A Deep and Dark December (25 page)

There was some murmuring and hard stares, but one by one, the neighbors all went back to their front porches and windows to watch the comings and goings at Keith’s house. When the last straggler finally wandered away, Graham rushed to his father’s side to help him sit down on the front step.

“You shouldn’t be here, Pop.”

“You should be thanking me, not scolding me. Where’s your respect?”

“Sorry, it’s just— ” Graham spotted his father’s car parked across the street. “You
drove
here?”

Ham pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and dabbed at his forehead. “I can drive just fine.”

But he couldn’t walk the four blocks from his house to Keith’s.

“Pop—” Graham started, then realized he had three deputies waiting for orders. “Deets, start the log. Smith, keep anyone who isn’t wearing a uniform out of this house. Send the coroner in when he gets here. Pax, with me.”

Ham struggled to his feet. Graham considered sending him home, but the firm set of his father’s mouth told him he’d better not even try. So, Graham helped him up the steps.

“You’re an observer,” he told Ham.

Ham waved him off. “No touching. Got it.”

They took off their hats and made their way into the house. Keith’s body was the same as Graham had left it. Now that he could examine the scene without an air raid siren screeching in his ear, Graham noticed a few things he hadn’t the first time he’d been in the room. Keith was missing a shoe. It lay a few feet away near the couch. A lamp had been knocked over, the shards of broken light bulb glimmered like strewn confetti across the hardwood floor.

The knot under Keith’s jaw pushed his head to the side. He looked just as polished, just as perfect in death as he had in real life. Erin had told Graham how upset Keith had been. How panicked and cornered he’d behaved when she’d confronted him about his affair with Deidre. Could Keith really have had something to do with Deidre’s death? Was the baby she’d been carrying his? Had he killed himself instead of owning up to his affair with Deidre?

More than anything, Graham wished he didn’t have to tell Erin about this on top of everything else she was dealing with.

Pax whistled. “That’s a long way up. How do you think he did that?”

“There’s no ladder,” Graham responded.

“Second floor balcony.” Pax nodded. “Why do you think he did it?”

“Could be because my son, the sheriff, is having…relations…with Keith Collins’ girlfriend.”

Pax’s gaze swiveled from Graham to Ham, then back again.

“Pop—”

“Is this true?” Pax asked.

Ham glared at his son.

Graham shifted his feet under the condemning stares of the two men he respected most in this suffocating small town. “They broke up.”

“You need to get your act together.” Ham pointed at Graham, his face mottled. “Unmarried. Cavorting with that…that December woman. Trash. All of them.”

“Don’t talk about her like that,” Graham warned, closing in on Ham.

“You’re jeopardizing your legacy. Our legacy.” Ham shook his head and wobbled a little. “I understand a man’s need, but find a woman of quality. Or find what you need outside of town.”

“I did what you wanted. I came back here and became sheriff. I’m not going to let you or anyone else tell me who to spend my time with.”

“Don’t you dare speak to me like that! You don’t tell me, I tell you.” The force of his statement sent Ham back a step. Graham reached for him, but Ham moved away, wiping a trembling hand over his mouth. “I may not be sheriff anymore, but I’m still your father.”

“Gentlemen—” Pax began.

Graham interrupted, “I care about her. And nothing you say will keep me away from her.”

“I won’t have a December bastard for a grandchild!” Stumbling, Ham came up against the doorway. He struggled for breath. Clutching his chest with both hands, his cane clattered to the floor.

“Pop!” Graham rushed to his father’s side. Pax helped Graham ease his father to the floor. “Call an ambulance,” Graham ordered.

“No.” Ham gripped the lapel of Graham’s jacket. “Promise me you’ll stop seeing her.”

“Pop, you’re sick. You need to go the hospital.”

“Promise me.”

The panic that squeezed Graham’s gut spread, constricting his lungs until he thought he’d vomit. He couldn’t do it. He’d done everything Ham had asked, but he couldn’t do this. Staring into his father’s eyes, he couldn’t lie to him either. “I’m sorry.”

Pax mumbled into his phone. Graham’s pulse thundered in his head. Outside, birds chirped, a dog barked. In the distance, the ocean rumbled low, a sound so constant it was white noise. Through it all, Ham’s words rang sharp as a bell though he only whispered. “You’re no longer my son.”

“You don’t… Pop…”

Ham turned his face away, releasing his grip on Graham.

“An ambulance is on its way,” Pax said.

Graham backed away, looking down at the man who’d been his hero his whole life. He’d done everything,
everything
his father ever asked of him. But it was never enough. Ham asked for more, always more.

Pax knelt down next to Ham and unbuttoned his collar. He was saying something to Ham, but all Graham could hear was the roar in his head
You’re no longer my son
.
No longer my son
…

“Graham.”

Pax’s voice broke through. How long had Pax been calling him? He slowly pulled his gaze from his father to look at Pax.

“He’s going to be fine. Don’t you worry,” Pax said.

“Sure.”

“Why don’t you go with him to the hospital? The guys and I can take care of things here.”

“Yeah. Okay.”

“Graham, I’m going to need to talk to you later. And Erin too. Get your statements. Your whereabouts. Considering everything. It’s just a formality.”

“Whatever.”

“He’s going to be fine,” Pax repeated.

