A Stranger's Wife

by Paige Phillips

  “Food-related? Similar to what you suggested in St. Maarten?”

  “Yes, but perhaps on a wider scale. I thought then I was asking Rhea to take time away from her more hedonistic pursuits.”

  “Jake, please don’t feel you owe me—”

  “I’ve built my entire organization on the premise that the only surefire way to success is to hire the best people for the job. I don’t make this offer based on anything other than your qualifications.”

  Meg silently wondered how she would handle dealing with Jake as an employer. As much as she needed and wanted the job, she knew she cared too much for this man to be near him and still contain her emotions.

  She said, “Let’s deal with the present before we talk about the future, shall we?”

  “If that position doesn’t interest you,” Jake said with elaborate nonchalance, “perhaps we could discuss another, more personal one?”

  There was no mistaking the meaning of his words. His tone, the way he was looking at her—both spelled danger.

  Needing to steer him out of those perilous waters, Meg spoke quickly, “You know that’s out of the question.”

  She heard him sigh. The fire crackled, and a coyote howled somewhere in the night.

  At length Jake said, “I feel I’ve been searching for you all my life.”

  Meg did not dare turn to look at him. She stared at the blazing logs and changed the subject. “My father—the man who adopted me—was a lawyer. He was in his fifties and didn’t really relate to me the way other fathers did to their children. Oh, it wasn’t a bad thing—he just treated me as if I were a not-too-bright miniature adult. His idea of a bedtime story was to tell me about obscure points of law or precedent-setting cases. He was particularly interested in the origins of our laws, in what we retained and what we ignored of English common law.”

  “He hoped you’d follow in his footsteps?”

  “I think he knew that wasn’t going to happen the first time my mother showed me how to make a souffté,” Meg answered. “But to get back to English common law, did you know that it prohibited a man from marrying his divorced wife’s sister?”

  “Interesting,” Jake commented. “And designed no doubt to encourage a man who fell in love with his sisterin-law to kill his wife instead?”

  “I hadn’t thought of that. I suppose I’m remembering this now to remind myself that you are married to my sister and therefore any relationship between us is forbidden.”

  “Unless I kill her?” Jake suggested lightly.

  “Please don’t joke about that. Perhaps I got it mixed up—and he isn’t supposed to marry his deceased wife’s sister. But in either case, the law recognized both the temptation and the consequences.”

  “Well, I don’t believe English common law applies in our divorce courts, so the subject of the impropriety of any relationship between you and me doesn’t arise.”

  “Doesn’t it?” Meg murmured.

  “My marriage to your twin is over, Meg. It was over before you came into my life. This latest horror she’s perpetrating merely tells me I waited too long to deal with the biggest mistake of my life.”

  “Jake, please don’t condemn Rhea before you know she’s guilty of anything more than allowing herself to be manipulated by Sloan.”

  “Don’t you be blinded by some misplaced sense of family loyalty. Sloan may be directing Rhea’s actions, but she is making choices. She knows she could have come to me for protection from him. When he was paroled, I begged her to cut all ties to him. She’s with him now because that’s where she wants to be.”

  Meg didn’t answer. Her lighthearted mood vanished and it seemed the surrounding forest sighed warnings of forbidden passion and lost love.

  Rising to her feet, Meg said, “All at once I’m very tired.”

  “You can take the bedroom, such as it is. I’ll put my sleeping bag on the floor in front of the stove.”

  They stood for an awkward moment, acutely aware of the whispering pines and the vastness of the sky, and, above all, of one another and the yearning they dare not express.

  Jake suddenly slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her to him—and kissed her with a hunger that took her breath away.

  She felt her knees buckle, and when he released her a moment later she was too stunned to speak, even if she had not been breathless and unsteady on her feet.

  Jake shrugged. “Sometimes it’s hell trying to be a gentleman.”

  Wordlessly, Meg walked into the cabin.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Guadalupe had reported that Chastain and his “wife” had gone away for a couple of days, but no one knew where. The maid was worried Jake planned to harm “Rhea,” which meant she’d bought the “concerned brother” story.

