Breath of Dawn, The (15 page)

“Where’s Queen?” Livie asked for the fourteenth time in an hour. They stood out in the yard on the hot post-Thanksgiving Monday that could have been May instead of November. Fifty degrees at least. Rick took advantage of the temperature shift and the melted snow to exercise the stock. “Where’s Queen, Daddy?”

“She went flying in an airplane.” He pointed across the yard. “What’s Uncle Rick doing?”

“Riding a horsey.”

“Yep. And I bet he wants to take you along.”

Circling just close enough to hear, Rick glanced over. “Want a ride, Livie?”

Morgan hoisted her between Rick and the saddle horn, thankful for the time he’d get without her asking for Quinn. According to the information online, the flight had landed in its morning time
slot, and she was either finishing the two-hour drive or home already. He hadn’t asked her to call but should have, because while he’d given her his number and memorized the number of the jerk harassing her, he hadn’t gotten hers.

He could count on one finger the times he’d failed to get the phone number of a woman who mattered even fractionally as much as Quinn. The oversight unsettled him. It was like fumbling the first play of the game. Not that this was a game, certainly not to Quinn. And not to him. Not to the player on Monday night football either. When you were in the business of results, you didn’t drop the ball.

He’d be flying out next week for the Belcorp consultation and wanted resolution with Quinn before he left. Maybe she would contact Noelle. Or Noelle could contact her. On that thought, he went inside.

Noelle sat lengthwise on the leather couch, propped on pillows, a Brandenburg concerto playing softly on the stereo, warm sunlight bringing color to her cheeks. Liam sat across from her, building with Legos. Not quite back to his rambunctious self, his quick improvement might mean a smooth recovery for Noelle too.

He asked if she had Quinn’s phone number.

“You don’t?” She feigned shock, but it was only partly feigned. “Your own fiancée?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

She’d been ribbing him from the moment Quinn left. She didn’t realize he’d been working on a plan since the idea occurred. Quinn’s “final” answer had been equivocal, her criminal and work history background as clean as newly fallen snow. Didn’t hurt to think positively.

Noelle relented. “She’s in my contacts.”

“Thanks.” He located her phone on the arm of the couch, entered the number into his, and went out. The tension in his stomach kicked up a notch when the no-longer-in-service message came on. Changing her number might have been smart, given the harassment, but there was that thing she’d said.
“I’m ready to run.”

Whether the danger was real or not, her perception of it was. The idea that she might actually go caused a discomfort he didn’t analyze but couldn’t ignore. He closed his eyes and raised his face
to the sun. After a while, he keyed another number, and when RaeAnne answered, he asked how it went.

“Just great! She got in fine and I saw her off this morning. We had the best time.”

That sounded positive, but would Quinn have told RaeAnne her fears, or just pretended she was fine? “Do you have her phone number?”

“Oh sure. Just a sec.” She gave him the one he’d already tried.

“Okay. Thanks, RaeAnne.” When Rick rode in and handed Livie down, he said, “Do you know where Quinn lives?”

Rick shook his head. “I only saw her at Vera’s. And here.”

There had to be . . . And then he had a thought. She’d done business on his laptop. He could check his history, contact her through e-mail. Maybe. It was worth a try. “Come on, jelly bean. Let’s find Queen.”

Quinn parked the truck on the paved road, more willing to walk a ways to her door than leave deep ruts in the driveway. The day was beyond beautiful, springlike, melted snow dripping from the trees like raindrops. The wet ground smelled fresh, the air warm and clear. Mountain chickadees flitted in the dripping trees. Crows cawed. High above, a hawk or eagle made a silent gyre, as though no winged thing could be still on such a day in winter.

It was all for show, because tomorrow it would probably snow again. The next front could drop temperatures below zero. But today the mountains shone like a scene from
The Sound of Music.
After the time with RaeAnne, her heart felt light enough to sing.

She reached for her carryon bag as her phone indicated an incoming e-mail. She’d added a data plan on the new number, so she wouldn’t need someone else’s device to check mail again. Digging the phone from her bag, she brought the message up, slumping when she saw the sender. She was not eager to deal with Morgan.

Sighing, she took a look at the message.
Checking that you got back all right. Hopefully no hassle. Call, if you don’t mind, to let me know.

Not wanting to talk, she touched Reply.
Back fine. No hassle. RaeAnne’s happy. Thanks.

She hit Send and tugged her tote free. Before she had the truck door closed a new message came.
Can we talk?

No. We can’t. She didn’t want to hear his voice. She wanted to hear the birds that had strangely gone silent. She looked into the bare sky. No eagle.

She trudged to the house on spongy ground and paused, key in hand, when she reached the stoop and saw the door hanging loose against the splintered jamb. Heart thumping, she nudged the door with her elbow, stared long enough to see her shredded couch, her books ripped up and scattered, her clothes hanging in strips from the balcony. Legs turning to jelly, she ran to her truck, shoved her bag inside, and cranked the engine.

