by Sharon Sala
And then she jumped at a tapping at her door. A knock that froze the blood in her veins. Had her tormenter, the very person who’d already tried once to kill her, been calling from inside the house?
“Mara?” called a muffled voice. “Mara, are you all right?”
Relief rushed through her, and she cried, “Adam!”
The door opened, and she saw him, a large figure lit only by the skim-milk moonlight. “What’s wrong? I was passing by, and I heard—”
“She called again and threatened me. She said—”
“Oh, Mara.” Closing the door behind him, he came to her, sitting on the bed’s edge and pulling her into his arms.
She melted into him, her entire body shaking, grateful for the comfort that could only be communicated by a human touch. His touch.
“So Rayburn was right?” he asked quietly. “It really is a woman?”
Mara nodded. “The voice was disguised again, but there was something about it that made me think so.”
“Tell me, what did she say?” His big hands smoothed her hair down her back. “All of it, while it’s still fresh in your mind.”
She hesitated, hating herself for the ribbon of doubt that snaked along her backbone. Not long ago, she’d watched a news special about a man believed responsible for the death or disappearance of three wives. Charming and successful, he’d never had the slightest difficulty in attracting a new lover, in spite of the highly publicized suspicion.
Could she be one of those foolish women? A woman who trusted her heart to a killer?
“Please, Mara,” he urged, settling a soft kiss against her temple.
A kiss that melted away her hesitation. This was Adam, a man whose gentleness belied his power, a man she knew instinctively would fight to the death to protect even the most flawed wife. A man who, rather than accepting the easy out of a ruling of accidental death, had earned the sheriff’s enmity by hiring private detectives to investigate the matter.
A man who had been just outside her door at two in the morning.
“It’s the middle of the night,” she said. “What were you doing? ‘Just passing by’ my room?” His bedroom was upstairs with the others, a territory she pointedly avoided, though she’d spent too many restless hours contemplating the second floor since she had moved in. And particularly what lay behind his door.
“When I can’t sleep, I pace.”
“You haven’t slept well lately.” She’d noticed the smudges of exhaustion beneath his eyes, had heard Mrs. Somers say over meals that he’d been working too hard. “I know you’re worried about Rebecca, worried about whether to put her on medication.”
Adam squeezed Mara even harder. “That’s not the only thing that’s made me restless,” came his whispered admission. “Not the only reason I find myself walking past your door and thinking about…about keeping you safe.”
“I’m here,” she answered, her mouth so close to his that she could feel the warmth of his breath, making her lips tingle. “Safe in your house.” Safe in your arms…
“You are keeping me up nights,” he confessed. “Knowing you’re so damned close, but that I can’t—I gave my word I’d never—”
Resolve shattering, Mara kissed him, needing to feel his mouth against hers, to taste the desire that flowed like electricity between them.
A groan of raw hunger rose from his throat as he pressed her back into the pillows. The kiss caught fire, an urgent conflagration that had her melting like a candle. She couldn’t keep her hands off him, couldn’t stop herself from fumbling with the buttons of his shirt.
Stripping back the top sheet, Adam mouthed his way to her breasts, suckling her right through the silky fabric of her nightgown. Pleasure arced straight through her, bowing her back with a need so powerful it obliterated every other concern.
In a frenzy of desire, they undressed each other, and she drew another moan from him as she laid her hands on the hard, hot length of him and lightly bit his neck.
“Yes,” she told him, “please, yes,” as his fingers found and stroked the damp center of her, as blue-hot sparks skated around the edges of her vision.
“Now,” she urged. “Please, Adam.”
He moved over her, his knees between her thighs, his words shaking with a hard-won vestige of control. “Say it again, Mara. Say my name again. Now.”
She looked up into his face, all moonlight and dark shadow. “I want you, Adam. I need to feel all of you. Now…”
After an almost-unbearable delay, she moaned in relief as he pushed deep inside her. Rocking her body while he took her, whispering into her ear, “Want you. I want you so much, Mara,” as the two of them settled into a rhythm as ancient as the moon outside the window.
And as sure and right and perfect as the starlight in her eyes.
