In the Land of Tea and Ravens Read online

  Patience was a virtue, and Grayson had it in spades.

  “Easy,” he whispered, his gaze finding hers. Together, they rid him of his clothes.

  Skin against skin. There was nothing between them now. Nothing but quick pain, heat, and furrowed brows.

  “Like tea,” he whispered against her ear. “Slow and easy. The art is in the doing, not how well it’s done the first time.”

  She swallowed past the pain, the feel of his body entering and invading hers. It was different, but it was also a relief—not because she was one of those women that needed a man to feel complete, but because she was sharing the pain with someone who cared that it hurt, someone who was willing to acknowledge the awkwardness and share in it.

  Pulling her arms above her head, Grayson entwined his fingers with hers, his gaze finding her face.

  “Run,” he told her.

  There was no more gentleness. There was only passion and fire, heated skin and mingled breaths. Lyric’s fingers fisted with his, her heart racing, the pain in her body replaced by something more pleasant, a slow burning flame that lit her from the bottom of her toes to their joined hands.

  She was running, straining, and pushing. When it finally stopped, when the power of it slammed into her, she felt … new.

  Grayson stilled, his gasps joining hers. Releasing her hands, his head fell to her neck, his heated palm coming to rest on her chest just below her breastbone. Her heart pounded against his hand.

  People often take beating hearts for granted, the sound and feel of it. Grayson had taken so much for granted as a boy. He wasn’t much older now, but life had handed him years he hadn’t earned yet. He didn’t take hearts for granted. He liked the pounding feel of it.

  Lyric’s hand found his scar, her fingers tracing it to his chest before her palm splayed against his skin. Two hearts, two pounding beats.

  Their gazes met.

  “Run,” he told her.

  Lyric grinned. “Smile, Grayson.”

  And he did.

  ~26~

  Once upon a time, in a land much like our own, there lived a young woman who was afraid of life, a young woman who was afraid of getting close to people. This woman had a right to be afraid. She had a right to keep her distance. It was her duty to protect her family, to keep them safe and unharmed. Yet duty, like anything else in life, is often misunderstood. She had as much a duty to herself as she did to those she loved.

  ~The Tea Girl~

  Lyric had a habit of disappearing in the mornings, as if the sun called to her, as if the dawn couldn’t rise if she wasn’t there to meet it. It was the vintage world she loved so much, that black and white moment right before the sun captured the world.

  For two days, they were left alone. For two days, Grayson spent his days and his nights with Lyric. There was nothing else, only them and the decaying house, the cawing ravens, quick sandwiches, and cup after cup of tea. There was conversation and heated skin, laughter and love.

  They were two broken people—two jagged sides of an incomplete piece—who had somehow learned to accept what made them broken. There were no regrets, no shame, and no embarrassment.

  For a moment, they’d both forgotten who Lyric was. They’d forgotten how fragile her life was. They’d forgotten about the cup.

  It was on the third morning after Lyric had left the camper that a knock startled Grayson awake. Rubbing sleep from his eyes, he pulled on a pair of blue jeans, his bare feet stumbling to the door.

  “What the—”

  “You need to come home,” Daniel Stevens insisted, his face crowding the door. His eyes were hard when they met Grayson’s, the disapproval in them stark. “There’s way too much work to be done for you to be wallowing here with that woman.”

  Grayson stared. “That woman?” he asked. He shook his head, his hand pushing against the door.

  Daniel’s fist stopped him, his palm pressing against the frame. “I don’t really give a shit what’s going on here, man, but I do care about that farm you hired me to help take care of.”

  Grayson paused, his duty to his grandparents a guilt he couldn’t ignore. He might be angry with Mildred, but they’d taken him in when he needed it. “I’ll be there to work tomorrow,” he said finally, “but I’m not coming home. Not yet.”

  Daniel glared. “You’re going to let her do this to you? You’re going to let her tear you away from your family?” He shook his head. “You do realize you’re trespassing. You’re on probation. If Richard Newton decides to take the two of you in, you face a lot more legal trouble than that woman.”

