Sweet Last Drop Read Online Free PDF Page B

swerved as Walker winced away from the light.
    “Maybe you should pull over and let me drive.”
    Walker glared at me from under his hand as he massaged his temples. “Why would I do that?”
    “I’d imagine it’s difficult to drive when you’re fighting a migraine.”
    Walker turned his gaze back to the road, but he didn’t pull over. He drove us all the way to his house, his eyes barely open and his hands wringing the steering wheel in pain, but we pulled into his driveway in one piece. If tonight was any indication, country life wasn’t much different than city life: investigating murders, dodging vampire attacks, and surviving stubborn men. Except I could do all three in boots instead of heels.
    * * * *
     
    Walker’s house was exactly what I had anticipated a house in the deep woods would look like, but even after seeing it a second time, I couldn’t believe Walker actually lived there. The house was essentially a log cabin, a beautiful, three-story log cabin with a wrap-around porch, wood-burning fireplace, and stone chimney. A porch swing was built into the house on the east side of the porch, and on the north side, a hammock was stretched between two awning posts. Gabled dormers jutted from the roof, letting light and space into the attic. The gravel driveway was outlined in heavy stonework; it extended into a wide lot at the side of the house.
    When we’d dropped off my luggage earlier this afternoon, the driveway had been empty. Now, two pickup trucks in addition to Walker’s Chevy, his Harley, and a Charger were already parked in the lot as we pulled in. I climbed out of the truck gingerly—my hip protesting the movement—and stared, in awe of the sheer magnitude of Walker’s home.
    “Expecting company?” I breathed.
    Walker smiled. “Come on. Let’s go inside and get an icy-hot patch on your hip.”
    “I’m not—”
    He held up a hand. “Don’t. You were better at hiding it in the city.”
    The arthritis has worsened since the last time you were in the city , I thought. Instead of speaking my mind, I said. “An icy-hot patch isn’t going to cure anything.”
    “It won’t hurt anything either.”
    I stared at Walker, his face chiding and my hip pounding, and I gave up on pretenses. I used to go through almost an entire day without the arthritis and scar tissue from my old injury affecting my daily life. Today was obviously not one of those days, so I swallowed my stubbornness.
    “Well, in that case, an icy patch would be great.”
    Walker stepped around the hood of his truck and onto the wooden wrap-around porch. A very thin, auburn-haired woman met us at the entrance and opened the screen door for us. She wore an oversized, green sweater, boot cut jeans, and fuzzy green socks. Exactly how thin she’d become was mostly hidden under the layers of baggy clothes, and when she smiled at our approach, her hazel eyes crinkled with genuine warmth. Her smile was wide and bright and had the uncanny ability to transform her delicate features from frail to precious.
    Walker smiled back, and his expression was equally warm. Her pale skin and sharp features reminded me of fine china, something of high value but easily broken. I wondered if Walker had noticed the hollows under her collarbone and the frail, protruding bones of her wrist. Walker didn’t normally miss much, but if the answering gleam in his eyes was any indication, he was distracted, maybe by more than just her eyes and blossoming smile.
    The corner of my heart I had let soften toward Walker over the past few weeks ached.
    Shoving my feelings for Walker and those dangerous hopes aside, I gritted my teeth against the pain and climbed the porch’s front steps.
    Walker bounded up the steps beside me. “DiRocco, I’d like you to meet my partner and very good childhood friend, Ronnie Carmichael. Ronnie, this is Cassidy DiRocco.”
    Ronnie’s smile slipped slightly. She looked almost cautious as she held out her hand.
    I took it and