He snapped the cuffs apart, flung them out into the snow and rubbed his wrists. Bending, he unlocked the shackles around his ankles and kicked them away.
The deputy wouldn't need his coat, but Reece would if he was to survive in this weather. He eased Jimmy Don's heavy winter jacket off his lifeless body and lifted his 9 mm automatic from its holster. Then he pulled the deputy's wallet from his pocket and removed the money inside, shoving the bills into the jacket.
Tramping through the packed snow, hearing the thin layer of forming ice crunching beneath his chilled feet, he struggled around the car, praying he could find his way to freedom.
A warm stickiness dripped down his cheek. Reaching up, he wiped away the moisture, then looked down at his hand to see a mixture of melting snow and fresh blood. God, how his head hurt!
With slow, painful steps, Reece made his way to the roadside. He had no idea where he was or in which direction he was headed. All he knew was that he couldn't stick around and get captured, get taken to Arrendale and locked away for the rest of his life. He hadn't killed B.K., but the only way he could prove it was to return to Newell and find the real murderer.
Damn, it was cold. Even in the sheepskin-lined jacket he'd stolen from Jimmy Don's dead body and the heavyweight navy blue winter coveralls issued to him at the county jail, the frigid wind cut through his clothing like a rapier slicing through soft butter.
He stumbled along the shoulder of the highway, finding it less slick than the icy road. Taking one slow, agonizing step at a time, Reece longed to run, but he did well just to continue walking.
He didn't know how long he'd been traveling away from the wrecked car when he saw the headlights of an oncoming vehicle. God, what he'd give for the warmth and shelter inside a car. If only he could sit down a few minutes and thaw out his frozen hands and feet. Trudging out into the road, Reece waved his hands about, hoping the driver would see him, and praying he wouldn't run him over.
The vehicle, an older model Bronco, slowed, then stopped, the motor running and the lights cutting through the heavy cloud of falling snow.
"What's the matter, are you crazy?" A middle-aged man, wearing what appeared to be camouflage hunting gear, got out of the Bronco.
"My car skidded off the road a ways back," Reece lied. "It's a total wreck. I need a ride to the nearest town."
"You hurt?" the gruff-spoken, ruddy-faced man asked.
"Banged my head pretty bad, bruised my leg and I could have a couple of ribs broken."
"Get in. I'm heading for Dover's Mill. Planning on getting me a bite to eat and a warm bed for the night. We can see if they've got a doctor who'll take a look at you."
"Thanks." Reece eased into the Bronco, slamming the door behind him. The warmth inside surrounded him. The comfort of sitting down spread an incredible ease through his aching body.
"I'm Ted Packard." The Bronco's driver held out his hand to Reece.
Reece hesitated momentarily, then offered the man his cold, bloodstained hand. "I appreciate the ride, Mr. Packard."
Ted eyed Reece with skepticism as he shifted gears, putting the vehicle in Drive. "What's your name, boy?"
"Landers. Rick Landers."
"Well, Rick, normally it wouldn't take us fifteen minutes to get to Dover's Mill, but with this damned storm, it could take us an hour."
Thankfully, Ted Packard wasn't a big talker or overly inquisitive. He'd seemed to accept Reece on face value, believing his story of having wrecked his car. The warmth and quiet inside the Bronco relaxed Reece, lulling him to sleep. When Ted tapped him on the shoulder to awaken him, Reece couldn't believe he'd actually dozed off.
"This here's Dorajean's," Ted said. "Best food in Dover's Mill. We'll ask inside about a doctor for you."
"Thanks." Reece opened the door, but found stepping out into the frigid afternoon air far more painful than he would have expected. He kept his moans and groans in check. "I don't think I need a doctor. At least, not right away. But I sure could use a hot cup of coffee and a bite to eat."
"Suit yourself," Ted said, exiting the four-wheel-drive vehicle. "You can call a local garage about your car, but I doubt there's much they can do until this storm lifts. If your car's totaled, it won't matter anyway, will it?"
"Right." Although his steps faltered a few times, Reece followed Ted into Dorajean's.
