Hideaway

by Sandy James

  The women were bright with smiles, both beautiful in their own way. Cassie Bishop was a little bit of a thing, but she had the face of an angel. Her eyes were a deep brown, her hair tawny with a tint of sunshine. Although small, she commanded attention, and should she fix her focus on any man, she held him captive. Kayla had seen the jealous looks her husband Ty aimed at any man who chose to gape at her. Then again, a woman that comely was hard to ignore.

  Sara was taller with a lithe figure, her black-brown hair shorter than Cassie’s. Her eyes were the clearest blue, the color of cornflowers, and full of hard-earned wisdom for one barely in her twenties.

  Kayla felt plain next to her two friends. As they both embraced Drew, she realized exactly how much he meant to them, perhaps even as much as he meant to her.

  A knot suddenly formed in the pit of her stomach. Although Drew had asked Drake if he had objections to seeing Sara—something he claimed would not disturb him—Kayla couldn’t help but worry whether there would be angry words exchanged. She watched Drake, who was still sorting supplies, and felt a pinch of guilt that she was forcing him to face a woman who had wronged him.

  A hand settled on her arm. “Kayla?” Cassie asked.

  With a forced smile, Kayla hugged first Cassie and then Sara. “Where are the children? With Grace?”

  Sara nodded. Her gaze went to Drake. “He was told I was coming today?”

  “Gideon spoke with him,” Kayla replied, even as she nodded. “He believes Drake bears you no grudge.”

  “There!” Cassie said, taking Sara’s hand and giving it a squeeze. “I told you there was nothing to worry about. Why, I’m sure he’s forgotten all about—”

  Sara let out a rather loud snort. “Forgotten? Sweet Jesus, Cassie. I stole from the man. How could he forget that?”

  Since Kayla was of like mind, she stayed silent as Cassie endeavored to convince Sara that it was high time to bury the past. At least Sara seemed to be listening, and it wasn’t long before she was nodding along with Cassie’s wisdom.

  “The money was returned,” Cassie pointed out.

  “That doesn’t excuse my actions,” Sara insisted.

  “I would suggest,” Kayla finally said, “that we first focus on preparing some food for the men.”

  “Then we can gather more stones for your foundation,” Cassie said.

  “And hearth,” Kayla added. “I was thinking how homey it would be to have one made of the same stone as the home’s foundation.”

  Drew beckoned to Kayla, so she hurried to him. Gideon was holding the reins to both of the ready horses, which meant the time to part had arrived.

  She swallowed hard to try to banish the tears that stung her eyes. “May God watch over you both and bring you safely home.”

  Gideon surprised her by handing the reins to Drew and giving her a quick, breath-stealing hug. Then he mounted his horse while Drew embraced her. He gave her nose another tweak before gaining his saddle. With a tip of their hats, they left on their journey.

  “Godspeed,” she whispered.

  Cassie wrapped a reassuring arm around her waist and guided her toward the porch. “Time for us to get to work.”

  * * *

  Drake let his fake smile drop the moment the women went into the house.

  He couldn’t deny he’d need all of their help. The men would handle the lumber needed to begin the frame while the women helped hunt and carry the stones for the foundation. One man couldn’t build an entire house by himself. It simply wasn’t possible. But the assistance being offered to Drake made him wish it were.

  Just seeing Sara Young made his blood boil, especially when she looked so damned happy. From the day she’d robbed him, her life had been going steadily uphill. His, on the other hand, was near the bottom of a deep, dark well—landing him here instead of as the boss of some cattle company.

  Ty and Caleb came striding toward the building site, forcing a sigh from Drake’s lips. He’d have to make nice with them, which would be a hell of a lot easier than it would be should he find himself face-to-face with Sara. Then he’d have to bite his tongue until he drew blood.

  Even that might not stop him from saying his piece.

  “Fine morning for some work,” Caleb said. There was a hint of nervousness in his voice that was a bit of surprise. His gaze wandered the deliveries that had arrived only the day before. “Where’d all this come from?”

