Christmas at Black Cherry Retreat Read online

  ‘Three murders? What the hell was he doing there in the county jail with all the two-bit criminals?’

  ‘He was being moved to Riverbend maximum security tomorrow. I guess he persuaded Kemp to escape with him for his local knowledge. You know Pete will do anything anyone tells him. The boy’s dumb as a bag of rocks.’

  They both remembered the weak-willed youngster who’d caused more trouble in Pine Ridge than anyone in recent memory but always swore nothing was his fault.

  ‘Thanks for the heads up. I’ll have a wander around right now. I’ve only got two cabins occupied so I’ll make sure the guests are warned.’

  They said goodnight and Tom returned to clear up the porch before pulling his boots back on and grabbing a powerful flashlight from his desk.

  First he went to the cabin next door and dragged Abel Burton away from sitting by the fire with his wife. The older couple were celebrating their golden wedding anniversary this week and Tom hated to spoil their peaceful evening.

  ‘Don’t worry, son. We’ll lock up real good and won’t do anything stupid.’

  Tom smiled at the man’s attempt to reassure him and took his leave. Now he had to tackle Miss Winter who’d probably slam the door in his face and send him away for pestering her again. Tough. He’d protect her whether she liked it or not. Outside her cabin he set his face in his best ex-cop “do not mess with me” expression before rapping on the door.

  ‘Who is it?’

  He heard the annoyance in her voice. ‘Tom.’

  The lock clicked back and the door opened a few inches. He could just about make out her pale features.

  ‘Sorry to disturb you but I’ve had a police report all my guests need to know about.’ Hopefully that made it clear he was only doing his job not singling her out.

  ‘You’d better come in.’

  ‘I can tell you from here. No problem.’

  She sighed. ‘I do have some manners plus it’s cold. Get inside and don’t be daft.’

  Tom wasn’t sure he’d ever been called daft before. He wouldn’t call it cold but Fee didn’t have a spare ounce of flesh on her so probably felt the chill in the air. He stepped in over the threshold as she opened back the door. Hell.

  ‘Yes, I was in bed.’

  Tom struggled not to stare at the soft pink pyjamas draping her slim frame and her slender bare feet. A soft lemon scent rose from her skin to fill the air between them. In one instant his traitorous body betrayed him and he prayed she wouldn’t notice. He launched into a straightforward repetition of his father’s story.

  ‘I’m pretty sure they won’t come here but I’ll be on the alert. Check your locks and let me know if you see anything suspicious.’

  ‘Of course.’

  He caught a slight tremble in her voice and wished he could reassure her without stepping over the line she’d drawn between them. ‘I’ve never lost a guest yet,’ he joked.

  ‘Let’s hope the government never sends you on a diplomatic mission. You’d be a miserable failure.’

  ‘I …’ Trying to stumble out an apology, Tom noticed the edges of her mouth twitch into a half-smile and realised she was teasing him. ‘You found me out.’ He grinned.

  ‘Oh, I found you out alright.’

  Her cool, knowing words sent a shiver through his overheated blood.

  ‘It’s time I went back to bed. After I’ve locked the doors and windows of course,’ Fee murmured.

  ‘Good idea.’ He’d better make his escape before he made even more of a fool of himself. ‘I’ll stop by in the morning when I check on the other guests.’

  ‘I’m sure you will. You strike me as a man who’d do a thorough job.’

  Tom mentally slapped himself at the unsuitable reply running through his head. ‘I try.’

  ‘Good night, Tom.’

  The way she said his name in that crisp English way tortured him even more. He mumbled good night and hurried back out as fast as he could while sensing her eyes on him all the way. Tom strode off into the night, almost wishing a murderous escaped prisoner would finish him off and be done with it.

  Chapter Six

  Fee stared at the luminous red numbers on her alarm clock and sighed. Three a.m. The witching hour for insomniacs. Sleep wouldn’t happen again this side of daylight.

  Oh, I found you out alright.

  Had she really flirted with Tom? In her defence she’d only responded to his blatant interest. When Doctor Michael mentioned a quiet place in Tennessee where a friend of his stayed the previous year she’d thought it sounded ideal but it was threatening to turn into a huge mistake. Fee shouldn’t have allowed the recent bizarre phone call from her mother, after five years of silence, to influence her decision but she had.

