He had nothing better to do.
There was no sign of Keith Hutton outside the house. Reid wasn't surprised. Neither Cammie's husband nor his Land Rover had been in sight when he'd gone back out in the rain to get Cammie's wallet and the pistol.
He had not told her that, of course. He should have, certainly would have, if he had known it was going to matter. He had been certain that nothing could persuade him to act against his better judgment, but hadn't been prepared for a frontal assault.
He wasn't proud of his surrender, no matter the reasons for it. But neither did he feel regret.
Less than a half hour after he had reached the Fort, Reid was ghosting through the wet woods, covering the few miles that separated the old log house from the Greenley place. The woods dripped and the creeks and branches he crossed were high with runoff from the rain, but he made good time. He should. He knew every hill and gully, tall pine and fallen oak along the way, had since he was ten and first began to notice Camilla Greenley.
It had been a sappy thing to do, sneaking around the back way to lie hidden in the woods, watching her house and hoping for a glimpse of her. Nine long years he had kept vigil, nine years in which she never noticed he was alive.
Once, he had seen her at her bedroom window dressed in frilly shorty pajamas. He had lived on the memory for weeks. Hopeless. But even now, recalling it had the power to make him smile.
A lot could be overlooked in a boy with a crush on the prettiest girl in school. Judgment would not be that lenient toward a grown man. He would have to be careful.
He would be, not that he cared. The only person who had any right to question his motives was Cammie, and she, of all people, would never know.
So involving were his thoughts that he came upon the house almost before he was aware of it. It was still and insubstantial in the gloom that was just turning from black to dark gray. He could see the glow of the security light on the other side of the house, but the windows were dark.
His gaze rested on the rectangles of black glass where the spare bedroom was located. He thought of Cammie lying where he had left her, in soft, warm nakedness, and the ache that he carried inside throbbed into insistent life. He suppressed it as he had earlier, turning it off as ruthlessly as he had turned off nearly every other soft emotion in the past twelve years and more.
How would she feel when she woke to find him gone? She might be angry, might feel betrayed. Or she could be relieved. It was entirely possible she could be glad. He wondered if he would ever know. It seemed suddenly intolerable that he might not.
There was a dark shape moving in the deeper black at the base of the house. Reid watched it with his senses tingling. There was nothing natural about the movement; it was no trick of the light, no tree shadow moving in the wind or shrub shaken by the flight of a bird.
The dark figure was a man. He was trying windows.
A soundless grunt vibrated in Reid's chest. His gut feeling had been right.
He eased from the tree line, ghosting in a wide, intercepting circle. As he moved in soundless pursuit, he felt a surge of rage that Keith would try to break into her house. What right had he to go near her?
The right of a husband, for a week or so more. That was an uncomfortable thought, uncomfortable and inescapable.
Frowning, Reid moved with dogged purpose. At the same time, he was puzzled. He had been so certain Keith had left early, just after the kiss on the porch; he could have sworn he'd heard the Land Rover as it revved away. One of the reasons he had left the house while Cammie slept was to be certain. Why, then, was Keith skulking like a burglar, trying to get at Cammie again? Was he that upset over Cammie taking up with another man?
There was something more going on here than the attention of a repentant husband. Reid meant to find out exactly what it was. To do that, he needed to catch Keith, not just scare him off.
The man disappeared around the corner of the house, heading toward the back door. Reid sprinted forward.
Inside the house there was a sweep of pale light, then darkness again. It appeared that Cammie had been roused by the fumbling sound of the attempted break-in, that she had found a flashlight. Reid braced himself for an outcry, even a scream.
The solid report of a magnum pistol ripped into the night. The sound crackled, traveling, echoing back from the woods.
The man let out a curse of surprise. It was followed by the thud of heavy footfalls.
Reid rounded the house. He came to a jarring halt as he saw Cammie on the back porch with a long housecoat of clinging white pulled around her. The shape of the magnum pistol was clear against the pale cloth.
