The Cabin (35 page)

creep into her cheeks. “That’s not what I meant.”

“He loves you, Susanna.”

“And I love him.” She looked at her hands and ab-

sently touched her wedding ring, fighting back tears

she hoped Sam wouldn’t see. “There are times in a long

relationship when that’s not enough.”

“What else do you need? Clean socks?”

Jack entered the kitchen from the bedroom, where he

and Susanna had spent the night together, making love

silently, passionately. She could feel herself responding

to him all over again, physically, emotionally, as she

took in everything that had attracted her to him right

from the beginning. His dark eyes, his half smiles, his

taut body. His strength and no-nonsense style, and his

humor, his tolerance. She remembered how gentle he’d

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293

been with Maggie and Ellen as tots, how haunted he’d

been by his first murder investigation.

This time together, she knew, was restoring the phys-

ical and emotional bond between them—and messing

up her head all over again. Which, of course, wouldn’t

be the way he or Sam looked at it. They’d say she was

coming to her senses. Maybe they had a point.

“What’re you two up to?” Jack asked.

“We’re discussing laundry,” Sam said. “Clean socks.

I’d hate to hang out my shorts in this weather. Granny

Dunning says she can smell snow in the air.”

“You’ll see,” Gran said from the couch. She hadn’t

made any comments to Sam about Texas, but she’d

given his holstered .357 SIG Sauer a wary look.

“Gran’s a legend in these parts,” Susanna told him.

He grinned. “I don’t doubt it.”

Jack didn’t even try to follow their back-and-forth

conversation. He was all business. He grabbed his jacket.

“Sam, I’ll check in with the local police and let them

know you’re in town. I also want to talk with the people

at the Blackwater Inn. Unofficially.You’ll hang in here?”

“No problem.”

Susanna’s reaction was automatic, instinctive, vis-

ceral—it bypassed all her rational thought processes.

She shot to her feet, frustration rising in her throat as

she tightened her hands into fists and started for her hus-

band. “You mean you want him to be our protection.”

Jack shrugged, but she could see the heat in his eyes.

“It’s either Sam or me.”

“Forget it. We’ll pack up and head back to Boston.

Gran, the girls and me. We can be on our way in an hour.”

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Carla Neggers

Sam muttered, “Jesus, Susanna,” over the rim of his

coffee mug.

Jack clenched his teeth. “What will you do when

Alice Parker and Destin Wright show up in your rear-

view mirror? Or Beau McGarrity? He shot his wife in

the back. What do you think he’ll do to you?”

“I have a cell phone. I’ll call you and tell you where

they are. Then you and Sam can swoop in to the rescue.”

Jack took in a sharp breath, his eyes very dark on her

now. She knew she wasn’t making any sense. She just

wanted out of there with her children and her grand-

mother. She wanted them safe. She didn’t want them

hurt. Which was Jack’s motive, too. But he was includ-

ing her among those he didn’t want hurt, not among

those who would do the protecting, and it made her feel

helpless—and even more vulnerable.

Sam rocked back in his chair and said calmly, “I was

hoping I’d get to try snowshoeing while I was up here.

Maybe see a moose.”

“You go right ahead.” She was on a roll now, unable

to stop herself. “Snowshoe, track moose, track crimi-

nals. I’ll leave you the cabin keys. You and Jack can lock

up when you head back to San Antonio.”

“It wouldn’t work out that way,” Sam said calmly.

Susanna instantly knew what he was telling her. “You

mean you’d follow me
home?
”

“Sure, all the way back to San Antonio if that’s where

you want to go.” His reference to San Antonio instead

of Boston was deliberate, provocative, Sam Temple’s

way of warning her not to underestimate his resolve. It

was understood between the two Texas Rangers that

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295

Sam would look after Jack’s family, and look after them

he would. He took another sip of his coffee, his manner

unchanged. “Makes no difference to me.”

Jack stood behind Susanna, and she could feel his ab-

solute self-control when he touched her shoulder and

said tightly, “Susanna.”

She kept her gaze pinned on Sam. “You two cooked

this up last night.”

Sam shrugged, no sign of remorse. “You were

asleep.”

“No, I wasn’t. I was tossing and turning, trying to fig-

ure out how to keep you two from taking over my life.

If Beau McGarrity wanted to harm me, he’s had the

chance. He’s had over a year, for God’s sake. He had

me
alone
in my house, and he didn’t touch me. He

watched me prune my garden, and he didn’t touch me.”

But she could see she wasn’t getting through to either

man, maybe not even to herself. “What if he’s innocent?

What if Alice
is
trying to frame him?”

“Nobody’s taking over your life or telling you what

to do, Susanna.” Jack’s tone was still calm, if not gen-

tle. “We’re just telling you what we’re doing.”

“You’re not including me in the decision-making.”

But he’d had enough. “That’s because there are no

decisions here for you to make.” He started through the

kitchen and glanced back at Sam. “A couple hours.”

He left without another word, and Susanna kicked a

chair and debated picking it up and throwing it out the

window.

“I thought he might not wake up so crabby when I

got the sofa bed and he didn’t.” Sam got to his feet and

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Carla Neggers

walked to the kitchen, refilling his mug with stale cof-

fee. “What did you do, make him sleep on the floor?”

“Shut up, Sam.”

“He has a one-track mind. Right now, he’s focused

on Alice Parker, this Destin Wright character and Beau

McGarrity. He’s got me focused on them, and he’s going

to get local law enforcement focused on them.” Sam sat

back down with his coffee. “You’re just balking and

being a pain in the ass because you’re scared and pissed

off this has happened. That’s understandable.”

She watched out the window as her husband backed

Davey Ahearn’s truck out of the driveway. “That’s his

idea of communicating.
Damn
him.”

