Authors: Becki Willis
A few minutes later, Charity turned back to the others with a
warbling smile. “Help should be here shortly. They’ll send an ambulance and the
state police.” Noting Gavin’s ashen color, she suggested, “Mr. Danbury, maybe you
should sit down.”
He remained on his feet as he looked her directly in the eye.
“Charity, I’m sorry I doubted you. I was wrong.”
She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that
everyone is alive and okay.” Her eyes darted to the Frenchman. “And that he can
never hurt you again,” she added.
“Could you get Lynnie’s chair?” Gavin asked. With the apology
out of the way and the adrenaline of the moment fading, so was his strength. He
took a heavy seat beside his wife.
Charity found the chair where Tarn had left it, just outside
the dining room door.
“I just need my air,” Lynnie panted. “Then we’re opening the
box.”
“That can wait,” her husband chided. “You need to rest.”
“No,” Lynnie said stubbornly. “The police will take the box away,
but I want to know what’s inside. I think I’ve earned that right.”
Tarn still held a gun on the unconscious criminal. Gavin was
temporarily incapacitated. Lynnie’s hands were crippled and weak, and too unsteady
to function.
Charity opened the box from Kingdom Parcel. Her fingers trembled
with the responsibility. She carefully worked the ends free, leaving as much of
the wrappings intact as possible. She knew all about preserving fingerprints and
trace evidence; she watched the CSI shows, after all.
“The other box was filled with money,” she said, as much to herself
as to her audience. As always, she talked to soothe her nerves. “It’s now scattered
all over Danbury Mountain, floating around on a good, stiff wind. O’Reilly thinks
it’s a game. If Harold had finished his rounds that day, no doubt the money would
have been stuffed inside one of Beecher’s repaired vehicles and dispersed to the
unsuspecting public.” When her fingers fumbled on a piece of tape, she laughed at
herself. “I’m nervous,” she confessed.
Charity tugged the box open and gave a cry of surprise. With
unsteady hands, she pulled the bottle of liquid from the box. “So
that’s
what sloshed around inside! I nearly drove myself insane, trying to think what it
could be. But even in my wildest scenarios, I never suspected toner for an illegal
printing press!”
Beneath the toner, wrapped with care in a bundle of newspaper,
she caught the twinkle of steel. “These are the real thing,” she whispered in awe.
Her finger traced along the heavy groves of a twenty-dollar bill’s imprint. “True
printing plates.” There was another set beneath this one, for the
hundred-dollar bill.
Tarn left Galano’s inert form long enough to peer over Charity’s
shoulder. “Back when counterfeiters used real presses, not ink-jet printers,” he
mused.
After a cursory glance at the contents, Gavin gave a disdainful
snort. “That one box has caused a world of misery.”
“No,” Lynnie corrected softly. Her breathing — and her color
— had already improved with the aid of more oxygen. “It wasn’t the box. It was the
evil and greedy men like Debarge and Galano.”
“And look where it got him,” Charity murmured, glancing over
at the pathetic man curled on the floor. His manhood was a bloodied mess, his skin
a deathly shade of pale. No doubt, he would spend the rest of his miserable life
in prison. She turned away from the sight. “So many lives ruined,” she whispered
in rue. “His. Harold’s. Aunt Nell’s. And yours.” She looked at Lynnie, admiration
in her eyes. “You are such a strong, brave woman. You endured so much, yet you survived.”
The wail of a siren penetrated the mountain air, adding a mournful
wisdom to Evelyn Danbury’s words. “My life was not ruined, Charity. Altered, yes.
But I never lost what mattered the most. I never lost my family.” She managed a
pleased smile as she took in the sight of Tarn and Charity, his hand sure upon the
young woman’s waist. “And it appears something good has come from this pilfered
box, after all. It brought you here to us. Once again, true love proves more powerful
than greed.”
His parents were watching. A criminal lay unconscious at their
feet. The sirens came closer, a deafening intrusion upon their tender moment.
When Charity turned into Tarn’s embrace, none of that mattered.
Charity wrapped both hands round Tarn’s arm as their feet led
them in no particular direction. She couldn’t help but notice that many of the trees
they passed among had trunks smaller than the bicep she hugged. Only the oldest
among the hardwoods had breadths greater than his chest. She smiled, thinking that
her Tarn was as sturdy and strong as the forest they traipsed through.
Her Tarn.
Sometimes they talked. Sometimes they walked in silence.
“I like your brothers,” Charity told him at one point.
“They liked you, too,” he informed her. Both of his brothers
and their wives had converged upon the farmhouse within minutes of the ambulance’s
arrival. Next came the state police and a barrage of questions, complete with investigators,
reporters, and most of their neighbors.
“Brenton is two years younger than you and married to... Annette.
Is that right?”
“And Jake, the youngest, is married to Debbie,” he clarified.
“So how is it that you, the eldest, managed to remain single
all these years?”
He pressed his arm to his side, capturing her hands in the process.
“Waiting for the right woman.”
