Forever Wife And Mother. Grace Green

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СКАЧАТЬ of her overalls. Only when it was safely tucked away did she dare glance at him again.

      But he was lost in thought. She could tell by the lonesome look in his eyes, the look that told her he was aching for something. She had never figured out what. It reminded her, though, of the way she looked when she chanced to see herself in a mirror when she was thinking that it was the saddest thing in the whole world not to have a mom and how she longed with all her heart to have one.

      At any rate, her dad hadn’t noticed the ring. And for that, she was truly grateful. He had no idea that she spent time in the attic—she knew for a fact that he never went up there himself. First time she went up, the floor and every other thing had been inches deep in dust, and it had taken her two full weeks to get everything cleaned off.

      And of course he had no idea she had found the trunk of pretty things. He had no idea that she loved jewelry and silk dresses and shiny shoes and straw hats with pink flowers. He didn’t. He didn’t like pretty things.

      And he didn’t like pretty ladies.

      She knew that for a fact!

      And it was why, from the very moment she’d overheard him say it—when she was four years old, which was three years ago now—she’d known that if he was gonna love her she had to make herself look as ugly as a mud road.

      And actually, she reflected as she considered her raggedy straw-yellow hair, her turned-up nose and her too-big eyes that weren’t even the same color as each other—that wasn’t a very hard thing to do!

      Heck, no, she thought with a grin, it wasn’t hard at all.

      In fact, it was a downright cinch!

      ‘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 СКАЧАТЬ