Hideaway

by Sandy James

  Hideaway 255

  Copyright © 2020 by Sandy James

  All rights reserved.

  Cover design by Dragonfly Press Design

  www.dragonflypressdesign.com

  Book design by Sandy James

  Published by James Gang Publishing

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental—and honestly, a bit creepy if you think about it.

  Sandy James

  sandyjames.com

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Printing: April 2020

  ISBN: 978-1-940295-17-6

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Epilogue

  Preview of False Pretenses—Safe Havens Book 5

  Other Books by Sandy James

  A note from Sandy:

  After writing as many books as I have, it sometimes becomes difficult to think of acknowledgments and dedications. Not because I don’t have TONS of people to thank, but because the sentiments start to sound repetitive (at least to me).

  This book is different. So…here goes…

  Acknowledgements:

  I lost my husband of nearly thirty-four to colon cancer in September of 2016, and I felt as though the rug had been pulled from under my life. If not for the myriad people who caught me when I fell, I’m not sure where I’d be right now. I wish I could list each and every one of them—family, friends, colleagues, students, authors. So many! I thank you all from the bottom of my heart.

  And to Nancy Reinhardt and Cheryl Brooks—thank you for having my back. You helped me get back into the swing of writing and made sure Hideaway was ready to go.

  Dedication:

  Life threw me a hell of a curve ball in May of 2018 when I went on a date with a man who would change my life.

  Brian—this book is for you.

  Not only are you an amazing husband, you are my best friend. Thank you for making me laugh, for being the best “idea” person when I’m writing, and for promising to share the next adventures of life at my side.

  I love you.

  Chapter One

  Montana Territory—September 1886

  There wasn’t a single part of him that didn’t ache.

  Drake Myers swiped the muck from his face, casting aside the sticky mess as he glared up at the hefty woman who’d just tossed him out of her brothel and onto the muddy street. Damn if everyone in the place didn’t spill out onto the porch to watch his humiliation.

  He’d been warned. More than once. But he simply didn’t give a damn about anything anymore. He’d also underestimated Madame Marie. The woman might be as wide as she was tall, but when it came to protecting her working girls, she had every bit as much strength as a heavily muscled man.

  Hands on her ample hips, she stood in the moonlight and glared right back at him as even more curious people poured from the whorehouse to gawk. Madame Marie’s red satin dress strained at the seams as the peacock feathers protruding from her upswept hair bounced each time she nodded her head. “You go on and git now! Ain’t got no time for scoundrels like you.”

  “My money’s good as anyone else’s,” Drake grumbled, more to himself than her.

  He groaned as the two women he’d hoped would entertain him for the evening hovered behind Marie. The skinny blonde frowned as she clutched her silky robe together to cover her breasts. The redhead showed no emotion at all, simply stared at him with eyes that held little intelligence and not an ounce of spark. After seeing him wallowing in the mud as though he were some hog, they were probably relieved he hadn’t had a chance to be intimate with them.

  Drake hadn’t even had the opportunity to touch either of them. After he’d ridden just outside the town of White Pines to the well-known but seldom talked about brothel, he’d paid his money to the young hostess and grabbed the only two comely faces from among the available working girls. They’d barely closed the door to the bedroom when angry shouts had accompanied Marie’s heavy footsteps up the stairs. The door had slammed open, and moments later, he’d found himself grabbed by his shirt collar and the seat of his pants, hustled down the stairs, and tossed out in the street like so much garbage.

  Probably what he deserved, wallowing in mud, what with the way he’d been floundering in his own misery of late.

  Marie shook her head and then started wagging her finger at him like a mother scolding a naughty child. “I done told ya and told ya. I cain’t have ya occupying two of my girls at the same time. It ain’t right. It just ain’t natural, I tell ya.”

  After wiping the rest of the mud from his face, Drake dragged himself to his feet. He’d drunk enough to be a tad unsteady, but unfortunately not enough to forget this humiliation come morning. “You sell girls, and you want me to think you’re outraged that I wanna bed two women at the same time?”

  One of the girls handed Marie his hat.

  With a snort of disgust, Marie tossed it at him. “Git out and stay out.”

  Drake caught it before it ended up in the mud, too. After slapping the weathered hat against his thigh, he put it on his head. Then he threw the vastly amused people from the brothel one last scowl before weaving his way to his horse, Rusty. Snatching the chestnut gelding’s reins from the hitching post, he held them tightly as he hauled himself into the saddle. His eyes caught the blonde’s—the prettier of his two potential companions. “You wanna earn some coin you don’t have to share with Marie, you know where to find me.” He dug his heels into Rusty’s sides, hoping to hell the horse’s hooves would throw some clumps of dirt Marie’s way.