Yes, Morgan, we can talk. If she could breathe. The destruction in her house had taken time, energy, and rage. The message was clear. Markham wasn’t only after what he’d lost, he wanted to hurt her. Driving to Rick’s ranch, she forced the terror down and thanked God there was nothing at her place that connected to the Spencers.

Every ten seconds she checked her rearview, but no one followed. Markham should have waited for her there, knowing she’d see the wreckage and run. Not very smart for a prophet.
Please, God, help me.
Morgan had offered her a new name. It felt bad that she couldn’t keep her side of the bargain, but she’d been found, and that changed everything.

She knocked at his cabin, but no one answered. She hurried to the house, and he came out, head cocked, before she reached the door. The warmth in his face almost undid her. She wanted the cold business proposal, the reasonable merger. She wanted the imperious look he gave her when he told her to leave the locket.

“I only requested a call.” A breeze lifted the hair over his forehead.

“I know.” She swallowed, making herself meet his eyes, which studied her curiously under the dark, angled brows. “But I came to say I accept the merger.”

He stilled. “More threats?”

Of course he’d jump to that conclusion, not missing a thing, even if she were half skilled at hiding it. “I need a different name.” Admitting it brought tears to her eyes. If he changed his mind, she was on her own. She looked away, blinking hard. “If you didn’t mean it, say so.”

“I meant it.” He clasped her shoulder. “But I thought you—”

“I overreacted. Now I’ve had time to think.” She drew and released a hard breath. “Can we do it now?” She didn’t want to look desperate. She tried to look decisive. Her other choice was to take off—but if Markham found her here, how would she hide anywhere?

Lightly gripping her chin, he lifted her face. Staring into her teary eyes, he said, “Okay.”

No questions, no argument. The single word quaked in her chest. Was this the biggest mistake of her life? She pictured her little home destroyed. No. She’d already made that one.

Surprised but determined, Morgan led Quinn into the great room, where Noelle sat with Liam and Livie prancing, neighing, and pawing her. She had barely greeted Quinn with visible delight before he said, “I know you’re not at full strength, but could you keep Livie for a few days?”

“Of course, but . . . what for?” She looked at Quinn and back to him.

This wouldn’t go over well, but the shaking in Quinn’s hands, the hunted look in her eyes proved he’d been closer than he knew in his concerns. She was ready to bolt, and this would accomplish what she wanted and keep her close. “We’re getting married.”

Noelle’s eyes showed the shock he’d expected, though she was too well bred to gape. He’d already explained his side of the plan when she questioned his “proposal.” He’d kept Quinn’s issue out of the explanation, because frankly he knew too little and it wasn’t his tale to tell.

“We’ll be back as soon as possible.”

She shook her head, at a loss for words.

He said, “Where’s Rick?”

“With a breeder, discussing spring foals.”

Livie stopped galloping and grabbed his leg. “I a horsey, Daddy.”

“A fine princess pony.” Kneeling down, he hugged and kissed her. “I have to go away for just a little while. Okay?”

When her face clouded, he added quickly, “Not as long as last time. I promise.” He held her tightly when she started to cry. This would only add a little to his already planned absence, and on the back side Quinn could help with her care. That would be new and fun for Livie. But how did you explain that to a two-year-old? He handed her to Noelle, a default they both understood.

She drew Livie in but caught his arm. “Are you sure this a good idea?”

“We’re managing a situation.”

“With marriage?”

“Trust me.” He brushed her arm, a little offended that it wasn’t automatic. “Solving problems is my
raison d’être
.” He looked into her face, reminding her of what she knew, at least what he hoped she knew. If he didn’t trust this course, he wouldn’t follow it.

He’d hardly closed the door behind them when Quinn said, “I don’t want to cause trouble with your family.”

“There’s no trouble.” Noelle was the least of his concerns. “Do you have a passport?”

“Yes.”

“On you?”

“Always.” The tiny hitch when she said it was telling.

“We’ll need your birth certificate.”

“All my important papers are in my truck. When I heard he was released, I got everything ready, in case I had to leave in a hurry.”

“Good foresight.” And because she’d said she was ready to run, he’d prepared as well.

Pulling his borrowed Tahoe back into position behind the steel barn, Markham Wilder continued his watch on Quinn’s house. The supplies he’d purchased would keep him another day or two before he made another run into town. He opened a package of cheese-filled crackers and chewed in morose silence. Sooner or later she’d come home and find his welcoming tableau.

She might think she’d been robbed. Maybe her first thoughts would be of him. If not, her next ones would. Maybe she’d call the police, whatever law enforcement this place had. She’d try to have him arrested, but he wasn’t stupid. He’d been wearing gloves. And even if some miracle on their part put him inside, he’d say he found the place wrecked and was afraid for her. Quinn wouldn’t buy that, but he could sell it to the rest.

He chewed a cracker, contemplating the vandalism. The only part that bothered him was its spontaneity. He couldn’t afford to act without thinking. Still, it sent a message, and he couldn’t wait to watch her receive it.