LITMIR.BIZ

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and had every reason to live. It didn’t feel that way right now, but tomorrow she might see things differently.

      Tomorrow. She suddenly realized she wanted to wake up to another day, no matter how bleak the future seemed at the moment.

      But first she had to get down this ladder in one piece.

      Her mind made up, Marilee tried to decide the best way to descend without ending up in a wheelchair and sporting a handicapped sticker on her car. Working up her last nerve, she oh so slowly knelt at the very top, trying to balance herself like a seal on a large ball. Her high heels proved a serious hindrance, and she decided she had to remove them. Somehow. Still perched precariously, Marilee tried to slip one off, but the ladder gave a shudder and veered right. Quickly she leaned in the opposite direction but overcorrected. Dang, she thought, only a split second before she lost her balance and toppled.

      She had been so intent on getting down she had forgotten to take off the noose. Now it snapped tight around her neck. She was only vaguely aware of a noise overhead, and then it sounded as if the whole house was crashing down around her. Poor Josh. It was her last thought. Something hit her on the head, and then there was blackness.

      SAM BREWER WAS IN A FOUL MOOD. As he grabbed a shovel from the garage and carried it to his mother’s flower bed, he could only imagine what the neighbors were saying as they peered out the windows at him. Without a doubt, Edna-Lee Bodine from across the street had her nose pressed flat against the windowpane this very moment, watching and fogging up the glass.

      “There goes Sam Brewer digging in his mother’s flower bed again,” she’d tell her husband, who kept his own nose buried in a newspaper. “No telling what that old bat has gone and buried this time.” There were times Sam wished his mother would bury Mrs. Bodine in the flower bed. “And just look at him,” Edna-Lee would say. “Why, he looks like a derelict. No telling when he last shaved or combed his hair.”

      Sam knew he looked like hell, but how was he supposed to groom himself when almost everything he owned was buried? His mother had set out to make a point, and she’d done just that. After all, her great-great-grandmother had buried the family silver to protect it from the Yankees during the Civil War; Nell Brewer had decided it was up to her to protect their belongings from “Nurse Ratched,” as she referred to her latest caretaker, whom she claimed was stealing. Sam had to admit the retired nurse had the personality of a troll, but his mother had managed to run off several of her “companions” over the past six months. This latest one had stormed off the minute she caught wind of the accusations against her, just as his mother knew she would.

      Now he was saddled with the chore of finding someone new, despite claims from his mother that she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself. That hadn’t been the case six months ago, when she’d insisted she was going blind and losing her mind and needed him there. He’d sold his construction company in Atlanta and moved home to Chickpea so he could personally look after her. Truth was, he’d been looking to leave the rat race behind and find a simpler life anyway. Now he was building single-family dwellings with an old high-school buddy, and Sam rather liked it that way.

      Except that his mother was driving him crazy.

      Why did women have to be so difficult?

      That reminded him of what a royal pain in the butt his ex-wife was. It didn’t matter that they’d been divorced five years now. Shelly still called him for every little thing and was constantly borrowing money, despite the healthy alimony check he sent every month.

      Seemed there was no way to win, especially where the opposite sex was involved.

      With a muttered oath, Sam searched for a fresh mound of dirt that might produce his electric shaver and the iron he needed to press his shirt before he met with an architect in an hour. He drove the shovel into the soft ground and struck something solid. He pulled a plastic bag from the dirt. Ah-ha! He’d found his electric shaver, perfectly intact. At least his mother was thoughtful enough to wrap everything before sticking it into a hole in the ground. Nevertheless, it had to stop. Yesterday it had been his combs and toothbrush, which was why he looked like the world’s biggest slob.

      He stabbed the dirt once more, just as a piercing scream ripped through the late-morning air, jolting his already strained nerves. Dropping the shovel, he lunged toward his house before he realized the sound had come from the Browns’ next door. He stopped, shook himself and turned in the opposite direction.

      Sam jumped the hedges separating the properties and raced across the lawn like a marathon runner, skirting bushes and a large cast-iron pot that had gone to rust. He’d assumed the house was vacant. At least, he hadn’t noticed anyone coming or going. But it was of little concern to him as he took the front steps in one leap. He crossed the porch and knocked. No answer. The door was locked.

      The scream still echoing in his mind, he knew he had no choice but to break down the door. He braced himself and rammed it hard. Pain ripped through his shoulder, radiated down his arm and arched across his back, but he didn’t have time to worry about it. He slammed against the door once more, and the sound of splintering wood told him he’d succeeded.

      Stepping inside, Sam crossed a small foyer and stood there for a moment, staring blankly at the sight before him.

      The woman on the floor appeared dead. Sam stumbled toward her prostrate body, stepping over Sheetrock as he went, his mind uncertain of what he was actually seeing. He noted the noose around her neck, made of what appeared to be a dozen multicolored tassels. The woman’s face and clothes were dusted in white, as though someone had just dumped a sack of flour on her head. He glanced up and saw that a portion of what was obviously a fake beam had been torn away. Had she hanged herself? Sure as hell looked like it.

      Without wasting another second, Sam dropped to his knees, loosened the noose and performed CPR. He felt her stir and raised his head, inhaling deeply as he prepared to blow more air into her lungs.

      MARILEE OPENED HER EYES, TAKING in the man before her, and her heart sank. From the looks of his unshaved jaw and wild black hair, she could only assume she’d died and landed in hell. She suspected angels took better care of themselves.

      She tried to speak, but her throat hurt. “Excuse me,” she managed in a hoarse whisper. “Are you the devil?”

      Sam stared at the woman for a full minute, trying to make sense of what she’d said. She was obviously delirious. Her face was pale. No telling how long that noose had been around her neck. Could very well have blocked desperately needed oxygen to her brain. “Where’s your phone?” he asked hurriedly. “I need to call an ambulance.”

      Marilee’s eyes widened. Phone? Ambulance? She was alive! Relief flooded her, and she wondered again why she’d ever considered ending her life in the first place. To think she’d almost succeeded! Wasn’t that just her luck? Just when she’d found the strength to go on living, she’d come close to killing herself by accident.

      She bolted upright, trying to disentangle herself from the cords and tassels. “Please don’t call anyone,” she said, too embarrassed to look at the stranger, even as she wondered how he happened to be there. “You have no idea what I’ve already been through.”

      “You need medical attention, lady.” And a damn good psychiatrist, he thought. This woman made his mother’s antics seem normal.

      “I’m fine, really.” Marilee scrambled to her feet but swayed, no doubt from the two head injuries she’d received. He caught her up before her legs, which felt as if they were made of mashed sweet potatoes, folded beneath her. The noose, still around her neck although no longer constricted, was an annoyance, but she was more concerned with the sudden pain in her ankle as she tried to steady herself. “I think I twisted my ankle,” she said. “I must’ve landed on it wrong. Other than that, I’m okay.” Well, not really, she thought. Her head throbbed. It felt as though the state of Texas was sitting on top of her skull.

      All at once, Marilee realized the man was still holding her in his arms. The way Grady had held her when he’d carried her over the threshold on their wedding night. Oh, this was all wrong, she thought. It

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