Under Lock And Key

She turned the lock and pocketed the key. “My dear Mr. Blackwell, welcome to your worst nightmare.”

“HEY, SAL, HOW ARE the biscuits today?” Ray Lundy asked. Breakfast at the Parker Peach had been a part of his routine since he took on managing J.R. Randall’s stables three years ago.

The redheaded waitress turned and smiled.

“Hey, Ray, you’re late this mornin’.” Sally Warren grabbed the coffeepot off the heater and headed to the corner table where Ray took a seat. He doffed his battered cowboy hat and laid it crown-side down on the vinyl seat next to him.

“Hear about the fire at Granger’s barn last night?” His eyes strayed over Sally’s hourglass figure squeezed into a cotton-candy-pink uniform that was half a size too small. He licked his lips, then forced his gaze back to her freckled face.

“What happened?” Sally asked, interest glowing in her eyes.

“They say it was the witch.”

“No!” Sally eyed the kitchen window, then placed the coffeepot on the table and sat down across from Ray.

“Yep. Granger, his wife and his daughter’s Girl Scout troop all saw her ridin’ away on that black stud of hers.” Glad to see his juicy gossip having the desired effect, Ray sampled the coffee, added a heaping teaspoon of sugar and a small container of cream.

“What reason would she have to do that?” Sally placed her elbows on the table and cupped her chin in her hands.

In the background Ray heard the clatter of dishes being washed, the scuff of a spatula scraping grease off the grill and Joe’s sharp bark at a kitchen helper. With the breakfast rush over, all Sally’s tables sat empty at the moment. Besides, he’d timed his arrival just right; he knew she was due for a break. He had her rapt attention—for the next couple of minutes.

“Granger said his cows wandered over to her pastures a few weeks ago,” Ray said. “She wasn’t too pleased. Had her henchwoman tell him to keep his cows home or she’d do it for him.”

“You don’t say.”

“Yeah. Good thing his stock was out, but the barn’s a total loss.”

“You know, that really doesn’t sound like her. She’s never bothered anybody before.”

“What about the hex she put on Harris when he shot that deer on her land last spring.”

Sally gave him a quizzical look.

“The next week the roof on his house caved in.”

“Oh, come on, Ray, there was a tornado spotted during that storm. She had no control over that.”

“Maybe, maybe not. What about Andy Stone?” Ray took a deliberately long sip from his cup. “I hear tell he saw her face last week when she was out ridin’ and hasn’t been able to talk since.”

“For heaven’s sake, Ray. Andy’s got laryngitis.”

“Are you sure?” Ray saw her thoughts waver. She’s so transparent.

“Then there’s the disappearin’ animals,” Ray continued. “The Strykers’ dog and the Andersons’ cat. Even old Zeke put in a report he had a goat missin’.” Ray sweetened his coffee with another spoonful of sugar. He loved the way the spoon clinked in time to Sally’s thoughts. “You know the full moon’s comin’. A witch’s moon.”

Ray saw Sally study him. They’d known each other since grade school. He liked to play with people, and she knew it. He hoped she wouldn’t realize he was playing her for a fool. Knowing Sally as well as he did, she’d jump at the chance to be the first to repeat the juicy gossip. That was why he’d picked her. Ray recognized the instant she made up her mind.

“Well, I gotta get back to work or Joe’ll have my hide,” she said. “The usual?”

“The usual.” Ray smiled a satisfied grin. He’d planted the kernel of doubt. Sally Warren’s loose tongue would spare no time in sharing the rumors. Everything was going according to plan.

Chapter Three

Tyler’s first thought was that he was dead. Then he tried to move and knew that if he was dead, he’d gone to hell. Nowhere else would such pain be allowed. His whole body throbbed. Something sharp dug into his rear and his guts hurt from sleeping on his back.

He willed his fuzzy mind to clear. Where was he? Why couldn’t he open his eyes? He vaguely remembered a woman talking to him. Had he imagined the soft fingers on his skin when they’d unbuttoned his shirt, or the strong yet gentle hands that had held him as someone bandaged him, or the musical voice that had soothed him every time he awoke during the night? The floating image of a green-eyed angel buoyed on his closed lids. Warmth had surrounded him.

