The Sheriff Catches a Bride (5 page)

She couldn’t wait to get started, but as a year turned into two years, and then into three, her excitement wore off. She hated cleaning other people’s houses. Hated the way some people treated her if they came home and she was still there. She’d even been propositioned once or twice by men who
forgot
something in the middle of their workday and were
surprised
to find her in their homes.

The second time Emmett Hardy pulled that trick, she quit outright. And afterward made the biggest mistake of her life.

She told her parents what happened.

After her daddy made a little visit to the Hardy place and came home with his knuckles bloodied, both her parents decided then and there that Rose’s next job would be a safe one. It was Jason’s father, Emory, who came to the rescue. He decided that after thirty years in the jewelry business he was ready for some time off. He’d still run the show, of course, but Rose could act as his primary saleswoman. He’d back her up during busy times and keep taking care of the inventory and bookkeeping.

When Rose hesitated—Emory was Jason’s father after all, not to mention one of her parents’ closest friends—Emory sweetened the deal.

“Tell you what, Rosie. I’ve got that carriage house back of my place that’s standing empty. I’d meant to spiff it up and rent it out to some young couple for extra income. How about you move into it instead? I’ll charge you half what I meant to charge a stranger.”

At twenty-one, Rose was desperate to move out from under her parents’ roof, and desperate to save as much money as possible, too.

So she said yes both to the job and the carriage house. Before she talked to Jason.

To say Jason was angry was an understatement.

“How could you do that? Haven’t you listened to a damn thing I’ve said in the past three years? Do you know what it took for me to get out of there? How hard it was for me to leave? Now he’s got you, he’ll never let go!” he raged at her the next time they Skyped.

“He gave me a job and a cheap place to live. How is that bad?” she said, shocked by his reaction to her good news. “When you come home to visit, we’ll have a place to be together.” Wasn’t that an improvement on getting it on in the cab of Jason’s truck?

“I’m never coming to visit. Not while you live there. No way! Uh-uh.”

“Jason!”

“Call me when you’re out of there.”

Unfortunately, Jason was right. Once she’d moved into the carriage house, it was impossible to move out. For one thing, she’d signed a year’s lease with Emory. And when she brought up the possibility she’d move on early, Emory called her parents and all three of them dumped so much guilt and parental angst on her head that she couldn’t go through with it.

For another thing, Emory still mourned the wife he’d lost a decade ago, and just when Rose made up her mind that enough was enough, he’d have one of his
bad days
, turn on the waterworks and melt her heart.

Jason was right; the carriage house was a trap. A nice, white-walled, perfectly furnished, always clean trap. Not just because she couldn’t break her lease, but because Emory controlled what went on inside it, as well. Jason had always called his father a neat-freak, but she’d laughed it off as the complaint of a sloppy teenage boy. Now she knew better.

Emory didn’t come over on purpose to pry or force her to do things his way, but when he stopped by to share a pie he’d bought at the bakery in town, or to drop off mail that had been delivered to his house instead of hers, or to collect the rent or any other errand, he couldn’t help seeing the pile of magazines she’d left on the kitchen table. And once he’d pushed past her to tidy that up, he couldn’t help noticing her easy chair was out of place. And once he’d straightened it, he’d notice the window curtains weren’t hanging evenly.

And then there was no stopping him.

She complained to her parents, but they always took Emory’s side.

“You are a bit of a pack rat, dear,” her mother said. “You never tidy up all that art stuff. And after all, Emory’s just lost his wife.”

Ten years ago
, Rose raged inwardly.

All that
art stuff
was what kept her sane throughout this whole ordeal. She’d always painted and one reason she wanted her own place was so she wouldn’t have to pack away every tube and paintbrush at the end of a creative session. Emory was worse than her parents when it came to paint, however. Lately she didn’t even bother to set up an easel. It acted like a beacon on the old man. No sooner had she dipped a brush into her acrylics than he knocked on her door.

There didn’t seem to be any way out, however. Jason gave in and visited, but he came to Chance Creek less frequently and seemed to fight with his father every time. After his visits, Emory had more and more of his
bad days
, and Rose began to feel like she’d become his mother at the same time she became his employee and tenant. He cried so hard when her lease came due that she signed on for another year, then went home and cried herself.

In the last few years, she’d learned Emory’s trigger points, both at home and in the store. Her kitchen table now remained pristine. Her drapes hung evenly. The furniture stayed in place. At the store, no fingerprints lingered more than a moment after the customers left. Everything tidy. Everything straight.

Rose thought she was going to lose her mind.

But what could she do? Her parents told her if she moved out it would be more than Emory could bear. He’d lost his wife and his son hardly visited anymore. He needed Rose to be there—like an anchor to keep Jason attached to him.

“Tell Jason it’s time,” her mother had said only last weekend. “It is time, Rosie—he ought to make an honest woman of you.”

Too bad she didn’t want to be an honest woman anymore.

She glanced around the shop again, verifying that all would hold up to the Emory test. Satisfied, her thoughts returned to the early morning drive she’d taken out of town to Carl Whitfield’s woods. They were perfect, just perfect. When she moved out from Emory’s carriage house, the only thing she’d be able to afford in town was a small studio apartment or a room in someone’s house, but she wasn’t going to let that get in the way of her painting career. No, she had a brand new plan. She was going to build herself a studio, tiny but all hers. It would be rustic, but more importantly it would be hidden in the last place anyone would ever look for her. She’d already started to draw up plans. If the shop stayed this slow, maybe she could pull them out and work on them some more later.

