Just Married...Again (3 page)

The engine died.

The barking grew louder.

Maddy leaned her head down on the wheel and told herself not to cry.

Michael was glad he’d taken the time to put chains on his tires, because the roads were hazardous and the snow blinding. Winter storms of this magnitude usually didn’t hit the mountains until New Year’s. He hoped other motorists had taken the weatherman’s advice. He felt silly now for ignoring it; all he could hope for was that the snow would taper off before too long.

Mother Nature wasn’t cooperating, though.

Michael braked as he came to a curve. Warning signs flashed from the side of the highway, and he would have turned around if it hadn’t been farther to go back down the mountain than up it. He was surprised the state troopers weren’t blocking off roads and turning people away, even those with chains on their tires. He wondered if he was making a huge mistake. As the wind shook his car and whipped the snow into a frenzy, Michael hoped he wouldn’t live to regret his decision to get away for a while.

He wasn’t going to worry. That’s the sort of thing that worked against his blood pressure. Beginning now, he was going to learn to relax. Live for today, let tomorrow take care of itself. It wouldn’t be easy, especially for someone like him, who’d learned early in life the importance of planning ahead. Even as a child, he’d known what he wanted out of life. More importantly, he’d known what he
didn't
want: the hand-to-mouth existence his parents had endured for as long as he could remember.

Michael pushed the thoughts aside. There he was, worrying for no reason, when he knew damn good and well it wasn’t good for him. He shoved a CD into the player, and the car filled with soothing classical music. He let the music carry him to the top of the mountain. He was feeling
content
, at peace with himself and the rest of the world by the time he reached the turnoff to the cabin.

That peace and tranquility was shattered the minute he spied the bright red Jeep Cherokee, with its back tires buried in snow. He didn’t have to read the “Fit is Fun” tag on the front to know it belonged to Maddy.

Maddy had never been so cold in her life, despite the layers of blankets piled on the bed and her dogs snuggled on either side, offering all their body heat. She wore a blue-green pajama shirt that had belonged to Michael, but a thorough search of dresser drawers hadn’t turned up the bottoms. In fact, there wasn’t much left in the way of clothes, and her own things were stranded with her car, at least a thousand yards from the cabin.

She sighed. This was going to be a crummy Thanksgiving after all, crummier even than those she’d known as a child. She wished she could kick Dr. Quigley’s behind for suggesting she come there. She could stand a little pity from her friends at the moment.

What if … what if it snowed so deep she couldn’t reach the Jeep? Lord, the possibility of such a tragedy sent her pulse racing. With only three cans of Vienna sausage—no, two cans now that she’d fed one to the dogs—they wouldn’t last long if they couldn’t get to the food she’d brought with her.

Her dogs.

She would have to pretend everything was okay. If they suspected she was upset, they would become troubled as well. Poor little Muffin, who was so tiny to begin with, would refuse to eat, and Rambo, devil that he was, would start chewing on the furniture.

She’d have to put on a brave front.

She shivered again and wished she had some wood so she could build a fire. Wasn’t it just her luck that the roof of the shed had caved in from all the snow? What wood
was
left was wet and buried beneath an avalanche. She’d managed to pull several logs from the pile, but they’d been soaked through. She couldn’t have gotten them to burn with a blowtorch.

Maddy had no choice but to wait until morning to try to make it to her car. She was liable to break her leg out there tonight, and
then
where would she be? Thankfully, there were a couple of pairs of wading boots in the utility room. She figured they’d work just as well in snow as they did in water. Until then, the three of them would have to stick close. She huddled more deeply beneath the covers, and her dogs snuggled closer. The furry little beasts hadn’t had the least bit of trouble falling asleep, she thought, listening to their snores.

She shouldn’t have read that detective magazine, but it was all that was left in the way of reading material. The books she had brought with her were in her Jeep. Now she was not only cold, she was scared half out of her wits thinking about the so-called Hapless Motorist Rapist she’d read about in the magazine. He appealed to women’s charitable natures by pretending there was some great emergency and that he was in desperate need of a phone. He even wore clothes that appeared to be blood-soaked. Once the unsuspecting female let him in, she was his.

