Forbidden Temptation

Prologue

A brisk December wind moaned in the pines, driving Rose Browning deeper into her long wool coat. She adjusted the basket of muffins hanging at a dangerous tilt in the crook of her left arm, breathing in the warm aroma of cinnamon that almost overpowered the tang of pine needles and fallen leaves carpeting the path through Bridey Woods.

The ramshackle facade of Carrie and Dillon Granville’s home came into view. Her pulse quickening, Rose crunched over the frosty ground, speeding up the closer she got. In a minute, Carrie would open the door and smile her welcome, her expression blurred by a shimmer of transparent silver in the shape of her husband Dillon’s face. Dillon would appear in the door behind his wife, his smile harder to come by, but that wouldn’t matter once Rose saw the image of Carrie dancing over his face.

This was the best part of what she did, getting to see the veils, each time like the first, fresh and wonderful.

She called them true-love veils, shimmery images of soul mates superimposed over each other’s faces. Seeing them was her gift, and she’d helped a lot of soul mates find each other over the years. She’d even made a career out of it, planning weddings for the people she brought together.

It was how she’d known that Carrie and Dillon were meant to be together, despite the obstacles keeping them apart.

The true-love veils were the best gift in the world, and she was grateful to be the Browning sister who’d received it.

Rose’s footsteps rang on the rickety porch steps, usually enough to bring the sound of feet moving across the rough wood floor inside. But this morning she heard only a low keening sound, which seemed to echo the December wind in the towering pines overhead, sending a chill curling down her spine.

She lifted her hand to knock but faltered, unease slithering through her belly. The woods around her lay silent, as if the animals were in hiding. She’d heard the bark of a gun as she’d left her house near town but thought little of it. Hunting season was in full swing, and, while Willow Grove, Alabama, could boast of lush green fields to lure hunters from the city, many of the locals couldn’t afford to be so picky.

Maybe a hunter had spooked the animals, she told herself.

But she didn’t quite believe it.

The keening grew louder. Harsh breathing, she realized, her nerves jangling. Coming from inside.

“Carrie?”

The breathing stopped.

Rose took a reluctant step closer to the cracked-open door. She could see nothing through the dark opening.

“Carrie? It’s Rose. Is everything okay?”

The silence stretched and grew taut. Rose leaned toward the narrow opening, trying to peer into the darkness.

Overhead a crow shrieked; the raucous sound was like a knife sawing over her tight nerves. Rose jerked, her hand smacking into the door, stinging her cold knuckles. She swallowed a hiss of pain as the door creaked open, hinges moaning.

Daylight slashed across the dark interior to reveal Carrie Granville’s arm outstretched across the plank floor of the main room. The rest of her body was hidden in shadow.

As Rose’s heart clenched, something dark, thick and fluid slithered across the floor toward Carrie’s hand.

Blood.

Rose took a step back, until a soft snicking sound brought her to a dead halt.

“She made me do it.” Dillon Granville’s country twang emerged from the shadows, low and pained. “I didn’t want to, but she made me.”

Wind gusted at Rose’s back, blowing her dark hair into her eyes and pushing the door into the wall. Daylight flooded the cabin’s interior.

Dillon squinted at the sudden light, giving Rose time to turn and run. But what she saw on his face froze her in place.

The true-love veil was there, just as she’d imagined it: Carrie’s face, smiling and happy, a horrific contrast to the slack, pallid face of the woman lying dead on the floor, her eyes half open and forever sightless.

Rose’s arms fell weakly to her sides. Her Christmas basket hit the porch with a thud, spilling apple-cinnamon muffins across the weathered planks.

Behind the lingering true-love veil, Dillon’s expression shifted, hardened. Rose’s heart jolted.

“I can’t live without her. It’s like you told us. We’re supposed to be together forever.” As the hardness of Dillon’s expression softened into a distant half smile, the veil over his face rippled, slowly changing to a translucent image of his own face, his left temple open and pulpy.

Before Rose could process what she was seeing, Dillon lifted the gun. Ice gushed into Rose’s veins and she took a stumbling step back, her legs heavy and unresponsive.

The gun barrel was pointed in her direction for only the briefest moment on its way up to Dillon’s right temple.

“No.” Rose’s voice came out strangled, watery with horror.

Dillon smiled at her. “Together forever,” he said.

Then he pulled the trigger.