  Drake took off his hat and wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his sleeve. “Drew and Gideon called in a few favors from some craftsmen. Got a lot of things readymade that would’ve taken me a good long time to work on.”

  “I’d say.” Ty walked around a stack of wooden spindles meant to be used on the large porch Kayla wanted. “These are nice pieces of work.”

  “They are,” Drake replied. “Better than I could ever make.”

  “Me, either,” Caleb said. “So where would you like us to start?”

  Drake finished cutting one last board before nodding at the pile of lumber for the frame. “Been cuttin’ these so we can start the outside walls. Figured if we could get the stones in place for the foundation and get a good beginnin’ on raising a roof, I’d be able to finish on my own.”

  Glancing at the sky, Ty frowned. “Think we can get a roof up before the snows come hard and heavy?”

  After setting his handsaw aside, Drake sighed. “No. Not really. But I promised the men I’d give it my best, and that’s exactly what I plan to do.”

  “Fair enough.” Caleb picked up one of the uncut boards. “You’re the boss, tell us what you want us to do.”

  The boss. That was exactly what he should have been had it not been for Sara Young. Of course, he’d known her as “Princess” first—nothing more than a working girl from Denver. One of many he’d paid to take his ease.

  Ty and Caleb exchanged looks, probably because Drake hadn’t immediately set them to work. Then Caleb swept his hat from his head and threaded his fingers through his dark hair. “Look, Drake... We should clear the air.”

  “No need for that.”

  “I think there is a need.” Caleb cleared his throat loudly. “I know what Sara... was. What she did to you. She feels mighty bad, but she was in a tough spot. If you got to know her, you might understand she ain’t a thief. Not deep down inside.”

  Drake tossed aside another piece of wood, harder than necessary. “It’s over and done.”

  “She needs you to understand.”

  Drake hefted one of the large stones for the foundation. “I understand fine. We don’t need to discuss it. Ever.”

  Ty shook his head but picked up one the stones to follow Drake. After a few moments, so did Caleb.

  They barely spoke as they worked. Only enough words were exchanged to coordinate as they set the boulders on the four corners of what would be Kayla’s home and then formed the lines for the rest of the foundation. Despite the crisp air, Drake shed his coat, loving the feel of his muscles burning and sweat trickling down his spine. Hard work was reprieve. Hard work was forgetting.

  The sounds of the bell made his head snap up. Kayla always rang an enormous bell hanging on the large porch to announce a meal. He could hardly believe that much of the day had passed since they’d begun work.

  “We best be going,” he said. “Doubt the women will be patient if they’re ready to feed us.”

  “What about Sara?” Caleb asked.

  “Water under the bridge,” Drake replied, trying to keep the anger from his voice.

  He hiked briskly toward the house, hoping if he simply continued to ignore Caleb’s prodding the man would give in and stop gnawing that particular bone. Caleb and Ty followed, and Drake caught their wary exchange of glances.

  God, he needed a drink. Damn good thing he’d thought to bring a bottle of rot gut with him. Once this day was over, he would drink away the memories, the anger, and the regret.

  Chapter Five

  Kayla waited on the porch long after the wagon had d
isappeared from her sight. The twilight air was crisp, and her breath rose in cloudy puffs around her face. The day had been productive, ending too soon for her taste. But daylight hours waned rapidly this time of year and would continue to shrink until the next year arrived.

  Her guests had graciously stayed for an evening meal, although Drake had eaten with the speed of a starving dog before making his excuses to head to his home in the barn. She’d seen neither hide nor hair of him since, although she kept casting glances to the door from the moment he’d left, hoping he’d return.

  After the ladies had cleaned away the mess made by the meal, they’d all had a nice conversation about whether women should ever be allowed to vote should Montana become a state. Remembering the rather lively discussion brought a smile to her lips.

  Wrapping the thick shawl a little tighter around her shoulders, Kayla looked out toward the beginnings of her home. The foundation had risen well as the day progressed, the rocks now forming a large rectangle that would one day support a house. She felt selfish seeing it, knowing that she was asking far too much of Drew, Gideon, and Drake to keep working on the building with the weather ready to turn harsh.

