Webb staggered to his feet, still holding the gun.
"Brock," he said in a low, harsh voice.
"Move. 91 Brock scrambled away from Neeley.
Webb's face was cold, and Neeley must have read his death there. He tried to surge upward, reaching for the gun, and Webb pulled the trigger.
Shades ol-I'wilight At almost point blank range, one shot was all he needed. The reverberation faded away, and in the distance he could hear the faint wail of sirens.
Lucinda was trying feebly to sit up. Roanna helped her, bracing the old woman with her own body. Lucinda was gasping for breath, her color absolutely gray as she pressed her hand to her chest.
"He-he was her father," she gasped desperately, reaching out to Webb, trying to make him understand.
"I couldn't-I couldn't let her h-have that baby." She choked and grimaced, pressing harder on her chest with her other hand. She collapsed back against Roanna, her body going limp and sagging to the floor.
Webb looked around at his family, at the blood and destruction and grief. Over the groans of pain, the sobs, he said in a steely voice, "This stays in the family, do you understand? I'll do the talking. Neeley was Jessie's father. He thought I killed her, and he was out for revenge. That's it, do you understand? All of you, do you understand? No one knows who really killed Jessie."
They looked back at him, the survivors, and they understood. Lucinda's terrible secret remained just that, a secret.
Three days later, Roanna sat by Lucinda's bed in the cardiac intensive care unit, holding the old lady's hand and gently stroking it as she talked to her. Her grandmother had suffered a massive heart attack, and her body was already so frail that the doctors hadn't expected her to live through the night.
Roanna had been by her bedside all that night, whispering to her, telling her of the great-grandchild that was on its way, and despite all logic and medical knowledge, Lucinda had rallied. Roanna stayed until Webb had forced her to go home and rest, but was back as soon as he would, allow it.
They all marched to Webb's orders, the family closing ranks behind him. There was so much to get through that they were all numb. They had buried Corliss the day before. Greg was in intensive care in Birmingham. The bullet had clipped his spine and the doctors expected him to have some paralysis, but they thought he would be able to walk with the aid of a cane. Only time would tell.
Lanette was like a zombie, moving silently between her daughter's funeral and her husband's hospital bed. Gloria and Harlan were in almost the same state, shocked and bewildered. Brock handled the funeral arrangements and took care of the others, his good-looking face lined with grief and fatigue, but his fianede was at his side the entire time, and he took comfort from her.
Roanna looked up when Webb came into the small cubicle. Lucinda's eyes brightened when she saw him, then filmed with tears. It was the first time she had been awake when he'd been to visit. She groped for his hand, and he reached out to gently take her fingers in his.
"So sorry," she whispered, gasping for breath.
"I should have ... said something. I never meant for you ... to take the blame."
"I know," he murmured.
"I was so scared," she continued, determined to get it said now after all the years of silence.
"I went to your rooms ... after you left ... try to talk some sense into her. She was ... wild. Wouldn't listen. Said she was ... going to teach you ... a lesson." The confession came hard. She had to gasp for breath between every few words, and the effort was making perspiration shine on her face, but she focused her gaze on Webb's face and refused to rest.
"She said she would ... have Harper Neeley's baby ... and pass it off ... as yours. I couldn't ... let her do it. Knew who he was ... her own father ... abomination."
She drew a deep breath, shuddering with the effort. On her other side, Roanna held tightly to her hand.
"I told her ... no. Told her she had to ... get rid of it. Abortion. She laughed ... and I slapped her. She went wild ... knocked me down ... kicked me. I think ... trying to kill me. I got away ... picked up the andiron ... She came at me again. I hit her," she said, tears rolling down her face.
"I ... loved her," she said weakly, closing her eyes.
"But I couldn't ... let her have that baby."
There was a soft scraping sound at the sliding glass doors. Webb turned his head to see Booley standing there, his expression weary. He gave Booley a hard stare and turned back to Lucinda.
"I know," he murmured as he bent over her.
"I understand. You just get well now. You have to be at our wedding, or I'll be mighty disappointed, and I won't forgive you for that. " He glanced at Roanna. She too was staring at Booley, a cool look in those brown eyes that dared him to do or say anything that would upset Lucinda.
Booley jerked his head at Webb, indicating that he wanted to talk to him outside. Webb patted Lucinda's hand, carefully placed it on the bed, and joined the former sheriff.
Silently they walked out of the CICU and down the long hall, past the waiting room where relatives kept endless vigils. Booley glanced into the crowded room and continued strolling.
