Hideaway

by Sandy James

  Loved her.

  When he eased back, her cheeks were flushed and her lips wet. Feeling a bit smug at seeing her so flustered by his kiss, Drake smiled. “Of course, you’re my woman. And I don’t care if I’m not worthy, you’re gonna marry me anyway.”

  She smiled in return. “You think I’ll marry you?”

  “Damn right.” He nodded to show how serious he was. “Soon.”

  “For the love of Saint Peter,” Chantal said. “You two may stop this little…display before I lose my breakfast.” Then she got to her feet, put her hand down for her son to grasp, and helped him rise. “It would appear, my dear son, that you will not be taking Cara as your bride after all.”

  Gregory just sighed.

  * * *

  Kayla didn’t mind Drake following her around the same way Gregory had. It seemed as though he wouldn’t let her stray more than a few feet away since they’d left her bedroom. He’d even followed her to the outhouse, which made her feel awkward as she’d conducted her business.

  Drew and Gideon had returned about an hour after Otto’s death, saying the Beck’s barn had only sustained a small amount of damage. They were very surprised to hear about the showdown at their home. Gideon had ridden for the town to fetch Marshal Riley while Drew and Drake had covered Otto’s body with a blanket and made some temporary repairs to Kayla’s window. When the marshal arrived, he’d needed little time assuring himself that the story Kayla, Drake, Chantal, and Gregory had told him was exactly how events occurred. The men had loaded Otto’s body onto a wagon that Gideon had hitched up for the marshal to take back to White Pines.

  “I think that wraps everything up,” Marshal Riley said, indicating the wagon by jerking a thumb over his shoulder. “I’ll get him to the undertaker.” His gaze shifted to Chantal. “Unless you’re wantin’ to take him back to New York City. We can arrange rail transport and—”

  Chantal waved away the thought with a flip of her wrist. “Burn him. Bury him. Throw him over a cliff. It matters none to me.”

  “Well then…” The marshal tipped his hat to Chantal and then to Kayla. “I’ll be headin’ back to town.” He went to the wagon, crawled up onto the bench, and took the reins in his hands. Soon, he was traveling down the tree-lined road, on his way back to White Pines.

  Drake didn’t seem inclined to let go of Kayla’s hand, and she had no intention of asking him to do so. She was his woman—he’d said so. When they were finally able to be alone, she would tell him her secret, and she hoped with all her heart that he would be happy that they were going to have a baby.

  “Kayla’s gonna marry me,” Drake blurted out in a matter-of-fact tone.

  “Is that so?” Drew stroked his chin with his thumb and fingers.

  Drake nodded. “Soon. As soon as we can arrange it.”

  Drew kept stroking his chin, looking smug. “‘Remember that ‘whoever hastens to be rich will not go unpunished…’”

  Gideon rolled his eyes. “Give it a rest, will ya, Drew? They gotta get married, the sooner the better.”

  “Is that a fact?” Drew asked. “And why exactly do you think that?”

  “’Cause she’s in the family way.”

  Kayla gasped, her hand dropping to her stomach.

  “She’s what?” Drake’s question ended on a squeak.

  “You’re gonna be a pa,” Gideon replied. He considered Kayla for a moment then said, “I’d say by autumn. Prob’ly late autumn.”

  “How could you possibly know that?” Kayla asked. Her face felt as though it had burst into flames, and there was no doubt that her embarrassed reaction screamed to everyone that Gideon was correct.

  Gideon shrugged.

  Drew, who had begun laughing the moment Gideon had said she was pregnant, got a grip on himself. “Didn’t you know, my dear, that my Gideon has always had a sort of…instinct about such things?”

  “I beg your pardon?” Chantal asked.

  “He always seems to know when any of our livestock have conceived.” A mischievous grin and a twinkle in his eye made Kayla brace for his next comment. “He has a special knack for knowing when the cows are expecting.”

  While everyone else was chuckling, Kayla released Drake’s hand and crossed her arms under her breasts. She leveled a hard glare at Drew. “Did you just call me a cow?”

