Riley . . .

  She would be caught in the middle of this hurricane. Would she believe he was a killer? Even those who said they thought he was innocent had that accusing look. He never wanted to see that doubt in her eyes, not like he had with the others.

  When he’d been in the Army, on patrol, one of the men in his squad had thrown himself on a grenade. The soldier did it without thinking, willing to die to save the others. This wasn’t much different.

  Beck knew what he had to do to protect Paul’s daughter. He just didn’t know if he had the courage.

  Riley had expected to find her favourite trapper guy curled up on his couch, bemoaning his Olympic-grade headache. Instead she found a green sports car backing out his driveway. As it flew by her, she caught a glimpse of red hair.

  ‘What is she doing here?’

  It appeared her timing was good: Backwoods Boy was in need of a sympathetic ear and lots yummy oatmeal cookies.

  He’ll need a few kisses too.

  Just after she knocked, the front door wrenched open and the trapper’s furious face glared out at her. ‘What the hell are ya – Oh . . .’

  ‘Hi.’

  Beck’s eyes were bloodshot and the way he squinted suggested his headache could easily level a city. He was tense, his face crimson like he’d been shouting.

  ‘Lovers spat with the stick chick?’ she joked.

  ‘We broke up.’

  Oh. Though she really wanted to do a fist pump, Riley forced herself to behave.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said, though she really wasn’t. ‘I’ve got cookies. Maybe those will help.’ She held up a paper bag. ‘I brought some herbal tea. The lady at the witch store swears it’ll help your hangover.’

  He grudgingly waved her in. ‘I’d eat a dead rat if it’d help. It never hurt this bad before.’

  ‘Age. It’s starting to catch up with you,’ she mocked. He frowned at her, but it bounced right off. ‘Sit. I’ll make the tea for you.’

  He dropped on the couch with a groan as she rooted around in his cupboards for a mug. She chose the one with the Georgia flag. A short time later Riley delivered the brewing tea and a plate of cookies, then sat on the couch near him. She waited for his reaction to both.

  Beck sniffed the tea experimentally, then shifted the hot cup in his hands, uneasy.

  ‘What did Justine want?’

  ‘Don’t want to talk about it,’ he replied gruffly.

  Ohhkaay. ‘Then what do you want to talk about?’

  He glowered at her. ‘I didn’t rip my way out of Sadie’s claws just to have someone else dig theirs into me, and that damned reporter is doin’ just that.’

  Clearly they were back to talking about Justine. ‘What happened with you two?’

  He took a pensive sip of his tea. ‘This stuff tastes weird. Hope it works.’ Beck leaned back on the couch, studying the ceiling now. Looking everywhere but at her.

  ‘Beck, talk to me,’ she nudged.

  He sighed deeply. ‘Justine’s writin’ another article about me. Salvatore warned her to back off and now she’s all pissed.’

  ‘Don’t worry, she’ll just call me a jinx again and then she’ll leave town when the hunters do.’

  ‘No, once that story’s out my trappin’ job is history.’

  ‘Hey, unless you’re a serial killer you’re good to go, Beck.’

  He frowned at her. ‘I’m no damn serial killer, ya hear?’ he snarled.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said, raising her hands in surrender. What is it with this guy? He was fine last night.

  His expression changed to one of regret. Like he’d come to some decision.

  ‘What are ya doin’ here?’ he demanded.

  Huh? ‘What is wrong with you?’

  He set the cup down and rose. ‘It’s time for ya to go.’

  ‘What? I just got here.’

  ‘It’s best if ya don’t come back. Ya shouldn’t be seen with me.’

  ‘But I thought we were . . . I mean . . . the cemetery?’

  He instantly grew wary. ‘That kiss? I was just tryin’ to make ya feel better. Nothin’ more.’

  It took a second or two to process what he’d said. ‘That’s not how it was,’ she protested.

  Beck’s frown matched hers now. ‘Dammit, girl, didn’t ya learn yer lesson the last time? Why do ya insist on daydreamin’ about stuff that can never happen?’

  Ohmigod. I thought . . .

  Had she trusted her heart to something that wasn’t real?

  Riley was at the front door before she even realized she was moving. Fumbling with the lock, she cursed when it fought back. When she wrenched open the door, the fresh morning air greeted her, reminding her how happy she’d felt driving over to Beck’s house. How she wanted to feel like that forever.

  She spun and stared at the man who’d driven a stake through her heart. ‘Why did you kiss me? Why did you act like you cared?’

  ‘I thought we were gonna die . . .’ he muttered. ‘It wasn’t anythin’ special.’

  ‘Nothing special?’ she shouted. ‘God, I hate you!’

