“Cranky as hell. He misses you.”
“I thought he'd be feeling better…with me out of the way.”
Jason stared at her. He'd decided a long time ago that girls had this totally warped world view. This just confirmed it. “He's crazy about you, Madison. Why would he be feeling better?”
“I told him he should get out of Trinity. I warned him. I told him it was going to end up bad.”
By now Jason's paranoia was in overdrive. Did she know it was going to end up bad because she had inside information?
“He won't leave, Maddie. They don't have anyone else.”
She stared down at her hands. “I am coming back. When I get things settled here. In the meantime, I'll lay low.”
Right. Like she could lose herself in the teeming crowds of Coal Grove, Jason thought.
“Seph won't be happy.” The argument was wearing him out. The cold pain in his chest had returned. Was he ever going to be back to normal?
“When you get back, you tell Seph to stop worrying about me and take better care of himself,” Madison said.
“I'm not going back to Trinity,” Jason said, without thinking. Damn! He was an idiot, trying to play this complicated game with his head still swimming from the effects of the poison.
“Where are you going?”
“Back to England.” He paused, then brandished the only weapon he had. The one he would never use. “So. No one needs to know about Grace. And no one needs to know I'm here.” He met Madison's blue eyes straight on. He needed time to recover, and he didn't want them sending someone down to interrogate him in the meantime.
Her eyes narrowed and her mouth tightened into an angry line. “Fine! It's your funeral.”
“Exactly,” he said, smiling a little, trying to defuse the tension.
“What am I supposed to tell Seph? He's expecting to hear from you.”
“If he asks, tell him I never showed.”
Madison's eyes went wide with shock, “If he asks? Jason! He'll think you either ran off or something happened to you.”
Jason beat back a wave of guilt, knowing Seph deserved to know about Barber, at least. But Jason would be staying a while, in case Barber came back.
Right. Last time, a ten-year-old saved your butt.
“Trinity would be safer for you, you know,” Madison said, as if reading his mind.
“Safer for me, but not for you?” He paused, and when she couldn't come up with an answer, added, “Anyway, I'm not looking for a hideout.”
She stood. “Still. You better lay low. In case Barber's looking for you.”
“He'd better worry about me looking for him!” he called after her.
When the door closed behind her, he settled gratefully back against the pillows. He wasn't afraid of Warren Barber. He just needed to rest a bit and get back in shape.
If Madison were involved in some kind of conspiracy, he couldn't very well leave Seph at her mercy. But Seph would never believe anything bad about Madison without evidence. Since he had to hang around Coal Grove for a while, maybe he could find out for sure whose side Madison Moss was on, and who she was hanging with, and who this Brice Roper was.
Perhaps if he just closed his eyes …
Madison threaded the pickup between the twin brick pillars that marked the entrance to Bry-Son Farms. Pristine white fencing marched away in both directions, marking the boundary of the Roper property. She navigated the long drive, past the Greek Revival mansion and around back to the horse barn.
A body would never know this whole thing was built on the backs of coal miners.
The horse barn was freshly painted red. Four dapple-gray Arabians with velvety black noses poked their heads over the paddock gate. In the pasture beyond, crocus and snowdrops poked up between patches of snow.
This is a farm out of a romance novel, she thought. I'll bet the horses don't even crap in their stalls.
As she turned toward the house, she saw three riders emerge from the woods at the far end of the pasture. Grace rode a high-stepping, fine-boned bay mare. Brice came along behind on a big-boned black gelding and John Robert on a small dapple gray. When Grace saw Madison, she applied her heels to the horse's sides and came flying across the pasture, her hair streaming out like a banner, reining to a hard stop just in front of Madison.
“Grace!” Madison said, waving away the dust that boiled up around the horse's feet. “Don't be a show-off.”
Grace's cheeks were flushed with excitement. “Maddie! This is Abby. Well, that's her barn name, anyway. Her registered name is Barbary's Abby Ann. She's so sweet. Brice says he's never seen her take to anyone the way she…”
“Where have you been?”
Grace blinked at her. “Why, we rode up to the old furnace.”
“That's on our property. You had no business taking him up on the mountain.” She tilted her head toward Brice.
Brice reined in next to Grace. He'd been setting his pace to John Robert's. “It's my fault. I asked her to show me the waterfall.”“Like you haven't snuck up there on your own before now.”
