by Rachel Lee
* * *
Marti woke in the morning, stretching luxuriously, enjoying a few small kicks from Linda Marie that seemed almost like a greeting to her and the day. Last night had been filled with wonderful sex and that massage Ryder had promised, and she felt absolutely marvelous this morning.
But the bed was empty. She turned her head and found Ryder, fully clothed, looking out her window over the fields that were just becoming visible in the first rosy light of the day.
“Ryder? Is something wrong?”
He didn’t stir for a minute. “No,” he said finally. “You know how you felt watched a couple of times?”
Her heart quickened. She pushed herself up on her elbow. “Are you feeling it now?”
He shook his head. “No, not at all. It’s something else.”
“What?”
“I don’t know. I just woke this morning with the feeling that something bad is going to happen.”
“Do you get that feeling often?”
“Honestly, this is the first damn time. I have no reason at all for it, but it won’t leave me alone.”
She hesitated. “Then maybe you should pay attention to it.”
He turned at last, giving her a crooked smile outlined by the rosy sky behind. “That’s hard to justify.”
“My mother used to say that if you had a bad feeling about something you should always listen to it. She said if nothing went wrong, fine. But if something did and you hadn’t listened to the feeling you were going to be awfully sorry.”
He came over and sat on the edge of the bed, and as he did so she could see his slight smile. “It’d be more helpful if I had some idea of what I thought might go wrong.”
“True,” she admitted. “But don’t dismiss it. Maybe you’ll get a feeling about something in particular later.”
“Maybe.” He bent over and kissed her long and deep. “Last night was heaven.”
She thrilled to the words. “I thought so.” Reaching up, she cupped his cheek, enjoying the scratchiness of his morning stubble.
“The thing is,” he said bluntly, “that’s what I want to be thinking about this morning, rather than some stupid feeling.”
“Well,” she said, looking at him from beneath her lashes, “you could always come back to bed.”
A crack of laughter escaped him. “Don’t tempt me. At least not until this feeling goes away. Let’s go feed you something and then think about what we’ll do today.”
“Any ideas?”
His smile faded. “For starters, we’re not doing anything that will leave you out of my sight.”
“You think the feeling has to do with me?” Immediately her hands went to her stomach, but Linda Marie kicked reassuringly.
“I don’t know. But if I’m going to take your mother’s advice never to ignore such a feeling, it’s all I can do. Unless it becomes more specific in some way.”
He laid his hand over hers on her belly. “I think she’s okay.”
“She seems to be. Active. The doctor told me she’d become quieter toward the end, but right now she’s busy.”
“So let’s go feed the little lady.”
Not letting Marti out of his sight put a crimp on things he’d planned to do today, but the advice she had passed on from her mother made enough sense to him to stick to it.
He couldn’t escape the crawling sensation of some impending doom, and although he wanted to dismiss it—if such feelings were useful, why hadn’t he gotten that feeling the day he left for work only to come home and find Brandy dead?—it remained that it just made basic sense.
He couldn’t shake the feeling. It hadn’t just wafted across his mind like some stray nonsensical thought. It was clinging like damp, chilly leaves and he didn’t like it.
Worse, he could think of a dozen ways things could go horribly wrong. He still got the willies watching Marti come down those steep stairs. She seemed to do it with the comfort of long familiarity, but he kept fearing she would over balance or miss a step, especially because she probably couldn’t see the next step down. She had to be doing it by way of body memory.
So much in this house was rickety, too. What if a chair gave way? What if something happened while she was cooking? He was so damn glad they didn’t have to rely on oil lamps anymore because every time he had put one down, part of him was waiting for something to shift and knock it over.
Although the house itself seemed sound and well-built, if in need of upkeep, nothing else was. What if a piece of linoleum lifted and she tripped on it?
A minor matter, unless you were pregnant.
Cripes, he told himself, just quit listing problems and keep an eye on the woman. Maybe the feeling would take care of itself.
But this meant he couldn’t leave her to go work on the chair railings in the barn. No way. He didn’t want her out there in that moldy environment breathing spores and sawdust. Nor was he going to leave her inside to face the perils of stairs, linoleum and gas stoves while he went out to saw up the last of the trees.
He sighed as he helped her make breakfast and tried to plan a day that wouldn’t leave them both feeling like caged tigers. She had so clearly enjoyed the painting yesterday that he wanted to get her involved in another fun activity. Hell, he’d taken pleasure in her enjoyment, too.
“Let’s put the crib and changing table together this morning,” he suggested. “Then maybe we can run to town. I’d like to pick up a few things.”
The way her face lit up told him he’d hit on the right solution.
“But won’t the furniture get in the way of you putting up the chair rails?” she asked.
“Nah. There’s plenty of room in there to get it out of the way.”
“Then let’s do it,” she said happily.
It made him feel good to have judged that one right. Of course she was eager to see the furniture set up, probably far more eager than she was to see the chair rails. It would occupy them cheerfully for a couple of hours before they went to town. And maybe when they left for town he’d be rid of this feeling.
