LITMIR.BIZ

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he could do was pray that he wouldn’t live to regret it.

      3

       T ucker had made one serious miscalculation when he’d called Daisy. He’d forgotten that Mary Elizabeth’s very distinctive car—a Jaguar with vanity plates he’d sometimes spotted driving too fast on the county’s back roads—had to be parked somewhere in the vicinity. He hadn’t noticed it the night before, but it was a sure bet she hadn’t walked to his house from Swan Ridge.

      He realized his mistake when his sister came barreling into the kitchen like an avenging angel and tossed a bagful of clothes straight at him. The heavy bag caught him right in the gut. She always had had a great arm, to say nothing of an amazing protective streak when it came to him and Bobby.

      “I sincerely hope those clothes are not for Mary Elizabeth,” she said, staring him down.

      “What makes you think they are?” he replied defensively.

      “Because that’s her fancy car sitting in plain view in front of your house. I’m not stupid, Tucker. Neither is anyone else in this town.” She regarded him with a worried frown. “I hope to heaven you know what you’re doing.”

      “I do,” he said, tucking a hand under her elbow and steering her straight toward the door without wasting time on the explanation she was so obviously hoping for. “Thanks for coming over here so quickly.”

      “Why does a woman with a designer wardrobe need my clothes?” Daisy inquired testily. “You two going somewhere incognito? I hate to tell you this, but it will take more than a change of clothes to pull that off.”

      Tucker sighed. “No questions, remember?”

      “The woman broke your heart,” his sister said fiercely. “Have you forgotten that?”

      “Not for a minute.”

      “If you say so,” she said, her doubt plain. “In my experience, men can push an amazing amount of past history out of their heads when they start thinking with another part of their anatomy.”

      He scowled at her. “Don’t make me sorry that I turned to you for help this morning.”

      After an instant’s hesitation, she reached up and kissed him on the cheek. “And don’t make me sorry I gave it. I love you.”

      “You, too, kid.”

      He watched as she walked to her car, shot a disparaging look toward Mary Elizabeth’s sports car, then drove off with a distracted wave in his direction.

      “Will she go straight to your father?” Mary Elizabeth asked, coming up behind him.

      “No,” he said with confidence. “Daisy never tattles.”

      Mary Elizabeth looked skeptical. “That’s not the way I remember it. She was the first one to run to King when she realized you and I were having secret meetings out behind the barn.”

      “Don’t go there. That was a lifetime ago.” And he didn’t want to be dragged down memory lane. The present was complicated enough without it.

      Tucker handed her the clothes. “We need to get moving.”

      “I’ll hurry,” she said at once.

      True to her word, she was back in minutes. Without makeup and with her hair swept into a loose ponytail held up by what looked like one of his handkerchiefs, she looked a whole lot more like the girl he remembered than the sophisticated woman she’d become. The jeans hung loosely on her, and she’d had to roll up the cuffs. She’d tucked in the bright yellow T-shirt, then added one of his belts around her narrow waist. Somehow she managed to make the ill-fitting outfit look stylish.

      He studied her pale complexion and worried eyes. “This is going to get rough. Will you be okay?”

      “I’ll manage,” she said stoically. “Let’s get this over with.”

      The drive to Swan Ridge took less than twenty minutes. Mary Elizabeth grew noticeably more tense as he turned through the open wrought-iron gate and onto the cedar-lined drive. Bright green soybean fields spread east and west as far as the eye could see. Up ahead, just around the first curve in the drive, Tucker knew he would catch his first glimpse of the three-story brick house with its jutting wings and majestic sweep of steps. It always reminded him of Stratford Hall, the historic home of the Lees not too far up the road. Same period, same style, only on a slightly smaller scale.

      The landscaped grounds were filled with holly trees, azaleas, towering oaks, magnolias and the sweet, lingering scent of honeysuckle that had apparently escaped the notice of the gardener. The pink, purple and deep red crepe myrtles were just coming into bloom as July edged toward August. In the back, he knew, there was a formal boxwood maze, where he and Mary Elizabeth had stolen many a kiss far from her grandfather’s watchful eye.

      “It hasn’t changed much,” he said, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye.

      Her hands were clutched tightly together in her lap. She jerked her gaze from the sight of the sheriff’s cruiser in front of the house and looked at him.

      “Larry loved this house as much as my grandfather did. He insisted we do nothing to change it. He even hired someone to run the soybean operation. When one of the trees got hit by lightning, he brought in a full-grown tree to replace it. It cost a fortune, but he said it was worth every penny.” She sighed heavily. “Sometimes I wonder if he cared more about losing all this than he did about losing me.”

      Since that very same thought had crossed Tucker’s mind, he couldn’t bring himself to argue with her. He caught the flicker of hurt in her eyes when he didn’t utter some platitude denying her speculation.

      “You didn’t know him,” she said stiffly, defending her husband despite Tucker’s silence.

      “No, but you did, and you’re the one who said it, Mary Elizabeth,” he reminded her, hitting the brakes too hard and jerking the car to a stop in front of the house. “I knew nothing about Chandler or your marriage. I made it a point to keep it that way.”

      “And now I’ve dragged you into the middle of it,” she said with regret. “I’m sorry.”

      “I’m not in the middle. From this moment on, I’m on the sidelines.”

      She winced at the reminder. “Tell me about the deputy who will handle it.”

      “His name’s Walker Ames. He’s good. He was a homicide detective in Washington up until a couple of years ago. He won’t miss anything.”

      “But…” She regarded him with dismay. “Isn’t he Daisy’s husband?”

      “That won’t matter,” Tucker said with conviction even as she turned to stare out the window. He tucked a hand under her chin and forced her to face him. “It will be okay. I promise. You want the best person available on this, and that’s Walker. If there’s so much as a hint that he’s not being scrupulously impartial, whatever the reason for it, I can call in the state police and turn the whole investigation over to them. I can do that now, if you’d prefer, if you think my department can’t give you a fair shake.”

      “I want to believe you know what you’re doing, but I’m scared,” she admitted.

      “You came to me because you trusted me, right? Then listen to what I’m saying,” Tucker told her. “If you’re not guilty, then you have nothing to fear.”

      “If? I’m not guilty of anything except wanting a divorce,” she declared fiercely.

      “And I believe that,” Tucker reiterated.

      “Do you? Do you really?” she asked, her voice escalating in near hysteria. “Or did you bring someone else in to handle this just so you won’t have to be the one to slap the handcuffs on me?”

      Before he could respond, she was out of the

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