Fugitive Father

by Jean Barrett

  A hand reached around from the hatch and switched off the TV.

  “What can I do ya, folks?”

  The mechanic had a drawl you could slice and a cheerful, freckled face. Leaning over the hatch, he wiped his greasestained hands on a rag as he waited to help them.

  Ellie was too stunned by what she’d heard on the newscast to offer him more than a glance. Her gaze fastened on Noah. His face was impassive. Whatever he felt about the report, or her reaction to it, he was careful not to let it show as he approached the hatch.

  “Got a problem with our van, Ray.”

  The exchange that followed barely registered with Ellie. Noah explained their predicament. The mechanic listened, made sympathetic sounds that involved his tongue against his teeth, and promised to take his tow truck and haul their van into town. Yes, he could work on it right away. No, it wasn’t necessary for them to accompany him. He had a helper out back who’d ride along. Breakfast? Well, sure, he could recommend a place just down the road here. The Sweetwater Café. Best grits in town. Time they ambled over there and ambled back he’d have the van here at the shop.

  Ellie, still shaken by the newscast, made no attempt to communicate with the mechanic. Her mind was in a turmoil, able to think of nothing but Noah’s innocence in the slaying of the young deputy. He had tried to tell her he wasn’t guilty, and she had refused to listen. Then if he hadn’t killed the deputy, was there a possibility—No, the murder of Howard Buchanan was an entirely separate issue. But the truth was, she no longer knew what to believe.

  Her uncertainty remained with her on their short walk to the café. No one in the place indicated a particular interest in them. If they had seen the newscast, they weren’t connecting the fugitive back in Missouri with the man and woman who strolled into their local café. She had hoped he would be identified somewhere on their journey But then why should he be recognized when he had altered his appearance and, until now anyway, had avoided all direct contact with people? Besides, though he might be major news back home, they were a long way now from St. Louis. Ellie was silent as they were seated at a corner table at the back. She knew she ought to be making an effort to escape Noah’s eternal vigilance, to contact the police. There were people here. Any one of them could help her. What was she waiting for?

  She eyed her companion after their orders had been taken. He had to be nervous about their presence in a public place. It involved all kinds of risk, including her threat to expose him. But if he was worried, he didn’t show it.

  “Don’t you have anything to say?” she asked him in an undertone.

  “Yeah, I should have ordered the waffles instead of the pancakes.”

  “You know I’m talking about the newscast.”

  He maintained his casual expression. “What’s to say?”

  “That you’re relieved you’ve been cleared of that deputy’s murder, for one thing.”

  “Okay, it matters. Now if you want to watch me get really ecstatic, it’ll take the state of Missouri vindicating me in the death of Howard Buchanan. But we know that’s not going to happen, don’t we?” He leaned toward her across the table. “How about you, Ellie? You ready to believe in my innocence? Ready to swear you won’t holler for the cops the minute I turn my back on you? Ready to share Joel’s address with me?”

  She could promise him none of those things, and both of them knew it.

  She was still struggling with doubt and indecision when they returned to the service station. Ray had the van in the stall and was about to investigate its problem. Noah permitted her to remove a fresh outfit from her luggage before the mechanic went under the hood, trusting her to change in the dingy rest room with its stained fixtures.

  Ellie felt less grubby once she’d washed up and put on clean slacks and a tunic top. By the time she emerged, Ray had located the trouble. She was afraid to hear it, knowing that Noah would never let her near another rest room when he learned about the sugar. Were there earthquakes in Tennessee?

  “It’s just what I figured it might be when you described the way she was behaving,” the mechanic reported. “You got an ignition problem.”

  Ellie stared at him in disbelief. Her knowledge of cars was practically nonexistent, but she understood enough to realize that sugar in a gas tank could have no connection with a faulty ignition system. Could it?

  “Are you sure?” she challenged the mechanic. “I mean, couldn’t it be the carburetor gummed up or, say, the fuel pump? Something like that.”

  “Not a chance. It’s ignition for sure.”

  Ironic. It had never been the sugar at all but something entirely unrelated. Her furtive effort had been a waste and a mistake, because the van would have quit without it. Now she had just gone and made another mistake. She had opened her mouth without thinking. She could feel Noah gazing at her suspiciously. It looked like that earthquake might occur after all.

  “So,” the mechanic asked, completely unaware of the sudden tension in his garage, “you want me to go ahead with the repair? Take a couple of hours.”

  “You do that, Ray,” Noah assured him. “And maybe we’ll take a little stroll around town while we wait for it. See the sights.”

  Before Ellie could object, he seized her by the hand and dragged her outside where they couldn’t be overhead. When they reached the area of the pumps, he dropped her hand and turned to confront her with a pair of stormy eyes.

  “All right, confession time. What did you do to the van?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Like hell. You’ve got guilt written all over your face in big fat letters.”

  He was right. She could still feel the flush on her face that must have betrayed her the moment Ray explained the problem.

  “We’re not moving from here until you tell me,” Noah warned her.

