Hideaway

by Sandy James

  Perhaps not, for she’d never shown them who she truly was, had she? She’d taken a new name, lied about the money she’d stashed away, and come to this town to hide, not to take a husband as she’d claimed. Kayla Backer was nothing but a mask. A fabrication.

  A lie.

  “Kayla…” Drew’s hand covered hers. “Please don’t think that any of us believe that you harmed your father.”

  “I loved Papa,” she whispered. “I couldn’t ever hurt him.”

  “We know that,” Brigit said. But it was hard to take solace from the words of someone she’d only met a handful of weeks ago.

  Kayla shifted her gaze back to Drake, the person whose opinion mattered the most, waiting to hear his affirmation of her innocence.

  It never came.

  Instead, Gregory pushed his chair back and stood. “I think it prudent to clarify a few things.”

  Although she wanted nothing more than to find some privacy with Drake, to find out exactly what he was thinking, she nodded curtly at Gregory as everyone turned their attention his way.

  He put his glass down. As Drew withdrew his hand from Kayla’s, Gregory picked it up. “I want you”—his eyes fell on each face at the table before returning to Kayla—“all of you to know that I simply cannot believe Cara harmed her father. I would never have come all this way merely to toss an accusation at her feet. I came because I wanted her to know that I still love her and want to help her through this ordeal.”

  “Help her?” Gideon asked, leaning back and glaring at Gregory. “How can you help her? People are sayin’ she killed her pa.”

  “I want you to know that I have already put detectives and lawyers to work on the problem,” Gregory replied. “They are going to do whatever needs done to clear her name.”

  Kayla cocked her head. “You have?”

  Gregory squeezed her hand. “Of course, my dear. I want your name scrubbed clean. That way, when we marry, there will be no black cloud hanging over our heads.”

  “Marry?” As he shouted the word, Gideon pushed his chair back and jumped to his feet. He narrowed his eyes at Kayla. “You’re gonna marry him? After what his mother did to you and your pa?”

  His anger was a surprise, and the vehemence of it hit her like the lash of a whip. She had to fight hard not to flinch. “I never said that.”

  “Gideon, please,” Drew coaxed. “You have heard everything that the two of them have said from the moment Gregory arrived. Nothing of the sort has been proposed, if you’ll pardon the pun. Calm yourself.”

  Although Gideon sat back down, he breathed hard enough that a small whistle came from his nostrils. She couldn’t recall a time she’d seen him so angry, and she couldn’t help but wonder if that rage was directed at Gregory or her. Since she’d brought this whole mess to his doorstep, she was pretty sure she was the target. The guilt weighed heavily.

  Drake sat quietly, arms folded across his broad chest as he kept an intense stare fixed on Gregory. She wanted so very much to be alone with him and learn what he was thinking. Was he as angry as Gideon? If so, at whom?

  “I believe,” Drew said, “that we should look at this…puzzle with less passion.” When Gideon sputtered, Drew held up his hands. “Please hear me out.” Since Gideon quickly settled down, Drew continued. “Gregory has given us quite a shock, and we have many things to consider where Kayla is concerned. There is some good news here, and that is the fact that no charges are pending back in New York.”

  “I agree,” Brigit said. “She willnae have to be watching over her shoulder.”

  A relief, Kayla admitted to herself. But that didn’t change the fact that people believed her capable of such an atrocity.

  “There is nae reason for her to go back,” Brigit added.

  Gregory shook his head. “She cannot restore her reputation from this…wasteland. And if she is to be my wife, then she must know that she will be living where I live. My life is in New York.”

  “Where your mother is,” Drew said with a frown. “How can you expect her to be your bride when your mother and her man killed her father?”

  Hands fisted, Gregory shot back, “I have told you before that you are all mistaken. My mother would never—”

  Drake stood so quickly, his chair hit the floor, cutting off Gregory’s word. “How about we all stop talking about her like she ain’t sitting in that chair right there?” His anger didn’t seem to abate when he spoke to her. “Kayla, what do you want to do?”