Admiration and rage in equal parts rose up inside him. She had protected herself without his help, but to do it she had left the security of the house, exposing herself to danger. She'd chased off her prowler, but had also prevented him from catching the man.
He might, with an extra effort, still chase down whoever had been sneaking around the house. To do it, he would have to pass through the trees and shrubs directly in front of Cammie. It was a risk he couldn't afford.
A moment later the chance was gone. Somewhere down on the highway a car roared into life and squealed away.
The vehicle did not sound like a Land Rover. Reid stood with a scowl between his brows, wondering if he was losing his mind or if the early morning mist left by the rain had done strange things to sounds.
Cammie turned and went back into the house. The kitchen light came on. Reid circled until he could see through the kitchen window. She was moving between the cabinets and the sink; he could just see her head and the tops of her shoulders. Once, she stopped and put her hand to her temple, rubbing it before she pushed her fingers through her hair to comb it back away from her face.
Her face was pale and there were shadows under her eyes. Her lips were deep rose and a little swollen. She looked tousled and rumpled and heavy-lidded, as if she had had a hard night.
“Sorry,” Reid whispered. And stood perfectly still while he quelled the aching need to break into the house, to take her in his arms and soothe her soreness. Or add to it.
She had never been more beautiful.
The smell of brewing coffee seeped out into the fresh, early morning air. There was the faintest sheen of dawn beyond the trees. In just a little while it would be light enough to see, and to be seen. Cammie would be all right, she had to be.
It was time he was going. Time and more.
Cammie was breathless and in no welcoming mood as she opened the back door. Persephone was out in the laundry, where it was impossible to hear a knock. Cammie had been packing for her trip to New Orleans, trying to get ready to leave in the next hour. She had been forced to run downstairs as the quick rapping sounded for the third time.
The young woman who stood on the porch was tall and rangy, with a rather plain face that might have been improved considerably if she'd bothered with makeup. Her blond hair was fine and straight, and worn with a center part in a look popular during the seventies. Her jeans were faded almost to white and ragged at the cuffs, and with them she wore a man's chambray work shirt with the tail hanging out. She was noticeably pregnant.
Cammie had seen the girl before only from a distance, but still recognized Keith's girlfriend without difficulty. Her voice rising in surprise, she said, “Yes?”
The girl's pale lips stretched in a nervous smile. “You're Cammie — Mrs. Hutton, aren't you? Keith always said you were gorgeous. I'm Evie Prentice.”
The compliment and the smile were disarming, and perhaps meant to be. “I know who you are.”
“I don't mean to make trouble,” the girl went on quickly. “It's just that — well, there are things going on I don't understand, and I thought from the way Keith talks about you that you wouldn't mind if I asked a question or two.”
“I'm surprised he mentioned me.”
Evie Prentice shrugged. “Well, there's just so much time you can spend making out, isn't there? And I'm good at list
ening. I think maybe that's what men like about me.”
Cammie thought they might also go for her utter simplicity and her long-legged figure, which in better times must bear a strong resemblance to Wonder Woman. She refrained from saying so, however. Being unkind to this girl would be like running over a deer in foal on the highway. She stepped back. “I expect you had better come inside.”
Cammie led the way into the kitchen, indicating a chair at the worktable. She offered coffee, but Evie declined it, asking for water instead. Cammie set it in front of her and took the chair opposite. The girl picked up the glass and sat it in her hands. When she looked up at last, her pale blue eyes held a look near desperation.
“You don't want Keith, do you?” she said, her voice tight. “I mean, you're not trying to get him back?”
Cammie was not sure what she had expected, but it wasn't this head-on approach. She said, “Not so you'd notice.”
“I knew it, I knew he was telling a story.” The girl let her breath out in a rush. “I told him you wouldn't do that because you've got too much pride.”
“I would hope so,” Cammie answered quietly, tilting her head to one side.