  Why not? she thought. What was he going to do to her? Lifting her chin in an attitude of defiance, she described in malicious detail her sneak attack on the van back in Ridley. When she was through, he smiled at her. It was not a pleasant smile.

  “Real resourceful of you, Ellie. But did you actually think that a few measly packets of sugar in a full tank of gas would stop an engine?”

  “If you’re such an expert, why didn’t you identify our problem to begin with? And since the sugar made no difference in the end, you don’t have a reason to be angry about it.”

  “Oh, yeah, I do, because you tried to sabotage my transportation. I ought to break your neck for that. No, I’ve got a better idea. Hey, Ray,” he shouted toward the raised door of the stall.

  The mechanic’s freckled face appeared in the opening. “You want some directions for that stroll?”

  “Just one. Is there any place in town where we can shop for clothes?”

  “There’s Danielle’s Boutique, which is a real hoot because everybody knows Danielle is Hazel Stoddard from over Iola way.”

  “It’s for me, Ray.”

  “In that case, try Better Buy Discount. Down the end of Main Street. Just follow the road.”

  The mechanic ducked back into the stall. Noah turned to her. “Time I had something to wear besides your ex-husband’s castoffs. Homer is gonna be real content with you, Ellie. Before we leave here, what with the repairs and some new outfits for me, that credit card of yours ought to get a real workout.”

  THE VAN WAS HAPPY, purring with new life as they regained the main highway and headed east again. Ellie’s companion was also satisfied, his temper soothed by a shopping bag stuffed with purchases from Better Buy Discount.

  She was the only one who was less than pleased. Noah’s new wardrobe had cost her more than she cared to remember. She did have to admit, however, as she cast a glance at him slouched in the passenger seat beside her, that his outfit was a definite improvement over the discarded jeans and sweatshirt he’d been wearing since St. Louis. His lithe body was clad in tan slacks and a lightweight jacket over a knit shirt.

  The clothes made him look r
espectable. Unfortunately, since they hugged him in all the right places, they also emphasized his lean masculinity. Ellie had trouble concentrating on the road.

  He had been quiet since they’d left Homer just before noon. She knew he had to be regretting the time they’d lost because of the breakdown, that he must be more anxious than ever to reach Joel. He was clear and relentless about his objective. That hadn’t changed. It was she who was no longer certain of anything in connection with Noah Rhyder. Her confusion about him, and, yes, her feelings toward him as well, had deepened since that newscast, promising her some difficult decisions. They would reach North Carolina before nightfall. What was going to happen when they arrived? And what was she going to do when it did happen?

  It was mid-afternoon, and they were nearing the mountains, when Noah startled her with a sudden, “Stop the car!”

  “What is it?”

  “Stop the damn car!” he insisted.

  There was a pull-off for a scenic overlook at the side of the road. She braked the van and coasted into it. When they were parked, she turned to him in alarm, waiting for him to give her an explanation. Without a word, he grabbed the keys to prevent her from taking off without him and scrambled out of the van. He never looked back as he headed for the low stone wall that framed the overlook.

  Bewildered, Ellie followed him. There was excitement on his face when she caught up with him at the wall. “Look!” he said.

  She followed his gaze. He was staring at a building perched alone on a knoll just across the narrow, wooded valley. The red brick structure had a domed roof and was fronted by a white-columned portico.

  “You scare me out of my wits and almost cause an accident just because of that?” she said. “It’s a house.”

  He was indignant. “It’s not just any house. Don’t you know what we’re looking at?”

  She glanced at him. He hadn’t taken his eyes off the structure. “Maybe it’s a little familiar. I suppose because it reminds me of a Greek temple. What do you want me to say? It’s very pretty, okay?”

  He snorted with disgust. “Just pretty, she says. How can anyone say just pretty about a genuine Thomas Jefferson? One of his original house designs was supposed to have been built right here in east Tennessee, and I bet anything this is it.”

  “How long have you had this love affair with Thomas Jefferson?” she asked him in wonder.

  “Since I discovered he was a lot more than just a statesman. That he could create perfection like that. Look how pure the lines are. Everything is in balance, everything works.”

  He had the same awe in his voice, as he rhapsodized about the house, that she had when she was passionate about a painting. She was seeing a new dimension in him, and her appreciation of it both pleased and worried her. It also made her curious.

  “What made you become an architect? Were you always interested in it?”

  He answered her without removing his gaze from the house. “I was a street kid, Ellie. I wasn’t interested in much of anything but a fast motorcycle and looking for trouble.”

  “And girls.”

  “Yeah, girls, too.” He smiled in memory. “I must have been eighteen, nineteen, and I was dating this hot redhead, a student at St. Louis University. She dragged me along with her on some assignment to the Gateway Arch. It was the last place I wanted to go.”

  “Let me guess. It ended up changing you forever.”

  “Something like that. I mean, I’d never been near the arch before, but suddenly here was this thing soaring into the sky over my head. It blew my mind. I kept going back there to visit the exhibits.”

  “With or without the redhead?”

  “Without. I wasn’t much fun by then. Too busy wanting to know who built this thing and why. That’s when I learned all about Eero Saarinen and how he designed the arch as a memorial to Thomas Jefferson. A tribute from one architect to another.”