  I want to rewind this wretched day. “Right now,” she replied, her throat constricted from her need to scream in frustration, “I want to go to bed and think about all of this. It is simply…too much.” Standing, she bowed her head, hoping everyone at the table would allow her to leave without a quarrel. She walked toward the hallway, stopping to turn back and look at Drake. He was still unreadable, and after months of feeling a connection to him, she suddenly felt horribly alone.

  Tears blurring her vision, she retreated to her bedroom.

  * * *

  Drake paced the length of the loft and back again so many times that he lost track and flippantly wondered if he was wearing a path in the wood beneath his feet. His mind was at war, and he was pretty damn sure a ceasefire wouldn’t be called for a good long time.

  He should be asleep. Morning would be greeting him soon and there would be chores to do and decisions to be made. Important decisions. About Kayla’s future, which meant about his future—which he’d hoped would be tied to hers.

  But that hope might have ended with the arrival of Gregory.

  Thoughts twisting and turning like tumbleweeds on the prairie, Drake agonized over everything that had been said—everything that Kayla had told him about her father’s death by Otto’s hand and the new things that Gregory had shared that made Kayla seem responsible.

  So what was the true story?

  She lied to me.

  That hurt. While she’d claimed that the lie had only been about money she’d spirited away when she ran, it was, nonetheless, a lie. That money pushed the scale harder to the side of her guilt. After all, that was what the law in New York City believed, that Kayla had argued with her father over money, and that she’d simply taken what she wanted, killed the man, and run. Then she’d invented the story of Chantal Carrington and Otto Schneider so she could cast blame elsewhere.

  Wouldn’t any other criminal do the same?

  Hell, that was what Sara had done to him! Drake had been minding his own business, just scratching an itch that every man had, and what had happened? She’d stolen his money and run to White Pines, where she told everyone she was nothing but a typical mail-order bride. Take the money and run, except Kayla killed the person with the money instead of simply waiting for him to pass out drunk.

  Dear God, he was putting Kayla in the same class of female with Sara, a woman he had hated with every fiber of his being. Sure, he might’ve found it in himself to forgive Sara for destroying the life he’d known, mostly because he’d come to see how pathetic her world had been and how much she’d needed to escape. But he would probably never forget what she’d done to him.

  Is Kayla exactly like Sara?

  Maybe he didn’t even know her at all.

  Drake hated himself for the doubt. He loved Kayla—Cara. She’d lied about her name, too. She might’ve confessed that, but it was another lie to all the other people in town. Could she really be trusted?

  Shit, he wasn’t sure he still trusted her, and that seemed…wrong. Didn’t love mean you trusted another person with no reservations?

  Since he’d never been in love before, he had no clue what it entailed.

  Damn, but he wanted a drink. Badly.

  He knelt before the potbellied stove and opened the door, cursing when he realized he’d forgotten to pick up a rag to protect his hands from the hot metal. After he tossed in some more pieces of wood, he slammed the door. All it did was bounce back open. With a weary sigh, he grabbed the rag, shut the door, and turned the hand
le to keep it closed.

  “Drake?”

  Her voice jerked him out of his reverie. “Kayla?”

  She was at the top of the ladder, staring at him as though waiting for an invitation. That was new. Normally, she’d simply come into the loft, taken his hand and led him to his pallet, where they would make love. Then they would talk or read. Now, she hesitated, her gaze wary as she nibbled on her bottom lip.

  Drake strode over and offered her a hand. She grasped it and allowed him to help her up onto the loft’s surface. “You shouldn’t be out here.”

  “Because?”

  That one word held a lot of questions. Was she asking whether she shouldn’t be with him because Gregory might find out? Was she questioning whether Drake wouldn’t want her to be with him even though she stayed with him most nights? Or was she worrying about where Drake’s thoughts traveled, especially his thoughts about her, after all the revelations back at the house?

