Jesse's Hideout (Bluegrass Spirits 1)

by Kallypso Masters

  Yes, loved. Time to prove it.

  One glance at the speedometer told him he’d be pulled over or killed before he had a chance if he didn’t slow down, so he eased off the accelerator. He wouldn’t wake her up in the middle of the night, but would park in the drive and wait until morning to talk with her. Maybe by then he’d figure out what words to say to convince her he’d truly come back for her after her injury, not treasure or fame or whatever she thought. Yeah, he’d screwed that up his last night at Tillie’s. He needed to make amends.

  Would she hear the Rover’s engine? It was too early for her to be in the kitchen—nearly four o’clock. Well, with Tillie’s strange hours, who knew? But with her bedroom being on the same side of the house as the kitchen and dining room, she’d probably hear him.

  Well, if she did, maybe she’d let him in to talk sooner than waiting until—

  He left the main highway. After crossing the railroad tracks, he glanced across a field in the direction of her house and saw red and blue flashing lights illuminating the brick inn.

  Tillie!

  Flooring the pedal as soon as he turned onto her road, he arrived in seconds. Half a dozen sheriff’s department vehicles and an ambulance filled the circular drive. He parked in the yard in case they needed to exit quickly.

  The rear doors of the ambulance slammed shut, causing his heart to hammer. He exited the Rover and ran toward the ambulance but only made it as far as the deputy’s car.

  The deputy looked up from her notepad then stood at attention, hand on her holster. “Stop right there. Where do you think you’re going?”

  “Where’s Tillie Hamilton? Is she all right?”

  “Who are you?”

  “Her fiancé.” The words came out before he realized he wasn’t being truthful. Her cocked eyebrow told him the deputy probably knew Tillie well enough to guess he was no such thing. Everyone knew her around here. If he’d come back here to prove his honesty to Tillie, he might as well start now.

  “Well, I will be, as soon as she says yes.”

  “I see.”

  He assumed he’d be taken inside now, but the deputy didn’t move. If the deputy didn’t tell him where she was, he’d lose what was left of his mind. “Who’s in that ambulance?”

  “The sheriff’s wrapping up his statement while the crime scene investigator processes the scene. As soon as I get the all clear, I’ll take you in.”

  The minutes ticked by interminably slowly. Just when he was about to walk over to the ambulance to see if Tillie was there, it pulled out of the drive with its lights still flashing. He kept waiting for someone to open the door to the dining room, hoping Tillie was inside and safe.

  A squelching on the deputy’s radio was followed by her telling him to “Follow me.” She led him to the dining-room door. “Wait here.”

  She opened the door and called, “Tillie, do you know this man?” Thank goodness she wasn’t in the ambulance. She must not have been injured, but he still couldn’t wait to see her. Coming around the deputy, he saw Tillie sitting at the table wrapped in a blanket, her hair loose and wild. The sheriff, he supposed, sat next to her. Upon seeing Greg, her eyes opened wide, as did her arms as she jumped up and ran toward him. “Greg! You’re here!” The deputy stepped aside as Tillie launched herself from the threshold and into his arms.

  She trusted me to catch her. That’s a start.

  He wrapped his arms tightly around her and held her shaking body against him. “Thank God you’re all right!” He’d aged ten years in the last few minutes. She trembled, and he set her down to stroke her back with one hand while holding her tightly with the other. “Shh. I have you.” And I’ll never leave you again.

  After an undetermined amount of time, she leaned away, forcing him to let her go. Her eyes still had a vacant look. Was she ready to talk about what happened?

  “What happened?”

  “M-Mark. It was Mark. He broke in, only he didn’t stay in the cellar. I had no idea how easy it was to break in from down there.” Her voice shook, and tears welled in her eyes from the shock or aftermath of whatever happened.

  “Mark?” Who the hell was…? Wait. “Peterson?” He was the intruder? So it wasn’t some kind of ghostly prank from Gram or Jesse James? While he’d firmly believed it to be a human intruder initially, after that incident with the prisms on his bedroom wall, he’d begun to think differently.

