The Kill (31 page)

Manning slid his hand across hers. “I’m sorry.”

Pain swelled in Abigale’s chest, whether from the memory of Peter and her father’s death or Manning’s touch she wasn’t sure. Ten years had passed since the skiing accident, and time had mercifully dulled the pain. But the old wounds from the breakup with Manning still felt raw. She swallowed against the tightness in her throat.

He entwined his fingers with hers, raised their joined hands, and studied them for a moment in the firelight. “I’ve missed you, Abby. I’m glad you’re back.”

“Me too.”

Manning’s grip tightened and he pulled her hand to his mouth, pressed his lips lightly against her knuckles. A shiver ran to the pit of her belly.

“Don’t,” she murmured, passion and panic playing tug-of-war within her.

His lips parted, breath whispered across her fingers. “Why not?” Desire flared in his eyes, turned them the dusky blue of an approaching storm.

She tugged her hand away from his mouth. “Because. I have to leave, go back on assignment.”

“Tonight?”

The smile in his voice dissolved Abigale’s panic and ate at her willpower. “No.”

“Good.”

Manning cupped his fingers under her chin and ran his thumb over her mouth, so gentle it made her want to cry. He bent his head, brushed his lips against hers, lingered, then captured her mouth with his, pulling her deeper and deeper until she couldn’t get enough of him.

T
he far-off ringing of a phone woke Abigale. She opened her eyes to see sunlight streaming through a crack in the curtain and wondered lazily what time it was. Night had just begun to fade to gray when they’d fallen asleep.

She was spooned up against Manning, his broken arm curled protectively around her. His breath teased the back of her neck. She shifted ever so slightly, easing the stiffness out of her sore muscles. Their lovemaking was a mindless blur, Manning’s hands everywhere, caressing, demanding, tender, greedy; his hungry mouth; the slide of skin against skin; hard muscles pinning her to the bed; a voyage of rediscovery, a journey into unchartered territory. Emotion welled in her chest and a tear trickled down her cheek, pooled in the hollow of her throat. Life would tumble back down on them, she knew that. But whatever happened, she’d carry the memory of last night—this moment—in her heart.

Manning tightened his arm, drew her closer. She looked over her shoulder and saw his eyes were open. She rolled to face him and Manning smiled, a slow grin like the sun breaking out from behind a cloud. He planted his left elbow on the bed and propped his head up against his palm. “Good morning.” His fingers skimmed her hair from her face and traced the line of her cheekbone.

“Hey,” she said softly. “How’s your arm?”

“It hurts like hell.” Manning kissed her mouth gently. “We’d better do something to take my mind off it.”

Abigale’s lips curved against his. “Let me get you a Vicodin. Or at least Tylenol.”

“I don’t want a Vicodin.” Manning nuzzled her ear, then nibbled his way down her neck as he pulled her closer. “Or Tylenol. But I think you need to check my vital signs.”

Her arms curved around his neck. “I’m pretty sure your vital signs are fine.”

A smile softened his blue eyes and he pushed the sheet away. “Then I’d better check your vital signs.” His hand slid down to her breast, teased her nipple with his thumb.

“That one works,” he said lowering his head. “Let’s check the other one.”

His mouth found her breast, and he slowly drove her insane with his tongue as his hand trailed lower.

“You’re still wet,” he murmured.

A soft moan caught in Abigale’s throat as he rolled on top of her and slid inside.

M
argaret knocked again, louder this time. Placed her ear to the door, listened for the sound of footsteps. Still quiet as a church inside. She tromped back to her truck and fished a key out of the cup holder.

Her Subaru was parked in the drive, so Abigale and Manning hadn’t left for the racecourse yet. Why the hell wasn’t anyone answering the door? She jabbed the key in the lock and shoved, and was greeted by a faint odor of wood fire. The curtains were drawn, the lights off. Sunlight poured into the kitchen and she poked her head inside. Empty. She spun around. Eyed the open door to Manning’s bedroom.

“Hello?” she called.

“Mother?” Manning’s voice came from the bedroom, husky-sounding as if he’d been asleep.

“There you are. I was beginning to think no one was home.”

“Hold on!”

She stopped just shy of the bedroom. Heard the scuffle of feet, a door click shut.

“Are you decent?” she asked, averting her eyes.

Sheets rustled. “Yeah. Sure. Come in.”

Manning lay on his back, arms folded in front of him. His blue cast pinned the white sheet to his chest. She heard a clunk as the shower cut on in the bathroom. Saw a trail of clothes on the floor. Orange gym shorts, a pair of jeans. A black bra.

“Abby’s in the shower,” Manning said, his eyes swimming with guilt.

“So I surmised.”

It had been years since Margaret had seen Manning look like he even cared that he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Maybe there was a ray of hope in that.

“Are you on your way to Longmeadow?” he asked with forced casualness.

Margaret nodded. “I called earlier but there was no answer, so I stopped by on my way to see how you fared through the night.” She paused. “Looks like you managed just fine.”

“Yeah.” Manning tugged at the sheet with his broken arm. “Give me a minute and I’ll get dressed.”

“I’ll wait for you in the kitchen.”

