He relaxed enough to laugh, that low, gritty sound she loved, and pushed a mug toward her. “So what’s it going to be tomorrow morning?”
“Waffles, I think. I found a waffle iron yesterday. That is—” she stole a peek at him “—if you like them.”
“Oh, yeah.” He leaned a hip against the counter and stole a slice of bacon. “My mom used to make them every Sunday.”
“Well, then, that’s what I’ll make.”
“As long as you promise me you won’t get up only to cook breakfast. I don’t want you going short of sleep.”
“I promise,” she lied, and slipped the first pair of eggs, sunny-side-up, onto a plate and handed it to him. “Toast should be done.”
Once she’d sat and reached for her fork, Alec asked, “Did you reach your mother last night?”
He sounded barely curious, not as if he was hoping her mother would take Wren and Abby off his hands. Even so, Wren’s cheeks flushed with guilt.
“Um, I looked at the calendar and realized it was the third Thursday of the month, which means she’d have had a school board meeting.” She concentrated on buttering her toast. If she met his eyes, he would be able to tell she was lying. Again. The truth was, she’d plain chickened out and wasn’t proud of it.
“I don’t suppose you’re eager to talk to her,” he said mildly, and she could tell he’d guessed.
Wonderful.
“I’ll call her tonight. I promise.”
“Doesn’t matter to me. You’re safer here anyway.”
The promise inherent in his words made her feel squishy inside. It also sharpened the apprehension that she’d lived with since she and Alec were rescued from the attic. Returning to civilization meant she was vulnerable again, and she hated that.
Seeing that Alec had risen to put his dishes in the sink, she said hesitantly, “You will let me know if you hear anything about James?”
He looked at her, his blue eyes sharp enough to see more than she wanted him to. “I’ll call the minute I know anything. I was surprised not to hear back from Lontz yesterday.”
“I don’t suppose I’m a very high priority for them.”
Gaze still on her face, he said, “It depends what gets in the way.”
She nodded. He knew she was scared.
“I really believe you are safe here,” he said slowly. “If I didn’t, I wouldn’t leave you alone. There are people who know you’re here, but if some stranger comes asking, they’re likely to be closemouthed.”
She looked at him in alarm. “Who knows I’m here?”
A muscle flickered in his jaw. “People saw you leaving the hospital with me.”
“Oh.”
“I’ve talked to a couple of them and asked them to keep quiet.” When she nodded, he added, “All the same, don’t answer the door unless you know who’s knocking.” He hesitated. “I hate to say this, but it wouldn’t surprise me if my sister shows up. I ran into my brother-in-law yesterday. Sally knows you’re here, and she’s always been nosy. Won’t bother me if you don’t want to let her in. But if it’s a woman leaning on the doorbell, that’ll be Sally.”
He left the room, then stuck his head back in. “I meant to say last night that you could poke around in the closets and dressers upstairs. I still haven’t gotten rid of Mom’s clothes and I’m not sure she did anything about Aunt Pearl’s, either.” He appraised her in the now wrinkled scrubs with a grease spot over the left breast. “Mom was taller than you, but Aunt Pearl was a little thing. Probably nothing they had is what you’re used to wearing, but feel free if you can find something. I’ll call later today and check. Otherwise, let me know your sizes and I’ll stop by a couple of stores.”
“Are they open?” she said in surprise. “This is such a small town. Are there any clothing boutiques?”
“One dress shop and a general store that sells some basics. Underwear, jeans, that kind of thing. One of them might be open.” He shrugged. “Even if they’re not, most of the storekeepers are there cleaning up and won’t mind doing some business.”
“Oh. Okay. Um, thanks.”
He nodded and left. The house was awfully quiet once the front door shut behind him. Wren hesitated, thinking she should clean the kitchen, but on the other hand wouldn’t it be a good idea to take advantage of the fact that Abby was still asleep and do as Alec had suggested? She’d really, really like to have something else to wear.
