He put his arm around her shoulder and she moved close to him, leaning her head on his chest.
“I come here sometimes, just to think.”
“What do you think about?” she asked.
“The past. Mistakes I’ve made. Things I could have done differently. I think about the future, too. Things I hope for.”
When he spoke, she felt his words, the echo in his broad chest. She heard his heart beat steady and strong.
“What do you hope for, Ben?”
He didn’t answer at first. She wondered if he was going to confide in her. Was she the one asking too many questions now?
“Oh…lots of things,” he said finally. “I’d like to meet someone I can be happy with. Someone I can just be myself with.” He turned to her. “Someone like you, Carey.”
KATE LITTLE
claims to have lots of experience with romance – “the fictional kind, that is,” she is quick to clarify. She has been both an author and an editor of romance fiction for over fifteen years. She believes that a good romance novel will make the reader experience all the tension, thrills and agony of falling madly, deeply and wildly in love. She enjoys watching the characters in her books go crazy for each other, but she hates to see the blissful couple disappear when it’s time for them to live happily ever after.
In addition to writing romance novels, Kate also writes fiction and non-fiction for young adults. She lives on Long Island, New York, with her husband and daughter.
Baby on the Run
Kate Little
MILLS & BOON
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Chapter One
Carey Mooreland stared out at the highway, a frozen, four-lane blur, her gloved hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly her fingers ached. Snow that had begun falling a few hours earlier blew down even heavier now. Fat, white feathery flakes coated the windshield faster than the wipers could whisk them away.
The defroster on the old car wasn’t working well and Carey reached up to wipe the foggy glass with her hand. It was the third car she’d owned in the past year, each model with more mileage and problems. But switching cars every few months had been another way to protect herself, to shield her identity and make it harder for Quinn to track her down as she moved from place to place.
She’d bought new snow tires in Vermont. An unexpected expense, but one she was glad of now. She had to think of her baby, Lindsay. The six-month-old little girl who slept snug in her car seat, covered from head to toe so that only her nose and a tiny portion of her sweet face showed as she slept.
Carey wanted to sleep, too. She wanted to turn around and go back to Blue Lake. She wanted to pull over and have a good cry. But like so many other times in the past year, she forced herself to do what she had needed to do to survive. To keep her baby safe. That was all that mattered to her now.
She switched on the radio, searching for some distraction from the rhythm of the squeaky wipers. A cheerful Christmas song filled the silence. It was Christmas Eve. She’d almost forgotten. Somehow during her desperate flight, the holiday—and all its glittering warmth—had faded into the dark cold night.
The highway had narrowed to one lane, thick with snow. She bumped along with few other cars in sight. She spotted a jackknifed truck on the roadside, hazard lights blinking and she struggled to turn her eyes straight ahead again.
The small car swerved, despite the new tires. Carey finally gave up and decided to turn off. The car needed fuel and she needed some caffeine. She’d been concentrating so hard on her driving, she’d lost all track of direction. She knew she was somewhere on the coast of Maine. Somewhere between Blue Lake, Vermont, where she’d started, and Bar Harbor, where she hoped to board a ferry to New Brunswick, and from there, make her way to Prince Edward Island in Canada.
Canada was a big country. A person could hide there easily. After a while, even the obsessive Quinn McCauley would give up looking for her. That was her plan…and her prayer. If he was put behind bars, he’d be forced to give up. Or would he still have his underlings pursue her? She’d seen the way he held grudges. It wasn’t out of the question.
She turned down the exit ramp and found herself at a stop sign on a dark road. A sign read, Greenbriar—5 miles. Gas. Food. Lodging. An arrow pointed to the right and Carey turned in that direction. It seemed the logical choice. She couldn’t drive all night. Not in this storm. She needed to find a place to stay over and continue tomorrow morning. Hopefully the snowstorm would be over by then.
There might have been a few houses on the road, but Carey didn’t see any. All she saw were tall trees and brush, covered with white. Not a single vehicle was in sight. It seemed everyone was staying in tonight. To celebrate. Or was just too wise to be out driving.
She and Lindsay would have been at a Christmas gathering right now, with her friends in Blue Lake—Rachel Reilly and her fiancé, Jack Sawyer, and their little boy, Charlie. Carey had left gifts for all of them and a note, explaining that she’d been suddenly called away to care for a sick relative, down in Virginia. She’d promised to get in touch in a few days.
She guessed they must have read her note by now. She tried to picture their reaction. She hated lying, especially to people who trusted her and helped her when she’d first arrived there. But she’d had no choice. She’d learned that Quinn’s investigator had caught on to her trail again and if he traced her to Blue Lake, she didn’t want her friends to point him in the right direction.
Someday I’ll explain, Carey promised herself. Or maybe it was better not to. Better for everyone.
The Christmas song ended and the radio announcer started to report on Santa’s flight, tracking his path from the North Pole around the entire world. Lindsay was too little know about Santa, but the sweet deception reminded Carey of the Christmas Eves of her past, when she was a little girl growing up happy and carefree. Feeling so safe and loved. Now her parents were both gone. And her husband, Tom, had died, too, in an accident last year on one of Quinn’s construction sites.
She
