by Susan Wiggs
“The day we met. I got in a fight over you.” He studied her for a long time, but it didn’t make her self-conscious. She liked having him look at her, because when he did, he couldn’t hide the lust and affection in his eyes.
“I never needed you to protect me. I didn’t then, and I don’t now. I just need you...” To love me. She couldn’t quite bring herself to say it.
“Okay,” he said, as though she’d spoken it aloud.
There was a world of meaning in that one word, and she laughed and moved into his arms as he laid her back on the bed. “It’s going to be another snow day,” he said.
“Perfect,” she answered.
* * *
Much later in the morning, the wood for the stove ran low and Rourke went out to get more. There were several cords stacked next to the main lodge a couple of hundred yards away. He put on his boots and snowshoes and a pair of work gloves and a Mackinac jacket. “I’ll be right back,” he said.
She squinted out at the landscape, a wilderness of white mounds and the endless flat expanse of the lake. The woods and other buildings were shadowy blurs. “Don’t get lost,” she warned him.
He laughed and kissed her. “After last night? Are you kidding?”
She shut the door behind him and leaned against it. Dragging an old toboggan behind him, he headed out, Rufus bounding at his side. She watched until his figure faded and gradually disappeared. She felt a happiness so intense, it stole her breath. Finally. She knew loving him for the rest of her life wasn’t necessarily going to be easy, but it was exactly what she wanted. And that made all the difference. Her discontent and restlessness had never been caused by her ties to the bakery and to Avalon. Everything made sense now that she was with Rourke.
She shivered and went to check the stove. The last log had burned to embers and it was getting cold in here. She went to the bedroom to put on a few more layers—some thick socks and a pair of sweatpants, a sweater and her warm slippers. She paused to glance in the mirror. Her hair was wildly mussed, her lips mysteriously full and...was that a stubble burn along her jawline? Even in her disheveled state, she had never looked more supremely happy than she was in this moment. Smiling, she picked up Rourke’s shirt. The smell of it made her dizzy with wanting him again. On impulse she pulled the soft cotton shirt over her head. She touched his other things—the wool gabardine of his jacket, the leather of his sidearm, now securely snapped into its holster.
The wind picked up, howling with an almost-human voice across the lake and through the trees. Jenny wished Rourke would hurry. He’d been gone maybe fifteen minutes, and she already missed him.
* * *
Happiness was such a simple thing, Rourke thought, leaning into the wind as he dragged the toboggan to the woodshed. Why hadn’t he figured it out until now? It consisted merely of knowing where you belong in the world, and whom you belong with. The irony was, he’d known it from the first moment he’d seen her, a kid in pigtails and unlaced sneakers. But knowing it and achieving it turned out to be two different things.
Achieving it meant facing up to some hard truths, like the fact that he could never change the past, and serving a self-imposed penance did nothing but feed his own bitter disappointment. He finally got it. The way to come to terms with Joey’s death wasn’t to run from happiness but to run toward it. He used to avoid Jenny because he didn’t think he deserved Joey’s happy ending. After last night, he realized there was a different way to see it. Being happy with Jenny wouldn’t change what had happened, but at least it was a way to face a future that was suddenly bright with possibility. He needed to marry her. The thought was simply there, fully formed; it wasn’t a matter for debate. It was the simple truth he’d been hiding from himself for too long. He wondered if she’d think it was sudden, or if she would understand. He didn’t want to scare her, though.
The old wood was stacked under the eaves of a utility shed a hundred yards from the lodge. The huge rounds were knit together with cobwebs and had not been split. Great, he thought. He hoped there was a maul or ax in the shed.
Rufus wanted to play. The snow made him frisky and he leaped and bounded, barking an invitation. Rourke laughed and chased him around for a while, working up a sweat despite the weather.
Later, he found a maul and got to work on the wood. He wasn’t sure how much they would need, but if it turned out he and Jenny were snowed in forever, it would be fine with him.