She hesitated in the doorway of the bedroom where she knew he slept, but after a minute went in anyway and pushed open the closet. Sure enough, while a small portion of it was taken up with clothes that must be his, women’s garments were pushed toward the back. Some cardboard boxes sitting on the floor held clothes, too, she discovered.
It felt like the worst kind of intrusion, digging through a dead woman’s possessions, but Wren was desperate and Alec had given his permission. She hadn’t detected even a flicker of sentimentality when he suggested she raid the closets, so she’d take him at his word.
The hardest part, maybe, was ignoring his clothes and the shoes scattered carelessly on the floor. At the end, encased in plastic from the dry cleaner, was a dark suit. She couldn’t help imagining him in that, with a crisp white shirt setting off his dark hair and tan. There were at least a couple of more casual suits and a row of pants and dress shirts that made her guess he didn’t always wear jeans on the job. Well, obviously not when he had to appear in court. She cringed to think how much he would hate knowing she was looking at his clothes and speculating about him. He’d made it plain enough that he didn’t welcome her curiosity.
With an effort, she focused on his mother’s garments, which she could see were too big for her. Even so, she set aside a few things she thought she could use. She could roll up sleeves, and it didn’t matter if the hem reached midthigh. A soft flannel nightgown looked hardly worn, and socks…well, socks were socks.
Pearl’s clothes in another bedroom were about Wren’s size, but she grimaced at the thought of wearing the dresses or old-lady shoes. Pearl had apparently gone with the times, though, and Wren triumphantly found a couple of pairs of denim pants and practical shirts that the woman might have worn for gardening. There was even a pair of rubber clogs that, to her delight, fit perfectly.
Happy with her stash though she still lacked a replacement for her single pair of panties and bra, Wren changed just in time for Abby to wake up.
She gave the baby a bath in the big kitchen sink, patted her dry and dressed her in a cute red sleeper, then nursed her. Abby didn’t immediately fall asleep afterward, so Wren decided to do a bit of exploring with the baby cuddled to her shoulder.
She talked cheerfully while she went.
She tried out the sofa and one of the wingback chairs in the parlor and determined that they were hideously uncomfortable. She quickly moved on to the framed photographs on the mantel and wall.
What she was really doing, she was embarrassed to realize, was looking for clues to the man who had taken her in and vowed to protect her, while guarding his own history and emotions so zealously. His great-aunt had lived here, then his mother, and now it was his house. Why hadn’t he changed anything? Was there something about the room or what it represented that made him so uncomfortable he was unprepared to deal with it? Why would he stay in a house at all that he could barely stand to live in?
He won’t know I’m wondering, she told herself. Looking at photos that were on open display wasn’t the same as peering at his clothes in the closet, was it? How could she not wonder?
Central on the mantel was a silver-framed photograph of two women and a man gazing sternly at the camera. From the clothes, she thought it might have been taken in the thirties or forties. All three were dark-haired and clearly siblings, although one of the women was noticeably prettier than the other. Probably Edwina and poor Pearl, she decided.
The brother must be Alec’s grandfather. On his mother’s side, presumably, since Pearl had left the house to her. Wren was sure she could
see a little of Alec in the shape of his face and the thick, dark hair. She moved on to pictures of the prettier sister with her husband and later with her children, and then reached a photo of Alec’s grandfather when he was a few years older with a woman who must be his wife, holding a baby girl in her arms. Alec’s mother?
The phone rang, making her jump. Abby’s head bobbled, and Wren steadied it as she hurried to the kitchen to snatch up the receiver. “Hello?”
“It’s Alec. You okay?”
She must have sounded breathless. “Sorry, I rushed for the phone. I did find some clothes to borrow, if that’s why you’re calling. I felt a little funny looking through their things, but—”
“Don’t worry about it.” He clearly didn’t care. “Wren…”
Her heart thumped. Very carefully, she laid Abby in the car seat that still sat on the kitchen counter. “Yes?”
“The detective in Seattle got back to me. He can’t find James.”