  But the thought of anyone coming in here and threatening Tillie was much harder to stomach.

  She nodded. “I’ve never been so scared in my life.”

  “Did he hurt you?” Greg would finish him off if he had so much as touched her.

  “No.” She shook her head with added emphasis, but her vacant eyes didn’t convince him. She pointed with a shaky finger at the blood-stained floor near the door to the inner porch and herb garden where a crime scene investigator had labeled a bullet casing with a tented number amongst the blood.

  Grabbing her by the arms, he checked to be sure she wasn’t bleeding. A gaping hole in the skirt of her dress didn’t appear to have any blood. How close had they been to one another when shots were fired? “He shot at you?”

  She nodded again. “He hit the window frame over there when I dodged.”

  He looked where she pointed and saw another of the crime-scene numbered tents taped to the splintered window frame. She’d been shot at? She could have been killed? But Peterson was the one in the ambulance. The sheriff or one of the deputies had arrived just in time.

  Not wanting her to have to speak about the horror any further, he glanced over her head, making eye contact with the sheriff. “Sir, thanks for taking care of that piece of—”

  The man shook his head. “I’m afraid all we arrived in time for was to save Peterson from being shot again.”

  Taking Tillie by the shoulders, he pushed her away and waited for her to meet his gaze. “You shot him?”

  “I-I-I thought he was going to kill me. It was self-defense!”

  A grin broke out on Greg’s face. “You amaze me, woman. I wasn’t sure you could fire a gun with accuracy, much less shoot someone firing at you.”

  She tilted her chin up, some of her old defiance returning to her eyes. Thank God. “I told you I could.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m learning that I need to trust you more. From here on out, you’d better believe I will.” He sobered. “And I hope you’ll trust me, too. We need to talk”—he glanced around at all the commotion—“later.”

  She waved away his words. “You came back. That’s all that counts. I thought I’d lost you forever.”

  Greg glanced at the sheriff who kept making notes about something. After a moment, the man stood.

  “Miz Hamilton, I don’t expect any more trouble here tonight. We have everything we need and know how to reach you if any further questions arise. But we’ll keep a car parked outside tonight until you can cover that window in the cellar.”

  She smiled and pointed toward the bloodstain on the floor. “I can clean this up now?”

  “Sure. We have our crime-scene evidence.”

  After she thanked the sheriff department’s team, offering them some cookies on their way out the door—always the hostess—everyone left. Greg led Tillie into the kitchen, sat her down at the table, and grabbed the ingredients to prepare them a pot of hot buttered rum—with extra rum this time. They both needed one tonight.

  He poured her the first one. “Drink this while I clean up the mess in the dining room and cover that window.”

  “Let me help.” She started to rise from the chair to join him, but he pressed her shoulder until she resumed her seat.

  “No, you sit tight. You’ve been through enough tonight. I’ve got this. I remember where everything is from the last repair. Just relax by the fire and sip your drink.”

  He rejoined her in the kitchen half an hour later after dismissing the deputy and setting things back to rights. Tillie looked shell-shocked, staring at the glowing log in the fireplace
. He lifted her mug from her hands and refilled it before pouring one for himself.

  Without a word, she accepted the second toddy and drained the mug like it was milk. He grinned, sitting down across from her at the table.

  Her voice grew raspy as she said, “I can’t believe Mark would do this.”

  “Did he say why?” Did Tillie give the guy a chance to talk before she shot him? Damn, I’m so proud of her. He hadn’t been sure she could shoot as well as she said, but she had proven his doubts had been all wrong.

  “Turns out he’s the grandson of Mrs. Foster’s first husband.”

  Greg couldn’t wrap his head around the possibility he was related to the man. He didn’t even remember Gram’s first husband’s name, but Peterson rang no bells.

  No way was he related to Peterson. “Gram made no mention of any child of hers other than my mother, and Dr. Foster was her father.”

  She nodded. “Mark’s mother was the daughter from that man’s second marriage.” That would explain why Peterson hadn’t sounded familiar.

