by Susan Haught
The source of idle chatter was nothing new to her. “Your secrets will go to the grave with me,” she said, crossing her heart. “You have my word.”
“Good luck.”
“Good luck to you too, although I think Megan the Barista will make her own luck. You’re a very bright young lady.”
Megan blushed. The new color in her cheeks didn’t go well with her stark black hair and pale features, but Ryleigh suspected the Goth look was merely a ruse to draw attention away from the young woman underneath.
Ryleigh rose and hugged the teenager. “By the way, what’s he look like?” she asked, pushing the door open.
Megan chuckled. “Do you like to read?”
“Yes, why?”
“You’ll know him.” A sly smile thinned her lips. “He looks exactly like a well-
known author.” Megan slipped behind the counter. “You’ll see.”
Looking back through the window outside the Koffee Kettle, Ryleigh smiled. Megan had already struck a conversation with a new customer as she mixed another coffee creation.
Ryleigh hurried the few blocks back to the Tahoe, crude map in hand. The engine came to life. She leaned into the headrest and air-pumped a fist.
Unfamiliar with the area, she studied the map Megan had given her. By the time she found her way (if she didn’t get lost) morning would be a memory and she had no intention of finding her way back in the dark. She sighed, knowing this leg of her adventure would have to wait, and instructed Barnabas to return to the Inn.
As Barnabas calculated the return trip, apprehension crept up her spine. Megan had said Ambrose was a loner and didn’t encourage company. What if she wasn’t welcomed? Maybe he wouldn’t know her even though the letter had mentioned her by name. Doubt riddled her thoughts. She locked the doors and engaged the Bluetooth. Chandler’s deep, calming voice would reassure her. Should she make the call? She shook her head and dialed Natalie’s number instead.
Natalie picked up on the first ring. “Hey, Riles—everything going okay?”
Nat’s soothing voice eased her apprehension. “I found him.”
“See? That wasn’t so hard. What’s he like?”
“I haven’t met him yet, but it’s too late today.”
“Good grief, it’s only noon—oops. Forgot the time change. It’s probably afternoon there.”
“It is and I’m not familiar with the area, so I asked Barnabas to take me back to the Inn and get a fresh start in the morning.”
“Who the hell is Barnabas? Have you taken in a stray vamp?”
“No, you goof—he’s my navigation.”
“You need to be a little more specific when you mention vampires. I don’t want to have to charter a jet and come rescue you.”
“If by chance I had taken in a stray—vampire or not—I don’t need rescuing. Especially if he looks like Johnny Depp. And besides, Barnabas shares my last name, and I can take care of myself. I think. Who knows? Might be fun.”
“Oooh,” Natalie purred. “Perfect age, perfect male specimen.”
She pictured Natalie’s naughty grin. “You know what I mean, vampires…never mind.”
“You read way too much fiction, Ryleigh Collins. Sometimes I think you have your head stuck in a fantasy world.”
“Maybe I do.”
“Okay, what gives?”
“I met a girl at the coffee shop who knows Ambrose. She says he’s a loner and doesn’t care for visitors. What if he won’t talk to me, Nat? What do I do? What if he’s got a gun or something?”
“You’re overreacting. Your mother wouldn’t have made friends with a creep. He wrote her—and called you by name. I doubt he’s a serial killer, nor do I think he’ll turn you away.”
“Megan says he has secrets.”
“Who doesn’t? Some are a little scarier or more embarrassing than others, so take a deep breath, go back to the Inn and relax. Then tomorrow when you find him, have your cell handy. He’s not going to do anything stupid. Trust me.”
“Easy for you to say, you’re thousands of miles away. Twenty-five hundred to be exact.”
Natalie laughed. “You’ll be fine. Go back to the Inn and leave the Dark Shadows vampires to Victoria, okay?”
“Not a chance,” she teased. Excitement was beginning to overpower her trepidation.
The two women embraced their smiles, though neither could see the unspoken expression.
