Midnight Bride

by Barbara Mccauley

  He looked at her, watched her anxiously searching his face and decided there was really only one answer. Strangely enough, it was an honest one.

  “I don’t know.”

  She nodded, seemingly accepting that answer. “What about your work, or whatever it is you do here? Won’t I be in the way?”

  “I’m in insurance,” he said carefully. “Life insurance. I broke my shoulder, and I’m on medical leave right now.” Mostly true, he thought. His business was a form of insurance, and he had broken his shoulder.

  She sighed heavily, then ran her hands through her hair as she stared at the fire.

  “Hey, Hunter,” she said after a long moment.

  “Yeah?”

  “Since you saved me, do you think you could feed me, too? I’m starving.”

  Three

  Sarah sat at the small kitchen table, her gaze focused on the plate of spaghetti in front of her. She pushed the pasta around her dish, listening to the sound of the rain on the roof. She’d been starving a half hour ago, before she’d washed up and made herself presentable, but her appetite had waned the minute she’d sat across from Caleb, and the full realization of her isolation with the man hit her.

  Alone.

  With a man she didn’t know, had never even seen before. At least, she thought she’d never seen before. She’d tried to remember what had happened to her, how she’d come to be here in this condition, but every time she’d tried, the pain in her head had become unbearable.

  She watched Caleb as he ate, amazed at his appetite and his ability to accept this situation so calmly. As if strange women fell at his doorstep all the time. Which, considering the man’s looks, might very well be the case.

  “Thank you for the clothes and the, uh, other things you bought for me in town today,” she said, appreciative of the boots and jeans and denim shirt he’d picked up for her. She hadn’t tried them on yet, but they appeared to be the right sizes. He’d also bought her some personal items which included, much to her continued embarrassment, underwear and toiletries. “Please be sure and keep the receipt so I can reimburse you.”

  He took a long swig of milk, then set the glass down with a clunk. “That might be difficult since I stole most of it.”

  “You what!”

  He looked at her with the patience one reserves for a child. “I couldn’t very well buy ladies’ clothes and underwear without raising a few eyebrows. Pinewood is a small town. Everyone knows who I am, and that I live alone. Unless I want people here to wonder if I’d picked up some unusual habits, I thought it best to be discreet.”

  “Stealing is discreet?”

  “Necessary. If it makes you feel better, I dropped a few bills behind the market counter. Judy will find it, and since she owns the store, it will go into her pocket.”

  An honest crook. That should make her feel better, but it only increased the burning sensation in her stomach. In spite of her discomfort, she was pleased with the clothes and other items. Having a few things of her own gave her a small sense of identity. Other than the sweater and skirt she’d had on when he found her, which Caleb had washed and hung up in the shower to dry, she had nothing. Even her shoes had been lost in the storm.

  She rubbed her feet together, thankful for the socks he’d given her to wear. They were way too big, but soft and warm, like the thermal pants and cotton shirt she also had on. His thermal pants and cotton shirt. Her stomach fluttered at the thought.

  “Is Judy a friend of yours?” she asked cautiously.

  He shrugged, then scooped up some spaghetti sauce with a piece of bread and took a bite.

  Suddenly worried, she poked at a green bean. “Close personal?”

  One brow raised, he looked at her.

  She straightened and lifted her chin, irritated he was making her inquiry so difficult. “This is a rather delicate situation, Caleb. I’m in your home, wearing your clothes. I believe I should at least be prepared for the possibility of a jealous lover bursting through the door.”

  “Ah.” He chewed thoughtfully. “You think Judy will be upset we took a shower together?”

  “We did not shower together!”

  “We didn’t?”

  “Not like that, and you know it.” He was teasing, making jokes. Her fingers tightened around the fork in her hand. “You may find my anxiety amusing, Mr. Hunter, but I find it extremely uncomfortable.”

  “Sarah, Judy is eighty-four years old and has no teeth.” He made an effort to look serious, but it was a weak one. “Are you really that embarrassed I saw you naked?”