The restaurant buzzed with activity, obviously filled with stranded motorists. Every booth and table was occupied, leaving only a couple of counter stools free. Sitting beside Ted, Reece ordered coffee and the day's special-meat loaf, creamed potatoes and green peas.
The waitress, a heavyset, fiftyish redhead, flirted outrageously with Ted, the two apparently old acquaintances. Reece gulped his first cup of coffee, relishing the strong, dark brew as it wanned his insides. A TV attached to the wall possessed a snowy image of a newscaster. The sound had been turned down, but Reece could hear the static drowning out the broadcaster's voice. A nervous tremor shot through Reece's body. How long would it be before the sheriff's car was found and the authorities discovered that convicted murderer Reece Landry was missing? A few hours? By nightfall? Early morning?
Reece sipped his second cup of coffee, enjoying it even more than the first. He glanced around the restaurant, noting the homey atmosphere, the red gingham curtains and tablecloths, the old-fashioned booths still sporting the outdated jukebox selectors. He wondered if the contraptions still worked.
The place was cram-packed with people of various ages, sexes and races. Water from the melting snow that had stuck to customers' feet dotted the black-and-white tile floor. Reece glanced out the windows, the heavy falling snow so thick he couldn't even see Ted's car in the parking lot.
The front door swung open. Reece's heart stopped. A local deputy walked into Dorajean's. Damn! He warned himself to stay calm, but his gut instincts told him to run. Hell, he was wearing county-issued coveralls, another deputy's winter coat and carrying a gun registered to the sheriff's department. What should he do? Did he dare risk staying long enough to eat? Surely the deputy wouldn't spot one man in the middle of so many people.
The deputy walked over and sat on the empty stool next to Ted Packard. Reece clutched his hands into fists at his sides to keep them from trembling. He wasn't going to get caught. He couldn't bear the thought of going to prison. He had to stay free long enough to find out who had killed B.K.
"Here you go, sugar. Dorajean's special for today." The redhead set the plate of piping-hot food in front of Reece.
"Thanks." He was hungry. He hadn't been able to eat more than a few bites of his breakfast this morning.
"You look like you've been in a fight, good-looking," the waitress said. "You got bruises all over your face and some dried blood on your forehead."
"Wrecked his car a ways back," Ted said. "I gave him a lift into Dover's Mill."
Why didn't they just shut up? Reece wondered. The more they discussed him, the more likely the deputy would take notice.
Reece shoved a spoonful of meat loaf into his mouth, following it with huge bites of potatoes and peas. Then he felt someone watching him. Not turning his head, but glancing past Ted, he saw the deputy glaring at him.
Reece stood. He had to get away. "Where's your rest room?"
"Round the corner, to the right," the waitress told him.
"Thanks."
Reece scanned the restaurant, looking for another entrance. There wasn't one. He headed in the direction of the rest room, then made a quick turn and walked into the kitchen, hugging the wall, hoping the cook wouldn't notice him. Easing slowly toward the back door, he breathed a sigh of relief when he stepped outside. The thick veil of snow created limited visibility, so Reece wasn't surprised when he stumbled over a low stack of wood and fell headlong into a row of metal garbage cans. Dammit, what a racket they made.
A sharp pain sliced through his side, and another zipped up his injured leg. Blood oozed down the bridge of his nose. He wiped it away. Every inch of his body ached,
every bone, every muscle, every centimeter of flesh.
He headed into the wooded area behind the restaurant, not daring to go back into the parking lot. Sooner or later, when he didn't come back to the counter, Ted and the waitress would wonder what had happened to him. It couldn't be helped. He had to find someplace to stay until he'd mended enough to travel home to Newell.
When Reece tried to run, the pain hit him full force. He walked as fast as the snow-laden ground would allow, then as the cold seeped into his body and he became one with the pain, he increased his speed, finally breaking into a run.
Incoherent thoughts raced through his mind. Panic seized him, forcing him onward when common sense would have cautioned him to stop. Bleeding, out of breath and disoriented, Reece felt himself falling, falling, falling. When his body hit the ground, cushioned by a good seven inches of snow, he wanted nothing more than to lie there and go to sleep. Can't do that! Got to get up. Keep moving.