  Riley fled the house and down the steps, stumbling over the last two in her haste. She had to escape, run away like the last time he’d hurt her. Never see him again. She’d barely reached the car when Beck’s hand caught her shoulder and spun her round.

  ‘Girl, I’m . . .’

  ‘Don’t touch me!’ Riley shoved him away. ‘What is it with you? Do you get off hurting me, is that it? Does it make you feel all powerful, like God or something?’

  ‘It’s for yer own good.’

  ‘Oh, right. Silly old Riley isn’t good enough for you, huh? Not Justine enough for you? Is that it? I gave it up to some other guy now you’re paying me back?’

  Beck’s face went ashen. ‘Oh God, girl, it’s not you. Don’t ever think that.’ He shook his head in defeat. ‘Yer too special for a loser like me.’

  Riley rocked back on heels in stunned surprise. ‘What?’ she spouted. Where had that come from?

  ‘Do us both a favour and just go away. Ya hear me?’

  ‘Not until you tell me what’s going on.’

  Beck looked down at his feet, then back up. When his eyes met hers, she swore there was a glint of tears. ‘Ya deserve better than some bastard son of a drunk who can’t read or write. Ya don’t want to be around me, not when people think I’m a . . .’

  ‘Think you’re a what?’ she demanded.

  He shook his head and headed for the stairs.

  ‘Beck! Talk to me! We can work this out.’

  He whirled round. ‘No! We’re done talkin’. Get out of here and don’t ever come back. I don’t need ya no more. I don’t need no one.’

  The door front slammed behind him, rattling the front window.

  Shaken at his fury, Riley crawled into her car and shut the door. The keys went into the ignition, but she didn’t start the vehicle. Instead she stared at the house, trying to understand the troubled man inside. She’d never seen Beck like that before.

  He said he couldn’t live without me. Now he says he can.

  He’d been in a good mood last night, joking around, so whatever had changed had to be Justine’s doing. What had that skank done? Why was Beck so worried?

  Riley rubbed tears off her cheeks, her fingers coming away black from her mascara.

  I should just walk away. Find someone who has it together. I don’t need all this drama.

  Her conscience instantly weighed in: Beck had stood by her during the worst days of her life. He’d tried to save her father’s life. Kept her from starving. He’d bled for her and he would have gladly died for her. If she walked away from him now it would haunt her forever.

  Riley turned the key in the ignition and the car came to life. Movement at the window brought her eyes towards the house: Beck yanked his front curtains closed, walling himself off from her and the rest of the world, retreating inside his cave like a grievously wounded animal.

  Her heart ached for him, for all the dreams he was throwing away.

  Riley slowly backed the car on to the street, her mind in turmoil. She wiped away the last stray tear as she gazed up at the green-and-white house with its closed curtains and its dark secrets. A fierce desire rose inside her.

  Blackthornes didn’t back down from a challenge. They were strong and resilient like the tree.

  ‘Strife often leads ta a sweeter life.’

  Someday, when that sweet life was hers, she wanted Denver Beck to share it with her. She couldn’t imagine facing her days without him at her side.

  Riley put the car in gear and headed down the street, calmer now, determined to do what was best for both of them. This would be a battle just like the one she’d faced in the cemetery. There she’d stood between the armies of Heaven and Hell. Now it was time for her to stand up for the man who owned her heart, but was too afraid to believe that sweet life could be his.

  We’re not done yet, Backwoods Boy. No, this battle is just beginning and I’m in it to win.

  Jana Oliver’s imagination has always had the upper hand despite her attempts to house-train it. When she’s not on the road tromping around old cemeteries, she can be found in Atlanta, Georgia, with her husband and far too many books.

  Acknowledgements

  Writing a story about the end of the world (or the near miss thereof) isn’t for wimps. This book required many countless hours to bring it to the final version that you (hopefully) have just enjoyed. So it’s time to list my accomplices, who joined me in this merry battle of words.

  My many thanks to Rachel Petty, who helped me smooth out the rough edges and make the story sing. Meredith Bernstein (my literary agent) deserves a shout-out as well for keeping me sane during the revisions.

  Michelle Roper, Jean Marie Ward, Haley Vornholt and Danita Hodges all weighed in on the story, some more than once, and I owe them big time for all their comments, insights and support. Atlanta and Oakland Cemetery take some serious hits in this book, so once again I thank both for providing such a wonderful canvas on which to paint this series.

  Finally a hug to all my readers, who have taken Riley, Beck and company into their lives and into their hearts. Bless you all!

 

 

  Jana Oliver, Demon Trappers 03 - Forgiven

 

 

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