The Witch of Tin Mountain(37)

“Lands, Abby, that’s quite a story.”

“That’s what Pa said, too. ‘That’s quite a story, there, Abigail.’” She laughs drily and kicks the toe of her boot against the metal balustrade. “You believe me, though, don’t you, Gracie?”

Abby ain’t one for tall tales, and after what I seen the other night between Bellflower and Val, I’d believe anything. “I sure do. Maybe it was Owen Sutter’s haint. Folks say he set himself on fire after he murdered his family. I’m seeing things, too, Abby. And I’m just as scared as you are.”

“Feels like the whole world is going crazy in this heat, don’t it? Like hell just decided to come right up topside.”

I grunt in affirmation. I used to think them old stories about curses and haints around Tin Mountain were falsehoods. Somethin’ for the old men on the mercantile porch to chew on, along with their tobacco. I ain’t so sure about that anymore. This mark on my back, for one thing, that still stings and burns every time I open the grimoire, reminds me of what happened to Anneliese—of what could happen to any woman who chooses to walk a different path. Tin Mountain is a boil, festering.

“You ever think about leaving Tin Mountain after your daddy’s gone?”

Abby shoots me a scolding look. “Where in hell would I go?”

“I . . . I been saving up money since I was a little girl. I got almost two hundred dollars. Maybe, after Morris is healed up and Granny’s better, maybe we could leave. Together. Go to California. Start somewhere fresh.”

Abby smirks. “California, huh? Jus’ what do you think’s better about California than here?”

“The weather, for one thing. And there’s plenty of work there. All kinds. With that damned preacher’s healin’ services, Granny’s lost almost all her customers. If I find work out west, I can send money back home, like Seth’s pa. Morris won’t have to run his still no more, and Caro won’t have to work in the fields. This place . . . it’s never been right. There are better places, where the land ain’t poisoned.”

There’s a long breath of silence before Abby speaks again. “Gracie . . . I need to tell you somethin’ that I been meaning to tell you for a while. Pa aims to see me married, before he passes.”

“What? I didn’t even know you were courtin’ with anybody.”

“He wants me to marry Harlan. Says it will secure things for me, after he’s gone. The Northrup money, you know. Harlan’s been around.”

She might as well have hauled off and punched me in the gut. I swallow the bitter spite in my throat like it’s a shot of quinine. “Abby, you can’t. Him and his gang nearly killed Morris. The Northrups killed my uncle for hiding Al’s cut of the profits from that still. Everybody knows, they just keep it quiet to save their own hide. The Northrups are bad all the way through.”

She turns to me, tears welling up in her eyes. “You think this is what I want? I don’t feel nothing for Harlan. I just want to make Pa happy and have a little peace from my thoughts, Gracie. If I marry Harlan, maybe I’ll get right in the head.”

“What do you mean? There’s nothin’ at all wrong with your head. And what kind of thoughts are you talking about?” Suddenly, my pulse is thrumming at the soft way Abby is looking at me.

“Don’t you know, Gracie?” She reaches out and takes my hand.

“What?” I ask, like an idjit. My skin is lit up with the feel of Abby’s hand in mine.

“I don’t want Harlan. I don’t want no man. Because I’m in love with you.”

“You . . .” My legs wobble beneath me and my heart slams into my throat.

“I know . . . I know it’s wrong. I’ve prayed my heart out, not to be this way. But I can’t help the way I am.”

I could almost laugh. I let go of Abby’s hand and wrap my arms around my waist to stop my trembling. “Wrong? Abby, I—”

Her lips are on mine before I can finish. I give a startled grunt of surprise. She wraps me up, pressing me against the hard stone of the lighthouse, her warmth and her curves and everything that makes her Abby soft against my front. And oh, God, kissing her is good. Better than Granny’s peach cobbler and ice cream. Her lips are questioning, soft. My hands don’t know where to go, I just know they belong on her, and so I pat at her awkwardly because my head is all fuzzy and I never been kissed until now. She gives a throaty laugh and pulls back to look at me, the air between us hot as stoked coals.

“I weren’t expectin’ that,” I murmur. “But it was a good surprise, all the same.”

“It’s all I been thinking about,” she says, her head dipping to my throat. She kisses me there, my pulse dancing under her tongue. “I been thinking about a lot of things I’d like to do with you, Gracie.”

“So have I.” Shame rears up, threatening to throttle my joy, and I push it away. This is right. It has to be.

Abby unbuttons my dress with sure fingers. My stomach somersaults. I freeze in place, panic skirting through me as an old, unwanted memory comes crawling through my mind. But this ain’t that. This is Abby, and Abby’s touch is what I crave more than anything. She pulls my slip down over my shoulder, then lowers her head and warms my skin with her mouth. My breath hitches as her hands rove over me. I want her. Every bit of her.