Читать книгу Duplicate Daughter - Alice Sharpe, Alice Sharpe - Страница 12

Chapter Four

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Nick tucked Lily into her bed, kissed her cheek and closed the door, leaving it open just a crack in case she called out. Then he stood in the hall and ran his hand through his hair.

That blasted woman! Coming into his house, scaring away his housekeeper, waking his kid, acting as though she owned the place, as though she had rights, as though she was an invited guest and not an interloper and a troublemaker and a major pain in the neck.

He had to get rid of her.

Oh, hell, he knew in the back of his mind that Lily sometimes woke up during storms and wandered out to see if anything interesting was going on without her. He should be grateful that Katie was there to comfort his baby, that Lily had felt comfortable enough to go to her, to sit on her lap, to fall asleep in her arms, but he wasn’t grateful. He didn’t know for sure what he felt, but it wasn’t gratitude.

Taking a deep breath, he went back to the living room. Katie was still in the red chair. She looked up when he entered. “Your phone is dead,” she said.

“I know. I should have told you it went down early in the storm. Listen, what do you want to know?” he asked, claiming a matching chair to the left of hers. It was time to get this over with.

“There’s nothing you can tell me,” she said without looking at him. There were dark circles beneath her eyes, and snippets of things she’d said about herself over the past few hours suddenly came back to him. She hadn’t known her mother until recently? Her sister was in the hospital with a gunshot wound? And her limp. Why did she limp?

“Listen, let’s start over again,” he said.

She darted him a quick glance. “What’s the point? You resent my being here. You’re right, I foisted myself on you and your family. I don’t know what I was thinking. I’ve made everything worse instead of better and now I’m stuck.”

He chuckled. “You’re pretty good,” he said.

This earned him a longer look. “What do you mean?”

“Anger hasn’t worked. Buttering me up with a poignant little vignette featuring my kid didn’t do it. Now you’re going to try humility.”

He expected her to jump to her feet and strike out at him. Face it, it was the reaction he hoped for. Caring feelings toward this woman were impossible to entertain. She was trouble. Or to be more fair, she would bring trouble to his life and his family if given half a chance, so reason said push her far away using any method available.

He couldn’t throw her out of the house, because she’d freeze to death. With the county roads in their current snowed-in condition and with no one to watch Lily, he couldn’t even drive her back into Frostbite’s lone hotel though, now that he thought of it, why hadn’t he deposited her there instead of bringing her out here? He couldn’t call her a cab or send her off on a snowmobile. Physically, he was stuck with Katie Fields, so the only method to get rid of her was to anger her beyond reason so she’d stalk off to the guest room and leave him in peace.

But she didn’t jump up or turn nasty. “You really hate your father, don’t you?”

He stared right into her blue eyes and smiled. “I really do.”

She sighed. “First things first. Did you stand outside and look through that window over there a few minutes ago? Fifteen maybe, a half hour tops?”

“Absolutely not,” he said quickly.

“I didn’t think so.”

“You saw someone?”

“Yes. He looked right through the window but by the time I blinked he was gone. Then Lily showed up so I kept her in here with me. I’d like to say it was for her sake, but truthfully, I just didn’t want to be alone and she was so damn sweet and trusting—”

He held up a conciliatory hand. “I’ve fallen under her spell a time or two myself. Let’s get back to the man at the window. What did he look like?”

“He had dark eyes and a haggard, unshaven look. That’s all I could see. I think he was wearing a hood of some kind. He looked—intense, I guess. I went over to the door to check the chain and listen, but I couldn’t hear anything.”

Nick had walked to the door as Katie spoke. She was right behind him. Taking a lantern from the table, he unhooked the chain and pulled open the door, letting in a blast of cold air and a few snowflakes. He shone the light out into the dark, cold night.

It was still snowing. Four or five new inches had accumulated on the porch railing. The grounds were blanketed in white, broken by the tall shapes of waving trees and long lines of fences all obscured by the storm. The eight guest cabins hovered off to the left, dark and silent and empty.

“Tell me where you saw him,” he said, gesturing for Katie to join him on the porch.

She stepped outside, shivering, hugging herself. “The second window on the right,” she said through chattering teeth. The covered porch stopped shy of the window a foot or so and they stood at the edge, looking down into the snow below the window, searching for some sign a man had walked to the window, had stood below it and looked inside.

There was nothing to be seen, however. The area was littered with rocks and the branches of dormant plants that formed natural pockets and rifts. If someone had created footprints that evening, it was already too late to tell.

Nick peered through the snow. From what he could see, everything looked about the same as usual.

“Are you sure you saw someone?” he said.

She looked up at him, preoccupied. “I thought I did. Maybe the storm spooked me.”

“Let’s go back inside.”

He closed the door behind them, securing it once again with the chain. Katie immediately moved toward the fire, standing as close to the blaze as she could.

Nick didn’t know what to make of Katie’s story. The nearest neighbor was over a mile away and they were off in Florida for the winter. It was another mile to the Booths’ place and then another half mile to the Stewart cabin.