  Okay, so they had a couple of days to come up with a final, foolproof plan. While they were away, Rhea could resume being Mrs. Chastain and set it up.

  JAKE HAD NOT followed Meg into the cabin.

  She lay awake in the cocoon of her sleeping bag, listening to the murmur of a night breeze in the pines, thinking about the way he had kissed her. Unable to think of anything else.

  Her mind’s eye saw again his sweat-glistened torso, muscles rippling, as he effortlessly swung the axe to split the logs, and in her imagination she was nestled close to those firm pectorals, his arms around her, and he was kissing her again, hungrily, endlessly. She sighed. If only...if only he were not married to my twin.

  Eventually, she drifted off to sleep.

  In her dreams she floated languorously through a montage of sparkling waterfalls, verdant meadows and rustling forests. For a little while she felt utter serenity. Then all at once she saw the dark horizon looming ahead and she struggled to turn back. But it was too late, she was hurtling toward the darkness.

  Opening her eyes, Meg brought the spartan room slowly into focus. The dream faded as the wonderful aroma of coffee and frying bacon drifted into the cabin. She wriggled out of her sleeping bag and opened the window shutters. Fingers of sunshine were probing the trees, and nearby a bird sweetly sang his morning song.

  Meg was pulling a sweater over her head when she heard Jake answer a call on his cell phone.

  “Yes? What? Okay, send a man up there.”

  There was a pause. “No. Have Taylor handle all the other calls. I’m taking a day off”

  Shivering in the morning chill, Meg went outside and inhaled the brisk mountain air. Huxley, looking unkempt, puppyish and slightly giddy, bounded over to greet her. She patted his head and tickled his ears.

  Jake looked up from his position at the frying pan and said, “Morning, Meg. How do you like your eggs? I know you’re a nutritionist, but I don’t want to hear about cholesterol today.”

  Meg smiled, any residual tension from last night’s kiss and the disturbing ending to her dream forgotten. “Over easy. What can I do?”

  “Coffee’s ready. You can cut some bread. You want it fried?”

  “Why not? Let’s go for broke on the cholesterol.”

  “A woman after my own heart.”

  Meg washed her hands; the water was ice-cold. Then she poured coffee into two substantial-looking mugs and handed one to Jake.

  He said, “Just had a call from one of my security people. They haven’t located Sloan or Rhea, but our friend Rick was spotted back in their old haunts in San Francisco, so he’s flying up there. How did you sleep?”

  “Like a baby. How about you?”

  “Not bad...once I managed to fall asleep. I spent a long time last night thinking about my options.”

  Meg took a sip of her coffee before asking, “Did you reach any conclusions?”

  “Mainly, I reinforced a decision I made some time ago. I’m going to divorce Rhea. My attorneys drew up a prenuptial agreement, but I’ll give her anything she wants. She can have it all, if that’s what she’s after. I started from scratch before and I can do it again. Now, let’s eat before the food gets cold.”

  JAKE WATCHED MEG as
she and Huxley slid delightedly down a grassy bank toward a mountain stream. How she reveled in simple pleasures, how graceful she was even in rough-and-tumble play. And oh, God, how he wanted her! He had lain awake most of the night, acutely aware of her presence in the cabin, of their isolation, of his longing for her. But most of all, of an urgent need to protect her.

  Why had a perverse fate brought Rhea into his life first? In his mind the solution was simple: a quick, clean divorce giving Rhea whatever she wanted. But Meg had made it clear that she was bound by a code of honor she would never break, no matter how she felt about him, and whether or not he and Rhea ended their loveless marriage.

  Jake, who had always believed there was a solution to every problem, could not see any way he would ever be able to overcome Meg’s misguided sense of loyalty to her psychologically damaged sister. And unless he could do that, he knew he would never be able to persuade her that they were meant to be together.

  All he could do was cherish these fleeting moments they would be together, and make damn sure no harm ever came to her.

