by Pamela Clare
“It’s so beautiful up here, so peaceful.”
Nate looked over, smiled at the look of wonder on Megan’s face. “You’re welcome to come up here any time, you know. I hope you will.”
Her smile grew tight, and she looked away.
*
Megan couldn’t remember the last time she’d had more fun. They ate their picnic lunch before a roaring fire that Nate built, then made s’mores, a treat Megan hadn’t enjoyed since she’d been a little girl at church camp. After the marshmallows and chocolate were gone, they built a snowman. Then Jack let Emily show him how to make snow angels. Before they were finished, Emily had them all making snow angels, and the meadow around the picnic shelter was covered with them.
Yet, through it all, some part of Megan was waiting for the other shoe to drop.
She’d never been this happy. All of her dreams had seemed to come true overnight, every closely guarded longing in her heart fulfilled. A deep sense of safety. A man who accepted her despite her past, who seemed truly to care about her and Emily—and who came with a built-in grandfather for her daughter. Soul-shattering sex.
Though she told herself that she had every right to be happy, she couldn’t shake the feeling that the dream was about to end. Nate would realize he could do better than an ex-con for a lover. Or Jack would put his foot down and tell his son that it was one thing to give her a safe place to stay for the weekend but quite another to get involved with her. Or the cops would show up, tell her they’d uncovered an old arrest warrant for some case she’d caught eons ago, and arrest her in front of everyone.
She tried to silence the negative thoughts as they climbed aboard the sleigh and headed back to the house, the beauty of the mountains and the cheery sound of the sleigh bells lulling her fears to sleep.
They reached the house late in the afternoon. While Nate took care of the horse and sleigh, Megan put Emily down for a nap and began to pack their things, getting ready for the long drive back to Denver, her anxiety returning. She’d just closed her suitcase when he came up behind her.
“I wish you could stay.” He spoke softly so as not to wake Emily, his arms going around her waist, drawing her back against him.
Megan pulled away. “The roads are open, and I’d like to get home before dark.”
“My dad can take the two of you in his SUV, and I can follow behind in your car, if you want. I know these roads aren’t fun in the snow.”
She turned to face him, touched by his selflessness. “That’s awfully sweet of you, but I couldn’t ask you to do that. That’s not a fun way to spend your Sunday night.”
“Hey, it’s my Sunday night. At least that way I’d know you made it back safely.” Nate caught her hand in his, raised it to his lips, kissed it. “And you don’t have to ask. I offered.”
It would make Megan feel a lot safer to be in a four-wheel drive instead of her little Honda. “Okay. And thanks.”
“You know,” he said moving closer, drawing her into his arms, “you could stay the night, and we could take you in first thing tomorrow morning.”
She felt a little trill of excitement at the idea of another night in his bed but shook her head. “I have to make sure I get to work on time. I can’t afford to get fired. It’s really hard for people with prison records to find jobs.”
She tried to pull away again, but he stopped her.
“Hey, what’s wrong?”
She looked away, unable to meet his gaze. “Nothing… I’m just…”
He threaded his fingers through hers and led her out into the hallway, shutting the door behind them. “Something’s been bothering you all day. Do you regret last night?”
Megan gaped at him. “No! God, no!”
He let out a slow breath. “Well, I’m glad to hear that at least, because last night was one of the best nights of my life.”
“Really?” She felt the same way, but hearing him say it…
She’d never been a part of anybody’s best anything.
He caught her chin, tilted her head back so that he was looking straight into her eyes, his thumb stroking lazily over her cheek. “Yeah. Really.”
He brushed his lips over hers, claiming her mouth in a slow, sweet kiss that cleared her mind of everything but him.
“Ahem.” Behind them, Jack cleared his throat. “Sorry to intrude, but Chuck says something’s wrong with Baby Doe. He thinks it’s a torsion.”
Nate’s head jerked up. “What?”
Megan could see from the alarm on his face that this was serious.
