Hideaway

by Sandy James

  “Where, pray tell, do you expect me to find another bedroom?” Drew asked, his tone snide—a rarity from a man with impeccable manners. She couldn’t blame him. Gregory had come unannounced, unwelcomed, and had done nothing but pressure Kayla to leave from the moment he’d arrived.

  “I was thinking that with Brigit being away, I could use her room,” Gregory replied.

  “She might be back today,” Drew said.

  “If she does return, then perhaps she could sleep in Cara’s room. There’s a large bed, and it shouldn’t be difficult for the two women to share.”

  Drew gaped at him. “Surely, you jest.”

  “Not at all,” Gregory insisted, adjusting his cravat. It was wrinkled and for some reason, that fact pleased Kayla. She wasn’t about to offer to press it, and if Brigit got wind of his plan to displace her from her bedroom, she’d probably chase the man around the house with a broom.

  With one of his wicked grins, the type he always got when he was getting ready to rile Gideon with some kind of outrageous idea, Drew snapped his fingers. “I believe I have a solution!”

  Gregory smiled back at him, no doubt misunderstanding that he was about to receive some sort of verbal smack upside the head. “Do tell!”

  “You and Drake should share the loft in the barn!” Drew announced.

  With eyes wide and mouth open, Gregory gaped at Drew. “Surely, you jest.”

  “Not at all, my good follow. I think it might be a bit…enlightening to see how Drake handles his chores, and what better way to do that than to spend your days—and nights—together.”

  Kayla let out a laugh, unable to control herself any longer. “Drew… Your humor is as warped as a board left out in the rain.”

  He held out his hands as though innocent. “But I’m not trying to be funny, Kayla. Don’t you think it would be good for Gregory to see how it is for people who must work for a living?”

  Now, Gregory was sputtering in anger. “I assure you, sir, that I work. Why, I spend hours at the bank almost every day, dealing with loans and managing investments.”

  “I’m quite sure it is very difficult work,” Drew said. “Very well then. I shall tell Drake that he avoided a bullet.” He headed down the hall, ignoring Gregory and his clearly ruffled feathers.

  “That man is… is…”

  Kayla let out another laugh. “I believe the word you’re looking for is correct, Gregory.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Have you ever shod a horse?” she asked. “Or mucked out a stall?”

  He grabbed his lapels and gave his jacket a shake. Even here on the farm, the man dressed as though he were ready to go to some society function. “I have people whom I pay to handle things like that for me.”

  She gave a snort. “How about changed and washed your own linens? Or emptied your own chamber pot?”

  “Again, I have staff for those matters.”

  “Exactly!” she exclaimed. “Haven’t you ever thought about how difficult the lives are for the people who work for you?”

  “Cara—”

  She slammed down the spatula. “That is exactly what I’m talking about! I have asked you to call me Kayla, yet you do exactly as you please.”

  “But you are Cara. Cara Burton. My fiancée,” Gregory insisted.

  Grabbing a towel to hold onto the hot handle of the cast iron skillet, Kayla moved it aside. This conversation was getting nowhere, and it merely reinforced her idea that, exactly as Drew had said about Drake, she had dodged a bullet. “As I have told you repeatedly these last four days, I am not your fiancée any longer.”

  The door flew opened, and Drake hurried into the house. “Ty was just here. There’s a fire at the Beck’s barn. We need to get out there to help.”

  Drew grabbed his coat. As he was shoving his arms into the sleeves, he looked to Kayla. “I fear breakfast will have to wait.” Then his gaze shifted to Gregory. “Grab your coat.”

  “Why on earth would I do that?” Gregory asked, making Kayla strongly consider hitting him with her skillet.

  “Because,” Kayla replied, “there are people who need our help—your help.”

  Drake strode over to where she stood. “Damn. Those eggs smell delicious.”

  She grabbed a plate and scooped some eggs from the platter. Then she handed the plate to Drake. While she gave him a fork, she said, “Eat. You’ll need your strength. Drew, would you like some, too?”

