Hide and Seek (11 page)

Scott made an impatient sound. “Still there?"

Holt spun away and concentrated on an ice cream advertisement depicting the snow-covered Rockies. "As I was saying, Montero’s seen the camper, so I need new transportation. Take my truck and park it in Melissa’s garage. Brief her about what's going on, but when we arrive, she’s not to interrogate Caprice. She wouldn’t know how to handle Melissa’s sharp tongue.”

Scott groaned. "Who does?”

"Keep Brian busy, checking fence posts along Baker and Laurel Hill Roads. He can report any vehicles with West Virginia plates, and the pasture gates should be kept padlocked.”

Holt rubbed his sore shoulder and turned to find Shawn eyeing a gumball machine as Caprice approached the register. The basket on her arm overflowed with purchases when Holt remembered Scott again. “Oh, and let Melissa know that Caprice’s son has severe hearing loss, so she might want to counsel the girls.”

“Sure.” Scott hesitated. “Are you aware Gemma was upgraded to a Category Three?”

“What!” The store’s patrons including Caprice stared, her eyebrows jammed, before he turned away and lowered his tone. "Scott, this woman is packing enough danger to rival any hurricane. Get on your knees and pray Gemma turns away. Anything else?”

“Not much…except, Doc Goff claims he has left messages on your service. Something regarding a charity event.”

“Hell, that’s at the bottom of my list of concerns.” Their discussion turned to talk of moving livestock from soggy, overgrazed pastures before Holt disconnected. Striding up to stand behind Caprice at the counter, he hooked his thumb and index finger into the back pocket of his jeans for his wallet.

Before the red-headed cashier could take Caprice's money, Holt caught her outstretched hand. "Keep it."

"Let me pay!”

He rested a hand on her hip and pulled, drawing her soft warmth against his chest. The fact that she was beginning to trust him, whisked his blood. "Save it for souvenirs, darlin’.” He nuzzled her neck, inhaling the pulse-stirring scent of peaches. “Besides, I'm not hungry. Let's go to bed early like we planned."

The cashier shot Caprice a knowing look then took his money, but once outside the store, Holt braced.

"You're so arrogant! That woman thinks we're..."

“What?” he prodded. “Behaving like a married couple?”

Her lips twitched. "Never mind, but you should have let me purchase the groceries."

"Camp stores are notoriously expensive. How's your cash?"

“Low, quite frankly.” She tapped the bag. “Thank you. The last thing I want to leave behind is a trail of debit or credit transactions for Alan."

****

After a late dinner, Caprice gathered their dirty clothes. Meanwhile, Shawn and Holt sat at the table with the sign language book. Shawn was occupied as he bent Holt’s big fingers, teaching him the ASL alphabet. Quickly, she snatched Shawn’s dingy lamb. She was determined to put Mr. Punch through a wash.

As if Holt sensed she was staring, his gaze lifted to hers, then lowered suggestively. “I’ve been meaning to ask…did you wave your wand and just make that dress materialize?”

“No. I was rushing when I left Charleston. I packed cottons for easy wash and wear.” Too late, heat suffused her cheeks. “And speaking of clothes, I’m going to the campground laundry. Do you have anything to add to our laundry?"

"Sure. Just a moment."

Holt signed two more letters. Once he received Shawn’s beaming approval, Holt stood. As he strode to his room, his booted-feet thumped, rattling the pans and the canned foods. Worn jeans gripped tight buttocks and long, powerful legs.

Earlier Holt had stepped up behind her in the camp store and pulled her against his length, against his inviting warmth. She hadn't been compelled to run. Quite the contrary. His boldness had aroused her, making her yearn for a tender caress. What would it be like to know Holt's hands stroking her body like a goddess in a warm, loving bed?

Needing to do something with her hands, she snatched up the book and smoothed the dog-eared edges as if to clear the path of her thinking. She was relieved Holt’s arrest had nothing to do with a gun, but she wanted to maintain her perspective where he was concerned.

“You don’t need to come to the wash room,” she said when he returned and handed her a small bundle. “I’ll have Shawn and Armor.”

“Then I’ll check my map and the computer for back roads to get us home. With Gemma breathing down my neck, we’ll leave at dawn.” He opened the kitchen drawer and handed her the flashlight. “You’ll need the pistol too.”

