The treetops were shaggy and black against the dark sky, and the three-quarters moon slid from behind their lofty branches to touch his high cheekbones and increasingly cool look. “Okay,” he replied after a long pause. “I think we’re both on the same page now.” But he might just as well have said goodbye because it was in his eyes. “Sleep tight, Terri.”
Then he was walking away again, leaving before Sophie’s call. Erin told herself it was for the best.
He deserved better than another woman who fed him lies at every bend in the road.
The low mood of the previous night was still with Erin on Sunday morning as she dressed Christie and arranged her hair into twin ponytails. But Christie wanted to see the kitties again, so Erin agreed, as long as she promised to be very quiet and not scare the mother cat.
Erin returned her brush to Mac’s bureau, wishing they could attend church this morning. With this brand-new distance between her and Mac, and Trisha’s death, she could use the comfort she derived from hearing Reverend Henderson’s scripture readings and lessons in living. But if Charles’s private investigator had picked up their trail—or if he’d sent someone with dyed-brown hair and sunglasses to find her—Charles would have mentioned that she attended church regularly. It was best that they stay away.
“Okay, twerp,” she said, taking Christie’s hand. “Let’s go see Barbie, Cookie and Shells.”
Christie chattered nonstop as they walked the road toward Amos’s house, then crossed the grass and headed down the sloping dirt lane to the barn. Sophie’s Edsel was parked near the house, and the store’s old blue truck was pulled up close to an adjacent outbuilding. But Mac’s Cherokee was nowhere in sight. A feeling of frustrated longing gripped her, and she wondered where he’d gone, what he was doing at nine o’clock on a Sunday morning. Then she remembered he’d planned to pick up his friend Shane at the Phoenix airport.
Back came the pressing regret and emptiness of last night.
Why was nothing simple? If she knew they were safe, knew there was no way Charles or his hired guns could find them, maybe things could be different.
But she didn’t know that. She’d checked the Gazette again on the Internet—even checked other community newspapers near Spindrift that had an Internet presence for updates. But there was either nothing new on Trisha’s drowning or no mention of it at all.
Besides, what would Mac say if she did tell him the truth? He was a meet-the-problem-head-on kind of man. He’d demand that she go to the police, which would be useless. What proof did she have that she and Christie were in danger? No one had heard Charles’s threats but Erin. She couldn’t even prove that the private investigator who’d shown up in Maine had been working for him, because she didn’t know the man’s name. And even if she could connect the P.I. to Charles, Charles would say he’d hired the man to make sure the daughter he loved was being well cared for.
Erin shuddered. And if Mac cared enough for her and Christie to confront Charles, he could be hurt. She knew the explosive rage Charles hid from people. She’d been on the receiving end of it twice.
Guilt clawed at her. She never should have stayed after he’d hurt her the first time, believing his apologies, believing that things would get better. She should’ve found the courage to leave him before he’d made Christie clingy and afraid.
“Okay, sweetie,” she said, smiling down at her beautiful daughter. “We’re here.” She nodded at the barn’s weathered doors. “Now, what kind of voice are we going to use in there today?”
Cupping a small hand to her mouth, Christie barely whispered, “Quiet.”
“Good girl.”
The kitties were mewling softly and crawling, eyes closed, over the straw, their little legs still too weak to support them. Erin crouched beside Christie. “Aren’t they cute?” she murmured.
Christie’s head bobbed.
“Which one is Barbie? Do you know?”
“I fink that one,” Christie whispered, pointing to the tawny-colored kitten apart from the rest.
A deep male voice and the low thud of boot heels shattered the morning stillness. “You’ll saddle Jett yourself?” Mac repeated with a touch of humor. “Do you even remember which end of the horse to face, city boy?”
His companion’s reply was lost in the quick pump of blood to Erin’s ears. Whirling from the stall, she rose as they walked toward them.
Mac stopped in his tracks. Then—grudgingly, Erin thought—continued toward her. Electricity streaked between them, reminding her of their own crackling heat on the porch last night.