  As Drake became to shovel the scrambled eggs into his mouth, Drew came over to take another plate she’d readied. “Thank you, Kara.”

  “I’ll get a plate for Gideon so he can eat before you ride.” She didn’t bother to offer one to Gregory since he was surely going to stay home where it was safe and warm.

  He surprised her by going to the table, picking up a piece of toasted bread, and piling it with eggs. “I shall accompany the other men,” he proclaimed before hastily eating his impromptu breakfast sandwich.

  There was no way she’d heard him correctly. “I beg your pardon?”

  “I am going with the men to help fight the barn fire,” he said around chewing. If his prissy mother could see him talking with a mouthful of food, she’d no doubt have an apoplectic fit.

  “Why?” she couldn’t help but ask.

  “Because you seem to think I don’t have any useful…skills. Perhaps if I show you that I am not immune to hard work, you will stop fighting the idea of returning to New York with me.”

  The scowl Drake leveled at Gregory could’ve set a forest ablaze, yet he said nothing. Instead, he scooped the last of his eggs into his mouth, muttered something that sounded a bit like, “Thank you,” as he handed her the empty plate, and then left. He slammed the door behind him.

  Things had been tense between them, and Kayla hadn’t found an opportunity to clear the air with him since their last conversation. Her heart hurt knowing that he had believed her capable of murder, especially of her own father, and he’d done nothing to show her that he’d changed his mind. Since the last time they were alone, he’d barely spoken ten words to her, and she felt abandoned.

  So why did she still love him so much? She really did, and she cursed herself for her own stupidity.

  Drew gave her his empty plate as she passed him one that she’d prepared for Gideon. “I hate that we will be leaving you alone.”

  While she wanted to blurt out that alone was exactly what she wanted to be simply to get Gregory out of her hair, instead she said, “The Becks need all the help they can get. I shall be fine.”

  He kissed her forehead. “‘She is clothed in strength and dignity…’”

  Her cheeks flushed hot at the wonderful compliment. “Proverbs chapter thirty-one, verse—”

  “Twenty-five,” Gregory interjected with a crooked smile that revealed the dimple in his left cheek.

  There was the appeal that had drawn her to him back in a world long gone. While he was a bit too privileged, she had to admit, Gregory wasn’t a bad person. He could be charming when he chose to be, and his looks were pleasing with his wavy, dark hair and green eyes. One day, he would make some woman very happy.

  But I’m not that woman.

  The door shut behind the men, and Kayla went to grab a piece of toasted bread. She had only taken her second bite when her stomach went into full rebellion. Thankfully, she made it to the sink before what little that was in that stomach came right back out. As she leaned over the sink, eyes watering, the epiphany came. Her missed monthly. Her queasiness. Her fatigue.

  There couldn’t possibly be a worse time for her to be with child, except perhaps if she was actually wanted for her father’s murder and potentially faced time in prison.

  A few long minutes passed before her body settled and her heart stopped pounding. She made her way to the table, pulled out a chair, and just sat there, contemplating her next move as though life were a game of chess. Was the fact she was going to have a baby going to equal checkmate?

  Stop being fanciful,
Kayla.

  Kayla. She’d begun to think of herself as exactly that. Kayla Backer, not Cara Burton. That woman was gone, hopefully never to return. Montana had changed her in positive ways—ways that would help her survive this tough world.

  Her hand dropped to her abdomen, and she stroked gently as though caressing her unborn child. Drake’s child.

  If her cowboy knew he was going to be a father, he’d probably help the Becks put out their barn fire and then keep riding any direction except back to her. The man was never meant to be tied down, and there was no way he’d welcome the news of her pregnancy.

  What do I do now?

  After some quick math, Kayla realized the baby would come in the autumn—probably late October or early November. By then, her home would be completed, and Drake would be long gone. If the weather kept up its steady march toward spring, he might have the house done by June or July. Which meant she might be able to keep her situation hidden from him until he left. He would never have to know that they shared a child.

