Chapter 16
The old MacGregor house had been deserted almost fifteen years, the windows boarded over. Keep Out signs were posted on the front and back doors. The interior was dark, dank, and filled with cobwebs. They caught at Chet’s hat, at his face, at his hands.
A floorboard creaked beneath his foot as he stepped into the parlor. He froze, listening. If the killer was in the house, he now knew Chet was there, as well.
Nothing. No sound except the wind whistling around the corner of the house.
He moved forward, his flashlight illuminating the way.
Deputy Caldwell had told Chet to stay out of this. Now that Caldwell was acting sheriff, in the wake of Sheriff Tuttle’s murder, he was determined to proceed by the book.
But the deputy was too slow and methodical for Chet. He wasn’t going to wait around until they found another body. True’s body. She meant too much to him. He wouldn’t leave any stone unturned until he found her, until he made certain she was safe.
He opened a door and discovered the stairway to the cellar. Caldwell had said they searched the place from top to bottom. Maybe. But something in Chet’s gut told him she was in this house.
“Hang on, True,” he whispered under his breath. “Please, God. Help her hang on a bit longer."
He descended the steps into the dirt-floor cellar, pushing aside more cobwebs as he went. If Caldwell and the others had searched down here, he couldn’t see signs of it by his flashlight. It didn’t look as if anyone had been in this cellar in the past fifty years. Which meant True wasn’t down here, either.
He almost turned to leave, almost decided he was looking in the wrong place, almost gave up.
Then something caught his eye. He wasn’t sure what. He wasn’t sure why. But his pulse quickened and the hair on the back of his neck stood on end.
He trained his flashlight on the farthest corner. A section of the wall was a darker, richer brown than the rest.
His heart nearly stopped.
Freshly turned dirt.
He was down the remaining steps and across the cellar in no time.
“True!” He began digging and clawing at the wall with his bare hands. “True, hang on! I’m coming!”
Please, God, he prayed silently. Let me be in time.
* * *
I know it’s traditional to have the wedding in the bride’s hometown,” Shayla told her mother. “But Nat and I want to have the ceremony at the ranch.”
“But, darling, all your friends are in Portland.”
There was no point in trying to explain that her real friends were right here in this valley. “If you’re worried about the cost of the airplane tickets for the whole family, Mom, I can chip in with the money Aunt Lauretta left me.”
After a lengthy silence on the other end of the line, her mom said, “I hope you know what you’re doing. First this notion to be a novelist instead of finding another job, and now you’re rushing into marriage with a man you’ve known less than two months.”
“This is not some sort of emotional crisis.” Shayla tried to keep the frustration out of her voice. “I love Nat, and he loves me.”
“Oh, honey, I’m sure you do. It’s only…I don’t want to see you get hurt.”
Some of the tension drained from her. “I know that, Mom. But I’m thirty years old. I know what I’m doing. We aren’t rushing into this blind. We’ve both prayed about it. We feel certain it’s what God wants.”
“All right, Shayla. I won’t say anything more.” A pause. “Here’s your father.”
“Hi, sweetheart.”
“Hi, Dad.”
“I take it we’re coming to Idaho for the wedding?”
“Yes. Nat and I want an outdoor ceremony at his ranch. I told Mom I could help pay for the tickets to fly all of you over.”
“No need for that. You hang on to your money. I can afford to do this. It isn’t every day my firstborn gets married.”
She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Thanks, Dad.”
“Hey, sweetheart.”
“Yes?”
“We’re happy for you. We’re glad you’ve found the right guy. Anne says he’s terrific.”
“Yes, he is.”
“You tell him I said he’d better be good to you.”
“He is.” She laughed. “But I’ll tell him.”
“We’ll call you in a few days. Just as soon as we know everybody’s schedules.”
“Okay.”
“We love you, babe. Give Anne our love, too.”
“I will. Bye, Dad. I love you.”
Shayla hung up the telephone, feeling better after talking to her father. He might agree with her mother that Shayla was rushing into marriage, but at least he hadn’t said so.
* * *
Nat and the twins drove to Shayla’s cabin at noon. “So, what did your folks say?” he asked, immediately after kissing her.
“They were surprised, but happy for me. What about your mother?”
“Over the moon.” He nibbled on her earlobe, ignoring Angie’s and Cathy’s snickers. “She can’t wait to meet you.”
“We talked to Mommy and Daddy last night,” Cathy volunteered.
“We told Mommy we’re gonna be your flower girls,” Angie continued, “and she said we had to take lots and lots of pictures and send them to her.”
Nat tightened his arms around Shayla. “I thought we’d better go talk to Pastor Barnett, make sure he’s available to perform the ceremony on the eighth of next month.”
“We should have done that before calling our parents.”
“Minor details.”
“When are we gonna get our dresses, Shayla?” one of the twins asked.
She turned toward the girls. “Later this week we’ll drive down to Boise, you two and me and Anne.”
“Can’t I go, too?” Nat asked.
“No,” the three females answered in unison.
“Hmm. So that’s how it’s going to be. Three against one.”
