The Cabin (31 page)

the money, too.” He set his oversized snowball on the

middle section of his snowman. “He’s kind of a pinhead,

isn’t he? He needs more snow.”

That did it. Susanna shook her head at him. “Oh, no,

you don’t. You’re not going to do this. I’ve been working

this out on my own for
months,
trying to figure out—”

“Trying to figure out who you are,” he said. “Not who

I am. I’m the same.”

“Only because you’re pretending you don’t know

we have money.”

His gaze, very dark against the snow, settled on her.

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257

“I’m not in any kind of denial. I know you’re rich. I

know you haven’t told me.”

“You haven’t asked.”

“I know that, too.”

“Ten million dollars is a hell of a lot of money.”

“I could quit,” he said.

Susanna stared at him. “What?”

“I have a rich wife. I could quit.” His voice was

very quiet now, deadly. “Turn in my badge and go

fishing.”

“Why would you do that?”

“People would expect it.”

“Not me—”

“No?”

“No way. I don’t get to tell you what to do with your

life. You know you’re doing the work you were meant

to do. You’re good at it.”

“But in these last months, haven’t you grown to

hate it?”

She refused to cry. Alice Parker, the cemetery, the

cabin—now him. She knew she was overwhelmed. She

fought an urge to grab Gran and the girls, jump in the

car and drive away. They could go to Canada and stay

there until Jack gave them the all-clear. Easier than stand-

ing here having this conversation with her husband.

“Jack, do you really think I’d tell you not to be a

Texas Ranger?”

He smiled, not that nicely. “Any more than I’d tell

you not to make ten million?”

“You wanted to,” she said suddenly. “Didn’t you?”

Nothing about him softened. “I thought about break-

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ing into your computer and figuring out ways to get rid

of every dime.”

“Because you didn’t want it affecting what you do,

who you are—”

“Who we are,” he said.

“The money’s what we make of it. Nothing more,

nothing less.”

“It’s not changing me,” he said. “I’ve decided that.”

She nodded. He fiddled more with his snowman’s

head, saying nothing.

“I should kick your snowman to bits,” she told him.

“You should.”

“Jack, damn it, you
knew.
You knew
everything.
”

“Admit it, darlin’.” His voice deepened, and he laid

on the Texas drawl. “You’d have been disappointed if I

hadn’t.”

She couldn’t remember ever being so frustrated—so

completely thrown by this man. He set the snowman’s

head on top of the two larger snowballs and admired his

handiwork. Without thinking, Susanna swept the head

off with one arm and snatched up a chunk of it, charg-

ing Jack, fully intending to stuff it down his neck. But

he made one little defensive move, and next thing, she

was on her back in a snowdrift, with him on top of her

with his own handful of snow.

“I swear, Jack, if you put that snow down my back—”

Too late. Down her front it went, but even as she felt

the rush of cold, she reached out with one hand and

flipped snow into his face, kicking at his damn snowman.

He responded by bringing his mouth onto hers,

which, she realized, was exactly what she wanted. There

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259

was no pretending otherwise. His lips were cold, but the

wet heat of his tongue made her forget the snow melt-

ing on her chest, under her breasts.

“I’ve spent too much time thinking about the damn

money.” His voice was low and intent, very calm, but

there was no studied self-control in place now. He was

holding nothing back, and it made her breath catch. He

kissed her again, furiously, then said, “I’m not going to

stop loving you if you lose the whole ten million tomor-

row, or make another ten million. I don’t give a damn.”

“You did.”

“I’m not going to change on you, Susanna. I am

what I am.”

“Everything’s changing on me,” she whispered.

“Sometimes I feel I can’t keep up. I thought if I moved

in with Gran for a little while, I could stop time and

catch my breath…” She blinked back tears, even as she

felt a surge of love and straightforward, unabashed

physical desire for this man kissing her in the snow.

“Then a few weeks turned into a few months, then more

months, and now Maggie and Ellen are getting ready to

hear from collages, and here we are, with you bonked

on the head, my cabin ransacked, Alice Parker and Beau

McGarrity on the loose—”

“We’ll sort it out, Susanna.”

“I love you,” she said. “I’ve always loved you.”

He touched her mouth, let his fingers trail across her

cheek and into her hair. “I know. It’ll be all right.”

“You’re always so sure of everything,” she said,

caught his fingers in one hand and kissed them. But with

her free hand, she grabbed a handful of snow and, catch-

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Carla Neggers

ing him off guard for once, shoved it down his neck.

“You’re a bastard for not telling me you knew about the

ten million.”

He shot up off her and dug the snow out of his neck.

“And what do you think I should do to you for not tell-

ing me?”

He tossed a clump of snow at her, and it thudded off

her hip as she rolled away, very aware she was at a dis-

advantage now that he was on his feet—and on his

guard—and she was still on her back in a snowdrift.

“I felt guilty,” she said, “when here you were, won-

dering how it’d affect your damn work and your man’s

man reputation—”

“You wrecked my snowman.”

She gave up. They’d talked as much as either of them

could manage at this point. “I’ll help you rebuild it.”

She started to get up, and he offered her a hand. She

took it, not sure he wouldn’t pop her headfirst into a

snowbank—or maybe drag her off somewhere and

make love to her. But she could see from his expression

it was back to the business at hand.

She brushed the snow off her arms and front, felt it

melting into her hair. She breathed up at the sky, the

clouds pinkish above the tops of the trees. “Destin

wasn’t at the inn today with Alice,” she said. “It was

probably about the time the cabin was broken into.”

“I should have known McGarrity followed you be-

fore his wife was killed.” Jack stepped on a chunk of

snow, pressing it down under his boot. “I knew there was

more. I knew Alice hadn’t told me everything.”