Rufus barked again, though this time it wasn’t the playful bark; Rourke knew the difference. He set aside the maul and went to find the dog. The big malamute was plunging toward the camp entrance, or so it seemed. The visibility was next to nothing, thanks to the snow.
Rourke squinted and shielded his eyes. Someone was coming. His first thought was Connor or Greg, maybe to check on things. But why would either of them come up through the biggest snow of the year?
The visitor was a dark blur, moving fast, almost seeming to skim across the snow. An experienced snowshoer. Rufus was still barking furiously, probably freaked out by the guy’s movements on the snowshoes.
Rourke waved his arms to get his attention. “Hey,” he yelled. “Over here.”
The visitor paused, and Rourke could make out his oversize hunting jacket. There was a sound, nearly swallowed by the wind, but unmistakable to Rourke—gunshot. The dog emitted a yelp, ragged with pain, and exploded off into the woods.
And Rourke felt a fiery sting in his chest. He told his feet to move, but they wouldn’t obey. The snow was icy soft when he landed, facedown.
I’m an idiot, he thought.
* * *
Jenny heard a popping sound—once, twice—and tilted her head to the side. The winter woods were full of unexpected noises—the crack of ice-coated branches, the thud of snow as they hit the roof, the scurry of deer foraging among the trees.
She went to the window and looked out but saw only the vast field of whiteness. She turned on the electric range and set the kettle on to boil for tea. Without the heat from the stove, the room was getting cold, fast.
At last, she heard Rourke outside, feet stomping on the porch. She ran to the door, opened it. “Thank God, you’re—”
But it wasn’t Rourke. It was someone in a ski mask, holding a gun on her. She had a fleeting, hysterical urge to laugh. A gun? She wasn’t seeing this. Then the stranger broke into action, pushing her inside and shoving the door shut. Her mind froze. She couldn’t even think. She blurted out, “What’s going on? Where on earth did you come from?”
The intruder didn’t reply but seemed to be scanning the room. She didn’t allow herself to look around, to check for a stray article of clothing or something that would indicate she had not spent the night alone. Rourke was wearing the borrowed jacket. His clothes, including his gun, were in the other room.
The stranger spoke at last. “Have a seat,” he said, indicating a wooden ladder-back chair. From a loop on his dark pants hung a set of handcuffs. Good God, she thought. Was he a cop? She thought about the calls she’d made after discovering the diamonds—Laura, Rourke’s deputy, Olivia, Nina. What was she thinking? You didn’t babble about discovering a fortune in diamonds. Somehow, the information had fallen into the wrong hands.
She sat down instantly, her gaze glued to the black-gloved hand, the gun pointing at her. At the same time, she thought of Rourke and the sounds she’d heard a few minutes ago. Something had happened. And where was the dog? She looked at the gun again and a curl of dread tightened inside her. If he were able, Rourke would be here right now, she thought. She was about to start begging the stranger but suspected histrionics would make no impression. Deep in her gut, she knew what he wanted.
“Let’s make this quick,” she suggested, her voice surprisingly steady as he advanced on her with the cuffs. She jumped up, startling him into thrusting the gun in her face. Jenny amazed herself by sta
ying focused. As though nothing had happened, she went to the kitchen counter, showing him the saucer with the diamonds. They rattled as her hand shook. “This is what you came for, isn’t it? Maybe my mother was willing to die for these. I’m not.”
“Set that down,” the intruder said.
The voice was vaguely familiar but she couldn’t place it. She put the saucer on the counter and stepped back. Her assailant removed one glove, picked up one of the stones. It didn’t look like much. “Everything I found is there,” she said, feeling each second crawl by with a painful tug on her heart. Rourke, she thought. Where was Rourke?
Before she was even aware of it, she glanced at the bedroom door and only realized her mistake when the man spoke. “He can’t help you now.”
So he knew. He’d seen Rourke. “Where is he?” she demanded. “What—”
“Sit down.” The intruder repeated his order.