  A home. All she’d ever wanted, and her heart seemed to be set on this house being the pinnacle of finding a home. She would own it. She would put her stamp on it. She would lovingly place each piece of furniture, each knickknack, each rug.

  Would it truly be the elusive home she’d sought when her tasks were done?

  A sharp noise caught her ear, and her gaze shifted once again to the large double doors on the upper loft of the barn. One had been flung open, and Drake—holding tight to a half-empty bottle—leaned his shoulder against the frame.

  Kayla almost shouted for him to take care because of the height of his perch. Any forward movement might send him plunging to the ground, so she bit the inside of her cheek. If the man had been drinking yet again, he wouldn’t have the wit or skill to save himself should she holler at him.

  With a shake of her head, she turned to go inside before she became an icicle.

  “Thank God!” Drake’s loud proclamation made her whirl back around.

  “What did you say?”

  “They’re gone. Good riddance,” he called back to her, saluting with his bottle before taking a drink.

  Shaking from cold and anger, she wanted to dismiss him. Yet she needed him to understand exactly how much the help from the Bishops and Youngs meant to her. “How dare you! They have done nothing but offer kindness and assistance!”

  He responded by taking another long pull from the bottle.

  “You will not speak poorly of them!” Heavens, she felt the fool, shouting with the man across the way from porch to barn.

  “Fuck ’em.”

  Kayla let out an enraged gasp. “How dare you use such language!”

  Drake’s reply was a grin that she found too attractive in such a shameful man.

  “Have you ever considered that you drink to excess?”

  All he did was shrug hard enough she feared he would tumble over the side.

  With a shake of her head, she turned to go back inside. Standing on the porch and screeching like a harpy was no way to have a conversation.

  “Wait!”

  She whirled to his shout only to find that he’d left his perch and was no doubt on his way down from the loft. If he’d consumed what was missing from his bottle, he was likely to break his neck when he fell off the ladder.

  A few moments later, one of the barn doors slid open and Drake came marching across the yard, his bottle still in his hand. “Wait right there,” he said, wagging his finger at her. “I got somethin’ to say to you.”

  Folding her arms under her breasts, Kayla braced herself. She hadn’t intended to have a confrontation with the man who’d been hired to help her, but she simply couldn’t abide by his reprehensible habits.

  His drinking. His cursing. His whoring.

  He was a grown man and it was high time he took responsibility for himself. If she was the only one brave enough to tell him that, so be it.

  “Look here, woman…” Drake stumbled up the four steps to the porch. He caught himself on the railing.

  “My name is Kayla.”

  The man rolled his eyes, listed to one side, and then had to cling to a post to regain his balance.

  Perhaps he was too deep into his cups to have this discussion. She nodded at the bottle he still held tightly. “Did you drink all of that?”

  He lifted the bottle and squinted as if judging exactly how much was missing. “S’pose I did. Why’s it matter to you?”

  His words weren’t as slurred as she’d expected. Perhaps the man had a high tolerance for drinking, something she’d knew happened after a soul had used spirits for a long time. Years.

  Like her father.

  She stared at Drake. The man was handsome, well spoken, and had a true talent for building. And yet he was wasting his life on alcohol and women who sold their bodies. How could he not see the danger he was putting himself in?

  She suddenly felt sad for him, a deep sorrow that was ridiculous after only knowing him a few days.

  “What?” he demanded. “Whatcha starin’ at?”

  Kayla refused to answer. He wouldn’t want her pity. With a shake of her head, she turned to go inside.

  A strong hand circled her upper arm, stopping her with a tight squeeze. “I asked you a question.”

  Since he refused to let her make a tactful exit, she faced him and straightened her spine. He deserved the truth, and perhaps the truth might set him free. “Fine. You want to know what I see when I look at you?”

  He nodded, his unruly hair falling over his eyes. He brushed it away with the back of his hand.

  “I see a tragedy. A horrible tragedy.”

  “What’s that s’posed to mean?” he said, following the words with a feral growl.