“There was nothing you could have done—”

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261

“There was a lot I could have done.”

Susanna didn’t argue. She wasn’t going to make him

feel any better.

He took her hand, brushed the last of the snow off

her shoulder. “Let’s go inside and drink something hot,

make sure Gran and the girls are okay. Then I want to

hear everything Alice Parker said to you.”

��

Sixteen

Another Texan had come into Jim Haviland’s bar. This

one sat on a stool and ordered the nightly special. Jim

put a plate of vegetarian lasagna in front of him, another

new recipe he was trying out. “I’m going to take a wild

guess and say you’re from Texas.”

“Yes, sir, I am.” The man was dark and black-eyed,

and he eyed the lasagna as if he wasn’t sure he wanted

it, after all. Then he grinned, and the female Tufts grad-

uate students at one of the tables damn near went into

a swoon. “How could you tell?”

“The white hat. The boots.” He tilted his head back and

stared a moment. The black leather jacket threw him off,

but he suspected he was right. “You’re a Texas Ranger?”

“Only in Texas. In the great state of Massachusetts,

I’m just a regular guy.”

Jim didn’t think there was anything “regular” about

this guy. In addition to the cowboy hat and leather

jacket, he was wearing a tie and a holster with a gun in

it. “You know Jack Galway?”

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263

“Yes, he’s my lieutenant, Mr.—”

“Haviland. Jim Haviland. I own this place.”

“Sam Temple. I’m a sergeant with the Texas Ran-

gers. I’m in Massachusetts on official business, duly

authorized.”

“That’s why they let you in armed?”

“I don’t do business unarmed, Mr. Haviland.”

Jim thought he heard one of the graduate students

make a choking sound, but he gave her a warning look.

One of her friends was pretending to revive her by wav-

ing a cocktail napkin in front of her face. Jim figured

they all needed spring to get there. Cabin fever was set-

ting in. He was fairly sure that Sam Temple wouldn’t

give a damn about a couple of smart-assed eavesdrop-

ping anthropology students going ga-ga over him.

Temple produced a color photograph and set it on the

bar. “Have you seen this man by any chance?” he asked.

Jim took the picture and frowned at it. “He was here

yesterday. Early evening. I remember, because I was

burning pies and he commented on my daughter. Didn’t

say much else. Who is he?”

“Texas real estate developer.”

It wasn’t a straight answer. Jim could see Davey

Ahearn squirm at the other end of the bar. He had the

vegetarian lasagna in front of him. He’d already com-

plained about finding a carrot stick. The graduate stu-

dents had told Jim they wanted to have his baby, they

loved his vegetarian lasagna so much. This was the

problem with a diverse clientele, but it kept his work in-

teresting. He could probably do without armed Texas

Rangers, though.

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Carla Neggers

Davey suspended a forkful of lasagna midair and

looked over at Sam Temple. “Is this the son of a bitch

who shot his wife and stalked Susanna Galway?”

The Texas Ranger set his fork down. His black eyes

settled on Davey, and there was more napkin-waving at

the Tufts table. “Susanna told you that Beau McGarrity

stalked her?”

“Uh-oh. Me and my big mouth,” Davey backtracked,

which wasn’t his style. Usually when he put his foot in

his mouth, he just made things worse. “It was New

Year’s Eve. She was drinking margaritas. Maybe she

was exaggerating.”

“Susanna doesn’t exaggerate,” Sam Temple said.

Jim laid a towel on his shoulder. First, Audrey Mel-

bourne, aka Alice Parker, the ex-con, then Jack Galway,

the break-in at Iris’s and the guy last night. Now, Ser-

geant Sam Temple. “You want to tell me what the hell’s

going on?”

The Ranger paused a beat, and Jim could see he was

all business, a total professional. Which meant he wasn’t

telling anyone anything. “Jack said you know about

Alice Parker, the woman who came in here under the

name Audrey Melbourne and befriended Susanna’s

grandmother. Any idea where she’s been staying?”

Jim shook his head. “The local police want to talk to

her about the break-in the other night.”

“I imagine so. I haven’t talked to them yet.” He

smiled. “Thought I’d stop in here first, before they give

me a shadow.”

The bar was small, and the grad students were

noisy—but Jim had a feeling Sam Temple was deliber-

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265

ately including them in what he had to say. If he’d

wanted to, he’d have asked to talk in private.

From the table behind him, one of the graduate students

said, “I know where Audrey lives.” Temple looked around

at her. She was an anthropology major Davey liked to

tease about doing digs on Lake Titicaca in Bolivia. They

all knew he could be an idiot. The kid added, straightfor-

ward, “She lives in my building, about two blocks from

here. She has a rat-hole apartment just like mine, except

she’s on the third floor and I’m on the second.”

Sam Temple eased off the bar stool, his lasagna

barely touched. “Can you give me directions?”

The grad student had almost stopped breathing, and

Jim could see her friends kicking her under the table.

Davey scratched the side of his handlebar mustache

with his little finger. “I know the building. I can take you

over there.”

As disciplined as Sam Temple was, Jim could sense

the man’s intensity. “Much obliged.”

Davey swung to his feet, nonchalant. Wyatt Earp

could walk into the place, and Davey Ahearn wouldn’t

give a damn. “I haven’t had anything to drink. I’ve just

been trying to choke down this vegetable lasagna.

Jimmy, curried corn chowder and now this? Stick to the

basics.”

Temple stayed focused, not distracted by Davey’s

wisecracks. He turned to Jim. “Last night when Beau

McGarrity was here—did you happen to mention that

Susanna Galway had gone to the Adirondacks?”

The Texas Ranger spoke in a measured, steady drawl,

but Jim understood every word. He wished he hadn’t. He