Free The Smoky Mountain Mist by Paula Graves Page A

she felt a sudden chill. “I never thought about that.”
    She wouldn’t have. She wasn’t used to being a target, and Seth wished like hell she could continue living her life without precautions. But there was too much danger out there, focused directly on her, for her to let her guard down that way anymore.
    The windows were curtain-free, but he thought he saw levers on each double-paned window that suggested between-the-glass blinds. “Whenever it’s dark enough outside to see your reflection in the windows, you should close the blinds.”
    She pressed her lips in a tight line, as if it annoyed her to have to make even that small accommodation to the dangerous world around her. A sign of a charmed life, he thought, remembering how early in his own life he’d learned to take precautions against the dangers always lurking, both outside and in.
    Another way he and Rachel Davenport were worlds apart.
    Starting at the opposite end of the room, he helped her close the blinds until they met in the middle. She paused at the last window, gazing out at the darkness barely visible beyond their reflections.
    “You think I’m spoiled,” she said quietly.
    He didn’t answer. He’d more or less been thinking exactly that, although not with any disapproval. He envied her, frankly.
    “There’s a lot about my life you don’t know.” She closed the blinds, shutting out the rainy afternoon, and turned to look at him, her expression softening. “You look terrible. I think you may have a broken nose.”
    It certainly hurt like hell, but he’d examined the bones himself while taking his shower, where he could throw out a stream of profanities without offending anyone. Cracked or not, the bones and cartilage were all in the right places. “It’ll heal on its own.”
    “Said in the tone of a man who’s had a broken bone or two.”
    “Or ten.” He made a face. “I’m fine.”
    She looked skeptical but didn’t press him on it. She crossed back to the armchair and curled up on its overstuffed cushions, pulling her knees up to her chest.
    He didn’t feel like sitting, so he wandered around the den, taking in the good furniture—some antiques, most not—and the eclectic collection of knickknacks dotting the flat surfaces around the large, airy room. Tiny animals sculpted from colored quartz formed a menagerie on a round side table near the sofa. On the fireplace mantel sat a small collection of Russian nesting dolls, painted in bright colors.
    The fireplace itself was, thankfully, cold and unlit, though the extra heat might have helped to drive away the afternoon chill still shivering in his bones. He’d live without it, thank you very much.
    He didn’t care for fire.
    The house he’d grown up in would have fit in this room, he thought, or close to it. He, Dee and his parents had lived there in grim strife for nearly fourteen years, until his father had blown the whole damned thing up, and himself with it.
    He wondered what Rachel Davenport had been doing around the time of that explosion. Probably up to her eyeballs in homework from Brandywine Academy, the expensive private school she’d attended to keep her away from the Appalachian hillbillies who filled Bitterwood’s public schools.
    Envy is an unattractive trait. Cleve Calhoun’s voice rumbled in his ear, full of wry humor. Hilarious advice coming from the man who’d used envy, greed, pride and vanity with great expertise against all his hapless marks. But however bad his motives for teaching Seth a few practical life lessons, Cleve had been right most of the time. Envy was an unattractive trait. And unfair to the envied, in Rachel’s case.
    It wasn’t her fault she’d been loved and protected. Every child should be so blessed.
    “Shouldn’t you be resting?” Rachel asked.
    He turned to look at her. “I’m not tired.”
    Her eyes narrowed slightly. “This isn’t your first beating.” It wasn’t a question.
    He didn’t know whether to laugh or