His low answer thrilled her, putting an extra bounce into her
step. They walked on in companionable silence, until she spoke again. “I’m glad
the truth has finally come out about Kingdom Parcel. Even if it turns out Harold
was guilty of some of the illegal activity, at least his name will be cleared of
suicide.”
“I don’t think Harold Tillman was guilty. We found all those
bits of paper and scribbled notes in the back of your aunt’s photograph, right
where Ma said they would be. He was trying to gather evidence against his
partners.”
“I wonder if he would have ever gone through with it,
though. After all, he was so easily manipulated. A little praise here and there,
and they could lead him around by his inflated ego.”
Tarn shrugged a beefy shoulder. “Some folks are like that.”
“At least they took the clothes. Back then, I guess they didn’t
know to check for DNA and GSR and whatnot. I don’t care what they do with them now,
just as long as I never have to see them again.”
“Guess your aunt knew what she was doing, hanging onto them all
these years.”
“I guess, but I still say it was weird.” She shivered at the
thought of sleeping in the same room with such a horrific reminder. “I know there
will be more questions, more statements, especially when Galano’s trial comes up.
I’m just glad to have the boxes gone and to know what really happened. I’m especially
thankful that your father is going to be all right.”
“He’s tough. Apparently so is his skin.” The gunshot turned out
to be superficial, grazing his skin without doing any permanent damage.
“I guess it had to be, with all the rumors through the years.
I’m so sorry your parents had to go through that, but at least now the truth will
be known.”
“Makes me want to close down every one of our stores and tell
folks they can shove it up their a- apple trees.” He quickly amended his gruff sentiment.
His brothers’ responses had been much more graphic. “Do you know how many people
we employ? The Dan stores are a huge part of the economy up here. I can’t believe
our own community, our own so-called friends, would spread rumors like that about
my parents.”
“I was so busy chasing all over the countryside, I never realized
I was traveling in such a small circle. On the map, the towns looked so much further
away,” Charity mumbled. “I never realized these were basically local places, local
stores, local people. And speaking of the Dan stores… Why didn’t you
tell
me your family owned them?” She rounded on him, punching a finger into his chest.
“First, I thought you were a worker there, someone just stocking the shelves. Then
I decided you were a supplier, working for one of the companies who made the syrup.
I had no idea you were one of the owners! Of both the sugarworks
and
the
store, no less!”
“Would it have made a difference?”
A thought occurred to her out of nowhere. “Oh. Oh, oh, oh,” she
said excitedly. “Now I can find out the name of that artist, the one who made my
carved bird. Maybe he has a website or Facebook page where I can follow his work.
Do you know his name and how I can get in touch with him?”
“Maybe,” Tarn said slowly. “You see… the thing is…”
“What? Why do you look so-” She broke off mid-sentence, suspicious
when she saw the faint stain of color appear in his cheeks. “You?” she gasped, drawing
out the word. “You made that?”
“Uhm… yeah.” There was no need to pretend otherwise.
During her three-minute rant, Charity did everything from chide
him on his modesty and underhanded sneakiness, to regale him for his talent and
unique ability to create art out of a chunk of wood. She came full circle with her
final remarks. “I may or may not forgive you for keeping it a secret from me, but
the fact is I absolutely love my little bird. It’s perfect!”
“Are you finished?” he asked, caught somewhere between amusement
and irritation.
Charity ran the one-sided conversation back through her head.
“Did I mention you should have told me you were the artist from the very start?”
“Yes.”
“Did I mention how talented you are and how you should open your
own studio, making everything from small carvings to full-sized furniture?”
“Yes.”
“Then yes, I’m finished now. Thank you for asking.” She snubbed
her nose into the air.
“Good. Hard to kiss you when you’re talking.”
Her head shot back around. “Oh. Then I’ll definitely quit t
–” His mouth came down on hers before she could finish her sentence.
After a very thorough kiss, they resumed their walk. Charity’s
phone binged as they reached the edge of the trees. She glanced down to see who
messaged her.
“Your stepsister again?” he guessed. “Does she have some sort
of radar to detect when you’re alone in the woods with a man?”
Charity giggled. “If there was such a precaution, Tanya would
have one. But this is GoGo.”
“What’s a go-go?”
“Not what, who. She’s my best friend, even though technically
we’ve never even met.” Seeing his skeptical expression, she was quick to inform
him, “She thinks you’re my Prince Charming.”
Tarn stroked his beard, pretending thoughtful deliberation. “I
like this GoGo,” he decided. “Go ahead. Answer.”
“You don’t mind?”
“Need to check on something in the shed,” he said. He dropped
a kiss onto her lips. “And tell her not to worry; you get good service here at the
house. Even this winter, you’ll be able to e-talk all you want.”
“Even with the snow?”
“Have our own generator,” he assured her.
Were they really having this conversation, making plans for her
to still be here this winter?
Yes we are,
her heart answered happily. As
crazy as it seemed, there was no place she would rather be.
“I’ll meet you back at the house,” Charity said, lifting her
face. It seemed so natural, asking for his kiss.
“I’ll grill steaks for dinner,” he offered. “You do eat steak,
right?”
“Don’t I look like a girl who eats steaks?” Charity smirked.