It was weird how he couldn’t ignore it. He wasn’t used to this sort of thing and wondered if his brain had glitched somehow. Maybe it had been precipitated by her telling him that she had twice felt she was being watched.
That was a feeling he would never ignore. People had an uncanny sense of when eyes were on them, and he’d experienced it himself often only to be right. So maybe he’d built this feeling of something bad around the bend out of that.
Perhaps. It was the likeliest explanation he could think of, so he looked out every window before he settled into the nursery to start opening boxes and counting parts and pieces.
Apparently Marti wasn’t worried about his feeling. She was smiling with excitement and oohing over every single piece.
“If you want, we can paint the crib with something safe for the baby,” he said.
“I like the wood. Let’s just leave it the way it is.”
He liked it, too, and for a little while he was able to shove away the feeling as he worked with his hands. Of course, he would have built a better crib, but he didn’t say so. Instead he focused his efforts on making it as sturdy as he could as they assembled it.
This was good enough and he still had promises to keep.
* * *
Ben grew increasingly annoyed. Neither one of them emerged from the house all morning. When they finally did, it was early afternoon, and they climbed into the pickup truck and drove away.
He rolled over on his back and considered. He’d already planned his move for tomorrow. He felt good about tomorrow, although he couldn’t say why. Yet he may have just been handed the only opportunity he’d have to get close to that house and barn and get inside. What if neither of them stepped outside tomorrow?
He had no id
ea of the lay of the land over there. Ryder seemed to be showing very little interest in spending time in the barn.
Maybe the best thing would be to attack inside the house. It would involve the woman, but with his hair dyed and his face unshaven for several days, he doubted she’d be able to give a good description of him. He looked down at himself, at the new clothes that were already beginning to look soiled from crawling around out here, and decided he was beginning to look like some kind of drifter.
Good.
Because he no longer had to conceal himself from Ryder and the Chastain woman, he stood up and walked back to the road. The best thing to do would be to scope out the house and barn. Find a place to conceal himself. Figure out how to carry out the attack. Time was getting short. If he didn’t get back to Fresno soon, he’d run out of vacation time and someone would notice. He couldn’t afford to have anyone notice anything about him.
He just wished he knew how long the two of them were going to be gone. It’d be far easier to drive up to the house than walk. But as soon as he thought that, he shook his head at his own stupidity. He was going up there to kill. He wasn’t coming back out until he was done with Ryder.
So he turned and walked to the end of the woman’s driveway and hiked toward the house. He had all he needed—some coffee in a thermos, a penlight and his knife. His very sharp knife, carefully chosen for this task.
And as soon as he could, he was going to use it.
* * *
Driving away from the farm dissipated the uneasiness that had been plaguing Ryder since first awakening. It didn’t entirely vanish, but it stopped nagging at him so much. Hoping it was gone for good, not all that eager to test it, he kept them in town doing every possible thing he could think of.
He took Marti window shopping at Freitag’s but was careful not to buy any of the stuff she seemed to like. He was well aware that she was already uncomfortable with how much he’d done, and he didn’t want to make her uncomfortable today. Besides, he figured if he started picking up things that she liked, she’d stop looking. So he enjoyed her pleasure and made mental notes in case the future ever brought him an opportunity to do something about it.
Since he had a cell connection again, he called Ben but got no answer. He left a message saying he’d be here only a few more days.
It bothered him to think of leaving Marti, but he had to keep his promise to visit Ben. Maybe after all that was done he’d be settled enough in his own mind and heart to know what he wanted to do next. He thought that might involve Marti, but how could he be sure? Fond as he was growing of that woman, he wasn’t sure enough of how he felt about himself to know what he had to offer anyone else.
Besides, it would be good for him to get away for a little while. He wasn’t sure that he wasn’t living in some fantasy universe at the moment, living out some kind of dream where he could do the kind of thing he liked best with a beautiful woman at his side and a baby on the way.
It wasn’t even his baby, but he felt a growing attachment to Linda Marie, envisioning how it would be when she was born, what it would be like to hold her and hear her coos and giggles. Was it normal for a man to feel that way for a baby that wasn’t his and hadn’t even been born yet? How the hell would he know?
But he needed to get away, to make sure his head was clear and not fogged over by some illusion that filled a lot of the gaps in his life.
When Marti started to tire, he took her around the corner to the City Diner for beverages and a snack. The service at the place wasn’t great, given that the large woman who evidently owned the place slammed things down and stomped around as if she were perpetually angry.
“She always does that,” Marti whispered. “It’s just her manner.”
Her food made up for it, he supposed, because even at mid-afternoon, the place was busy.
When she brought them an appetizer of battered mushrooms, she regarded Ryder with a basilisk eye. “You that guy Micah mentioned?”
“Ryder,” he said.
“You best be taking good care of that little lady.”
“He is,” Marti answered swiftly. “He’s helping me a lot, Maude.”