Katie struck him as a woman with a very active imagination. He could see no covert reason for her to make up such a story, so undoubtedly she’d seen something, just not a man. Snow, a branch blowing by, a shadow. Trying to get things back on an even keel, he said, “Tell me a little more about you and your sister and why you’re so sure there’s a problem with your mother and my father.”

She moved back to her chair, settling herself on the edge of the cushion, hands folded in her lap. “As you know, my mother married your father after knowing him only three weeks. My sister assures me this was very out of character for her. Was it out of character for him, too?”

“How would I know?”

“Nick, please, try.”

“Let me give you a little background,” he said warily. “My very young mother married an alcoholic. She stuck with him for several years until she developed breast cancer. He took off like a shot never to be seen again, well at least not for umpteen years. Mom got better, married the shoe salesman, raised me. Let’s see. I went into the Army. Fought in the Gulf War. Came home, stepdad died. I married Patricia, moved to Alaska, had Lily. Dad came for a heartwarming reunion, I turned him away, Patricia welcomed him with open arms. She died, he took off again—noticing a pattern?”

“So if something has happened to my mother—”

“He probably ran out and left her high-and-dry. Like I said, it wouldn’t be the first time.”

He was immediately sorry he said it. Katie’s pretty face literally collapsed as tears rolled down her cheeks. He stared into her huge blurry eyes for a second, not sure what to do, hoping she’d pull herself together, but if anything, the tears got worse. He got up from his chair and handed her the tissue box. Within a few moments, Katie dabbed at her eyes and took a few deep breaths. He poured them both a stiff brandy, handed her a snifter and sat back down, twirling the amber liquid in his glass, wishing he could float away on its fumes.

“Listen, Katie, I’m sorry,” he said at last. “I haven’t been very tactful. I’m rusty, I guess. Until tonight, Helen pretty much took care of herself, and Lily is still in the kiss-it-and-make-it-better stage. Everything just seems to be suddenly falling apart.”

“And you blame me,” she said.

True, but this time he stayed quiet.

Katie took a sip of the liquor and set the glass on the hearth. “You have to know something about him that will help,” she persisted. “Something. If you don’t, I have no place to start. I have nothing to take back to Tess. We’ll never know why our parents separated us, why they lied to us. My sister was shot a couple of weeks ago trying to help me clear our father’s name. It’s my fault she’s lying in a hospital. Her mother—our mother—is missing, last seen with your father. I just need to know if there’s anything in his past that would put my mother in jeopardy. For instance, when did he change his name to Swope? Why?”

“I don’t know, Katie. He was using his real name when he was here,” Nick said. “He said he was on an extended vacation. He seemed a little nervous. I told him to get lost, but Patricia fell for his story. He was reformed, he claimed. No more drinking. No more shenanigans. All he wanted was to get to know his long-lost son. Me. And Patricia and Lily, of course. Patricia’s mother had died the year before and she was anxious for more family. She invited him to stay in one of the guest cottages. He moved right in and made himself at home.”

“How did you handle it?”

“I ignored him most of the time. It was summer and we had a bunch of people here. I was in and out. Busy.”

“Your wife taught art during the summers?”

“Patricia? No. Patricia didn’t teach art. We bought the place because I’m a pilot. The people who come here during the summer come because of me. I fly them over wilderness areas and they shoot wildlife. Photo shoot, I mean. Patricia’s art was personal, not commercial. She wouldn’t sell any of her work.”

“They’re all over your walls, aren’t they?”

He looked around him. “Yes.”

“They’re beautiful.”

“She was good. Now the paintings belong to Lily. Anyway, that summer after Lily was born, Patricia discovered gardening. She grew cabbages big as a barbeque, broccoli, carrots—this area of Alaska has long, cool summer days, up to twenty hours long, perfect for certain vegetables. Patricia was dedicated to gardening. She could dig in the dirt forever, Lily napping nearby on a blanket. She hummed when she gardened. Off-key.”

He sighed deeply before adding, “I was away much of the time my father was here. He started helping Patricia with Lily—Helen only worked a few hours a day helping out with the daily cabin cleanings and things like that back then. Patricia got to depending on my father. I even started to think he might have changed.”

He chanced a look at Katie. She regarded him closely, her blue eyes sparkling with reflections of the lanterns around her. She said, “What happened, Nick?”

He shrugged. His throat closed for a second and he stared into the fire. Could he see this through?

He said, “Patricia was walking down Frostbite’s main street with my father one afternoon. A car went out of control right in front of the grocery store. Patricia was seriously injured. Dad walked away without a scratch. The driver of the car recovered and took off like a shot. Thank goodness Lily was here with Helen and not in her mother’s arms. Patricia died twelve hours later without ever regaining consciousness.”

“So you blame your father for living through the accident?” she murmured.

He cut her a quick look. “Of course not. I blame my father for leaving town while my wife was still lying on the pavement. I blame him for leaving her alone to die.”

She nodded, tears glistening in her eyes and he used the act of tending the fire to regain his composure.