  That thought made her so sad, her eyes suddenly brimmed with tears. Just as quickly, she pushed the melancholy away. He was the one who had ended their relationship because he didn’t trust her. He didn’t deserve to share her life or this child’s life.

  But he did deserve that. He was the baby’s father, and she wasn’t sure she could keep herself from telling him the truth. Had circumstances been different, she’d be shouting the wonderful news to the whole world.

  Her thoughts were tumbling and turning, and she needed something to do to help crowd her worries out of her mind. She began to gather the breakfast dishes to clear away the table. How much time had she spent sitting there, worrying about something over which she had no control?

  Too long.

  The knock at the door startled her, making her squeal and drop the plate she was taking to the sink. The china shattered, sending shards flying across the wooden floor. “Damnation.” Stepping around the ruins, she headed toward the door. When she saw that she hadn’t thrown the bolt to lock it after the men left, her heart began to beat frantically. “Who is it?”

  There was no answer.

  Kayla picked up the shotgun. “Who’s there?” Keeping the weapon pointing at the door, she eased to the window, pulled the curtain aside, and glanced at the porch. Her mouth dropped open.

  Chantal Carrington had arrived.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  “No,” Kayla whispered to the empty room. Standing on the front porch were the two people she feared most in the world—Chantal Carrington and Otto Schneider.

  “Carolyn, open the door,” Chantal demanded. “I’ve come a long way to speak to you.”

  Kayla’s first inclination was to run, to head out the back of the house, jump on a horse, and flee. The mere sight of Otto was enough to make her stomach heave. Thankfully, nothing was left to expel, but she had to set the shotgun aside and steady herself against the wall until the dry heaves stopped.

  The knocking continued. “I demand you let me in, Cara!”

  “Go away.”

  This time, the knock was a heavy pounding—no doubt Otto’s fist was being applied to the door. Chantal would never put her dainty hands through so much abuse.

  “Open the door,” Otto ordered, “or I’ll kick it in!”

  Kayla was in a panic and snatched up the weapon again. There was no way to keep the shotgun pointed at the door and open it, so she chose holding on to the gun. “It’s unlocked.”

  The door swung open, and before she could even gasp, Otto hurried through, grabbed the shotgun, and jerked it right out of her hands. Then he tossed it out the door into a snow bank.

  Chantal followed him through the door. She was impeccably dressed in a thick coat trimmed with fox, and she wore a hat of the same red fur. “Where is Gregory?”

  Although still reeling from the way Otto had so swiftly disarmed her, Kayla tried her best to put up a brave façade. “What makes you think Gregory is here? There is no reason whatsoever for him to travel to Montana.”

  Otto let out a scoff and shook his head. Although he wore a full-length beaver coat, his bald head was bare, making Kayla wonder if the man even felt the cold.

  One finger at a time, Chantal removed her expensive kid gloves and then slapped them against her palm. She hadn’t changed a bit. Her dark hair still had a faint fan of gray against the temples, but her face appeared young enough that people might question whether she was old enough to be Gregory’s mother—until someone saw that her eyes were the same shade of emerald as her son’s. “Don’t play coy with me, my dear. He sent a telegram that told me he was here and that he’d finally located you. I have come all this way to try to talk him out of his ridiculous plan to go ahead and marry you.”

  Kayla’s first instinct was to blurt out that she was never going to marry Gregory, but until she could be sure she wasn’t in danger, she felt it best to play her cards close to her chest and say nothing. Instead, she folded her arms under her breasts and glared at them both.

  “I will never understand his fascination with you,” Chantal continued. “There are so many women of much better breeding and fortune. He could have his pick.”

  “She’s a witch,” Otto commented. “Must’ve cast some kind of spell over him.”

  “Hardly,” Chantal countered. “More likely, she simply used her feminine…favors to convince him that they should marry.”

  Kayla let out a derisive snort that made Chantal’s eyes narrow.