  “Because it’s too damn cold for you to be traipsing out to this barn,” he finally replied.

  Now that Kayla was here, he had a million things he wanted to ask her, to say to her. They all seemed to crowd together and prevent a single thing from falling out of his mouth. Instead, he merely stared at her until her gaze made him uncomfortable and he glanced away.

  A first. Normally, he loved to look deeply into her eyes—those beautiful, intelligent, chocolate eyes. Sometimes he felt as though he could drown in them.

  Tonight, he felt ashamed at his own doubts.

  “We should discuss…things,” she said, her voice soft and tremulous.

  “Things?”

  She began to wring her gloved hands and bowed her head. “Ever since Gregory arrived, you have said very little.”

  He shrugged. “Ain’t got much to say, I guess.”

  Her head snapped up. “But you should. Have something to say, that is.” Kayla paced a few steps away, turned on her heel and walked the other direction, taking the same pacing path he’d followed only minutes before. “Gregory told you that there are people back home…” She shook her head. “Back in New York who believe I–I…murdered my father.” Her pacing became more urgent. “How anyone could possibly… Why would they… I couldn’t ever…” Half statements kept spilling out until she finally threw her hands up. “I didn’t kill Papa!”

  His first instinct was to hurry to her and gather her into his arms.

  He didn’t, because that doubt still hovered over him like a raincloud.

  “I loved him, Drake,” Kayla insisted. She rushed over to stand in front of him. “I loved him so much. How could anyone think I would hurt him?”

  “Gregory says he believes you.” Damn if that didn’t bear the tint of accusation.

  She looked up at him, blinking a few times before she knit her brows. “Are you saying that you don’t believe me?”

  “Kayla…” What was he supposed to say? That he was having doubts? That somewhere deep inside, he wasn’t sure he could trust her?

  Her eyes flew wide. “Dear God… You think… Drake, you actually think I killed my father?”

  “I didn’t say that,” he said, giving his head a quick shake.

  Kayla fisted her hands at her sides. “You didn’t have to. All you needed to do was look at me the way you’re looking at me right now.”

  “I ain’t lookin’ at you any way,” Drake insisted. “Look, I don’t think you did it. Not really. It’s just... Gregory knew about the money, and you didn’t tell us you took it.”

  The woman’s temper was clearly aflame. Her eyes had darkened, and there was a flush on her cheeks. “Are you telling me that you believe me capable of cold-blooded murder simply because I lied about bringing money with me?” She was practically shouting at him now.

  Not that he could blame her. When she put things that way, he felt lower than a snake’s belly.

  “I thought we were in lo—” She sucked in a deep breath and blew it out. “I was clearly quite wrong about…us.” She bowed her head again. “I fear I have misjudged this situation, whatever it is that is between us.”

  He didn’t like the solemn finality in that statement. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “That means that I shall not bother you any longer, Mr. Myers.” Marching to the ladder, Kayla hiked up her skirts to climb down.

  Drake hurried over to help her. “Here. Let me—”

  She slapped his hand away. “No, thank you, sir.”

  “Kayla…”

  Now on the ladder, Kayla looked up at him. “I’m sorry.”

  The woman always had a way of confusing him. “Sorry? Why in the devil are you sorry?”

  “I’m sorry that I ever got my life mixed up with yours. I promise to keep my distance from this moment on. Good evening, sir.”

  Despite having so much more to say to her, Drake let her leave. He hadn’t craved a drink so desperately since, well since ever. While there was plenty of alcohol—good stuff instead of his typical rotgut—back at the house, he pushed the craving aside.

  Getting drunk wasn’t going to solve his problems.

  Kayla didn’t kill her father.

  That thought suddenly settled on Drake, giving him absolute confidence that he was correct. The woman he loved wasn’t capable of hurting someone, especially someone she loved.

  He remembered the tender way she’d cared for him as she helped him see what alcohol had been doing to him, to his life. He thought about how carefully she tended the animals, talking to each animal, offering affectionate pats, and gently nursing any of their wounds. And he thought about the way her voice had trembled and tears had filled her eyes when she’d told him the story of her father’s murder.

