If Looks Could Kill. BEVERLY BARTON

Sloan slid his arm around his wife’s waist, leaned down and kissed her on the mouth. Reve glanced away, somehow feeling as if she was a voyeur. Her line of vision just happened to turn to Jazzy, who was in the middle of an equally loving exchange with Caleb. Reve’s cheeks burned with an embarrassing blush.

      Don’t be ridiculous, she told herself, you have nothing to be embarrassed about and you know it. If people chose to make spectacles of themselves, she was hardly to blame. Not once had she ever seen her parents kiss each other. They considered such public displays of affection vulgar and low class.

      With shaky hands, Reve placed the halved boiled egg whites in a circle on the plate, deliberately avoiding making eye contact with anyone else in the room.

      “You’ll never guess in a million years who called and invited Reve and me to dinner tomorrow,” Jazzy said.

      “My grandmother,” Caleb responded.

      “You did it, didn’t you? Somehow you twisted her arm into—”

      “Didn’t do any arm-twisting,” Caleb said. “I simply told Miss Reba that I loved you and intended to marry you and it would please me greatly if you two could get along.”

      “You actually said that to her?”

      “Sure did. And I mentioned that I’d hate to think she’d force me to choose between the woman I loved and my grandmother because I’d choose the woman I loved.”

      Reve glanced up just in time to see Jazzy throw her arms around Caleb’s neck and kiss him again.

      “You’re the most wonderful man in the world,” Jazzy told him.

      “Then why don’t you accept my proposal? Say you’ll marry me.”

      Jazzy pulled away from him, but held on to both of his hands. With tears misting her eyes, she looked right at him and said, “I’ll marry you.”

      “Glory hallelujah.” Genny clasped her hands together in a prayer-like gesture.

      Reve grew more uncomfortable with each passing minute. She should never have agreed to come here with Jazzy today. It had been a mistake from the very beginning. These people were little more than strangers to her, and yet here she was, not only helping prepare a meal they would soon share, but being privy to a marriage proposal and acceptance.

      These two couples were close friends. She was an outsider who was unaccustomed to feeling out of place. Even if she and Jazzy were twin sisters, she doubted she’d ever be able to fit into Jazzy’s world. No more than Jazzy could fit into hers.

      While the foursome were sharing this happy moment, Reve eased toward the back door. She could hardly escape and go back into town to her rental cabin, considering she’d ridden out here with Jazzy. Besides, none of them would understand why she felt so uncomfortable around them. But she needed a few moments alone, to compose her thoughts. She could step out on the back porch. Just for a couple of minutes. Several deep breaths of cool evening air might do her nerves a world of good. She seriously doubted anyone would miss her, at least not immediately.

      Reaching the door without being noticed, Reve grasped the knob. Just as she opened the door and took her first step, she came face-to-throat with a wide-shouldered man wearing a brown suede jacket. Her heart all but stopped when she lifted her gaze and looked into the slanting green eyes of her worst nightmare—Sheriff Jacob Butler.

      Chapter 7

      When his father left the country club to drive home shortly after six, Brian had told him that he wouldn’t be in until late. And when Farlan had asked—hopefully—if he had a date, Brian had smiled and said yes, but that it was a first date and he preferred keeping the lady’s identity to himself in case things didn’t work out between them. It was far from the first lie he’d told his father, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. Lying had become second nature to him. Sometimes he thought it easier to fabricate a lie than to tell the truth. Besides, what did his father expect after the example he’d set? Both of Brian’s parents were adept liars and apparently felt little or no guilt when they didn’t tell the truth. He’d been a kid, barely twelve, when he’d discovered that his beloved father, his idol, had feet of clay. And although he’d always adored his mother and, in a way, still did, he’d known since childhood that she was emotionally unstable.

      Here he was, at forty-two, still living with his parents. He’d tried living on his own, during his years away at college and during his brief marriage to Phyllis, but he preferred the family residence in the heart of Cherokee Pointe. The MacKinnon mansion made a statement. It shouted, “The people who live here are rich and powerful and important.” He enjoyed being a MacKinnon, with all that entailed. And someday the entire family fortune would be his and his alone. If his nutty Uncle Wallace outlived Veda and Farlan, he’d have the old man put away somewhere. A nice facility where he’d be taken good care of, but where he’d be out of Brian’s hair. His uncle had been an embarrassment to him all his life, but neither of his parents would hear of institutionalizing him. His father truly loved his only brother, but he suspected his mother’s concern for her brother-inlaw was more self-serving. After all, she had to know that on any given day, she, too, might be a candidate for the looney bin.

      His parents had made it perfectly clear to him that they expected him to remarry and sire at least one child, to provide the family with a MacKinnon heir. Although he seriously doubted he could endure the dullness of a monogamous relationship for more than a few months, he realized he needed to get married. A man in his position should have a family. Otherwise, people talked. They wondered about his sexual orientation. And they whispered that maybe his first wife had broken his heart so badly that he could never love again. Some probably even speculated that he’d been too much of a mama’s boy growing up to be able to completely sever her apron strings.

      What did he care? Let the tongues wag. For now. When he did remarry, that would shut them all up fast enough. And he would get married again. It was just a matter of time. He’d thought he had found the perfect woman to be his wife. Genny Madoc. Lovely beyond words. Gentle and kind. And she’d been a virgin. He’d courted her, turned himself inside out to please her, and yet the minute that burly blond FBI agent had shown up in Cherokee County, Genny had proven herself to be no different from most other women. She’d given her precious innocence to a man unworthy of her, a man who could never have appreciated the priceless gift the way Brian would have.

      Even now the thought of tutoring Genny in the ways to please him aroused him unbearably.

      Brian had driven his Porche this afternoon, not only to impress Wade Truman, but because he had known he’d be picking up a companion for the evening. Ladies—and he used the term loosely—always appreciated riding in an expensive car. He’d never used a local prostitute before and even now, on his way to pick up his “date,” he felt uneasy. What if someone saw him with this woman? How would he ever explain? When the need to be with a woman drove him hard, he usually made a trip to Knoxville, but he’d been assured by Mr. Timmons that the girl he was sending Brian tonight would fulfill all his fantasies. All he required in a woman was that she be agreeable to a little S&M.

      Farlan didn’t want to go home. His life had reached that sad state where he’d rather be anywhere than with his own wife. If the guilt of a long-ago indiscretion hadn’t weighed heavily on his shoulders—a love affair with another woman that had pushed his unstable wife over the edge—he would have sought a divorce twenty years ago. But Veda had never completely recovered from the nervous breakdown she had suffered when she found out about his mistress. She had gone so far as to try to kill herself and threatened to try again if Farlan ever left her. Since then he’d been shackled to her with a ball and chain formed out of guilt and regret.

      Poor Brian had been only twelve at the time Veda tried to commit suicide, and Farlan would never forgive himself for the upheaval he and Veda had created in their son’s young life. After Veda’s botched suicide attempt, Brian had become unruly and occasionally violent. But when Farlan had mentioned seeking psychiatric help for both his wife and his son, Veda had gone berserk, saying she’d rather die than