“Why do you always have to be so mean?” Grace stage whispered to Madison.
Brice just rolled his eyes and swung gracefully down to the ground.
Grace dismounted, too, then stood uncertainly, clutching the reins.
“You can go on up to the house,” Brice said. “Mike'll look after the horses.”
Grace didn't move. “Mr. Ragland always said you should take care of your own horse.”
“I won't tell anybody.” Brice lifted John Robert out of his saddle and set him on the ground.
“I could've got down myself!” John Robert protested.
Brice patted him on the shoulder. “You and Grace go ask Sylvia for some lemonade and cake. Madison and I will be up in a little while.”
“No,” Madison said quickly. “We can't stay. I have a lot to do, and I've wasted most of the day already.”
“Oh, come on,” Brice said impatiently, gripping her arm. “Don't rush off. Sylvia made a seven-layer chocolate cake. It'll break her heart if there's only me to eat it. Besides, I want to show you something.”
“Let go of me!” Madison ripped her arm free. “When are you going to learn to keep your hands to yourself?”
Brice shook his head in disbelief. “What's with you, anyway?” he demanded, as if she were being totally unreasonable. Meanwhile, Grace and J.R. stood there awkwardly.
“Chocolate cake, Maddie?” J.R. said wistfully.
“This won't take long,” Brice said. “I promise, okay?”
“Fine,” Madison said. “Let's get this over with.” Why couldn't she make Brice Roper sick, instead of Seph? It was only fair. After all, Brice made her sick.
Brice led her along the fence line on the far side of the pasture. Someone had laid a cobblestone path and planted lemon thyme between the stones. The path angled into the woods, into the chill of the shade. They followed a small stream, some minor tributary of Booker Creek.
They finally broke out of the woods and into a small clearing overlooking the river below. It was centered by a small cedar-and-stone cottage. Though it appeared to be fairly new, it had an abandoned look. The surrounding meadow was thigh-high in winter-charred thistle, blackberry, and tree seedlings.
The view was breathtaking. Far below, the river wound between steep banks. The hills rolled away to the south and east, smoky blue and green and gray where the snow had worn away.
“What is this?” Madison whispered, knowing there must be a story.
“This was my mother's studio.” Brice led her around the building. The whole front was glass, embracing the crinkled land beyond.
Brice opened the front door with a key. The front room was a soaring space, with thick beams bracing the roof far above, skylights between. There was a kitchen and dining area at the rear of the house and a spiral staircase to what must be sleeping quarters above.
Like the meadow, it had a neglected look. The furniture was covered with canvas drop cloths, and dust glittered in the sunlight that poured through the skylights.
“You know my mother's an artist, too,” Brice said. “After my parents divorced, she moved to New York City.”
Naturally, he assumed Madison knew the story about the nasty divorce, the new young wife. Which naturally, she did. The Ropers were the royalty of Coalton County.
“My stepmother doesn't come up here.” He was cool, matter-of-fact, with no element of judgment in his voice or expression.
Unlike Madison. She'd spent her whole life judging people against her personal set of standards. She was great at holding grudges. She should get a prize.
She stood at the window, looking down over the valley. “Very pretty,” she admitted. “But why'd you bring me here?”
“I thought maybe you'd want to use it.”
She swung around. “For what?”
“For painting. Grace says you've been painting like a fiend.”
“Why would I want to come here? I can paint at home.” Why was Grace telling Brice Roper anything?
He shrugged. “It's a great space, and it's going to waste.”
“Just because you've got something doesn't mean I want it.”
He stepped closer and stood, looking down at her. She tried to step back but came up against the window. “We could deed it over to you.”
“I have a house. What do I need with two?”
“You don't need a rundown ruin on top of Booker Mountain,” Brice said. “Mr. McCartney says you'll own the mountain in a few months. You know my father wants to buy it. He'll give you a good price for it. A great price, in fact. You'll be rich.”
“Wow. Sounds like a dream come true,” Madison said.
Encouraged, Brice pressed on. “So you can stay. Or you can get out of this dump of a town entirely. You can go to art school. Wherever you want. And after you graduate, we could help set you up. My mother knows people. She has gallery connections in New York and Chicago.”