  His jaw tensing, Grayson slammed the door against Daniel’s fist before opening it again. The man’s yelp echoed inside of the camper, his free hand cradling the injured one. “Shit!”

  Grayson stared. “That woman’s name is Lyric. Do me a favor and never threaten a man who’s learned enough in prison to scare you into an early grave.” There was a darkness to his gaze that made Daniel stumble backward, his eyes narrowing.

  “It’s started, hasn’t it?” Daniel asked. “The insanity?”

  Grayson laughed. “That’s a load of bullshit.” He pointed at the woods. “Go back. I’ll be there to work, but I’m not coming home.”

  Daniel retreated, his gaze going from the camper to the decaying house and back again. There was something savage about the way he moved, and Grayson watched as he disappeared into the tree line.

  Daniel’s visit was the beginning of the end.

  Stories shouldn’t work that way. There should be a beginning followed by a period of divine happiness and no drama, but Juliet Johnson had been right. It’s easy for people to condemn other people. The forgiving was harder. The forgiving often never happened.

  ~27~

  This girl, this dutiful woman, lived in a no man’s land surrounded by ravens. She made tea, and she liked to run. She had a sweet voice that could enchant the devil, and she’d met a villain. He wasn’t an evil villain, this man. He’d made mistakes he was bound to live with, but the girl had made mistakes, too. This girl and her villain were broken, the two of them brought together by a strange tea party with the dead.

  ~The Tea Girl~

  Grayson always kept his promises. He’d awoken the next morning when Lyric did, the two of them sharing a quick cup of tea before they parted. She was off to see the dawn, and Grayson was off to work. The summer would end soon, the state overtaken by chilly breezes and changing leaves. There was still time for that. Summer in the South didn’t truly end until October, but Lyric would leave before then. She’d be gone before September ate August, and Grayson was feeling the loss.

  Freddie Graham was climbing on to a tractor when Grayson topped the hill.

  The man froze mid-climb. “You’re lookin’ good,” Freddie declared.

  Grayson smiled. “It’s been a restful few days.”

  Freddie slapped him on the back. “Good, ’cause I could use some o’ your energy.”

  Grayson moved past him toward the barn, his gaze going over his shoulder. “Where’s Daniel?”

  Freddie shrugged. “Said there was somethin’ your granddaddy needed from town.”

  Grayson paused, an odd trickle of unease sliding down his spine. A run to town wasn’t out of the ordinary, but it seemed wrong that Daniel would be absent the day Grayson returned to work after the reaction he’d received from the man the day before.

  “From town?”

  Freddie had started to climb once more on to the tractor, but something about Grayson’s tone made him pause. “You all right?”

  Grayson didn’t answer. He walked toward the house instead, the barn forgotten.

  “Hey!” Freddie shouted. “Where are you going?”

  Grayson kept walking, his apprehension growing. His head told him there was nothing to worry about. His instincts told him there was something wrong.

  Freddie abandoned the tractor and jogged to catch up to Grayson. “What’s goin’ on?”

  Grayson glanced at him. �
�How long has Daniel been gone?”

  Freddie glanced at a watch on his wrist. “Maybe an hour?” They’d reached the house. “Why?”

  Grayson shoved the kitchen door open, the force slamming it against the wall, the sound startling a hunched Mildred Kramer where she stood at the stove.

  “What in God’s na—”

  Grayson glared at her. “Where’s Daniel, Mamaw?”

  Mildred stiffened, her gaze passing between the two men, her expression shuttered. “He ran an errand for me.”

  Grayson watched her, his blue gaze taking in the way her eyes widened, her nostrils flaring. He’d learned a lot about reading other’s people’s expressions while in prison; it had been a necessary survival skill.

  Freddie’s brows furrowed. “Daniel told me he was doin’ somethin’ for John.”

  His face stormy, Grayson approached his grandmother and leaned in close. “Where’s Daniel?”

  She swallowed, her wrinkled hands pushing at the spectacles on her nose. “He had business in town.”