“So, next thing I know I get a wedding invitation from your mother,” he said, turning back to face her. “Helen tried to hide it from me, but I found it anyway. A few weeks after that, your sister sent me a picture of the happy couple.”

She sat forward eagerly. “Do you still have it? I haven’t seen her—”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I tore it in half the minute I realized what it was.”

“And now he’s changed his name and gotten another woman to believe in him,” Katie said, coming to stand beside Nick as he replaced the poker.

The firelight shimmering in her red hair made it glow like rubies. Her skin was white and soft looking, her eyes big and blue. A tingling sensation ran through Nick’s hands. It had been over two years since he’d touched a woman’s face, since he’d come close to even thinking about touching a woman’s face. The urge to do so now was almost unbearable.

But why this woman?

He said, “Why do you limp?”

“I was in a hit-and-run accident. It had to do with my trying to figure out what happened to my father.”

“And did you figure it out?”

She rolled her head a little as though her neck hurt. “No, my sister figured it out for me. She came from out of the blue and probably saved my life.”

“Does your neck hurt?”

“Yes. Another leftover from the accident.”

He gently turned her around until her back was to him and began rubbing her shoulders with strong hands.

“That feels wonderful,” she whispered.

He realized at once he’d attempted to satisfy his desire to touch her by approaching her in this no-nonsense, impersonal manner. Lots of layers of clothes under his fingers, no eye contact. He said, “What do you mean when you say your sister came from out of the blue?” But, dear God, her hair was soft as it brushed against the back of his hands. And the supple warmth of her neck.

“I’m warning you, it’s a soap opera,” she said softly, leaning into his hands.

“Try me.”

“Okay, but like I said, it’s a soap opera. My parents divorced when Tess and I were barely six months old. Mom took Tess. Dad took me. Neither told us we even had an identical twin sister only a day or two days’ drive away. We didn’t even know we had another parent. Dad told me my mother died giving birth and Mom told Tess she’d never even known Tess’s father’s last name. Then my father, a cop, died in a fire he was blamed for starting. I had to vindicate him. I found a letter from my dad telling me about my sister’s existence. When I was hurt, she was contacted. She found me in a coma and took up my investigation. Now she’s been shot and she’s in the hospital and we’ve only really known each other for a few days.”

“She helped you with your father and now you’re determined to help her with her mother.”

“Our father, our mother. My sister, myself. Yes.”

He stopped massaging her neck and turned her back around to face him. Again, the urges, but this time it went beyond touching. This time he wanted to kiss her.

This is why he’d been annoyed with her from the moment he set eyes on her at the airport. He was afraid of her and not just because she threatened to bring the past crashing down on his home, but also because she’d so effortlessly cracked open doors long ago slammed shut.

“I have a feeling,” she said softly, and it was all he could do to take his gaze from her lips.

He said, “Yes?”

“I have a feeling that your father’s past is catching up with him and that my mother is in the way.”

He caught his hands sliding down her arms and let go of her. She didn’t seem to notice. He said, “You may be right.”

“I’m sorry I came here. I should have kept nagging the Washington police. I’ll go home as soon as I figure out how to get back to Anchorage.”

“I’ll fly you back,” he said, still under her spell, wishing things were different, wishing he could ask her to stay, to forget about her mother and his father, just stay for a while and…

And what?

He said, “I’m sorry I can’t help you, Katie Fields.”

For a moment they stared into each other’s eyes. Nick had no idea what Katie was thinking. He just knew his own thoughts were jumping from pillar to post. Hopefully a good night’s sleep would get him back to normal. It sounded as though the storm was abating a bit; his salvation would lie in the weather clearing so he could fly Katie away from Frostbite.

“I—” she started to say, but a sound outside caught both their attention and they turned as one to face the door.

“Was that—”

“Gunfire,” he finished for her, quickly drawing her away from the fireplace into the deeper recesses of the house. “Yes.”

“Nearby?”

“Yes.” He tore open a closet and shone a flashlight inside. The gun safe was back there and he twirled the combination.

“You any good with a firearm?” he asked over his shoulder.

In a shaking voice, she said, “I’ve shot off a few rounds with my dad.”

He emerged with a Winchester 30-30 and a 20-gauge automatic shotgun. He inserted ammunition into each weapon before pushing the shotgun toward Katie.

She took the shotgun with trembling hands. She looked scared to death but reassuringly resolute. “What’s the plan?” she asked.

“The plan? I go outside and see what’s going on. You stay here and lock the door behind me. That’s the plan.”

“I know how to shoot—”

“Katie? Someone has to stay inside and protect Lily.” He said this while retrieving his jacket and shrugging it on, zipping the front, pulling on his knit cap.

“You’re not going out there by yourself!”

She wanted to go with him? Startled by this realization, he half smiled. He said, “Someone has to go out in that storm and find out who’s shooting at who. I believe I may be the more qualified. Please, Katie, keep Lily safe.”

Before he could consider the wisdom of his action, he brushed her forehead with his lips. “Lock the door behind me,” he whispered, turning off the lantern and sliding the dead bolt back. “Don’t let anyone but me back inside the house.”

And then he was gone.

Duplicate Daughter

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