The Stranger in Her Bed

by Janet Chapman

  What he was threatening just didn't ring true. If it was a simple matter of proving Samuel Fox had taken advantage of his father, Frank would have gone to court long before now. Maybe he was her ghost and had been looking for evidence to back up his claim. "Where have you been this past month, Frank? I haven't seen you around town."

  "In Boston," he said impatiently, just as the band started playing again. "I'm returning on Monday." He stood up and held out his hand. "Let's finish our dance while you think about my offer."

  Anna stood up without taking his hand. "Thank you, but the gentleman I've been waiting to speak with has just arrived." She leveled her gaze on him. "And I don't need to think about it, Mr. Coots. I have no desire to be part of a resort, and if I have to go to court, then I will."

  Anna walked across the gymnasium, taking the time to study the man stuffing a thick envelope in the donation jar. He might be considered handsome in an approachable sort of way. Just a tad taller than her, he had sandy blond hair, gold hazel eyes, and an easy smile.

  "Mr. Porter," she said when he turned from speaking to the woman soliciting donations. She held out her hand. "I'm Anna Segee. I was the foreman at Loon Cove Lumber up until this past Monday, and ever since Keith Blaine pointed you out to me in town last month, I've been meaning to visit your cutting and introduce myself."

  He seemed startled, but his easy smile quickly returned and he took her hand in his. "Anna Segee," he said slowly, his gaze traveling down her dress before rising to meet hers. "Either I'm the biggest idiot north of Boston, or I've been in a coma for the last five months." His eyes crinkled at the corners. "Did you say 'up until this past Monday'? Does this mean you're currently unemployed?" He slipped his arm through hers and started to escort her to a table, then noticed the sea of faces watching them and turned toward the entrance. "It's a lovely evening," he said. "Would you care to take a walk?"

  "Are you trying to ensure I don't get hired back at Loon Cove?" she asked with a laugh, stepping outside ahead of him.

  He tucked her arm through his again. "What do you mean?"

  "I'm well aware of the feud between you and the Knights. This little stroll could very well ruin my chances of getting my job back."

  "You approached me, Miss Segee," he reminded her as they headed down the walkway that led to the parking lot. "And my feud with the Knights is over. They've agreed to let me rebuild their road."

  "Please, call me Anna. And I doubt Alex Knight will ever consider the feud over."

  "Ah, so you've heard about my brief insanity, have you?" he said, bringing them to a halt. "And I'd rather call you Abby, Miss Fox."

  Anna went utterly still.

  "My father dated your mother for a short time, not long after you left for Quebec. You have Madeline's eyes." His smile was genuine. "Don't worry, your secret's safe with me. You wouldn't be going by Anna Segee if you wanted people to know."

  "Segee is my legal name. And Anna is what I've answered to since I was eleven." She inclined her head slightly, hugging her arms against a sudden chill. "But I appreciate your not saying anything. I'm not ashamed of my past; I just prefer to keep it there."

  He immediately took off his suit jacket and settled it over her shoulders, holding on to the lapels. "So tell me why you intended to come out to my cutting."

  Anna slipped her arms through the sleeves and folded the jacket around her, releasing his hold as she batted her eyelashes at him. "Why, to share my vast experience, of course, and help you figure out the difference between a sawlog and pulpwood," she drawled in her thickest Canadian accent.

  Clay burst out laughing. "And here I thought you liked those dirty loads, since you started selling the pulpwood to the paper mills." Then he offered, "Come work for me. I'll pay you double what the Knights were, and I'll give you free rein to build a sawmill on my land. And I promise not to fire you for saving a dog."

  "So you heard about that."

  "Are you kidding? Everyone in the county has heard about your driving an excavator into the Kent River and scooping up that pup without so much as putting a scratch on him. Come help me build a mill and teach me to run it."

  "I'm sorry, Clay, but I have my own mill to build."

  "You're not really going to try and restore Fox Run, are you? It's too far gone. Start from scratch, but on my land."

  "I'm opening a specialty lumber mill," she explained. "And that's not what you need. But I will buy any bird's-eye or tiger maple you come across while cutting, as well as cherry, clear oak, and white birch." She lifted an eyebrow. "Assuming you don't dirty my loads," she added, turning to walk toward the parking lot full of cars and trucks.

  From the sound of Clay's sigh as he fell into step beside her, she knew that though he was accepting her refusal for employment, he would continue asking. His companionable silence probably meant he was considering a different approach right now. Anna started walking between the rows of vehicles, studying each pickup she came to.

  "Are we looking for something in particular?" Clay asked as he strolled beside her. "Or just admiring the mud?"

  "I'm looking for birdshot dents," she explained, veering off to check the tailgate of a truck that was parked nose out.

  "Birdshot," Clay repeated when she returned.

  "Of the number four variety," she said, continuing on. "It would leave a noticeable dent, don't you think?"

  "From how far away?"

  She glanced over at him and smiled. "How far to notice the dent, or how far away was I standing when I pulled the trigger?"

