Harlequin Superromance September 2014 - Bundle 1 of 2: This Good Man\Promises Under the Peach Tree\Husband by Choice (62 page)

“Yes, Tuesday at nine a.m. I just got confirmation on Friday morning. Are you home?”

“No, I'm not. And...I'm not going to be. Listen, Yvonne, I want to help you, as I promised I would.” Olivia was due to have reconstructive surgery to repair a bone in her jaw that was broken when her father shoved her mother while Yvonne was holding Olivia. “I want to do Olivia's throat therapy after surgery. She trusts me and we've worked through the exercises so while someone else could certainly take over, I think I'll be the most effective at getting the quickest results and giving her the best chance for complete recovery.”

“So you'll be back home then?”

“No. And here's the thing. I will help you but I have to do so on my terms.”

“Of course. You know I'll do anything I can to accommodate you. You've helped me so much. Without you—”

She'd first met Yvonne in a therapy session at The Lighthouse women's shelter—where she'd been a resident when she'd first moved to California, and then later, a volunteer.

“I'm...in hiding,” Jenna said, surveying her surroundings as she reached the Garden of Renewal, an exquisite piece of natural art set apart from the rest of the Stand's property by a forest of trees. She'd never been inside the Garden. And didn't go now, as there were sure to be other residents inside, sitting on the benches, enjoying the waterfall she could hear from the edge of the trees.

“From Max?” Yvonne sounded horrified.

“No! Of course not from Max. But he doesn't know where I am and he can't know,” she said. “This is nonnegotiable, Yvonne. You said someone has already been there asking about me. You won't know where I am or have a way to contact me. I'm not going to put you in the position of lying about that part. I will keep in touch with you. We'll have to find someplace safe for Olivia's therapy, someplace no one would think to look. It's vitally important that I can trust you not to tell anyone when or where that happens.”

“Of course, I'll do whatever you need me to do, you know that.”

Making arrangements to be in touch with the other woman after surgery, Jenna finished with, “I'm sorry it has to be this way....”

“Don't you dare be sorry. This isn't your fault. And the fact that you're still willing to help us...”

“I...thank you.”

“You're in danger from your abuser aren't you?”

She'd known there would be questions. Yvonne wouldn't let a fellow survivor hide without support.

“I... Max and Caleb... I'm not good for them. I need them to be free to pursue a life without me.” It was what she'd written in the note she'd left. She had to stick to her story.

But as she said the words, as she ended the call, Jenna was bereft. Each step she took was a step further from Max. She'd left him free to pursue a life without her.

Which opened the door for another relationship. She'd only been gone a few days, but there was no end in sight at this point. And what woman wouldn't want to step into her shoes?

Max was not only a financially solid, kind and decent man, he was also deliciously sexy. And a doctor to boot.

Thoughts tumbled one on top of the other.

Max didn't like to be alone. Women rarely left him alone.

He also had a son to raise. One who needed a mother.

As she once again contemplated the dangerous possibility that Max could replace her before she had a chance to complete her mission, Jenna faltered.

If he did find someone else, she'd have to find a way to be happy for him.

Jenna put one foot in front of the other and walked on.

CHAPTER NINE

C
HANTEL
CALLED
S
UNDAY
morning just like Max had known she would. He'd just settled Caleb in his chair with breakfast.

“Things were busy here last night,” she said, “but I wanted you to know I'm making enquiries, trying to find someone I know who knows someone in Las Vegas.”

“Whatever the cost, if you need to hire someone...I realize you can't just drop everything for this,” he said, pacing the living room while his son sat at the kitchen table with a glass of milk and a pile of vanilla wafers in front of him.

Not the best breakfast, but not the worst, either. At least Caleb was eating. And watching a cartoon on the tablet that was propped up on the kitchen table.

His parenting skills sucked at the moment. He got that. But a guy had to do what a guy had to do.

And right now he had to find his wife.

“I'll keep that in mind,” she said. “But as it turns out I know one of the guys on the force in Santa Raquel. That's one of the reasons I'm calling. I found out last night that he'd transferred up there and I wanted you to know. He was in the academy with me and owes me a favor. While we were in training I helped him reconcile with his wife after he screwed up in a bar one night....”

Max wondered about her life. About what she'd been doing in the years since Jill's death—other than the captain who hadn't worked out. About what was important to her. But that question wasn't a priority just then....

“You think this guy will help?” he asked.

“I know he'll do what he can, but because there's no crime here, it could take a few days, Max.”

“I'll do anything I can from my end, too,” he said. They'd already called anyone he could think of whom Meri might have inadvertently mentioned something to. Anyone who might have noticed something. He'd even called The Lighthouse—a women's shelter where she'd been volunteering since he'd known her. “I'll keep doing my internet research, but I can also drive around, canvas neighborhoods. You let me know what to do and I'm on it.”