The stranger, who had to be Shane Garrett, was nearly as tall as Mac, and every bit as lean and muscular in jeans and a western shirt. He had black hair, a confident smile and a way of walking that just missed being a swagger. He was good-looking, and he knew it. The way he smiled and scanned her white knit top and fitted jeans told her he was already interested.
“Terri,” Mac said in a businesslike voice, “this is the friend I mentioned—Shane Garrett. Shane, Terri Fletcher, Amos’s housekeeper and caregiver.”
“Nice to meet you,” they both said at the same time, then laughed and clasped hands. He had a nice laugh, Erin decided—and seeing Mac’s face dissolve into a scowl, she decided he could take lessons. He was obviously still upset, angry or both. But there was nothing she could do about the way they’d parted. At this point, distance was the best thing for them.
“I understand you’re thinking about moving back here,” Erin said, turning to Shane.
“Actually, it’s firm now. I’ll be finishing up a project with the Army Corp of Engineers soon, then coming back here to get things started. Probably within two weeks.” He glanced at Mac. “For now, we’re taking the horses out before we head up to Walnut Canyon. Well, close to the canyon, anyway.”
When she sent a questioning glance Mac’s way, he said, “We’re going geocaching.”
“Whatever that is.”
Shane ambled closer, a charming grin in place, and obviously revving up for a charming explanation. “If you type geocaching into an Internet search engine, it’ll tell you all about it, but in a nutshell, it’s a treasure hunt for adults.”
In the barn’s dim light, Erin couldn’t tell if Shane’s eyes were gray or blue, but there was a persuasive glint in them. She knew his type: not a bad guy, but definitely a jump-their-bones-and-kiss-them-goodbye sort. He’d been too good-looking from birth, and grew up being eye candy for every female over puberty.
So where had all this intuitiveness about men been when Charles was courting her?
With another scowl, Mac stopped his friend before he’d uttered a dozen more words. “I’ll tell her all about it later, Slick. If you want to ride before we head for the canyon, we need to get started.”
“Now, just wait a second,” he returned. “Let’s not be too hasty. Maybe Terri’d like to go with us.”
“Terri doesn’t ride,” Mac replied irritably, “and she has a daughter to take care of.”
Suddenly impatient with his attitude, Erin snapped, “Who said I don’t ride?”
Mac stared coolly. “You ride?”
“A little.”
“The day it stormed and you brought the horses in, it didn’t look that way to me.”
“Why? Because I was concerned that I might be trampled? Do accomplished riders stand their ground instead of getting out of the way?”
Shane’s gaze ricocheted between Mac and Erin, then when the silence stretched, he blew out a low breath and addressed Mac. “Well. As I was saying. You and I could ride for a while, then Terri and Christie could go caching with us afterward. You said it didn’t appear to be too long a hike, right?” He smiled at Christie. “How about it, sunshine? Want to take a walk with us?”
Christie had been fine with Shane’s presence in the barn until he’d spoken directly to her. Now she bolted from the stall and practically scaled Erin’s legs to be held.
Settling Christie in her arms, Erin met Mac’s agitated look
. He couldn’t very well tell her to stay home after Shane had extended the invitation.
“Would you like to go along?” he finally asked. “From what I read, the cache is about a mile walk on a decent dirt road, then a short distance into the woods. It’ll be a trek for Christie, but I could carry her when she got tired.”
Erin shook her head. She was still annoyed with him, but she was through complicating his life. “Thank you, but we have plans.” She mustered a smile for Shane, who looked confused. “Nice meeting you. Enjoy your stay, and have a safe flight back.”
His sober gaze flicked between her and Mac. “Thanks. It was nice meeting you, too.”
As she walked Christie out of the barn, Shane’s low words to Mac carried on the straw-and-leather-scented air. “Okay…mind telling me what that was all about?”