  Chantal slapped the gloves against her palm again. “Pray tell, Carolyn, why do you believe my Gregory is so enamored of you that he’d pay great expense to have detectives chasing you all across the continent?”

  “What do you want?” Kayla finally asked.

  “I want you out of my son’s life,” Chantal replied.

  “I left New York. I didn’t ask him to come here,” Kayla insisted before she fixed a hard glare at Otto. “You made it quite plain that you wanted me gone when you killed my father.”

  Chantal let out a gasp. “How dare you! You killed your father when you stole his money, and yet you make baseless accusations against my fiancé!”

  Jaw dropping, Kayla couldn’t believe what she’d heard. “You’re going to marry him?”

  “Although it is truly none of your business, yes, I am,” Chantal replied.

  “How can you even consider being his wife?” Kayla asked. “He’s a murderer!”

  Otto took another step closer. “Shut your mouth!”

  “I will not,” Kayla replied. “I was there. I saw what you did.” She shook a finger at Chantal. “I saw what both of you did. You were the one who told Otto to kill him.”

  “How dare you!” Chantal stomped her booted foot. “How dare you cast aspersions at your betters. You killed your own father, stole his money, and burned the house down behind you to hide your crimes. Yet you stand there, bolding accusing two innocent people.”

  “I was in the attic, and I could hear everything you said to him,” Kayla said. “Papa knew you were the one ruining us in society. Then you told him you burned the betrothal papers and that you’d do anything to make sure Gregory and I didn’t marry.”

  “Which is clearly what made you desperate,” Chantal explained as though speaking to a small child. “You weren’t going to be able to take my son’s fortune, so you stole your father’s.”

  Kayla shook her head, her anger growing, making her heart pound and her stomach lurch. “No! You were the one who killed him. You told Papa that you would protect Gregory at all costs. Then you left Otto to attack my father.”

  “Such nonsense,” Chantal said with a frown. “You simply wish to avoid the gallows.”

  “I have proof,” Kayla insisted.

  “Proof?” Chantal shook her head. “You are a liar.”

  Righteous anger in full flight, Kayla fisted her hands. “Otto beat my father before he shot him. Papa was able to grab one of his cufflinks. He gave it to me before he died.”
>
  “A cufflink? That’s your proof?” Otto snorted and shook his head.

  Chantal stared at Kayla for a few moments before she finally spoke. “What does the cufflink look like?”

  “Chantal, don’t be ridiculous,” Otto scolded. “The girl has nothing but a wild story that she’s trying to use to save herself.”

  “Hush, Otto,” Chantal said, her gaze still on Kayla. “I asked you to tell me what that cufflink looks like, Carolyn. Now.”

  At least the woman was listening. “It’s silver.”

  Otto let out a scoff. “That proves nothing!”

  “Be silent!” Chantal snapped.

  “It has a brown stone,” Kayla continued. “A very odd brown stone.”

  Otto butted in again. “Chantal… This is ridic—”

  Chantal interrupted him. “Does the stone look a bit like an eye looking at you?”

  “You know it does,” Kayla replied. “You were with Otto when he threatened Papa. You had to have seen it.”

  “I want to see it, Carolyn. Now.”

  “No.”

  “Please.”

  There was a thread of worry in Chantal’s plea, and doubt bloomed for the first time in Kayla’s heart. While she might remember what Chantal said that night, Kayla’s memory of was filled with gaps about what exactly Chantal had done. The woman had left before Otto went after her father, and now Kayla searched her memory for Chantal’s exact words.

  “This ends our association, Jamison. So I shall bid you a fare-thee-well.”

  Then Chantal had left. The angry words—the shouts and the threats—had all come after and from Otto. Chantal had merely informed Papa that she’d burned the betrothal papers and that she wouldn’t allow Gregory to marry his daughter.

  “May I please see it?” Chantal asked again.

  Kayla nodded. “Come with me. I’ll show you.”

  “Chantal, don’t so this,” Otto said in an angry voice.

  “Stay here, Otto,” Chantal ordered. “I will be back in a moment.”