  The niggling sense of doubt he’d felt before grew, suspicion taking root in his gut. His heart rate climbed, his gaze going to the door. “You’re lying,” he hissed.

  A loud roaring sound rose from the fields beyond the house followed by revving motors and distant shouts. Grayson froze, his eyes swinging to his grandmother. The color had leeched from her face.

  Terror gripped Grayson. “What have you done?” he whispered.

  “Grayson—”

  He faced her. “What have you done?” he bellowed, his words almost shaking the house.

  She wrung her hands. “I couldn’t let her take you away from me …” She started to reach for him and stopped. “Grayson, I just couldn’t let her take you.” A tear slid down her cheek. “We’ve already lost so much. This family has lost too much!”

  Numb anger overwhelmed him. “This family!” he shouted. “What about hers?” He shook his head, disappointment overwhelming him, his hand gesturing at the room. “These walls used to hold champions. You were always my hero, you and Papaw. What happened?”

  She stared at him. “There’s been so much death …”

  The guilt he’d managed to let go of the past few days came stumbling back into him. That was the thing about guilt: some people let you forget it while others made you live with it.

  “Shit!” Freddie screamed from the open doorway, his gaze flying to Grayson. “They’re going to demolish the Miller place!”

  Grayson’s heart dropped, his gaze snapping to Mildred’s. “Lyric,” he breathed.

  “They won’t hurt her!” Mildred cried. She shook her fist. “She needs to leave! She’s been here long enough. She’s stolen too much!”

  Grayson’s gaze met hers, the coldness in his stare startling. “What has she stolen, Mamaw?” He laughed, the sound half-crazed. “Except maybe my heart. She was never here to hurt anyone.” He backed toward the door. “She was only here to heal.”

  “You haven’t known her long enough to love her!” she cried.

  Grayson paused. “I’ve had years in prison to learn that sometimes time means less than experience.”

  “Grayson!” Freddie cried.

  Grayson spun, his feet carrying him to the door.

  Mildred followed him. “They won’t hurt her!”

  The trucks beyond the house grew louder, more menacing.

  “Dear God!” Freddie gasped.

  “They won’t hurt her,” Mildred whispered.

  Grayson stepped free of the kitchen, his gaze going across the fields. Townspeople were gathered on the Miller lawn, bulldozers and other equipment pulling down the lane, tossing up dirt and years of fury.

  “They can’t—” Grayson began. He froze, his heart dropping to his feet, his blood freezing, realization dawning. “No!”

  “It’s just a house,” Mildred said.

  “The cup,” Grayson hissed. He couldn’t breathe, his chest so tight he wasn’t sure his lungs could work. “The cup!”

  Grayson hadn’t owned a cell phone since prison, and he’d never seen Lyric with one, but he wanted one now.

  “The cup!” he screamed.

  The cup, Lyric’s life, was inside of that house. He’d been the one to ask her to stay, to explore this strange chemistry between them. If anything happened to the cup, or to her, it would be his fault. He took off at a run, his legs knocking over a potted plant just outside of the door, the clay shattering.

  The cup! He had to get to the cup!

  Machines beeped, the sound followed by shouting.

  The cup!

  Running had never seemed so important. It didn’t matter that his lungs burned. It didn’t matter that he looked insane, his face twisted, his eyes full of desperation.

  “The cup!” His screams were loud and tyrannical, frantic and crazed.

  Faces rose, gazes meeting his across the fields, their mouths and eyes widening.

  Grayson kept running and yelling, his throat burning, his lungs on fire, his eyes watering.

  “You can’t!” he yelled.

  Robert Smith, Bridget’s father, glanced up from the bulldozer where he sat, his narrowed gaze on Grayson. The machines were too loud, Grayson’s screams lost on the wind, the words torn away from him, but they knew what he was doing. They knew! They saw the intent in the way he moved.

  He waved his arms and begged them to stop.

  They kept moving forward, the vehicles primed to destroy.

  “The cup!” Grayson panted.

  He was close enough now he could see the cars parked along the road. Curious onlookers mingled, riotous glee in their eyes.