“I’ll call you tomorrow, Nat.”
“Sleep well.”
Ryleigh pressed the disconnect button, sent Evan a quick text and then proceeded through town and onto the highway. The panorama of the village dwindled in her rearview mirror, and Ryleigh turned up the volume on the radio to fill the silence. The day had left its unexpected imprint—a dead end, and then an intriguing young lady and a route roughly scribbled on a paper napkin—her very own lost highway. She hummed along to the radio. Maybe Bon Jovi knew their life was clearer and where they were headed on their “Lost Highway,” but she had merely turned the corner of her own.
Chapter Thirteen
CHANDLER PULLED TO the edge of the property on Juniper Ridge Road and cracked his window, the gritty idle of the diesel truck mixing with the drone of the backhoe. Permits to begin construction had been processed and he’d wasted no time in scheduling subcontractors. Work was scarce with the housing industry at a near standstill, and subs practically begged for any kind of job, big or small.
He shoved the gearshift into park, laced his arms over the steering wheel, and scanned the property. Over the years he’d kept a close eye on the secluded piece of land and couldn’t remember how many times he’d stood on this spot, waiting for the right opportunity. As fate would have it, he was able to purchase the land at nearly half the appraised price—one bright spot in the housing slump.
Earlier, with the morning sun barely over the treetops, he’d laid out the dimensions of the house in chalk lines placed precisely where the den would overlook a craggy bank of rock and a creek—no wider than a man’s exaggerated stride—that ran along the edge of the shallow rock canyon. Over the last months, as an orange western sky swallowed the sun and dragonflies hovered over the inconsequential trickle of water, he’d contemplated the placement of the house. On one overcast day, a doe and her twin fawns gathered near the water at twilight as a bald eagle circled overhead. It landed on the stone cliff, a sentinel regarding his surroundings. In that moment, he decided this would be the view from the bay window of the den he’d promised her.
God, why hadn’t he built it sooner?
The gentle slope from the creek’s bed opened into a clearing where the house would stand no more than six or seven months from now when the air was warmer and spring wildflowers bloomed. The bay window would frame the view, a constantly changing seasonal landscape. She would love it for its natural beauty. He loved it for the warmth and beauty of her smile.
The engine idled loudly, and a sudden fog of diesel fumes blew through the window on a cold burst of October wind. Chandler closed the window, unfurled the blueprints, and checked the foundation elevations. Though winter had embraced the mountains of Arizona, the ground was frozen only through the topmost layer and the backhoe teeth, worn slick from the abrasion of rock against steel, dug tirelessly into the earth blazing a trench for the footers. He pushed the hair from his face, repositioned his Diamondbacks ball cap and mentally calculated the old man’s maneuvers. He stepped from his truck to the dirt road and pulled the collar of his lined denim jacket a little tighter around his neck.
Chandler paced the perimeter, gestured to the operator to continue, and then hopped back into the warm truck and grabbed his cell. Footers were ready to be poured.
Before he could dial the concrete subcontractor, his phone chirped. He frowned at the unfamiliar number.
“Collins Construction. Chandler speaking.”
A momentary silence ensued. He glanced at the number again. “Hello?”
“Hey, baby,” she said, the familia
r voice sending an involuntary shudder through him that had nothing to do with the weather. “I like the new company name. How are you?”
Chandler grit his teeth. “Della,” he said as his free hand clamped the back of his neck. “Everything okay?”
“That’s what I want to talk to you about. But not over the phone.”
He straightened. “The baby okay?”
“Everything’s fine. Can we meet where we can talk privately?”
“Not a good idea.”
“Jesus, Chandler. People already know I’m pregnant with your child. I don’t think anyone is going to think twice about it. Please,” she pleaded, “it’s important.”
His jaw clenched. “Where?”
“My place? I promise I have no plans except to talk.”
“Pick someplace public.”
“My place. Twenty minutes. You won’t be sorry.”