  I wanted to talk to you about your father.

  A long time ago Fee had made it clear she wasn’t interested when she saw a copy of her birth certificate with “Unknown” where her father’s name should be.

  Which man are we talking about today?

  Allain Dupre the Third of course.

  Her mother hadn’t appreciated her sarcastic question about whether Dupre was the Southern gentleman from New Orleans who had wanted to turn Maddy into his own Scarlett O’Hara.

  I got an email from Allain last week. He said that his wife died recently and he’d started thinking about me again. Allain looked me up online and found out about you. When he saw your birth date naturally he put two and two together.

  To stop the conversation she’d agreed to let her mother send Dupre’s contact details on the condition that it was totally up to Fee whether or not she decided to get in touch with him. Being on the same side of the Atlantic Ocean made the option more … feasible if she chose to let this thing play out.

  Swinging her legs out over the side of the bed Fee decided to get a drink. Last year in Afghanistan she’d relied on an unwise mixture of Percocet and whisky to get through the nights meaning both were off limits. Regular tap water would have to do. Fee padded across the room, surprised at how warm the smooth, uneven boards were under her feet and loving the idea they’d been walked on by generations of Tom’s family. In the kitchen she ran the cold tap for a minute and filled a glass before wandering back into the living room. She eased one side of the red gingham curtains away from the window and stared out into the inky darkness.

  A shiver ran through her blood. For all she knew two desperate men could be watching. She dragged the curtains closed and gripped onto the fabric for a few seconds before forcing herself to let go. Fee had no intention of being a victim. She returned to the bedroom and headed straight for the oak chest where she’d stored her clothes. Fee groped around in the top drawer beneath her neatly folded underwear until she found the lethal ivory handled knife she’d bought at the Kabul market.

  Fee laid the knife on the nightstand and climbed back into her cold bed. She pulled the covers around her neck and prepared to wish the hours away.

  A loud banging noise roused Fee and she struggled to open her eyes. She groped on the bedside table for her glasses and shoved them on before staring around the unfamiliar room. Black Cherry Retreat. Okay. Tom’s warning flooded back and she tensed, reaching for her knife. Escaped prisoners aren’t going to knock on the door, stupid.

  She hopped out of bed and kept the knife sheathed and out of sight as she crept down the narrow hallway towards the front door.

  ‘Fee, are you alright?’

  Tom’s deep, warm drawl registered and she flung open the door. ‘Did you have to scare me half out of my skin again? Wasn’t waking me up once enough?’

  ‘Sorry,’ he mumbled. ‘I was just checkin’ on everyone, that’s all. Thought you’d be up by now.’

  A blast of cold air hit her bare legs and Fee remembered she’d removed her pyjama trousers during the night when she got too hot. The shirt barely skimmed the top of her thighs and when she tugged at the pink flannel in a futile effort to make it longer the knife clattered to the floor.

  ‘Wh
at on earth are you doing with that?’

  ‘Uh, protecting myself?’

  ‘That’s what I’m here for,’ he declared. Fee couldn’t decide whether to laugh or cry. She’d love a thousand pounds for every time she’d been spun that line.

  ‘What time is it anyway?’ she asked.

  ‘Ten.’

  ‘In the morning?’

  A faint smile tugged at his wide, well-shaped mouth. ‘Yeah. The sun’s out so I’m going with daytime on this one.’

  The last time she slept this long was in the hospital when she collapsed after Pierre’s death. That’d been an awful, drug-induced heaviness, but today she felt wonderful. ‘Goodness, that’s amazing.’

  ‘Good Tennessee air does that for a person.’

  Fee laughed at Tom’s smug certainty and he joined in, the rich warm sound running like melted chocolate over her skin.

  ‘I’ll be on my way. Got things to do.’ Tom dragged his admiring gaze away from her legs and hurried away before she could reply.

  Thank goodness one of them had common sense. Fee wished it could be her for a change.