Shayla slipped her arm around his waist. “Stop pouting, and let’s go see Pastor Barnett.”
“I’m not pouting.”
“Ha!” Mischief twinkled in her eyes.
“You were, Uncle Nat. We saw you.”
“I’m outnumbered,” he grumbled, trying—and failing—to hide his grin.
He wondered if it was legal for a man to be this happy.
* * *
That evening, with the twins in bed and Ty and Anne off on a date, Nat and Shayla snuggled together on the front porch swing, his arm around her back, her head resting on his shoulder. A nearly full moon bathed the valley in a blanket of white light. Crickets serenaded from the pasture, accompanied by the ribbitt, ribbitt of frogs.
“Mmm,” Shayla murmured. “What a perfect ending to a perfect day.”
“My thoughts exactly.”
“We may not have many evenings like this for a while. There’s so much to be done to get ready for the wedding.”
“We should have eloped.”
She laughed. “That’s about the tenth time you’ve said that today.”
“Is it?” He kissed the top of her head. “Must be because I mean it.” His breath was warm on her hair.
Tiny shivers ran up and down her spine, and gooseflesh formed on her arms.
“Mmm,” she murmured again.
“I never expected this.”
“What?”
“You,” he answered softly. “Being in love again. I hoped it would happen, but I didn’t believe it would. I didn’t think I’d ever meet the right woman. I’ve been alone a long time.”
She shifted in his arms, looking up at him. “Tell me about Joanne.”
“What would you like to know?”
“Do you still love her?” The question slipped out before she could think better of it. Once it was spoken, the only thing she could do was hold her breath and wait for his answer.
Nat was silent for a long time, all the while staring down into her eyes.<
br />
At last he spoke, his voice low and filled with regret. “I loved Joanne. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t. We were just kids when we got married, but we were happy for the most part. We were selfish in our own ways, too, like many young people who still think the universe revolves around them. We wanted different things, and neither of us knew how to compromise.”
He looked in the direction of the highway, but judging by his expression, his mind was even farther away than that.
“I don’t know what would’ve happened to our marriage if she’d lived. I don’t think we would’ve made it. Neither of us knew the Lord back then.” He paused, then shook his head. “No, we would’ve divorced. Neither one of us knew how to compromise.”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”
“Yes, you should have.” His gaze returned to her. “I don’t want there to be any secrets between us, Shayla. No unspoken questions. We should talk about things.”
She nodded, then returned her head to his shoulder. They were silent for another long spell. A companionable silence, neither of them feeling compelled to speak, content to simply be together. He stroked her hair with the fingers of one hand. She circled her fingers on his chest, feeling the beat of his heart beneath her hand.
Finally he said, “You don’t mind that it won’t be just the two of us here after we’re married, do you?”
“You mean Cathy and Angie? No, I don’t mind.” She closed her eyes. “You’re a wonderful uncle. At least, now that you’re over that rocky start.”
“I’ve always sort of hoped for kids of my own.” There was an unspoken question in his words.
Shayla didn’t know what to say. A few months ago—a few weeks ago—she hadn’t known where children would fit in with her new purpose. But now? She wasn’t sure. What would it be like to carry Nat’s baby?
“I love you,” he whispered.
And what she thought he might be saying was, It’s okay. We don’t have to decide about children now. We have time. We have the rest of our lives.
* * *
Half an hour later, Nat watched the taillights of Shayla’s car grow dimmer as she drove away from the house. When he knew she’d safely reached the highway, he turned and went inside. Once upstairs, he checked on the girls. They were sound asleep.
He stood at the side of the double bed, soft light from the hallway illuminating their faces. Angie’s bandage was gone now, and it took him a moment to be sure who was who. He was kind of proud of himself that he was beginning to see the slight differences in their faces. Shayla had noticed them right off, but it had taken him a bit longer.
He remembered that first twenty-four-hour period with these two little girls. He’d dubbed them the twin terrors. They’d scared him half to death with their tantrums and their tears. But they hadn’t scared Shayla. She’d seen right through them. She’d known the exact mix of love and discipline that was needed.
She would make a wonderful mother.
He recalled the tension he’d felt in her tonight when he told her he wanted kids of his own. She hadn’t looked up at him, but her fingers had grown still.
It hurt him a little, knowing she didn’t yet trust him not to crush her hopes and dreams, but he could understand it, too.
He drew the sheet over the twins, then left the room, wandering into the studio.
Even after all these years, the faint scent of oil paints and turpentine lingered in the air. He wondered if the odor would disappear once the room held a desk, computer and printer, once the walls were lined with books instead of canvasses.
“Do you still love her?”
Remembering Shayla’s question, Nat shook his head. He wished he could explain it better. At one time he’d loved Joanne with all his heart, but that had been long ago. Things had been different then. He had been different then. While he could remember that he once loved Joanne, he didn’t feel the emotion.
Now when he thought of love, he thought of Shayla—of her laughter, of the way she talked to herself, of the sweet taste of her mouth and the perfect way she fit within his arms. She filled his thoughts—morning, noon and night. There was no room in his mind or his heart for another woman, whether real or a memory.
