by Janet Dailey
“Don’t even think about it.”
He made a move to go around the bed. The nurse blocked his way. “One more step, buster, and I’m calling security.”
Brent deflated with a hiss of breath. “You haven’t heard the end of this, Ellie,” he muttered.
“Fine,” Ellie said. “Do your worst. Now go. I have nothing more to say to you.”
With a last, venomous look, he turned and stalked out the door.
The nurse touched her shoulder. “Hang on, honey. I want to make sure that jackass really leaves. For what it’s worth, if you need me in court, I heard every word.”
As the woman walked out of the room, Ellie pressed her hands to her face. She was shaking, scarcely able to believe what she’d just done. In the years of her marriage, Brent had stripped away her self-confidence. She’d taken his cheating and abuse, blaming herself and knowing that to stand up to him would only make things worse. Now, with her baby to protect, she’d become a tigress.
But something else had lent her courage. Her beloved little dog, all four fighting pounds of him, had remembered what Brent had done in the past and sprung to protect her—and Brent had almost killed him. Tears flooded her eyes at the thought of Beau’s devotion.
Was he hurt? Was he hiding somewhere in the hospital, scared and in pain? All she could do was wait and pray he was safe, and that Gracie and Jubal would find him.
* * *
After twenty minutes of searching, there was still no sign of Beau. Jubal and Gracie had searched the length of the maternity wing, peeking in the rooms, apologetically, to check the floors and closets. They’d checked the supply rooms, the restrooms, even the laundry collection bins. Nothing. If they didn’t find Beau soon, they would have to search the other wings. Maybe the hospital would send out an alert on the P.A. system.
“He’s got to be hiding somewhere,” Gracie said. “He was really scared, maybe hurt, too. Why do you think he attacked that awful man?”
“He was protecting Ellie,” Jubal said. That was the only explanation. Dogs had long memories. If Brent had hurt Ellie in the past, Beau would remember and see him as a threat. Strange, Ellie had mentioned that Brent cheated on her, but she’d never told him she’d been physically abused. Maybe she’d been in denial, or too ashamed to be open about it.
Jubal’s own protective instincts flared. So help him, if Brent ever came near Ellie or her baby again, he would beat the man within an inch of his life.
“Dad.” Gracie tugged at his sleeve. “I’ve got an idea. I know where Beau might go to feel safe.”
“Okay. Where?”
“What’s Beau’s favorite thing—besides Ellie?”
“I don’t know . . . maybe trees?”
“I bet that’s where he’d hide if he was scared—under the tree! Come on!” Gracie took off ahead of him, racing down the corridor toward the lobby. Jubal had warned her against running in the hospital, but he couldn’t fault her now.
When he caught up with his daughter, she was belly-down on the polished floor, sliding under the Christmas tree. With the prickly branches almost touching the floor, it had to be tough going, but Gracie was a small package of determination. He heard her voice, gently coaxing, heard an answering whimper.
“I’ve got him, Dad,” she said. “Pull us out.”
Bystanders passing through the lobby stopped to watch as he seized her boots and pulled her gently backward. Pine needles clung to Gracie’s hair and clothes as she slid out from under the tree with Beau clutched in her hands. As Jubal helped his daughter to her feet, the watchers cheered and moved on.
The tiny dog was wide-eyed and shaking. Dry needles and bits of pine gum clung to his coat. But he appeared to be more scared than hurt. Gracie cuddled him close, murmuring little comforts and kissing his head.
From where he stood, Jubal could see through the glass doors to the curb. He hadn’t seen Brent leave, but the black Town Car was gone. Dare he hope it was gone for good?
As he and Gracie walked back down the long hallway, Jubal recalled the things he’d wanted to say to Ellie. He’d already waited too long. Today he would say all of them, and more, with Gracie as his witness.
I love you, Ellie. His thoughts formed the words. I want to be there always for you and your son. I want to make a family with you, Gracie, the baby—and yes, even your fool dog. I want to be your husband and your son’s father. And if Brent tries to interfere, I want to be there to fight him for you.