  When he reached the town, it was peaceful as ever. Quiet. All but abandoned by this time of night. The only place with signs of life was the Four Aces, the local saloon that catered to the rail workers and cowboys who often passed through White Pines. The other businesses had shut their doors tight for the night hours ago.

  It wasn’t until he reached the boarding house that he allowed his anger to finally ebb. The whole situation had been ludicrous. Two women at the same time? Even he wasn’t truly that disgusting. The plan had been nothing more than another attempt to forget his wretched life.

  The boarding house’s manager was sitting on the big porch, rocking in his chair, and smoothing a cloth over the barrel of the shotgun in his lap. No doubt he’d want to discuss past-due rent. Again. Drake rode right past him to the barn, where he cared for Rusty’s needs, Afterwards, he gave the gelding a gentle stroke on the muzzle and an extra handful of grain for being his only real friend.

  When he rea
ched the front door, he tipped his hat to Earl Hammonds, who hadn’t budged an inch. “Evenin’, Mr. Hammonds.”

  Earl didn’t even look up, simply kept rubbing the dirty cloth on the barrel of his gun. “You be owin’ me money, Mr. Myers. That sum be past due.”

  Drake took off his hat and raked his fingers through his unruly hair before wincing as he realized there was still mud in it. “I know, Mr. Hammonds. It’s just...” He shrugged. “I don’t have it. Not yet.” Mind scrambling for some logical explanation why he couldn’t seem to cough up the money to keep renting his room, he finally let out a resigned sigh. What little money he’d had was now in the hands of the brothel, and they weren’t likely to give it back. He only had three things of value, two of which he’d never peddle. Rusty and his gun. “I’ll sell my saddle tomorrow and pay you.”

  Earl let out a snort as he rocked in his squeaky chair.

  “I mean what I say,” Drake insisted. Instead of waiting to hear more of the owner’s derision, he put his hat back on and opened the front screen door. “You’ll get your money tomorrow.”

  “You be bathin’ a’fore you sleep in that bed.”

  “I have every intention of doing exactly that.” Without a backward glance, he pulled the door shut behind him.

  The rain barrel that served as the boarding house’s bathtub held water cold enough to set Drake’s teeth chattering. He fingers went numb long before he’d finished washing away the dirt. He slipped into clean long johns before heading upstairs.

  The room he’d called home for the last few months was smaller than Rusty’s stall, but it had a bed and a table, which were really all he needed.

  Sitting on the bed, he jerked on clean socks, flexed his toes, and gave his head a disgusted shake when his big toes popped through holes. Since he had no talent with a needle, he hadn’t darned the damn things.

  God, but he led a sorry existence.

  His gaze fell on the wooden model of a house that rested on the table. Not a house; his house. At least the one he’d dreamed of owning when his cattle driving days eventually ended and he’d earned his fortune. A fortune he’d never earn now, thanks to a previous ill-fated trip to a whorehouse in Denver. The woman he’d hired that night had drugged him, stolen the payroll entrusted to him, and left him with a reputation as an undependable dimwit. Even though he’d hunted the woman down and returned the money, all those noble tasks did was solidify a popular notion that he’d stolen it himself and fabricated the story about Sara Fuller—now Sara Bishop.

  Funny how she’d come here to start a new life and found a good one. A husband. A home.

  All Drake had found here was misery.

  He’d tried to forgive her. He had. And for a while, he’d convinced himself he’d moved on. White Pines seemed as good a place to settle as any—until it appeared as though everyone in town thought poorly of him. While the fault probably lay right at his own feet since his behavior had been pretty disgraceful, it was easier to blame Sara Bishop. Much easier.

  The small house taunted him, reminding him of how his earlier models had earned him nothing but criticism. “A waste of yer time,” his uncle had always grumbled, often accompanying his censure by tossing whatever Drake had been working on into the fire and then giving him a cuff upside the head.

  Is that what his work represented? A waste of his time? He had no job. No prospects for employment. Very little money. Yet still he carved and built and created.

  With a mournful howl, he swept his arm across the table, sending his house model crashing against the wall and falling to the floor. The V of the roof tumbled off the structure as two of the walls separated and dropped away. He’d reduced it to kindling.

  Uncle Herbert would’ve been proud.

  There’d be no more time given to creations no one but him would ever see. His life was in the shitter, and he’d sunk as low as he could possibly go.

  The time had come to pull himself up from the mire. He’d have to try harder to find employment, even if it meant mucking out stalls or digging ditches. A man had to eat, and Earl Hammonds wasn’t going to wait much longer for his rent.

  Blowing out the candle, Drake flopped onto the bed, vowing to stop feeling so damned sorry for himself and start to make a new life. Before sleep claimed him, he had one important epiphany.

  There’s really nowhere to go now but up.

  * * *

  “I’m sorry, Kayla.”