The line went dead. He gripped the steering wheel and dropped his head to his forearm. “Dammit,” he mumbled, and bundled the blueprints.
Chandler started toward the house he once shared eagerly with a woman he thought he loved and it had cost him dearly—a mistake he wouldn’t repeat.
Della’s sporty black Mercedes was ahead of him by half a minute. The scene was familiar, having been in this situation on a brisk autumn night over a year ago. On that particular night, he’d hidden his truck in the garage away from prying eyes. Today, he parked in plain sight. Guilt tightened his chest.
The garage door opened. The Shelby was gone, the garage empty.
A realtor’s sign wagged in the breeze as he slipped from his truck and went inside. He briefly celebrated the possibility she was leaving town, but his gut objected. Along with her possessions, she would be taking his son or daughter.
Blonde hair fell in soft waves over Della’s shoulders as he approached the kitchen, and she brushed one side to the back, exposing the long lines of her neck and the birthmark she wore as the unmistakable kiss of the Devil. Chandler coughed and crossed a knuckle under his nose to hide a smirk. Della Mayfair didn’t need a set of plans to execute her immutable strategy.
“Like old times, isn’t it, baby?”
Chandler raked the hair from his face. “What’s this about?”
“Let’s talk in the den. It’s more comfortable.” She reached for his hands, but he was quick to deny what he had no intention of giving and pulled away.
“I don’t need a guide, Della.” The muscles in his jaw tightened. “And the den is the other way.” He nodded in the opposite direction and motioned for her to go ahead of him.
Her mouth curled, only to have the rudimentary beginnings of a smile shrivel. “What a difference a few weeks and a pregnant belly make. You can’t stand the sight of me,” she said with a pout and slumped into a leather chair.
He lagged behind, removing his jacket.
Della’s perfectly groomed eyebrow raised.
“Don’t get any ideas,” he said quickly. Throwing the jacket over the twin leather chair, he leaned against the doorframe. “So what’s with the For Sale sign?”
“You noticed?”
“Pretty hard to miss.”
She approached him and leaned into the curve of his arm.
He fixed his eyes on hers and stared into a fathomless blue sea of misplaced infatuation; he stepped away from her attempted embrace. He knew the game. She’d toy with him, twist his thoughts, and play on his emotions. “Your games may work with the next guy in line, but not with me. Not anymore.”
Della turned her back to him and stared out the window.
“What do you want, Della?” Chandler widened his stance and crossed his arms. “I have work to do.”
“You look great, by the way. I like your hair long, it’s—”
His voice rose. “Get to the point.”
She raised her arms, and then let them fall to her side. “I listed the house a couple of weeks ago. There’s no reason for me to stay.”
“How can I be a father to my child if you leave?”
“I’m not going far. I bought a place in Scottsdale.”
Chandler acknowledged the comment with a nod. True, the drive took less than an hour and a half.
“The movers will be here next week. A friend drove the Shelby for me.”
“What’s his name?”
“You don’t have to be so cheeky.”
“C’mon, Della. I’ve been in his shoes. I know what goes on in that pretty head of yours, and you don’t hang with women.”
“He’s just a friend.”
“For now,” he said curtly, adjusting his feet in the doorway. “I guess Scottsdale won’t be so bad. I can take him to Diamondbacks and Cardinals games when he gets a little older. Introduce the little guy to the mountains on weekends.”
She smiled, tilting her head. “You think it’s a boy?”
“Thinking out loud. He’s my flesh and blood. I want to be a part of his or her life.”
“You really care about this baby, don’t you?”
“Evan is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” Ryleigh was too, but he kept the thought to himself. “It wasn’t hard to fall in love with this kid, either.”
Della turned slowly and crossed the room. “Here,” she said, placing his hand on her abdomen. She smiled demurely and leaned in closer, guiding his hand. Their hands circled her belly. He held his breath. Did it seem rounder than he remembered? Was his child moving yet? Della was so petite, surely she’d show soon and he’d feel the life growing inside her. Della’s free arm slipped beneath his untucked shirt, and she sank into him, sobering his thoughts.