“You mean he’s not home?” That initial uncomfortable bump in her chest had turned into a rhythmic hammering. “I told you where he works. And…and he just might not be home….”
“Wren,” Alec said again, his voice gentle, “he hasn’t shown up for work since the morning after you left. The super let the detective into the apartment and Lontz says it looks like he hasn’t been there since. Dishes were growing mold in the sink. Appears he left in a hurry.”
“Oh, God,” she whispered. “He did come after me.”
“Yeah. I think we have to assume he did.” He paused. “I’m sorry, honey.”
“Me, too.” She barely managed to squeeze the words out.
CHAPTER EIGHT
WREN CAREFULLY SET THE PHONE in its cradle, Alec’s reminders and cautions ringing in her ears. Her desperate gaze fixed on her baby, so small and vulnerable, and she was suddenly breathless, reminded that nothing was the same. Love swelled in her chest until it hurt. Protecting Abby was all that mattered. And in that moment, the panic swirled and took on a new shape.
She would not let James hurt her baby. She’d kill him if she had to before she let him lay a hand on Abby. In some peripheral part of her mind Wren realized she was shaking, and not with fear this time. She was mad. So much outrage filled her, she couldn’t contain it.
What right did he have to terrorize her? To threaten his own child? What kind of man was he?
“Scum, that’s what he is.” She paced the kitchen, wanting to kick something. Throw something. Hurt him the way he’d hurt her.
That so wasn’t like her, but she let herself revel in images of herself committing violence. Right this second she would have given anything to take him on. He would be so sure she was still scared, that she’d cower and let him beat on her, but he was in for a big surprise. A gigantic surprise. It wasn’t going to be that way anymore.
Was he here in Saddler’s Mill? Had he already been to Molly’s old house, or had floodwaters made it inaccessible? Alec would hear if James was asking questions about her locally, wouldn’t he?
But wait—they’d figured out that there was a good chance James already knew where Molly had moved to, which meant he might have gone straight there. Wren’s thoughts bumped to a stop. Except—he was so controlling, it would be like him to be confident he’d kept her from learning the new address. Which meant he’d be sure she had come here instead.
Probably. Oh, she wished she could warn Molly to watch out for him.
And she should have called her mom last night. That wasn’t only cowardly, it was dumb. James might show up on her doorstep. He’d always been charming with Mom, but who knew now? What if he threatened her?
Agitated, she swung around and stalked the length of the kitchen again. Tonight.
Right now what she wanted to do was…
Was…
Wren found herself face-to-face with the refrigerator, which held a variety of take-out menus and some indecipherable scrawled notes with phone numbers in what she presumed was Alec’s handwriting.
Stop, she told herself. Rewind.
Right now… Oh, Lord, her mind seemed to be a big blank. Which meant… There wasn’t a single thing she could do.
Lots of adrenaline, and no way to burn it.
Bake, that’s what she could do. She seized on the idea, because she absolutely had to do something. She couldn’t sit and fret. She could nap later, when her fear and anger quit simmering. Take some ibuprofen now for the cramps. And then…
Cinnamon rolls. If she could find any cinnamon. She bet Alec would like them. Cookies, although she hadn’t noticed raisins or chocolate chips yesterday when she went through the cupboards. Maybe shortbread. Or…hadn’t she seen a bottle of molasses?
Abby had fallen asleep sometime while Wren brooded and paced. As she stood looking at her, filled with that same, helpless love, Abby briefly scrunched her small nose as though something had tickled it, then relaxed again.
Wren almost carried her upstairs, then decided to keep her right here, where she could see her.
Wren started by preparing a meat loaf to go in the oven later, then washed her hands and began assembling ingredients for the cinnamon rolls. The selection of spices wasn’t broad—she guessed Alec’s mother wasn’t an enthusiastic cook—but the basics were here.
The doorbell rang as she finished measuring white flour into the big, ceramic mixing bowl. Wren froze.
The door was locked.
He could break a window and be in faster than I can grab Abby and run.