“But I had to find out, don't you see? I had to be sure so I could figure out what he's up to with his talk about getting married and all one day, then claiming the next that he's got to go back to you. I lit into him about that, and finally he said it was because he felt sorry for you. You missed him so much, he claimed, you were about to die. I didn't believe him because I heard him talking to you on the phone, and it sounded like he was the one begging you to be his wife again. I told him that, and he cussed at me.”
“He tends to get a bit touchy when you catch him in things,” Cammie said dryly.
A troubled smile came and went across Evie's face. “I still don't understand what got into him, though. I mean, I want him to be happy, and if he was tired of me, I think I could take it, but that's not it. Still, here he is, aggravating you at all hours. It makes no sense.”
“I have to agree with you there.”
“I tried to tell him all he was doing was making things worse. He said I didn't know what I was talking about, but that's not so. There was a man I got mixed up with a while back, a fine, upstanding pillar of the community type. When I broke it off, he near drove me crazy trying to make me come back to him. The more he pestered me, the madder I got, till finally I threatened to call his wife.”
“And that stopped him?” Cammie said curiously.
“It sure slowed him down.”
It was odd to sit there discussing the situation with this girl, and also to have such a sense of kinship with her. With a wry grimace Cammie said, “Too bad that won't work for me.”
“Yeah,” Evie agreed. “I don't suppose you could come right out and tell Keith to quit acting the fool?”
“I've tried that.”
“Figures. What is it with him? You think maybe he's being plain contrary because you didn't fall apart when he left? Some men really can't stand it when they see you can get along without them.”
“Could be,” Cammie said doubtfully, “though I would hate to think he would go to so much trouble for such a pitiful reason.”
“Right,” Evie said with a sigh. “So would I.”
Any answer Cammie might have made was lost as a strident clanging jarred through the house. The sound was the antique twist-type doorbell at the front door.
“You got company,” Evie said, her eyes wide as she pushed back her chair and got awkwardly to her feet. “I'd better be going.”
“There's no need, really.” Cammie rose but remained where she was, since she saw Persephone pass in the hall on her way to get the door.
“It might be Keith, and I'd rather he didn't find out I've been talking to you.”
“I suspect it's just my uncle; he's the only person I know who comes to the front,” Cammie said, then went on at Evie's look of inquiry. “The Reverend Jack Taggart. It doesn't suit his dignity as a man of the cloth to use the back door like everybody else.”
Evie edged toward the hall. “Then I'll only be in the way. I'll slip out the back—”
It was too late. A ponderous tread sounded, then the large form of Cammie's uncle filled the kitchen doorway. His smile was unctuous and his greeting for Cammie familiar and hearty before he looked toward the other young woman.
“Evie,” Cammie began automatically, “this is—”
“No need for that,” the reverend said, moving forward with his hand outstretched. “I thought that was your car I saw in the drive out there, Evie. We've been missing you in church, especially in the choir.”
“Yes, well, I've been a little busy,” the young woman said, an acutely uncomfortable expression on her face.
“That's no excuse, you know.” The reverend's gaze slid over Evie's figure, pausing on her waistline before he released her and stepped back. “We'd like to see you again.”
“Sometime, maybe,” the other girl said. “Now I've got to run.” Swinging so quickly that her pale hair swirled around her, she headed for the door. The reverend was forced to step aside to prevent a collision.
Cammie slipped past her uncle, following Evie as far as the back porch. “I wish I could have been more helpful,” she said quietly.
“Never mind,” the other girl replied in compressed tones. “I shouldn't have come. I knew it was a mistake, but I thought — well, anyway, I'm sorry I bothered you.”
“Don't worry about it, please.” Cammie paused, went on. “I hope things work out for you.”
“I appreciate that. Really.”
The other girl held her gaze an instant, then turned and walked quickly down the steps. Cammie watched her until she reached the beat-up Honda on the drive. There was a frown between Cammie's brows when she turned back inside the house.
