Fugitive Father

by Jean Barrett

  The twisting mountain road was dangerous. This was no place to lose her temper. She held her anger in check, refusing to answer him until a safe situation presented itself. She found what she was looking for within a half mile down the highway. Another scenic overlook. She pulled into it without hesitation, stopped the van, and swung around in her seat to vent her resentment.

  “Once and for all, I am not having an affair with Brett Buchanan. But if I was, it would be none of your damn business. And I’ll tell you something else. If you figured there was a way to get that address out of me, this isn’t it.”

  What was she going to do about him? He was as mercurial as a Missouri wind. Just when you thought you knew what to expect of it, when it was warm and friendly and made you long to embrace it, it suddenly turned cold and forbidding. Noah was like that. In another mood this afternoon, he had revealed the vulnerable facets of himself. Loving qualities. But he had closed up since then, leaving her nothing but this harshness. His face was rigid and cruel in the hard light of the vanishing sun.

  He wanted Joel’s address. And she couldn’t give it to him. She didn’t dare because, the truth was, she still didn’t trust him. Not when it came to Joel’s welfare. She had no right to endanger the child, even if she had fallen in love with his father.

  She feared that love. Feared that it might blind her to the reality of Noah Rhyder. Because nothing had changed. He was still a man on the run, and she had yet to be convinced he hadn’t murdered Howard Buchanan.

  “Oh, I’ll get it out of you all right,” he promised her, his voice laced with fierce determination. “I told you back in St. Louis that, before I was through with you, you’d tell me what I wanted to know. I meant it then, and I mean it now.”

  “How?” she challenged him recklessly. “Brute force?”

  “Maybe I’ve got a much better idea. I think I can buy that address.”

  “Oh, you don’t seriously think that I could be bribed into—”

  “Not my money, Ellie. Yours.”

  What on earth was he talking about?

  “Yeah, I think so. We’re gonna start spending, Ellie. We’re gonna take those credit cards of yours and wear them out. If putting you in debt is what it takes to make you give in, then I’ll do it. Starting now. Both of us can use a bath and a real bed. We’re stopping for the night. A nice place. An expensive place.”

  “I won’t sign the credit slips. Not this time.”

  “Wanna bet?” He produced the revolver from a deep pocket in his jacket, holding it up in the ruddy light to remind her of its existence. “Of course, I could be bluffing. Maybe I didn’t keep the bullets after I removed them. Maybe I didn’t reload this thing when you slipped out of the van to get rid of the wrappings from our carryout supper in that last town.”

  He popped open the swing-out cylinder, permitting her a glimpse of its loaded chambers before snapping it shut. “What do you know. I wasn’t bluffing. Shall we go now, Ellie, and look for that nice place to spend the night?”

  She didn’t argue with him, but not because she was afraid he would actually shoot her if she refused to obey him. The knowledge she had gained of him since St. Louis persuaded her he wouldn’t deliberately hurt her, however desperate he was to reach Joel. Of course, because he was such an enigma, she couldn’t be absolutely certain of this, but it wasn’t her reason for submitting to his will.

  The truth was, she was exhausted from long hours behind the wheel, two nights of inadequate sleep, and the tension of being on the run with a wanted man. She also longed for a hot shower and fresh clothes. It would be dark soon, and the thought of spending another night in the open without facilities was unbearable. Yes, taking a room somewhere was an appealing idea. Time enough in the morning for a serious showdown with Noah.

  Without another word, she put the van back on the winding highway. The lights of a village were winking down in the valley, where it was already dusk, as they descended the mountain. The place was called Sutter’s Gap. She had noticed the name the last time Noah had consulted the map.

  If only he knew how close Joel is now, she thought. She had looked at the map, and Sutter’s Gap was less than ten miles away from the town that was the mailing address for the estate Brett Buchanan had rented. Its proximity made her nervous.