If you’ll have me, I can’t promise that our lives will be easy. But I promise to give you all the time and space you need. I’ll never try to change you or force you into someone else’s idea of what a wife should be, because I respect and love who you are, as you are.
We’ll have plenty of things to talk over—but I’m offering you a start. Which way we go from here is up to you.
It was a lot to say. She’d probably get tired of listening before he was through. But he meant every word, and she needed to hear it.
He could only hope that, after she’d heard everything, Ellie would say yes.
* * *
In an agony of waiting, Ellie watched the second hand creep around the face of the clock. Almost twenty minutes had passed since Jubal had gone after Gracie and Beau. What if her precious dog had gotten lost, or been picked up and taken by some passerby? Or what if something else had gone wrong—an accident, or an ugly altercation with Brent?
The baby was awake and fussing—not hungry, just wanting to be held. Ellie could already tell the difference. Shifting to the side of the bed, she lifted him out of the bassinet. As she gathered him close, he stopped fussing and lay in her arms, warm and contented. Holding him, watching the expressions come and go on his tiny rosebud face, Ellie was filled with wonder. As she imagined watching him grow, learning to walk and talk, becoming a boy, then a man, one thing became sure.
She wanted to raise him with Jubal, in a loving home with Gracie as his big sister, and more little ones, fathered by the man she loved.
But did Jubal want her? What if he’d grown tired of the ongoing drama that swirled around her? What if he’d taken Beau back to the house and decided not to return?
But no, she had to believe he’d come back. When he did, she wouldn’t let him leave until she’d told him all the things she’d waited far too long to say.
I love you, Jubal. I’ve always loved you. And if you’ll have me, I want us to be a family—you, me, Gracie, and our son. You’re the only father I want for him, the only man I want to share my life with....
She heard the sound of footsteps in the hall. Gracie burst into the room with Beau in her arms. Ellie’s heart soared as Jubal walked in behind her and she saw the smile on his face.
At the sight of Ellie, Beau broke into joyous yips and wiggles, struggling to get free and go to her. His fluffy white coat was smudged with dust, pine needles, and bits of pine gum, but no matter. Laughing, Ellie passed the baby to Jubal and held out her hands for her brave little dog. He leaped into her arms, wagging, whimpering, and smothering her face with doggy kisses.
When he’d calmed down, Ellie handed her dog back to Gracie and cleaned up with a moist wipe before she took her son back. Cuddling her baby close, she smiled up at Jubal. “I have something to say to you,” she said, “something I should have said a long time ago.”
“And I have something to say to you,” Jubal said. “So who wants to go first?”
“Me!” Gracie grinned, bouncing in her boots. “I want to go first!”
“All right.” Jubal gave her a puzzled smile. “Go ahead, Gracie. What do you want to say?”
“Just this.” She took a deep breath. “I know what I want for Christmas. I want you two to get married.”
There was a moment of silence. Then Ellie burst out laughing. “That says it for me,” she said.
“And me,” Jubal added.
They all hugged. Then Jubal took the little velvet box out of his pocket, took out the ring he’d offered Ellie ten ye
ars ago, and slipped it on her finger. “I’ll get you a bigger diamond later, I promise,” he said.
Ellie shook her head. “No, this one is perfect. I’ll wear it forever.”
He bent and kissed her.
Christmas had come a few days early this year.
Epilogue
Christmas, one year later
One-year-old Matthew, named for Ellie’s father, was toddling toward the Christmas tree again. “Grab him, Jubal!” Ellie called from the kitchen, where she was helping Gracie make salad. “We’re busy in here.”
Jubal rose from the couch, scooped up the mischievous little boy, and lifted him onto his shoulders. “I can’t believe the kid’s only been walking a couple of weeks. He’s turned into a two-legged tornado!”
Matthew shrieked with laughter as Jubal jogged him around the room. Ellie blinked away a sentimental tear. Jubal was the best father her little boy could have—and soon Jubal would be his father for real. After much legal pressure, Brent had finally signed away parental rights, giving permission for Matthew to be adopted. The process would take place over the next few months.