Chapter 11
“W hat if your daughter needed you? Did you ever stop to think of that?” Dressed in a quilted floral robe with her gray-streaked hair worn loose, Mrs. Somers stared at Adam over her favorite teacup, her disapproval barely softened by the rosy light of dawn. She must have heard the door to Mara’s room close and then crept out to catch him in the hallway.
Ordinarily, he wouldn’t tolerate being confronted like a teenager in his own home, but his concern for his daughter trumped his irritation. “Did Rebecca wake you up? She didn’t have another bad dream, did she?”
“No, but let’s suppose she had and couldn’t find you. Or, worse yet, found you with that woman. It would be quite a shock. Not to mention, if you don’t mind me saying so, extremely inappropriate to expose a young child to such goings on, especially with her teacher.”
“I do mind you saying so,” he said firmly, but the rare glimmer of moisture in her eyes gave him pause, as did the memory of this past year’s quiet conversations over morning tea, when they’d sat together talking about Rebecca or the details of the household, but never about the spouses they’d lost, not her husband years before or Adam’s wife so much more recently.
He owed her for her steadfast loyalty, her stolid Yankee sensibility, and her concern. Owed her more than to treat her like an hourly employee.
“You know what? You make a good point about my daughter,” he admitted. “One I’ll carefully consider. But I won’t be made to feel guilty, and I won’t lie and say I’m going to stay away from Mara. Neither of us intended for this to happen, but I care for her very much.”
“Are you certain of that?” Mrs. Somers pressed. “That she didn’t intend this from the moment she chose to move to Red Bluff?”
Adam frowned at her. “You’ve always said you didn’t hold with gossip.”
Her cheeks flushed as if she had been slapped. “That may be true, but I can’t stick my head in the sand, either, not when it comes to the members of this family. And certainly not when a simple computer search of her name leads me to an article about a certain thief arrested in New Jersey, a thief who happens to have been engaged to—”
“That’s enough. How would you like Mara trying to dig up dirt on you?” Noticing Mrs. Somers’ wounded look, Adam touched her bony hand. “I understand you’re only looking out for us. But I know all about Mara’s ex-fiancé, and he doesn’t matter. What matters is that she makes me very happy—and she makes my daughter happy, too.”
“Except when she has her in tears,” Mrs. Somers murmured.
But when Adam responded with a sharp look, she abruptly rose from her seat, and said it was high time she went to run her weekly errands.
Mara went into the kitchen to find Adam standing at the window, staring at the sun-washed landscape, and found herself eager to feel his arms around her once more.
He looked at her with sad eyes, taking in her jeans and soft green sweater, though a smile wavered on his lips.
“Everything all right?” She stopped short, struck suddenly with doubt. Was he regretting making love with her?
“Just preoccupied,” he admitted, closing the gap between them and taking her hand, using his c
allused thumb to stroke flesh still soft from her shower.
“About the phone call?” she asked. “Or something else?”
She stopped there, unable to hold on to a thought as he drew her hand toward his mouth. When he kissed her fingers, pleasure rippled through her, an echo of those lips caressing other places.
Too soon, he released her, unease flickering in his dark eyes. “I’m wondering if it’s possible I took advantage last night. You were upset, trying to tell me about that phone call, and you are living under my roof.”
“What happened between us, it’s been building these past few months. And since that kiss at the school…” Groping for words, she shook her head. “I’ve been feeling a little like a lit fuse, no matter how hard I’ve fought against it.”
“Yes, that’s it exactly. You can’t imagine how many nights I’ve lain awake thinking about you.” But instead of pulling her close, he dropped her hand and kept his distance. “But we do need to be careful. There’s Rebecca, of course, and unfortunately, Mrs. Somers caught me coming out of your room. I’m sorry if that’s going to make things uncomfortable between you. I’ve spoken with her, of course, but—”
“I doubt you’ll change her mind. Mrs. Somers has already had her head filled with all kinds of rumors about my ‘gold-digging ways.’” Mara’s fingers hooked tiny quotes in the air.
“Has she been rude to you? Made you feel unwelcome?”