Come to me. I'm waiting. I can help you.
Reece heard the voice as clearly as if someone was standing beside him, speaking. Dear God, I'm losing my mind, he thought. I'm hearing voices.
With an endurance born of a lifetime of struggle and determination, Reece rose to his knees and then to his feet. He walked. He ran slowly. He fell. He picked himself up and walked again. He sloshed through a partially frozen stream, the water rushing around chunks of ice. His foot caught on a limb and he fell, his hip breaking through the ice. Cold water seeped into his coveralls. Righting himself, he stood and tramped down and out of the stream.
Minutes ran together, warping his sense of time, until Reece had no idea how long he had trudged through the woods. The sky had turned from gray to black. Not a star glimmered in the heavens. Swollen snow clouds blocked the moon, allowing only the faintest light to filter through the darkness. Reece couldn't see a damned thing, not even his own hand in front of his face. And he was so numbed from the cold and the constant pain that he barely felt the chilling wind or the freezing dampness.
It had to be night. That meant it had been hours since he'd left the restaurant back in Dover's Mill. Why hadn't he found shelter? Surely someone had a cabin or a shack out in these woods.
Reece felt his legs give way. He stumbled to his knees. Knowing that if he lay down in the snow he would never get up, Reece struggled to stay awake, to keep moving. He began crawling. One slow, painful inch at a time.
Beckoned by an unseen force, by a comforting voice inside his head, Reece refused to surrender to the pain and hopelessness. Then suddenly a sense of excitement encompassed him. That's when he saw it-an enormous wood-and-rock cabin standing on a snow-covered hill. Lights shone in every window as if welcoming him home. Dear God in heaven, was he hallucinating? Was the cabin real?
With what little strength he had left he forced himself to his feet, then checked in his pocket for the automatic. He was going to find out if that cabin was real. If it was real, then someone lived there and that person wouldn't take kindly to an escaped convict spending the night.
Lifting his feet, forcing himself to trek up the hill, Reece felt weighted down with numbness. The cabin hadn't disappeared. Still there. A warm, inviting sight. Only a few yards away. Huge steps, wide and high, awaited him. Pausing briefly, he stared up at the front porch. He'd have to break in, maybe through a window. But first he'd try the door, test its sturdiness, check out the lock.
One step. Two. Three. Four. He swayed, almost losing his balance. Can't pass out. Not now. So close. He lifted his foot up off the last step and onto the porch. The front door was so close, but somehow it seemed a mile away. If he couldn't figure out a way to pick the lock on the door, did he have the strength to smash in a window? Whoever lived inside was bound to hear the noise. He ran his hand over the bulge the 9 mm made in the coat pocket. Would he use the gun? Could he? Whoever lived inside would be an innocent victim.
Reaching out, his hand trembling, he grabbed the door handle. With shocking ease the door opened. Reece couldn't believe his good fortune. The door hadn't been locked. Who in their right mind would leave a door unlocked?
He eased the door back an inch at a time, hesitant, wondering what he would face inside the cabin. When he had opened the door completely he stared into the softly lit interior, the warmth of the house enveloping his frozen body, creating razor-sharp pricks of pain as the protective numbness began to thaw.
The smell of chicken stew permeated the air. And coffee. And something rich and spicy. Cinnamon. Maybe an apple pie.
He heard a noise, a low animal groan, then a deep growl. That's when he saw the animal. Thick black fur. Eyes like amber glass ovals. Sharp white teeth-bared. Hackles raised. What the hell was it? It looked like a damn wolf.
"Easy, Mac." The voice was gentle, soothing and captivatingly feminine. "It's him."
Reece gazed into the eyes of the most incredibly beautiful woman he'd ever seen. She stood just inside the enormous great room of the cabin, the wolf at her side. Her hourglass figure was covered with a pair of faded jeans and a red turtleneck sweater, overlaid with a plaid jacket. Reece couldn't stop staring at her, gazing deeply into her pure blue eyes.
"Shut the door behind you." Her voice held a melodious quality. "You're letting out all the heat."