  He stopped walking. "It's quite possible Ethan had reason to fire you. May I ask why you shot at a pickup?"

  "Because its occupants had been rifling through my buildings at night."

  "Okay," he said, continuing down the row of vehicles, moving away slightly to look at the trucks parked in the facing row. "Did you call John Tate?" he asked across the short distance.

  "Tell the sheriff I actually shot at someone?" She laughed softly. "That would have gone over well, I'm sure. So, why dirty your loads to Loon Cove Lumber if you've ended your old feud with the Knights?"

  Clay shrugged, his grin prominent in the lamplight. "Just a bit of tail tugging. The sneaky bastards bought Loon Cove right out from under my nose. I never saw it coming; I was too busy trying to pull together the financing." He stopped searching tailgates and looked at her. "So why did you seek me out tonight, Anna? My dirty loads to Loon Cove no longer matter since you don't work there anymore, and apparently you don't want a job from me."

  "Just curious," she said, walking around the end of a row and starting up a new one as he followed. "I've heard a lot about you, both good and… interesting, depending on who I was talking to. What do you remember about Pamela Sant's death, and Ethan's trial after?"

  Clay caught the sleeve of his jacket and stopped her again. "If I take you back inside and we dance, am I going to reignite my old feud?"

  "Probably."

  He chuckled. "I don't know if Ethan is lucky or brave."

  "Did he love Pamela Sant?"

  "My personal opinion? No," he said, shaking his head.

  "How come you sound so sure?"

  "My family got along quite well with the Knights before Alex's first wife robbed me of all common sense. And the Ethan I knew back then had a bit of a… Knight in shining armor personality." He smiled again. "You should know; he came charging to your rescue that summer, didn't he?"

  "We're talking about Pamela."

  "Pamela was in desperate need of a knight herself, and somehow Ethan fell into the role." Clay made a dismissing gesture with his hand. "Whether by choice or by Pamela's design, I don't know."

  "Who was he rescuing Pamela from?"

  "From herself, if you ask me. She seemed like a woman who couldn't have her hair cut without someone deciding for her how it should be styled. She was fragile, both in body and personality." He shrugged. "Maybe in a protective sort of way, Ethan did love her. Men need to be needed."

  "People
have said he changed after the accident."

  "It certainly hardened him. And left him cynical about women. Nobody but Ethan and Pamela knows what happened that night, and since Pamela can't tell, I doubt Ethan ever will. He didn't utter one word at his manslaughter trial. He just sat in court and stared at nothing." Clay eyed her speculatively. "Most of the women around here consider him dangerous."

  "Really? You don't think a little elbow grease could polish his tarnished armor?"

  He laughed, then looped her arm through his and started walking back toward the school. "I think Ethan's in really big trouble, but that it's going to take a lot more than polishing for him to realize exactly how much. Maybe if a forklift loaded with sawlogs ran over him," he said, "he might see the light."

  "I'd been leaning toward handcuffs myself," Anna said with a laugh, "but heavy machinery does have its appeal. I guess sometimes a girl's just got to forget subtlety and go for the big bang."

  Chapter Sixteen

  Is there a reason you're sitting here pounding back beers while Anna is outside with Clay Porter, wearing his jacket?" Paul asked as he pulled up a chair beside Ethan.

  "She's probably looking for work," Ethan said.

  "And this is only my third beer. The empties belong to our disillusioned game warden," he added, nodding toward the dance floor, where Daniel was soothing his battered libido in the arms of a petite and newly divorced woman.

  "Disillusioned about what?"

  "He took one look at Anna tonight and decided to quit his job and ask her out."

  "And?"

  "The line got too long for him. Did you see her when you came in? I mean really see her?"

  "I saw that her hair was up," Paul said, confused. "But she and Clay were walking between vehicles, so all I noticed was Clay's jacket and her hair. Why?"

  "Then I suggest you prepare yourself," Ethan said, looking toward the gym entrance. "And try not to let your chin hit the floor. You're a newlywed, remember?"

  Paul turned in his seat just as Anna and Clay walked inside. "Holy shit," he said when Anna slipped off Clay's jacket and handed it to him. Paul turned and glared at Ethan. "You let her come here looking like that?"

  Ethan lifted one foot to see his ankle. "I'm sorry, I seem to have misplaced the chain I keep attached to her." He looked his brother in the eye. "Oh, I forgot, you're the one with the ball and chain. Go dance with your wife." He gave Paul a brotherly shove. "This is your chance to show everyone how much in love the two of you are."

  Paul barely took a step before turning back to him. "You've got to get her out of here before she starts a brawl. The wives are going to kill your crew once they see what their husbands' ex-boss really looks like. The least you could do is dance with her a few times, so they'll realize Anna's not interested in their men."

  "Too late," Ethan said, glancing toward the dance floor. "Dad beat me to it." He pulled another beer from his cooler. "Don't you worry about Anna. She can have her fun this evening, but she'll be leaving with me."

