A Bullet to the Heart by Kathy Wheeler (most read books of all time .TXT) 📕

No such luck. His lips curled in a half smile that never failed to thrust the contents of her stomach into chaos with the force of hurricane winds. “Hey, Jo.” That deep resonance could earn him loads as a hypnotist.

This was exactly what worried her as anxiety surged through her veins. Just speaking softly, touching her with those hands that could turn her to mush, mold her to his liking, he could get her to do his bidding. She studied those hands. They were big. Too big. He could hurt someone with those hands. Perhaps he had.

Penelope Knox had died fifteen years ago, a classmate of Jackson’s and Wyn’s. Jo could certainly picture Jackson’s involvement. She never considered for a minute that Wyn had been the one who’d killed her all those years ago.

Tevi had snuck out of the house. Eleven-year-old Jo had been frantic and grabbed Lydia. They found her hiding near Serpent’s Point. Jo threatened to beat her within an inch of her life, had taken her by the arms and shook her. “Don’t ever frighten us like that again, Victoria Tevis. Do you hear me?” Every pent up emotion that spun through Jo came out angry: frustration, fear, and on occasion, happiness.

Tevi had turned that cheeky smile on them and soft-hearted Lydia immediately caved, pulled Tevi away and hugged the little minx. “She didn’t mean anything by it, did you, Tevi? But you shouldn’t sneak out like that. It’s dangerous.”

The moon was bright and showed Tevi’s big blue eyes filled with tears. Jo felt horrible. She crouched down and hugged her too. “We would be really sad if anything ever happened to you, Tevi.”

Her tiny arms wrapped Jo’s neck. “I’m sorry, JoJo. Next time I sneak out, I’ll tell you. I promise.”

The child was hopeless, Jo thought at the time. Jumping into the fire with both feet, no thought to the slightest consequence. Tevi had taken Lydia’s hand and skipped next to her, leaving Jo behind.

Jo had reached the bluff and found her sisters far ahead, laughing gaily, when she heard the scream. A chilling sound that reverberated over the surf below. Jo ducked behind the nearest tree and saw one of the larger boys running back from the edge. Fast moving clouds shielded the moon’s bright beam, making it impossible to make out which boy she’d seen.

She huddled near the tree too terrified to move, her eyes squeezed tight.

“Jo, what are you doing out here this time of night?”

She opened her eyes to see Wyn crouched in front of her, shirtless, smelling of a spirit she couldn’t identify. Sobbing, she threw herself in his arms, trembling uncontrollably. “How did you find me?”

“I think I’ll always know where to find you, Josephine Weatherford.” His voice slurred a little but held a smile. “Come on, let’s get you home. Victor will have my head.”

She blinked and the memory dissolved, leaving only the emotions attached. She didn’t remember the walk home that night. Rumors had flown throughout the island and no one had ever been held responsible for Penelope’s death.

Reverend Knox had never seemed the same. His other daughter, Ruthie, hadn’t been allowed from his sight. Even now, fourteen years later, the only time anyone saw her was in Sunday services.

Wyn moved in her direction with his supposed unassuming stroll. What if she’d been wrong? Yet, the closer he drew, the more the air grew saturated with the pure masculine scent of pine and bayberry and …danger.

She hadn’t seen him since Aunt Mary’s death six months ago. Not that Jo hadn’t been back, she’d just kept her visits quiet. She forced herself to settle and slipped into her mask of nonchalance. She felt the attraction. How could she not? She’d been in love with Wyn since that night which was totally ridiculous since she been just a kid at the time. It was just, well, when she was scared she imagined his strong arms shielding her from all the ghosts that followed her. Ghosts that wouldn’t leave her alone. She was twenty-five now. They needed to leave her alone.

Wyn stopped just short of where Jo stood and studied her with that thick-lashed, gray gaze of his that changed with the weather’s whim. “My condolences on Victor’s death,” he said, not sounding the least bit sorry.

Just looking at him did inexplicable things to her insides. Things that made her feel good, worthy. And she was none of those things. She hated her own mother. She hated herself. How could he act as if he liked her? Yet, she couldn’t tear her gaze away from his intense scrutiny. It was like he could see into her head.

“You moving back then?”

Just like that, his words snapped her out of her stupor. “What? No.”

“Why not?”

She spun away from that speculative look in his eye. Because of you. “I-I don’t belong here anymore.” There was no way she could do this now. Shuddering, she ran for the house, tripping only once on the uneven path when Frizzle darted in front of her.

5

S

on of a bitch. Wyn struck out after Jo. If only to make sure she didn’t kill herself in those ridiculous shoes. Who the hell hiked in heels? Every step he took, another tree limb slapped him in the face. He caught sight of her at the edge of the tree line in time to see her push that monster of a dog out of her way and brush dirt from her skirt. Then she was off again. Seconds later she slipped into the house through a back door.

Aggravation grated over him. Life sure had a way of dumping on the little people. Apparently, he was destined to follow in his mother’s footsteps.

Every instinct he possessed told him Jo was as enamored with him as he was with her, only it was clear she was not ready to admit their mutual desire for one another. Not after that debacle from five years ago. As frustrating as that was,