First things first. Glancing around the store to confirm she was alone in it, she withdrew the tray of rings, slid off Jason’s silver band and replaced it with the art-deco piece Cab had picked out yesterday. Immediately sensation rushed over her, warm and bright and technicolored in its intensity. Exhilaration, happiness, comfort and an ineffable sense of homecoming flooded her body. She gazed at the ring, unable to believe it. She’d felt nothing when Jason slid his ring on her finger.

Absolutely nothing.

She picked up the phone and dialed, glancing time and again at the beautiful ring encircling her finger. “Emory? It’s Rose. Hey—something’s come up for me tomorrow and I need the day off.”

‡
Chapter Three

F
ila took the pink cloth flats
from her raincoat pockets, slid them on her feet and stuffed her sensible brown shoes in the old pocketbook with her burqa. She checked her watch. One minute, twenty seconds had passed.

Now the tricky part.

Squaring her shoulders, she opened the stall door and made her way to the mirror. She needed to ditch the pocketbook and its contents, but if she left them in the stall someone might see them and chase her down to return them to her. Or worse yet, someone might find them after she was gone and report an unattended bag to the airport security guards. The whole airport could shut down. She had to get her bag into the trashcan and out of sight.

With her small purse slung crosswise over her body, she rested the thick strap of her ungainly old pocketbook on her right shoulder. She lingered over the sink, washing her hands thoroughly and familiarizing herself with her new, startling appearance, until there was a break in the nearly non-stop traffic in the large ladies room. A quick glance around told her no one was looking. She stuffed the bag into a covered trash can placed under one of the automatic hand dryers, and as its lid swung closed, she realized she was almost done with this long, horrible chapter in her life.

All that remained was to walk out of the bathroom past her guards and disappear into the city beyond. Would it work? Or would they recognize her? None of these men had ever seen her without her burqa. The long skirt and clunky shoes she’d worn beneath it were gone. When they realized she’d shed her covering garment to escape, they’d search for a conservatively dressed dark-haired woman, not an oversexed blonde with blue eyes.

But could she really fool them? Or would they grab her as she walked past and drag her back to her imprisonment?

Her hands shook as she patted her wig into place again. She needed a sign, some talisman that this crazy scheme would really succeed; that she wasn’t about to make the worst mistake of her life.

Plan slowly, run fast.

She could wait no longer.

Just as she approached the door to the outer airport corridor, it swung open and six young women walked in. Laughing and chatting, they swarmed around her, four heading for the mirror and sinks, two branching off to enter stalls.

“Hurry up! We’ve got fifteen minutes to get to the AirTrain,” one of the girls by the mirror called out to her friends. Blond, tall and vivacious, she was obviously the ringleader.

Fila perked up. “The AirTrain?” she said aloud before fear could stop her. “That’s where I’m going, too.” She tried to match the girl’s perky voice, her American accent. “I’ve never been to this airport before. Can I follow you?”

The girl looked her over, exchanged a glance with one of her friends and Fila held her breath. Would they help her? Or had she just ruined everything?

A smile broke out over the young woman’s face. “Sure! This is our first time in New York City, too. The more the merrier!”

As the two women in the stalls came out, washed their hands and primped their hair, Fila positioned herself in the center of the pack. “I’m Karen,” she announced, using the fake name Anna had helped her devise. She hoped she sounded confident even though her stomach was tying itself into knots. Could she really do this? Walk outside past Wahid, Abdul and Mehran, the men charged with delivering her to her husband-to-be?

“I’m Carla,” the blonde answered. “Come on, everyone; let’s hurry!” She linked arms with Fila and led the way out the door. They moved so fast, Carla chatting the whole time, all Fila saw of the men who’d brought her here like a lamb to the slaughter was a flash of dark clothing and scowling, impatient faces.

None of them showed the slightest sign of recognition as she walked past within five feet of where they stood.

Cab pulled into the parking lot
of the Chance Creek Pet Clinic and climbed out of his cruiser, happy to stretch his legs. Inside, Hannah Ashton sat behind the reception counter, her white-blond hair like a halo around her head, and Bella Chatham, the honey-blond veterinarian, leaned against it. The two women were obviously deep in conversation, but they both looked up when he entered. From the fast-food containers in evidence, they were finishing up a late lunch.

“Hope I’m not interrupting anything,” he said, taking off his hat.

“Nothing that won’t keep,” Bella said. “We’re just discussing bison.”

“Bison?” That wasn’t exactly what he had expected. He glanced around the empty waiting room. “You don’t care for cattle, do you?”

“No, that’s my brother’s specialty. We’re just talking about them in the abstract,” Bella assured him.

“So that’s what you ladies discuss when there aren’t any men around? Kind of a letdown.”

Hannah laughed, her blue eyes flashing. “It isn’t always bison. Sometimes it’s antelope.”

“Whew, it’s getting hot in here.” Cab pretended to wipe his brow.

Both women smiled. “What can we help you with, sheriff?” As usual, Bella’s hair was tucked high into a ponytail. It swung with her movements.

“Just checking in to make sure everything’s all right here. With you and that billionaire husband of yours staying in the Airstream I wondered if you might get any trouble.”

Bella shook her head. “I wondered the same, but so far it’s been quiet. Over the years I’ve had problems with kids trying to break into the shelter side of the operation, but that’s to get at the pets. I’ve never had anybody try to break into the trailer. I guess there was never a reason before. It wasn’t like I had anything to steal.” She shrugged. “It’s sort of strange to still live there now with Evan, but we haven’t found the right property where we can build our new place.”