Her uncle stood waiting for her in the kitchen with his hands on his hips. His voice was heavy with censure as he said, “What in the name of Heaven was that girl doing here?”
Cammie felt the familiar rise of irritation. His interference in her life since the death of her parents, well-meaning as it might be, was becoming increasingly hard to take. Walking past him to the coffeepot left on the warmer, she poured a cup and pushed it toward him along with the cream and sugar. She said over her shoulder, “Evie wanted to talk about Keith, that's all.”
“Why? To find out his favorite recipes or how he likes his shirts ironed?” Her uncle took his coffee to the kitchen table, then remained standing, pointedly, until she pushed away from the cabinet and seated herself.
Watching him settle into his chair, Cammie knew it was unlikely that he would budge from it until he had the full story. She told it as simply as possible.
Her uncle pursed his full lips. “That's all very well, but I don't think you should encourage this girl to hang around you. It doesn't look right.”
His attitude was typical; he was a self-righteous man. Straying sheep returning to the fold of the Church were one thing, but in the home they were something else again. “I doubt Evie wants to be my bosom buddy,” she said, then added before he could say anything to irritate her further, “Anyway, tell me what brings a preacher out so early?”
Her uncle's fleshy face tightened. “Really, Camilla, you know I prefer the title of Reverend. “
“Sorry,” she said, but she wasn't. The slip had been accidental, but she thought he might be a better man if his self-importance were punctured a little more often.
“Actually,” he said with deliberation, “your aunt sent me. She was concerned over some tale she got at the grocery store.”
“Was she? Why didn't Aunt Sara come herself?”
“You know how teary she gets when she's upset. Besides, she claims it isn't our place to stick our noses into your business. I told her that was nonsense, that we are your closest kin. Who better to look after you now that Keith is — that is, now that you're alone.”
Cammie felt her temper rise another notch as she
began to see what was on her uncle's mind. With an effort, she kept her voice even as she said, “Aunt Sara was right. There's no need for you to bother with my problems.”
“Not bother? It's nothing less than our duty to check on you, especially when there were shots fired from this house at three o'clock in the morning.”
“That was because of this little problem with Keith I was telling you about. He can't seem to get it into his head that this isn't his home anymore.”
“So you shot at him?” The disapproval was plain in his voice.
“It seemed the thing to do at the time.”
“You could have talked to him, tried to work things out.” Her uncle's rooster comb of white hair above his domed forehead shone silver in the morning light as he dipped his head to drink the lukewarm brew in his cup.
“I don't want to work things out,” she said in grim tones.
“Marriage, you know, Camilla, is a sacred institution sanctioned by God, not just a contract to be broken. You should search your heart and seek the forgiveness that will let you return to your rightful place as a wife.”
“Thank you for your concern,” she said, “but I don't need forgiveness. And I've discovered that I prefer being single to having a husband who doesn't know the meaning of the word faithful, much less 'sacred.'“
He was not immune to sarcasm. There was a flush on his face and his prominent gray eyes flashed as he said, “You dare mock me, after running around all over town half dressed? After spending the night with Reid Sayers?”
“I don't think—” she began.
The Reverend Taggart overrode her defense with the booming voice he usually reserved for sermons. “No, apparently you don't think! The man's vehicle was sitting in your driveway until all hours, Camilla, for all to see. You had better take care, or you'll find yourself in deep trouble. Sayers is not to be trusted. You wouldn't believe the things that have been going around about him.”
“I'm sure you would, and you're going to tell me all about them.”
“Given your lack of sense, not to mention repentance, I feel it's my duty. Sayers is dangerous, a psychotic personality. He was trained to kill in the Special Forces; I was in the service myself, so I know what that's like. He's taken the lives of any number of men and half killed a woman out West somewhere. He's been over there in the Middle East, up to his neck in that mess with the Israelis and who knows what else. Now he's holed up out in the game reserve in that old house with no friends, no visitors.”
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