If Looks Could Kill

But watching Becky, his gaze focused on the sexy way she walked, his penis grew hard. He closed his eyes and imagined what it would feel like to be inside her. He ran his hand over the fly of his slacks and sighed.

He’d have to make another trip out of town soon and see if he could find Dinah. If he couldn’t find her, he could at least ease the ache with some other whore. But it was never the same with another woman. Never as satisfying. He could fuck a dozen other women and still be hungry for what only Dinah could give him.

He ran the tip of his tongue over his lips, imagining what Becky Olmstead would taste like if he kissed her, if he sucked her tits, if he delved his tongue between her parted thighs.

Groaning inwardly, he turned around and looked the other way. After taking several deep breaths, he managed to control the raging hunger inside him. He would have to wait for satisfaction. There was no way he could leave town again so soon, but at the first opportunity, he’d go back to Knoxville and find himself a willing woman.

And if he was very lucky, he’d find Dinah again.

Chapter 4

Dora opened the front door of the Uptons’ antebellum mansion situated a half mile off the winding road leading up the mountain. She offered Caleb a warm, welcoming smile when he entered the massive black-and-white marble- floored foyer.

Although both Miss Reba and Big Jim had accepted him as their grandson and had invited him to move in with them, Caleb still didn’t feel as if he really belonged—in this house or to the Upton family. He’d been born and raised in Memphis, never knowing his father and somehow managing to survive as the child of a drug-addicted mother. It wasn’t until Melanie Upton was dying that she told Caleb who her parents were and where they lived. She’d begged him to go to the Uptons then, when he’d been sixteen. But back then, he hadn’t wanted anything to do with people he didn’t know. Up until then he’d been taking care of himself by cheating, lying and stealing, doing whatever it took to stay alive and keep just below the child welfare department’s radar. Despite all his mother’s faults, he’d loved her and had done whatever he thought was necessary not only to stay with her, but to take care of her. In their case, the parental roles had become reversed when Caleb was about seven.

“They’re waiting for you in the breakfast room. Go on in. I’ve made a big pot of chicken stew and baked a carrot cake, fresh this morning.”

Dora, the Uptons’ faithful housekeeper, had taken an immediate liking to Caleb the first time Big Jim had brought him home. But on their very first meeting, she’d issued him a warning. “That Jamie was a no-good devil, but we loved him. Miss Reba most of all. He broke her heart over and over again. I suspect you ain’t nothing like Jamie. But I’m telling you now, if you ever hurt Miss Reba, you’ll have to answer to me.”

The last thing he ever wanted to do was hurt either of his newly found grandparents. But he’d realized right off the bat that his grandmother was a master manipulator, a strong-willed woman who liked to rule the roost. Although Big Jim was more laid-back, not as snooty or judgmental, the old man was used to running things his way. Caleb guessed that kind of authoritarian mind-set came from being born rich and powerful.

“One thing I’ve found out since I’ve been getting to know the grandparents is that their most valuable asset is you, Dora.”

Giggling like a child, Dora blushed, then swatted Caleb on the arm and said, “You do have that in common with your cousin Jamie—you know how to flatter a woman.”

“My flattery is sincere,” Caleb assured her, hating to be compared to his late cousin in any way, shape, form or fashion.

“Yes, I believe it is. And that’s the difference. One of many that makes you a far better man.”

While Caleb headed toward the breakfast room, Dora turned and went into the kitchen. The moment Miss Reba saw him, her face lit up, her lips curving into a broad smile and her eyes bright with excitement. Big Jim eased up from his chair and threw out his hand.

“We’re delighted you could join us today,” Miss Reba said.

“Good to see you, son. Good to see you.” Big Jim took Caleb’s hand in a firm, man-to-man shake.

“You just don’t come around nearly enough.” His grand- mother’s tone was friendly yet scolding. “I do wish you’d reconsider coming here to live with us. We’ve got so much room. You could have your own suite. We’d redo Jamie’s old rooms for you or—”

“Leave the boy be.” Big Jim indicated one of the large oak chairs at the table. “Sit, sit. Dora’s fixed some of her world famous chicken stew. You’re in for a real treat.”

Caleb sat between his grandparents at the large oak table. “I’ll do my best to visit more often, Miss Reba. But I have a job and a girlfriend that both require a great deal of my time.”