Sam shrugged. “Well, it’s not as if you met him

halfway.”

“Why should I?”

“Susanna,” he said softly, and she knew it was an ap-

peal for common sense.

But she wasn’t ready yet, and she swore under her

breath and stormed into her bedroom, slamming the

door and pacing hard to keep herself from breaking

something. Or starting to cry. Worry. Totally freak out.

She’d known last night. Even as she’d felt herself

drawn toward him, when Jack slipped into bed with her

after plotting her marching orders with Sam, she could

feel his remoteness. He was pulling back from her, shut-

ting her out of his worries, his fears, even as he’d slid

his hand up her leg. Instead of calling him on it then and

there, she’d made love to him, saying nothing.

She splashed her face with cold water and returned

to the kitchen. Sam was still drinking his coffee at the

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297

table. She dropped into her chair and sighed, if not con-

trite at least with a little self-awareness. “I know what

you’re saying, Sam. He’s going to be short-tempered

and focused until all this gets settled.”

“You two are something.”

She managed a small smile. “I suppose I don’t have

to be a horse’s ass about him going Texas Ranger on me.”

Sam smiled back. “I suppose you don’t.”

“You used to call me ma’am.”

“That was before you turned back into a Yankee.”

“I’m not a Yankee. I grew up all over the country, and

I’ve lived almost half my life in Texas—it’s home. I love

Texas.”

“Where were you born?”

“Boston.”

“I rest my case.” He leaned across the table toward

her, his expression intense, reminding her of his intel-

ligence and professionalism. He was not a man to un-

derestimate. “Stop fighting so hard, Susanna. Stop

putting all your fears and frustration onto Jack.”

“I hate this,” she said, her voice choked.

“Sure you do. It makes you feel vulnerable and out

of control. It forces you to think about what you usu-

ally take for granted. You’re mad at Jack because you

want it all to go away. Nobody blames you for that.”

“If McGarrity was stalking me before his wife’s

murder—”

“That’s not your fault. It’s not Jack’s fault.”

“I didn’t see him,” Susanna whispered. “Not until

that day in my kitchen.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself. Alice could have lied

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about him looking you up before Rachel McGarrity’s

death.”

“You don’t think so.”

He shook his head, shrugged. “No.”

“I keep thinking about it,” Susanna said quietly.

“Then you should understand where Jack’s com-

ing from.”

She nodded. “I do.”

Sam settled back in his chair. “You going to cut him

some slack?”

“It’s not like he’s cutting me any—”

“You? Hell, woman, he’s cut you more slack than I

ever would. I told him. Handcuffs.”

“Sam.”

He slid to his feet and gave her one of his heart-stop-

ping smiles, adding as if she hadn’t spoken, “Ma’am.”

Paul and Sarah Johnson greeted Jack warmly, but

with a touch of wariness he could understand. The local

police had stopped by yesterday looking for Alice Par-

ker and Destin Wright and told them about the break-

in at the cabin. Now here he was, a Texas Ranger who

wanted to ask them questions. He made sure they un-

derstood talking to him was a courtesy.

“We’ll tell you anything we can, Lieutenant Gal-

way,” Paul Johnson said. They were in a wide hall to-

ward the back of the house, with a fireplace, a rolltop

desk, two love seats and a six-foot-tall chainsaw carv-

ing of a bear. Another shorter hall led to a back door and

out to Blackwater Lake. “Miss Parker checked herself

and Mr. Wright out after lunch sometime. I helped her

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299

with her luggage, and she paid in cash—and she thanked

us, said she loved the inn.”

Jack nodded, trying to help the couple relax. “I can

see why. It’s a nice place.”

Sarah Johnson fingered the cording on a love seat. “Mr.

Wright left earlier in the day, not long after your wife and

her grandmother were here. He was dressed for a hike, but

I didn’t actually see where he went. He didn’t say where

he was headed. He made a few comments comparing our

inn to other places he’s stayed, obviously more expensive.

He wasn’t obnoxious or rude. I think he just wanted us to

know he could afford better than we had to offer.”

Not anymore, Jack thought.

But she reddened, embarrassed. “Normally I

wouldn’t speak this way about a guest, but under the

circumstances—”

Her husband broke in. “If you’ve met him, I’m sure

you understand.”

“I’ve met him.” Jack stayed neutral. “Can you tell

me anything else he and Alice did or said while they

were here?”

“Destin was out a lot,” Paul Johnson said, dropping

his formality. “He said he was going to Lake Placid to

check out the Winter Olympic training facilities, but I

don’t know if he did. Alice seemed very pleased with

her room and spent a great deal of time there. She was

an undemanding guest.”

Compared to prison, Jack thought, the Blackwater

Inn was paradise. He withdrew Sam’s photo of Beau

McGarrity and laid it on the rolltop desk. “Have you by

any chance seen this man?”

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Carla Neggers

Paul picked up the photo and peered at it. His wife

came over and looked over his shoulder, gasping sud-

denly. “Yes!Yes, I’ve seen him. Paul, you remember, don’t

you? Not this past summer—the summer before—”

“That’s right,” Paul said. “Damn. You’re right, Sarah.

That’s the same guy.”

“It was August, a year ago this past August,” Sarah

said with conviction.

Jack remained silent, absorbing the couple’s words,

containing his reaction. Beau McGarrity had turned up

on Blackwater Lake in the Adirondack Mountains two

months before his wife’s murder in south Texas.

“I remember,” Sarah Johnson went on, “because he

was so interested in all the old stories about the lake and

the inn, which we just love ourselves. He only stayed

one night, as I recall. That’s unusual. Our guests gener-

ally stay for several days at a time.”

“Was he interested in any stories in particular?”

Jack asked.

The couple exchanged glances, and Sarah Johnson