Trouble in Paradise (11 page)

“But—”

“I was sort of hoping we’d have some time to ourselves. Just you and me. I figure those moments will be harder to come by while Anne’s here.”

“You—”

“She’s a nice girl, Shayla. But she isn’t you.”

She’s a nice girl, Shayla. But she isn’t you.

Lying in bed the next morning, Shayla replayed Ian’s words over and over again in her head.

Maybe…just maybe…

Pulling the blankets up to her chin, she wondered what she meant by
maybe.
What was it she wanted from Ian? What was it she wanted for herself?

“What do I want?” she whispered.

She wanted to serve God with her writing. She wanted to be a published mystery novelist.

But did that mean she couldn’t fall in love? Did it mean she couldn’t have a man in her life, too? Did it mean she couldn’t have Ian? Weren’t many successful writers happily married?

Married?

She groaned as she pulled the blankets over her face.

She was jumping the gun. So okay, Ian was attracted to her, but that didn’t mean this relationship was headed to the altar. She was blowing it all out of proportion. Certainly he hadn’t mentioned the word
marriage.
Good grief! She’d suspected Ian was still mourning the death of his wife.

She heard a door close, followed moments later by the sound of running water. Anne was up, and now Shayla would have to wait a good hour for her chance to use the shower. Of all her sisters, Anne was the worst at hogging the bathroom.

She tossed off the blankets and looked up at the ceiling. “When will I ever learn?”

She got out of bed, pulled on her robe and walked out to the kitchen to put the coffee on. Several cups would be needed if she hoped to stay awake during this Sunday morning’s sermon. She hadn’t enjoyed a restful night.

Ian stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, his vision blurred, his muscles aching. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had so much trouble falling asleep.

Leaving Shayla the previous evening had been almost an impossibility. He would have willingly spent the night on the swing, holding her, kissing her, loving her.

Yeah, it was true. He loved her. He loved those baggy T-shirts and old cutoffs she wore. He loved her unruly curls. He loved her slightly turned-up button nose and her soft, pliant lips. He loved the way she laughed, loved how she talked about her brothers and sisters, even when she was confessing her irritation with them, loved her dedication, her stubbornness, her willingness to try new things.

So what was he going to do about it?

There was only one thing he could do: Pray! Pray as he’d never prayed before.

Following Christ, trusting in the Lord in every area of his life—it was something he was still learning to do. When he’d fallen in love with Joanne, he’d asked her to marry him because it was what
he
wanted. This time around, he needed to know marriage was what God wanted
for
him.

He glanced down at the bathroom counter. A can of shaving cream and his razor. Toothpaste and toothbrush. An empty dispenser for three-ounce paper cups. That was it. That was everything on the counter.

Marriage…

He’d seen Shayla’s bathroom. Stuff everywhere.

He chuckled. “Lord, I’d give her all the space she’d need, if she was my wife. I wouldn’t mind the clutter. I love her more than I thought possible. If she’s to be my wife, please help me know when and how I’m to do the asking.” He drew a deep breath. “And please tell her to say yes.”

C
het looked around the room, desperation welling in his chest. The killer had been there. He’d taken True.

First Neal.

Then the sheriff.

And now True.

If she was dead…

No, he wouldn’t let himself think that way. She meant too much to him now. In recent weeks he’d discovered there was lots more to True Barry than most people realized. Her tough-gal persona was just that. A persona. Beneath that crusty shell beat a sentimental heart of pure gold.

“If you harm one hair on her head,” he muttered, “you won’t live long enough to regret it.” Trouble was, he didn’t know who he threatened.

But True was no dumb bimbo, as he used to think. If she’d had any time at all before she was taken, she
would have left him a clue as to the killer’s identity or where he had taken her.

“Lord, please show me,” he whispered. “Help me find True. Direct my steps and stop the man who’d do her harm.”

His breathing slowed as calm washed over him.

It was here, the clue to her whereabouts. He knew it as surely as he knew his own name.

“Hang on, True. Don’t give up. Keep trusting God. I’ll get there as fast as I can.”

Peals of laughter broke into Shayla’s concentration. Which was just as well, she thought as she rolled her chair backward. She’d written nothing but tripe.

“Would you like some lunch?” she heard Anne ask.

But her sister wasn’t speaking to her. Ty had dropped by. Again.

Shayla rose from her chair and walked toward the front door. The couple sat on the top step of the deck. Ty’s horse grazed in the shade of a nearby aspen.

“How soon do you have to get back to work?” Anne asked him. “It’ll only take me a few minutes to whip up a couple of sandwiches and heat some soup.”

“I reckon I got time enough.”

Shayla pushed open the screen door. “Ty’s always got enough time to eat. Don’t you, Ty?”

He looked over his shoulder. A sheepish grin served as his reply.

Before Shayla could say anything else, she heard
the sound of cantering hooves and looked to see Ian riding Blue up the drive. Her heart did its usual flutter at the sight of him.

“Oh, good.” Anne rose from the step. “It’s a foursome. I’ll make extra sandwiches.” She hurried inside.