As she moved toward the chair, Jenny felt something turn cold and solid inside her. This man wanted the diamonds. Maybe he was the one who had killed her mother for them. Maybe he was the one who had stolen her childhood, the source of all the agonizing unanswered questions about Mariska. Jenny felt herself turning into a different person, someone who was harder and angrier and yes, stronger than the gunman. All her life she had done the right thing, lived safe, doing as she was told. The intruder figured she would obey his every command. He had miscalculated. How could she be afraid now? Rourke had taught her that the best defense of all was to fight. To fight and never give up.
Instead of sitting down, she drew herself into a crouch and then lunged at the intruder, her knee hitting him square in the crotch in a maneuver Rourke had shown her.
He doubled over and she heard the breath leave him. The next target would be the eyes, but he fell back, out of range, though the ski mask remained in her fists. His face was white with agony, nearly as white as his pale blond hair.
“Matthew,” she said. At first, it didn’t make any sense at all. And then it made perfect sense. He’d heard about her discovery and had come for the diamonds. Like a numbskull, she’d told Laura and then left messages all over town, trying to reach Nina and Rourke. She remembered her visit to Zach’s house, too, and the boy’s sad admission about his father’s gambling woes. She had made the decision then not to tell Rourke, but now she knew she should have done exactly that. Rourke would have found a solution before it came to this. Still, she couldn’t have known—no one could have known—Matthew would make such a desperate move.
He was breathing hard, still pale with pain, yet his arm was steady as he leveled the gun at her. For a moment, she simply stared at the cold black eye, frozen by terror. “Take the diamonds and go,” she said, desperate to go looking for Rourke. “They aren’t important. Please, just go.”
“I can’t do that. Not now.”
She’d seen his face. He wouldn’t let her go. “I know, Matthew,” she said. “I know.” She needed to divert his attention, maybe slow him down. “But...tell me what happened to my mother. I’ve wondered all my life.”
“She fell from Meerskill Bridge.” His voice was chillingly matter-of-fact.
Jenny had an image of her mother falling, her limbs fluttering in the wind, the crushing impact of the rocks and boulders at the base of the falls. “Did you push her?” she demanded, feeling a sick hatred for him.
“I said she fell.” The gun wavered the slightest bit.
Good, she thought. He’s agitated. Maybe his concentration would break.
“She liked to go out, Mariska did, and she liked to party. She let the cat out of the bag about the diamonds one night, years ago. One thing led to another, and we went to the bridge. She was tipsy and she fell, and since I was the only one present, I got scared people would think I’d done something to her.”
It must have made him insane to lose her before he’d forced her to give up the diamonds, Jenny thought. She pretended not to be watching the gun. “So you...you took her up to the cave.”
“It was an accident,” he insisted.
She took a deep breath, catching the scent of the shirt she was wearing. Rourke’s scent. “All right,” she said. “Whatever.” Then, in a gesture of surrender, she brought both hands out and up, offering herself to him.
The moment he reached for the handcuffs, she brought both fists up and swung outward, hitting his jaw so hard that she felt her hand bruise. Maybe she even broke a bone. Then she raced for the bedroom, knowing she had only seconds. He lurched after her just as she released the safety on Rourke’s gun and swung toward him.
See it, then shoot it, Rourke had told her. There was a split-second window of opportunity. She held a gun on him. This was her chance. She could shoot him right now. She saw Matthew’s hand come up, saw his weapon pointed at her. She squeezed the trigger. He howled and staggered back. His gun was gone. She had no idea where it was and could only hope he didn’t, either.
She saw a glimmer of Zach’s face then, so like his father’s, his desperation to love and protect his dad shining from his eyes.
“You bastard,” she said to Matthew, and tried to see where his gun had fallen. She couldn’t find it. “Move,” she said. “We’re going to find Rourke.”
He hesitated, his eyes narrowing speculatively. He held his hand inside his parka. Was he bleeding, or still holding the gun? No, if that was the case, he’d have used it by now.