The past year had flown by, bringing a world of changes. Jubal had secured a business loan from a bank in Cottonwood Springs. The money had allowed him to update the ranch equipment, buy a prize-winning bull and a dozen good heifers, and replant some of the pastures. Come spring, the first phase of his new organic, grass-fed beef operation would be under way.
Meanwhile, Ellie’s commission on Merle’s booming Internet business was helping bridge the financial gaps. Merle was doing so well that she’d hired two assistants to help manage the orders. Ellie worked mostly from home, keeping the site updated and taking care of her family.
Money had been tight at times. But Ellie had managed to make some improvements in the house—new living room furniture, fresh paint in most of the rooms, and Gracie’s framed artwork on the walls. Laura’s photo remained on the mantel, and her cherished decorations hung on the Christmas tree—out of Matthew’s reach. She was Gracie’s mother, and her memory was an honored part of the family.
Today they’d be going to Ben and Jess’s house for Christmas dinner. Violet, their tiny daughter, had made good use of the girly outfits Ellie had bought. Gracie loved holding the baby almost as much as she loved playing with Beau.
“Where is Beau?” Ellie glanced around for her dog.
“He’s asleep behind the tree, where Matthew can’t get to him,” Jubal said. “I think all the Christmas commotion wore the little guy out.”
“We’ll leave him to enjoy the peace and quiet while we’re at dinner,” Ellie said. “Is everybody ready to go?”
They boxed up the salad and homemade pies they were taking, put on their coats, and headed outside to the late-model sport wagon they’d purchased. Krystle Martin Remington had bought Ellie’s BMW and was proudly driving it all over town.
There were times when Ellie missed her beautiful car. But the wagon was more practical for their growing family—a family that would have one more by next fall. Ellie was still keeping her secret, but she planned to tell Jubal tonight. He would be over the moon.
With everybody buckled in, they pulled out of the yard and headed down the lane to the highway. “Turn on the radio, Dad,” Gracie said. “I want Christmas music. And I want to sing.”
They sang all the way into town.
Read on for an excerpt from Janet Dailey’s New Americana series, coming soon!
REFUGE COVE
Refuge Cove, Alaska, stays true to its name when a woman who has lost hope and a man in need of healing come to each other’s rescue . . .
She’d come to Alaska on the promise of marriage, only to find herself on the run from her would-be husband. Lost and alone in the wilderness, Emily Hunter nearly weeps with relief at the sight of a small plane in the distance—until the rugged bush pilot makes his way through the brush to help her. Can she trust this stranger any more than the menacing predator on her trail? But there’s something in John Wolf’s dark eyes that wills her to believe in him, something about his gentle nature that allows her to accept his offer of protection . . .
He’d let her into his life because he knew she was in trouble. The last thing John Wolf expects is to feel so much so quickly for the vulnerable woman in his care. For sharing his lonely wilderness home with Emily means allowing her to see his sorrow—the son he longs to reconnect with, the loss of the family he once dreamed possible. Sharing his heart with Emily means being willing to risk everything to keep her safe . . .
Southeast Alaska
Early autumn
A long the Tongass Narrows, the cruise ships that plied Alaska’s Inside Passage and spilled tourists onto the docks at Ketchikan were gone with the season. The harbor was quiet, the fishing boats at rest. The souvenir shops on the boardwalk were closing their doors.
Dead salmon carpeted the shallow streams, their bodies spent in the grueling race to reach home and spawn. White flocks of seagulls gorged on the remains.
Behind the town, and the highway leading up the coast, evergreen-cloaked mountains towered against the sky. On the narrow lowland that skirted the water, clumps of cottonwood and willow blazed with autumn gold. Alder, dogwood, and mountain ash lent rich hues of bronze and crimson.
Fall in Alaska was a time of fleeting beauty. But that beauty was lost on Emma Hunter. As she fled in terror through the deep-shadowed forest, only one thing mattered—staying alive.
Run! The word shrilled in Emma’s mind as she fought her way through the maze of thorny undergrowth, rotting stumps and fallen trees. Low-hanging limbs whipped her face. Tangled roots snagged her feet.