Ty stood. “I’ll give her a hand.” He followed Anne into the cabin.

Ian brought Blue to a halt. “I thought I’d find Ty over here.” He dismounted, then looked up at her from beneath the brim of his hat. “Glad he is. Gave me an excuse to come see you in the middle of a workday.”

Her pulse tripped, then speeded up.

“How’s the writing going?” he asked as he climbed the steps toward her.

She shrugged. “So-so.”

“Must be tough with people around all the time.”

“A little.”

“Sorry for intruding.”

Her mouth was dry, her head in a dither. She wondered if this was how True felt whenever Chet was around. And would Ian be as upset if
she
were suddenly missing?

“Want me to tell Ty to steer clear of here on weekdays?”

She gave her head a slight shake. “No. Anne likes his company. Besides, it gives her something to do.” She smiled faintly. “I don’t think she expected Rainbow to have so few diversions.”

“How about if I ask her to do my housekeeping? You could write while she’s over at Paradise.”

A stinging suspicion pierced her thoughts. Was he looking for a way to be alone with Anne?

“Come sit with me on the swing,” he said, intruding on her unhappy thoughts. “I need to ask you something.”

She could have told him he’d be wasting his time, asking her anything. She hadn’t thought straight for two days. Not since she’d lain awake the better share of the night and found herself thinking words like
love
and
marriage.

“I’ve got to drive down to Boise tomorrow,” he said as they settled onto the swing. “Leigh and Jim are flying in with the twins. I’ll stay overnight, then come back the next day after they fly out again. I thought you might like to come along. You could meet my sister and her husband.”

He wanted her to meet his family? That sounded serious.

“’Course, I don’t know how much fun it’ll be driving back with two six-year-old girls. I’m no expert with kids like you are. Guess that’d be another good reason for you to come along, wouldn’t it?”

It took a few seconds for that comment to sink in. When it did, she asked, “The twins are coming back with you?”

“I thought I already told you.” He pushed his hat back on his head, then scratched his temple. “But I’m not surprised if I forgot to mention it. Whenever I’m with you, I’m lucky if I can remember my own name.” He gave her a slow, lazy kind of smile before
continuing. “Leigh and Jim are going overseas for his job, and they’re leaving their girls in my care.”

He wanted help with his nieces. He thought her an expert with kids. It wasn’t that he was interested in her. Not really.

“How about it, Shayla?”

She felt stiff and cold inside. “I don’t think so. Anne’s here and—”

“Ty’ll keep your sister busy while you’re gone. She’ll never even—”

“No.” She stood up. “I prefer not to go. But thanks for asking. Excuse me. I…I’ve got something I must do inside.” She hurried away before she burst into tears of disappointment in front of him.

She’d thought…

She’d hoped…

But she should have known better.

“What did I say?” Ian asked himself as the screen door swung closed behind Shayla. He’d upset her, but for the life of him, he didn’t know why.

Just as he stood up, Anne came through the doorway. “What happened?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, you must have done
something.
Shayla never cries. She’s the strongest one in the family.”

“She’s crying?” He moved forward. “I’d better apologize.”

Anne blocked the entrance with her body. “She said she was going to lie down.” She stared at him with a suspicious gaze.

“All I did was ask her to go with me to Boise. I wanted her to meet my sister and her husband.”

“I guess she doesn’t want to go.”

“Anne, listen. I—”

She put her hand on his chest, keeping him outside. “Nobody hurts my big sister, Mr. O’Connell.”

“But I didn’t mean to.”

“I think you’d better go.”

He wanted to argue. He wanted to push his way past her and go after Shayla. But he had the feeling Anne would light into him like an angry cat, claws bared, if he tried.

He took a step away from the door. “All right. Tell her I’ll come see her as soon as I get back. Tell her that I’m sorry for…for whatever I said wrong.”

Anne remained dubious, judging by her expression and the set of her shoulders.

Women!

“Women,” Ian muttered the next day as he waited for the airplane carrying the Parker family. Why were females so hard to understand?

He’d offered to let Anne work for him so Shayla would have time alone to write. He’d invited Shayla to come to Boise to meet Leigh and Jim. He’d admitted that being around her made him forget his own name. None of those things should have upset her. So what had? What had he done or said to make her cry, to make her hide from him?

Passengers began to pour out of the Arrivals doorway, intruding on his troubled musings. For
now, he’d have to pay attention to his sister and her family. But as soon as he got back to Rainbow Valley, he was going to get some answers.

“Ian!”

He grinned as his gaze met with his sister’s over the heads of other passengers. “Hey, Leigh!” He waved. “Jim!”

Moments later, he hugged Leigh and shook his brother-in-law’s hand. Then he was reintroduced to Cathy and Angie, a pair of dark-haired angels if ever he’d seen any.

“Hi, Uncle Ian,” they said in unison, their smiles shy, their eyes slightly downcast.

“Hi, yourself. Wow! I’d forgotten how identical you are. How can I tell you apart?”

Their smiles grew.

“Nobody can,” one of them said.