Reece slammed the door, then closed his eyes for a split second. Shaking his head to dislodge the cobwebs of confusion was a mistake. Pain so intense that he nearly doubled over shot through his head.
"You're injured." She took a tentative step toward him, the wolf following. "Let me help you."
Reece touched the 9 mm in his pocket, then glared at the woman, hoping she wouldn't do anything foolish. What could he say to her? How could he explain being here inside her cabin? Unless she was a total fool, she'd soon realize he was wearing county jail coveralls and a deputy's stolen coat. Under the best of circumstances Reece wasn't much of a sweet-talker, and now sure as hell wasn't the time to learn how to become one.
"I need food and shelter for the night." He watched her face for a reaction. "I'll leave in the morning." She only stared at him. "I'm not going to hurt you. You don't need to be afraid of me."
The wolf took several steps ahead of his mistress, stopping only when she called his name and ordered him to sit.
"You don't need to be afraid of me, either," she said. "I only want to help you. Please trust me."
Reece grunted, then laughed, deep in his chest. "Yeah, sure. Trust you. Trust a stranger. Lady, I don't trust anybody." Reece couldn't figure her out. Why wasn't she her head off? Why wasn't she deathly afraid of him? Any sensible woman would have been. "I'm hungry. I need some food. A cup of coffee to start."
"All right. Please come in and sit down. I'll get you some coffee." She turned, but the wolf continued watching Reece.
"No, you don't. Stop!" She could be going to call the law, to turn him in. Reece covered the distance separating them in seconds, his head spinning, darkness closing in on him. Grabbing her by the arm, he whirled her around to face him. "I don't want you out of my sight. Understand?"
He wished the room would stop moving, wished his stomach didn't feel like emptying itself, wished the pain in his body would stop tormenting him.
"I'm not your enemy," she told him.
He heard her voice, but could no longer see her face. Darkness overcame him. His knees gave way. His hand slipped out of his pocket. He swayed sideways, then, like a mighty timber whose trunk had just been severed, Reece Landry dropped to the floor.
Chapter 2
Elizabeth knelt beside the stranger who had invaded the sanctuary of her home as surely as be had invaded her heart and mind repeatedly over the past few months. MacDatho sniffed the man's feet and legs, then lifted his head to stare at his mistress, their eyes connecting as they shared a common thought. This man, although weak, sick and at the moment disabled, could be dangerous. Her mind warned her to be wary of him; her heart told her to help him.
Touching his cheek, Elizabeth sensed the tensi
on within his big body, despite the fact that he appeared to be unconscious. A day's growth of dark brown stubble covered his face, adding to his strong, masculine aura.
"He's cold, Mac. Almost frozen." Elizabeth began unbuttoning his heavy jacket. "We've got to get him out of these wet clothes and warm him up."
The man groaned. His eyes flickered open, then shut again. Elizabeth's hand stilled on his chest. She felt the hard, heavy pounding of his heartbeat and sensed the great strength and endurance he possessed.
Working quickly, she finished unbuttoning the sheepskin jacket, pushed it apart across the stranger's broad chest and tried to lift his left shoulder so she could ease his arm out of the garment.
Opening his eyes, Reece stared up at the woman leaning over him fiercely tugging on his jacket sleeve. What the hell was she trying to do, undress him? Was it possible that she was actually trying to help him? Well, he didn't want her help; he didn't want anybody's help. He'd learned long ago not to trust people, especially those who pretended they wanted to help you.
Reece grabbed the woman by the neck, shoving aside the thick, long braid of dark hair that hung down her back. Gasping, she stared at him, her big blue eyes filled with surprise. Then he heard the animal at her side growl as it lowered its head and bared its fangs, its hackles bristling in warning.
"Let go of me." Elizabeth kept her voice soft, even and as unemotional as possible.
"And if I don't?" Lying on his side, Reece pulled her face down next to his. There was a smell of woman about her, sweet and clean but slightly musky. He could sense that she was just a little bit afraid of him and trying her damnedest not to show it.
The Outcast tp-3 Page 2
