~ Blood Secrets ~

by

Jacqueline McGuyer

Slowing only slightly, Amy turned off the highway at the Lumberton exit. Two blocks down, she pulled into the parking lot of the Timber Mill Tavern, a watering hole popular with the locals. When she opened the car door, she shivered as goose flesh rose on her bare shoulders above her strapless dress. She stepped out of the car, her high heels slipping on the icy pavement as she walked across the parking lot.

From where she stood in the foyer, she could see only a few patrons. Two burly construction types were at one table nursing beers. Three men and a woman in bright ski clothes sat in the far corner with their skis propped against the wall behind them. On entering, she pushed her flyaway black hair from her eyes and paused beside the gleaming jukebox where the handful of quarters she deposited clinked as she pushed them through the slot, poking buttons randomly each time.

Two men sitting at the table closest to the door stopped their conversation in mid-sentence and watched as she walked across the floor to the bar. The black silk fabric of her too short, too-tight dress caressed her lithe body as she moved. She climbed onto a stool next to a dark man with his elbows resting on the bar, his head in his hands; he studied his beer bottle as though he expected it to speak to him at any moment. Unlike every other male in the building, he paid no attention to her entrance.

“Double scotch, on ice,” she ordered in a low, velvety voice, speaking to a short pudgy fellow behind the bar. She studied the man next to her. As she sipped her drink, a smile crept across her red lips.

“Amy,” the man said. After giving her a sideways glance, he quickly turned away. “We agreed to stop seeing each other,” his words barely audible above Hank Williams, Jr.’s Whisky Bent and Hell Bound.

She looked at him with wide expressionless eyes, then turned her attention to the bank of bottles on the back bar. “We agreed not to see each other? I don’t remember that.”

His eyes fell on the expanse of flawless skin her strapless dress exposed. When she reached over and placed her hand on his arm, her eyes softened, and he felt her cool touch through his heavy wool shirt. A chill ran through him--was it from longing or fear? “I’m not interested,” he said. He raised the brown long neck bottle to his lips and drank, hoping to chase the feeling away--knowing she was the reason he was here to begin with.

“You think about it,” she said, then threw back her drink, swung around, and eased herself off the barstool. Her dark-stockinged legs moved to the music as she danced around the tables where the skiers in the corner watched, unable to turn away. The two construction guys began to clap their hands to the beat.

She danced back to the bar. “Fix me another drink, handsome.” Ice tinkled in her glass when she moved back to the middle of the room, turning and swaying to the music. When Hank Williams, Jr. finished, Willie Nelson began to sing Angel Flying Too Close to the Ground. A film of perspiration shone on her skin as she stopped behind the dark man, slipping her arms around his waist. He closed his eyes. “Come on, Eddie, dance with me,” she whispered.

When he opened his eyes, he saw her face in the mirror behind the bar, violet eyes staring at him while she stood at his back, her chin resting on his shoulder. Grabbing both of her thin wrists, he pushed her hands away. “Stop it,” he snarled, and then turned around on the stool to face her.

She took his hands in hers and placed them on her narrow hips, slipped her arms around his neck, and pulled herself close to him. “One more dance,” she said. Her head lay on his shoulder as she swayed to the music. In his ear, she whispered, “Come on back to the house with me. Please. We can be happy there.”

Once again he could feel his desire rising and his resolve hiding somewhere in the shadows. Is it lust for you, Amy Connelly, or my love for you that drives me crazy? “That’s a dangerous place. You know how I feel about it. How can we ever be happy there if I have to hide when he comes around? Besides, he knows I’m there.”

“Aw, don’t be that way,” she said, as she pulled back and looked up at him through her lashes. “He’s old. I humor him because he controls my money. He’s a little eccentric, that’s all. Besides, that ranch holds all the secrets to my past--to my roots.”

Eddie brushed his hand over a place under her arm where the skin had become a faded bluish green. “Do you call this eccentric? I’ve seen these bruises on you before. Amy, you have to face the truth.”

She laid her head on his shoulder, her soft lips brushed his cheek; she tightened her arms around him. When she spoke, he felt her hot breath on his neck. “Face the truth about what?”

“You have to get away from that… that ghost ranch. You have to face the truth for your own good, Amy. That old man, Willy Boyd, plays a game only he can win. He’s not your friend.”

Another deeper chill went through Eddie York as Amy stroked his face with her soft cold hands, all the while moving her body against his in time with the music. “The truth? You and I belong together. How could anything else really matter?”

The music stopped.

Eddie’s voice became husky with desire when he answered.

“But it does matter.” He touched her soft cheek with the back of his hand. “Please Amy, come with me, and put the ghosts that live on that ranch behind you along with your past. I think you deserve better, and I know I do. Go home and pack everything you want to take with you. I’ll pick you up later. I promise. Be ready when I get there.”

Eddie pulled a bill out of his pocket and laid it on the bar, took Amy’s hand in both of his and kissed the tips of her fingers. “I love you, Amy. I’m leaving this valley tonight. You can go with me if you want.”