  She nearly choked. How could he be so blas&e2; about this? “Showering with a strange woman may be an everyday occurrence for you, but I assure you it most certainly is not for me!”

  He smiled. “I find that extremely encouraging.”

  Flustered, she drew in a sharp breath and glared at him. “You know what I mean. I don’t shower with strange men.”

  His smile slowly faded. “Well, you can’t really be sure about that now, can you? Unless you remember something and you’re holding out on me.”

  It was back. That look of mistrust. An imperceptible tightening of his voice and mouth. And his eyes. A cold flash of wariness and doubt. She had the inexplicable feeling that anyone who might cross this man would find themselves in serious danger.

  “I don’t remember anything, Caleb. I wish to God I did. I could be a beautician or a grape picker for all I know. But whatever I am, I’m not like that, I mean, I’m not a, uh, I’m not—”

  “Loose?” he supplied.

  She blushed furiously. “Yes.”

  Caleb sighed. “Just my luck. A beautiful, sexy woman falls into my arms, and I can’t do anything about it.”

  Sarah straightened in her chair and stared at the food on her plate. “Don’t tease me like that,” she said quietly.

  “Like what?”

  “I’m not beautiful, and I’m certainly not sexy.”

  She had to be kidding, Caleb thought, watching Sarah push her green beans into a little mountain. Her blond hair fell in natural waves around her heart-shaped face, and wisps of the silken strands framed her wide, soft blue eyes. He knew women who would kill for the long thick lashes and smooth skin she had. Why would she possibly think she wasn’t attractive? Even in an oversize man’s shirt and loose-fitting thermal pants she was one of the most alluring women he’d ever seen.

  He took a bite of pasta and studied her carefully for a moment. She held her shoulders stiff, her eyes carefully averted from his. Her cheeks were bright red. Strange, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been around a woman who blushed.

  “So what do you think?” he asked, leaning back in his chair. “What kind of a person do you think you were—are?”

  She looked up at him, and he saw the distress in her eyes. “I don’t know.”

  “A secretary, maybe? Having an affair with the boss, who tries to off you before his wife found out?”

  Her eyes flashed blue fire. “Certainly not! I would never have an affair with a married man.”

  “A housewife, then?” he went on. “With six children, married to a double-dealing drug lord whose rivals want to make an example out of you.”

  Her lips pressed tightly together. “I don’t have a husband or children.”

  “And how do you know?”

  “I just know.”

  Did she? he wondered. Was she holding something back on him? Or was the whole thing a lie? She looked so damn innocent. If she was an agent and this was an act, she was very, very good.

  And if she was lying, he resolved—about anything—he’d find out. That was one thing he was sure about.

  “Okay.” He pushed his plate away and let his gaze roam over her. “So what do we know about you, then?”

  “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  He stared at her face, forcing himself to stay focused on the facts and not the curve of her soft lips.

  “Well, for one thing, your age. I’d guess you
’re about twenty-four or five. Educated. Raised in the South, but left when you were a child. You’re practical and efficient, and well-mannered.”

  She simply stared at him, eyes wide. “How could you possibly guess all that about me?”

  He shrugged. “Your speech, the way you move, the clothes you were wearing.”

  “What about my clothes?” There was a touch of defensiveness in her voice.

  “No name brands. Simple and conservative.”

  “Simple and conservative?”

  What was it with women? he thought. He’d told her she was beautiful and she denied it; now he said her clothes were conservative and she was obviously offended. “Just an observation,” he said flatly, “not a judgment.”

  “And what other observations have you, Mr. Holmes?”

  She stabbed her fork into her spaghetti, and Caleb had the distinct feeling she would have preferred to stick the utensil in his chest. “Well, you’re no grape picker or beautician, for one.”

  “Oh? And you know this because…. ?” She lifted one brow, waiting for an explanation.

  “Your hands.”

  “My hands?”