Mara shook her head. “Don’t blame her, please. She’s only trying to protect you and Rebecca.”
He gave a derisive snort. “I blame Barbara Fairmont for spreading rumors all over town. And that’s not all. Not long before you received that anonymous call last night, she phoned me. Invited me to come and see her. Sounded pretty smashed.”
Mara gave a mock shudder. “A drunken booty call from Babzilla—now there’s a scary thought.”
Adam’s smile was short-lived. “It gets a whole lot scarier if she was the one who called you afterward.”
Sobering instantly, Mara wound her arms around herself for warmth. “Whoever called me sounded stone-cold sober.” Those words had been too cruel, too calculating, to have come from someone who was wasted.
“Tell me what she said.” The suggestion of a smile played in his dark eyes. “And this time, I’ll try not to sidetrack you.”
She hesitated, flustered by thoughts of the way he’d distracted her last night. Turning to hide her blush, she asked, “Would you like some coffee?”
“I’ve had some, but the rest of the pot should still be fresh.”
She poured herself a cup as she haltingly, reluctantly, recounted the entire conversation. Including the hideous suggestion that he had killed his wife.
“I’m sorry,” she finished, the words lying bitter in her mouth. “I didn’t want to have to tell you that part.”
Afterward, there was a long silence, which she broke by suggesting, “The sheriff needs to know about this call, too. No matter what you think of him, he should talk to Barbara—”
Glancing at Adam, she froze at the sight of the man who had loved her so tenderly only hours before. He looked up at her, trembling with anger, his jaw clenched tight and his dark eyes ablaze with fury.
“I need to smash something.” The quiet control in his voice frightened her more than the loudest raving would have. “Or drive down to that woman’s house and shake that empty blond head right off her shoulders.”
“They’re only lies, that’s all,” Mara whispered, turning toward him. “Cruel lies from a coward, meant to hurt you.” She reached out but couldn’t quite bring herself to touch him, instinct screaming a shrill warning that he might at any moment erupt into violence.
He stared at her hand before looking up into her eyes, his expression devastated. “You believe it, don’t you?” he demanded. “You’re asking yourself this morning ‘Did I make a terrible mistake? Make love with a man who murdered his own wife? A man who crushed her fingers to make her let go of—’”
She jerked her hand away. “No, of course I don’t believe it. Are you crazy? Whoever this lunatic is, she’s already tried to kill me. Why on earth would I believe her?”
Yet in spite of Mara’s denial, the caller’s words rang through her mind. Are you hanging on tight, little teacher? Waiting for the other shoe to drop?
Worse yet was the question that echoed through her heart. Was it remotely possible she’d placed her trust in the wrong man? Just as she had with Jerry not so long ago?
Adam saw her doubt, seized on it. “If you don’t believe what she said, then why won’t you touch me? Why can’t you?”
Hard as it was, she met his gaze and held it. “You’re angry, and you’re hurting. But that gives you absolutely no right to take it out on me. Especially not after last night.”
“No, Daddy!” cried a small voice. “No more fighting.”
Turning, Mara saw Rebecca, still wearing pajamas, her hair mussed with sleep and her face wet with tears.
“Please, Daddy. Don’t make her die, too.”
Chapter 12
H eart jackhammering against his chest wall, Adam fell to his knees beside his daughter, his instinct prompting him to drag the crying child into his arms. “Shh, everything’s all right, I promise.”
He stroked her hair, then used a clean dish towel that a moon-pale Mara passed him to blot Rebecca’s tears. When her sobs abated somewhat, he asked, “What do you mean, honey? Are you talking about your mama?”
Clamming up, she wouldn’t make eye contact, not even when he tilted her chin, forcing her to face him.
“Please, Rebecca,” he pleaded. “Please, just tell us. No one will be mad.”
Mara squatted down beside him and cupped the girl’s cheek. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”
Rebecca looked up, her pale eyes gleaming.
“I’m safe,” Mara persisted. “You’re safe. Your daddy’s safe, too. But we need you to tell us, are you scared because of what happened to your mother?”