Run!
Again and again, she’d tripped and fallen. Her hands were scratched and bleeding, her jeans ripped, her thin sneakers soaked. Her breath came in gasps. But she mustn’t stop, not even to catch her breath or to ease the ripping pain in her side.
If Boone caught her, he would kill her—or make her wish he had.
When Boone Swenson had proposed, two weeks after meeting her at a church dance in Salt Lake City, Emma had felt like the heroine of a romantic novel. The prospect of a life in wild Alaska with the rugged man of her dreams had swept away a lifetime of caution. By the time she’d discovered the truth, it was too late. She was trapped in a nightmare of her own making.
Through the trees behind her, she could hear the hellish baying of Boone’s dogs as they followed her scent. The two surly wolf hybrids were probably on leashes. Otherwise, by now, they would’ve raced ahead of their master and caught her.
If—or when—they found her, would Boone turn them loose on his bride, or would he call them off and drag her back to the trailer for his version of a honeymoon?
Boone was unpredictable. She’d already learned that. But one thing was certain. Given what she knew about him, he would never let her go free.
Her ankle twisted on a root. A hot pain flashed up her leg. Teeth clenched, she ran on, dodging through the shadowy undergrowth. Giant spruces and hemlocks towered above her. A squirrel scolded from a high branch. A jay screeched an alarm, startling a flock of small birds to flight—all signs of her presence that Boone would recognize.
Why go on, you fool? The voice in her head seemed to mock her. You’re miles from the coast, with no place to go—no road, no neighbors, no food, water, or shelter. You haven’t got a chance.
Refusing to listen, Emma struggled on. Her lungs were burning. Her legs quivered with every step.
The sinking sun cast fingers of light through the treetops. Somewhere to the west lay the highway, her best hope of finding help. But something told Emma she’d never make it that far. Between the coming darkness, her waning strength, and the dogs, there was only one way this chase could end.
It’s over, the silent voice argued. Boone doesn’t want you dead. He wants a wife. Give up and go back with him. You can always escape later.
But giving up was not an option, Emma resolved. Whatever happened, she would
keep going. She would run until she dropped. And when she could run no more, she would fight.
The trees were thinning now, giving way to brambles and stands of devil’s club, a leggy weed with sharp-edged leaves and spines that burned like fire at a touch. Beyond the trees, she could see an open bog, dotted with pools of dark water. Muskeg—that was what Alaskans called places like this, where layers of rotted vegetation, laid down over decades and centuries, clogged the growth of everything but sickly looking moss, yellowed marsh grass, and a few twisted trees that would never grow tall.
The bog was about half the size of a football field. Going around it, or veering off in another direction, might be safer. But if there was any chance of reaching the road, a straight westward dash across the muskeg would be the shortest way.
She could hear the dogs, getting closer. Fueled by terror, Emma gathered the last of her strength and burst into a headlong sprint.
The outer edge of the muskeg was firm enough to support her. But within a few yards, murky water began welling around her sneakers. With every step, the muck grew deeper. Soon it was closing over her ankles, making a sucking sound as she freed each foot. By now, she’d gone too far to turn around. As her feet sank deeper, the effort drained her strength, slowing her progress to a crawl.
When her bare foot came up without the shoe, Emma knew she’d made a fatal mistake. Unfamiliar with muskeg, she hadn’t realized how unstable the ground could be. Now she was stuck halfway to her knees, and too exhausted to go on.
She was trapped.
* * *
John Wolf slowed the vintage de Havilland Beaver to 75 mph and lowered the flaps for the descent into Refuge Cove. The mail run to the scattered villages up the coast had taken most of the day. Tonight he looked forward to a solitary meal in his cabin, a hot shower, and a good book by the fire.
Through the windscreen of the sixty-year-old single engine prop plane, he checked the landscape below. Like a yellow stain against the dark green forest, a familiar patch of muskeg lay directly under the flight path. Using it as a marker, he knew he could make a turn there and line up his bearings for a perfect landing in the cove.