"Guess it all makes sense now," he finally said. Webb remained silent.
"No point in it going any further," Booley mused.
"Neeley's dead, and there wouldn't be any use in pressing any sort of charges against Lucinda. No evidence anyway, just the ramblings of a dying old woman. No point in stirring up a lot of talk, all for nothing."
"I appreciate it, Booley," said Webb.
The old man clapped him on the back and gave him a level, knowing look.
"It's over, son," he said.
"Get on with your life." Then he turned and walked slowly to the elevator, and Webb retraced his steps to the CICU. He knew what Booley had been telling him. Beshears hadn't asked too many questions about Neeley's death, had in fact skirted around some things that were fairly obvious.
Beshears had been around. He knew an execution when he saw one.
Webb quietly reentered the cubicle, where Roanna was once again talking softly to Lucinda, who seemed to be dozing. She looked up, and he felt his breath catch in his chest as he stared at her. He wanted to grab her in his arms and never let her go, because he had come so close to losing her. When she had explained about her confrontation with Neeley over his treatment of his horse, Webb's blood had run cold. It had been just after that when Neeley had broken into the house for the first time, and when Roanna walked up on him, he had to have thought she would recognize him. He would have killed her then, Webb was certain, if Roanna hadn't awakened enough to scream when Neeley hit her. His idea of putting it about that the concussion had caused her to lose her memory about that night, just as a precaution, had undoubtedly saved her life, because otherwise Neeley would have tried to get to her sooner, before Webb managed to have the alarm installed.
As it was, Neeley had been within a hair's breadth of settling that pistol sight on her, and that had signed his death warrant.
Webb went to her, gently touching her chestnut hair, stroking one finger down her cheek. She rested her head on him, sighing as she rubbed her cheek against his shirt. She knew. She had been watching. And as she had knelt beside Lucinda, when he had turned back to her after pulling the trigger, she had given him a tiny nod.
"She's asleep," Roanna said now, keeping her voice to a whisper.
"But she's going to come home again. I know it." She paused.
"I told her about the baby."
Webb knelt on the floor and put his arms around her, and she bent her head down to him, and he knew that he held his entire world there in his arms.
Their wedding was very quiet, very small, and took place over a month later than they had originally planned.
It was held in the garden, just after sunset. The gentle shades of twilight lay softly over the land. Peach lights glowed in the arbor where Webb waited beside the minister.
A few rows of white chairs had been set up on each side of
the aisle, and every face was turned toward Roanna as she walked down the carpet laid out on the grass. Every face was beaming.
Greg and Lanette sat in the first row; Greg was in a wheelchair, but his prognosis was good. With physical therapy, the doctors said, he would likely regain most of the use of his left leg, though he would always limp. Lanette had cared for her husband with a fierce devotion that refused to let him give up, even when his grief over Corliss had almost defeated him.
Gloria and Harlan were also in the first row, both of them looking much older as they held hands, but they too were smiling.
Brock pushed Lucinda's wheelchair to keep pace with Roanna's stately stride. Lucinda was dressed in her favorite peach, and she wore her pearls and makeup. She smiled at everyone as they passed. Her frail, gnarled fingers were linked with the slender ones of her granddaughter, and they went together up the aisle, just as Roanna had wanted.
They reached the arbor and Webb reached out for Roanna's hand, drawing her to his side. Brock positioned Lucinda's wheelchair so that she was in the traditional place as matron of honor, then took up his own position as best man.
Webb's gaze briefly met Lucinda's. There was a serene, almost translucent quality to her. The doctors had said she wouldn't have long, but she had confounded them once again, and it was beginning to look as if she might make it through the winter after all. She was saying now that she wanted to wait until she knew if her great-grandchild was a boy or a girl. Roanna had immediately stated that she had no intention of letting the doctor or ultrasound technician tell her the baby's sex before its birth, and Lucinda had laughed.
Forgive me, she had said, and he had. He couldn't hold on to anger, to hurt, when he had so much to look forward to. Roanna turned her radiant face up to him, and he almost kissed her right then, before the ceremony even started.
"Woof," he whispered, so low that only she could hear him, and he felt her stifle a giggle at what had turned into their private code for "I want you."
She smiled more readily these days. He'd lost count, at least in his mind. His heart still noted each and every curve of her lips.
Their fingers twined together, and he lost himself in her whiskey-colored eyes as the words began, washing over them in the soft purple twilight: "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here together ..