When he reached into the cupboard, she gripped his forearm. “Don't. By now you should know, I would never use one."

He met her gaze. “After I hooked up the camper, I searched the woods and the campground's perimeter. I'm confident we shook Montero. Nevertheless, stay vigilant."

In the campground’s washroom, flickering lights attracted hard-shelled beetles that tapped on the hot glass. A bright green Luna moth spread its wings against the cracked ceiling. As the washers agitated, she sat in one of several rigid, plastic chairs that lined the cinder block walls.

Armor's playful bark drew her attention. His nails scraped the brushed concrete floor as Shawn waved a stick in front of the shepherd who snatched it between jagged teeth. Like an honor badge, a red metal tag flashed from Armor's collar.

Earlier that day, Holt had insisted a dog would teach Shawn responsibility. Now that she had time to reconsider, she conceded that Holt made an excellent point.

She tapped Shawn’s shoulder then placed the back of her right hand into her left palm. “I will buy a dog for you,” she said and snapped her fingers down by her hip.

Shawn’s eyes widened and he pointed to Armor.

She shook her head. "No. Armor belongs to Holt."

Later, Caprice pulled clothes from the dryer and folded a pair of black briefs. Her cheeks burned at the uninvited images. She hid the briefs under some towels then found one of Holt’s wash-worn shirts.

"Mom." Grateful for the diversion, Caprice accepted the large, rusted wrench Shawn held toward her. Where had he found it?

She worked the heavy tool with her hand then signed and spoke. "It fixes machines and cars."

"Give to Holt." Shawn struggled with his pronunciation, but she understood him.

"Yes." Smiling now, Caprice brushed grit from the handle then set the wrench on top of the folded clothes. Her son identified with Holt. And, hadn’t Shawn started rubbing his shoulder just like the man?

It was time to leave. Shawn took the flashlight and they stepped into the warm, muggy night. Both dog and boy darted down the meandering path carpeted in pine needles. Caprice followed with one hand supporting the clothes and the other hand clamped the wrench in place over the laundry.

I'm confident we shook Montero.
Holt's words had a stabilizing effect. However, Alan was motivated to find her. Was he now lurking behind a large tree or bush? Caprice cursed her wild imagination as Shawn’s laughter drew further away. She glanced around and her steps slowed. Was she on the right path? She doubled back, cast adrift in a rolling sea of predicaments. Had she taken a wrong turn?

Holt’s words beat a rhythm in her head....
stay vigilant…stay vigilant.

Still gripping the wrench in place over the clothes, she walked along the moonlit trail. Several feet ahead, a branch snapped. She stopped and searched the shadows, the trees and thick bushes. A tall, wide-shouldered man stepped from the woods, effectively blocking her path. Clean shaven with a square, jutting chin, his jaw bone looked hard and cruel.

Alan!

He started toward her, his strides purposeful. Fear torched Caprice’s spine. She dropped the clothes and screamed. She flung the wrench and had the brief satisfaction of hearing the metal implement thud against flesh and bone before she raced in the opposite direction.

From behind her, his heavy tread gained, pounding the earth. “Wait!”

His arm cinched her middle in a bone-crushing grip. Propelled by his solid weight, she pitched forward. Her scream was cut off as she impacted the uneven ground. He landed on her, sending the air gushing from her lungs. She tried to twist away, but he held her fast. His harsh breathing filled her ear.

"You ’effing bod!"
Her arms were pinned, but she fought with every fiber of her being.
“Feis ort!”

With his muscled arm binding her middle, he clamped his leg over hers. "Dammit, Caprice. Stop your infernal kicking!"

Recognition dawned. "Holt?" Her heart was still jackhammering when she twisted to face him.

"What took so long?" he demanded. "Shawn was worried too."

"A wrong turn." She squirmed, but his arms tightened. "Let me up,” she gasped. “I can't breathe."

"Lady, if you're talking, you're breathing." As if to compromise, he sat up, taking her with him. Positioning her between his legs, he pulled so her back settled against his chest.

Weariness mingled with relief as the heat from his body soothed her tense muscles. His breath caressed her ear. "I’ll bet your heart's racing to beat eighty."

"I thought you were...Alan, or one of his men." She swallowed, mortified to hear her voice break.