Maddy felt about for the metal handle on the fire poker she’d carried into the bedroom for protection. She might be something of a fraidy cat, but she was strong and fit.

No man was going to come inside her cabin unless she invited him. Besides, she didn’t have a telephone, so he couldn’t very well use that excuse.

Maddy drifted off to sleep, only to be awakened a few minutes later by a noise. Startled, she sat up in bed and listened. Sounded like a car. No, surely not. No one in his right mind would be out on a night like this.

No one in his right mind—comforting thought.

She scrambled from beneath the blankets while at the same time searching frantically for the poker. It had become tangled in the covers. Her dogs woke, sensing trouble, because they shot out of their burrow, yelping wildly. Maddy tried to hush them, but it was useless. She only wished their barks sounded a little more deadly.

Poker in hand, she stumbled to the window on wobbly legs. Lord, but she was a coward. From now on she wouldn’t allow herself to read anything darker than the Sunday comics.

She peered outside. There were headlights shining in the drive. Perhaps it wasn’t a deranged killer after all. It might be a state trooper coming to check on her, make sure she was okay. Or maybe it was a rescue unit, carrying food and supplies. Wouldn’t a taco salad hit the spot about now? She tried to see past the curtain of snow. As the vehicle drew closer she focused her gaze on the roof of it. A feeling of dread washed over her. There was no siren on top. That could only mean one thing.

It was the killer.

Maddy tried to think, but fear clogged her brain. She could grab the dogs and make a run for it out the back door, but they’d freeze to death in a matter of minutes. Unless they could circle back and head down the road to one of the vacant cabins, where she might find dry firewood. No, that wouldn’t work. There was no way she’d be able to carry both dogs and a flashlight down the mountain in all that snow, especially with Rambo, the male, weighing sixteen pounds to Muffin’s nine.

The car was just outside now. She’d wasted precious time standing there like a dumb statue and hadn’t accomplished a thing. It was time to act. She raced from the room, taking time only to close the door behind her. She heard the dogs scratching and yelping before she cleared the hallway.

Suddenly there was pounding at the door. Maddy froze. Her heart thumped like a big drum. The doorknob rattled. He was trying to break in. She strongly suspected it was a man; women seldom became serial killers. Maddy mustered the courage to move closer. The next sound she heard was a key being inserted into the lock.

Panic seized her.

Wasn’t it just her luck? The killer had a skeleton key to her cabin.

Quickly now, she flattened herself against the wall beside the door, gripped the poker with both hands, and raised it high over her head.

The lock clicked, and the door swung open, creaking like something out of a horror movie. The psycho had left his headlights burning, and she could barely make out the silhouette of a tall man with sweeping shoulders. Without a word, he stepped inside. Maddy brought the poker down on his head. She winced as it made contact with his skull. He gasped, staggered away from the door, and fell into the snow.

Maddy was stunned by her own action, her own strength. She’d actually knocked the would-be killer out cold! She didn’t have much time for celebration, though, when she realized she now had a new problem. What the heck was she supposed to do with him? She couldn’t leave him lying in the snow; he’d freeze to death in no time. She’d have to drag him in and tie him up until she found out why he had sneaked in on a defenseless woman during a snowstorm.

Hands trembling, she fumbled for the light switch and flipped it on. The light fell across the man’s face. Maddy froze at the sight. Everything in her body seemed to shut down. The color drained from her cheeks, her jaw dropped open. Michael? She leaned over the body, and she could almost swear she heard her knees knocking. It was him all right, her soon-to-be ex-husband. She searched for signs of blood. As hard as she’d hit him, she expected to find it gushing from his skull and staining the snow a bright red. She was relieved when she didn’t find any; in fact, he looked much the same as he always had, except that he’d put on a few pounds.

Yes, it was definitely Michael.

What the hell was
he
doing
here?
Trying to ruin her chances for a relaxing holiday, no doubt. She’d had to
beg
him to come with her in the past.

He probably wasn’t even hurt; just playing possum so she’d feel sorry for him.

