Chapter 51
Beauford, South Carolina
“Momma, will you please come sit down?” Chelsea patted the spot beside her on the porch swing. “You’re making me nervous running around like a chicken with its head cut off. And you’re making the installation men crazy, asking all those questions.”
“Well, Chelsea Lynn, I just want to make sure they don’t do any more damage than is necessary. Your daddy and I put up every one of these boards with our bare hands, and I—”
Chelsea looked at the trio of men in their matching blue coveralls and subtly put-upon expressions and stopped her mother right then and there. “They’re professionals, Momma. They’re going to do a wonderful job.”
Her mother narrowed her eyes. Then, with a harrumph, she joined Chelsea on the porch swing. “Thank you,” she said, accepting the glass of sweet iced tea Chelsea handed her.
They both pushed off, setting the swing gently rocking as the security system crew traipsed around the side of the house to pick out the locations of the cameras they would be installing. The evening air was crisp, ripe with the smell of the freshly turned earth in the flower beds and the tangy brightness of newly budding trees. Chelsea closed her eyes and breathed deeply, hoping the familiar smells of home would bring her a measure of peace. But instead, they just made her sad.
On second thought, that wasn’t right. The smells of home didn’t make her sad. She just was sad and—
“I know I’m a bit neurotic when it comes to this stuff,” her mother said, cutting into Chelsea’s thoughts. When her mom took a small sip of tea, the ice clinking against the glass competed with the tinkle of the wind chimes hanging in the corner of the porch.
“A bit?” Chelsea raised a brow.
“I just…” Her mother stopped and looked out over the front lawn.
Chelsea had always thought of this part of South Carolina as the land of swaying Spanish moss and white-columned homes. She adored it. Adored the crushed-shell driveways, the weeping willows, and the bright, cheerful azalea bushes that bloomed in the spring. But she didn’t love it the same way her mother did—with everything she had, as if the place, the land, the house was a part of her, the marrow in her bones, the air in her lungs, the blood in her veins.
Watching the bright spark of contentment in her mother’s eyes as they rested on the mailbox at the end of the drive, then alighted on the hummingbird feeders dangling from the live oak, then flitted to the pecan trees lining the fence, Chelsea wondered if, given the chance to go back in time and change the decision she’d made about Ted Edens and Afghanistan, she would have. Even now, she couldn’t bear the thought of doing anything to jeopardize her mother’s home and happiness. Still, she should have told Dagan the truth the minute Edens was dead.
Coulda, woulda, shoulda. She was plagued by that unholy trifecta.
“I know, Momma.” She patted her mother’s hand. “And I wish we didn’t have to do this, but…” She shrugged.
Her mother smoothed a hand over Chelsea’s head, her dark eyes kind. “Didn’t your boss tell you that this man you’ve been huntin’, this Spider character, would be foolish to come after you, and by extension me, given all the press?”
“It’s not Spider I’m worried about. At this point, you and I are small potatoes. Not worth his time, effort, or exposure. But being in the news brings out the crazies. I don’t like the idea of someone fixating on me or you. Because shit like that happens.”
“Chelsea Lynn.” Her mother tsked. “There’s no call for that kinda language.”
Chelsea hid a smile at the familiar scold. “I need this security system installed for my own peace of mind, Momma. So I can sleep at night. I don’t like thinking of you by yourself in this house. I never have. And truth to tell, I regret not having this done a long time ago.”
Her mother patted her hand. “My sweet girl, regrets are like pennies that have fallen down the cracks of the sofa. Most times, they aren’t worth collectin’.”
Chelsea set her iced tea aside and regarded the woman who had loved her since conception.
“What?” her mother asked.
“Are we still talking about the security system? Or have we moved on to another subject entirely?”
Chelsea had come clean about everything, including Dagan. There had been shock on her mother’s part, of course. Then guilt, because her mother hated that Chelsea had compromised her integrity to try to save the house. That had been followed by great sadness that Chelsea had lost the man she loved because of the whole mess. And finally, Grace Duvall had gotten mad. Mad at Dagan for not immediately seeing that Chelsea had been in a bad situation and therefore forgiving her on the spot. And mad was where her mother had stayed.
“I just think if he really cared about you the way you care about him, he’d understand why you did what you did and he’d be here by your side right now.”
“Mom, I don’t blame Dagan for not being able to get past this. You shouldn’t blame him either. He’s a really good man who values—”
She was interrupted by a familiar sound. It was a rumble like thunder, only constant and growing louder. She had worked with the Black Knights long enough to recognize the grumble of a good set of pipes. Turning toward the front of the property, she watched a sleek Harley chopper pull into the driveway.
The bike was named Redemption, a moniker that spoke to so much in Dagan’s life. It was all silver and chrome, with an intricate dual exhaust system, a short stretch, and enough bling to blind the eye when it caught the sunlight dappling through the canopy of trees that bracketed the drive. But as beautiful as the motorcycle was, it didn’t hold a candle to the man who rode it.
Chelsea’s heart leapt in her chest. Her knees wobbled as she pushed to a stand and walked to the porch’s top step to get a better look at Dagan as he motored toward the house, finally stopping the bike and cutting the engine.
She wouldn’t have thought it possible, but in the five days since she’d last seen him, he’d grown more handsome. He wore faded and ripped jeans, a thick biker jacket, and steel-toed boots that looked impossibly heavy. After he toed out the kickstand and swung off Redemption, he turned to face them, taking off his helmet. The speckled sunlight shone in his dark, unruly hair and glinted in the sleek pelt of his beard. But his gray eyes, so stormy, so filled with hidden depths, were what held Chelsea’s gaze.
Her body had gone numb the moment she saw him coming up the drive, so she barely felt her mother come up beside her and gently take her hand. She had no trouble hearing, however, when her mother gulped and murmured, “Oh my.”
Chelsea smiled and shook her head. “You said it, Momma.”