“Is that a trick question?” he asked warily, caution in his eyes.
“How would that be a trick?”
“Not sure. Might turn out like the moose comment.”
Charity laughed. “I happen to love a good steak. And the baked
potato that goes with it, loaded with cheese and butter and lots of sour cream.”
“So you really are a keeper.” He dropped a kiss on her nose and
released her.
She watched him walk away, loving the way he carried his huge
frame with confidence. Here on his mountain, he was in his element. Some men his
size would be uncomfortable in their own skin, awkward in their movements, but not
Tarn, not when he walked in his beloved woods. Despite his considerable bulk, he
moved with a certain grace. She loved to watch him move.
Then again, Charity loved most everything about her mountain
man.
As soon as he was out of sight, she began typing on her phone.
It’s what you said. Fate. Soul mates. Love at first sight.
I have found my Prince Charming. I, my friend, am in love!
Like a giddy teenager, Charity giggled and pressed ‘send’.
***
They had their steaks and baked potatoes outside on the patio.
They ate by the light of a sizzling fire, as daylight melted
into the shadows of the nearby forest. The fire kept the nighttime chill at bay,
aided by spiked mulled cider and the warmth of each other’s gaze. By the time Charity
surprised him with brownies, neither noticed the chill.
“Perfect,” Tarn pronounced as he finished his dessert. His large
body sprawled across a sturdy chaise lounge as he contemplated the overhead stars.
“Or almost.” He reached out to pull her down beside him. “Now it’s perfect.”
“Will this thing hold both of us?” she giggled.
“If not, we fall together.” The double meaning was not lost upon
her. He tugged her to his side, so that she was half beside him, half atop him.
“Charity,” he breathed, sinking his hand into her long hair and pulling her face
close. He kissed her deeply, tasting of chocolate, mulled cider, and the lingering
trace of maple. She suspected it ran through the man’s blood.
She settled against him as they studied the overhead sky.
“The stars are so much brighter here,” she murmured, idly tracing
a pattern upon the broad canvas of his chest. She loved the feel of him beneath
her open palm.
“You might not think so this winter,” he warned.
“It snows a lot?”
“Feet at a time. Some days we’ll be snowbound.”
“That doesn’t sound so bad,” she dared to whisper.
He looked down at her, his gray eyes darkening. “We barely know
each other. Yet you know me so well. It’s like our souls have been acquainted for
years.” His voice was a study in dark maple sweetness. “Winter’s here are rough,
Charity, I won’t lie to you. Sugar season is crazy, when the days warm and the sap
begins to flow. I’ll spend days at a time at the sugarhouse, boiling syrup. Mud
season is a total mess. Summer goes by quickly, fall is crowded by tourists. And
then the snow sets in again.”
Her heart stuttered painfully. “Are you-Are you trying to scare
me away?”
“No, but I want you to know what you’re getting yourself into.”
She gazed into his eyes, the gray depths lit by the flicker of
the fire and the light within. “I know what I’m getting into, Tarn,” she said softly.
“So you’ll stay?”
“Yes.”
His arms tightened around her. “You want to get married before
sugar season, or after?”
The casual question sent her heart racing, but she tried to sound
as nonchalant as he did. “I guess during is not an option?” she teased.
“Not if you want a honeymoon,” he returned.
“Oh, I want a honeymoon,” she told him, her voice turning husky.
“Whether or not we leave the house is up to you.”
Tarn drew in a sharp breath. He pulled her ever closer. “There
will definitely be a honeymoon,” his deep voice rumbled in assurance.
Suddenly shy, Charity dropped his gaze. “I-I don’t have much
experience, Tarn,” she whispered.
“Neither do I.”
“In case you haven’t noticed, I don’t have a model’s figure.”
“Me, either.” He put his finger beneath her chin and forced her
to meet his gaze. There was honesty in his eyes, and just a touch of his own nerves.
It occurred to her that he might be as self-conscious as she was. “Neither of us
is perfect, Charity. But we’re perfect for each other.”
Her face lit with a smile. “I think maybe we are.”
She saw him smile in return. It was more than a hike in his bushy
mustache, more than a part within his beard. It was a full-out, white toothy smile,
and it was breathtaking in its intensity. Like his eyes, his smile was beautiful.
“I know we are,” he said with confidence.
“I love your voice,” Charity murmured. “It’s like the richest,
darkest, most delicious syrup ever created.”
“I love everything about you,” he returned, his hands impatiently
moving over her body. Her pulse raced at his touch. “You, Charity,” he gurgled,
rubbing his beard along the side of her face. “I love you,” he breathed.
Already a puddle of need, she sank her fingers into his curly
hair and made certain he could not escape, should the notion even cross his mind.
“I love you, too, Tarn Danbury,” Charity said into his kiss. “I’d marry you yesterday,
if I had the chance.”
“I can give you tomorrow,” he murmured. When his hand moved over
the swell of her full hip, she felt dainty and feminine. She felt like the most
desirable woman in the world; and she was, for her world consisted solely of this
man. The deep sweetness of Tarn’s voice poured over her with delicious promise.
“Thousands of tomorrows, my sweet Charity.”