The Return. Dinah McCall

      The woman paused, then turned.

      “What’s your name, girl?” Lovie asked.

      The woman’s chin tilted, and in that moment, both Nellie and Lovie felt the fire of her glare.

      “Catherine Fane.”

      Lovie paled. “Even in death,” she muttered cryptically, then sank into a nearby chair.

      Nellie gasped. “The witch’s kin!”

      Catherine was so angry she was shaking. “You people are a bunch of superstitious fools. If you’d known Annie Fane, you wouldn’t be accusing her of such a thing.” Then she pointed straight at Lovie’s face. “And with or without your help, Annie Fane’s last wishes are going to be fulfilled.”

      The door slammed behind her, leaving the two women alone.

      “We’re doomed,” Nellie muttered. “The witch has come back to Camarune.”

      “Just shut up,” Lovie said. “The woman’s dead.”

      “And so is Henry’s dog,” Nellie said. “God only knows who’ll be next. I told you something wasn’t right today. I told you, didn’t I?” she said.

      Lovie had more things on her mind than Nellie’s predilection for prophecies. But Nellie wasn’t about to be silenced. Not when she’d just been proven right.

      “Yessiree, I knew something bad was going to happen today.”

      As if the last few minutes had not been enough to prove her right, a loud crack of thunder rattled the grocery store windows, and then it started to rain.

      

      After a few brief words to the driver of the hearse, Catherine slid behind the wheel of her car and then sat, trying to regain her composure. The last few days had been nothing short of hell. Facing her grandmother’s death had been inevitable. The cancer had been eating at her body for over a year. But the deathbed confession of the woman she loved had destroyed what was left of her world.

      She closed her eyes, picturing her grandmother’s face and then remembering the words that had shattered her soul.

      She was no relation to Annie Fane. After that, she’d absorbed only bits and pieces of what Annie had been trying to say.

      Feuding families.

      Forbidden love.

      Lies.

      Murder.

      She took a deep, shuddering breath. Alone. She was so alone. Her past was a lie. No, she thought, not everything she’d been told was a lie. Her parents were dead, after all, just not in the romantic fashion she’d been led to believe. So they hadn’t died in a train crash in each other’s arms. So in reality her grandfather had caused her mother’s death, as well as his own son’s. The urge to scream was overwhelming. Dear God, if all that was true, then what did that make her? What sort of monster’s blood ran through her veins?

      A loud crack of thunder made her jump. Seconds later, the heavens opened, diluting her view of the store and the two women staring at her from behind the dusty windows. Well, she thought, wryly, at least one side of the glass was about to come clean.

      She started the car, then turned on the windshield wipers before pulling away from the curb. The intensity of her anger was making her sick to her stomach. She needed to cry, but she was afraid if she started, all she would do was throw up. And, she reminded herself, she wasn’t taking the word of anybody who dared to call her grannie a witch. Maybe the man named Maynard would help her, after all.

      She found the place easily and parked, noting several large pickup trucks parked about the station. Surely one of these men would be willing to earn a little extra money. Without giving herself time to think, she got out on the run, dashing through the rain to the door.

      

      Luke DePriest was downing the last of his Coke when the door to Maynard’s Gas and Guzzle suddenly flew open and a young woman rushed in. He had a brief glimpse of her face—enough to know she was a stranger—and then she was past him, heading toward the counter and the other three men lounging there. He set the empty Coke can on the windowsill and waited, curious as to her intent.

      “I need to hire someone with a truck to carry something up the mountain for me,” she said.

      Luke watched all three men come to attention. Extra money was hard to come by in these parts. He took a step closer, curiosity overcoming manners.

      Maynard Phillips figured since this was his store, it was his right to get first dibs. He braced himself against the counter and offered her a grin.

      “Well now, Missy, I’ve got the newest and best truck in these parts. I reckon I can help you out. Exactly what is it you’re needing hauled?”

      The woman’s answer startled everyone, including Luke.

      “A casket,” she said. “I’m taking my grandmother’s body up the mountain to her home place to be buried, and the hearse can’t make the trip.”

      The smile on Maynard’s face slipped a bit, but Luke had to give him credit for maintaining it.

      “I can’t say as how I’ve ever hauled me a dead body before,” Maynard said, then peered out the window, his eyes widening as he saw the long black hearse parked down the street. “However, I don’t suppose it’d do no harm.”

      Luke saw her shoulders sag with relief.

      “That’s wonderful,” she said softly. “I’ll go tell the driver.”

      As she started to turn, Luke caught a glimpse of her profile. Raindrops clung to the tips of her eyelashes, shimmering like tears, and her lower lip was on the verge of quivering, too. She looked as if she was running on guts alone, and he wondered how far she’d traveled to get to Camarune.

      “Say, Missy,” Maynard called. “I reckon I should ask exactly how far up the mountain you’re needing to go? The roads get slick pretty fast in a rain.”

      She paused, and Luke saw her worry her lower lip before answering.

      “About a quarter of a mile above a place called Pulpit Rock.”

      Maynard frowned. “I think you’ve got your directions confused. There ain’t nothing up there.”

      Then one of the other men interrupted. “Just the old witch’s cabin.”

      The woman’s posture stiffened, and Luke could tell by the tone of her voice she’d been offended by what they’d said.

      “I’m offering one hundred dollars to drive less than four miles. Are you going to help me?”

      “Are you saying that’s where you’re going?” Maynard asked.

      “Yes.”

      Maynard’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t recall your mention of the deceased’s name.”

      This time there was no mistaking the tension in the woman’s shoulders.

      “My grandmother, Annie Fane.”

      Luke winced. He hadn’t grown up here, but he knew the name, and he knew damned good and well that none of these men would go up that mountain with Annie Fane’s body in the back of their truck.

      Maynard took off his cap and swiped a hand through his hair, then jammed it back on his head.

      “I’m sorry, Missy, but I can’t help you after all.”

      When the young woman’s chin began to quiver, Luke sighed. Damn. He never could stand to see a woman cry.

      “I have to get my grandmother’s casket up the mountain to be buried. Are you saying you don’t want the job?”

      “Yes, ma’am, I reckon I am,” Maynard said.