  Thank God that dirtbag wasn’t related to him by blood. “The names Gram used for her first husband in her journals hadn’t been at all flattering. Clearly, she hadn’t thought much of him. Judging by the epithets she labeled him with, he’d cheated on her.”

  “Mrs. Foster kicked him to the curb after a couple of years.”

  Tillie remained quiet a long while, staring blankly at the hearth, until her hand began to shake again. He stood and closed the space between them, picking her up.

  She grabbed him around the neck to hold on. “What are you doing? My ankle’s fine!”

  Without saying a word, he carried her into the parlor where he sat down with her on the sofa and pulled the afghan around her trembling body. Adrenaline drop was a bitch, and he knew the best remedy was simply to hold her tight and let her body recover slowly. “Let’s just sit and cuddle until the shock of the night wears off.”

  Tillie remained rigid a moment before resting her head on his shoulder. He held her tighter, and she sighed. Greg stroked her temple and into her hair, making shushing noises. His hand traveled down her arm, under the afghan, skin on skin. So soft. Her body shook less as he brushed his hand along her thigh.

  “That’s it. Just relax. You’re safe now.”

  He’d thought she’d fallen asleep when she said, “I’ve never been so scared before in my life. When he broke the bolt and came to the doorway here, I was hiding behind the chair in the corner over there.” She pointed. “If he’d come in to search the room, he’d have found me.”

  “Shh. Don’t think about that anymore. It’s over.” But if Peterson ever came near her again, the bastard wouldn’t survive. Greg would pound him to within an inch of his life then shoot him. He’d never been a violent man, but his own rage simmered below the surface.

  Tillie’s hand slipped from the afghan and stroked his cheek, repeating, “Shh. It’s over now for you, too.”

  He grinned as he searched her smiling face, wanting to kiss her more than ever before, but knowing she needed nothing more than to be held and cared for after her ordeal. She was no longer trembling, though.

  Before he took advantage of the situation, he said, “Time to get you into bed.”

  “I couldn’t sleep a wink. Whenever I closed my eyes, I have to relive the fact that he forced me to shoot him.”

  “Then we’ll have to do something to distract you from worrying about it anymore tonight.”

  “Like what?”

  He had a number of ideas, but still didn’t want to take advantage of her in a vulnerable moment. “Why don’t we go upstairs?”

  She scrambled off his lap, taking the afghan with her, and he stood, taking her hand in his before starting toward the front stairway.

  “No. Let’s go to my room. I’ve already made up Amelia’s Suite for my guests arriving Friday—er, this afternoon, actually.” They wouldn’t be here for hours but if she wanted him to take her to her own bedroom, so be it. Without warning, he halted her steps and pivoted her around to face him.

  Just this one.

  He started to lower his face to her upturned one, but she placed her finger on his lips. “Kisses aren’t allowed.”

  Seriously?

  Okay, she was right. What was the matter with him? Being so close to her made him crazy.

  She grinned. “At least stolen ones aren’t, unless you pay the price.”

  He’d pay anything for another kiss with Tillie. “And what price might that be?”

  Tillie pointed up, smiling. “Before you kiss me under the mistletoe, tradition says you have to remove one of the berries.”

  Greg glanced up to find a ball of the seasonal greenery with white berries dangling from a ribbon from the ceiling light fixture. A slow grin spread across his face. She appeared to be more aware of her surroundings than he.

  About two dozen white berries remained on the kissing ball. He reached up and plucked one off. Then another.

  “Hey, only one kiss per ber—”

  His lips ground against hers, cutting off her words. They had a lot to discuss, but damn it, he’d almost lost her tonight. He needed this as much as she did. He held the back of her head and deepened the kiss. She tasted of rum, and the kiss went straight to his head.

  When he pulled away, releasing her lips momentarily, he found he wasn’t ready to end this. He kissed her again, and she wrapped her arms around him, letting the afghan fall to the floor. When she broke the kiss, she was gasping to fill her lungs.

