Stranger In His Arms Read online

  Dylan shifted uneasily in his chair. “That doesn’t make her my girl.”

  Jarrett ignored his protests. “And I’ve seen the way you’ve dragged around town the past month since coming back from Atlanta, looking like your dog died and somebody stole your truck.”

  Dylan squirmed again. Jarrett’s comments were hitting too close to home. “I don’t have a dog.”

  “Don’t give me the runaround. This is your brother you’re talking to. When was the last time you saw her?”

  Dylan tried to ignore the loneliness and longing rising inside him. “About a week ago. At Raylene’s.”

  “Did you talk to her?”

  Dylan shrugged. “I said hello.”

  “Little bro, am I going to have to take you out to the barn and beat some sense into you?”

  Dylan decided his best defense was to attack. “I don’t see you settled down with a woman, and you’re older than me.”

  “I have a good reason.”

  “Which is?”

  “The right woman hasn’t come along,” Jarrett said without defensiveness.

  Dylan snorted. “Are you expecting someone wearing a sign? How’re you going to know the right woman?”

  Jarrett took another swallow of beer and leaned back in his rocker. “That’s easy enough. When I meet a woman I don’t want to live without, I’ll know she’s the right one.”

  “Shoot, that’s easy for you to say. It’s a heck of a lot more complicated than that.”

  Jarrett smiled. “Why don’t you tell me about it, then?”

  Dylan plowed his fingers through his hair. “I don’t want to live without Jennifer—”

  “Aha,” Jarrett snapped. “Didn’t I tell you?”

  “But I don’t know if I can live with her, either,” Dylan blurted.

  “Why not?” Jarrett scratched his head. “She seems like an exceptionally fine woman.”

  “She is—in most ways.”

  “So what’s the problem?”

  Dylan breathed a sigh of regret. “I can’t trust her.”

  “Whew, that’s a pretty serious charge.”

  “She tells lies.”

  Jarrett rose from his chair, leaned against the porch railing and looked Dylan in the eye. “What kind of lies?”

  Dylan downed the rest of his beer. “What does it matter? Lies are lies.”

  “Life isn’t all black or white, bro.”

  “It is to me,” Dylan insisted.

  “Then you’re going to grow into an unhappy, lonely old man,” Jarrett said gently. “Are you miffed at Jennifer because of her false identity?”

  Dylan nodded stiffly.

  Jarrett crossed his arms over his chest. “Would you rather she’d remained Rachel O’Riley and that hit man had found her and killed her?”

  “Of course not!”

  “Then what should she have done?”

  Dylan shoved to his feet, walked past Jarrett and gazed out across the valley where evening shadows deepened in the ravines. “She should have told me.”

  “That’s funny,” Jarrett said. “I thought you said she did tell you.”

  “She should have told me sooner.”

  Jarrett approached and slung an arm around his shoulders. “Maybe she wasn’t sure she could trust you at first. After all, her life was at stake. Besides, you are the one she ultimately confided in.”

  “I can’t stand lies. They can get people killed.”

  Jarrett squeezed his shoulder. “You’re thinking of Johnny Whitaker, and in his case you’re right. He and his mom might be alive today if he’d told you the truth. But Jennifer’s case is different. Her lies kept her alive.”

  “But—”

  “No buts. Your moral compass makes you a fine man for the most part, Dylan. But don’t let inflexibility rob you of what could be the love of your life.”

  Feeling foolish, Dylan realized his brother was right. Jennifer’s lies had harmed no one and had kept her alive, and she had ultimately trusted in him. More than anything else, however, he realized that he didn’t want to live without her. The last month had been hell. He couldn’t imagine the rest of his days without Jennifer in them.

  Inside the farmhouse, a phone rang, and Jarrett went to answer it. He returned seconds later with a portable phone and handed it to Dylan. “It’s Raylene. She sounds pretty upset.”

  Dylan grabbed the receiver. “Raylene?”

  “Thank God, Dylan.” The waitress spoke so fast, she was stumbling over her words. “I’ve been calling all over town to find you.”

  “Slow down and tell me what’s the matter.”