His gaze moved around the room, over the things that had been Joanne’s.
“I won’t make the same mistakes again,” he pledged to the silence around him. “I won’t crush your dreams, Shayla. I won’t insist on my own way. Whatever it takes, this marriage is for a lifetime.”
He flicked off the lights and headed for his room.
* * *
Once again, Shayla couldn’t sleep. So many things kept racing through her mind, and her heart was torn with conflicting emotions. She hadn’t known love was like this, a sweet torment. Joys were greater. Fears were deeper.
She loved Nat with her entire being. She didn’t doubt that for an instant. Nat loved her just as deeply. He seemed to understand her as no one else ever had. And still…
She remembered Nat telling her, weeks ago, not to let anything or anyone get in the way of her dreams. Was she doing that? Once they were married, would her own desire to please him get in the way?
With a groan, she tossed off the blankets and got out of bed. Her head ached with all her whirling thoughts and questions, but she was unable to shut them off.
She didn’t turn on the light. A full moon provided enough illumination for her to see her way out to the living room.
Silently she walked to her desk, drawn there like metal to a magnet. She lifted her manuscript from the stationery box. What she held in her hands represented many weeks of work. Hard work. Hopefully, good work.
But how did she know if it was really good?
Oh, Lord. I want this. I want this so much. But how does writing fit with marriage and a home and a family?
She closed her eyes, holding the manuscript pages against her chest, waiting for an answer to her prayer, hoping to hear that small voice of assurance in her heart. All she heard was the silence of the cabin.
With a sigh, she opened her eyes and looked at the manuscript a second time. There was only one way she knew to find out if her book was good enough to be published. She had to show it to someone who could tell her the truth. Up to this point, Chet Morrison and True Barry and all the other characters of Eden Valley belonged only to her. It was time to learn if someone else might like them, too.
She took another breath—a long, deep one this time—let it out, then laid the manuscript back in its box, her decision made.
Chapter 17
Shayla tried not to let her uncertainties color her joy. This was supposed to be the happiest time of a woman’s life, and she was determined it would be so for her.
On Tuesday, she and Anne drove to the ranch early in the morning to pick up the twins. Then the four of them headed down the highway toward Boise. It didn’t take them long to start singing camp songs. Cathy and Angie quickly learned the words to those they hadn’t heard before. All mistakes were followed by riotous laughter. More than they deserved.
An hour into their journey, they saw a doe and her fawn along the river’s edge. Shayla slowed so they could get a better look. The doe, ever alert for danger to her baby, lifted her head and watched the car go by, ready to dart away if necessary. Another fifteen minutes down the road, they stopped to watch a helicopter as it hauled a log out of the forest, the chopper following the river’s winding path for a while, then disappearing over a ridge.
As they got closer to Boise, the temperature began to rise. The sun glared down from a cloudless blue sky, and the air conditioner in the compact car couldn’t spit out enough cold air to keep the inhabitants comfortable.
It was nearly eleven o’clock before they arrived at their destination. The bridal shop had been recommended by Geneve Barnett, the pastor’s wife. Shayla prayed it would be the only stop they would have to make. She hated clothes shopping almost as much as going to the dentist.
“You start looking at br
idal gowns,” Anne suggested as they walked toward the shop’s door, “and the girls and I will check out the bridesmaid and flower girl dresses. That way we can be done in half the time.”
“Sounds good to me.”
Half an hour later, Shayla stood in a fitting room with an overly cheerful saleswoman and a selection of gowns. As soon as the first one—hooped skirt, huge puffy sleeves, and all—was zipped up the back, she knew why she hated shopping so much.
“I thought all brides were supposed to be beautiful,” she muttered at her reflection. “I look like a cream puff about to explode.”
Anne—beautiful, model-like Anne, who looked gorgeous in anything—chose that precise moment to poke her head through the curtains.
“Shayla, I think we found the perfect—” She stopped and stared. “Oh, it’s definitely not you, my dear, sweet sister.” She entered the fitting room and began to poke through the other gowns. When she was done, she rolled her eyes at Shayla. “You are hopeless. None of these are right for you.”
‘Tell me about it. Maybe I should get married in shorts and a T-shirt. It’s more my style.”
Anne grinned. “I don’t think you have to resort to that. I saw something I think would be perfect. Get out of that Scarlett O’Hara thing. I’ll be right back.” Without a word, the saleswoman stepped toward Shayla and unzipped the back of the gown, then helped her out of the yards of satin, beads and lace and the voluminous underskirt beneath it all. Anne returned a moment later.
“Don’t look until it’s on.” Glancing at the saleswoman, Anne said, “Would you mind helping the flower girls with their dresses? They’re anxious to try them on. I left them in the next room over.”
A look of horror crossed the woman’s face, obviously realizing what havoc two unchaperoned six-year-old girls could create in her shop. She hurried out of the fitting room.
“Anne, really,” Shayla whispered, fighting a smile.
Her sister chuckled. “Sorry.” She didn’t sound the least bit repentant. ‘Turn around and lift your arms over your head. And remember. Don’t look until I say so.”
Trouble in Paradise Page 16
