The Cabin

by Carla Neggers

  Jack stepped out of the way, deliberately, and Des-tin shot past him. Jack shut the door and turned to Susanna. "You want to tell me about this guy?"

  "He's a pest." She was shivering, her socks soaked, her feet half-frozen. "He wants me to invest in a new company he's starting. I said no, and he thinks if he keeps asking me, I'll change my mind."

  "What about coming up here?"

  "It's vintage Destin. He has no sense of boundaries."

  Jack unbuttoned the last of his coat, and it fell open, his broad chest reminding her of last night. But he was still on Destin. "He's broke?"

  Susanna nodded. "He made a fortune in a dot-com company he cooked up a few years ago, then lost it all.

  He's even had his car repossessed. I'm not getting involved. He's a black hole. He has a huge sense of entitlement—" She stopped, shaking her head. "He's not getting a dime out of me."

  But Jack was frowning at her, and suddenly he took two long steps over to her and grabbed her by the waist with both hands, lifting her off her feet.

  "Jack? What are you doing?"

  He sat her on the wooden bench in the middle of the mud room. "Your lips are blue." He squatted down in front of her and pulled off her wet socks one at a time. Then he took one foot in each of his hands and massaged them, easing his thumbs over the sensitive skin of her arches. He looked up at her, a spark in his dark eyes. "You don't want to get hypothermia."

  That was impossible now. "Jack…"

  "This guy, Destin," he said, caressing her ankles, sending heat up through her calves, higher, deeper. "How desperate is he?"

  "As desperate as he thinks he is. Um, Jack…"

  He smiled innocently, although he couldn't quite manage to make his eyes look even remotely innocent. "What, Susanna?"

  She loved him then. At that moment she wanted to melt into him and stay with him forever. But there were her secrets, her fears, her questions and the dangers that came with loving a man like Jack Galway as much as she did. He was hard, strong, protective, kind and completely relentless in everything he did.

  "I should go in and change clothes," she said quietly, a little hoarse.

  "Do you want me to carry you over the puddles?"

  She groaned, then laughed. "You don't let up for a second, do you?"

  He eased to his feet. "Not my style."

  She jumped up, right into an icy blob of snow from his boot. She managed to stifle a yell at the shock of the cold water on her now warm feet and navigated the rest of the pools, the clumps of unmelted snow, the wet socks, the wet gloves. When she was at the kitchen, she glanced back at the mess. "I'll tell Maggie and Ellen to get in here with the mop."

  But he said nothing, his jaw set hard, his body rigid, and her own body responded almost automatically. Last night hadn't been enough, and not just for him.

  She turned quickly, making a beeline for her bedroom and warm, dry clothes.

  Eleven

  Jack dumped his winter gear on the kitchen table and cut off the tags with his pocket knife. Maggie and Ellen had finished mopping the mud room and joined Iris at a card table in front of the fire to work on an old jigsaw puzzle she'd found. He knew he was here for the duration today, but he had no intention of putting together an English countryside castle. At least the lump on his head had gone down.

  He'd bought insulated wind pants, insulated boots, insulated gloves and a knit hat the girls said was cool. He figured he'd hang in with his jacket, socks and shirts and didn't need long underwear. How cold could it get? He wasn't sure how long he'd stay. Right now, through the night at least—perhaps until he learned more about this Destin Wright character.

  A lot depended on Susanna.

  He'd also bought snowshoes. Having learned from his daughters' machinations, he had opted for spring-loaded bindings. They were more expensive, but he didn't care.

  He'd put everything on his own damn card. By the time he got to town, he was frustrated he was picking out wind pants instead of finding out what Alice Parker was up to, why she'd moved to Boston and befriended his wife's grandmother.

  And he was pissed as hell at his wife and all her millions.

  Then he spotted Destin Wright in her damn cabin in the woods, and all he could think about was making sure no one touched her.

