Chapter Fifteen
chapter-seperator
“I’M SO sorry,” Holly said the next morning when Gwynn called her. “You … you want me to, uh, pray for you?”
Gwynn grunted, righting her newsboy cap over her Dutch braids. “I suppose my misery can’t be all that bad if you’re willing to start a conversation with God.”
Holly laughed. “It’ll be good to have you back. Am I picking you up at the airport, or are you taking an Uber?”
She peered through the bedroom curtain at the snow whipping about outside. “I’d love to see a friendly face when I arrive in Boston.” If her flight didn’t get canceled because of this storm.
“Then I’ll meet you at the airport. See you tonight.”
They ended the call, and Gwynn dropped the phone into her backpack. As she hoisted the bag onto her shoulder, the vase with Cash’s bouquet on the bureau caught her eye. She fingered a red amaryllis petal. It didn’t matter how much chemistry they had—some things weren’t meant to be.
Seizing the handle to her carry-on, she left the room and clambered down the stairs. Another gust of wind rattled the windows, and she shuddered. The storm had arrived much earlier than expected, but Uncle Russ promised he’d get her to Bozeman. After last night’s disastrous ending, she had more incentive than a mere job calling her back to the east coast.
She needed to escape Prospect—and Cash—all over again.
But while Uncle Russ had left no reason for anyone to look for her the last time she’d fled, would Cash hound her and demand answers this time?
“He’ll be disappointed,” she grumbled, rolling the carry-on to the front door. “I have none to give.”
The household phone jangled in the hallway behind her, and she jumped, placing a hand to her heart. An odd thing to have in a home these days, even if it blended with Aunt Maude’s nostalgic decor from a bygone era.
Uncle Russ emerged from the living room on the third ring and picked up the receiver on the fifth. “Hello? Oh, good morning, Cash.” His eyebrows rose in Gwynn’s direction. Her stomach flipped like a flapjack at breakfast.
“Oh, that’s not necessary,” Uncle Russ said after a moment. He frowned at the ceiling. “I can’t let you do that. If anything happened—”
Gwynn approached him. What could Cash possibly want after the way things ended between them?
“Can’t argue with you there,” Uncle Russ said.
“What’s he saying?” Gwynn whispered, but her uncle raised a hand.
“Are you sure?” Uncle Russ nodded. “Understood. See you soon.”
He hung up, and Gwynn gestured to the phone. “What was that about?”
Uncle Russ pulled at his mouth. “Cash will be here in a few minutes. He’s going to drive you to Bozeman.”
“What? No!”
“The storm caught us by surprise, Gwynn, and now the roads are atrocious. Cash is our best option for getting you to the airport. He has better reflexes and a powerful truck. You’ll be safer with him than with me.”
She clutched his shirt sleeve. “You know that’s not true.”
Uncle Russ placed his hands on her shoulders and leveled her a look. “You two need to talk.”
“He’s hurt. And angry.”
“And who can blame him? But you’re safe with him, even when he’s angry. He loved you.”
“He loved Hadley. He doesn’t love Gwynn. If anything, he despises her now.”
“Change your name all you want, it’s your soul that draws him.”
Cash arrived ten minutes later, a fierce gale chasing him into the house. Snowflakes clung to his eyelashes and to the fibers in his coat and knitted beanie. Gwynn gripped her arms, her heartbeat erratic as he nodded to the Davisons and greeted Brisket who jumped at his legs for attention. Lastly, he turned to Gwynn, his light blue eyes cautious yet friendly.
Her defenses slid into confusion. What happened to his anger?
“It’s crazy out there,” he said. “You sure you want to do this?”
“Yes.”
“All right.” Inclining his head, Cash grabbed her carry-on. “Say your goodbyes. I’ll meet you at the truck. But be quick. Every minute we delay costs us on the roads.”
Holding his collar closed at the throat, he ducked outside, and Gwynn enveloped both Aunt Maude and Uncle Russ in a group hug. “As desperate as this trip began, and as fast as it’s ending, I’m grateful I got to see you two. Take care of yourselves.” She crouched to scratch Brisket behind the ears but narrowed her eyes at Aunt Maude. “And no more trickery to get me out here.”
“No, missy. You have my word.”
Uncle Russ kissed the top of her head. “We’ll come visit you in the spring, okay, kiddo?”
“I’d like that.” After another round of hugs, Gwynn wriggled her hands into her mittens, shouldered her backpack purse, and exited the house.
She entered a whirlwind of white.
Wind gusts drove the snow sideways and raked her cheeks and nose as she stepped off the porch. Using her scarf as a shield, she fought to stay on the walkway, several inches deep in snow, and followed Cash’s footsteps up to the road.
As she approached the truck, Cash hopped from the driver’s side, jogged around, and opened the passenger door.
Her eyes widened. “Thanks. You didn’t have—”
He cocked a brow.
“Right.” Compressing her lips, she tossed in her backpack and climbed onto the bench seat. The door shut behind her. Heat blasted from the air vents, and the wipers swished back and forth as wet flakes splatted against the windshield. Once resettled behind the wheel, Cash pulled away from the curb.
Minutes later, they turned onto an empty Main Street, and Gwynn’s mouth formed an ‘o.’ “Where is everyone?”
“Most of them were smart and stayed home today.”
“Ah.” She coughed. “You didn’t have to take me to the airport. Uncle Russ was—”
“Russ is fifty years my senior. He has no business driving in these conditions.” Cash looked at her askance, taking his time traversing the road. “I wouldn’t be out here, either, except I heard a job was on the line.”