  HOW HAD THE HOURS slipped away so quickly? Meg wondered as the sun disappeared behind the mountain, and Jake set about building another campfire.

  What a perfect day it had been. Even better than the time they had spent together on St. Maarten, because now they could be honest with each other. No more pretending to be something she was not. Some of the guilt she felt about deceiving him dissipated—until she remembered poor Mike.

  Jake had tried to allay that guilt. “We still don’t know that Aragon’s death was in any way connected to you and Rhea. He was a licensed investigator and knew the risks his profession posed. He might have stumbled into something other than Rhea’s machinations.”

  “But after the fire, he knew we were involved in something more deadly than a harmless masquerade. He wanted to take me to the police then, but I persuaded him to wait until I told you what was going on.”

  “You didn’t put a gun to his head and stop him. He could have gone to the police himself. Stop blaming yourself, Meg.”

  Meg couldn’t think of a reasonable argument and so let the subject drop.

  They acted like two people in the early stages of an important love affair, eager to know everything about each other, amazed that out of all the millions of people on earth they had managed to come together. He told Meg of his early struggles, his failures and successes; she told him of hers.

  But in speaking of the past they avoided speculating about the future, and Meg knew in her heart there could never be a mutual one for them. If she had been a stranger, instead of his wife’s sister...if she had not come into his life under a cloud of deceit... These were powerful obstacles she could see no way of overcoming. Still, for a few hours, it was nice to pretend.

  They explored their surroundings, found a stream and skimmed pebbles, waded in the chilly water, threw sticks for Huxley, laughed at the Doberman’s sheer delight in running free.

  When the campfire flared to life Meg surveyed the dehydrated dinners and asked, “What would you like, beef Stroganoff or—”

  The cell phone intruded. Jake muttered an epithet. He flipped on the phone, listened, and then drew in his breath sharply. “Damn. Yes, stay with her. I’ll be there in about two hours.”

  He looked at Meg. “We’ll have to hit the road.” He began to douse the fire.

  “Have they found Rhea?” Meg asked.

  “No. But Jess decided she was bored on the island and missed Huxley too much. She’s on her way back home.”

  JAKE DROVE BACK to the coast in tight-lipped silence, and Meg knew he was worried about his mother.

  “Is Jessica en route, or has she already arrived?” Meg asked.

  “They’re probably arriving back at her house just about now. Dan O’Rourke, my local security chief, is with her, and so is Carmelita. Jess is probably safe there, but I wish she’d stayed on the island.”

  “We’ll soon have Huxley back with her, too. I’m sure he’s a good watchdog.”

  Jake looked dubious. Huxley laid his head on Meg’s shoulder and sighed, perhaps sensing the implied lack of confidence.

  “By the way,” Jake said, “Dan O’Rourke doesn’t know my wife is missing. I brought in a couple of people from my San Francisco operation to search for her. I figured the fewer people who know the whole story, the better, since we don’t know the identity of Rhea’s spy. Besides, I didn’t want Dan to slip up and let Jess know what’s going on.”

  It was dark when they reached Laguna Beach. They drove up the serpentine road to the top of the hill. The summit offered a view of twinkling lights strung around the bay like a necklace of precious gems. The Doberman sat up and barked excitedly as he recognized his surroundings.

  As they parked the Jeep, a shadow detached itself from the wooden deck. Jake called, “Hi, Dan! Everything okay?”

  “Yes, sir. I was just admiring the view.”

  Jake chuckled. “And no doubt escaping the women.”

  “Well...”

  Dan O‘Rourke was tall, lean, and looked as though he were fashioned from coiled sinew. He opened Meg’s door. “’Evening, Mrs. Chastain.”

  She was momentarily startled by the greeting, but managed to murmur, “’Evening, Dan.”

  “How’s my mother?” Jake asked as they climbed the wooden steps to the deck.

  “Getting a little annoyed about that cast on her arm because she can’t paint. And she’s not a good candidate for living on a small island. But otherwise, fine.”

  “Sounds about right. Look, Dan, I think you’d better stay here for a couple of days.”

