Covet (Sinful Secrets 3)

“You look horrid. Do I?”

“Oh yeah.” I ignore the sudden dip of my stomach and smile back at her. “Like something the cat dragged in.”

That makes her giggle. “We need baths.”

We don’t try to go over the peak where all the rock fell. Instead we move through the valley toward the ocean, toward the Patches. Toward the road where I’m hoping the SUV I drove here will be waiting. When we round the peak’s grassy side, the ocean’s surface flashes brightly, making my heart beat off-rhythm.

Finley’s hand finds mine. Our fingers intertwine. “You need a rest…in bed.”

“I’m cool.”

Her sad smile says she sees through me. By the time we reach the Land Rover, my legs are shaking.

She reclines my seat, hands me some water. The cap’s off, but I don’t notice till it spills on my lap.

“Blimey…”

My head aches. My stomach feels somehow both sick and hollow.

“When we get to town, they’ll likely crowd the Land Rover. I’ll lock the doors and only open mine. I’ll get out and explain. I believe I’ll tell them you’ve got a concussion. Perhaps a cracked rib. If you’d like, we’ll drive directly to the clinic.”

I shake my head lightly, try to get my rubber mouth to form words. “Not there,” I whisper.

I fall through silence as our tires bump over gravel.

“Okay,” she says. “Gammy’s house, and I can bring what you need.”

I try to stay awake, so I can listen if she wants to share more thoughts as she drives toward the village. But I guess I fail. When I open my eyes next, I see a sea of faces through the windows. Finley’s chair is empty. I can’t find the energy to lift my head again.

Sometime later, I feel her move back inside the car.

“How are you?” she murmurs.

“Okay. You?”

Everything is shaking with the tires over the road, and I feel fucking sick. The car stops, and I crack my eyes open, finding she’s parked right by the house’s door. She has it held open when I get to the porch.

“There now…come on in.”

She takes my arm. I let her. The house smells like lemons, and my head hurts really bad.

I can’t follow her voice, but I know it’s nice and soft.

The bed she urges me into is even softer.

“That’s right…let me cover you up.”

From somewhere that feels like a dream, I hear a phone ring. Not a cell phone.

“Someone’s calling. I’ll be right back, Sailor.”

The next time I open my eyes, dawn glows through the pale curtains, and I’m alone.

Twenty-One

Finley

I didn’t realize until after Gammy passed, but she began work on Mummy’s wedding gown the week after Charles Carnegie departed. I know only because I treasured the gown dearly and was therefore quite familiar with its look and stitching. I found Gammy’s design sketches tucked into The Grapes of Wrath after we tucked her into her grassy resting place. The date was scrawled up top in her angular pen.