“I called Doc Jackson already but…”
“Shit.” Nate kissed Megan’s hair. “This is a real emergency, honey.”
She nodded. “Go.”
She watched him disappear down the hall with his father, her lips still tingling.
*
An hour later, her suitcases already loaded into her car, Megan sat in the great room watching Emily play with her pony on the coffee table, the scent of homemade spaghetti sauce wafting in from the kitchen. Jack had insisted they stay for supper, and since he and Nate were driving, Megan had agreed. Besides, Jack was an incredible cook.
Still, she was beginning to feel restless, needing to get home, needing to be alone so that she could sort through the confusion inside her.
There’d been no word from Nate about Baby Doe or her foal. Jack had explained that sometimes, late in pregnancy, a mare’s uterus could twist, cutting off the blood supply to the foal. Unless they were able to correct the problem, they could lose both the foal and the mare. Megan remembered Baby Doe’s beautiful coloring, her soft muzzle, her quiet whickers as they petted her and fed her carrots. She couldn’t stand to think of such a beautiful animal suffering.
On edge, she stood, walked toward the fireplace, and found herself looking at the family portrait on the mantel again. How happy the three of them looked together. Nate’s mother had been such a beautiful woman, her eyes alight with happiness. She had an unmistakable air of class and sophistication about her, from the way she wore lipstick, to her elegant clothes, to her lovely mabe pearl earrings.
Megan felt shoddy by comparison, cheap. She couldn’t help but wonder what Nate’s mother would think about his interest in her. For that matter, what did Jack think?
Megan knew he knew they’d slept together. His comment at breakfast had proven that. But she had no idea how he felt about it.
She heard men’s voices in the kitchen. Thinking Nate was back and might have some news of the mare, she walked toward the kitchen, then froze.
“She’s that fugitive’s sister.” It was Chuck, the foreman, speaking in a hushed voice. “Remember from a few years ago? She’s a drug addict. She served time in prison for killing someone, I think. You don’t want her sleepin’ with our Nate. He can do a lot better than that.”
Blood rushed to Megan’s head, her pulse rocketing. Chuck had been there this morning when she’d bought the morning-after pill. He must have seen…
A lid clanked against a pot.
Jack spoke. “Let’s go into my office and talk about this.”
Not wanting to be caught eavesdropping, she hurried back to Emily and just managed to sit on the sofa when Jack and Chuck emerged from the kitchen, heading toward Jack’s office.
Jack looked over at her, an angry frown on his face.
She felt a tearing sensation in her chest, the pain sharp and cold. A hard lump formed in her throat, dropping straight into her stomach as she watched him disappear down the hallway, his foreman behind him.
She had humiliated him. She’d brought embarrassment to Jack and to Nate in their own home, exposing them to gossip from the ranch hands.
Once again, her past had caught up with her.
And then it was just too much.
She found their coats by the front door, grabbed her purse and Emily’s mittens off the table in the foyer, fighting back tears. “Come, sweet pea. It’s time to go.”
The dream was over.
*
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Nate stroked the anesthetized mare’s flank, felt the foal moving inside her. Thankfully, it hadn’t been a complete torsion. Doc Johnson had been able to rotate Baby Doe’s uterus back into place vaginally, sparing her surgery. But they were going to have to watch her closely until she foaled.
“I’ve got a hunch as to what caused this.” Doc Johnson pulled the shoulder-high exam glove off his arm. “Either that foal is huge, or she’s carrying twins.”
Nate stared up at him. “You did an ultrasound. There was only one embryo.”
“Hey, once in a while even I make a mistake. Let’s have another look.”
Nate waited with the mare, checking her IV tubing, while Doc Johnson went to retrieve his ultrasound machine from his truck.
Five minutes later, he found himself staring at a blurry black-and-white image of not one, but two foals. Two hearts beating, two heads, two rumps, eight hooves.
Definitely twins.
Shit.
Twin foals rarely survived.