  “Sure, no problem. There’s a maid’s room over the garage. I can see all approaches to the house from there, including the canyon to the rear.”

  Jake rang the doorbell, but Huxley’s shrill bark was louder.

  Carmelita opened the door. “...so we hope you won’t be mad at us, Mr. Jake, but the señora she misses her own place and you know she never did pick up any Spanish even though she had me there to do her talking, but you know how she is...”

  Meg followed Jake and Huxley into a large room that seemed to extend, by means of a wall of windows, to the deck beyond, giving an indoor/outdoor effect that was enhanced by wicker and bentwood furniture with bright chintz pillows, and a profusion of plants.

  The walls of the high-ceilinged room were covered with paintings: oils, watercolors—everything from pensive portraits and single sprays of delicate flowers to entire gardens rendered in exquisite color. Unframed canvasses were propped against the walls. An easel holding a half-finished seascape stood near the window, next to a paint-spattered table laden with artists’ paraphernalia. From the size and location of the room, Meg guessed Jessica had converted the living room into a studio.

  The artist herself reclined on a chaise longue, a book propped against her cast. Huxley skittered across the parquet floor and laid his head on her lap.

  Jessica’s nostrils clenched. “Good grief! What have you done to my dog? He smells like a raccoon, or some other feral beast.”

  Jake bent to kiss his mother. “He’s been in the woods and relished every minute of a short break from his usual routine. Now explain to me why you couldn’t do the same thing?”

  Ignoring the comment, Jessica looked at Meg. “Your wife is limping again. You surely didn’t drag her to the woods, too, did you?”

  Wondering if she should also kiss Jessica’s cheek, or if the gesture would be completely out of character for Rhea, Meg decided to keep her distance and trust the fussing Doberman to cover any lapse. She said, “We really did have a wonderful time. I’m sorry Huxley is a little ripe. I’d be happy to bathe him for you.”

  Meg realized her mistake when Jess and Carmelita stared at her in openmouthed astonishment.

  Jake chuckled. “Let’s not get carried away here, Rhea. Old Hux will be fine until he can go to the groomer tomorrow.”

  Jessica continued to stare at Meg for what seemed an inter
minable amount of time. At length she turned to Jake. “You are going to take your human watchdog home with you, aren’t you? I really don’t like him lurking. You can take your maid, too—she’s up in her room. Carmelita and I will be fine on our own.”

  “No, I think Dan and the maid will remain, Jess. We still haven’t found that disgruntled employee I told you about.”

  “That girl up there is useless,” Carmelita complained. “She just gets in my way.”

  Meg asked, “How is your sister, Carmelita?”

  “Hmph...that one! She just wanted me down there in Guadalajara to wait on her hand and foot. She weren’t that sick. Jessica needs me more, with her busted arm.”

  “Do you have everything you need here?” Jake asked.

  “Of course,” his mother answered. “Find your deranged employee quickly, Jake, so Carmelita and Huxley and I can call our souls our own again.”

  Jake and Meg took their leave. When they were again in the Jeep driving down the hill, Meg said, “I think your mother knows I’m not Rhea.”

  “She may suspect, but she can’t possibly know. Although, when you offered to bathe the Doberman, I thought she was going to ask you to rip off your face mask.”

  “I’m going to hate having to tell her I deceived her.”

  Jake sighed. “Me too.”

  They left the Coast Highway and drove through San Juan Capistrano, then turned off on the private road that led to the enclave of multimillion-dollar estates.

  The ornamental wrought-iron gates at Jake’s house were operated by a remote control, but although he pushed the button several times, nothing happened. He shrugged. “Battery in the remote must be dead.” He got out of the Jeep to open the gates.

  The long driveway curved twice and then formed a circle in front of the house. As the house came into view he braked sharply.

  “Something’s wrong.”

  Meg looked at the house. There was no glimmer of light anywhere. All of the windows were dark. The terrace lights were out; there was no light over the front doors; and the concealed lighting that usually illuminated the grounds and driveway was missing.