He sensed rather than saw his grandmother stiffen at the mention of a girlfriend. Reba Upton had forbidden her grandson, Jamie, to marry Jazzy when they’d been teenagers and he’d gotten Jazzy pregnant. And although Jazzy had miscarried the child and Jamie had allowed his grandmother to dictate who he could and could not marry, Jamie and Jazzy had continued an on-again, off-again affair for years. Not only did his grandmother’s disapproval stand between Jazzy and Caleb, but so did his cousin’s memory. Yet he hoped that with each passing day, Jazzy’s memories of Jamie would dim and the time would come when she would trust him with her heart. Jamie had used her and disappointed her so often that Jazzy was afraid to believe in another man, especially another Upton heir. The fact that Miss Reba staunchly opposed his and Jazzy’s relationship sure didn’t help his efforts to convince Jazzy to marry him.

“You shouldn’t be wasting your time working as a bouncer in that awful place,” Miss Reba told him. “Jim is eager to have you come into the family business. He should have retired completely years ago. Someday in the not too distant future, Upton Dairies will be yours, so you should be learning the business now.”

That was another thing he hadn’t quite gotten used to—being the only heir to a fortune worth at least fifty or sixty million, maybe more. The Uptons had originally been dairy farmers, and he supposed that’s what they still were. But right after World War I, Big Jim’s grandfather and father had expanded the local business, and by the time World War II ended, Upton Dairies was the biggest producer of milk and dairy products in the state of Tennessee. With shrewd investments and by branching out, the family’s wealth had increased immeasurably over the years. Big Jim had recently taken Caleb aside and explained all this to him.

“Good God, woman, will you stop pressuring the boy. Let him get used to being our grandson before you start trying to run his life.”

Reba gasped dramatically. “I’m offended that you’d accuse me of such a thing. I’d never try to—”

Big Jim laughed, the sound deep and robust. “Lord love you, honey, you honestly can’t see your own faults. Never could.” Not giving his wife time for a quick rebuttal, Jim reached out and slapped Caleb on the arm. “Something tells me that this young man won’t be so easily manipulated. From what I’ve seen, he has a mind and a will of his own. He’ll do whatever the hell he pleases—about Upton Dairies and about Jazzy Talbot.”

“How is Jasmine?” Miss Reba asked, her voice strained.

Caleb was genuinely surprised that his grandmother had even inquired about Jazzy. He knew how much effort it had taken her to say Jazzy’s name in a civil manner, con sidering how she—no matter how irrational the idea was—held Jazzy partly responsible for Jamie’s death.

“Jazzy’s just fine,” Caleb replied. “Thank you for asking, Miss Reba.”

“I do wish you’d call me Big Mama.”

“I feel more comfortable calling you Miss Reba, at least for now.”

“Miss Reba and Big Jim us fine with us,” Jim said. “So, Jazzy’s doing fine, huh? You’ll have to bring her out here to dinner one evening.” He shot Reba a warning glare. “Won’t he, honey? We’d be pleased to have her.”

Caleb glanced at his grandmother and barely restrained the laughter bubbling up in his throat. Miss Reba had gone ghost white, her perfect pink mouth formed a startled oval and her big blue eyes widened as round as saucers.

“I doubt Jasmine Talbot would accept an invitation to dine with us,” Reba said. “Considering our past history.”

“She might.” Caleb looked pleadingly at his grandmother. “If you telephoned her and invited her yourself.”

Miss Reba swallowed, took a deep breath and offered him a weak smile. “Would you like that, dear? Would it please you?”

“Yes, ma’am. It would please me a great deal. I’d very much like it if the woman I love and my grandmother could get along.”

“You—you love her?”

“Yes, ma’am, I do.”

“I see.”

Jim sat quietly, watching and listening. And apparently waiting to find out what the outcome of this exchange would be.

“You might as well know that sooner or later, I’ll wear Jazzy down and she’ll agree to marry me.” Caleb kept his gaze fixed determinedly on his grandmother’s pale face. “And there’s nothing anyone can say or do to stop me from making her my wife. Do you understand what I’m saying, Miss Reba?”

“Yes, I understand perfectly.”

“I hope you do because I wouldn’t want to ever have to choose between you and her. I’ve just found you and Big Jim. I’d sure hate to lose you.”

“You aren’t going to lose me—lose us,” Miss Reba said with firm conviction. “I’ll telephone Jasmine later today and invite her to Sunday dinner tomorrow.”

Grinning, feeling as if he’d won a major battle, Caleb got up, walked over to his grandmother and kissed her on the cheek. “Thank you.”