Heat crawled up her neck. Irene had threatened her job, but was getting back to it worth risking these blizzard conditions?
Her job meant money, and she needed that money to pay her bills. Her suite mates needed the money to help pay the rent. And she needed whatever contacts her job—and the exposure in this upcoming gala—might bring about for her career’s future.
So, yes, she’d take the risk to reach the airport.
In silence, they made their way through town and into the wide, ranching valley beyond it. Without buildings or mountains to block the wind, the storm grew to whiteout conditions, eclipsing the pavement beneath a blanket of snow and masking the drop-offs beyond the shoulders in drifts level with the road. Cash clenched the steering wheel in both hands, tension emanating from his body.
Gwynn prayed for safety.
Cash rotated his head from side to side. “How about a game of This or That to distract me?”
He wanted to play a game? Wouldn’t he rather rail about her true identity? “I don’t think I want you distracted.” She could also do without a tongue-lashing, however.
The side of his mouth quirked. “Coffee or tea?”
“Coffee, of course.”
“Mountains or ocean?”
“Um, ocean.”
“Victorian or condo?”
“Condo.”
Cash snorted. “You’re lying.”
Gwynn peeled off her mittens. “I live in Boston. I like the ocean and small-home living.”
“Where the only mountains on your horizon are ‘made of brick and steel,’” Cash said, quoting her words back to her.
“I didn’t say the city was my dream location.”
“Then what is?”
She shook her head. “It’s not an option.”
“Fine.” He shifted in his seat. “Let’s see … hunting or fishing?”
“Fishing.” She fingered her scar as she spoke.
“Carpentry or plumbing?”
Gwynn frowned. “What are you playing at?”
“Answer the question.”
She pulled a piece of fuzz from a mitten. “Carpentry.”
“Facial hair or clean shaven?”
It was her turn to snort. “Would that be for myself or the guys I’m attracted to?”
“Definitely the latter.”
A few butterflies in her tummy stirred. Why wasn’t he angry and confronting her? She took in the dark scruff along his jaw, her fingertips tingling, then looked away. “I prefer clean shaven.”
“You’re lying again.”
And why shouldn’t I? Lies saved my life.
“What do you mean?”
She pulled her gaze from the window. “Hmm?”
“You said lies saved your life. How is that possible?”
“I said—” Gwynn threw up her hands. “Why can’t I keep my mouth shut around you? You’re like my Achilles’ heel.”
“Listen, Gwynn—”
“No, it’s my turn.” She rotated to face him more fully. “Mountain cabin or coastal cottage?”
“But—”
“ Mountain cabin or coastal cottage ?”
The lines about his mouth tightened, but he said, “Barn workshop.”
“Rich or poor?”
“Contented.”
“Thin or fat?”
“Fit.”
Gwynn glanced heavenward. “I thought you knew how to play this game.”
Cash grinned, but his eyes held a challenge. “Ask me about hair color.”
“Yeah, you don’t know how to play.” She sighed. “Okay, blondes or … redheads?”
“Brunettes.”
Her heart kicked. Her natural hair color was brunette. She crushed the mittens in her lap. “Brown eyes or green?”
“Hazel.”
Gwynn’s gaze flew to his. They played a new game now, the truth hanging between them like an ugly portrait no one wanted to address but couldn’t ignore. She wet her lips. “Rancher’s daughter or”—Tessa’s face flashed in her mind—“pastor’s daughter?”
“Childhood sweetheart.”
She swallowed around the ache in her throat. Did she dare …? “Love or hate?” she whispered.
Cash took her hand and smoothed his thumb along her scar. “I choose forgiveness.”
Tears sprang to her eyes. “Cash—”
A dark shape materialized through the snow ahead, and Gwynn clutched the dashboard with a shriek. The beast reared, a red-clad figure astride its back.
Cash wrenched the steering wheel. The truck swerved, lost traction, and plowed into the shoulder of the road, its front end sinking into deeper snow.
“Oh crap oh crap oh crap.” Gwynn unbuckled and spun in her seat. “Do you see them? Did we hit them?”
“ Them ? I saw a reindeer—”
“Yeah, with a male rider.”
“What male rider?”
“He wore a red plaid coat—” Gwynn’s jaw dropped. Red coat. White beard. “Oh, my heavens, it was that guy!”
“ What guy?”
“The one I keep seeing everywhere. First, he came into the art gallery in Boston. Then he knocked into me at the airport in Bozeman. Then, I saw him at the—” She bit off the word cemetery .
Cash rammed a hand through his hair. “I don’t know what you’re jabbering on about, but we’ve got a problem.”
“I’ll say. We may have hit an old man.”
“We didn’t hit anyone—or anything—because I drove off the road instead.” Cash gestured out the window. “ That’s our problem. I gotta see how bad it is.” He reached into the backseat and collected his knitted beanie and gloves. “If you hadn’t insisted on leaving, this wouldn’t have happened.”
“You’re blaming me for wanting to catch my flight? I thought you understood—”
“Oh, I understand job responsibilities and wanting to please one’s boss.” Cash yanked on his hat and shoved his hands into his gloves. “What I don’t understand”—he pinned her with his stare—“is how you can once again abandon loved ones who are still reeling from the first time you ran away.” He reached for his door handle. “Stop running, Hadley Jacobs, and come home already.”