  The waitress was practically sobbing. “That hit man that was looking for Jennifer—”

  “Michael Johnson?”

  “I never knew his name. But he drove into town about ten minutes ago. He’s in a different car, but I recognized him. I’m scared he’s come for Jennifer.”

  Fear flooded him. “Are you sure it’s him?”

  “Positive. I never forget a face, especially one as ugly as his.”

  “Have you warned Jennifer?”

  “When I couldn’t find you, I called the guest house and Miss Bessie’s, but nobody answered at either place.”

  Horror gripped him at the possibility Johnson had already made a trip up Miss Bessie’s mountain. “Which way was he headed, Raylene?”

  “He wasn’t headed anywhere when I saw him. Just sittin’ in his car across from the Artisans’ Hall.”

  “Keep trying Jennifer’s number,” he said. “I’m on my way there now. And call the PD and tell them what’s happened. Have whoever’s on duty meet me at the guest house.”

  “Trouble?” Jarrett asked when Dylan switched off the phone.

  “The worst. That hit man’s back in town.”

  Jarrett frowned. “If Jennifer’s already given her testimony to the police, why would he still be after her?”

  “I intend to find out.”

  Jarrett reached inside the screen door and grabbed his jacket and his hunting rifle. “I’m coming with you.”

  With Jarrett on his heels, Dylan raced to his truck, knowing as he ran that he was a good fifteen minutes or more behind Johnson.

  A man with murder on his mind could do a lot of damage in fifteen minutes.

  Praying that Jennifer wasn’t home and that he and Jarrett could intercept Johnson before the hit man reached her, Dylan put his truck into gear and burned rubber.

  THE SUN had disappeared behind the crest of the western mountains, leaving the highway in deep shadows. Jennifer turned to wave at Sissy and her aunt, then pulled the car out of Millie’s driveway. If she hurried, she’d be home before dark. Since her run-in with Crutchfield’s hit man weeks before, crossing Bald Gap at night gave her the willies, and she was anxious to traverse the mountain crest before daylight disappeared.

  She passed the turnoff to Jarrett’s farm and thought instantly of Dylan. He was never far from her mind, even though she’d only seen him once since her return four weeks ago to Casey’s Cove.

  She’d been having breakfast at Raylene’s last week. The doorbell had jingled, and there he’d stood, looking more handsome than ever in his dark green uniform. He’d ordered coffee to go at the counter, then turned and caught her eye.

  “Hi.” Her heart had pounded as if it would fight its way out of her chest.

  “Hello,” he answered with a guarded smile, as if he was afraid of revealing his emotions, and he looked uncomfortable at meeting her.

  Grover brought his coffee then, and Dylan had paid and left without another word.

  Raylene slipped into the booth across from her. “So how are things with you and Dylan?”

  From anyone else, Jennifer would have resented the question, but Raylene was a friend, and Jennifer needed someone to talk to. “Nowhere. That’s the first time I’ve seen him since he brought me back from Atlanta.”

  “That’s funny,” the waitress said.

  Heart aching, Jennifer frowned. “Fun
ny isn’t the word.”

  Raylene shook her head. “That’s not what I meant. It’s funny-odd he hasn’t looked you up. Every time he comes in here, he asks about you.”

  Jennifer grimaced. “He’s probably just checking to make sure I haven’t broken any laws. He thinks I lack moral fiber.”

  “Pshaw,” Raylene said. “Why would he think that?”

  “All the lies I told.” Jennifer shook her head sadly. “I didn’t know what else to do at the time. Now I can’t take them back. All I can do is say I’m sorry, but apologies obviously don’t cut it with Dylan.”

  Raylene reached across the table and patted her hand. “I’m sorry, hon. That’s the way Dylan is. Always has been, but his straight-laced attitude got worse after Johnny Whitaker was killed.”

  “Guess I don’t have a chance, then.” Jennifer sighed.

  “Maybe it’s just as well. Living with a man that unbending could be tough.”

  But he’s not really like that, she had started to protest, then stopped. If he wasn’t that obstinate, why hadn’t he contacted her? Apparently he’d forgotten their lovemaking. She wished she could. Maybe she’d be less miserable.