Tears glistened in Miss Reba’s eyes. Curling her small hand around his arm, she pursed her lips and returned his kiss.

“Oh, by the way, you might want to invite Reve Sorrell, too,” Caleb said. “She arrived in Cherokee Pointe earlier today and is going to be staying for a while. Dr. MacNair took DNA samples this morning and sent them off. We should know within a week if Jazzy and Reve are twins.”

“That’s a mighty peculiar thing,” Big Jim said. “Those two gals finding out that they could be sisters. Has Jazzy questioned her aunt Sally again about the circumstances surrounding her birth?”

“No, not lately, but the old woman has sworn that Jazzy was the only baby born to her sister, Corrine.”

“Where is Ms. Sorrell staying?” Reba asked. “Surely not with Jasmine. I mean, the two hardly know each other and certainly have nothing in common.”

Caleb pulled away from his grandmother and returned to his seat. “No, she and Jazzy haven’t reached the sisterly bonding point. Yet. Reve is renting a place from Cherokee Cabin Rentals.”

“I should invite her to stay here,” Reba said and elicited surprised looks from Caleb and Big Jim.

“Why ever would you do that?” Jim asked.

“Because Ms. Sorrell was a friend of Jamie’s. And her parents were part of the same social circle as the Wallaces and the Grambrells. Eileen Wallace and I were sorority sisters. Anna Lee Grambrell and I have served on numerous Republican fund raisers statewide. And I’m almost certain that I met Lesley Sorrell not only at a couple of those fundraisers, but at Eileen’s daughter’s wedding, too.”

“Then by all means, considering how closely our families are connected, you must call Ms. Sorrell immediately and invite her to stay with us.” Big Jim chuckled, quite pleased with his own sarcastically humorous assessment of the situation.

“I don’t appreciate your facetious comment,” Reba told her husband. “I’d be remiss in my duties as a social leader in Cherokee County if I didn’t extend an invitation to Ms. Sorrell.” She eyed Caleb quizzically. “Do Reve Sorrell and Jasmine Talbot look just alike?”

Caleb grinned. “Yes, except for a few superficial differences. Why do you ask?”

“Oh, no reason.” Reba sighed, then a genuine smile spread across her face. “I’ll telephone Jasmine and invite her and Ms. Sorrell to join us for Sunday dinner. Tomorrow, when they’re here, I’ll issue Ms. Sorrell an invitation to stay with us. I’m sure she’ll find living here preferable to staying in one of those dinky little cabins. A lady of her breeding must find roughing it quite intolerable.”

Big Jim chuckled under his breath, then winked at Caleb before looking directly at his wife. “I know you, Reba Upton. You’re up to something. You wouldn’t by any chance think that since those two gals look just alike, they could be interchangeable as far as Caleb is concerned, would you?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She feigned innocence.

“I’m talking about your thinking Reve Sorrell is socially acceptable and would make a suitable granddaughter-in-law.”

“Why, Jim, what a thing to say.”

Caleb reached out and grasped his grandmother’s hand. “I’m sure you’d never believe something so foolish, would you, Miss Reba? I’m in love with Jazzy, with everything about her. And that includes a lot more than her physical appearance. You could parade a dozen look-alikes in front of me and not one of them would ever measure up to Jazzy. After all, if a man who looked just like Big Jim showed up, you wouldn’t automatically fall out of love with Big Jim and in love with this other man, would you?”

“No, of course not. I—”

Dora came bustling into the breakfast room, placed a china soup cauldron on the table, then hurried back to the kitchen and returned with a plate of cornbread and a pitcher of iced tea. “Save room for dessert.”

“Let’s enjoy our lunch,” Big Jim said. “This afternoon, while you’re issuing invitations”—he smiled at Miss Reba—“I want to show Caleb around the stables and maybe the two of us will take a ride out over the farm.”

“A ride as in a horseback ride?” Caleb asked.

“Have you never been horseback riding, son?” Jim cocked his eyebrows ever so slightly.

“Nope. I was raised a city boy. I spent a lot of time riding a motorcycle, but I’ve never been on a horse.”

“Then it’s high time you learned how,” Jim said. “The best way in the world for a man to look over his land is from horseback.”

Caleb groaned inwardly. This business of being the Upton heir was going to take some getting used to. He just hoped he could find a way to make his grandparents’ golden years happy and still live his life on his own terms.