"Caprice, you're one hellcat with a surefire aim. Montero should be running from you."

Shawn was worried too.
Had Holt included himself by saying that? Did a deep river of emotions sweep through Holt LeBerger?

He ran his hand along her arm, her ribs, hip and thigh. “Darlin, are you hurt?”

Darlin
. She closed her eyes, nearly purring in response. Why did she react with such need when a week ago she was emotionally dead and beaten?

“Let me up. My hand is scraped."

"Calm down first.” The arms around her tightened and he nuzzled her neck. “Besides, you're an enticing bundle to have and to hold on a moonlit night."

Enticing
. How could one word from this man make her feel so…special, even desirable?

Holt wouldn't release her, and she was no longer inclined to protest. He was solid, capable, an anchor for the tossing ship of her emotions.

"Woman, you have a vocabulary to rival any rancher I know, but then you switch and start with the strange spells.”

Caprice found she was smiling. “That’s Gaelic. My grandmother taught me…uh, certain expressions.”

“Ahh. So what is
feis ort
?” Before she could respond, he chuckled. “Forget it. I have a pretty good idea.” After a comfortable moment he said, “I’m curious. What was her name?”

“My grandmother? Colleen.” She turned to discover their faces were inches from one another. “When she was really angry with my grandfather, she swore in Gaelic. Once, he tossed an armchair through a window. Grandma demanded a new chair, but Grandpa felt so bad he purchased an entire living room set.” She exhaled. “My grandmother was used to his behavior, so I thought I could handle Alan's rages, until he came after me."

“That’s no marriage, Caprice.”

They both grew quiet. She looked at the moon. "If someone saw us sitting here like this, they might get the wrong idea and have you hauled off to a correctional facility."

"A correctional facility?" He shifted, releasing her then stood. He gripped her arm above the elbow and assisted her to her feet. "What happened to the slammer, the bull pen, or the hoosegow?"

"You were once arrested, and you own a gun. I find that unnerving."

"I thought you knew... that pistol is for protection from captivating stowaways." He ran his fingers down her arm. "Give me your hand. Is this the one that's hurt?"

Gently he brushed dirt from her flesh then lifted her hand and brought it to his lips. Crickets chirped and a pine-scented breeze drifted through the hovering boughs. When he kissed her knuckles, she shivered.

“It’s the other hand,” she lied.

Holt shifted closer, took her other hand, and pressed his lips to her fingers. She trembled, fighting a strong desire to step into his arms and stay there.

"Did Montero ever threaten you with a gun?"

“No, but he threatened Shawn.”

When Holt swore harshly, she realized it had become easier, even natural, to confide in him. “What the hell happened?”

“Prior to our marriage, I inherited some real estate from my grandparents with mineral rights. I planned to contract with an oil company to someday have a steady income for the future. Then Alan over-extended our finances and found a buyer for my property.” She brushed leaves and dirt from her dress. "I refused to sell, but when he held a gun to Shawn, I signed the contract.”

“Damn! How old was Shawn?”

“Three years. That was a defining moment. I left and filed for divorce.”

“Like I said, that's no marriage. That's prison."

"I wish I had witnessed Alan’s cruel side before we married."

Turning, she saw several items of clothing strewn onto the path and over the bushes. "You made me drop all those clean clothes."

"Hell!" His hand went to his head. "You maimed me with a rock this time, or was it the flashlight?"

"No. A wrench."

Once they were inside the motorhome, Caprice took a closer look at Holt and received a fresh shot of dismay. “You’re bleeding!”

Lines radiated from the corners of his eyes. "All thanks to you and your flying wrench."

"First your eye, and now your forehead head has a knot."

She removed a plastic ice tray from the freezer and set ice cubes in a clean dishtowel. She handed the bundled cloth to him and used that opportunity to study the angular planes of his cheeks, the deep cleft in his chin. "We're always on a collision course…like two F-15 Eagles flying at Mach two.”

He pressed the ice pack to his wound. "Apparently my father related his Gulf War experiences to you.”

“I enjoyed Jack’s stories.”

“Nevertheless, I'd like to arrive home in one piece. There's an approaching storm, and I have three hundred feeder calves and steers depending on me to get them to market next month."