Doc Johnson withdrew his gloved arm and the ultrasound wand from the mare’s rectal cavity and rolled off the glove. “Everything looks good so far, but that’s far from a guarantee that either foal will survive. Our priority, of course, will be the mare. Let me get on the horn with the equine folks at CSU. I would advise boarding her at the hospital until this is over. I know Fort Collins is a long drive, but she needs around-the-clock observation.”
Nate nodded, still stroking the horse’s flank. Losing the foals would be one thing. Losing Baby Doe would be something else. “Thanks, Doc.”
Nate heard footsteps and looked up to see his dad approaching, a worried look on his face. He filled the old man in on what Doc Johnson had told him. “I’ll ask Chuck to get a trailer ready. We’ve got to get Megan home before—”
“Yeah, well,” his dad scratched his head, a sheepish look on his face. “We’ve got a problem, son.”
Nate didn’t like the sound of that. He stood. “Oh, yeah?”
“Megan’s gone.”
*
She shouldn’t have run.
The moment she’d reached the highway, Megan had realized that. She should have stayed, stood her ground, proved to Jack that the past couldn’t chase her away. Instead, she’d panicked. She’d grabbed Emily, and she’d run. She’d been so afraid of facing Jack, so afraid of how he and Nate would react, that driving in the dark on snowy mountain roads had seemed the easier course. What a coward she’d been!
She hadn’t even bothered to say thank you or good-bye.
Oh, Nate, I’m so sorry.
She turned onto her street, her neck and shoulders stiff, her head aching from an hour and a half of white-knuckle driving, her stomach sick with regret. All she wanted now was to get supper made and Emily to bed so that she could call Nate and apologize to both him and his father. She would have called him already, but she’d left her cell phone in their house somewhere—which meant she would see Nate at least one more time.
Pushing the button on her garage door opener, she pulled into her driveway, grateful to Marc for shoveling while she’d been away. She needed to call him from her landline and tell him she was safely home so that he could send a surveillance team over to watch the house.
She glanced in the rearview mirror to find Emily sound asleep. And no wonder. The sweet little dear had thrown a temper tantrum when Megan had tried to buckle her in her car seat, kicking and screaming because Megan wouldn’t take her to say goodbye to Buckwheat. Megan had felt like the worst mother ever.
“Emily, sweet pea, we’re home.”
Emily stirred, opened her eyes, glanced around, looking sad and grumpy. “Are we going to see Buckwheat again?”
Megan didn’t know how to answer. She parked the car, closing the garage door behind them. “We sure had a fun time up at the ranch, didn’t we? Right now, we’re going to have some supper and get settled in for the night. I have to go to work in the morning, and you have preschool.”
Megan had no idea what she was going to make for supper. She didn’t have the energy to cook. Maybe she ought to just drop off her laundry, grab a few things and head over to Marc and Sophie’s and spend the night there. But then Marc would ask questions, and she would end up having to explain things she shouldn’t have to explain.
She got out of the car, opened the rear passenger door, and unbuckled the harness on Emily’s car seat, scooping her daughter, toy pony and all, into her arms. She set Emily down outside the door that led from the garage to the kitchen, unlocked it, and let Emily inside, flicking on the light. “You go hang your coat on the hook and put your boots by the front door, okay, sweet pea? I’m going to get our suitcases.”
She walked to the trunk of the car, opened it with a click on her keychain, and lifted out the two suitcases, trying to think her way through the evening. She needed to call Marc first thing. Then she would make dinner, get Emily into the tub, and after Emily was asleep, she would call Nate. As for supper, she could unthaw some chicken breasts and bake them with a bit of marinade. Or given how late it was, maybe she should just grab another jar of sauce and make spaghetti again.
It would be nothing like Jack’s spaghetti.
How funny that she’d been so restless to get home, and now that she was here, she wished with all her heart she could relive these past two hours and stay at the Cimarron.
