The Last to Die. Beverly Barton

green apples. She chuckled nervously. Of course, after all this time what difference did it make? Jazzy was a grown woman; she’d soon be thirty years old. Couldn’t nobody take that gal away from her. They were bound together by love, by years of being the only family they each had. There wasn’t nothing she wouldn’t do for her Jasmine, the child of her heart, if not of her body. She’d die to protect Jazzy. She’d even kill to protect her.

      But if Jazzy ever learned the truth, what would she think? How would she react? Well, since you don’t know the truth—the whole truth—then it’s unlikely Jazzy or anybody else ever will, either. The truth didn’t matter. Whatever the whole truth was, it should stay buried in the past, along with all the lies Sally had told so nobody would try to take Jazzy away from her.

      But what about Reve Sorrell? She ain’t the type to let sleeping dogs lie, Sally thought. Nope, that gal seemed like the type who just might stir up trouble, in her own very cultured, highfalutin way. What if she’s determined to find out why she and Jazzy look so much alike? What if she starts asking questions, digging into the past? What if she puts doubts into Jazzy’s head?

      What you gonna do then, Sally, ole girl? What you gonna do then?

      Chapter 6

      Jazzy saw them as they entered the restaurant. Jamie, his fiancée, and an older couple she assumed were the bride-to-be’s parents—Mr. and Mrs. Willis, the wealthy horse breeders from Kentucky. For a split second, Jazzy froze to the spot. She glanced around, searching for a waitress who could take over her hostess duties immediately, but no one was close enough to summon before the party of four approached her. She had wanted to make her escape, but found it was too late.

      “Good evening,” the slender, distinguished gentleman with silvery gray hair and neatly trimmed beard said. “We’d like your best table for four, please. I telephoned earlier and was told reservations weren’t necessary.”

      Doing her best to avoid making eye contact with Jamie, Jazzy replied, “That’s right. We don’t take reservations here at Jasmine’s.” She could feel Jamie’s heated stare, knew he was watching her, and wondered if Laura noticed. Hazarding a quick sidelong glance at Jamie’s fiancée, she found herself looking directly into the woman’s speculative blue eyes. Their gazes collided, and Jazzy understood that this pretty, delicate girl was silently pleading with her. Jazzy could almost hear Laura saying, “Please let him go. You don’t want him and I do.”

      With her nose titled upward, perfecting a haughty expression, Mrs. Willis inspected her surroundings. “This is a rather quaint little place. I do hope we can find something palatable on the menu.” She skewered Jazzy with a sharp glare. “Everything isn’t fried, is it? I detest fried food. Perhaps we should speak to the owner about having the chef prepare something that isn’t fried.”

      “I’m the owner.” Jazzy focused on Mrs. Willis. “Let me assure you that we have a wide variety on our menu, including broiled, boiled, baked, and grilled items.”

      “Well, that’s a relief, isn’t it, my dear?” Mr. Willis surveyed Jazzy from head to toe and smiled condescendingly. “So you’re Jasmine.” He paused for effect. “The proprietress.”

      Jazzy snapped her fingers at Tiffany who had just served a nearby table. The waitress rushed right over.

      “Please give these customers a nice table”—she looked right at Mr. Willis—“or a booth if they prefer.”

      “We prefer a table,” Mrs. Willis said.

      Jazzy nodded.

      Tiffany picked up four menus. “Please, follow me.”

      “And their dinner is on the house,” Jazzy said.

      That wiped the self-satisfied expressions off both Mr. and Mrs. Willis’s faces.

      “That’s very generous of you, Ms. Talbot, but—” Mr. Willis said.

      Jazzy offered the Willises a broad smile. “Your future son-in-law and I are old friends, so please consider this a wedding gift.” Jazzy glanced at Laura, who looked rather flushed. She tried to convey, without words, her reassurance that she was no threat to Laura. Poor stupid girl. She knew only too well what it was like to love Jamie Upton, to be so crazy about the guy that nothing else mattered.

      “That’s mighty nice of you,” Jamie said.

      “Yes, thank you,” Laura added, her voice a whispery tremble.

      “Enjoy your dinner.” Jazzy turned around and headed for her office. She walked slowly, swaying her hips just a little, enough to make her movements both sexy and self-confident. Damn Mr. and Mrs. Willis. And damn Jamie, too.

      As she passed by several tables, the customers glanced her way, some staring at her boldly, others doing it more subtly. Erin Mercer, an artist who lived in a cabin outside town and came to Jasmine’s for dinner several evenings each week, purposefully avoided looking Jazzy’s way. Jazzy caught a glimpse of the attractive older lady as she passed her table. She didn’t know the woman well, but what she did know, she liked, despite the rumors she’d heard about Erin and Big Jim Upton. Of course, their affair was none of her business, but for the life of her she couldn’t figure out why Erin would want the man, considering he was old enough to be her father. But then again maybe Erin wondered why Jazzy had wasted so much of her life giving Jamie numerous second chances.

      At the table nearest the doors leading into the kitchen and down the hall to her office, another lone woman sat eating her dinner, totally ignoring Jazzy. She didn’t know the woman’s name, but she’d seen her in the restaurant several times over the past few weeks, and she was always alone. Another tourist enjoying herself in the mountains, Jazzy assumed. After all, it was springtime and tourist season had already begun. A keen observer of human nature, Jazzy got some odd vibes from this woman. She sensed the small, blonde lady was very sad. Probably a recent widow or lonely divorcee, Jazzy decided.

      Once she made it to her office, she closed the door and let out a sigh of relief. Was Jamie out of his mind coming here tonight? Or had dining at Jasmine’s been someone else’s idea? Mr. and Mrs. Willis’s idea, perhaps. Surely not Laura’s. She suspected Jamie’s fiancée wasn’t the type to seek confrontation, otherwise she would have already paid Jazzy a visit. Someone had a purpose for tonight’s dinner, for bringing Laura and Jazzy face-to-face.

      Going to the portable bar in the corner, Jazzy opened the bottle of Jack Daniels and poured enough for a couple of good belts, then took a swig. The whiskey burned a path from throat to belly, settling inside her like a hot brick. Within seconds the warmth spread through her whole body. She carried the glass over to her desk, placed it on top of a stack of bills, and pulled out her swivel chair. After sitting down, she leaned back her head and closed her eyes.

      Don’t stay here, she told herself. Tiffany could handle things. She should just slip out the back way and go on over to Jazzy’s Joint. The loud music and rowdy crowd there might take her mind off everything she didn’t want to think about—like Jamie and Laura’s upcoming wedding, like wondering who the hell Reve Sorrell was. But over at Jazzy’s Joint she’d be confronted with another problem—Caleb McCord. The man had been in town only a few months. He’d thrown Jamie out of Jazzy’s Joint one night back in January when Jamie had tried to manhandle her. He had impressed her, the clientele, and her bartender, Lacy Fallon. Her regular bouncer hadn’t shown up that night, something he had begun making a habit of doing. So she’d fired the unreliable guy and hired Caleb to take over the job. And he was very good at it, because he was not only strong as a bull, he possessed a killer stare that could stop most guys dead in their tracks. He wasn’t as physically intimidating as Jacob Butler, whose six-five, two-eighty body put the fear of God into just about every man who crossed his path, but Caleb had that same earthy macho power that practically oozed from his pores.

      The problem wasn’t with Caleb’s ability to do his job. No, the problem was that from the moment they met, there had been a sexual chemistry between the two of them. She’d be lying to herself if she denied being tempted. Her feminine instincts told her that