A dream, Tyler thought, as he shivered under the thin blanket. It had to be a dream. The narrow cot grew unbearably uncomfortable beneath him. He had to get up. If only his body would cooperate. Water dripped somewhere to his right—a sharp, slow, echoing clank. The wind moaned at his feet. The clop of horse’s hooves on cobbles resounded above his head. All that’s missing are the scurrying rats, he thought. He forced his head up to look around, then let his head flop back on the flat pillow. There were bars instead of a door. Why wasn’t he surprised?

I’m in the middle of a nightmare, and I’ll wake up any minute now. He willed the warmth back, the soft hands, the gentle voice. It was no use. Reality kept intruding. The night came back in slow pieces. His promise to Freddy. The accident. Camelot. The castle. Why had he ever thought of the castle as Camelot? Somehow he’d ended up stuck inside a medieval dungeon. This wasn’t the way he’d expected to start this assignment. She must be as crazy as the tabloids said she was.

He didn’t like the idea of being at anyone’s mercy. Not after Lindsey. And especially not at the hands of a nutcase like Melissa Carnes. He was the pursuer, the one who put on the heat, not the other way around. It was time he set the record straight.

Professional pride, if not his male ego, jolted him into action. He regretted his sudden move when pain resonated throughout his body.

Tyler saw at once that the medieval atmosphere was carefully orchestrated. The drip came from a faucet turned on just enough to let one drop at a time clang into a metal bucket. The barred window was open a crack, allowing the wind to moan through it, but not the fusty air to dissipate. The walls needed no dressing up; their stone starkness, wet with morning dew, was enough to depress anybody. He glanced at his wrist and found it bandaged and his watch missing. By the weak light filtering through the dusty window, he judged the time somewhere just after dawn.

He was dying of thirst and the dripping water didn’t help. He hobbled over to the faucet and twisted it shut. The rust color inspired no confidence the water was drinkable. He made his way to the bars. Hanging on to them, he looked down the lightless tunnel. He could see nothing but black on either side.

“Hello,” Tyler called into the darkness. “Is anyone out there?” The moaning wind was his only answer. He hobbled back to the bucket, emptied the water with a splash on the stone floor and carried it back to the bars. He banged the empty pail against the bars.

“Anyone out there?”

“There’s no need for all that racket.”

A hulking giant seemed to magically materialize before his cell. He stopped the noise. She held a tray heaped with food. The odor of freshly brewed coffee set his stomach growling. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten. He forced his gaze off the steaming platter and back to the dark-skinned woman.

“Where am I?” he asked her.

“Where did you wanna be?” Intense black eyes bored through him. Maybe Freddy was right and his niece’s life was in danger.

“Why am I here?”

She shrugged. “You tell me. You’re the one who insisted you had to stay.”

Tyler didn’t like the course of this conversation. “Is this Thornwylde Castle?”

Her impenetrable stare accused him of unknown crimes, but her face remained blank.

“I want to see Melissa Carnes,” he commanded.

“She don’t see no one till she’s good and ready.”

“I need to see her.” Why was this woman making things so difficult? His request was simple enough. It deserved a simple answer. The headache pounding at his temple shredded through what remained of his patience.

“Don’t you know, one look at her face and you’ll turn into a pillar of salt?” He saw the amusement dance in her coal-black eyes.

“I’ll risk salt over these accommodations.” Maybe changing the subject would dispel the idea that he was dealing with a brick wall.

“She ain’t too pleased with your presence, either.”

“Let her tell me herself.”

“She will.” The big woman set the tray down by the door. “When she’s ready.”

A heavy set of keys jangled as she fumbled with the lock. Tyler thought of pouncing on her as she bent to pick up the tray, but to keep his promise to Freddy, he needed to stay here, not be shown the door before he’d even seen the woman he was here to protect. He silently sneered. Some protector.

The woman handed him the tray. Breakfast smelled good and he was ravenous. “She told me to feed you gruel.”

He lifted the cover from the plate. Beneath lay eggs, bacon, hash browns and the biggest peach muffin he’d ever seen. He cast her a sidelong glance. Was this draconian woman an ally? While balancing the plate in one hand, he gulped down the glass of orange juice with the other.

“Best-looking gruel I’ve ever seen.” His most genial smile was rewarded by a steely glare.

“Don’t get too comfy now.”

“Fat chance!”

She waved two fingers in front of his face. “How many fingers you see?”

