Forever Wife And Mother

‘Hidden Valley?” Peering into the murky night, the gas jockey indicated a road across the highway from the rural Shell station. “Go straight down there for a couple of miles and you’ll come to a village, go through it and on up the valley for another ten miles. The Lockhart place ain’t signposted but look for the Ryland’s Resort sign—you can’t miss it, it’s well lit up. Your turnoff’s right after.”

Caprice had no problem following the directions, but the drive from Seattle had taken longer than she’d expected, so it was almost midnight before she finally saw the illuminated Ryland’s Resort sign.

Slowing down, she passed the entrance to the private road, and sixty yards farther on came to her turnoff.

As she swung onto the track, the headlights of her rented Honda danced among the pine trees lining the trail. She drove cautiously and in a minute rounded a bend and entered a clearing. The log house lay straight ahead.

She drew the Honda to a halt by the gate of a picket fence that enclosed a good-size garden and sat there a while, rubbing her neck to iron out the knots. Then she slung the strap of her purse over her shoulder, hauled her overnight bag from the seat beside her, flicked the lights off and eased her travel-weary body out of the car.

Momentarily blinded by the dark, she paused to let her eyes adjust and felt the night enfold her.

The air was rich with the scent of evergreens and musky with the odor of damp earth. Deep in the forest, a creature howled, and as the sound echoed eerily from the hills, Caprice shivered. She became suddenly aware of how alone she was here, alone and unprotected.

Stirring herself, she picked her way along the path to the door and dropped her overnight bag at the side of the porch before taking the key from her purse. It turned easily in the lock, and she pushed the door forward.

The entryway was tar dark. Leaving the door open, she ran a hand over the wall in search of a light switch, but as she groped for it something brushed past her from inside with a cry so harsh and high it chilled her blood.

She froze for one long, terrified moment. And then, with panic racing at her heels, she ran helter-skelter to the car and flung herself breathlessly inside.

Fang heard it first.

Gabe was waiting at the top of the lodge steps for the mutt to do his bedtime business and emerge from the forest when the animal gave a sharp warning bark.

As the sound faded, Gabe heard the throb of a fast-approaching engine. Seconds later, he saw the glare of headlights, and a car roared into the clearing.

Tensing, he drew his hands from the pockets of his jeans. Strangers in the night. Nowadays, one couldn’t be too careful.

As the car slammed to a skidding halt a few yards from the lodge steps, Fang rocketed over to the vehicle, barking wildly while dancing around it in a frenzy of excitement.

“Fang!” Gabe yelled. “Come here!”

Still yelping shrilly, the dog obeyed, hopping up the steps to take his stance beside his master.

Gabe snapped his fingers. “Quiet!”

After a low protesting growl, Fang became silent.

The powerful light above the lodge’s entrance beamed onto the car. It was a Honda Civic, and only one person was in it. Warily, Gabe watched the driver climb out and felt his tension ease when he saw the intruder was a female—a slight, petite figure in jeans and a dark shirt. The woman paused, her hands cupped at her brow to shield her eyes from the light, and then walked hesitantly forward.

She stopped at the foot of the stairs, and with her face shadowed by her hands, she looked at him.

“I know it’s late,” she said. “But can you give me a room for the night?”

“Sorry.” Her hair, he saw, was fair—and wildly disheveled, which struck him as odd, because there wasn’t even the slightest breeze. But maybe the storm-swept look was in…along with the black feathers adorning her tousled coiffure. As far as he was concerned, whichever designer had decreed feathers-in-the-hair this season had to be cuckoo himself. “Didn’t you read the sign on the highway? We’re not open for another couple of weeks.”

“Oh, dear.” She gave a shaky sigh. “Where’s the nearest motel?”

“Your best bet’s Cedarville. That’s about an hour’s drive—”

He broke off as she swayed.

He frowned. “You okay?”

No response. She stood there, looking dazed and boneless as a puppet. And then she crumpled.

Good grief! He lunged down the steps and caught her just before she hit the gravel.

Sweeping her up in his arms, he glowered at her—at her feather-strewn hair, her closed eyelids, her face—which was deathly pale except for a few dirty smears.

“Hey,” he growled, giving her a brisk shake. “Wake up. You can’t sleep here. We’re closed!”

No response.

He hesitated and dithered and swithered and then finally wheeled around and carted the stranger up the steps, all the while muttering words under his breath that he’d never have used in front of Will.

As he went inside, Fang took off for their private quarters to sleep in Will’s room, as he always did.

Kicking the door shut with his heel, Gabe walked across the foyer and into the public lounge. He flicked on a light, crossed to the nearest sofa and deposited the woman on it.

Then he crossed to the bar and poured a tot of brandy into a glass before returning to the sofa. He tilted the stranger’s head, poured a little brandy into her mouth. She swallowed, coughed, choked and then with a sputter shook her head and slowly raised her eyelids.

She looked at him. Her eyes were wide-spaced, long-lashed and smoky gray. They had a blank expression.

“What happened?” she asked, her voice husky.

“You passed out.”

She blinked. “I did? Where?”

“At the lodge’s front entrance.”

She looked blank for a few seconds longer, and then she said, “Ah, I remember now.” Her lips twisted in a wry smile. “I guess I don’t react well to rejection!”

“It’s to be hoped you aren’t faced with it too often,” he said dryly. “Falling down can be hazardous to your health.”

“Thanks,” she said. “But I’m fine now.”

She didn’t look fine. She looked all in. And not merely tired. There was a bone-deep weariness about her and an aching sadness in her eyes that—if she had been a part of his life—would have worried him. Well, she wasn’t a part of his life, so he needn’t spend one second fretting about her. In fact, the sooner he got rid of her the better.

She struggled to a sitting position. “I’m sorry to be such a bother.” Dragging a hand through her hair, she dislodged one of the black feathers, and it clung to her knuckles. When she saw it, she flicked it off with a shocked sound. Horrified, she said, “Where did that come from?” It fluttered to the carpet.

Gabe plucked it up and got to his feet. “From your hair. Don’t worry, the others are still there.”

“The others?” Lurching off the sofa, she flicked her fingers frantically through her hair. He noticed the gleam of a gold wedding band on her ring finger. “Where?”

“Stand still.” So the feathers weren’t a fashion statement. Then where the dickens had they come from? He picked out the remaining few feathers. “There.” He held them in his palm. “All present and accounted for.”

She made a grimace of distaste.