Chandler pulled himself away and held her at arm’s length, her persistent wiles striking a note of irritation beneath an unyielding armor. But pouring gasoline on an ember wasn’t likely to douse a fire that once burned with intense heat. With one hand, he lifted her face and watched the way her smile softened the faint lines around her mouth. He spoke softly, the words forming from the deepest part of his being, the place no one but him knew what resided there. “You’re carrying my child—a child I already love. I will honor that. I will be there for this baby.”
Anguish moistened her eyes. “Chandler—”
“But I’m not coming back. I don’t love you.” His eyes penetrated hers as if to engrave the words in her mind. He smoothed a length of golden hair away from her mouth and dropped his hands to his side. “I’m sorry. And I can honestly say I never did.”
Resigned, she stepped away and fell into the chair. “It doesn’t make any difference anyway,” she said, pulling her legs to her chest and folding her arms around them.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It just means it doesn’t matter.” She stared at the floor. “There is no baby, Chandler.”
Her words sliced through the air and struck him hard. “What happened?”
“Nothing happened.”
“God, Della. Did you miscarry? When?”
She hesitated. “I didn’t miscarry.”
“Then what the hell are you telling me?” He raised his hands in surrender.
“Men can be so gullible sometimes.” She stood and faced him. “There never was a baby. Do you think I would do something that stupid? Look at me,” she said, displaying her body with outstretched hands. “I used it as leverage.” Angry tears welled in her eyes. “I’m pretty good at getting what I want and I wanted you.”
The lie simmered in his blood. Was she lying to him now? He’d felt her belly. Small and round and hard. He gripped the doorframe tighter.
“You were different,” she said, pacing the floor. “I couldn’t break you no matter what I did. Then I watched you with your son.”
He opened his mouth to speak, but no words formed.
“It was stupid and childish, but I had to try.” Tears streaked her face as the confession rolled from her lips. “It almost worked.” Her lip trembled. “I’m not sorry and I’d do it again if I thought there was a chance. But I can’t
pretend. I don’t want to be pregnant. Not with your child, or anyone’s, Chandler. I’m not cut out for the ‘mommy’ thing.”
Her words settled coarsely inside him and he couldn’t form his own. He had accepted and embraced the fact he was going to be a father again. “You didn’t do something stupid, you didn’t…” the words stuck in a throat gone paper dry.
“No! God, Chandler, I’m not as heartless as you think.” Her voice rose. “Don’t you understand? I made the whole thing up. I wanted you, not some kid I would be stuck with changing diapers and raising for the next eighteen years.” She cringed. “Not happening on my watch.”
Chandler couldn’t look at her except with what amounted to nothing but pure contempt. How could he have been so blind? Without another word, he turned his back to leave.
“Chandler, wait,” she begged, “you—you forgot your jacket.”
He tensed. With every nerve on the edge of short-circuiting, he forced himself to pause. Without turning around, he slapped the doorframe. “Keep it, Della. Someday you may need it to keep yourself warm.”
He left through the laundry door and fled down the stairs in two strides. Icy December air stung his face as bitterly as her words had his heart.
Still, the echo of what she’d confessed wouldn’t settle, as if the lie itself had been a lie.
Chapter Fourteen
RYLEIGH FOUGHT TO decipher reality from broken dreams, but the night passed and she rose to full consciousness the next morning. Excitement and dread snaked through her veins in equal measure, settling into a knot in her stomach. She welcomed a hot shower, a host of questions teeter-tottering in her head as she stepped beneath the spray. Warm water ran through her fingers and soaked her hair. The disconcerting thoughts slowly dissolved, and she allowed them to swirl with the soapy water into the dregs of the sewer.
She dressed in jeans, a comfortable long-sleeved T-shirt under the hoodie, and laced her shoes over thick socks. She took a deep breath, draped her scarf over her shoulder, and then walked to the breakfast room for some much needed coffee.
