She was back.
Back in town.Back in his head.And back under his skin.
“Fuckin’ perfect,” he muttered, tearing out of the lot—Cassie riding shotgun all the way to the funeral home.
Chapter Nine
CassiespottedHarvell’sFuneralHome the moment Margie turned off the main road.It sat back on a slight rise, two stories of white clapboard and dark shutters, the porch stretching wide across the front.Fresh paint and a new sign didn’t matter—it was still the same place where she and Connor had sat on the front stoop in silence while Mama and Margie—mostly Margie—haggled with the director over Daddy’s burial costs.A little over a year later, they’d come back for Mama, unable to afford anything beyond the plainest box and a small graveside service.
And then she saw Nash—leaned back against a porch post, arms crossed, baseball cap pulled low, black T-shirt clinging to the hard, tattooed shape of him.A cigarette hung from his mouth, smoke curling along the edge of his beard.Her grip tightened on the bag.Big, arrogant bastard, standing there like he’d rather bulldoze the world than ever admit he’d done a damn thing wrong.
“Ready?”Margie asked, parking the truck.
“No.”Cassie kept glaring at Nash.
Margie patted her arm.“Don’t matter.Let’s get it done.”
Shoving open the door, Cassie turned her attention back to the funeral home and marched up the steps past Nash without so much as a glance.
Inside, the parlor was brighter than she remembered—updated trim, lighter walls—but the burgundy carpet remained.The same ugly oil paintings lined the walls: angels and misty hills trapped inside heavy gold frames that looked more gaudy than holy.
The door chimed as Margie and Nash entered behind her.Cassie’s shoulders stiffened, tension crawling up the back of her neck, but she kept her eyes fixed ahead, determined to pretend he wasn’t there.
A man in his fifties stepped from the hallway into the foyer, his smile polite and practiced.A gold nameplate on his suit lapel read:Edward Harvell, Funeral Director.
“Thank y’all for comin’,” he said gently.“I’m so sorry for your loss.”
Cassie only nodded, while Margie replied, “Thanks for our business, you mean.Well, hell, let’s get to it—ain’t no good in hoverin’ by the door.”
Harvell blinked, quickly recovering.“Of course.This way, please.”With a small gesture, he led them down a narrow hallway and into a cramped office.A heavy oak desk dominated the room, its surface crowded with neat stacks of leather-bound catalogs.
Cassie and Margie took the chairs across from him.Nash stayed by the door, silent and looming, like the whole room might need intimidating.Because of course he did.
Harvell began, “Now, Ms.Berry, I understand this is for your brother—”
“He needs to be buried with our parents,” Cassie interrupted.“At Ridge Hollow.”
Harvell’s smile faltered.“Ah, yes.I remember you mentioning that on the phone.However, Ridge Hollow is a historic site and technically closed to new burials.There might be exceptions for family plots, but those are handled on a case-by-case basis by the Redwater County Historical Preservation Committee.”
Flipping through a stack of papers, Harvell continued, “I believe there’s one cemetery with available plots over in Bluebend—”
“Where the ground floods every spring?”Margie scoffed.“Might as well toss him in a damn canoe and send him upriver.”
Harvell paled and started rifling through another pile.“Yes, well, there are also newer lots in Rosewood—very beautiful, very peaceful—”
Cassie shook her head, teeth clenched.“No.He has to be with our parents.”
“Well, I can certainly inquire,” Harvell replied.“But I must warn you the outcome will likely not be in your favor.In the meantime, we could discuss other options—”
“No,” Cassie cut in bitingly.“He has to be with our parents.And I’m prepared to pay whatever that costs.I don’t care what hoops you have to jump through or who you have to call.Do you understand me?Whatever that costs.”
Harvell’s hands stilled on his papers.He cleared his throat, a tight smile tugging at his mouth.“Of course, Ms.Berry.We can certainly explore a…fee option.These things just take time.The council will need to review records, confirm your family’s existing plots, and—well, sometimes there are added costs for use of historic grounds—”
“Nash,” Margie said quietly.
Nash pushed off the wall and stepped forward, wedging himself between Cassie and Margie.He braced his hands on Harvell’s desk, the heavy silver Kings ring on his finger catching Cassie’s eye.Beside it sat another Kings ring, its metal darkened and scuffed.
Connor’s.