Because he'd promised Meri a lifetime of protection.

* * *

S
HE
'
D
CHOSEN
The Lemonade Stand for three reasons. First, because she'd never been there before so she could be anonymous. Second, because they were privately funded and not as subject to unbending rules and regulations.

And third, because they were exactly what she was not—focused on comfort. Her focus was and always had been on practical matters. On survival—and serving others. She'd never choose anything fancy for herself. Not a car. A purse. Or a place to hide.

She wasn't fully in the mind-set of her abuser yet, but one thing she knew for sure was that Steve was confident to the point of being cocky about how well he knew Meredith.

The way to fool him, at least in the short run, was to act out of character.

It would keep her one step ahead of him. She hoped.

Everything she'd read that Sunday morning about the abusive personality reinforced this belief. And so, armed with a momentary sense of safety, and a burning need to be Meredith, Jenna escaped her prison Sunday afternoon.

Steve wouldn't expect to find her in public, at any of her usual haunts. And she had no doubt now that he knew all of them. That while she'd been daring to hope that she was free of him, he'd been quietly tracking her every move.

Today he'd be watching shelters, probably had others doing so, too, in big cities in surrounding states. Or maybe he had access to an inside database. Shelters worked closely with police departments and while Steve was no longer on the force, he could still have connections.

And running to shelters was what she always did. Ran to the closest state she could get to, contacted Victor, the broker she'd met in Vegas, for another new identity, and entered a new shelter. It might take Steve a bit to figure out her new name. He'd have to check all the new residents at all the shelters and figure out which one was her. But he seemed to enjoy the hunt—something else she had confirmed in her reading that morning.

But this time she'd run differently. She'd stayed close to home. And checked into what was essentially a resort—not a bare-bones place where an actual bed, in place of a mattress on the floor, was a luxury.

She'd stayed close because she wasn't running from him anymore. And still, as she rode the bus toward the ocean Sunday afternoon, she sat with her long dark hair pinned up and concealed under a big hat. Her cell phone was tucked safely in her bra beneath the too-big silk blouse she'd chosen out of the garment supply at The Lemonade Stand to go with the blue cotton capris—also a little big—to conceal a shape Steve knew only too well. Meredith didn't carry a bag. She had money tucked in her pocket and her passcode for reentry into the private section of The Lemonade Stand, firmly tucked away in her brain.

The passcode wasn't her birthday. Or Max's or Caleb's, either. It wasn't her wedding date or the date her final decree had been recorded. It wasn't either one of her folks' birthdays. Or even Chad's—her little brother who'd died way too young.

No, the code she'd chosen as her “key” to her temporary home was the numerical coordinates for the name of her imaginary friends when she'd been a kid. Only her mother had known that she'd called them “my fellas.” Yet it was something Jenna would never forget. Not even under duress.

And who knew how long it was going to take Steve to figure out that she'd changed her M.O.? She could hope for months.

It had taken him that long to find her in the past.

As the bus pulled to a stop only a few miles from the Stand, Meredith focused, taking in the entire area, behind her, in front of her, next to her, inside and outside the bus. A group of people stood gathered in the parking lot a few steps away. They appeared to be waiting for more people to join them.

Standing at the exact time as others did, she exited the bus after a couple of people had gotten off but while there were still a few behind her. She walked as closely to the woman in front of her as she could without making her uncomfortable—with the plan that if the woman turned, she'd tell her she loved her shoes and was just trying to get a closer look at them.

They were interesting. Black wedge sandals with gold and silver embellishments. Not her style...too flashy...but she liked them.

She'd chosen tennis shoes off the shelf of new shoes in her size at the shelter. Running shoes.

As luck would have it, the woman in front of her headed straight for the group of people gathered in the parking lot. But instead of joining them as Meredith had hoped, she turned right before reaching them and headed toward the beach.

Meredith's goal was the beach. If she could get there without drawing attention to herself. At that moment, the woman who'd been her cover turned away, and Meredith slipped in between a couple of people on the periphery of the big group. It didn't take her long to figure out that she was in the midst of a gathering of distant family members, many of whom didn't know each other, brought together by a cousin who'd done their familial genealogy and had arranged a picnic on the beach.

She moved through the group. Smiling at anyone who noticed her. And as they started slowly walking toward the beach, she traveled with them.

“You must be Brian's wife,” one woman said to her. Meredith smiled and excused herself, pretending to see someone she knew—her gaze taking in everything around her, and searching for one familiar sight—her husband and son, enjoying their regular family Sunday afternoon at the beach.

* * *

U
NLESS
THERE
WAS
an emergency at the hospital, Sunday afternoons were family time. Max reflected that he and Meri had made it a point ever since Caleb was born to take him to the ocean, even if only for a brief visit that one day a week. Meri had insisted.

