more than he was getting, wasting his time and his talent on this trash pile of a mountain. And if what he’d heard—what someone had let slip—was true, Alisha Emerson could help with those plans. He’d already tried to get closer to her. He’d been friendly and sympathetic to her plight, but the woman was stubborn and quiet. She liked to keep to herself, didn’t hold with sharing much personal stuff. That was okay. He’d learned enough when she’d first come here. And he could be patient as far as the rest. He could bide his time.
But first, he had to get all his ducks in a row. He had to be armed with enough information to make it worth his while. Enough information to make Alisha Emerson sweat just a little bit. Once he had her convinced, she’d give in to him. She’d be his then. He’d get back everything he’d lost, and together they could leave this dreadful place.
Speaking of sweating, he was freezing now. That’s how it went, hot and cold. Hot and cold. Shaking one minute and calm and still, burning, the next. He was just about to turn around and head back to his bedroom when he saw a movement coming up the road, headed toward the store just around the corner. He squinted against the cold, cracked window.
“Now, who’s that?” he wondered as he watched the tall man wearing a black leather overcoat go trudging up the muddy, potholed road to the south. There was a stranger on the mountain.
Tourists. Dover Mountain only got a few, but he hated them. They were just so nosy and demanding. A real pain to deal with. But this one looked like he had money, at least.
He snorted and scratched at his belly. “Some city fellow got lost in the storm. How tragic.” He laughed, thought about offering the man some help, but then decided he just felt too miserable for the effort. “You got yourself this far, I reckon. You can keep on moving.”
Besides, soon he’d have plenty of money himself. Wouldn’t have to depend on strangers for handouts, wouldn’t have to depend on this town, or these people to keep him above water. Soon, he’d be on his way off this sad little mountain and on to better things. No more worries. No more nagging memories. Freedom at last.
And all thanks to the beautiful Alisha Emerson.
Jared found Dr. Sloane. He had to pound on the door of the white house several times, but when the doctor finally came to the door, Jared was shocked at what he saw, and more than a little relieved that this man hadn’t had anything to do with Alisha’s delivery.
Dr. Sloane’s face was the color of saffron, yellowed and aged like dried newspaper. His hazel eyes sank back against his jaundiced skin like two pebbles trapped in stagnant water. His thick silver-streaked hair stood up in oily clumps around his forehead. He looked to be around fifty or so, but he was apparently suffering from what Jared could only guess was a tremendous hangover. Was this the best medical help the people of Dover Mountain could get?
“What you want?” the doctor asked, his bloodshot eyes moving over Jared’s face with contempt. “The clinic’s closed on Sundays, and I can’t open up, anyway. I don’t have electricity, so I can only deal with true emergencies.” He moved to shut the door.
“I have an emergency,” Jared said, his hand coming up to block the door. Hoping he’d be wrong, he asked, “You are Dr. Sloane, right?”
“Yep, but—”
Jared held the door. “Alisha Emerson had her baby last night. I helped deliver the boy. We just need you to come and check on them both, that is, if you think you’re able.”
Dr. Sloane’s head came up, his skin becoming a strange florid shade as he glared up at Jared. “I’m perfectly capable of seeing to Alisha’s needs, thank you.” Then he pointed a finger in Jared’s face. “And just who exactly are you? We don’t cotton to strangers here, you know.”
“I’m beginning to see that, yes,” Jared said. “I’m Jared Murdock. I live in Atlanta—”
“Where in Atlanta?”
It was almost the same question Alisha had asked him last night. “Buckhead. In a house that’s been in my family for close to seventy years.” Jared didn’t go into detail about his uptown penthouse. It was none of this man’s business, anyway.
The doctor teetered on his bare feet, his liver-spotted hands pulling tightly at the sash of his threadbare plaid flannel bathrobe. “Old money, huh? Y’all think you can come up here and take over this mountain—tourists and troublemakers—”
“I’m not a troublemaker, and I’m really not a tourist,” Jared replied, anger making the words harsh. “But if you don’t get in gear and come with me to see about Alisha, I’m going to make trouble, a lot of trouble.”
“I don’t take to threats,” the doctor said, leaning in so close Jared could smell the leftover alcohol on his breath. And see the fury in his eyes.
As they stood staring each other down, Jared heard church bells ringing, then the soft, sweet sound of voices lifted in a song. The Easter service had begun, and the sound of the celebration echoed out over the mountain, reminding Jared of Alisha’s gospel music. Reminding him that he’d left her alone.
“Do you care about Alisha and her baby?” Jared asked the doctor, doubt and worry making him think Alisha was better off without this old coot. No wonder Alisha had insisted on having a midwife present, too.
That brought the doctor’s head back up and Jared thought he saw tears in the man’s weary eyes. But the clarity came back, as if the doctor had come to his senses and realized his job. “I care. We all do. Never doubt that for a minute.”
The softening tone in the man’s voice gave Jared a little bit of reassurance. “Then will you hurry up and come back down the mountain with me. I had to walk—my SUV is stuck in a mud hole, and the roads are muddy and slick. Do you think you can make it to her cabin with me?”
“Let me change,” the doctor said, spinning around. Then he turned back to stare at Jared. “You can come on in, make a pot of coffee. I got a percolator and a gas stove to brew it nice and hot.”
There was a plea inside the suggestion.
“Good idea,” Jared said as he entered the narrow hallway of the old home. “For both our sakes.”
Alisha heard the knocking at her door, and thinking it was Jared, called out to him. “Come in.”
“It’s me, Miss Alisha.”
“Rayanne?” Alisha sat up in the bed. “I’m back in the bedroom, honey.”
She waited, her gaze moving protectively over little Callum as she heard the girl coming up the hallway toward the bedroom. As Rayanne Wilkes entered the bedroom, Alisha thought of the tough road the girl had ahead of her. Rayanne was also pregnant, unwed, and due in about three or four weeks.
Taking in the sight of the girl all bundled up in a worn green wool coat and an old, moth-eaten yellow knitted scarf, Alisha asked, “What are you doing out in this cold, wet weather, sweetie?”
“Word’s out you had a baby last night,” Rayanne said, her smile shy as always, her green eyes dancing. She lifted the heavy scarf away from her face, static causing strands of her limp blond hair to fly out. “Mama sent me right away. I put some cookies and sandwiches on the kitchen table.”
The Wilkes family had very