“Except Mommy and Daddy,” the other added.

A smart man would have known right then that he was in trouble.

Ian put his arm around Leigh’s shoulders. “It’s great to see you, sis. How’s Mom?” They started toward the escalator that led to the baggage claim.

“She’s fine. The new medication she’s on has helped ease that pain in her hip.” She glanced at him as they walked. “She’s got a steady beau.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope. I think it’s getting serious.”

Ian released a soft whistle. “Mom with a boyfriend. Isn’t that something?”

“How about you?” She gently jabbed him in the ribs. “Anybody special in your life?”

He hesitated, then answered, “As a matter of fact, yes.”

It must have been something in his voice that caused Leigh to stop, forcing him to do the same. She looked up at him for several moments. “Well, I’ll be. Ian, you’re in love, aren’t you?”

After drawing a deep breath, he nodded. “Yes.”

“And is she in love with you?”

“That I can’t say for certain. I’m trying not to rush things. To wait for the Lord to say what and when.” He remembered the scene yesterday on Shayla’s deck and wondered if he should ask his sister for some advice.

“Who is she? Do I know her?”

“No.” They started walking again. “She’s fairly new to the valley.”

“Your neighbor. The housekeeper. I
knew
it!”

“She’s not a housekeeper. She’s a writer. She’s working on a mystery novel right now. Her name’s Shayla Vincent. She’s old Mrs. Erickson’s great-niece.”

“I’m happy for you, Ian. I hope it works out.” Leigh tightened her arm around his waist. “I’m sorry I won’t meet her before leaving the country.”

“Me, too.”

True could escape from the murderous Mitchell Jones, Shayla thought as she stared at the manuscript pages on her lap. Then she could sneak up on Chet and strangle him while he slept. Or maybe she
could put some horrible drug in his coffee when he came in to eat at the diner. She could watch him die a miserable, painful death, writhing in agony on the floor, begging for mercy, which she most certainly would not give. Or there was always Chinese water torture or bamboo shoots beneath the fingernails.

There had to be a hundred different ways True Barry could make Chet Morrison suffer.

“I wish you’d tell me what it was Ian did,” Anne said, her voice laced with concern.

Shayla looked up. “What?”

“What did he do?”

She shook her head. “It isn’t important.”

“It must be or you wouldn’t be moping.”

“I’m not moping. I’m trying—” she gave her sister a pointed look “—to get some work done.”

“Well, I like Ian, and so do you, whether you want to admit it or not.” Anne flopped onto the sofa across from Shayla and stretched out her long legs, crossing one ankle over the other. She tucked her hands behind her head. “You should have seen his face. He couldn’t imagine what he’d said to upset you. Whatever it was, he regrets it. You ought to give him the benefit of the doubt.”

Shayla released a deep sigh. “Leave it alone, Anne.”

“You don’t just like him, you know. You’re in love with him.”

“I most certainly am not.” She dropped the manuscript onto the rickety coffee table and rose from her chair. “Now let’s change the subject.”

“To what?” Anne raised one leg and stared at her
toenails. “I need to fix my polish. Do you have any polish remover down here?”

“No!”

“Well, you don’t have to bite my head off.
I
didn’t do anything.”

“Ooh!” Shayla headed out of the cabin, letting the screen door slam behind her. She almost flew down the steps, then headed up the hillside that rose behind the cabin. She needed to get far away so she could scream without anybody hearing her.

She walked for a good five minutes before she realized that the sound she heard was Honey Girl’s familiar yap. She stopped and turned. Sure enough, there was the puppy, struggling to catch up with her.

“How did you get out of the house?” she asked as she knelt down.

Honey Girl scampered through the underbrush, undaunted and determined to reach her mistress.

“Anne let you out, didn’t she?”

The puppy barked, as if saying, “Yes!”

“That was a rotten thing for her to do.”

As she lifted Honey Girl into her arms, she looked down the mountain toward the cabin. Anne stood at the corner of the deck, staring up the hillside, shading her eyes with one hand.

“That was a rotten thing to do!” Shayla shouted.

Her sister simply raised a hand in a wave before retreating indoors.

“I don’t love him.” Shayla held Honey Girl against her chest as she resumed her climb up the
hillside. “I don’t, and I don’t care what Anne or you or anybody else says. I don’t love him.”

Dried leaves and old pine needles crunched beneath her feet.

“All right. He’s a nice man, and it was kind of him to give you to me. But thinking a man is nice isn’t the same thing as being in love.”

The sun beat warm upon her back.

“I’m not interested in being in love. I don’t want any more family than the one I already have. God has called me to write. Why did I even consider wanting more?”

Honey Girl wiggled and whined, begging down.

Tears, unexpected and unwelcome, filled her eyes. “He only wanted an expert with kids. He just wanted me to help him with his nieces.” She set the puppy on the ground. “I hope those girls drive him crazy. I do. I really do.”

Guilt pricked her conscience over her unkind words. She should forgive, turn the other cheek, be long-suffering. But what she wanted was for God to heap burning coals on Ian O’Connell’s head.