“Two. I’m fine.” He sat down and dug into the mound of scrambled eggs.

She grunted and left, keying the lock closed behind her.

“Tell Miss Carnes I’d like to see her.” He bit into the muffin.

“She knows.”

A cacophony of various aches and pains stirred by his activity soon joined the pounding in his head and overtook his hunger. He placed the tray beside him. Sitting on the edge of the cot, he held his head in his palms and pressed the heels of his hands against his temples. What the hell had he gotten himself into?

“Any chance of getting some aspirin?” he asked as the woman started up the stairs.

She paused and nodded. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Tyler forced himself to finish the breakfast. He’d need strength to face Freddy’s witch of a niece—when Her Royal Shrewness deigned to see him. After he was done eating, he pushed the tray beneath the cot, then lay down. Sleep would take the edge off the pain. And maybe when he woke up, he’d find it had all been just an awful dream.

“GOOD JOB, Ray,” the voice on the phone said. “Rumors are flying from the café to the courthouse.”

Bright sunshine streamed through the stable door. The day wasn’t halfway done and already Ray had more than exceeded his expectations. Everything from now until midnight was gravy.

“Thought you’d be pleased.” Ray puffed on his cigar, a satisfied grin on his face.

“Keep the tongues wagging.”

You think you’re ridin’ high, you little priss, but I’m in charge of the show. You ain’t getting’ me to do nothin’ I don’t want to be doin’. I’ve got position.

Ray took another puff on his cigar, anticipating another gain of material that would lead to the win that was rightfully his. Everything was going according to plan. That the witch had so easily taken in the reporter proved a bonus. “Hey, ever hear of a guy named Tyler Blackwell?”

“Tyler Blackwell?” There was a catch in the voice.

Ray’s grin widened. Gotcha. The chance at redemption, he’d discovered, made for good motivation. “Yep. Seems he landed on Melissa Carnes’s doorstep last night.”

“Well, well, what an interesting development.” A pause, swarming with possibilities, followed as the contact processed options. “I can get him Tyler Blackwell’s head on a platter as an added bonus.” The phone clicked off.

“Yeah,” Ray said, extinguishing the cigar under the heel of his boot. “What an interestin’ development.” No one knew how to play pawns the way he did.

BEFORE DEANNA RANDALL came to her, an endless parade of nannies had flowed through the castle as if it had a revolving door. The pent-up rage Melissa had harbored since the accident was flung full force on each new and unsuspecting arrival. They never stayed for more than a week. Most never made it through the first day. Melissa’s unruliness drove her stepmother crazy and afforded young Melissa the only source of satisfaction she knew. Sable Lorel Carnes would have gladly sent her ugly stepdaughter to an institution and never given her a second thought, but William Carnes had just enough guilt to grant his daughter her wish to stay home.

Melissa was almost ten when Sable hired Deanna. Deanna was newly graduated from college with a degree in education, and she was a nice change of pace from the dour matrons Sable usually chose. She was full of the enthusiasm of a new teacher bursting with fresh ideas. No one had bothered to tell Deanna that Melissa had the manners of a wild animal. Nor had anyone told Deanna she had the right to refuse the job.

Melissa still remembered the day they met. She’d sat huddled on the window seat in the room where her stepmother kept her hidden. Sable disappeared as soon as she’d shown Deanna the room, not wanting to be around when the fur started flying. Deanna hesitated as she entered the room. Her long blond hair, caught in a barrette at her nape, flowed like liquid gold over one shoulder. Her round face and rosy cheeks made her look more like sixteen than twenty-one. But her starched white shirt and conservative navy skirt branded her as the latest nanny, and Melissa was ready to do battle.

“Hi! I’m Deanna Randall,” she’d said in a gentle friendly voice. Melissa simply glared at her from across the room. When Deanna started moving in her direction, Melissa flung a wooden toy horse at her. Deanna ducked and kept on walking.

“Go away! I don’t need you,” Melissa screamed, putting her all into the performance.

“I thought we might be friends.” Deanna had stopped six feet away and lowered herself to Melissa’s eye level.

“I don’t wanna friend!” Her hostile stance dared the new nanny to argue.

“I’d like to teach you wonderful things.” The woman’s voice was silky smooth, inviting.

“Why should I learn?”