  “Hands say a lot about a person. Yours don’t see physical work, or a lot of water. Your skin is smooth, nails trimmed carefully, except for the ones that are broken right now. My guess is you were struggling to hold on to something. Maybe rocks or dirt or a tree. More than likely you fell, and that’s when you hit your head.”

  “You sound more like a detective than an insurance agent,” Sarah muttered. Still, his observations did intrigue her.

  She laid her fork down and spread her hands out in front of her. He was right, she thought dimly. Other than the scratches on her palms and knuckles, her skin was soft and unlined, her fingers long and slender. She stared at her jagged, broken nails, trying to picture them as they would have been before last night….

  The pounding in her head started up again. Her hands suddenly lost focus. The room around her dissolved.

  Dark. It was so dark, so cold. Rain pelted her face.

  She no longer stared at her hands, but another’s. A man’s. Grabbing her…trying to pull her backward…

  She bit him, sank down hard with her teeth into the flesh under his thumb until she tasted blood. Furious, he howled and let go.

  She fell.

  Kill her if you have to…kill her…kill her…

  Sarah felt as if a steel band were squeezing her chest. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. She closed her eyes, terrified she might remember, terrified she wouldn’t. Emotions she didn’t understand filled her. Betrayal, fear, shock.

  She cried out as two large hands grabbed her shoulders.

  “Sarah!”

  Shaking, she opened her eyes and met Caleb’s concerned gaze. “I bit him. His hand,” she whispered. “He wants me dead.”

  “Who, Sarah?” Caleb knelt beside her. “Tell me who.”

  “He’s so angry.” The man’s voice in her head was perfectly clear now. As furious as it was ruthless. “So…cold.”

  He tightened his hold on her arms. “Give me a name, a face.”

  She opened her mouth, waiting for the answer to drop down like a gum ball out of a machine. But there was nothing. Empty. No face, no name. Just a disembodied voice. All she could do was shake her head.

  Something crashed against the back door of the kitchen. Sarah screamed and jumped into Caleb’s arms.

  “It’s all right.” He held her for a moment, then stood. “It’s just Wolf.”

  Caleb opened the door and Wolf ran in, spraying water as he shook his fur.

  Sarah’s eyes widened at the sight of something in the animal’s jaws, and when he leapt toward her, she shrank back. Tail wagging, Wolf laid the dark, soggy object at Sarah’s feet. She couldn’t bear to look. She knew cats often brought “gifts” to their owners, but the thought of a live offering from a wolf was just too much. She squeezed her eyes shut.

  “Sarah,” Caleb said gently. “Open your eyes.”

  She shook her head.

  “It’s all right, open them.”

  She peeked through slitted eyelids, then opened her eyes wide and stared down at a woman’s black shoe.

  Her shoe.

  Two days later, after the storm finally passed, Caleb found the shoe’s mate.

  He stood at the bottom of a steep cliff and stared up at the craggy hillside. A fifty-foot wall of sharp, jagged rocks and boulders glared back. Six feet up, directly above where he’d found the shoe, a piece of navy blue fabric, captured on the branch of a boxwood, flapped in the afternoon breeze like a tiny flag. Sarah’s skirt.

  She’d fallen here.

  It was unbelievable she hadn’t been killed or more seriously injured. Surviving the fall had been amazing enough, but the fact she’d then managed to walk along the bank of the creek and end up so close to his cabin was a miracle.

  His hand tightened around the shoe in his hand. Fear could do that. Drive a person to an act of near supernatural proportion. And based on the fear he’d seen in her eyes two days ago in the kitchen when she’d had a flashback, she’d been terrified.

  He hadn’t pressed her for information since that time. She’d needed to rest and had spent most of the past two days sleeping. Her headaches were gone now, and the wound on her head was healing well. When he’d left the cabin a little while ago, she’d just gone into the bathroom. At the sound of the shower door closing and the water spraying, Caleb had been all too reminded of her slender, curved body, and how long he’d been cooped up in the cabin. He’d had to get out of there, fast, and had decided the time was right to retrace her steps of the other night.