  Their encounter had been a week ago, and she hadn’t seen him since.

  The evening sky was deepening to a cobalt blue as she rounded Bottleneck Curve and entered the main street. When she passed the café, Raylene waved animatedly from the window, but Jennifer’s thoughts were still on Dylan, and her response was a perfunctory flutter of her fingers as she passed by.

  Torn by conflicting feelings, she started up the mountain toward the guest house. She had begun to think of Miss Bessie’s place as home and of Miss Bessie as family. She hoped she could put down roots in the mountain valley where everyone had accepted her so warmly.

  Everyone except Dylan.

  He’d been remarkably proficient at avoiding her in the small town, and she wondered if she could be truly happy living in the same place, never seeing him, always hoping he’d appear. If she couldn’t put her broken heart behind her, she’d have to move on. But she was so tired of running. She longed to settle in one place.

  Marry.

  Have a family.

  With Dylan.

  Fat chance, she thought as she parked her car in the guest house drive. She might as well make plans to move on.

  Lost in thought, head down, she trudged up the path toward the front porch. The telephone began to ring inside the house, and a dark figure stepped out of the bushes beside the steps.

  “Dylan? Is that you? I won’t let you scare me to death this time.”

  The man didn’t answer.

  Her eyes adjusted to the darkness, and she could barely make out the tough, ugly face of the man who confronted her.

  One item she recognized instantly—the menacing silencer on the muzzle of the gun he aimed at her.

  DYLAN JAMMED the accelerator to the floorboard and raced through town. Johnson’s car no longer sat in front of the Artisans’ Hall, and they hadn’t passed it on the mountain road. The hit man had to be headed for Jennifer’s place.

  “Good thing you’re a cop.” Jarrett bounced in his seat and held onto his hat. “Or they’d put you under the jail for the way you zoomed through town.”

  Fearful his unlawful speed wasn’t fast enough, Dylan prayed they’d reach Jennifer in time. The truck’s engine whined from the strain of climbing up the road toward the guest house at such high speed.

  Dear God, he prayed, she can lie to me fifty ways to Sunday for the rest of her days. Just let her be all right.

  “Stop!” Jarrett yelled before they reached the guest house.

  Dylan hit the brakes. “What?”

  His brother grabbed a flashlight and shone it into the trees beside the road. The car Raylene had described was partially hidden by the underbrush.

  Dylan yanked his gun from beneath the seat, hopped from the truck, and approached Johnson’s vehicle.

  “It’s empty,” he said to Jarrett when he returned to the truck. “He must have hiked on ahead.”

  “Should we follow in the truck?”

  Dylan shook his head. “He’d hear us coming. We’ll track him on foot. Make him think he has all the time in the world so he doesn’t act too hastily. That may be our only chance to save her.”

  Using skills they’d learned in childhood, the brothers, obscured by the shadows, their progress inaudible, started up the road. When they reached the edge of the guest-house lawn, they remained hidden in the trees.

  Dylan strained for signs of Michael Johnson, but the hit man was nowhere to be seen. Fortunately, Jennifer’s car wasn’t there either, which meant she wasn’t inside the dark house. Dylan could hear the phone ringing, probably Raylene trying to reach Jennifer to warn her.

  Suddenly an engine sounded behind them on the road. Jennifer’s car was approaching. Searching for indications of a sniper, Dylan checked the darkened windows of the house.

  No sign of Michael Johnson.

  Miss Bessie’s new Mercedes drove into view and pulled into the guest-house drive. Before Dylan could move, Jennifer had hopped from the car and started up the path.

  He felt Jarrett stiffen beside him, and at the same instant, saw Michael Johnson step out to bar Jennifer’s way.

  “Dylan?” she called. “Is that you? I won’t let you scare me to death this time.”

  Johnson raised his gun.

  Dylan tried to take aim, but Jennifer was in the way. He signaled to Jarrett who circled toward the left while Dylan moved to the right.

