Failsafe

by Traci Hunter Abramson

  “No!” Charlotte shouted as though the wind would listen to her and stop its thievery. She turned and raced after the bags as they skidded along the ground. She reached down when she drew close enough, and her fingers briefly made contact with the slick plastic before the wind whipped the bags away again, this time pulling them several feet into the air.

  Her eyes lifted to follow them, and her toe caught on a tree root protruding from the ground, sending her stumbling. She reached a hand out to stop her fall, but she wasn’t fast enough to prevent her hip and thigh from crashing into the fallen log on her right. She yelped with surprise more than pain, and the sound of fabric ripping was followed by the chill of exposed skin.

  She looked down at her pants. Or what was left of them. A long gash in the cotton ran from just below the waistband to the middle of her knee. Blood welled up along the corresponding scratch.

  “Great,” she muttered to herself.

  The pants were ruined. Even with the miniature sewing kit she had in her bag, she doubted she had enough thread to fix this, not to mention the fabric was so badly frayed the task was likely impossible anyway.

  Remembering why she had been running through the woods in the first place, she looked up and saw the two black trash bags finally coming to rest in the stream as the water swept them away.

  She fought back tears and a wave of frustration. Today was definitely not her day.

  Chapter 13

  This wasn’t his day. The new employee he and Max had hired was down with the flu and would be out for at least a week, which would force Jake to put in at least a few hours each day helping out.

  His grandmother had managed to beat him to the kitchen twice today, first burning her latest attempt at making oatmeal and ruining a pot in the process and then setting off the fire alarm when she had tried to make some oatmeal cookies. He didn’t know what her obsession was with oatmeal, but he was seriously considering hiding her baking supplies.

  The one time he had bothered to answer his cell phone, Desiree had been on the other end, apparently determined that they should start dating again. Now he had to deal with a stallion missing from the barn. And not just any stallion, but Shadow, the horse he had won in a race years ago and that represented a moment in his history he still regretted and wasn’t particularly proud of. If it hadn’t been for his father’s insistence on keeping him, Jake would have sold the horse immediately.

  He checked on his grandmother and found her napping in her room. With any luck, he and Max would find the horse before she woke up and attempted another adventure in the kitchen.

  He took one step out the door, gazed at the angry-looking storm clouds on the horizon, and headed back inside to put on his rain gear. As he heard the rain starting to pelt against the roof, he let out a sigh of longing. He really missed New York.

  * * *

  The clouds were low wisps of white tangling in the treetops. The steady rain would have been beautiful to watch if she hadn’t been out in the middle of it. Soaked to the skin and shivering in the cool spring air, Charlotte continued through the open pasture and headed for a huge oak tree on the far side of the field.

  She reached it, grateful that the thick foliage greatly reduced the amount of falling moisture. A drop splattered on the back of her neck, dripping beneath her shirt collar and seeping into the already soaked material. It was bad enough that she had to ride a horse in a skirt, but doing it while soaking wet had definitely not been part of her plan when she’d set out this morning. Sighing, she dismounted, deciding this was as good a place as any to wait out the storm.

  This particular field had been recently mowed, but she hadn’t seen a farmhouse for more than a mile, and she suspected the house had belonged to the last property she had skirted. The thick cloud cover made it difficult to tell the time of day, but if her level of exhaustion and the grumbling in her stomach were any indication, dinnertime was quickly approaching.

  She slid the reins over her horse’s neck so it could graze on the grass beneath the tree. She didn’t want to think about the difficulty of making camp tonight now that her main protection had been swept away by the river. She prayed fervently that the storm would pass soon and she would be able to find something for dinner.

  As she ended her plea, she saw movement across the pasture, and Sahara’s head lifted. Fog hung thick on the ground, and it took a moment for Charlotte to make out the figure coming toward her. Slowly it began to take shape, and she recognized it for what it was. Not one figure but two. A horse and its rider.