After a long pause, the child nodded.
“Are you…?” Adam faltered, sickened by the idea that his daughter—his beating heart—might fear him. Steeling himself, he forced out the question, “Are you afraid I hurt her? Is that what you think?”
Quivering violently, Rebecca shook her head. Did that mean she believed in him, he wondered, or was she terrified he would hurt her, too? Emotion searing his eyes, Adam felt his throat cinch tight.
Mara knelt beside Rebecca. “Everybody has little disagreements sometimes. Why would you think something like that might hurt me?”
When the girl didn’t answer, Mara asked, “Does this have anything to do with the pictures you’ve been drawing? The pictures of the lady falling?”
Again there was no answer, so Adam asked her, “Are you afraid that if we argue, Miss Stillwell might hurt herself? Is that what you think happened with your mama?” Had his daughter heard him arguing with Christine about the affair she had admitted to? Or had she overheard him later, begging his wife to keep her counseling appointments?
Or did you leave our child a legacy of mental illness, Christine? Cold waves rippled over him, the fevered chill of raw fear.
Rebecca stared blankly ahead, her blue eyes glazed over, and nothing that either he or Mara did drew a response.
Looking from his immobile child to Mara, he asked, “What now? What should I do?”
“Do you have an emergency contact number for one of the counselors you’ve worked with? Someone Rebecca trusts?”
Adam had never felt so helpless. Shaking his head, he said miserably, “My daughter trusts you, Mara.”
She grasped his hand and squeezed it, shaking her head. “This is way beyond me, Adam. Call the child psychiatrist. Call right now and ask what we should do.”
All three of them made the hour-long drive to Flagstaff, where Dr. Millstadt met them, concerned enough by what he’d heard to come to the office on a Saturday.
After examining Rebecca, who ha
d come around enough to take an interest in the paper and crayons in his office, the bespectacled, slump-shouldered man in a cardigan sweater waved Adam toward him.
“Come on, Mara,” Adam invited. “You’re a part of this, too.”
She nodded, moved by the heartbreak in his eyes. As she stood by his side, shame seeped to the surface, a deep flush prompted by the memory of her own doubts.
When Dr. Millstadt gestured toward a grouping of chairs, they all sat, both Mara and Adam positioning themselves where they could watch Rebecca.
Focusing mainly on Adam, the doctor spoke calmly, his deep voice conveying professional concern. “I know you’ve been resisting the medication option, but your daughter shows signs of an acute anxiety disorder, probably brought on by last year’s trauma.” He passed Adam a prescription. “This can help her relax enough to talk out her issues in counseling, which is something I highly recommend. Other than some initial drowsiness as her body adapts to the dosage, side effects are rare and mild. I think you should consider it, for your daughter’s sake.”
Adam frowned down at the slip of paper. “I should be able to reach my own child without resorting to pills. I should… I’m her father. I should be able to fix this.”
Beside him, Mara touched his elbow, hurting for him as much as for Rebecca.
Behind his wire-rimmed glasses, the doctor’s magnified, brown eyes were sympathetic. “I understand your frustration, Mr. Jakes, and I’ve seen how hard you’ve been working to help Rebecca. But this isn’t about you now. It’s about easing your daughter’s suffering long enough to let her heal.”
When Adam hesitated, Mara laid her hand on his wrist. “Please, let’s try this, Adam, for Rebecca’s sake. At least give the medicine a chance.”
He swallowed audibly, his gaze never leaving his daughter. Glancing the child’s way, Mara saw, even from across the room, that she was busy coloring another falling picture.
In this one, Rebecca’s mother’s face was bloody, and her hair had turned the same deep auburn shade as Mara’s own.
By the time he finally got his daughter tucked in for the night, Adam was exhausted from the stress of worrying and angry with himself for giving in to other people’s prodding. And guilty as hell after watching Rebecca slide into a drugged stupor that reminded him painfully of the aftermath of Christine’s worst episodes. Was his child, the only family he had left, slipping away from him, as well? Would this medication prove a help, or would it be the first curve of the downward spiral that, one way or another, had eventually consumed her mother?