  Paul walked away, shaking his head and muttering to himself. Ethan propped his feet on a chair and sipped his beer as he watched one man after another work up the nerve to ask Anna to dance. What was she up to? She wasn't the type to try to make him jealous, and she wasn't a woman who needed to flirt with every man in the room to feed her ego. She didn't even need to bat an eyelash— she simply had to put up her hair, slip into a tight little black dress, and walk through the door wearing three-inch heels.

  And she damn well knew it, too.

  She certainly appeared at ease, her smile genuine as she glided across the dance floor with partners ranging from fifteen to ninety years old. Anna seemed comfortable in most any setting, be it the middle of a busy mill yard, driving large equipment, chasing after intruders with a shotgun, or in bed. Which made him wonder: Just what would rattle Anna's cage?

  "I finally looked into that little matter you asked me to," John Tate said as he pulled up a chair and sat down. "And you were right, it is her."

  "I thought so," Ethan said. "I just wanted to be sure. You on duty tonight?"

  John glanced down at his sheriff's uniform. "If I tell you the truth, you'll realize how desperate I am."

  "Women are suckers for men in uniform? Is that your great appeal to the ladies, Tate? Then where's your gun? That would impress them even more than the uniform."

  "I'm carrying, but not my service revolver. I don't want to overwhelm them," he drawled, his gaze traveling to the dance floor. "Your girl is causing quite a stir tonight. She's really quite beautiful."

  "You'll have to join Daniel in line," Ethan said, "along with every other single male here. What about Anna's intruders? Have you been able to dig up anything?"

  John looked back at him. "Frank Coots has been in Boston this past month, though that doesn't mean he didn't hire a couple of guys to snoop around for him. As for the historical society, all the members are old enough to have worked at Fox Run when it was up and running, which means they're too old to be dodging birdshot."

  "And Samuel's death?"

  "I wasn't on duty the morning they found him, but I went over the entire report and everything pointed to it being an accident. The man was eighty-three, so any number of ailments could have sent him skidding into that ravine. The autopsy said he died of exposure within a couple of hours."

  "Don't you think it's an odd coincidence that the exact same thing happened to a young, healthy woman who is more than competent behind the wheel? I've been checking that spot ever since her accident, and I haven't found any signs of an active spring. So where'd the ice come from?"

  John shrugged. "I have no idea." He lowered his voice when several people sat down at a nearby table. "A person would have to haul in barrels of water to cover even a short section of that road." He rubbed his jaw in thought. "But it would be a perfect crime. There wasn't any mention of ice on the road in Samuel's report, though it could have melted in the two days it took to find him. That would mean we're talking about murder, and I can't imagine why anyone would want to kill an eighty-three-year-old man."

  "A multimillion-dollar resort isn't motive enough?"

  "And Anna's accident?"

  "Same reason," Ethan said. "She's no more willing to sell Fox Run than Samuel was."

  John shook his head again, as if he couldn't believe both accidents had been deliberate. "It's a stretch." He cocked his head. "I still say you should tell her what you think is going on. I'm not comfortable keeping her in the dark. She should be watching her back."

  "I'm watching her back," Ethan told him. "And I can't just come out and say I believe her grandfather was murdered without having something to back up my claim. That would devastate her."

  "She still hasn't told you who she really is?"

  Ethan shook his head. "If you were her, would you want everyone in town to know your mother is the Madeline Fox?"

  "I'm not talking about everyone, I'm talking about you." He leaned closer. "It doesn't bother you that the woman you're sleeping with isn't exactly being truthful?"

  Ethan shrugged. "She'll get around to telling me, just as soon as she realizes it doesn't matter."

  John leaned back in his chair, folded his arms over his chest, and studied Ethan. "You've fallen in love with her."

  "No."

  "And you're angry about it, and that's why you're sitting here going through a case of beer while your woman is dancing with every eligible man in town."

  "Those are Daniel's dead soldiers, not mine," he growled. "And I learned my lesson five years ago. I— "

  "Come dance with me, Uncle Ethan," Delaney said, running up to them. "And you next," she told John, her sparkling eyes reflecting the bright blue in her dress. She grabbed Ethan's hand and tugged him to his feet. "You have to save me from Billy Danes," she said in a whisper. "He ambushed me when we walked through the door, but I told him I had promised my first dance to you."

  "You want me to take Billy Danes outside and beat him up?" Ethan
asked in his serious voice, leading her onto the dance floor. "That is my job as your uncle, you know."

  Delaney gave him a devastatingly feminine smile that told Ethan young Billy Danes would be the least of his and Alex's worries in a few years. "If I thought a punch would discourage him, I'd have done it myself before now," she said, gracefully moving to his lead. "You had an awful lot of empty beer bottles on the table," she continued, giving him a look that Ethan had seen on his own mother more than once. "Are you upset that you don't have a date tonight?"

  "They're not all mine," he said with patient restraint, deciding he'd better make a trip to the recycle bin the moment he handed Delaney off to John. "And you've got no business punching boys. That's my job."