Never Let Go by Deborah Smith Read Free Book Online Page B

protectively. He shoved his door open and yelled, "Dammit, Halfacre, calm down!"
    They heard a high-pitched laugh. "Ain't used to gettin' visited in the middle of the night! McClure, you ugly jackrabbit. I wouldn't shoot nobody and you know it."
    Rucker muttered darkly, "There's nobody who could star in a movie of Halfacre's life, because Walter Brennan passed away and Francis the Talking Mule ran off with a she-mule."
    Dinah chuckled, then realized that her cheek was pressed against a denim-covered bulge that had begun to stiffen. Rucker realized the same. He sat up and she quickly followed. They avoided looking at each other.
    "What you doin' here, jackrabbit?"
    Rucker turned toward the squeaky voice. "Came to borrow one of your trucks for a few days."
    Dinah peered past Rucker at the white-haired gnome who stood beside the truck wearing overalls and carrying a gun. The gnome smiled.
    "I see you quit mopin' and got yourself a gal."
    "Yep."
    "How do, ma'am."
    Dinah nodded to him. "How do."
    "Boaz Halfacre, esquire. And what's your name, ma'am?"
    "Lurleen," Rucker Interjected solemnly. "Lurleen Studebaker."
    "Same as the car?"
    "Yes," she agreed. "My grandfather designed it."
    "You rich?"
    "See any Lurleens on the road lately?" Rucker Inquired dryly.
    Boaz laughed with explosive hee-hee-hees. Rucker swung his long legs to the ground and helped Dinah out through his doorway. The hounds milled around her legs, and she sidestepped them gingerly. Rucker moved close to her and put an arm around her waist. She forgot about the dogs and gloried In the affection he'd begun to show her.
    "I want to put my Land Rover in your barn and use your old pickup for a few days, Bo. I'll pay. How does a hundred bucks sound?"
    "Like honey from heaven. You got a deal."
    "And if anybody comes by askin' questions, you never saw me." Rucker hesitated. "Or Lurleen."
    "Never saw you."
    Rucker drove the Land Rover into a ramshackle barn. They transferred their bags and the shotgun to a decrepit old pickup with peeling paint. Boaz put a rusty padlock on the barn door and tossed Rucker the key. The icy wind picked up and Boaz shuffled toward his house, Rucker's hush money clutched in his hand.
    "Rucker McClure?" he called over his shoulder. "Never laid eyes on the boy."
    Dinah studied Rucker lovingly as they went to their new vehicle. His stories had been peopled with real-life characters like Boaz, and he treated them with great respect. She wasn't surprised that he and the old codger were friends.
    "How did you meet him?" she asked.
    "I've taken to walkin' in the woods. I came up on his house one day. He nearly shot my head off. He's the last of the moonshiners."
    They settled in the old truck. Dinah stared incredulously at its plush, sheepskin-covered seat and expensive stereo system, complete with tape deck. "What else does Boaz sell?"
    "I never asked. It's none of my business."
    "Can you trust him?"
    Rucker looked at her sharply. "That's a fine question for you to ask."
    Dinah settled on her side of the truck, tilted her head back on the seat, and shut her eyes. She tried not to feel wounded, but she couldn't help it. After the gentleness he'd shown her the new harshness was doubly painful, even though she deserved it.
    Rucker started the truck and guided it back down Boaz's driveway. His silence grew oppressive. Dinah glanced at him anxiously and saw that his features had once again hardened with anger.
    "Do you know what today is?" he asked.
    She thought for a moment. "I think it's Tuesday. I've lost track."
    "It's March twenty-sixth."
    Dinah groaned softly. Today was their fourth anniversary.
    Four
    Dinah had her back turned toward the bedroom door, and she was busy fastening the lacy garter strap to her stocking. When she heard the door click shut softly, she smoothed her silk-sheathed leg and didn't bother to look around.
    "Thanks, Millie. Just leave the milk on the dresser. I'll drink it in a minute."
    "Bulls don't give milk," drawled a deep