  “In all of your days of debauchery, have you ever tried walking away from alcohol? It dulls the senses,” she insisted, “and it rots the mind.”

  “In all of your days, have you ever drunk a drop?”

  “Certainly not!”

  “Then quit talkin’ about somethin’ you know nothin’ about.” His words ran together in a sing-song manner. He lifted the bottle and shoved it toward her. “Here. Take a drink. Live a little.”

  She pushed his hand away. “I will not.”

  “Afraid?”

  “Certainly not.”

  “Then here.” He thrust the bottle at her again. “Show me how brave you are, Kayla. Show me you’re not afraid to try some whiskey.”

  She shook her head.

  He let out a snort. “Knew it. You’re nothin’ but a sanctamin...er...sanctaprim...er...” Hoisting the bottle to his lips, he downed several swallows and then grimaced as though the liquid burned as it traveled down his throat.

  “I believe the word you are searching for is sanctimonious, is it not?”

  “Yeah,” he drawled. “That’s what you are. You don’t know what I’ve been through. You don’t know what I’ve suffered.”

  “Are you speaking of Sara taking your money?”

  “Damn right, I am.”

  Kayla narrowed her eyes, her anger rising so fast and hot that the cold no longer plagued her. “Tell me, sir, how have you suffered because some poor creature tried to escape life as a virtual slave, a life of degradation, by taking money that was not even yours?”

  In a heartbeat, Drake’s face flushed crimson and he sputtered as if so many words were trying to crowd their way out of his mouth that he couldn’t figure out which ones would arrive first. “I’m suffering, all right. I’m here, ain’t I? Stuck here.” Lifting his arms, he spun in a circle and then nearly dropped his bottle as he gripped a post to keep from falling until he could get his feet back under himself. “Middle of nowhere. Fuckin’ Montana. Ain’t even a damn state.”

  “I’ve asked you not to curse in front of me. Now, I must insist. I shall not abide by f
oul language.”

  A sly smile crossed his lips. “I’ll speak any damn way I want to. Damn. Shit. Fuck.” Each word was slow. Deliberate. Cruel.

  She’d reached her fill of his self-pity, an emotion she’d never allowed herself to indulge in regardless of her circumstances. Anger ruled her tongue. “How dare you? You believe you are suffering because you live in this beautiful territory, among some of the nicest people in all of the United States?” She stomped her foot, instantly sorry because the cold made her toes sting. “You know nothing of suffering, of having your life destroyed simply because someone believes you are not nearly good enough for—”

  She clenched her hands into fists. Dear Lord, she’d almost blurted out her sordid tale. Her anger made her speak without thought, and she couldn’t allow that to happen again. Ever.

  Temper back in check, she let her gaze wander over the man. He’d clearly started drinking the moment the evening meal had ended. His clothes were disheveled and badly in need of mending. Sawdust clung to his sleeves and the legs of his pants. For pity’s sake, he’d barely washed his hands. As far as she could tell, he’d tossed his hat aside, grabbed the bottle of devil’s brew, and started indulging.

  “Quite starin’ at me,” he snapped.

  “You have no idea how pathetic you appear, do you?” she asked.

  “What?”

  An idea blossomed. “Come with me, Mr. Myers. I’ve a need to show you something important.”

  Kayla opened the door, pleased to see Drake following without her having to prod him too much. Walking was rapidly becoming more difficult for him, so she tried to keep a few steps ahead to be sure he wouldn’t trip forward and tackle her to the ground.

  “Where’re we goin’?” he asked.

  “I need you to take a good, long look at something. Perhaps it will open your eyes.”

  “Whatcha mean, woman? My eyes are already open.”

  “Literally, not figuratively. And my name is not ‘woman.’”

  “You ain’t makin’ sense,” he insisted.

  She moved right through the living area to head to the bedroom wing. Passing by her room, she cast a quick glance to see that the tabby cat she’d taken a shine to was waiting on her bed, curled up in a ball and sound asleep. Only when she entered the largest bedroom—the one Drew and Gideon shared—did she stop.