  “If I remember,” Ellie gently corrected him, “the arch commemorates Jefferson not because he was an architect on the side but because he was the president who acquired the Louisiana Purchase, which made St. Louis the gateway to the west.”

  “Yeah, well, you look at history your way, and I’ll look at it mine. All I knew was that I wanted to build structures of my own. Not arches maybe, but buildings that were beautiful and useful.”

  “Is that when you put the motorcycle away in the garage?”

  “Hell, no. I needed it to take me back to school.”

  “It couldn’t have been easy.”

  “It wasn’t, but I didn’t let that stop me.”

  She could imagine what, as a troubled teenager from the streets, he’d had to overcome to become a qualified architect. It must have involved sacrifice and a long struggle.

  He turned his head to look at her, sensing the direction of her thoughts. “It isn’t what you give up along the way that hurts, Ellie. It’s what it costs you when you get there.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I didn’t want to be just an architect. I wanted to be a successful architect. You don’t get that without money.”

  The Buchanans. He was talking about marrying into the Buchanan wealth.

  “I told myself I loved Jennifer, and I did, but I wasn’t in love with her. I did a pretty good job, though, of fooling myself I wasn’t marrying her for the money and influence that came with her. It wasn’t until afterward that I looked at myself and saw the truth.” There was regret in his voice. “I think it was the same for her. I think she only wanted me because I was somebody she wasn’t supposed to want.”

  Ellie eyed him as he stood there staring pensively at the house. He’d shifted his weight from one leg to the other, leaving a hip stuck out at a negligent angle. With his hands hooked into his back pockets, he offered an unconsciously sexy pose.

  She could picture him looking like that in his youth, probably wearing black leather and maybe with his tough, rangy figure straddling a motorcycle. He would have been the image of every girl’s fantasy. The wild, dark-eyed rebel representing danger and excitement.

  Oh, yes, she could imagine how hard Jennifer Buchanan must have fallen for him and how much her father had opposed the match.

  “Marriages like that aren’t supposed to work,” he said. “Funny thing is, ours wasn’t bad. Maybe because I lived with what I’d done by being the best husband and father I could be.”

  “And there was Joel,” she pointed out

  “Yeah,” he said, his voice tender, “there was Joel. So it wasn’t bad, except when her father interfered. It might have been even better if Jennifer hadn’t gotten sick.”

  He was silent for another moment, and then he turned away from the wall with a resolute, “Let’s go.”

  Ellie followed him back to the van, wishing they had never stopped. Wishing she hadn’t just learned that this man had the poetry of architecture in him. Why did he have to make it so difficult for her? She wanted to go on thinking of him as a rough lout attractive to women only because he had a pair of predatory bedroom eyes. Instead, hour by insidious hour, Noah Rhyder revealed to her the layers of his character. Teaching her his sensitivity, his humor, and, worst of all, his irresistible sexiness.

  She was blinding herself to the truth. He couldn’t be any of those things. He had to be the merciless killer the law said he was.

  That was what she told herself when she climbed behind the wheel. That was what she needed to believe. But as they pulled away from the overlook, he looked again at the house on the knoll. There was longing in his expression and a little smile of loss on his mouth, and she sensed his unspoken certainty that he would never again have the chance to execute one of his own designs. It was the smile that tugged at her. As she gazed at him, she lost all her resolve, and her heart along with it.

  Oh, dear God, it couldn’t be true! She couldn’t be falling in love with him! But she feared it was already too late.

  Chapter Eight

  Ellie had been aware for some time now of the c
hange in her passenger. He was a stranger again, silent and with a brooding expression on his lean face. She guessed what that look conveyed. Understood the intensity in him that seemed to deepen with each passing mile.

  But she didn’t want to face what was coming. She avoided the inevitable by distracting herself with the scenery. It wasn’t difficult. They were deep in the mountains by now, and the views on all sides were breathtaking.

  Rank after rank of lushly forested billows stretched to the horizon. The soft haze that lingered on the summits had given these ancient ranges their names. The Great Smokies to the south, the Blue Ridge Mountains to the north Except they weren’t blue in this serene light. The sinking sun had tinted their flanks in shades of deep rose and delicate pink, leaving the troughs between the peaks in purple shadow.

  She knew that no artist’s brush could replicate such a spectacle. The result would be garish, a poor substitute for the original. Sunsets were better left to nature.

  “It’s no use, Ellie.”

  His voice biting into the silence jarred her, forcing her attention away from the mountains. She knew what he was talking about, but she didn’t answer him.

  “You going to make me say it?” he demanded. “All right, I’ll say it. We passed the state line five miles back. This is it, North Carolina. You can’t put it off any longer. Either you give me the address, or—”

  “What?”

  “It’s a big state. I don’t see us wandering up and down the highways until you decide to stop holding out on me.”

  “What makes you think I’m going to tell you now what I wouldn’t tell you in St. Louis?”

  “Still protecting your friend Buchanan? Or is he much more than a friend? Are you sleeping with him, Ellie?”