  “What are you doing here?” Jennifer was saying, her voice amazingly calm for a woman staring down the muzzle of a gun.

  Dylan’s heart hammered in his chest. In a split second, Johnson could fire, his trained aim killing Jennifer before she fell. Dylan maneuvered for a clearer shot of the hit man.

  “I have a contract to fulfill.” Johnson’s voice was cold, emotionless.

  “But Crutchfield’s in jail,” Jennifer said, “and I’ve told my story to the police. What good will killing me now do?”

  “Like I said,” the raspy voice of the hit man floated across the lawn, “I have a contract to fulfill. I don’t get my money until you’re dead.”

  Dylan saw the hit man’s finger move on the trigger. In desperation, he threw himself to the right and fired three shots.

  Jennifer went down, and Johnson fell, too. The roar of gunshots echoed across the valley in the eerie night stillness.

  The sound faded.

  Nobody moved.

  Guns at the ready, Dylan and Jarrett approached the front walk. Jennifer lay in a heap on the bricks, her face hidden by her golden hair. Terrified of what he’d find, Dylan knelt beside her while Jarrett trained his rifle on the hit man.

  Dylan reached for Jennifer’s neck to check her pulse. His throat clogged with emotion, and he had to force out her name. “Jennifer?”

  In a sudden move, she swatted his hand from her neck and sat upright. “You did it again! Scared me senseless! Why didn’t you let me know it was you?”

  He’d never been so happy to hear angry words in his life. “You’re not hurt?”

  “Not hurt?” She pushed her hair from her face and jammed her hands on her hips. “Just frightened out of my mind. I had no idea who you were and I thought you were shooting at me!”

  Laughing with relief, he scooped her into his arms. “Thank God, Jennifer. I don’t know what I’d do if he’d hurt you.”

  “This guy’s wounded, but he’s still alive.” Jarrett still stood with the barrel of his rifle pointed at Johnson, who hadn’t moved.

  Flashing red lights and the sound of sirens broke through the trees, and a police car and rescue van roared up the drive. Within minutes, Gary Patterson, the paramedic, had Michael Johnson sprouting IVs and loaded on a stretcher while the cop took a statement from Jarrett.

  Dylan stood with his arms around Jennifer. Whatever lies she’d told in the past seemed insignificant beside the fact that he’d co
me so close to losing her.

  “How did you know Johnson was here?” Jennifer asked.

  “Raylene saw him come into town. She warned me.”

  “And you came straight away?”

  Dylan pulled her closer and nodded.

  “Because that’s your job?” Jennifer asked.

  He shook his head. “Because I love you, and I’d die if anything happened to you.”

  “Honest?”

  He drew back and gave her a stern stare. “You know I never lie.”

  She flung her arms around his neck and he kissed her as he’d wanted to for the last four weeks.

  Epilogue

  From the seat beside her on the plane, Dylan reached over and grasped her left hand, the one with the shiny new bright gold band that matched her engagement ring.

  Jennifer—she’d grown fond of that name and decided to keep it—pulled her attention from the window and its view of North Dakota, spread out thousands of feet below them like a patchwork quilt in soft greens, golds and browns of early summer, streaked with the colors of the setting sun.

  “Happy, Mrs. Blackburn?” he asked.

  She squeezed his fingers and nodded. “Today has been the best day of my life.”

  He assumed a poker face, but his brown eyes twinkled. “I’m just glad I survived it.”

  “Survived?” she said in mock horror. “That’s an awful thing to say about the day you’re married.”

  “You know how us menfolk are about weddings. They give us the heebie-jeebies.”

  Her mock horror turned to outrage. “Dylan Blackburn—”

  Before she could protest further, he leaned over and kissed her so thoroughly, her fury was forgotten.

  “I admit,” he said when she drew back for breath, “it was a great day. What part did you like best?”

  “I couldn’t begin to choose. The tears in your eyes when we pledged our vows—”

  “Smoke caused that, from the candles.” His eyes were twinkling again.

  “Sissy McGinnis pelting everyone with rose petals from her flower basket.”

  Dylan smiled. “Even better was having her mother there watching, healthy and strong again.”