On the ride up the mountain, Reve let Jazzy do most of the talking, just as she had during their lunch together at Jazzy’s downtown Cherokee Pointe restaurant, Jasmine’s. This was yet another striking difference between them— Jazzy was an extrovert, who could and did talk non-stop. Apparently the woman never met a stranger. On the other hand, Reve was more of an introvert; and although she enjoyed good conversation, she never talked just to be talking.

Reve wished she could relax around Jazzy, wished she could look at the woman and not cringe at the thought that they were probably twin sisters. Jazzy had done nothing to make Reve dislike her. The exact opposite was true. She seemed determined to make Reve feel comfortable about their potential relationship as siblings and was working overtime to achieve that goal.

Maybe she could learn to like her. She really haven’t given her a chance. Whenever she looked at Jazzy, all she saw was the woman’s wild, bright red hair, her abundance of dangling jewelry and her rock star clothes. And listening to Jazzy’s silly, non-stop chatter about nothing that she could even vaguely relate to made Reve assume Jazzy was un sophisticated and uncouth. The words redneck, hillbilly and white trash instantly came to mind. Besides, Reve couldn’t quite get past her private investigator’s initial report that concluded Jasmine Talbot was considered the town tramp. However, Reve had learned at an early age that some things were not what they seemed. She couldn’t shake the feeling that Jazzy was sorely misjudged by the local populace. Is that really a gut feeling? she asked herself. Or is it that you just want to believe Jazzy isn’t a slut?

As Jazzy maneuvered her red Jeep up the steep driveway to the side of Genny Sloan’s house, Reve took in her surroundings. The large old farmhouse sat way up off the road on a rise, nestled into the mountain. Woods surrounded the place on three sides. Colorful, towering trees reached high into the clear blue sky. An old rock-wall fence marked the front yard and rock steps led from the road to the rock sidewalk. Already, in mid-October, the foliage had begun changing from green to deep, vivid shades of red, yellow and orange. Leaves covered the ground and pine cones dotted the landscape. Jazzy pulled her vehicle alongside the SUV parked in the drive.

“There’s Genny,” Jazzy said. “She’s expecting us. You’ll like her. Everybody does.”

“She’s the . . . the psychic, isn’t she?” Glancing through the windshield, Reve saw Genny standing on the wide front porch, waiting for them. “She’s lovely.”

The woman was breathtakingly exotic, with creamy tan skin, long, straight, jet-black hair and a small, slender body.

“Yeah, Genny’s a beauty.” Jazzy opened the driver’s door. “She and Jacob have similar coloring, but Genny looks a lot like her Granny Butler and I’m told Jacob looks a great deal like their Grandpa Butler.”

“Oh, yes, I’d almost forgotten that Genny and the sheriff are first cousins.” Don’t dislike Genny Sloan just because she’s Sheriff Butler’s cousin, Reve told herself. It wouldn’t be fair to assume this woman was anything like her unpleasant relative.

“Actually, they’re more like brother and sister. They were raised together after their mothers were killed in a car wreck when they were just kids.” Jazzy got out of the Jeep, then motioned to Reve. “Come on. Genny’s eager to meet you.”

Reluctantly, Reve emerged from the vehicle. She had tried to beg off making this trip up the mountain to meet Jazzy’s best friend, but Jazzy had insisted. “I’ve asked her to give us a reading,” Jazzy had said. “She might be able to pick up on whether or not we’re twins. And if she can, I’m hoping she’ll be able to help us find out what happened when we were born.”

Reve was not looking forward to this visit—to becoming acquainted with a backwoods witch. For the sake of civility, she’d do her best not to voice her opinion on people who professed to have a sixth sense. But if Genny started foretelling her future, she’d have to find a courteous way to let Genny know she wasn’t interested in any predictions or prophecies.

“Come on. Don’t drag your feet,” Jazzy said. She reached out and grabbed Reve’s arm. “You act like you’re going to your own hanging. I promise you won’t regret coming here with me today.”

“I’ll hold you to that.” Reve tugged free, but let her lookalike lead the way.

Genny scurried off the porch and met them in the yard. She hugged Jazzy with great affection. “It’s turned out to be such a gorgeous day, I’ve set up apple cider and tea on the porch. And I baked one of Granny’s apple dapple cakes. I’ll bring some out later.”

“Genny, this is Reve Sorrell.” Jazzy presented Reve as if she were introducing her to royalty. “Reve, this is my dearest friend on earth, Genny Madoc Sloan.”

Reve extended her hand. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Sloan.”

