In His Wife's Name

He quietly eased open the cupboard doors and the drawers nearest the phone. They held craft supplies and mismatched dishes. He surveyed the kitchen, dining and living areas for her purse, but didn’t see it. Her worktable was covered with partially painted signs, but no files or books that might contain business records. Luke decided she probably kept her purse and her business records in her bedroom, out of her daughter’s reach. Maybe she had a computer.

He’d have to find another opportunity to look. Luke found a mug and filled it with coffee. He noticed there weren’t any photographs stuck to the refrigerator when he took out the cream. Not even a picture of Samantha. Luke found that odd. Most people who had kids plastered their homes with photos of their offspring.

As he stepped back outside, coffee in hand, he complimented Samantha on her progress at making a second turtle. Samantha beamed up at him, her eyes sparkling with mischief beneath the brim of her hat as she tipped over the mold. Sand spilled out and formed two mounds that looked more like a snowman than a turtle. Samantha giggled.

“Uh, oh,” Luke said, not the least bit fooled by her attempt to entice him to play with her some more. He glanced back over his shoulder at Mary. “Your daughter’s pretty cute. She has your nose, but the rest of her must be her father.”

“She definitely has her father’s eyes. The rest…I don’t know, but I’ll keep her just the way she is.” Mary’s reply was characteristically vague, but her face glowed with motherly pride.

“Did you name her after her father?”

“No, I’ve just always liked the name Samantha. You’re good with her. She’s usually shy around men. Especially when I take her to the doctor.”

“It doesn’t matter what age you are, you don’t like doctors poking at you.” Luke took a sip of his coffee. The conversation had the level of intimacy he wanted if he hoped to get Mary to open up to him, but he could feel her skating around the edges of his questions about her husband as if aware danger lurked beneath them. “What did your husband do?” he asked.

A shadow darted across her expressive eyes. She tilted her head to one side, the sunlight striking her hair and turning it to corn silk as she met his gaze directly. “I know you’re just making conversation so we can get to know each other, but I’d rather not talk about my husband. He…” She paused, her lips twisting into a rueful smile. “It’s hard to explain, but losing him taught me how important it is to live life in the here and now and live it to the fullest.” As she spoke her shoulders squared as if threaded with an iron rod. “The past is over, done with, you can’t change it—sometimes you can’t even explain it. And the future, well, the future is something everyone assumes they’ll have, but the truth is that the only sure moment we have is the right now. For me, that’s my daughter and my business and the letter boxes that need to be cut today.”

“Is that your subtle way of telling me to quit jawing and get to work?” Luke quipped, feeling a wave of admiration for her, even though she’d just firmly barred the door on further questions about her husband.

“Yes.” The smile she gave him was pure, sweet and undeniably flirtatious. Luke promptly forgot about the past, the future and the need to cut the letter boxes in the present. The only thought on his mind in the here and now was that she had the most beautiful face, freckles, violet smudges and all. And those lips…would they feel as warm and sweet as the woman they belonged to?

Mary dug a key from the pocket of her shorts and handed it to him. “I hate to disturb Samantha when she’s happy in the sand. Can you unlock the garage and pass me the key before you leave for the day?”

“Sure. I’ll get started on the letter boxes right away.” Their fingers brushed lightly as he accepted the key, and Luke felt his limbs tingle with a slow anticipatory heat that made him patently aware, once again, of how delicate and feminine she was and how long it had been since he’d held a woman in his arms.

But he’d never hold this woman in his arms. Over time, even the best liars slipped up. And Luke had all the time in the world when it came to finding out Mary’s true identity.

CONCEALED BEHIND THE TREES, he watched them talking in front of her cottage. Anger rippled through him at the way she smiled at the man, as if she had no reason to be afraid. As if she didn’t deserve to be punished. Did she think having a man around would protect her from him?

No one could protect her from him. He was too smart. He’d proved last night that he could rattle her whenever he wanted. He’d heard the fear in her voice when she’d answered the phone. He was in control.

And that was only just the beginning.

WITH LUKE NEARBY in the garage, Shannon felt undeniably safer than she had last night after that unsettling phone call. She felt protected in the same way she had when she was a child learning to ride a bike without training wheels, and her father had walked beside her, a hand ready to catch her bike and steady her should she need it. After the way Luke had come to her aid yesterday, she knew that if Rob suddenly turned up on her doorstep, she could trust Luke to help her.

Not that she could tell Luke everything. It was highly improbable that the phone call last night had been Rob, but she’d learned the hard way never to underestimate what her ex-husband was capable of doing. Shannon tried to concentrate on sketching the design for a scarecrow crafted from a four-by-four recycled fence post, but even the slightest movement in the trees surrounding the cottage set her on edge.

