Chapter 8
8
She’d been so scared the night before. Even though everything that Hardy had said made sense, she’d almost begged him to stay with her. No—it was more than that. She’d been tempted to cling to him like a vine. All the events over the last day and night had been too much. The murder. The way Bev had appeared out of nowhere. Going with Bev, changing into these English clothes, getting on the bus, driving through the rain, getting tailed, and finally being deposited in a tiny cabin in a strange place.
Curved around every one of these moments was a constant ring of fear that hung on to every thought and mov e ment. It had been a heavy burden, tinged by exhaustion. When Hardy had walked out, she’d begun to cry. Next thing she knew she’d fallen on the bed and sobbed into the pillows, crying for everything that had happened and for all the prayers that weren’t answered.
Eventually she’d quieted enough to wash her face and put on the long white nightgown Bev had bought her. Next thing she knew, she’d woken up with the sun.
The new day brought with it a ray of hope. She still had no idea what was going to happen next, but her world didn’t seem so desperate and bleak.
Pleased to be enjoying a better outlook, she got out of bed, stretched, and decided to take note of her surroundings. The little cabin was so very pretty. And now that it wasn’t raining and the sun was shining through the windows, she realized there was more to see than she’d previously thought. She put on the thick terry cloth robe that was hanging in the bedroom closet and decided to explore.
Stephanie supposed if she walked into a storybook and added bells and whistles and a fancy fireplace, she’d end up in a cabin just like this. It truly looked like something in a children’s story, with the gleaming hardwood floors, brightly woven rag rugs, and the tan suede couch.
Caressing the seat cushion, she whistled low. What type of person would have such a creation in just a guest cabin? A very rich one, she supposed.
Walking into the kitchenette, she ran her fingers over the smooth granite countertops, eyed the electric oven’s smooth black surface, and admired the bright white cabinets. To her amazement, the refrigerator was stocked with bottles of water, soda, juice, and beer. An inspection into the small pantry revealed crackers, cans of soup and chili, as well as several boxes of pasta and cereal.
Now even more curious, she hurried to the bathroom’s open doorway. Now that she wasn’t bleary-eyed with exhaustion, she noticed that it had sparkling beige tiles, white walls, a shower, two sinks, and the most gorgeous bathtub she’d ever seen. It looked like a modern remake of a cast-iron tub and was black on the outside and gleaming white on the inside. The faucet was fancy and chrome and there was even a little emerald-green table beside it filled with containers of bubble bath and salts.
“Hardy dropped me into a princess haus,” she murmured. “A tiny, fancy princess haus.”
Unable to stop herself, she turned on the tub and felt the cool water turn warm within a minute. If she set the stopper, she could be soaking in that tub in no time at all. Allowing herself to imagine the decadence, she smiled. It would be so good to soak her aching muscles, wash her hair, and then put back on the fluffy white robe that she was finding to be completely comfortable and cozy.
Soaking in that tub would surely be an amazing way to start or end a day.
So different from her life back at home, which began before dawn, continued with dishes and the henhouse, and lingered for hours as she tended to her cousins, did laundry, and fought boredom.
The bed she’d slept in was large and comfortable. The room was clean and bright. She’d had soft sheets and blankets and a comforter. It was so peaceful.
Back home, her bedroom was only a curtained section of the basement. She had a small cot and an old wooden crate as a bedside table. Her only source of light was the flashlight that she rested on the crate. She’d had to buy her own batteries for it, so she was always worried about using the flashlight too much.
She’d almost forgotten what it felt like to sleep on a real bed.
“Nee,” she told herself. “You mustn’t find fault with everything you’ve been given. Aunt Jo and Uncle Mark are good people to take you in the way they did. If they hadn’t, you might have had to grow up in a foster home.”
Her words were true, but they didn’t help to make her feel as grateful as she’d hoped they would. But maybe that was the problem. Gratitude and happiness didn’t always walk hand in hand.
And then, just like that, her reality returned. She was not a princess living in a tiny cabin with a stocked refrigerator and pantry.
All she was, was Stephanie. A twenty-three-year-old woman who still spent her days trying to repay her relatives for doing something they should have wanted to do in the first place.
She was not on vacation either. She was on the run from a terrible young man who thought nothing of killing innocent people.
And who had decided to kill her too.
All at once, the complete terror that she’d been feeling enveloped her again. She turned to the mirror and looked at herself. Under that nightgown and robe was a lump on her arm from the hasty bandages Bev had put on to staunch the blood. Her hair was hanging down, part of it still tied in a ponytail.
And then there were her eyes and face. She looked haunted and afraid. Because she was both of those things.
Because she was all alone in a cabin somewhere in Kentucky. Because the only person she knew right now was a rather gruff, large man who excelled in ordering her about.