Well, he was wasting his time.

With a snort of disgust, she stepped inside the cabin once more, slammed the door, and locked it.

Maddy leaned against the door and shook her head. No, this wouldn’t do. She couldn’t leave Michael out in the snow, even if she did hate him. Sure, she’d told him to drop dead a number of times when their marriage had crumbled, but she had no desire to be responsible for his demise.

Of course, he would probably want to do
her
in when he woke up and found a lump on his head.

A thought nagged her. What if he really
was
hurt? Just because there wasn’t any blood didn’t mean he wasn’t seriously injured. He could be hemorrhaging inside his skull, which was even more dangerous than external bleeding. What if he was out there dying in the snow this very instant? She reached for the doorknob just as someone knocked.

She jumped back, startled at first. So, he wasn’t hurt after all, the dirty snake. He’d probably pretended to be, just to frighten her. She had an urge to hit him with the poker again.

Gritting her teeth, she jerked the door open. She blinked several times as she looked into the face of her thirteen-year-old nephew. He looked angry. “Danny?”

“Why’d you hit Uncle Michael?” he demanded.

“Well, I, uh, thought he was a burglar,” she sputtered.

“You were going to leave him out here in the snow?”

Maddy blushed. “No. I was just about to open the door when you knocked. Adults sometimes do ridiculous things when they’re mad or hurt, Danny. Would you please help me get him in?”

The boy struggled to get his arms beneath those of the unconscious man. Maddy grabbed Michael’s legs. “Ready?”

“He’s too heavy,” Danny said. “You’re going to have to pull him.”

Maddy pulled with all her might. Good thing she was fit. Several minutes later they had him inside. Danny closed the door while she grabbed a throw pillow from the sofa and tucked it beneath Michael’s head. “What are the two of you doing here? And in the middle of a snowstorm, to boot?”

Danny didn’t seem to be listening. “Why’s it so cold in here?” he asked, glancing at the empty fireplace.

“The wood is wet. Please go to the bedroom and get a couple of blankets off the bed.” The boy started down the hall. “Don’t let the dogs out,” she called out.

“Dogs?”

Maddy didn’t feel like explaining. “They won’t bite.”

Danny hurried to do as she asked. Maddy grabbed a flashlight from the kitchen counter and proceeded to check Michael’s eyes, lifting each lid and shining the light directly into them. She was vaguely aware of her dogs barking and Danny trying to calm them. Michael’s eyes appeared normal. Next, she very gently slid her fingers through his thick, sooty hair. His father had often joked that Michael must’ve been the product of a sweet-talking milkman; his youngest was the only one who hadn’t inherited his father’s red hair.

As Maddy searched for a wound she tried not to notice how thick and silky her husband’s hair felt between her fingers or the clean scent of his aftershave. He was still as handsome as ever; his face somehow managed to appear both noble and roguish at the same time. She had decided a long time ago that he was lucky to have his olive complexion, since he spent so much time cooped up in an office. He could spend all day in the sun and never burn; she had only to cross the street on a sunny day to get fried.

Maddy sucked her breath in sharply when her fingers located a lump on the back of his head. Oh, Lord, what could she have been thinking?

Danny arrived with the blankets. “Is he hurt bad?”

“I’m not sure. There’s a big lump, but I don’t see an open wound.”

“That’s good, isn’t it?”

Maddy saw the worry on her nephew’s face and felt bad for putting it there. She had always been especially fond of the boy. She wished she could ease his mind. “I won’t know for a while,” she said.

“I thought you knew about injuries and that kind of stuff.”

“My specialty is sports injuries, Danny. I know very little about head wounds.” She sighed and wished this night had never happened. “He really needs to go to the emergency room, but it’s too dangerous to try to find help in this blizzard. Once it’s light, I’ll try to make it to one of the cabins down the road and see if there’s a phone.”

Maddy shook her head, feeling dazed as she considered all that had happened in the last ten minutes. Never in a million years would she have guessed she’d run into Michael at their mountain cabin. She’d had to nag him for weeks to buy it; afterward, he’d always had an excuse not to come.