  Hell of a thing, being married to Susanna. But even after their months of living apart, he couldn't imagine life without her. If only roses and lavender sachets would do the trick. He suspected, however, it was going to take more—like confronting her about what she was hiding from him. Talking to her. He'd let his work preoccupy him in the months before she'd left. He knew it. Maggie and Ellen had a point about the fire wall he'd put up between his home life and his work. It extended to Susanna's work, too.

  He scooped up his snowshoes. "You girls want to go out and help me break in my new snowshoes?"

  They were unenthusiastic. "Do you hear the wind howling?" Maggie asked, shuddering. "The wind chill must be below zero."

  "But it's a dry cold," her great-grandmother said. "It doesn't penetrate into your bones the way a damp cold does."

  Maggie sighed at her. "Frozen solid is frozen solid, Gran. I don't care if it's a dry or damp cold."

  Ellen had about twenty puzzle pieces laid out on the palm of her hand and up her wrist. She was deep into her puzzle-building, staring at a stretch of rose garden she was putting together. "Maybe Mom will go with you."

  Jack doubted it. Susanna was still hiding in her bedroom after her foot massage. Maybe she was dreading the long hours of silence and darkness that lay ahead of them. There was no television, no VCR, no computer, no regular telephone, spotty cellular reception. Maggie and Ellen each had a Walkman, and there was an old radio on top of the refrigerator. There were no neighbors. No city lights. With snow in the forecast, they wouldn't want to head into town and find a movie theater or a restaurant.

  If not for his presence, it'd be Susanna's idea of heaven. But he liked complicating her life. He needed to complicate it more often, the way he had last night.

  "We're starting a Scrabble tournament after we put in a few more pieces of this puzzle," Maggie said. "Do you want us to wait for you, Dad?"

  Scrabble.

  "No," Jack said. "Don't wait."

  He didn't know how he'd last until morning. He headed out through the mud room and dumped his snowshoes on the driveway. Clouds had moved in from the west. The landscape was soft grays and whites now, making everything seem closer, more intimate.

  He put on his snowshoes without a hitch and tramped down to the lake. Easy. Just like walking with Bozo shoes. He left the trail and broke through the fresh snow, moving along the edge of several fir trees above the lake, toward a granite outcropping. Darkness came early this far north, but it wasn't here yet, the last of the daylight slowly easing out. Snow flurries seemed to hover midair.

  When he came to the outcropping, he started up a short, steep incline, hit rock and ice and fell on his ass. No warning, just down he went.

  Behind him, Susanna sputtered into laughter.

  He leaned against the boulder and untangled his snowshoes, an awkward maneuver that she seemed to enjoy watching. She was about two yards from him, up to her knees in snow. She wasn't wearing snowshoes, which gave him a definite advantage if he decided to go after her.

  He didn't move to get up. "What if I broke an ankle?"

  "You'd swear louder." She walked up to him, lifting her legs high in the deep snow. She had on a headband, not a hat, her dark hair hanging down her back, dotted with melting snow. She had on close-fitting pants that emphasized her long, slim legs, even with her coat covering her hips and upper thighs. She settled her green eyes on him. "Need a hand?"

  "Nope. Just thought I'd sit here and watch you wonder if I'm going to pull you down into the snow." But he got to his feet, his lower half covered in fluffy snow. "You want to help me brush off?"

  "No."

  He grinned at her. "You're blushing."

  "You thi
nk so, huh?"

  "Why else would your cheeks be red?"

  She bit back a smile. "Because it's eleven degrees out."

  "I don't think so." He pulled off a glove and touched his fingers to her cheek, lingering on the warm, smooth skin. "Doesn't feel cold to me." He leaned in close, letting his fingers trail across her mouth. "You blushed the first time I saw you naked."

  Her eyes sparked, and this time there was no way she could deny what she was thinking, feeling. "I don't care where all you grew up, I think you still have a little repressed Yankee in you," he said, kissing her then, for no reason, which he used to do all the time. He wanted to let the kiss last, deepen it, but he took a step back from her and looked out at the quiet lake. The mountains were lost in the clouds now, as if they weren't there. "Susanna, we can't go on like this forever."

  "I know." Her voice choked a bit, telling him she was still recovering from their kiss. "The status quo isn't easy on either of us."