  Tom didn’t get it. Gina had been the town beauty, their high school homecoming queen and elected Miss Pine Ridge three years in a row to lead the Fourth of July parade. Petite enough to nestle under his shoulder, with enticing glossy brunette hair tumbling to her waist and the sort of curves to bring a man to his knees; he’d been the envy of all his friends. Since losing Gina he’d had plenty of offers from women and accepted the odd one or two but none had any real impact on him deep down. So why now, and why Fee? Her tall, angular body didn’t fit his usual preference but still his fingers itched to explore every inch of the smooth, pale skin she’d unwittingly exposed a few minutes ago. Fee’s ice-blue eyes were a mystery and the few times she’d allowed herself to smile it’d sent shards of desire straight to his core. He’d better not get started on her lips – wide, unpainted and so expressive it killed him not to kiss her and see what reaction he got. Probably a knee right where it hurt.

  He’d planned to put a fresh coat of paint on his bathroom today but that wouldn’t be sufficient to work off the excess of testosterone flooding his system. Instead he’d chop firewood to restock the piles he kept outside each cabin to use in their fireplaces.

  Tom headed out of the back door and into the yard where he kept large logs ready to cut. The fresh, cool air allowed him to slip into an easy rhythm, swinging the axe in the steady way he’d learnt from his father. The morning’s warm sunshine soon made the flannel shirt stick to his skin so he unbuttoned it and tossed it aside to work in his white undershirt. After a while he took a break to wipe the sweat from his face with the abandoned shirt.

  ‘Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to …’ Fee hovered near the fence and her glowing face resembled a tomato dropped in boiling water ready for canning. It wasn’t a comparison he intended to broadcast. He set the axe down on the chopping block.

  ‘No problem.’

  ‘The light bulb on my porch isn’t working, and, um …’

  He should have felt sorry for her but like most men was vain at heart and flustering an attractive woman boosted his pathetic ego. ‘It’s what I’m here for. I’ll wash up and be right over.’

  ‘Please don’t let me interrupt. Later will be fine.’

  Tom shook his head. ‘Nope, it won’t. Your job will only take me five minutes.’

  ‘Thanks.’ She half-smiled, turned and fled back down the road.

  Briefly he considered putting his flannel shirt back on but remembered the interesting flash of heat in her cool eyes and abandoned the idea. Tom whistled as he headed indoors – something he hadn’t done in a long time. After cleaning his hands he took a minute to run a comb through his damp hair. As soon as he found the right bulb he set off and hoped he could avoid doing or saying something stupid.

  ‘It’s your friendly electricity guru,’ he called out.

  ‘That was quick.’ Fee appeared in the doorway and kept her gaze fixed on his face.

  ‘I’ll pop this one in and leave you in peace.’

  She nodded but didn’t say a word so he carried on, sensing her watch his every move.

  ‘All fixed.’ He finished screwing the bulb in. ‘You want to turn it on and make sure it’s working?’

  ‘Oh, yes, thanks.’ She flicked the switch a couple of times.

  ‘I’d better get back to work.’

  ‘If you’re not too busy would you care to join me for lunch?’ The words tumbled out and she nibbled at her lip as if she’d bite them back if she could.

  ‘You sure? Don’t feel obliged.’ Tom preferred to be straightforward and guessed this particular woman would appreciate honesty.

  ‘I don’t. I made the offer freely.’ She folded her arms in front of her chest. ‘Take it or leave it. Makes no difference to me.’

  Why’d you ask then? ‘I’ll take it. What’s on offer anyway?’

  The tempting smile he received would be flirtatious on any other woman but he wouldn’t dare make the same assumption about Fee.

  ‘I don’t cook unless I’m forced to so it’ll only be a sandwich.’

  He pretended to consider the offer in an effort not to appear too keen.

  ‘Oh, for goodness sake. I’m only talking about a simple lunch.’

  ‘A sandwich would be great. We could eat out here on the porch.’

  ‘Okay. Why don’t you make yourself comfortable and I’ll bring the food out in a few minutes.’ Fee disappeared inside.

  Tom sat down and kicked the chair off to a steady rocking motion with the toe of his boot. The day was certainly improving.