“Because learning is growing and growing is what living is all about.” Deanna had talked to her like a person instead of an animal to be ordered about, then shoved back in its cage.

“What good is that gonna do me? I’m gonna be stuck in this room for the rest of my life.”

“That’s up to you, isn’t it?” Deanna smiled. Not a condescending smile, but one that accepted Melissa’s right to make her own decisions.

Melissa sprang from her seat. She stood, fists balled, directly in front of Deanna.

“Look at my face! See how ugly it is?” She turned her head and offered Deanna an unobstructed view of the mangled left half of her face. Deanna reached out and touched the still-tender burn scars.

“I can see inside you, and I see a beautiful soul.”

Melissa had been stunned. No one had touched her so gently since the accident. Her looks had repulsed all of the previous nannies, and they hadn’t bothered to hide it. Deanna had touched her softly and told her she was beautiful. Melissa hadn’t known whether to hit her or to cry. So she’d done both. As her love-starved soul pounded the new nanny, Melissa had dissolved into tears. Deanna had gathered her in her arms and held her close. She’d sobbed as only a heartbroken child could.

They’d been friends ever since. Not that Melissa had made it easy for Deanna, but Deanna had thrived on the challenge and had made Melissa’s life alive with laughter, learning and love.

They’d been inseparable until Deanna married Sam Ziegler five years ago. Sam and Deanna had since had two beautiful children, and Melissa’s time with Deanna was reduced to one night a week and daily phone conversations. Melissa allowed herself to visit her two god-children only when Sam was absent.

Tonight Melissa was determined to push Tyler’s arrival on her doorstep last night and his presence in her dungeon out of her mind and concentrate on the movie Dee had brought. Ghost was Dee’s favorite and she’d brought along the required box of tissues.

Dee lay sprawled on the sitting room’s comfortable couch while Melissa sat cross-legged on the plush cream-colored carpet using the couch leg as a backrest. A bowl of popcorn was propped on several cranberry-and-forest-green throw pillows within easy reach of both women.

Patrick Swayze slid his hands provocatively over Demi Moore’s body while “Unchained Melody” played in the background. The actors’ eyes glowed as they savored each other’s bodies. And though Tyler looked nothing like Patrick, and she in no way resembled Demi, Melissa saw him there on the screen, touching her like that. Ridiculous, of course. Only Dee could stand the sight of her face. Only the horses could stand her touch.

“Is love really like that?” Melissa asked, eyes glued to the TV as she popped a handful of popcorn into her mouth.

“Like what?” Deanna answered lazily, her attention also directed at the screen.

“Serious and strong and raw and, I don’t know, so intense.” What was real? What was movie magic?

“Sometimes.”

“Does it happen with all men or only when you’re with a special one?” She had nothing to go on to analyze the strange feelings Tyler stirred in her.

“Why do you ask?”

“Just curious.” Melissa chewed on another handful of popcorn. “Do you realize I’ll be thirty next month and I’ve never even been kissed by a man?”

Dee sat up, reached for the remote control and switched the movie off. “What’s going on in that head of yours, Melissa?”

“Nothing.” Melissa picked up the bowl of popcorn and balanced it on her knees, refusing to look directly at Deanna. She concentrated on each kernel she picked, chewing it longer than necessary and swallowing it untasted. How could she explain lustful thoughts about a man who wanted to hurt her when she wasn’t even sure what lust was?

“Come on, Mel. I know you. I know something’s eating you.”

Melissa continued her ritualistic choosing of popcorn, thinking of the man under lock and key in her dungeon. Now that Tyler Blackwell was fit, though bruised, she wasn’t sure what she wanted to do with him. Dee was right, she should have shoved him out the portcullis at first light. But that would only have enhanced her witch image. And that, she’d decided as she’d watched him last night, was the last thing she needed.

Now, watching this movie of two people in love, she knew she wanted someone other than Dee and Grace to see her as a person—to see her as a woman. But how to achieve that when people tended to see only the scars?

“I’m just wondering about love between a man and a woman,” Melissa said finally, not knowing quite what she wanted Dee to tell her. “How does it come about? How do you know when you’ve got it? What does it feel like?” She put the bowl of popcorn aside and faced Dee. “Is it like in the movies?”

Deanna shook her head. “Oh, boy, I don’t know how to answer that. Why this sudden urge to find out?”