  Feigning innocence with a hand on his chest, Drew shook his head. “How you impugn me, Kayla. I said no such thing.”

  She suddenly found her upper arms seized in a tight grip as Drake whirled her to face him. “Is it true? Are you gonna have a baby?”

  “We,” she replied, keeping her voice calm when what she really wanted to do was shout her happiness. “We are going to have a baby.”

  “Hot damn!” He swept her into his arms and spun her in a circle. “I’m gonna be a father!”

  Epilogue

  Kayla took a step back and held her palm out to her dance partner. “I fear I have had far too much dancing. I need a moment to rest. I’m sorry.” She had to nearly shout to be heard above the enthusiastic fiddler.

  The cowboy—she’d already forgotten his name—frowned and dropped his chin, looking a bit like a sad puppy. He walked away, shoulders sagging and feet dragging. While his reaction might have been flattering, she realized he wasn’t regretting leaving her in particular. He was regretting that there simply weren’t a lot of women to dance with. There were many lonely men in Montana.

  Even before she could turn around and exit the dance floor, Drake was immediately at her side. “Are you okay, love? You’re lookin’ a bit pale.”

  “I am quite well,” she replied. Her hand dropped to cover her stomach. “We are quite well. I am simply tired of having my toes repeatedly trod upon.” Then she admitted, “I suppose am a bit overheated. Perhaps we could get some refreshments and sit for a spell?”

  He wrapped his arm around her waist and led her to the benches along the far wall. While she sat down and fanned herself with her hand, Drake headed toward the long table that was filled with cakes, snacks, and a large punchbowl.

  Brigit sat at her side. “Sweet Jesus, it’s hot in here.”

  As she continued to fan herself, Kayla nodded. There were so many people dancing that they were constantly bumping into each other. The sight made her smile.

  It had been quite a wedding reception.

  “Looks like near to the whole town came out,” Brigit said.

  “I suppose Chantal Carrington meant what she said when she claimed Drake and I would have a big wedding,” Kayla said. “I dare say she invited everyone within riding distance.”

  “Ye told me she’d insisted on helping.”

  Kayla let out a snort. “Helping?” She shook her head. “The woman handled everything. Not that I’m complaining. Drake and I have been so busy trying to get the house completed, I had no time to spare.”

  “’Twas kind of her,” Brigit said.

  “I agree, and I have thanked her many times.” Kayla let her gaze wander the church, which Chantal had hired people to rearrange and decorate to become a reception hall immediately after the wedding. She and Drake had no sooner exchanged vows in front of the guests when Chantal’s workers had descended like locusts on a field of fresh grain. Benches were moved, festive bunting was draped, and food was brought in. Musicians set up and began to play, and everyone dove into celebrating. “I will continue to thank her in the future. I could never have arranged all of this.”

  Brigit touched the lace border of Kayla’s veil. “Yer a beautiful bride.”

  “That’s because Chantal has impeccable taste. She designed the dress and veil,” Kayla replied. “The lace was shipped all the way from New York City.”

  Drake handed cups of punch to both Kayla and Brigit. “The dress isn’t why Kayla is a beautiful bride.”

  Offering her new husband a smile, Kayla asked, “Then why, pray tell?”

  His handsome grin always made a warm ripple race through her, and she hoped she always felt that way.
“You’re just beautiful, sweetheart. In or out of a dress.” He winked.

  Brigit laughed loud enough to set a few heads turning their direction. “Yer a wicked man, Drake.”

  “That’s why I love him,” Kayla said.

  Gregory came over. He was holding a silver flask instead of a cup of punch.

  Kayla frowned. He hadn’t handled things well since the day of Otto’s death. While Chantal had wanted to help with the wedding, claiming she owed Kayla for not believing her, Kayla knew Chantal also wanted her son to remain single. What better way to ensure that than marrying off the woman her son wanted?