  Chapter Seven

  Fee’s hands shook as she buttered the bread. Anyone would think she hadn’t seen a fit man engaged in physical activity before – men have muscles, they sweat, they look hot – so what? She was nearly forty and hadn’t exactly been in a convent for the last twenty years so why was she behaving like a fifteen-year-old girl with her first crush?

  She had no clue what combination of lettuce, tomato, pickle, mustard, butter or mayonnaise Tom preferred and it hadn’t occurred to her to ask.

  She covered all bases and put a little of everything on the sandwich before adding a handful of crisps to the side of the plate. If she didn’t make one for herself too he’d conclude she was even more peculiar. Unwilling to get into a discussion about the dietary restrictions she was supposed to follow with her stress-induced ulcer she used the same wholegrain bread but only added a scrape of low-fat margarine and lean turkey.

  She rubbed at the low-grade headache pulsing in her forehead. This was all so damn complicated.

  ‘Is everything alright?’ Tom popped his head in around the door and she plastered on a smile.

  ‘I’m sorry I’ve been so long,’ she apologised. ‘I’m not good at the whole kitchen thing but it’s ready now.’

  ‘You want me to take the plates out for you?’

  ‘Thanks. Will lemonade be okay to drink?’

  ‘Sure, it’s my favourite. Can you manage?’

  ‘Of course.’ She bristled, hating how she always seemed incompetent around him.

  Tom rested his hand on her arm. ‘Fee, that’s me bein’ polite. Don’t take everythin’ to heart.’

  His kindness broke through her thin veneer of control. She could deal with the violence of war, face up to seeing people with terrible injuries without flinching, stay calm as homes were reduced to rubble and objectively take pictures of it all. But let a starving child offer to share his meagre meal, or a woman insist on washing Fee’s dusty feet in a shallow bowl of precious water and she crumbled. In the end it’d stopped her functioning and drove her to the excesses which had almost killed her.

  ‘Are you okay?’

  Fee bit back a sob, but a fat, hot tear rolled down her cheek and soon she was crying so hard she couldn’t catch her breath.

  ‘Steady. I’ve got you.’ Tom wrapped his arms around her and pulled her up against his solid
chest – the rhythm of his steady heartbeat pushing back the panic.

  She stared up into his warm, compassionate eyes and he loosened his grasp and allowed his hands to drop away.

  ‘You’re not in a good place right now, honey. I’ve been there myself and got through it, but it leaves you different, I know.’

  The sorrow lacing through his words broke through her self-absorption. It hadn’t occurred to her that she wasn’t the only screwed-up one here and finding out people’s stories was what she did for a living. It wouldn’t be long before Tom told her his, although revealing her own was quite another thing.

  ‘How about we go back to where we were and eat lunch?’ he suggested and Fee managed to nod, her throat too tight with emotion to speak. ‘You get our drinks and I’ll carry the food out.’

  After he left she poured lemonade into two tall glasses and went to join him.

  Tom rocked in the chair and waited.

  ‘Here we go.’

  He’d caught a drift of Fee’s fresh, lemony scent before she spoke, but tried to glance up as if he hadn’t realised she was there. ‘Thanks.’ Tom took the glass from her outstretched hand and gulped down half in one long swallow.

  ‘I’m sorry for … you know … in there.’

  ‘No problem. Sit down and eat. Forget it.’

  ‘Forget it?’ Her voice rose. ‘Do you think I go around weeping over strange men every day?’

  Tom set his glass down on the table. Why did women always pull everything apart? ‘Fee. Don’t do this to yourself. Please.’ He chose his words with care. She wasn’t aware that he knew anything about her past and it might be wiser if she didn’t for the time being. ‘You’re human.’ He tried for a smile. ‘Don’t blab this to the rest of the world but I’ve cried a few times since I was a little kid.’ In fact more than a few since he lost Gina but he wasn’t going there with the conversation.

  ‘Thanks for trying to make me feel better.’ Her tight smile was even more forced than his own. ‘Let’s eat our sandwiches and talk about the weather.’

  ‘I can do that.’

  He didn’t say another word and picked up his sandwich to take a large bite. Tom almost choked on the strange combination of flavours but forced himself to swallow.