  "Although when you only have sex every few months, it gets damn hot." He cut a glance at her. "Blushing again, Mrs. Galway?"

  "It's not like it's once every few months, not if you count the number of times in each—well, never mind."

  He laughed. "You and that calculator mind." He moved back in close to her, tucking a finger inside her headband and adjusting it over her ear. He could feel the heat of her skin, the softness of her hair. "You don't have a boyfriend?"

  "What?" Her face lost its color instantly, becoming almost ashen. "Jack, no—absolutely not. Never. That wouldn't be the status quo. We're still married. I wouldn't—" She took a small breath. "Do you? Have someone else, I mean?"

  "No."

  He ran his fingers along the edge of her jaw and across her lips. "If it weren't so damn cold, Susanna, I'd make love to you right here, right now. We could camp out here all the night, leave the cabin to Iris and the girls." But he let his hand drop, and he put his glove back on, because he could see the way her eyes darkened and widened, how she'd stiffened and set her jaw. He knew what was coming next. He'd been waiting months for it.

  "Jack—" She took in another shallow breath, her eyes fixed on him. "I should tell you about Beau McGarrity."

  He straightened. "Yes, you should."

  She shot back a step, startled. "Goddamn it. You know?"

  He realized there was no humor in him now. None. He felt his gaze harden on her, this generous, stubborn woman he'd loved for half his life. "That's what you forgot, Susanna. I always know."

  "Damn it."

  She kicked snow at him and flew around, skidding back down the steep incline, catching the limb of a fir tree, which dumped snow on her. She swore, sinking halfway to her knees in snow, then kicking her way out of it down to the trail she and the girls had made earlier with their snowshoes.

  She was furious. Jack didn't care. She should have said something a year ago.

  He should have, too.

  She spun around at him, snow on her hair, her shoulders. "You don't scare me, Lieutenant Galway." She ripped off her snow-covered headband, the snow coming down now in fat flakes that filled the sky. "I'm not

  one of your damn suspects. I'm your wife."

  "Exactly."

  His voice was stone, but it had no effect on her. "This isn't one of your investigations. This isn't an interrogation. I didn't marry a man with a badge."

  "You've always looked life square in the eye, Susanna. Why not this time?"

  "I did," she said, "and it scared the hell out of me."

  The tightness in his jaw eased, and he moved down the slope toward her, leaning hard into his heel cleats. If he fell on his ass again, it'd be all over. She'd have the opening she needed, and she'd be out of there, off to the cabin, Iris and the girls. They'd never get back here again, to the heart of the misery and secrets that had oozed into their marriage. Murder, corruption, fear— and silence. They'd eroded the trust between them, drove them apart before they'd realized what had happened.

  He'd vowed never to let his work come between them. And it had.

  He stood as close to her as he could manage without kicking her with one of his snowshoes. "Half the reason I fell in love with you was because you had the strength and the backbone to take me on, on my good days and my bad. I couldn't just roll over you." He lowered his voice, tried to soften it. "That works the other way, too. You're no picnic, either, darlin'."

  "I couldn't tell you."

  He said nothing, the snow gathering on his new winter gear, the lake and the trees—everything absolutely silent.

  "I didn't want murder…your work…" She hesitated, groping for the words she must have known she'd have to tell him for months now. She shut her eyes, squeezing back tears. "I didn't want your work to infect our lives. Not that way."

  "You mean a murder suspect walking into our house."

  "He came into the kitchen. He didn't knock." She opened her eyes again, but her face was white, as if she were back on that day over a year ago. "I spotted him a couple of times before that day."

  "When?"

  "That same week. He showed up in town and then again at the school. I didn't know who he was. I hadn't paid enough attention to the news reports—he must have seemed familiar to me, or I wouldn't have noticed him."

  "Christ," Jack whispered. "I didn't know about the two other incidents."

  She tightened her gloved hands into fists. "I wasn't in denial. I knew what I was doing when I didn't tell you."

  "At the house," Jack said. "What did McGarrity say to you?"