Chapter 10
The knee-deep grass was still wet with dew as Mac and Shane walked their horses through the pasture, passing red-coated Herefords and a collection of diving, sailing crows. Cooler overnight temperatures had left pockets of fog lying in some of the depressions, and it rose from there in sun-filtered light and from the creek bed below.
Mac pointed Pike toward the east meadow, thinking it would be a nice ride for Shane since it was already carpeted with wildflowers. He bit down hard, remembering the Lady Chatterley conversation he and Terri’d had yesterday. And how damn much he’d wanted her to thread those flowers through his chest hair.
“Okay,” Shane finally said, “you’ve been quiet since we left the barn, and I’ve given you plenty of opportunities to answer me. Now I’m asking again. What’s up? You sleeping with her and trying to keep it hush-hush?”
Mac jerked a look at him.
“Well, what am I supposed to think? You sure as hell didn’t want me talking to her, and that little back-and-forth deal between the two of you pretty much told me you were more than friends.”
Mac’s gaze rebounded to the grasses and depressions ahead, watching for holes and burrows that Pike might stumble into. “I don’t give a damn if you talk to her. I just don’t want you using her. She’s not your type.”
“No? Whose type is she? Yours?”
Mac scowled. “Just ease up on the Svengali routine. She’s a single mother with a lot on her plate.”
“Like what?” Shane asked.
Good question.
“Where’s she from?”
“Maine.”
“Get out,” he scoffed. “We’ve both heard enough New England accents to know—”
It was hard for Mac to keep the irritation from his voice. “I didn’t say, ‘originally.’ That’s where she lived last.”
“Where’s she from originally? The Midwest?”
“I think so.” She’d said she grew up in a small town in Illinois, but who knew if that was the truth?
“You don’t know?”
Tugging back on the reins, Mac halted his horse to glare at his friend. “You writin’ a book?”
Shane lost the easy tone he’d been using. “Look, don’t get ticked off. I’m asking because I care. You like her. Maybe more than like her. I know it’s none of my business who you get wrapped up with, but after all the crap Audra put you though… Well, one time through a tree shredder should be enough for any man.”
Mac stilled for a moment, then nodded. He and Shane had been friends for years; if he couldn’t share his doubts and concerns with him, he couldn’t share them with anyone. And suddenly he wanted to get some things off his chest.
“The truth is, I don’t know a hell of a lot about her.”
“That was obvious when you didn’t know that she rode.”
“Yeah,” Mac muttered. He relaxed Pike’s reins and gave the chestnut his head.
Shane followed suit. “So what’s her story?”
“She was married to a jerk, left him and has been traveling ever since. I get the feeling she and Christie have seen a lot of the country.”
“She running from something? Like joint custody? Which is a crime, I believe.”
“I asked her the day she showed up here, and she said she wasn’t running from anything.” Or, no…Mac thought. She’d just implied that he’d been off the mark. How had she answered? Afraid I’ll take off with the good silver? “All I know is, there’s no love lost there. I don’t think it was an amicable divorce, but I can’t quite see her breaking the law. My guess is that the father didn’t want anything to do with Christie.”
“You could do some checking. She had references, didn’t she?”
“Yeah. Supposedly, Amos checked her out and everything was fine.” But he still hadn’t found that slip of paper Amos had jammed back in his pocket that first day—and hadn’t been able to get any cooperation in the memory department from Amos.
Mac felt a jolt as something occurred to him. She’d told him the name of the restaurant where she’d worked. Krafty Millie’s Café. The town wasn’t coming to him, but maybe the restaurant advertised on the Internet. How many Krafty Millies could there be in Maine?
Turning to Shane, he tried to close the conversation. “The bottom line is, what she does is her own business. She’s good with Amos, takes him to PT and sees that he does his exercises. She also cooks better than I do and isn’t hard to look at. And with the job being temporary and Amos getting better every day, she’ll be on her way again in a matter of weeks.”
“That’s good to hear. I think.” Shane waited until they’d ridden a little farther to ask, “So how hot is it between the two of you?”