  She was surprised that Noah wasn’t uneasy himself, though for a different reason. He was taking a chance putting them in a lodging for the night where they would encounter other people. Someone could get suspicious, even recognize him from photos that might have been circulated, though that wasn’t so likely this far from Missouri and with his altered appearance.

  She might have known he had every intention of minimizing the risk. He made her pass up the chain motel on the western edge of Sutter’s Gap, as well as the bed-andbreakfast prominently located in the center of the village. Not until they were a mile east of the community did he find what he wanted.

  There was a discreet sign mounted at the entrance of a wooded drive bordered by split-rail fences. The Mill Inn. Ellie knew the accommodations would be charming, private, and depressingly pricey.

  “Separate cottages available,” Noah read. “I think we’re in business, Ellie. Let’s go see if the Mill Inn likes your credit card.”

  The inn, a rambling stone structure with a terrace bar overlooking a picturesque millpond, was happy to accept her credit card. And, yes, one of the cottages was vacant for the night. They were given a key and directions. The tiny place was located under the trees several hundred yards away from the main lodge. The van could be parked out of sight. Noah was satisfied.

  When they reached the frame cottage and removed what they would need for the night from the van, he locked it and pocketed the keys. A flagged path carried them to the door of the cottage. This, too, he locked behind them.

  Noah went around turning on the lamps, checking the interior to be sure it was secure. The place consisted of a bed-sitting room and an adjoining bath. There was a stone fireplace and an enormous four-poster.

  “Cozy , huh, Ellie? Looks like maybe we got the honeymoon cabin. Shame to waste it just sleeping the night away.”

  He gazed meaningfully at the four-poster. It was the only bed in the cottage. She tried not to think about the necessity of sharing it with him. What he couldn’t achieve with the threat of the revolver, he was capable of trying to win in another way. She had already learned that on more than one occasion.

  “I’d like to take a shower,” she said as matter-of-factly as possible. “Alone, if you don’t mind.”

  He considered her request. “Guess that would be all right. There are no windows in there. But leave the door unlocked.”

  She took her things and fled into the bathroom before he decided to change his mind. Minutes later, she stood under a hot shower, lathering herself with the shampoo and fragrant soap provided by the inn. After a night spent in the back of the van and another in the hayloft of a barn, the shower was more than just a relief. It was pure luxury. Even the towels were wonderful, thick and soft and extra large. She refused to remember what these simple pleasures were costing her.

  The first thing she noticed when she emerged from the bathroom, wrapped in a terry-cloth robe, was the absence of the telephone. He had unplugged and removed it from the night table, concealing it somewhere in the cottage. That didn’t surprise her. What she didn’t expect was his intention to leave her alone in the bedroom while he took his own shower. She couldn’t believe it when he ducked into the bathroom and shut the door.

  She should have known he was only playing another game with her. Before she could consider the possibility of locating that missing telephone and using it, he snatched the door open again. There was a thoughtful expression on his face as he stood there in the opening.

  “Oh, gee, I was forgetting, wasn’t I? You still don’t trust me, which means I can’t trust you. I suppose I could make you come into the bathroom and sit on the seat while I take my shower. But with me occupied in the st
all, there’s nothing to keep you from sneaking out.” He leaned against the jamb and stroked his jaw, pretending to consider the problem. “Guess we don’t have a choice about it, Ellie. Guess you’ll have to come back under the shower with me.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “You must have forgotten what I told you back at that rest area in Illinois. You know, about us not being separated, including the two of us standing under the same spray. Remember?”

  “Suppose I refuse.”

  “Suppose I drag you in there.” He nodded slowly. “Like I say, no choice. Let’s go, Ellie.”

  She was tempted to call his bluff, except she feared it wasn’t a bluff and that if she resisted he would physically haul her into the shower. It seemed they were back to where they had started in St. Louis. No, not quite. This time as she obeyed him, slipping by him into the bathroom, her body burned with anticipation. An excitement she wanted to deny and couldn’t. How could he have made her feel like this in a brief span of two days?