Feeling weighed down by more than luggage, she walked inside and set the suitcases down, shutting and locking the door behind her. She was about to reach for the phone, when she noticed it…
A strange smell—like a faint whiff of burned plastic.
And there were dirty dishes in the sink.
She hadn’t left the house like that. She hadn’t….
The adrenaline hit just as Donny stepped into the kitchen, Emily in his arms, one filthy hand clamped over her mouth.
“I’ve been waiting for you, Megan.” He laughed. “Oh, come on! Don’t just stand there staring at me. Come give your sugar daddy a big kiss.”
Chapter Thirteen
Megan’s mouth went dry, her heart thudding sickeningly in her chest. Her mind raced, looking for a way out of this, but all she could see was the terror in Emily’s eyes—and the tinge of meth-fueled mania in Donny’s.
Think! Think! Think!
A knife?
No, he would use it against her—or maybe threaten Emily.
Try to take Emily away from him?
No, Emily might get hurt in the scuffle.
Grab the phone and dial 911?
Megan didn’t dare as long as Donny had her daughter.
If only she hadn’t forgotten her cell phone, she might have been able to text Marc or dial 911 with the phone in her pocket. There was a phone in her bedroom. If she could get Emily away from him and lock herself in her room…
Donny sneered at her, his face beaded with sweat, his body jittery. “Your asshole brother thought I couldn’t find you, but here I am. I waited till you left, and he called off the cops. Then I came in through the crawl space—and just made myself at home.”
Something in his eyes, in the tone of his voice, warned her not to show fear.
She swallowed, tried to speak in a cold but calm voice. “It… It’s not polite to drop in without calling, Donny. I haven’t even made dinner yet. How does chicken sound?” She crossed the kitchen to the fridge, opened the freezer door, and took out a packet of chicken breasts, her pulse a thrum in her ears. “Emily, go wash up for supper.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Megan saw the look of confusion on Donny’s drug-worn face. He did nothing to stop Emily as she kicked and wriggled her way to the floor.
But rather than going to the bathroom, as Megan had hoped she would, Emily ran straight to her and threw her arms around Megan’s legs.
Megan scooped her up, held her tight, then reached with one hand to put the frozen chicken in the microwave, her fingers pushing some sequence of numbers—she didn’t know what—on the keypad. “It’s okay,
sweet pea. It’s okay. I’m right here.”
She needed to get Emily away from Donny somehow.
“While this thaws, let’s go hang up your coat and get your hands washed, okay? Donny, when that beeps, take it out. If you’re going to eat my food, the least you can do is help—and clean up your own dishes.” As she turned to walk to the bathroom, she glanced down at the full sink—and froze.
Her Pyrex baking dish was ringed by a dark stain, her stainless steel stock pot crusted with something, the drinking glasses…
They weren’t drinking glasses. They were … beakers? Beneath them sat a length of coiled plastic tubing and…
Oh, my God!
He hadn’t been cooking food. He’d been cooking up meth.
The funny smell.
She had to get Emily out of here. Now.
She walked passed him, praying that he would be too confused to guess what she was doing. If she could only make it to her bedroom, she could lock the door and call—
Bony fingers grabbed her arm.
“You think I’m stupid?” The nauseating stench of his rotting teeth and body odor hit her full in the face. “You’re going downstairs—both you and the kid.”
Megan tried to jerk her arm away. “I have to get my daughter out of here. You’ve been cooking meth in my house! That stuff is toxic! Every second we’re in here, she’s breathing—”
“Shut the fuck up!” A gun appeared in his hand. “Turn off the lights, take the brat, and go downstairs.”
Fear slid like ice into her veins.
If pressed, Donny would use the weapon—of that she had no doubt. He had once attacked Marc with a knife.
“I-I’m taking food.” Megan couldn’t keep the quaver out of her voice. She turned toward the pantry and managed to grab a box of granola bars before Donny shoved her. “She’s hungry. She needs to have her supper.”