  * * *

  He must be insane. There was no other explanation for being on horseback in the middle of a rainstorm. Surely the missing stallion would come back when he was good and ready, but Max had insisted they couldn’t take the chance that he would get through the broken section of fence and get caught in the floods.

  This, Jake thought to himself, was another reason he didn’t want to live on a farm. It wasn’t the work he minded but the never-ending distractions and always-inconvenient emergencies.

  Jake would give it another fifteen minutes. Already he was soaked and shivering despite the rain jacket he wore. He continued through a copse of trees, reining his horse in so he could pull his phone free after it vibrated in his pocket.

  Grateful he had invested the extra money for a waterproof case, he read the simple, straightforward message. Found him.

  That was all Jake needed to know. He turned his horse toward home, angling his way through the trees on the most direct route. When he reached the crest of a hill, he slowed his horse so he could take in the view. A sense of nostalgia washed over him.

  The misty gray of the clouds hugged the green of the trees and fields below, the rain making the leaves seem even more vibrant. He contrasted the scene with New York, everyone jostling down the crowded sidewalks, umbrellas and elbows bumping, water splashing off every passing car. At the moment, there wasn’t a paved road in sight. Though he missed New York, he finally realized what he hadn’t until this moment: he’d missed this too.

  The rain picked up, and the solid drizzle turned into a hard downpour. He swiped a hand over his wet face, annoyed all over again that he was out in this weather. So much for missing it here.

  As soon as he was clear of the thick grouping of trees, Jake urged his mount from a walk to a canter, eager to get out of the elements. The east pasture opened up before him, and he pushed for more speed. He was nearly to the live oak when he saw her. Reining in, he stared, certain the mist must be playing tricks on his eyes.

  Beneath the widespread branches of the old tree, a horse stood, head raised, ears alert, a woman beside it. Through the thick fog, her clothes looked like they were straight out of the past he had been writing about only a few hours before. Her shoes were hidden by the swirling mist, and he could barely make out the rose-colored fabric of her long skirt. Long, dark hair hung over one shoulder, a bonnet clinging damply to her head.

  He gaped in astonishment, now ignoring the water dripping down his collar. “What in the world?” he said to himself, the words lost beneath the sound of the storm. He closed the distance between them, searching for some sense of familiarity. He had been gone a long time, but surely the woman was from around here since she was on horseback.

  As he drew closer, he saw the way her body tensed. He reached the shelter of the tree, and she took a step back, lifting her dark eyes to meet his. Captured by her gaze, he stared in silence. His assumption that she was from around here wasn’t accurate. He was sure he hadn’t seen her before. She appeared to be in her midtwenties, maybe a couple years younger than he, and seemed harmless enough.

  She broke the silence first, her wariness evident in her posture as well as her words. “I got caught in the storm. I’m sorry. Is this your property?”

  Jake hesitated ever so slightly before he answered. “Yeah. This is my place.”

  “I promise I won’t stay long. I just wanted to wait for the rain to let up a little.”

&nbs
p; “You’re soaking wet. Come up to the house, and you can dry off.” Jake heard the words come out of his mouth, and a wave of grief washed over him. These were words his mother would have said had she been standing here.

  He sensed the woman’s reluctance and added, “The storm is only going to get worse tonight. Thunderstorms are supposed to be rolling in behind this.”

  She seemed to debate for a moment before finally giving a slight nod of her head. As though influenced by some long-forgotten streak of chivalry, Jake dismounted and reached for the other horse’s bridle to hold the mount steady.

  The woman put one foot in the stirrup, then gathered the loose fabric of her skirt in one hand so she could swing her other leg over. Once she was settled in the saddle, Jake slipped the reins over the horse’s head and handed them to her.

  Surprise reflected in her eyes, along with a touch of uncertainty. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” Jake remounted and jerked his head in the direction of his house. “This way.”