I want him to grow up with an ingrained sense of freedom,
she'd said. She'd told him that it hadn't been until she'd arrived in California, stood next to the ocean for the first time, that she'd really believed she could recover from her past.

Standing at the ocean, she'd said, put life in perspective. Possibilities were so much larger than the limitations others tried to place on people. She'd just needed to see to believe.

She wanted their son raised to believe that anything was possible.

Her insight had opened his eyes.

And that Sunday afternoon, Max was left caring for an out-of-sync two-year-old, and feeling blind as a bat.

As tempting as it was to just sit at home in front of the television and take the opportunity to introduce Caleb to football, he knew better.

He wasn't giving in. Or giving up. They'd find Meri. She'd be back home soon.

Until then, he had to carry on with his life. Which meant taking his son to the beach as was their Sunday afternoon tradition.

And maybe some of the inspiration his wife seemed to get from being there would rub off on him, too.

Caleb sat quietly in his car seat as Max drove. At first Max thought he'd fallen asleep. But when he glanced in the rearview mirror, he saw his son staring out the window, a wide-eyed, serious expression on his face.

Max wished he could see into his son's mind. To know what the boy was thinking. To know how best to help him.

“Sand!” Caleb squirmed in Max's arms, wanting to be let down, as soon as they reached the section of public beach that had become their regular spot not only because it was next to the playground, but also because it provided the most unfettered view of the beach strip.

No hiding places, Meri had said.

“You want to play in the sand?” he asked Caleb, as he adjusted his step to keep his son within arm's reach. Meri would be holding Caleb's hand, but it was time for the boy to spread his wings. To find his wings and learn how to use them might be a better metaphor.

Because Meri kept them clipped and tied? Had she been right, that wise woman who'd so completely stolen his heart? Had she been telling the truth in the letter she'd left him? Had she believed that she'd been holding their son back with her paranoia?

Had he been so blind that he hadn't recognized the extent of his wife's personal struggles?

Max didn't think so. Meri was careful. But she also gave in when Max put his foot down. They made a good team, she'd said. “Daddy, sand!” Caleb sat and pounded the ground beside him.

Though there were many people about, the beach wasn't overly crowded that Sunday in September. The weather had cooled over the past week and even in the jeans and long-sleeved T-shirts he'd dressed himself and his son in, he could feel the first hint of winter's chill.

With a glance around, checking out the few people scattered across the beach and seeing nothing out of the ordinary, he sat.

“Cassie, cassie,” Caleb said, pounding the ground again.
Castle.
The toddler wasn't laughing. He wasn't running and throwing sand and showing other signs that a happy, extroverted two-year-old might show, but he wasn't whining, either, which was a blessing after four days of little else.

So Max dug his hands down to damp sand and did his best to form enough of a lump to satisfy his son that they had a castle in front of them.

“This is the moat,” he said, finding the sand sifting through his fingers therapeutic, and enjoying his son's rapt attention. He dug a trench around the lump he'd built. “There's pretend water running all around it here, see?”

“Fish!” Caleb said loudly enough for people several yards away to hear, as he picked a small piece of debris out of the sand at his side and threw it into the trench.

“Good!” Max said, smiling. “Fish are good. I think we need more.” He struggled to hold the smile. He wasn't feeling it. But if collecting beach debris in a small circle around a nondescript mound kept his son occupied, he'd gladly force a lot more than a smile.

And would gladly stay on the beach as long as Caleb was happy there, too. The sand and the breeze, getting lost amongst people who were milling around as though the world was perfectly normal, was far better than facing a closet full of clothes that weren't being worn and wondering if they ever would be again.

“Mama!” As though Caleb could read his father's mind, he cried out.

“Mama's not here,” Max said. “Look! A big fish. Maybe we should name him.”

But Caleb had no interest in the sea bark he'd just unearthed from the sand. The boy was staring across the beach. “Mama!” he said. Not as though he was lonely. Or asking for her.

But as though he saw her there.

Following his son's gaze, Max saw a big group of people walking together as they crossed from the parking lot to the beach. A family reunion of some kind? Maybe a church group?

But he didn't see any sign of Meri. Still.... “Mama!” Caleb called again, scrambling to his feet to charge off in the direction he'd been looking as fast as his chubby little legs could carry him in the sand.

On his feet in seconds, Max was already at a run as he settled Caleb on his hip, holding the boy with both arms. “Where, buddy? Where did you see Mama?”

“Mama!” Caleb's call turned into a cry. “Mama!” he screamed.

They'd reached the edge of the beach and were approaching the bushes that separated the sand from the sidewalk.

“Mama!” Caleb cried again, tears in his voice now. He hitched himself up and down on Max's hip as if he was riding on a horse, kicking Max in the groin as he did so. “Mama!”

They rounded the corner to the parking lot. A couple was exiting their car. A mom was strapping a baby into the infant seat in her van.

There was no sign of Meri. Or even anyone with her height and build.