Who also happened to be very handsome and had clasped her hand when they were driving by the guard’s station. Who’d gone out of his way to reassure her that she was safe and that he would protect her.
So maybe he hadn’t been that bad, after all. But even if that was the case, she had no idea when she was going to see him again. She wasn’t even sure if she was allowed to open the cabin door. She was stuck in this princess cabin.
And suddenly it didn’t seem so wonderful after all.
Tears filled her eyes again, and though her instinct was to stop them, swipe her eyes, and pretend that she was fine, she didn’t have the energy.
Plus, maybe she should go ahead and cry. Again. She had a lot to cry about, after all. Holding it inside wasn’t going to help her much.
And then, just as she was about to give herself permission to fall apart ... she did. This time she fell apart on the cold floor of a very, very fine bathroom. She sank to her knees, curled up into a ball, and cried big, loud tears. That made it hard to breathe and even harder to pretend the last day never happened.
She hadn’t cried like that in ages. Not since her parents had died in a car accident and the police had come to the house and taken her.
Hating the memory, of the way they’d ignored her questions and wouldn’t let her take anything with her, Stephanie found herself trembling again. She’d been beyond scared. She’d been confused and petrified.
Things had only gotten worse from there. The policemen had brought her to the police station. First, she’d been told to sit in a chair. Later, she’d been put in an empty room. She’d been given a glass of water but had been too afraid to sip it.
Eventually, she’d learned that her father’s older brother Mark and his wife Jo had been willing to take her in. She’d been told that she was lucky. That she should feel grateful.
But all she’d felt was confused and alone.
Aunt Jo was a devout and faithful woman. And had more morals than her brother-in-law. Stephanie knew that because Aunt Jo had told her so more than once.
Actually, she told her at least once a month. Right about the time when Stephanie had overslept or forgotten a chore.
Or gone for a walk.
Which now seemed very tame compared to what she’d been going through since she’d first seen the gunman.
As the consequences of the day kept piling on, she kept crying until she was exhausted. She’d even reached out to wipe her face with part of the roll of toilet paper because standing up to get a real tissue from the chrome dispenser was just too much trouble.
And then the door opened with a bang, scaring her half to death.
Stephanie did the only thing she could do. She screamed.
She ran to the front room in time to see a man—slim, wiry-looking, and in his mid-forties—raise his hands as he came to an abrupt halt inside the doorway. “Hey! Sorry! I didn’t mean for the door to open. Hardy asked me to bring some things for you. I was going to leave them on the porch, then decided to make sure your door was locked. I didn’t expect the darn wind to pick up like we were in the middle of Kansas.”
She had no idea what he was talking about, but two things had penetrated her head. One was that his hands were raised like he was in the middle of a bank robbery. The second was that he’d said Hardy’s name.
She was shaking like a leaf but somehow managed to pull herself together. “You know Hardy?”
“I sure do,” he said slowly as he lowered his hands. “I work for him.”
“What do you mean?”
“Hardy Anderson answers directly to Mr. Russell, but everyone else who steps foot on this ranch works for Hardy. Sometimes I’m in the guard shack, other times I’m working with the horses, and today I’m running errands.” Still moving slowly, he pointed to the porch. “Like I said, I brought you a couple of things.”
“I’m sorry I screamed.”
His expression flattened. “I’d be upset if you didn’t, Miss. You shouldn’t have to worry about doors flying open because some fool hand made a mistake.” Standing almost at attention, he said, “I really am sorry about that.”
This man looked like the opposite of a fool hand. He looked like he could scare just about anyone with one dark look. “What’s your name?”
“My name’s Crenshaw, Miss.”
“Crenshaw?”
He nodded. “That’s my last name. My first name is Jamie, but I haven’t answered to that since I was about twelve.” He swallowed. “Listen, I’m going to leave you now. Would you like me to bring in the bags? It’s starting to rain a bit. I can set them right here on the floor.” He pointed to a spot next to his feet. “Or I can go on out, close the door, and you can retrieve them at your leisure.”
“You may bring them in. If you don’t mind.”
“It’s my pleasure.” He turned around, gathered the two bags in one hand, and then placed them on the ground in the exact spot he’d told her he would.
“Thank you.”
He looked pained. “Lock the door when I leave, you hear me? You need to keep safe.”
“I will.” She was puzzled by how adamant he was acting. She’d thought she would be perfectly safe on the ranch. Wasn’t that why she was there?
“Good.” And with that final word, he turned, walked out, and closed the door behind him.
After she saw his truck pull out and drive off, she locked the door like Crenshaw suggested. And then, in spite of everything, she found herself smiling. The man had certainly been right. He didn’t seem like a “Jamie” at all.