  Kayla Backer tried to hide her gloomy reaction to Drew’s announcement. He was clearly in mourning for his older brother and didn’t deserve the added weight of her disappointment. She folded her arms under her breasts and waited for the reasons he’d refused her request.

  Drew Pearson frowned. “I know you had your heart set on starting construction on your new home, but...” He shook his head and cast his gaze to the wooden floor.

  Her heart ached for him. “No, Drew,” she said, laying a hand on his arm. “Please express no regrets. I apologize for making you feel as though you owe me anything. You should go to your mother. She needs you now.”

  With a hard swallow, he nodded. “I cannot imagine her grief. My brother was everything to her.” Head bowed, he ran his hand over his blond hair. He wore it much longer than was the fashion, often tying it behind his neck with a leather cord. But the man was an actor. White Pines folks loved his eccentricity. They expected it. The fancy suits. The air of whimsy. They even ignored the fact that he was a man in his early thirties who lived with another man.

  His lover—although people would never acknowledge the men’s relationship as anything more than a fast friendship—stood next to the couch, keeping close watch over Drew and Kayla as they spoke. Gideon Young was every bit as dark as Drew was light, his black hair and brown eyes so very different than Drew’s hair the color of sunshine and eyes the hue of the summer sky.

  Now she was being far too fanciful. She loved Drew as though he were her brother, but despite having lived in their home as the men’s housekeeper for close to nine months, she was still wary of Gideon. Not that he deserved her misgivings. He’d been nothing but kind. His aloof manner sometimes reminded her far too much of her former fiancé.

  And those wounds still ran too deep to dwell upon.

  “I can easily bide my time until late autumn,” Kayla said, hoping to raise Drew’s spirits. “Once you return from seeing your family, then we shall begin work.” A nod to the drawings piled on the side table. “Perhaps in the time you and Gideon are away, I can find someone who can turn my dreams into reality. Heaven knows I have no idea how to transform my thoughts into a home.”

  At least Drew looked up, although his smile seemed forced. “I fear my skills at building are somewhat limited.” He tossed a glance to Gideon.

  Gideon heaved a sigh. “Told you already, Kayla. I’m gonna build it when I can, but I’m going to Missoula with you first, Drew. Snows come in October, so I’m not gonna start this year. Next spring. Maybe. We gotta get your ma settled first.”

  Settled. Gideon’s way of letting Drew know that his mother wasn’t returning to White Pines with them as Drew hoped. Kayla had tried to make herself scarce whenever the men had quarreled about the fate of the widow, which was often since the news of the death of Drew’s brother had reached them. While Drew claimed his mother would be happy moving away from Missoula and coming to live with the men, Gideon wanted Drew’s sister to care for her, insisting they needed their privacy.

  “I am quite sure she shall settle fine in one of our bedrooms,” Drew asserted.

  Gideon started shaking his head before Drew even finished his sentence. “We wouldn’t have any privacy, what with her putterin’ around.”

  The contradiction couldn’t go unmentioned. Kayla’s penchant for speaking her mind always got the better of her. “If you do not wish to have a woman ‘putterin’ around,’ then why did you welcome me into your home?” She waited a beat. “Oh yes. Now I remember. You were trying to remedy what you believed was your brother’s er
ror in summoning me as his potential bride.” She’d crossed her arms again and now drummed her fingers against one forearm. “I have explained to you many, many times that I hold him no ill will. Nor do I hold any ill will for Sara.”

  Eyes narrowed, Gideon responded to her gibe. “Caleb should’ve married you, Kayla.”

  Although he was always kind to his sister-in-law, Sara, Gideon often let Kayla know he preferred her education and refinement to Sara’s shady past. “Sara cannot help what she was. Surely, you’ve come to terms with her former life. She had no choice. Life is... difficult for women who have no protectors.”

  His gaze hardened. “Don’t see you selling yourself to men.”

  “Had you and Drew not taken me in,” Kayla countered, “my future might have been every bit as bleak as Sara’s past. As I have said on many occasions, Gideon, I have forgiven her and Caleb. You should as well. She is your brother’s wife now, and he cares greatly for her. They have a son. Leave the past where it belongs. In the past.”

  Gideon simply stomped to the door. He snatched his jacket from the wooden pegs where it hung next to hers and Drew’s and left them, slamming the door behind him.

  The man’s temper would cool quickly, as it always did where Drew was concerned. All Gideon required were a few sweet words from Drew, and he would no doubt be moving Drew’s mother to White Pines in short order.

  Stepping up to the window, Drew glanced through it, a pensive sulk on his handsome face. “I fear he shall never truly accept Sara. A sorrow, that. She is such a wonderful woman, and she makes Caleb happy.”

  Kayla took a place at his side. “He will never be unkind to her.”

  “You’re right on that point, my dear.”