Melissa shrugged, then stood and walked to the window. Nothing but blackness in all its shades. After Dee left, she would go for a ride and gallop away all these crazy sensations sliding through her.

“Because I feel empty inside. I want a husband and children. A normal life—like yours. And I know I can never have that. I guess I’m going through an early mid-life crisis.” She laughed halfheartedly, then turned to stare once more at the darkness. “How long does it take to get pregnant?”

“What!”

“Well?”

Deanna flushed. “We covered that in basic biology.”

“Would one time be enough?”

“Are you considering artificial insemination?”

Then something seemed to click in Deanna’s mind. She gasped and spilled the bowl of popcorn with her foot as she sprang up. “He’s still here! Tyler Blackwell’s still here! I thought we agreed letting him go was best all around. Dad says his being here can’t be good. He’s a dirt-digger, Mel. He doesn’t stop until he gets what he wants.” Deanna sucked in air and put a hand over her heart. “You’re not planning on sleeping with him, are you?”

“Are you mad!” Melissa brushed away the half-sketched thought. “The man is out to ruin me. Of course I’m not going to sleep with him.” She sneered and slapped her left cheek. “Do you really think he’d want to take someone like me to bed? Or that I’d even know how to seduce a man?”

Gently Deanna wrapped one arm around Melissa’s shoulders. Melissa hated the pity in her friend’s eyes.

“You know that’s not what I mean,” Dee said softly. “It’s just that he’s not another of the battered creatures you like to take in. He’s much more dangerous.”

“I know that.” Melissa knew it with her mind, saw it with her eyes, felt it in the strange sensation shivering down her back. Shrugging off Dee’s hand, she sat down and pressed the remote to restart the movie. But there was also something about Tyler Blackwell, about the pain in his voice, in his eyes, when he called to his Lindsey, that touched her deeply.

“I don’t want to see you hurt.”

“I know.” But Dee, in her own well-meaning way, had also never encouraged Melissa to venture past these castle walls. All the field trips but one had been James Randall’s idea. Because of his generous donations, he’d had museums and galleries opened after hours just for her. And as dangerous as Tyler Blackwell was, his words could open a whole new world to her. The only way she could think to achieve that was to hold him prisoner until he saw past the witch.

Patrick Swayze kissed Demi Moore, and she arched back in ecstasy at his touch. After wondering all night and all day what she was going to do with her unwanted guest, Melissa had her answer. The only question left in her mind was whether she would have the courage to follow through on her brash decision.

“MR. BLACKWELL?”

A woman’s voice pierced through layers of drowsiness, and Tyler winced as he propped himself up to answer.

“What…? What time is it?” he asked, his voice hoarse with sleep. “Who are you?”

“I’m sorry to wake you up, but I need to talk to you. I’m Deanna Ziegler, a good friend of Melissa’s.” She looked at her watch and added, “It’s about two in the morning.”

“Two a.m.!” Tyler sat up. He was wide awake now and annoyed. “What the hell are you doing here at this time?”

“Visiting. For Melissa it’s only midafternoon—she keeps quite different hours from most people. I want to know what your intentions are.”

“Intentions?” His eyes adjusted to the night and he stared unbelievingly at the small woman peering at him through the bars of his cell. She sounded like a father facing his daughter’s suitor. By the moon’s soft light, spilling from the high window, he guessed she was about forty. Her hair, gleaming white and her smooth Germanic features drawn tight with worry betrayed her age more than the well-proportioned figure clad in fuchsia exercise pants and flower-print T-shirt.

“I’ll arrange for Grace to let you go in the morning. I suggest you leave the second you get the opportunity,” Deanna said.

Tyler guessed that “Papa” had judged him to be an unsuitable prospect. Who was Grace? The woman who brought him his meals?

“I can’t.” He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, then leaned his elbows on his thighs and cradled his head in his hands. The angel of his hallucinations with her heavenly voice and jewel-green eyes had revisited him in dreams a man like him had no right to have. The angel was so far removed from the tabloid witch that he had to reconcile the two and find which one was real. Maybe he was doomed to repeat his mistakes, he thought, as the need for answers once again reasserted itself. How did he expect to find a new path if he followed the same old road?

“What do you mean you can’t?” Anger rose and turned the woman’s soft features surprisingly hard. “Melissa’s been through hell and can’t take any more of the kind of pain you bring.”