  Gregory had tried to talk Kayla out of marrying Drake several times. It wasn’t until he finally realized that she truly loved Drake that he finally gave up. Since then, he’d been in an extended pout.

  “And how are the newlyweds?” Gregory asked with a bit of slur in his voice.

  “We’re doin’ dandy!” Drake slapped Gregory on the back, probably a little harder than necessary, sending Gregory stumbling a few steps forward. “Sorry ’bout that, Gregory.”

  “When are you returning to New York?” Kayla asked.

  “Didn’t I tell you?” Gregory replied. “I’ve decided to stay in White Pines. I’m going to start my own business, and your husband is going to be my first customer.”

  Kayla blinked a couple of times. “I beg your pardon?”

  With a faux contrite look, Gregory said, “I didn’t mean to let the cat out of the proverbial bag. I simply assumed he’d told you.”

  “Drake? What is he talking about?”

  Drake shook his head. “We’ll talk later. Okay?”

  She nodded, although worry bloomed. Then she realized that Drake always had her best interests—and their child’s best interests—at heart. He would explain, and after, she’d scold him for not confiding in her first.

  Husbands, evidently, required a bit of training.

  Gregory went on. “He wants to build homes for people around here, and I am starting a new building and loan company to help fund the venture. I can also help his buyers with mortgages.”

  “You’re stayin’ here? How does your mum feel ’bout that?” Brigit asked.

  Gregory’s gaze dropped to the floor as if something very interesting suddenly appeared there. “Actually, I haven’t told her about it. Not yet.”

  Kayla and Brigit exchanged knowing looks of concern. “I don’t envy you that task,” Kayla said.

  As though she knew she was the topic of conversation, Chantal came striding across the church. She clapped her hands when she reached the small group. “There you are! Everyone up and at ’em! It’s time for the happy couple to depart! You need to toss your bouquet, Kayla!”

  After a resigned sigh, Kayla stood up and followed Chantal to the next thing the woman had planned for the wedding. Thankfully, it would be one of the last.

  * * *

  The wagon ride to the house was quiet. Spring had arrived, but the nights still held a chill. Kayla squeezed herself up against Drake and leaned her head on his shoulder. Even though Chantal had been bossy, Kayla had to admit the woman had given them a wonderful affair. And letting Chantal do all the planning had allowed Kayla to give the house some finishing touches. Now, she was heading there to start her new life with her husband.

  Husband. The word made her smile. Never would she have believed that Drake Myers would be a man to take a wife, nor would she have thought that she would be the one he chose. But she was his wife now. They’d said their vows before God and most of White Pines, and she felt a contentment she hadn’t known possible.

  “Why didn’t you tell me about working with Gregory?” she asked. “I would have been supportive. I know how much you love building things.”

  “I knew you would,” Drake replied. “I just wanted to be sure it would all work out first. The money, I mean. I knew I could do the work, but it takes capital. That’s what Gregory calls it. He thinks we can make some money with all the new people comin’ out here to settle.”

  “Our house is amazing. If anyone sees it, he will want one exactly like it.”

  “Won’t make another one exactly like it,” he said. “This is a one-of-a-kind, and I intend it to stay that way.”

  “And it’s ours.”

  “Damn right.” The wagon passed Drew and Gideon’s house as the newlyweds headed toward their new home. “You know, I think I always kinda knew it would be mine. When I was buildin’ it, I made it as perfect as possible.”

  “I think you’re right,” Kayla said. “After all, you made that model for it. Remember? The one Drew said looked like my drawings.”

  “I remember. I remember everything about you, Kayla. Every last detail.”

  She sat up, surprised at the emotion behind his statement. “You do?”

  “Of course, I do. I love you.”

  Tears sprang into her eyes, blurring her vision. “You love me?”

  Drake pulled on the reins, bringing the team to a halt. Then he turned to look into her eyes. “I know I ain’t said it before, and I should’ve. I guess I was a bit of a coward. But I do love you, Kayla.” He pointed to the lush full moon that was lighting their way home. “I love you all the way to that moon and back again.”