  Mistaking the hot flush on her face for embarrassment, Noah took pity on her as he followed her into the bathroom. “If you want to be modest about this, Rembrandt, then wrap yourself in a towel. Won’t matter since you’ve already had your shower.”

  The room suddenly felt very small when he closed the door. It felt even smaller as he began to remove his clothes.

  “The same won’t work for me, though, will it?” he said. “Afraid I’m going to have to get down to the skin. Wanna help?”

  It wasn’t safe to answer him. She turned her back and reached for a towel. Opening her robe, she managed to tuck the towel around herself before she dropped the robe to the floor.

  “I’m ready, Ellie.” She didn’t dare to turn around. He laughed softly. “You planning on backing into the shower?”

  Clutching the towel to make certain it didn’t slip down her breasts, she turned in his direction. She kept her gaze lowered, looking at nothing but his bare feet.

  “Think we can both fit in there?” he asked, indicating the tiled shower stall. “Let’s find out. You first.”

  Scuttling into the stall, she squeezed into a corner, keeping her face turned to the wall. She felt like a fool. A helpless one. He joined her, and she heard the door click as he dragged it shut. A second later she felt the spray pelting her.

  Ellie tried to make herself as small as possible. It didn’t work. His naked body kept brushing against her as he twisted and turned under the stream of water. A jolt went through her every time his slick flesh came in contact with her.

  “Here, take it,” he said, catching her hand and pressing the bar of soap into it.

  “What—”

  “I need you to scrub my back. There’s always that one spot you can never comfortably reach.”

  She knew he was only playing with her again. She could have refused. But she didn’t want to refuse. Whatever her objections about the situation, she wanted to touch him.

  Her breath quickening, she turned away from the wall. The sight of his hard body, licked by water through the mist of steam, was riveting. He presented his back to her. She began to lather it, her hands caressing his taut, muscled flesh.

  He uttered a rumble of deep satisfaction. “I’ve just decided,” he said. “Having a shower partner is a damn good idea.”

  She didn’t resist when he turned slowly, offering more than his back. She found herself slowly, sensually stroking his hair-roughened chest Through the slashing waters, she was aware of his arousal.

  “Ellie,” he muttered thickly. “Ellie, I think maybe…”

  It was when he leaned toward her with his searching mouth, when his hands started to grope for the soaked towel plastered to her body, that she realized the serious mistake she was about to make. She couldn’t! She couldn’t let him make love to her, not when she felt about him the way she now did! She was a woman unable to separate the physical from the emotional, and if she allowed this to go any further she would destroy herself. Because there could be no tomorrows with this man, only the heartache of loss when he was gone from her life. Better to leave it here while the hurt was still bearable.

  Abruptly pulling away from him, she informed him in a hoarse voice, “I’m not going to be intimate with you.”

  Then, before he could stop her, she shoved the bar of soap at him and fled from the shower stall. He didn’t follow her. She snatched up her robe and left the bathroom. Back in the bedroom, she raked through her suitcase for something to wear.

  She had managed to slip into panties and a sleep shirt when he appeared in the bedroom. Her breathing was under control by then, but the sight of him made her light-headed.

  He’d slung a towel around his waist. The towel rode low on his hips, somehow emphasizing his masculine allure. His black hair was still wet and lay flat against his scalp. He stood there in the doorway, his face taut as he regarded her in silence. There was no humor in him now. He looked angry and dangerous.

  “I don’t give a damn whether you want to be intimate with me or not,” he finally informed her in a cold voice, “but don’t ever disappear again like that without asking. Because, naked or not, I’ll come after you, and you won’t like what happens when I catch you.”

  She said nothing. She was in no mood to verbally spar with him. Feeling weak in the legs, she sat down on the edge of a chair and avoided looking at him while he donned one of the sets of underwear acquired that morning.