  He stared up at the cliff again and watched the shimmering descent of several aspen leaves caught on the breeze. They landed at his feet, then scattered over a bed of damp pine needles.

  The main road was at the top of the cliff.

  Had she been thrown from a car up there and slid down here? Or had she accidentally fallen?

  Or the other possibility, one he still had a hard time believing: was she an agent, and the entire situation a fabrication? It would certainly require dedication to go to the lengths she had gone to get to him, but there were agents of that caliber. He’d been one once. Men and women who would give their lives, their souls, for their job. Had she set this whole thing up, then been a victim of her own plan?

  He certainly wouldn’t have any answers standing around here all day, he thought with annoyance. The rain would have washed away any tire tracks or footprints at the top, but there might be something, some little piece of evidence up there.

  He could either climb up or walk back to the cabin and drive to the main road.

  He thought of Sarah, humming in the shower when he’d left, hot water spraying down on her, and decided physical exercise might be the best direction.

  He tossed her shoe down, dug one boot into the soft dirt, then reached for the closest rock to pull himself up.

  And froze.

  Someone was watching him.

  He knew the feeling too well to ignore it. It crept up his spine and over his neck. Casually, he bent down as if to tie his shoe, then reached slowly into the light jacket he wore and pulled out his gun.

  A movement from a nearby tree had him dropping to the ground.

  “Come out in the open,” he said with deadly intensity. “Now!”

  Sarah stepped out.

  The swear word he uttered was quite raw and to the point.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” He lowered his gun.

  “I—” Her voice caught, and her eyes were still on the gun as she took another step out. “A walk,” she finally managed to say. “I was taking a walk.”

  She wore the jeans and boots he’d brought her, and her own tan pullover sweater. It was impossible not to notice the snug fit of the jeans over her rounded hips and long legs, or the rise of her breasts under the sweater.

  He’d spent two nights tossing and turning
on the couch, just thinking about her in his bed, still wearing his shirt and thermal underwear. That first night, when he’d watched her mend her skirt by the fire, she’d handled the needle and thread with an expertise that made him wonder if she might be a seamstress. When he’d started to fantasize about those fingers moving over his own skin, he’d busied himself in the kitchen.

  Tentatively she moved closer, and he noticed her hair was still damp from her shower. The breeze picked up the strands curling around her flushed face. With a sigh he slipped his gun back into his jacket.

  “You shouldn’t be out here,” he said more sharply than he’d intended. He wondered himself if it was concern or annoyance. Both, perhaps.

  “I couldn’t stay inside anymore, Caleb,” she said. “It’s too beautiful out here.”

  “And what if someone is looking for you? Someone you don’t want to find you. Don’t you think this would be the first place they’d come to?”

  Her gaze flicked to his, and he saw the fear there. “I-I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “Think about it.”

  He was right, Sarah told herself. It was stupid to come out in the open, knowing that someone wanted to kill her. And she knew now, without a doubt, that someone had tried to kill her, just as she knew, somehow, that he would try again.

  She’d just needed to get out of the cabin, if only for a few minutes. She’d walked along the creek bank, following Wolf most of the way, until he’d been sidetracked by a squirrel. When she’d spotted Caleb, she’d impulsively hidden behind the tree.

  It was silly, she knew, watching him like that. But in the time she’d spent awake at the cabin with him, she’d never been able to really look at him. Not without him looking back at her with those dark, intense eyes. Eyes that made her shiver inside, a mixture of fear and something else, something not entirely unpleasurable. And other than the time that first day when he’d crawled into bed with her in an attempt—an extremely successful attempt, she might add—to shake her up, he hardly seemed to notice her. In fact she thought that he was making a point to stay away from her.

  Instinctively she knew she’d never met a man like Caleb before. Every move he made, every word he spoke, was calculated, determined. He was not a man who trusted easily, men or women, and she sensed he still didn’t trust her. At times she felt he was annoyed by her intrusion into his life, other times, amused. Most of the time he frightened her.