return. She couldn’t risk that.
“God bless,” he replied, sliding the big cloth tote that held everything they owned, including her purse, across the seat. “The Fuller’s Motel is halfway up the hill, to the left. You can’t miss it. The only other house up there is Holly Ridge. That’s the Owens sisters’ place. If you end up there, you went too far.”
“I think I can manage that,” Katie said, ignoring the pounding pain in her head that began again the moment she stepped out into the swirling snow.
“Like I said, you can’t miss it.”
Katie waved and closed the truck door. She turned her back on the helpful old man and surveyed the narrow road winding up the hill. Behind her the lights of the little sleeping town glowed faintly through the storm.
She started off through the snow with the wind blowing her hair in her eyes. The tote pulled heavily on her shoulder, while Kyle squirmed beneath his blanket. His diaper needed changing and he was hungry. It was madness heading off into the storm like this but the memory of all those highway patrol cruisers, six of them at least, back where the bus had slid off the interstate, kept her moving forward. It seemed as if the sharp-eyed patrolmen had all been watching her and Kyle.
Katie had begged a ride from the old farmer when he’d decided there was no further need for his help and had prepared to resume his journey. He’d agreed without even asking why she wanted to go. She didn’t think that would ever happen in the city. But here in the hill country of Tennessee, people not only helped their fellow man; they respected their privacy while they were about it.
Katie trudged on uphill, through a thin layer of snow that hid the treacherous patches of ice beneath it. She kept walking, head down, crooning to Kyle, who was crying now from discomfort and fatigue. How much farther could it be? she wondered, keeping an eye on the side of the road, looking for the turnoff to Fuller’s Motel. She’d given up looking for a sign. If there was one, it was hidden in the feathery pines along the side of the road. She shifted the tote to her left shoulder, folded back the blanket a little from Kyle’s face and kissed the tip of his nose, slipped and nearly fell in an icy puddle of half-frozen water. When she regained her balance she realized she’d walked all the way to the top of the hill.
In front of her there was an iron gate, lacy with grillwork. On either side a white picket fence stretched away into the snowy darkness. Ahead was the dark bulk of a big old Victorian house, two stories high, with dormered attic windows and a cupola tower from which warm yellow light shone through lacy curtains.
There was also a light in the foyer behind a door with a center oval of leaded glass. “I don’t think this is Fuller’s Motel,” Katie said, spots of bright light dancing in front of her eyes. She blinked hard, trying to dispel the dizzying sensation. She shifted Kyle to her shoulder, having taken him out of his carrier after nearly falling in the icy puddle. It had frightened her to think she might slip again and fall hard, landing on top of him. His little head kept bobbing up and down. He wanted out from under the sheltering blanket. Now. Katie tried to hush him and decide what to do. If only her head didn’t hurt so badly, and she could take a long steadying breath, it might be easier to think.
Her first thought was to turn around and head back down the hill, but she’d already missed the turnoff to Fuller’s Motel once. She’d probably do so again. The smart thing to do was ask more specific directions from the women in the house, because this had to be the house—the Owens sisters’ place—that the old farmer had spoken of. After all, she thought wryly, you couldn’t miss it.
Making up her mind, Katie fumbled for the latch to open the gate. The iron was icy slick and fiery cold beneath her fingers. She’d bought heavy jackets and hats for both of them before leaving Florida, but not gloves for herself or mittens for Kyle. When she’d asked about them, the saleswoman had looked at her as if she were crazy. Maybe she was, a little bit, for running away like this. Then she thought of Andrew Moran, his cold eyes, hard mouth and ruthless character and knew she’d done the right thing.
The gate opened with a screech of icy hinges. Katie started up the laid-brick walkway, shushing Kyle, trying to balance the slipping tote and not fall flat on her face on the icy path. She was halfway to the house before the commotion going on out of sight along the side of the building registered in her tired brain. She could hear curses, a man’s low gravelly voice and what sounded like squawks and honks from an angry goose. Or at least what she imagined an angry goose might sound like. She’d never seen one close up before. But that was about to change.
Around the corner of the house, wings outspread, neck thrust belligerently forward, came a huge white goose, heading straight for them, standing thigh-high and looking as if she meant business. Katie thrust Kyle higher onto her shoulder and turned sideways to put the big cloth tote between herself and the hissing bird.
“Shoo,” she said, backing away as quickly as possible. “Shoo, go away. Scram.” She couldn’t free her hands to swing the tote or lift her foot to kick out at the goose for fear of losing her balance. “Nice goose, go away,” she said in a hiss that was a fair imitation of the irate fowl’s.
The goose stopped about ten feet away and flapped her wings, honking loud enough to wake the dead. Katie edged her way toward the steps leading onto the porch as an overhead light came on and a round-faced, white-haired woman stuck her head out the door.
“Weezer, hush,” she said but the goose paid no more attention to her than she had to Katie. “Oh, my, we have a visitor. Don’t worry, she won’t hurt you,” the woman added, raising her voice to carry over the din.
“Damn you, Weezer, get back here or you can freeze your goose fanny out here in the cold all night.” A tall black shadow detached itself from the bulk of the house and stepped into the light.
The man coming toward her was tall and dark, broad shouldered and slim hipped and far more intimidating than the goose. He moved with an easy silky grace across the snowy yard. His black hair was covered with a dark knit cap. He was wearing a navy blue pea coat and jeans. His hands were shoved deep in the pockets of his coat but Katie knew they would be big and strong like the rest of him. His face was crisscrossed by shadows from the porch but she could see his jaw was firm and square, his nose big enough to be called Roman and that his eyes were as dark as a moonless midnight sky. When he looked at her she took an involuntary step backward. His gaze was as cold and emotionless as the frigid wind blowing down off the Smoky Mountains.
“Who the hell are you?” he asked, his voice a low rumbling growl.
“I’m Kate,” she responded, stumbling a little over the shortening of her name. Her name was Katie, not Kate or Katherine or anything else, just Katie. “Kate Smith,” she finished, having at least enough sense left not to use her true name.
He snorted, somewhere between a laugh and a groan. “Give me a break. Kate Smith. Where’d you come up with that one?” His eyes left her momentarily and she took a quick, shaky breath. “Weezer, down girl,” he ordered. “Stop that infernal racket.” He poked the toe of his shoe in the general direction of the goose.
Kate Smith. Katie blushed and hoped he couldn’t see. It was the name she’d given the police for the accident report. She should have thought of a different one. Even though the singer called Kate Smith had been dead for years, most people still remembered her name.
“That’s my name,” she insisted before the man could pin her once more with that dark, unnerving gaze. She held Kyle tighter against her as he squirmed to be free. She wished her head wasn’t hurting so, and that the maddening multicolored specks would stop dancing before her eyes. She couldn’t think straight, feeling so bad, and