Mac released a short laugh. For him, molten lava, that’s how hot it was. As for her, he had no idea. One minute she had her hands in the hip pockets of his jeans, pulling him into her, the next she was pushing him away.
“Never mind,” Shane said when Mac didn’t answer. “I think I know. You going to be okay when she takes off?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” Mac asked, and clicked his tongue to Pike. The chestnut eased into a lope, then a run, hooves thudding over the packed earth, the mountain air crisp against Mac’s face. “You worry too much,” he called over his shoulder. “See you at the creek.”
When the horses were cooled down and in the pasture again, Mac and Shane walked up the dirt road to the house and entered through the kitchen door. Mac was startled to see Terri and Sophie carrying platters of pancakes, sausage, scrambled eggs, bacon and toast to the table. Everything looked piping hot and smelled great. The leaf had been added to Amos’s maple table, and there were six place settings there instead of the four he’d expected.
“Just in time!” Sophie called happily as she set down her platter, then bustled back to the stove. “We can dig in as soon as I get Amos’s oatmeal ready.”
Amos yelled from the living room, his nose obviously out of joint again. “I ain’t eatin’ oatmeal when everybody else is havin’ good food!”
“All right,” Sophie yelled back, “you can have a small pancake because it’s Sunday and you have company. But no bacon or sausage.”
With a grin for Mac, Shane glanced around the busy kitchen. “Think I’ll go visit with your granddad until Sophie calls us in. I haven’t had time to say more than hello to him since I got here.”
“Thanks,” Mac returned, “he’ll like that.” Then, bracing himself, he meandered over to the table where Terri was placing silverware on the white paper napkins Christie was carefully laying next to the plates.
“Hi,” she murmured, not looking up.
“Hi,” he replied in an undertone. “I didn’t know you were joining us for brunch.”
With a veiled glance at Sophie, she answered just as quietly, “Neither did I. Amos stopped us as we were taking a walk. He said Sophie’d be hurt if we didn’t join the four of you. I’m sorry. I know you’d rather we weren’t—”
“All right, Your Highness!” Sophie called, carrying Amos’s oatmeal to the table. “Time to feed your royal face!”
“’Bout time I got some respect around here,” Amos yelled back. A moment
later he limped into the kitchen with Shane following behind him.
Hooking his cane on the back of his chair, the old man lowered himself into his seat and patted the chair to his right. “Now you sit down, too,” he said to Sophie. “And, Shane, you sit on the other side-a me. I want to hear more about this new business yer gonna open.”
That left three seats. Christie’s booster chair brought the number to two. Mac ended up seated next to Terri, brushing knees, elbows and libidos with her through the whole meal until he was afraid to stand, and damned annoyed by the whole thing. It was a relief when the meal was over and the kitchen went into busy mode with everyone helping to clear the table and do the dishes.
Amos alone sat sipping a second cup of decaf. “If you boys ’re goin’ up to the canyon, you oughta be goin’ soon.”
“I agree,” Mac replied.
At the same instant Shane said, “I’ll have to pass today.”
All heads turned in Shane’s direction.
“The truth is,” he said apologetically, “I’m beat. I didn’t get much sleep last night on the flight, and this mountain air—not to mention your wonderful breakfast, Mrs. Cassleback—has me just about ready for a nap.”
Sophie beamed.
Shane glanced at Mac again. “Why don’t you take me back to my sister’s house so I can crash? Then you can take Terri and Christie caching. We can catch up over dinner on Tuesday.”
“Tuesday?” Mac’s gaze narrowed. “Thought we were having dinner tomorrow night.”
“Sorry, Monday’s booked—Sally’s cooking. She wants me to meet her latest boyfriend. But I’ll be here until Thursday. We’ll have time to talk.”
Mac dug in his jeans pockets for his keys. “All right, Tuesday it is.” Then as Shane said his goodbyes, Mac added that he’d be back in a half hour or so.
He glanced at Terri, though he wasn’t sure why. Maybe to see if she cared that he was leaving again. But she looked away, so did he, and then he was out the door.
Run to Me Page 13