“Don’t make me do it, Matthew,” she whispered. “I don’t want to, but I swear to God I will.”
His hand came up, and he leveled the gun at her face. “So will I,” he said. “And then you’ll lose your chance to find out where Rourke is.”
She knew she was being played, knew he was probably lying about Rourke, but even the slimmest of chances was better than none at all. Her hand shook as she lowered the gun, then dropped it to the floor with a thud. As he bent to pick it up, she fled to the kitchen. There was only one thing Matthew wanted. The diamonds. She scooped them up and kept running for the door. A blast of cold hit her as she sped outside, already scanning the area for Rourke but unable to locate him or the dog.
Shouting at her, Alger burst out onto the porch. A shot rang out and a sob tore from Jenny as she ran, her progress nightmarishly slow through the drifts of snow. She made it to the dock, turning abruptly, her fist held out over the snow-covered surface of the lake. “Don’t come any closer,” she called to him. “You don’t want me to drop these. If I do, you’ll never find them.”
He stopped where he was, the gun still pointed at her. “Hand them over,” he ordered.
Good, she thought. This was what he wanted. “Tell me where I can find Rourke.”
It had stopped snowing and weak rays of sun colored the sky, imbuing the landscape with magical light. The wind had calmed to nothing. Where was Rourke? Off in the distance, a shadow flickered, and she was seized by a terrible sense of hope. She forced herself to keep staring at Alger, refusing to give away her thoughts with a searching glance. The shadow seemed to recede and then return.
Rourke? Or maybe the dog?
Matthew came at her and she knew he wouldn’t stop. But she also knew he wouldn’t shoot her so long as she held the diamonds in her hand. She saw a blur of movement behind him. He lunged, and at the same moment, she flung the stones. They scattered in a wide arc and disappeared, sinking into the snow-topped surface of the lake.
Chapter Thirty-Three
The second Jenny stepped into the brightly lit lobby of the hospital, she felt a squeeze of pressure around her lungs. Three times before she’d come here—for her grandfather, for Gram and to the basement morgue for Joey—and left with her heart in pieces. Plunging her hand into her pocket, she took out the bottle of pills and headed for a watercooler.
Wait a second, she told herself. The worst is over. Matthew Alger was in custody and Rourke had been
airlifted to the hospital. Rufus was at the vet’s. Two police officers had brought her back to town, and another two had taken Alger away. The snowstorm had subsided and the town was digging out. She had nothing to panic about. Well, except the fact that Rourke had undergone emergency surgery. The thought made her nearly double over, reminding her of the terrible risk of loving someone, loving him so much that losing him would destroy her.
It was a reality she couldn’t escape. Rourke McKnight owned her whole heart, and even the prospect of losing him couldn’t change it. And something else—it didn’t even make her want to change the way she felt. How different this was from the old Jenny, the one who had been so guarded with her feelings. There were not too many good things to say about having a gun pointed at you, but that might be one of them.
The officer escorting her—a nephew of Nina’s—seemed to notice her hesitation, and he stood to one side, waiting. She shut her eyes briefly, took a deep breath, then left the pills in the bottle and kept walking.
As they exited the elevator, she saw what appeared to be at least half the police department crammed into the waiting room. They stood around drinking coffee and talking in low voices, though everyone fell silent when they noticed her.
No, she thought, her heart congealing with cold. Don’t you dare get quiet on me. “Which room?” she demanded. “Where is he?”
“ICU,” someone said, indicating a glassed-in suite of rooms. “Just out of surgery. But it’s family only—”
“What are you going to do?” she demanded, heading for the glass door. “Arrest me?”
They didn’t have to. The door had a magnetic lock controlled by the duty nurse, and all Jenny could do was stand outside like everyone else, waiting in a state of abject dread. Through the double-paned glass, she could see busy hospital personnel and a bed surrounded by so much equipment it was almost impossible to see Rourke.
One of Rourke’s deputies approached her. “He came through like a champ. He’s stable. They’ll let us know the minute we can see him.”