“My goodness, you two do look remarkably alike.” Genny grasped Reve’s hand firmly. “Please, call me Genny.” She shook Reve’s hand, then held it for a brief moment.

Reve jerked her hand away.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean . . .” Genny smiled. “Most people don’t mind if I probe just a little. And I must admit that I’m curious about you.”

“Did you pick up on anything?” Jazzy asked.

Reve glared at Jazzy. She wanted to beg them not to include her in any of their forays into the psychic world, a world in which Reve did not believe.

“Only that Ms. Sorrell isn’t comfortable making this visit.” Genny spread her arm out in invitation. “Why don’t we go sit on the porch and relax?”

Be polite, Reve told herself. Make an effort to get along with these people. “Genny, you must call me Reve. And I apologize for—”

“No need to apologize,” Genny said. “You don’t know me and you’re skeptical. You have every right to be. I don’t expect you to accept my gift of sight as a natural, God-given talent. Nor do I expect you to like me instantly just because Jazzy and I are best friends.”

An odd feeling of relief eased Reve’s tension. She wasn’t quite sure why or how it happened. There was something strangely comforting about Genny’s voice. She projected a gentleness that seemed to encompass everything around her.

Once the three were seated in big wooden rockers, Genny’s chair turned so that she could face the other two, Genny asked, “Tea or cider, Reve?”

“Neither, thank you.”

Genny poured hot liquid from an earthenware teapot that looked hand-painted, then gave Jazzy a cup. “Well, I’m going to come right out and say it. I had a vision this morning.”

Reve sighed. Here we go, she thought.

“Was it about us? About Reve and me?” Jazzy asked.

“Part of it was. The good part. The happy part.”

“Tell us,” Jazzy all but begged.

“I sensed laughter,” Genny said. “And wonderful happiness. A oneness as if the two of you were a single entity. You are separate and yet together. Individuals, but linked from birth.”

“Then you sensed that we’re twins, didn’t you?” Jazzy asked.

Genny smiled at her friend, but Reve picked up on something not quite right about the smile. She sensed a sadness in Genny. Stop doing that! Reve scolded herself. You’re playing right into Genny’s hands by letting your imagination play tricks on you.

“Yes, I believe you and Reve are twin sisters,” Genny said. “I have no doubt about it.”

“That’s good enough for me.” Jazzy looked at Reve as if she expected her to respond by grabbing her, proclaiming them sisters and hugging her. Instead Reve stiffened her spine and sat up straighter in her chair.

“I believe I prefer to wait for the DNA test results.” Reve hated that she’d been unable to mask the coolness in her voice, but she simply could not accept some hillbilly psychic’s sixth sense.

Jazzy glared at Reve, then fixed her gaze on Genny. “You said that was the good part of your vision. What was the bad part?”

Genny hesitated, as if she didn’t want to tell them more. Was her hesitancy real or was it a way to dramatize the moment? Reve wondered. She could not—would not—take Genny’s psychic abilities at face value.

“I sensed evil.” Genny’s voice barely rose above a whisper. “And danger.”

“Danger for Reve and me?”

“I’m not sure. But . . . y’all must be very careful.”

“This is nonsense!” Reve shot out of her chair.

“Why must you be such an uptight, unfeeling, unhappy bitch?” Jazzy stood and faced her. “Believe me, I’m having as much trouble accepting our being sisters as you are. For all your millions and hoity-toity ways, you’re no grand prize yourself, you know.”

Reve felt as if she’d been slapped. Taken back by Jazzy’s outburst, she stared at her look-alike, then smiled. “You’re quite right. I’m not a grand prize, am I? I’m sure you’d never have chosen me to be your sister. I’m rich, well- educated, socially prominent and yet I don’t have one single close friend. And not one man has ever cared about me just for me, whereas men seem to fall at your feet.”

“Well, well, well.” Jazzy laughed. “You are human after all.”

“Oh, yes, only too human.” Reve turned her gaze on Genny. “I don’t believe in hocus-pocus stuff. But I apologize if I’ve been rude. And if letting you do a reading, as Jazzy calls it, will make her happy, then by all means—”

“You are not what you seem,” Genny said, her dark eyes pinning Reve with their intensity. “You and Jazzy are two halves of a whole, and very soon both of you will begin sensing your oneness.”

Reve wasn’t sure how to react. Genny wasn’t telling her anything that couldn’t be true about any set of identical twins. But the way Genny stared at her, as if she could see beyond her body and into her spirit, unnerved Reve.