  “Oh, Drake…” She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. “I love you too.”

  “Let’s go home, Mrs. Myers. We got a honeymoon to start.” He gave her another quick kiss and then got the horses back in motion. “We’ve had a helluva interesting journey getting here, haven’t we?”

  Kayla smiled and leaned her head against his shoulder again. “We have. And you know what?”

  “No. What?” he teased.

  “I dare say we shall have a helluva interesting journey ahead of us as well—one that I will be happy to share with you.”

  The End

  And now a preview of Safe Havens Book 5, False Pretenses…

  Chapter One

  New York City—April 1888

  I’m in hell.

  No, not hell. New York City—a place that Willie might’ve named if someone had asked her where she’d least like to spend eternity.

  Finding the building had been a trial. The streets were crowded with people, trolleys, and carriages, and it seemed as though myriad wires ran from large poles to almost every single building. Telephones, no doubt. She sure didn’t see many of those in the northern Dakotas. Didn’t see this many people, either. In fact, she could go weeks without coming across another soul unless she ventured from her homestead to go to town—to Nuni Oyate.

  A young man in a well-tailored black suit came out through one of the ornate double doors Willie had been staring at for close to an hour. He came to stand directly in front of her. “Miss Marchand?”

  “That’s me.”

  “Mrs. Carrington is ready to see you now.” He swept his arm toward the door that he’d left open. “If you’d please…?”

  After such a lengthy wait, Willie was sorely tempted to give him one of her typical sarcastic replies. This meeting was too important to risk offending a man who was barely old enough to shave, especially when he likely had Chantal Carrington’s ear. “Thank you.”

  He followed her through the doors and nearly ran into her back when she planted her feet to gape at the sight before her. The cavernous room was like nothing she’d seen before. The walls had to be twenty-feet tall, drawing her eyes up until she gasped at the mural on the arched ceiling. She’d heard of such art before, even reading that there was a famous one in Rome that people believed was divinely inspired. This mural wasn’t of God or Bible stories. It was a tribute to American history.

  Willie recognized images of George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, and Benjamin Franklin. There were scenes from the Revolution that shifted into pictures of Civil War battles where Yankee soldiers stood victorious over their fallen Confederate foes. Abraham Lincoln was at the center, being portrayed as an angel—halo and all.

  The young man cleared his throa
t loudly. “If you wouldn’t mind…” He gestured toward the enormous desk at the front of the room.

  Room? Hardly. She’d explored caves that were smaller than this…this…cathedral. The intimidation factor was obvious, so Willie gently lifted her skirts, gave herself a mental bracing, and strode confidently to the desk.

  Chantal Carrington sat in a highbacked leather chair with brass tacks as edging. She was holding a piece of paper, scanning it with her eyes over a pair of spectacles sitting on the end of her nose. When she glanced up, she didn’t lift her head. Instead, she considered Willie over the wire frames.

  She was dressed in what Willie thought of as a lady’s suit—a long-sleeved, snugly fitted jacket of green velvet with shiny satin lapels. Her white blouse sported a cravat, making her appear much like any normal businessman. She’d pulled her dark hair into a tight bun, and several strands of gray fanned from her temples. Although she wore no rings, large emerald and silver earrings dangled from each ear.

  Willie gave her a polite nod. “Mrs. Carrington. I’m Wilma—”

  “Wilma Marchant. Wilma Shappa Marchant.” Chantal let the paper fall to her desktop. It flitted down slowly, like a lazy bird preparing to land. “Quite an unusual name. Indeed, quite unusual.”

  Not one to put all her cards on the table, Willie simply nodded.

  “I’ll admit curiosity about the Shappa. Care to enlighten me.”

  Even knowing her ethnic heritage was often looked down upon by a lot of people, Willie didn’t hesitate to reply. One of the reasons she’d chosen Chantal Carrington was because she flaunted her femininity in a world full of men. She knew how it felt to be the underdog. “It’s a Sioux word that means red thunder.”