  Blue lights flashed, Richard Newton’s patrol car idling on the edge of the lawn. Leaning against the door—her back to the house, her hands handcuffed behind her, and her head down—was Lyric. There was something tragic about her shoulders, a calm defiance and sagging acceptance. Above her, perched in the trees, sat the ravens.

  Machines roared, the sound setting Grayson’s blood on fire.

  Shoving through the crowd, he wrestled his way to the house, his body thrown between it and the bulldozers.

  Shouts rose into the sky, angry yells embracing him. Behind him, despite all of the noise, the rocking chair on the porch moved. Creak, the chair said. Creak.

  No one noticed it, but Grayson did. The sound made him bolder, his head lifting, his chin rising, a gaze full of rage meeting the men on the bulldozers.

  “It’d be best if you moved,” Robert Smith called down.

  Grayson’s gaze met his, his defiance cold and unrelenting. This wasn’t about a house. This was about Lyric’s life. This was about a woman, who in a matter of weeks, had managed to change him in a way no one else had. Her loneliness ate away at the armor he’d once erected around himself.

  Despite the situation, he found himself laughing, the sound mad.

  Lyric was reliving her family’s story. She was the tea girl, a woman with no true name, no true place in life other than this strange affinity she had with tea. She’d healed him with the brew, the same way Mercy had healed her king.

  Jealousy had left the family forever tied them to a teacup, and now bitterness was going to kill them.

  He was falling in love with her.

  Most people thought love was supposed to be this beautiful, amazing experience, full of nothing except laughter, joy, and happily ever afters. True love wasn’t about the good times. Those were too easy. True love hurt. True love healed.

  Something real had sparked between Lyric and Grayson, something real and painful and terrifying, and he’d be damned if it ended this way. He’d be damned if it ended before it really had a chance to begin.

  “Grayson!” a woman screamed.

  His grandmother’s voice shook, full of a despair so stark, it cut through his flesh. The scar on Grayson’s chest throbbed, his gaze meeting the faces of the mob dead on, his shoulders thrown back, his feet rooted to the ground.

  His jaw tensed.

>   “Don’t make me arrest you, Grayson Kramer!” Sheriff Newton called.

  Grayson’s gaze met his. Taking a step backward, he edged defiantly toward the house.

  “For God’s sake!” Henry Calhoun yelled from his perch on the second bulldozer. “Just arrest him already!”

  On the porch, the chair moved. Creak, it said. Creak.

  In the trees, ravens cawed, the sound drowned out by the machines.

  Grayson refused to move. His grandmother was screaming, her voice lost to his anger and fear. Townsfolk murmured amongst themselves, their lips forming words he pretended not to understand.

  Crazy. Insane. Mad. Deranged. Unhinged.

  He refused to see their words. A whole generation of women depended on him. Women he’d never met. Women he’d probably never meet.

  “This house remains,” Grayson stated, his voice loud and commanding.

  “He’s insane!” a voice cried.

  “See!” Bridget Smith yelled, her haughty frame pushing through the crowd. “Do you see what she’s done to him?”

  Richard Newton stepped forward, his hand falling to the gun at his waist.

  Grayson watched him. “Shoot me, Richard!” he called. “Because if you don’t, your lifeless body will be another reason for me to return to prison.”

  Gasps rose from the crowd.

  Richard froze. “Be reasonable, Grayson. You’re outnumbered.”

  “No!” a voice cried suddenly. “No, he’s not!”

  Juliet Johnson pushed through the crowd, the bar owner’s smile-wrinkled face and small frame facing the mob as she joined Grayson in front of the home.

  She glanced at him. “It’s in the house, isn’t it?” she hissed.

  Grayson didn’t have to answer her; his eyes told her enough.

  From the edge of the property, Freddie Graham sauntered into view, his hands in his blue jean pockets as he joined Grayson. “I get paid extra for this, right?” the man asked.

  Anger rolled through the mob.

  “I always thought you was nuts,” someone spat, a wad of tobacco landing at Juliet’s feet.

  The woman grinned. “Better nuts than an idiot.”