it’s family time, and I have to tell you something,” he reached down, taking comfort in scratching between Barney’s ears.

  “What?” she looked alarmed. Ryan wouldn’t look at her. “Rye, you need to tell me what’s going on right now,” she insisted.

  “I…” he began, and Rossie’s glance shot to the front door as it opened and a scarred, bearded, long-haired version of Will Channing emerged.

  Sinking to her knees, Rossalyn couldn’t even begin to form a coherent sentence as sobs wracked her. She hadn’t been dreaming during the storm—the face of the angel tending to her had been his. Will was home.

  Copyright 2017 Summer Prescott

  All Rights Reserved.