Graham nodded, edging out of the room that suddenly felt overly hot and stifling. He broke out of the house as if he’d been forcibly expelled, running down the steps to his car. Carol still sat in the passenger seat with the door open.

“Go home,” he told her.

“But you said—”

“You can go.”

“All right.” She climbed out of the car, eying him warily. “Are you okay?”

He slammed the car door shut. “I’m fine.”

“What should I tell everyone at the store?”

“Tell them what you want. That’s what everyone else in this town does. Why should you do different?”

She gave him a look of hurt before she turned to walk down the hill back into town. He watched her go, guilt coating over the sickness in his stomach. He’d told her he was fine. He wasn’t. He wasn’t anything.

Who was he if he wasn’t Ham Doran’s son?

Erin watched the lines and numbers on the machine next to her aunt’s hospital bed, willing them to even out as her aunt’s heart rate spiked again. The sedation helped, but didn’t minimize the intermittent twitching and stiffening of Cerie’s body. She was worse than she’d been the day before.

Erin finished reading the last paragraph of the chapter in the book she’d found in her aunt’s purse, and set it aside. She’d attempted to reach out to her aunt mentally all morning, trying to soothe her, but she couldn’t seem to get past the barrier caused by the medication or whoever was manipulating Cerie’s ability. Reading the book aloud had been a futile act of desperation. She may as well have been reading to the wall. Erin rose and stretched. She sniffed back the tears that had been threatening to spill over every time she looked at her aunt’s still, pale form. She needed a walk, a change of scenery, something.

She came out of her aunt’s hospital room to find Graham leaning against the wall. Her pleasure at seeing him was quickly replaced by alarm at the look on his face. He pushed off the wall and without a word, wrapped his arms around her, burying his face in her neck.

“Graham, what’s wrong? What’s happened? Is it my dad?”

He pulled out of the embrace and smoothed her hair away from her face. “No. God, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“But something’s happened.”

“How’s your aunt?”

“They’ve put her in a medically induced coma. She’s… What’s wrong?”

“Not here.”

He took her hand and led her down the hall. She thought he’d take her to a quiet hallway or waiting room, but they turned a corner, then another to a room marked
Private
. He towed her into the room, closing and locking the door behind them. Backing her up against the door, he pressed his body to hers and kissed her. He smelled like the outdoors, breathing in his scent, her body responded. His desire fueled hers. She kissed him back with equal fervor as though there wasn’t enough time, enough skin on skin, enough of anything to ease the restless wanting.

She didn’t understand what was happening or why. Even if she wanted to, there was no time. He already had her bra undone, his mouth moving down her neck. She tilted her head back as he slid a leg between hers, pressing hard against her.

“I need you,” he whispered, his voice hoarse and pleading, his hand bunching up her skirt.

She plunged her hands into his hair and brought his mouth back to hers. She was on fire, burning with a need that seemed to rise with his. Her thoughts fled, scattering to the wind at the feel of his hand there, just there. She welcomed the oblivion, falling further under his spell. She squeezed her eyes closed, heightening the sensations that barreled into her. There was only him, the feel of him and a need so consuming she forgot where she was. He was everywhere and yet not where she needed him most.

He pulled her panties aside, pushed one finger in, glided out, and replaced it with two. She slid down the door, her legs widening. He caught her around the waist, covering her mouth with his to silence her cries. He stroked her until she clutched at him, desperate for the feel of him inside her, filling her. And then he was there, pushing into her, gliding deep. He held onto her, driving into her, his tongue mimicking his thrusts.

She came hard, her scream muffled by his mouth. He pushed her down onto him as he hit deep. Burying his face in her neck, he shuddered, groaning as his orgasm slammed into him. Pinned to the door by his body, she went slack, her body quaking in the aftermath. She struggled to even her breathing, loose limbed and completely spent. He kissed the side of her neck, her jaw, then her mouth. Gentle open-mouthed kisses. Cradling her face in his hands, he set his forehead to hers.

“I’m sorry.” His words whispered across her lips.

It took her a moment to make out what he was trying to say. “You’re sorry?”

He pulled out of her and lowered her to the floor. Brushing the backs of his fingers over her cheek, he looked like he regretted what they’d just done. “This wasn’t… I didn’t come here for this. I’m sorry.”

She adjusted her underwear and smoothed down her skirt. He watched her movements as he, too, righted his clothing.

“What did you come here for?” she asked, afraid of the look in his eyes. She didn’t know if she could take any more bad news.

“Let’s sit down.” He put his arm around her shoulder and led her to a small leather couch. He sat close, his arm still around her and reached for her other hand. “I have to tell you something.”

“Just say it.”

“Keith’s dead.”

She jerked as if he’d hit her. Keith…dead. “What? How…”

“Suicide.”

She tried to bolt, but he held onto her. “No.” She shook her head, unable to wrap her mind around what Graham was saying now. Something about hanging. “He wouldn’t. He just wouldn’t. Not Keith. No.” She pushed at his hands, fought to get free. He released her and she bounded off the couch. “I don’t believe you.” She turned back to him and could see it written across his face as though he was seeing a scene she couldn’t. “I don’t believe you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying that!”

He stood up. “Keep your voice down.”

“You didn’t care about that when you were shoving my skirt up.”