Murder in the Smokies - By Paula Graves Page 0,75
forehead, the touch almost reverent. She wrapped her arms around his waist and melted against him. “I love you, Ivy Hawkins. I’ve loved you for half my life. It just took me until now to realize it.”
“I knew it fourteen years ago,” she murmured against the side of his neck. “I just never thought I’d get to tell you.”
He stroked her hair, brushing his lips to her temple. “Know what I think? I think it was no coincidence that we grew up together on Smoky Ridge. We were meant to find each other back then, and become friends when we both needed someone to trust.” He tipped her head back, making her look at him. “I remember, when Jesse told me about this case in Bitterwood, I thought, ‘What are the odds I’d be going back there after all this time?’ But now it seems so clear I was supposed to come back. To you.”
“You really believe that?” she asked, both thrilled and terrified by the idea that something out there had brought them back together.
“Don’t you?”
She did, she realized with surprise. It sounded crazy and fanciful. It sounded like something her mother would believe. But she knew it was true, deep in her soul where a part of Sutton had always remained, long after he was physically gone. A part of her had always believed he’d be back for that piece of his soul. “Yeah,” she said. “I do.”
He hugged her close, his embrace both heated and oddly gentle, a perfect melding of their platonic past and their passionate present. She kissed the side of his neck, making him groan.
“I’m going to quit my job at Cooper Security, Ivy. Everything I want in this world anymore is right here in Bitterwood.” His voice was thick with need. “I guess I’ve missed this place more than I ever wanted to admit.”
“Are you sure?”
He brushed a kiss against her forehead. “Yeah. You’re here.”
She felt her insides melt into a hot puddle. “Your dad’s still here. All that history—”
“Leavin’ this place didn’t change that history,” he murmured against her temple. “I am who I am. I come from the people I come from. All I did by running away was let the people around these parts think there’s only one kind of Calhoun. I’d like to challenge that notion.”
“I guess, if I’m honest with myself, I never really wanted to leave here. I could have gone anytime. I was using my mother as an excuse.” She’d realized that embarrassing bit of truth while watching her mother drive away. “Smoky Ridge has a way of getting into your bones.”
“It does,” he agreed, his tone serious.
“So if you quit your job, how do you plan to make a living?” She arched a look at him. “I’m a liberated woman, but that doesn’t mean I plan to support you while you sleep all day. Too damned much of that going on in these hills as it is.”
“I’ll find something to do here. I have skills, you know.”
She shot him a wicked smile. “I’m countin’ on that, Calhoun.”
He laughed and kissed her again, sending fire pouring through her veins once more. If she didn’t watch out, she’d become completely addicted to his touch.
She stepped out of his embrace but held on to his hands. “When do you have to meet the helicopter?”
He glanced at his watch, his expression alarmed. “Too damned soon. I’d better get moving. I still need to pack.”
“Why don’t I take you to meet the helicopter? You can leave your truck here until you’re back.”
“Delilah’s coming to take my place,” he told her as they went to gather the rest of his belongings. “She’ll be without wheels, so I reckon she’ll be borrowing the truck until she’s done with the mop-up of the case. But she can bring you back here.”
They walked together out to his truck. He opened the passenger door, stopping her from getting in with a kiss. “Are you really sure about this? I know it’s all happening so fast and I’m not exactly being my usual practical self about things—”
“I’m sure,” she said with a smile. “I love you, Sutton Calhoun. I’ve loved you for years. And I’m damned well going to love you the rest of my life, so you’d better just get used to it.”
“I’ll do my best,” he said with a wicked grin, and bent to kiss her again.
Epilogue
Rachel Davenport’s silver Honda Accord sat parked next to her father’s old Volvo in the back lot of