Free LETHAL OBSESSION by Carey Regenold

was made?"
          "Absolutely,
come on, I'll show you."   Gene led her around the side of the dwelling. 
"This is where three generations of Stones made corn whiskey.  Best white
lightning you could buy in these parts."
    Ellen
saw rusted, coiled pipes connected to a large metal container. Weeds were
slowly devouring the contraption.
          "So
that was no tall tale about you running illegal whiskey when you were a
teen."
          "All
true and this is where we made it."
          "Do
you make any today?"
          "Gosh
no, it’s too much trouble.  I'm on the other side of the law now."
          "Ah
yes, here we have the good, upstanding sheriff of Cedar Grove, Tennessee."
          "That's
me.  Three generations were born in this cabin. I was the last. I lived here
when I was small, until my folks quit making moonshine and decided to go
straight with the law. Now it’s my secret haven.  This is where I come when I
need to get away and think.  I’ve never brought anybody here until now.  I wanted
to share this with you, Ellen.”                                
          They
walked up the steps to the front porch.  An old fashioned swing hung on the far
side.  The front door creaked open as Gene unlocked it. The inside smelled of cedar
and pungent wood smoke where a crackling fire had burned recently in the stone fireplace.
There was an antique sofa with colorful Afghans spread over the back.  Ellen
was impressed.  The cabin looked lived in.  Gene must come here often, she
thought.  It was clean and had all the comforts of home. 
          The
head of a six point buck stared at her with its glass eyes from a perch on the
wall over the fireplace.  She pointed to the deer.  “A former friend of yours?”
          Gene
chuckled.  “Yeah, sort of.  I bagged him four years ago.  He had come up right
in the yard over there.” He pointed out the front window. "Kept the
department in venison for quite awhile.  Look around, make yourself at home.”
          Ellen
began wandering around the cabin while Gene put away food supplies from his
backpack.  From an adjacent door she saw the bedroom.  The large brass bed
looked like something out of the nineteenth century. Apparently this was where
all the Stone children were birthed. The fluffy pillows and early American
spread matched the pleated window curtains. 
          Suddenly
a feeling of unease washed over her. Ellen had the wildest urge to run out of
the cabin and as far away from this place as she could. What on earth was she
doing here on an isolated mountain peak with this man?  Good God, she had to be
nuts.
          Gene
must've sensed her panic. Handing her a sandwich he said, "Let's go sit
outside on the front porch swing."            
          They
dined on ham sandwiches and potato chips while enjoying the panorama of the
Great Smoky Mountains in all its autumn glory.  Gene reminisced about his
childhood growing up on this mountain top.  Ellen listened to him, feeling at peace. 
She realized her growing attachment to Gene was something that started on that
fateful night he took her to witness Mark's burned out plane. 
          Now
with only four months since her husband's death, Ellen felt desire for Gene. When
his warm fingers began to caress her neck, she didn't move away.  Pulling her
close, Ellen snuggled into his chest lulled by his steady heartbeat.  She was
enjoying the closeness.
          The
rickety ancient swing rocked slowly until the rusted chain could no longer
support their weight.  As Gene and Ellen found themselves unceremoniously
dumped on the wooden floor, they laughed until tears streamed. "How old
was that chain?" said Ellen between hoots of laughter.
          "I
think it came with the house."
          When
the laughter died down they continued to lie on the floor facing each other.
Gene's hand came up to stroke her