  They rode through the mist and steady rain. Jake glanced over at his newfound companion. He couldn’t have painted a better scene in his mind: the damsel in distress, the hero coming to her rescue. She didn’t look like she needed to be saved, however. Wet and dripping, for sure, and oddly dressed, certainly, but she struck him as capable and independent.

  Jake had to admit he was impressed with the way the woman beside him handled her horse. He had started out at a canter. When he saw how easily she kept up, he increased speed, and she followed suit.

  The stable doors were open when they rounded the corner, and Jake didn’t slow until he was nearly inside. Not bothering to dismount, he led the way through the tall double doors, the overhead fluorescent lights shining brightly. Max was already inside tending to the broken latch on Shadow’s stall door.

  Now out of the weather, Jake let his gaze linger on the woman. She could have been a model for the cover of his current project—clothes, horse, and all. The beginnings of a summer tan kissed her skin, and raindrops caught in her thick dark lashes. Her lips were the same shade as his mother’s favorite pink roses, and he had the sneaky suspicion the color was all natural.

  Forcing his attention to the reason he had been out in the rain in the first place, Jake looked over at Max. “Where did you find Shadow?”

  “Down in that holler by the creek.” Max nodded to the woman beside him. “Who’s this?”

  Jake turned, embarrassed to realize he hadn’t introduced himself. He swung down and let the reins fall to the ground. “I’m sorry. I didn’t catch your name.”

  “I’m Hannah Thomas.”

  “I’m Jake Bradford, and that’s Max Bucknell. He’s our foreman.” Jake circled to the left side of her horse and reached up to help her even though her skills with a horse indicated she probably didn’t need it.

  She swung her leg over and lowered herself to the ground. Jake reached out to steady her when her boot slipped from the wet stirrup. His hands nearly encircled her waist, and he could smell the scent of rain clinging to her hair. Words started pouring through his mind, and he was already anticipating what he would write once he got back to his computer.

  As he looked down at Hannah, he decided that maybe his novel could wait a few minutes more.

  “It’s really coming down out there. If you want, you can stable your horse here for the night, and I can give you a ride home,” Jake offered.

  “Thanks for the offer, but I’m actually not from around here.” She looked around the stables, her eyes landing on one of the empty stalls to the left. “Would it be okay if I stay in here until the weather lets up?”

  Jake stared at her, not sure he understood her correctly. “You’re out on horseback, but you’re not from around here?”

  “I’ve . . . always wanted to see this part of the country.”

  “On horseback?” Jake asked incredulously.

  “What better way?” Her words were flippant, but he sensed an underlying tension he hadn’t noticed previously.

  “Where are you from?”

  She gestured vaguely. “A little town north of here.”

  “What about work? What do you do for a living?”

  “I’m sort of between jobs right now.”

  Jake took a closer look at her horse. The saddle was old, but instead of the saddlebags he would have expected, several long leather straps hung from it, presumably to tie gear on. Except for where a worn leather satchel had been secured near the saddle horn, though, none of the straps were currently in use, not even those that would normally tie down a bedroll.

  Certain there must be more to her story, he asked, “How have you been making camp? It doesn’t look like you have any supplies.”

  “I had a little mishap this morning.” Her weariness was palpable. “Some of it got swept away in a creek nearby.”

  When Jake spoke, he once again felt like the words belonged to his mother rather than to him. “Come on up to the house. You can sleep there tonight.”

  “I’ll see to the horses,” Max offered. “You’d better get up to the house and make sure Miss Abigail is okay.”

  “Thanks, Max. I appreciate it. I’ll see you in the morning.” Jake turned his attention back to Hannah. “This way.”

  Hannah retrieved her satchel from the saddle, and together they walked back into the rain.

  Chapter 14

  Charlotte stepped under the overhang of the back porch, wondering what she was doing here. She could admit she was drawn by the appeal of a soft bed and indoor plumbing. Still, she didn’t know anything about this man or his family.

