He tried to talk himself out of what was a really, really bad idea. But himself wasn’t listening.
He covered the distance between them in two strides, cupped her jaw with one hand and the back of her head with the other, tilted her face up, and melded her mouth with his.
His tongue slid past her lips and burrowed deep. Somehow, God knew how, he kept his hands where they were instead of exploring the hollows and hills he’d charted through the thin cotton nightgown.
He ended the kiss long before he wanted to and while he was still able.
Angling his head back, he looked deeply into her eyes, then released her abruptly and turned away. He yanked open the door through which he’d entered and, as he went out, said, “By noon tomorrow.”
Chapter 10
The memory care center in Penton hadn’t met Ledge’s rigid standards, and, besides, he hadn’t wanted his uncle to be an object of curiosity or pity with townsfolk who had known him before his affliction. Instead, he’d placed him in a highly rated facility in Marshall.
The days began early there. Ledge arrived as the sun was just clearing the treetops. He was greeted by a staff member who told him that Henry was up and dressed.
“He’s watching the news until breakfast is served, which isn’t for another ten minutes.”
“Can I trouble you to bring a tray to his room?”
“Of course, Mr. Burnet.”
Every day of Henry’s life that Ledge could remember, he’d worn Levis, western-cut shirts, and cowboy boots. These days it was pull-up polyester pants, a zippered jacket, which, as often as not, didn’t match his pants, and slip-on sneakers.
He was sitting in the La-Z-Boy that Ledge had given him for his birthday, staring vacantly at the small flat-screen TV that Ledge had had installed last Christmas. The audio was muted.
“Morning, Uncle Henry.” He dragged a chair nearer the lounger and, as he sat down, asked if anything interesting and worth repeating had occurred in the world overnight. Of course no reply was forthcoming, but while Henry continued to stare unresponsively into the TV, Ledge chatted on about nothing consequential.
One of the catering staff delivered the breakfast tray. “Need any help?” the lady asked Ledge.
“We’re good. Hey, do we have you to thank for the flowers?” He’d noticed a fresh-looking bouquet on top of Henry’s bureau.
“Wish I could say so. They’re sure pretty. Buzz if you need anything.”
Despite Henry’s illness, he still had a good appetite. When he reached for a slice of toast, Ledge stayed his hand. “I haven’t buttered it yet.” Henry yanked his hand free, picked up the toast, tore off a bite, and crammed it into his mouth. Wryly, Ledge muttered, “Butter’s bad for your cholesterol, anyway.”
As he assisted Henry with his meal, Ledge kept up a one-sided conversation, eventually working his way around to Arden Maxwell. “She took it upon herself to do some recon on me. Went to the bar and chatted with Don. I called him as soon as I got home from her place last night. She hadn’t told Don her name, but when I described her, he remembered her right off. She’s got this unusual pairing of pale blond hair, but brown eyes.” Under his breath, he added, “Somehow it works.”
He wiped a missed bite of oatmeal off Henry’s jacket. “Yeah, I kissed her, but don’t make a big deal out of it, all right? It didn’t amount to anything. Not really. I mean…Oh, hell, I’m lying to you, too.”
He set aside the spoon and dragged both hands down his face. “I’m stacking up lies like firewood, and I hate that like hell. But I can’t tell her about that night.” He looked hard into his uncle’s eyes, willing them to show understanding, empathy, something. They were blank. Which was why he could speak with such candor.
“I’m not just covering my own ass, either. I can’t tell her without creating a shitstorm around her, and she’s just come through a terrible one. The loss of her baby and all.”
Henry picked up the juice box and sipped at the straw without mishap.
“She and her sister Lisa have this weird chemistry,” Ledge continued. “If I were to tell Arden everything, all of it, and Lisa found out, there’s no telling what she would do.
“But what really scares me? Arden is already on Rusty’s radar. I can’t caution her, or explain to her the reason for the caution, without implicating myself, not just for the burglary, but for Brian Foster’s murder. Let’s