  The Kayla he knew could never cause harm to anyone or anything, let alone commit murder.

  He practically threw himself down the ladder and sprinted out of the barn. There was a deep path in the snow where Kayla had trudged back to the house. He caught her at the porch. Grabbing her arm, he tried to turn her around.

  Kayla resisted. “Unhand me!”

  “I need to talk to you,” he insisted. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m so—”

  “Sorry?” She let out a rueful laugh that bordered on hysteria. “Sorry? For what? For thinking I’m a murderess?”

  “Yes. No. Kayla, we need to talk.”

  “I have no wish to talk to you. Now or ever.”

  “I don’t think you killed you pa.”

  Her eyes narrowed and her breath came hard and fast. “I. Do. Not. Care.”

  “Sure, you do. You said you loved me, remember?”

  “I was mistaken.” She tried to jerk her arm away. “Let go of me. Now.”

  Drake shook his head.

  “Listen to me, and listen to me good, Mr. Myers. I do not love you. I do not, at this moment, even like you. From this point forward, I prefer that anything you have to say to me concern my home and nothing more. Do you understand?”

  The door opened, and Gregory stood there for a moment before he frowned. “Cara, are you well?”

  Her gaze was on the hand that restrained her. “I will be when this man releases me.”

  “Kayla,” Drake pleaded. “Please. Let’s talk.”

  “Sir,” Gregory said, “if you do not unhand her…”

  “You’ll what?” Drake said, his own voice rising in anger and frustration. “You’ll let me pound you into the mud?”

  Gideon elbowed his way past Gregory. “Let her go, Drake.”

  Great. Another champion to her cause. Drake dropped her arm. “Gideon, I need to talk to her.”

  Kayla hurried to the door, brushed past the men, and disappeared inside.

  “Let her be for now,” Gideon said. “She clearly don’t wanna talk to you. So just let her be.”

  While Drake wanted to argue with the men, he realized his cause was lost. At least for tonight. Kayla needed time to calm down, and for now, he would give her some room to breathe.

  His heart heavy, Drake gave Gide
on a curt nod and headed back to his cold, lonely bed.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Kayla was grateful to finally be alone. Gregory, Gideon, and Drew had all tried to get her to sit down and talk with them about why she and Drake had been quarreling, but she had no desire to share anything about tonight’s humiliation. After excusing herself, she went to her room, shut the door, and just stood there, hugging herself. In a house stuffed with people, she felt utterly alone. There was only one thing on her mind.

  Drake.

  The dichotomy of the man was sure to drive her to the madhouse. She loved him more than she’d even imagined was possible; she loathed him for not believing in her innocence. He made her want to weep; he made her want to find something heavy to throw at his hard head. Part of her wanted to run back to him and demand he listen to her and trust her; the other half wanted to slap his face and tell him she never wanted to see him again.

  Letting out a snort, she began preparing for bed. Sleep wasn’t likely to find her until the wee, small hours, but she found the ritual of changing into her flannel nightgown and braiding her hair comforting.

  What was she supposed to do now? Everything had seemed settled. Planned. Kayla was going to live in her beautiful new home, spend time with her friends, and simply…live. There had been dreams about Drake at her side, and while she admitted to herself that she still loved him, it was quite clear that he didn’t return her feelings. On that, she’d been mistaken. There was no love there on his part, and she sniffed back threatening tears.

  It wasn’t as though she hadn’t known this was how their love affair would end, with her alone. She’d just assumed it would happen after her home was completed. He had left her a few months early. So what?

  Why did she have to fall in love with an obstinate, mistrustful, frustrating cowboy?

  There was a knock at her door. “Go away,” she said.

  “Cara?”

  Gregory. Great.

  She ignored all the politeness that had been drilled into her. “What do you want?”

  “May I speak to you? Please?”