  She assumed Abigail was Jake’s wife. He looked like the type who would be married by now, even though she guessed he was still shy of thirty.

  Local farm boy, good manners, handsome. The type of guy her girl friends in Pennsylvania always gravitated to. She hoped Abigail would be as welcoming as Jake. She wasn’t sure how she would feel if a complete stranger showed up on her doorstep with hardly an explanation of where she’d come from or why she was here.

  She had debated which name to give, her real one or her alias. Afraid her fake IDs might be discovered, she had settled on a combination of two names: the first name of the little girl in the news article and her alias’s last name.

  She looked down at her mud-splattered, dripping-wet skirt. Then she leaned down and unlaced her shoes, slipping them off before she went inside. While she was still bent over, she grabbed a fistful of fabric and attempted to wring some of the water out of it.

  Jake opened the door and noticed her attempts to leave the rain outside. “Don’t worry about that. We’ll get you some towels, and you can dry off.”

  He motioned her inside, waiting for her to enter before him. She walked into the mudroom, her senses immediately assaulted by the acrid scent of smoke in the air. “Is something burning?”

  “Oh no,” he muttered under his breath. Heedless of his own wet footwear and the rain dripping off his jacket, he hurried through the mud room and into the kitchen beyond.

  Her shoes still in her hand, Charlotte hastened after him to find the source of the smell: smoke billowing out of a blackened frying pan on the stove. Jake grabbed a hand towel to use as a hot pad, shifted the pan off the heat, and turned the knob to shut off the burner.

  Charlotte guessed the unrecognizable blob that had been scorched into oblivion had once been a piece of meat.

  Jake rolled his eyes to the ceiling. For a moment, Charlotte thought he was looking to see if the smoke had colored the paint there, but when he continued to stare and draw deep, steady breaths, she realized he was more likely trying to calm his emotions.

  “Grandma?” Jake called out. “Where are you?”

  Charlotte heard the shuffling of slow-moving feet. “Jack, is that you?”

  “It’s Jake, Grandma.”

  A pleasantly plump woman with snow-white hair appeared in the doorway. A pair of narrow glasses was perched on her nose, and she wore a loose-
fitting floral dress that fell nearly to her ankles. Her face lit up the moment she saw her grandson. “I’m so glad you’re home. I was just making you some supper.”

  Charlotte could sense the strained patience as Jake said carefully, “I thought we talked about you letting me cook for a while. I worry about you using the stove.”

  “Oh, nonsense.” She waved a hand. “I’ve been cooking since before you were born.”

  “I know, Grandma, but I worry about you.” Jake lifted the frying pan. “If I hadn’t come home when I did, this could have caught fire.”

  Jake’s grandmother ignored his comment and focused on Charlotte instead. “Who is this pretty girl you brought home?”

  “This is Hannah.” Jake looked over at her and added, “Hannah, this is my grandmother, Abigail Bradford.”

  “Hello, Miss Abigail. It’s nice to meet you.” Charlotte found herself readjusting her image of the man beside her, noticing for the first time that he wasn’t wearing a wedding band.

  “Oh, I like her already,” Abigail told Jake as she offered a warm smile. “And aren’t you a pretty thing?”

  Jake hastened to add. “Hannah got caught in the storm, and I told her she could stay here tonight.”

  “What a dreadful night to be out too.” Abigail took Charlotte’s hand and tugged gently. “Come along, and we’ll get you fixed right up.”

  “Grandma, I can show her to the guest room,” Jake said quickly. “Why don’t you sit down here for a minute. I’ll be right back, and then I can fix us some dinner.”

  “We’ll be just fine.” Abigail patted Charlotte’s hand. “Won’t we, dear?”

  Caught between Jake’s obvious concern for the elderly woman and Abigail’s need to feel useful, Charlotte said gently, “I’m sure we’ll be fine. Jake, maybe you could make Miss Abigail something to eat while she helps me settle in.”