Her experience with Rob had made her paranoid, and the only effective way to deal with it was to acknowledge the fear as a self-protective instinct and let it ride itself out. A few weeks from now the phone call would be just another insignificant wrong number. In the meantime, she’d be vigilant as always.

Samantha, who was practicing her new walking skills, toddled unsteadily around the sandbox, babbling to her toys like an excited bird. Her round face was damp with perspiration from the rising heat of the morning sun. Shannon decided to give up all pretense of working. “You look hot, baby. Let’s go inside and get you some juice.”

As she leaned down to place her sketchbook on the grass at her feet, something whizzed past her head. A second later, it struck the big terra-cotta pot she’d planted with petunias and alyssum with a sharp crack, putting a ding in the pot.

Shannon stared at the object. It was a rock the size of a golf ball. If she hadn’t bent over, it would have hit her in the head. It could have killed Samantha.

Panic spilled through her like carbonated bubbles. “Luke! Come quick!” she screamed as she leaped toward her daughter and scooped her up in her arms. A second missile hit the sandbox, spewing up sand inches from the spot where Samantha had been playing. “Stop it! You’ll hurt someone,” Shannon yelled as she ran toward the safety of their cottage, every cell in her body determined to protect her daughter. She yanked open the screen door, pulled it quickly closed behind her and secured the lock, her heart threatening to leap into her throat with every breath.

Samantha started to cry.

“Hush,” Shannon whispered. She peered through the screen, scanning the foliage to determine from which direction the rocks had been thrown. Please, God, don’t let it be Rob. The terror of the months he’d stalked her flared in her mind, a recurring nightmare that never left her. The phone calls. The notes filled with pleas, promises, threats and reminders of the vows she’d made to him, which she’d find on her windshield or taped to the door of her office building so that everyone at work could see. Or worse, the love notes he’d given her during her courtship that she’d find in the pockets of her clothes in her new dwellings. The cold dread that had hovered in the background of her every waking moment at the knowledge that she might turn around when she was walking down the street or purchasing groceries or heading for a meeting and find him watching her.

To her relief, Luke came tearing out of the garage, legs and arms pumping like a seasoned athlete.

“Mary? Where are you?”

Shannon had never been so glad to see muscles before. Surely Luke’s construction-honed physique was intimidation enough to make whoever had thrown the rocks think twice before doing something so irresponsibly dangerous again.

“We’re inside,” she called back, hating the fear that invaded her voice. Hating the fact that she couldn’t stop herself from leaping to the conclusion that Rob had somehow found her. “Someone just threw a couple of rocks at me and Samantha. One’s by the planter. I was sitting in the chair, and it came from behind and hit the planter. It almost got me. The other one landed in the sandbox.”

“Stay inside. I’ll check it out.”

Shannon’s heart ricocheted in her chest as Luke took one look at the planter and the chair where she’d been sitting, then ran toward the trees. Seconds later, his navy T-shirt and jeans were swallowed up by shadows and bristly pine branches. She didn’t want to think what might have happened if he hadn’t been here. What if the first rock had struck her and knocked her unconscious? Or the second rock had hit Samantha?

Caution curbed Luke’s movements as he skirted a thicket of chokecherry, searching for signs of Mary and Samantha’s attacker, scanning the trees and scattered clumps of vegetation for movement and listening for sounds of snapped twigs. What the hell had just happened? This second incident on the heels of the slit tire two days before confirmed that Mary and her daughter were in real danger. From whom? Did this Mary know something about his wife’s killer and someone wanted to silence her? His hair rose on the back of his neck. The stand of pine and aspen was eerily silent—no sound of birds chirping, making him think that someone was still nearby. Watching. Waiting.

“I know you’re there,” he said in an authoritative tone. “Come on out and apologize. That was a really stupid thing to do. Someone could have been seriously hurt.”

Silence met his demand.

“Well, if you won’t come to me, then I’ll come to you.” He strode toward a point in the path strewn with embedded stones, presuming the thrown rocks had originated there. Sure enough, two indentations in the sandy soil exposing fresh dirt confirmed his theory. He glanced in the direction of Mary’s cottage. The only thing visible from this position was the roof. Had a kid decided to use the roof as a target? He examined the ground carefully for footprints or items that might have tumbled from a pocket when the culprit had run off. The ground was hard-packed and sprinkled with a layer of dry pine needles.

He jogged down the path in a direction away from Mary’s cottage. There was no one in sight. Still, he continued on to the nearest cottage, where a man in a damp bathing suit, a bad sunburn ringing his neck, was pouring a bag of charcoal into a hibachi. Three kids ranging in age from maybe four to fourteen were fighting over a bag of hot dogs and a plate of buns.

Luke stopped to ask the man if he’d seen anyone pass by on the path in the last few minutes.

“Sorry. We were in the cottage,” the man replied.

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