  He was no less tempting in clean briefs and a T-shirt, but at least she could face him now. He was still brusque with her, and that helped.

  “You have any reason we shouldn’t make this an early night?”

  She shook her head.

  “Good.” He’d brought the familiar length of clothesline from the van. He dangled it in front of her. “I don’t suppose you’d like to promise me that this isn’t necessary anymore.”

  She didn’t answer him. She couldn’t.

  “No, I didn’t think so,” he said.

  He motioned her to the four-poster, turned out the lights except for a single lamp on one of the night tables, and joined her on the bed. She submitted without argument when he lashed their wrists together with the cord. Then, drawing the quilt over them, he stretched out on his back beside her and closed his eyes.

  Noah could feel her edging away from him as far as their bound wrists would permit. She doesn’t have to worry about it, he thought bitterly. He didn’t plan on trying anything. She had made it pretty clear under the shower that she didn’t want him touching her again. What was the matter with him? Why couldn’t he get it in his head that she wasn’t going to believe him or trust him? That it was only his imagination she’d maybe started to care for him as he’d come to care for her.

  It was his own fault. He’d gone and broken this morning’s promise to himself to stay away from her, and now he was paying the penalty. When was he going to realize that, however she made him feel, he couldn’t have her? Didn’t dare to let her know how much she’d already come to mean to him.

  If only she’d tell him where Joel was, he could end this misery before he lost his sanity along with all his broken dreams. He could learn to stop wanting her then. Had to stop wanting her.

  Meanwhile, it was killing him having her here beside him on the bed. He could feel the heat of her body next to his, could picture the way she had looked under the shower with her long, slender legs and that wet towel molded to her breasts. He fought the images, willing himself to go to sleep, willing himself to forget…

  ELLIE ONLY MEANT to convince him she was asleep when she settled down and closed her eyes. But she was so tired, both emotionally and physically, that her body betrayed her. Before she could prevent it, she drifted off.

  It was Noah, tugging at her wrist as he stirred in his sleep, who awakened her. She lifted her head from the pillow. The lamp on the night table was still burning. Its soft glow permitted her to see the antique cottage clock on the fireplace mantel. Almost eleven. Assuming, that is,
it kept correct time.

  It was late, anyway, but not too late for her purpose, providing she could manage it. There was a good chance that she’d be able to free herself since she now had two advantages unavailable to her the night in the van when he had last roped them together. This time she had watched him tie the complicated knots. Better still, she had light now to guide her.

  When she raised herself up a bit more in order to look directly down at him, it was just to make certain he was sound asleep. She didn’t count on the tenderness that instantly welled up inside her at the sight of that strong face. He had the most amazing bone structure, making his features all angles and planes. They were softened in sleep, and so attractively vulnerable that she had to quell a powerful urge to stroke them.

  She wanted to love him, not escape from him. She wanted to believe in his innocence, longed to, but she didn’t dare. Not with Joel’s welfare at risk. That was why she had to release herself. She needed to reach a phone. Brett Buchanan must be warned that Noah was here and intended to snatch his son. Must be prepared to prevent such an action.

  It was a cruel decision, but what other choice did she have? Noah was blind in his determination to have his son. Unable to realize he would be subjecting the child to the mean existence of a fugitive, forever on the run, never free of the fear of pursuit and discovery. Joel didn’t deserve that. He was too young, too helpless.

  Noah would never forgive her when she told him afterward what she’d done. She would bear the anguish of his bitterness for the rest of her days. Because she would have to tell him. He would have to know so that he had a chance to get away before the local police came for him. Right or wrong, she intended to give him that much.

  God help her, she couldn’t turn him in herself. Not now, not feeling about him as she did. Whatever his guilt, she couldn’t bring herself to do it. But she knew that Brett, as Joel’s legal guardian, wouldn’t hesitate to alert the nearest authorities the minute she ended their call.