  "He was oblique—very careful."

  And she told him word for word, as if they were back on that day and he'd come home and found her in the kitchen staring at a cold cup of tea—and instead of telling her about Alice Parker, he'd first asked her what was wrong, and she'd confided in him. But he'd missed it all—how terrified she was, for herself, for their daughters, for him. He'd missed it, and she'd run away.

  He could see that so clearly now.

  When she finished, she cleared her throat. "That's it," she said quietly. "That's everything."

  It wasn't. He could tell, but he waited.

  The snow continued, the flakes smaller, coming faster. One hit her cheek and melted on contact. She brushed at her face, her gloves covered in snow. "Everything except for the tape," she said.

  With anyone else, he would have kept quiet and let the silence work to his advantage, but not with his wife. "Goddamn it, Susanna, what tape?"

  Her eyes flashed, the fight coming back in her. "I taped my conversation with Beau McGarrity."

  Her conversation.

  "Maggie and Ellen's tape recorder was right under my nose. It seemed like the thing to do."

  Jack stiffened. "What the hell would you have done if he'd caught you?"

  "He didn't." She wasn't backing down. "It's what you'd have done. You know damn well it is. It wouldn't have mattered if you were a Texas Ranger or a plumber—you'd have taped the bastard."

  "But I am a Texas Ranger."

  "Yes, and if he'd slit my throat in the kitchen, you'd have had the evidence you needed—"

  "Jesus Christ," he breathed, realizing the depth of her fear that day. Even now.

  "It was one of those little digital audio tapes," she went on. "Alice Parker showed up not long after McGarrity left, and I gave it to her. I didn't think twice. I thought she was working on the murder investigation. Jack, that tape must be worthless. Alice was in such a frenzy to nail McGarrity, if it had been any good, she'd

  have given it to you—"

  "Not necessarily."

  Susanna frowned. "Why wouldn't she?"

  "She didn't like being arrested, Susanna. She clammed up."

  "Then what did she do with it?"

  He could feel the bile rise up in his throat, the past months of frustration and stalemate crashing in on him. "That'll be harder to find out now, won't it?"

  "Give me a break, Jack. I've been married to a law enforcement officer for a long time. Tell
me you could have used that tape. Tell me you think there's a damn thing on it—"

  "You should have told me what happened that day."

  She turned away from him and stared out into the snow, toward the lake. He could see tears shining in her vivid eyes, mixing with the snow melting on her cheeks, and he knew she'd get out of there before she let him see her cry. "I went to call you, even before Alice showed up." He saw her swallow and knew she was fighting to keep herself together. "It was my first instinct."

  "Why didn't you?"

  "I don't know. I guess I wanted the whole thing not to have happened. I'm used to you dealing with violence and crime and all that—it's your duty. You have the training. You made that commitment. But Maggie and Ellen—"

  "And you. None of you signed up to put yourselves in the line of fire."

  She took a shallow breath, not looking at him. "I wanted not to feel something really had happened where I needed you to protect me—to protect the girls. I wanted there not to be this murderer and stalker who'd walked right into our kitchen and made veiled threats, not because of anything I'd done, but because I was married to a Texas Ranger—"

  "You wanted not to be my wife."

  That was it. The tears came, and she took off.

  * * *

  Jim Haviland had burned the meringue on two pies in a row. He'd give them to Davey Ahearn and a bunch of the construction workers who were regulars. He was distracted because his daughter had just come in and announced she was expecting a baby. His Tess, who'd been scared of kids since she was six and had lost her own mother to cancer.

  "We're all thrilled," Tess said, sitting on a stool at the bar. "Dolly says she doesn't care if it's a baby sister or a baby brother."

  "She'll be a good big sister," Jim said. "Andrew? He's excited?"

  She beamed. "Oh, yes."

  "He's a good father."

  "What about me? I'm a great mum. Dolly says so."

  "Dolly's seven," Davey contributed from down the bar. He was Tess's godfather, and Jim had been listening to the two of them for years. "What does she know?"

  "I am a great mother."