  He stripped the decoration of a few more berries before lifting her into his arms. He’d steal a few more kisses upstairs. While he’d have to let her walk up the narrow pie stairs herself, he needed to keep his arms around her in the worst way.

  He carried her through the birthing room and to the stairway in the dining room. “After you,” he said as he set her down again, climbing the stairs after her. At the top, he placed a hand on her shoulder and spun her around gently, cupping her chin as he tilted her head upward. Her eyelids drooped as if expecting another kiss, but he’d better cool it this close to her bed. She needed to be pampered tonight after her ordeal, and his libido was already running at top speed.

  “Would you like me to run you a bath?”

  She shook her head. “I’m just going to change and crawl into bed.” A blush crept up her neck into her cheeks. “Thanks for everything, Greg. Good night.”

  Oh, sweetheart, you aren’t getting rid of me that easily.

  He yanked down the quilt, blanket, and top sheet and faced her. “Which side do you want?”

  Her eyes opened wide in surprise. “I beg your pardon?”

  “You heard me correctly.”

  She cocked her head. “I, um, usually sleep in the center of the bed.”

  Greg grinned. If she thought that would deter him… “Sounds cozy, but you might want to keep a little more space between us.” He cupped her cheek, brushing the pad of his thumb over her warm skin. “After being on the road twelve hours straight, I’m not in the mood to sleep in a chair or on the floor.”

  “But—”

  “Which. Side?”

  She glanced at the bed and then at him. “Left,” she whispered.

  “Perfect. Do whatever you need to do in the bathroom while I grab my bag from the Rover. I’ll join you in bed shortly and then don’t intend to let you out of my sight.” Perhaps, if she heard him say it enough, she’d get over her shock.

  Tillie opened her mouth, no doubt to argue, but no words spilled out.

  That’s my girl.

  * * *

  Greg planned to sleep with her? Or was he hoping for much more? She had mixed feelings, especially given the fact her emotions were so raw. But one thing was certain—she didn’t want to be alone tonight.

  Tillie made her way to the bathroom to prepare for bed. She wasn’t in control of her emotions at the moment and didn’t want to do or say anything she might regret later. They hadn’t talked about what
happened two nights ago yet, although she’d never been happier in her life than when she saw Greg standing outside the door, worry lines on his forehead and his eyes full of concern.

  When she came out of the bathroom again, she wore her semi-sheer 1930s smocked and pleated negligee under her robe. Why she didn’t have a flannel granny gown for such a night she didn’t know, but she’d always enjoyed sexy vintage lingerie. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t seen it before—at least twice. She’d been wearing it that night in the kitchen while baking bread, though she’d kept herself hidden under an apron or her robe. Then there was the time after she’d injured her foot.

  Somehow, tonight it seemed much more intimate, though. They’d reached a new understanding. He’d come back despite her having literally pushed him away out of fear or insecurity or whatever it was.

  Her head hurt trying to analyze it now.

  Footsteps on the stairs sent her in a beeline for the bed, shedding the robe as she ran. Before she could jump in and cover up, though, Greg entered the room, and she watched him set his bag on the floor. He gave her the slowest once-over ever. Her nipples hardened under his scrutiny, and a grin broke out on his face.

  “I appreciate the choice of gowns.”

  “It’s what I usually sleep in.”

  “I remember.” His grin widened and something lascivious glinted in his eyes. “Now, slide between the sheets, Tillie.”

  Squaring her shoulders, she laid some ground rules. “I’m not on birth control and in no shape to make love tonight anyway.” Not that she would.

  He grinned. “Good, because we both need sleep more than anything else right now.”

  A flush crept up her neck into her cheeks. Why hadn’t she kept her mouth shut? Her knowledge of intimate relationships with men would fit in a teacup. Without another awkward pronouncement to broadcast his awareness of her inexperience, she crawled between the sheets. Greg tucked her in, reminiscent of the night he’d done so after she’d sprained her ankle. Would he kiss her goodnight on the forehead again?