“Hmm.” Maude gave him another glare and stomped away.
Ryder arched a brow at Marti. “Was that a pass or fail?”
She giggled. “Don’t ask me. I’m still new to these parts.”
Not as new as she thought, he decided as he helped himself to a mushroom. Whether she knew it or not, this community seemed to have begun to wrap itself around Marti. He decided that before he left, he’d ask Micah and Ransom to keep an eye on her. He was sure they would.
That made him feel a bit better. Just a bit.
After Marti felt refreshed, she suggested the bookstore. There he broke his rule, and when he saw her look longingly at a couple of novels, he insisted on buying them. He also bought a pack of cards and challenged her to a game that evening.
“I haven’t played cards much,” she admitted. “Have you?”
“Used to do it all the time on lunch breaks at work sites. I’m going to kill you.”
That elicited another of her glorious laughs.
He dragged the day out as long as he could, with a stop at the hardware store for some finishing nails he’d forgotten, with dinner at Maude’s so Marti wouldn’t have to cook.
The way he dragged it out began to get through to him. Was he worried about returning to her place because of that feeling he’d had earlier? Or was he simply drawing out the pleasant day because each passing minute was bringing him closer to his departure?
Neither idea made him happy. But finally, when he looked at Marti, he couldn’t escape the inevitable. She was getting tired. She needed to put her feet up.
Enough of his self-indulgence. Regardless of its source, he was being thoughtless.
Time to head home and to whatever awaited. He just wished the feeling was a good one.
* * *
It was a good day for Ben. He searched the barn and the house to make sure he knew where everything was. He found some rope, which he could use to tie the woman up so she couldn’t call for help after he took care of Ryder, giving him plenty of time to get away.
He found the phone line and cut it, then twisted it back together so it wouldn’t show. No help would come for a long time, not until that woman could get free and get to her truck. Long enough for his escape.
He discarded the idea of hiding in the barn. Ryder might not show up there until some time tomorrow. But he would come into the house and getting into the house, by way of the backdoor proved easy. Lousy locks, maybe because folks around here didn’t get afraid. He was going to change that tonight.
He explored the house carefully and discovered that the upstairs hall floorboards creaked beneath his feet. Definitely not good, but he couldn’t imagine a plan of going for Ryder while he was awake and downstairs. That would risk too much in this tiny house.
He considered the barn again, but Ryder hadn’t been out there in two days now. Time was running out.
So he paced the hallway until he realized that if he kept very close to the wall, the boards didn’t creak at all. He practiced it a few times to be sure he had it memorized.
Then he explored the rooms. One clearly appeared to be where Ryder was staying. His duffel, jacket and clothes were there. At the other end of the hall was the woman’s room, identified by the paltry selection of clothing in her closet. But then he saw something that made him freeze with anger.
A pair of men’s jeans lay over the back of a rickety chair. Damn it, Ryder was sleeping with her.
For a time his vision turned so red he thought the fury was going to burst out of him. It was all he could do to keep from smashing something.
Steadily he forced himself back to an icy calm. Tonight Ryder would pay for all his s
ins. Tonight. The promise soothed him.
The nursery, smelling of fresh paint, seemed the best place to hide. There was a closet that held nothing and the door hinges didn’t even squeak. No reason for anyone to go into it. It was midway between the two bedrooms so it wouldn’t matter where Ryder slept tonight. He’d have easy access to either end of the hall.
What’s more, Ryder and the Chastain woman could glance into the open nursery and it would never occur to them to look any farther. He also had a view of the driveway, so he waited until he saw the truck coming. Then he settled into the closet with his knife, his penlight, his energy bars and his thermos refilled with water. He left the door open just a crack so that he could see anyone who came in here.
Soon, he thought with satisfaction. Soon. All he had to do was sneak up on Ryder while they were sleeping. If the woman woke, she wouldn’t be able to do much when faced with a knife. He’d be able to tie her up while Ryder bled to death.
Then he’d have all the time in the world.
* * *
Dusk had fallen by the time Marti and Ryder returned to the farmhouse. Marti was weary, so Ryder suggested she put her feet up while he got them something to drink and set up the card table so they could play.
As he got them tall glasses of orange juice and put together a plate of crackers in case her stomach decided to turn queasy, Ryder paused.
Staring out through the window over the sink, he had the oddest feeling that he’d found what he never had. He wasn’t quite sure what it was. These cozy, comfortable evenings? The quiet life of labor? The fresh new nights of love?
Everything was so laid back and comfortable with Marti. He enjoyed her company. He enjoyed the quiet times with her in the evening as much as he enjoyed working around this place. Maybe more.
He tried to remind himself that it was all fresh and new, that he hadn’t been here long, that he had no long-term metric. But this was all so different from the way it had been with Brandy, maybe he was just succumbing to an illusion of peace and warmth that was ephemeral.
Of course it was ephemeral. He had to get on to Fresno soon. Only then would he be in a position to decide whether he really wanted to come back here.