Manning padded into the kitchen a few minutes later, barefooted, wearing the orange shorts she’d seen on the floor and a wrinkled gray T-shirt. He moved gingerly, as though he wasn’t sure which part of him hurt the most.

“Coffee’s brewing,” Margaret said, switching on the oven. “I thought I’d heat up this egg casserole I found in the refrigerator.”

“None for me, thanks.”

“It looks good. Did Abigale make it?”

Manning shook his head. “Julia.”

“Oh? When did she bring it by?”

“She and Percy came over yesterday afternoon.”

“That was nice.” Margaret had noted the absence of beer in the refrigerator, thought perhaps Abigale had put it away somewhere. But if Percy and Julia had stopped by, that explained it.

“Yeah.” He smiled, pulling a carton of orange juice from the refrigerator. “Kind of like old times, Abby and Percy going at each other.”

“What’s that you’re saying about me and Percy?” Abigale asked as she slipped into the room, all scrubbed and perfumed, her wet hair twisted up in a clasp.

Manning’s face lit up when he saw her. “Hey.”

“Hi.” She smiled at him through lowered lashes, almost shyly. “Good morning, Margaret.”

“Morning. Coffee’s ready. Help yourself.”

“Thanks.” Abigale opened several cupboards and finally found a coffee mug.

“I’ve got the egg casserole heating in the oven.”

“It smells good,” Abigale said, looking at Manning. “How’s your stomach?”

Manning wrinkled his nose.

“You have to eat something.”

He palmed a bottle of Tylenol and pointed at the glass of orange juice he’d poured. “Breakfast of champions.”

“Wrong. Especially if you think you’re going to work on the racecourse today.” Abigale took the bottle from Manning, shook out two tablets, and handed them to him.

“Only two?”

“If you need more than that you should probably spend the day in bed.”

Margaret saw Manning give Abigale a wicked grin before he tilted his head and tossed back the pills. She caught Abigale’s blush.
Lord
. The two of them were acting like lovesick teenagers. Yet she found herself smiling as she watched them, despite the fact she was sure no good would come from their reunion. She guessed part of her wanted to believe Abigale might be Manning’s salvation.

All night she’d battled whether to confront Manning about the watch, but in the end she’d decided against it. What was the point? He’d say he had no idea how it got in his coat pocket. Or that he couldn’t remember. Anger and grief tightened her chest, making it hard to breathe.
Maybe the truth was, she didn’t want to hear his answer
.

“I’ll leave the two of you to eat your breakfast,” Margaret said, snatching her pocketbook off the counter. “I’ve got to get over to Longmeadow.”

“I’ll see you there,” Manning said. “I’m meeting Smitty at nine to flag the course.”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” Abigale said.

He cocked an eyebrow and cracked a grin. “What, flagging the course?”

“You know what I mean. I’m not sure you should work on the course today. Look how swollen your hand is. You should keep your arm elevated and iced.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Abigale’s right, Manning,” Margaret said. “We’ll get on fine at Longmeadow without you. Better you should take it easy today and get your strength back. We’ll need you at the races tomorrow.”

“Gang up on me, I don’t care,” Manning said. “I’m still going to Longmeadow.”

Margaret wasn’t surprised that Manning would quarrel with her, but for him to argue about going to work rather than trying to get out of it? That was out of character. In fact, now that she thought about it, he’d done the same thing yesterday when he’d argued about having to go to the hospital when he was supposed to help Smitty set the national fences. She studied him curiously and saw a look in his eyes she hadn’t seen in a long time. As if the storm had finally blown through, whisked away all the thunderclouds. Maybe Richard had been right in thinking that Manning would rise to the challenge of being master.

“Actually, we could use your help,” Margaret said, ignoring the look of betrayal Abigale shot at her. “I’d asked Michael to fill in for you, but he’s running behind at the barn. Larry didn’t show up for work today. So, if you feel up to working, I’ll be happy to give you a ride.” She glanced at Abigale and added, “After you’ve had some breakfast.”

“Jesus, what is it with the two of you and food?” Manning flung open a cupboard. He rummaged around, then grabbed a box of Pop-Tarts.

“How old are those?” Margaret asked.

He lifted a shoulder as he tore into the silver wrap. “Who cares? I’m eating.”

Margaret exchanged a look with Abigale, who rolled her eyes. “What are your plans today, dear?” she asked.

“I don’t have any,” Abigale said. “I thought I might get started going through Uncle Richard’s papers, but please let me know if there’s anything I can do to help you get ready for the races.”

“I do have an errand I’d love to delegate,” Margaret admitted.

“What is it?”

“I have some table linens for the VIP reception tomorrow that need to be dropped off at Tiffanie Jenner’s place.”

“I’m happy to do that. I want to meet her anyway.”

“No you don’t,” Manning said, through a mouth full of Pop-Tart.

“Why not?” Abigale asked.

He took a swig of orange juice. “She’s a pain in the ass. She’ll want to be your best friend because you’re Richard’s niece. And because you inherited Dartmoor Glebe.”

Margaret frowned at him. “Manning.”

“What? You know it’s true.”