A weapon. She needed a weapon.
Wren whirled and grabbed the marble rolling pin. Then, heart thudding, she slipped into the living room and edged up to the lace-covered window. Very carefully, she eased aside the lace and peeked out.
She couldn’t quite see…. No, there. The person stepped back, and she was sure it was a woman.
A gasp of relief escaped her. Wryly she thought, Didn’t I decide I wanted to confront James? She sighed. No, what she wanted was never to see him again. She looked down at the rolling pin in her hand.
I would have hurt him. If I had to.
She was at the door and undoing the dead bolt before she’d thought through whether she actually wanted to meet Alec’s sister. Which must mean she did.
When she swung the door open, she knew immediately that this was her. Sally? Wasn’t that her name? She was four or five inches taller than Wren and had the same bright blue eyes and dark hair as her brother. The hair was bundled on top of her head, and she wore a bright pink sweater over a turtleneck and blue jeans. Permanent smile lines crinkled beside her eyes.
At her feet was a huge, cardboard box, and beside that was a white wicker bassinet on wheels.
“Hi,” she said, her voice friendly, “I’m Sally Young.”
“Alec’s sister.”
“None other.” She looked past Wren. “I don’t suppose my big brother’s home.”
It wasn’t a question, which told Wren she already knew the answer.
“No, but you’re welcome to come in. Can I offer you a cup of coffee?”
She beamed. “I’d love a cup. And, as you can see, I come bearing gifts.”
“This is so nice of you.” Wren wheeled the bassinet in while Sally scooted the box over the threshold. Her gaze turned quizzical when Wren closed the door behind them and carefully set both locks.
“I can tell you’re not from around here.”
“Alec made me promise.”
“Oh, Alec.” Sally rolled her eyes. “He sees the worst in everything.”
“He spent half the day dealing with looters yesterday. So I guess he does see the worst.”
His sister made a face. “Randy—he’s my husband—did say looting was going on. So maybe Alec has a point.”
Once they reached the kitchen, she oohed and aahed quietly over Abby while Wren made coffee. “You’re baking?”
“I have to do something,” she explained. “And I thought it was one way of paying back Alec for being so nice and letting me
stay here for a few days.”
Sally grinned at her. “I’m dying of curiosity. I heard he had a woman staying here.”
“It’s not like that,” she said awkwardly. “He really is just being nice. Did he tell you…?”
“Yes, but I wasn’t sure I believed him. I mean, he spent days rescuing people, and he didn’t bring any of them home.”
Wren poured the coffee and carried the cups to the table. “I guess I was a little different. Because he delivered Abby, you know.”
Sally’s face softened with sympathy. “That must have been really scary.”
“It was.” Wren found herself telling the other woman about it, and hearing tales of Sally’s own childbirth experiences.
“Three children,” she said, in answer to Wren’s question. “Randy was determined to have a boy. Thank goodness number three wasn’t a girl, too, or I’d probably be pregnant again.”
She said it laughingly, not as if she would have minded that much, and talked about how much she loved being a mother. Apparently Randy worked at the mill and money was often tight, but Sally didn’t mind.
“Alec worries more than we do,” she said with a shrug. “I don’t know what he thinks Randy is supposed to do. Turn around and go to law school when he’s thirty-five and already has a family? He does his best, and it’s good enough for me. I’ll get a job, too, when Evan’s old enough so we can start putting some money away for college if any of the kids want to go.”
Wren cocked her head. “You’re so different from him. I suppose being in law enforcement changed him.”
Sally set down her cup, her face suddenly sober. “Oh, it’s more than that. I was always happier, Alec the serious one. I think Daddy expected more of him, for one thing. And then he died when Alec was only fifteen. It was different for me. He missed Dad more, and he thought he had to take care of Mom and me. He did so much he shouldn’t have had to do.” There was something in her voice now that said maybe he hadn’t always succeeded. But then she shook her head and laughed. “This house feels like a funeral parlor. Maybe it’s got him feeling like an undertaker.”
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