Covert Christmas (9 page)

She was probably crazy as a loon. But that was no reason to leave her out here to die in the elements.
Hell.
He'd left the sheriff still searching back down the road so he could make it to the top of the mountain while it was feasible.

There went his quiet evening in isolation.

He pulled his Stetson lower and flipped up the collar on his cowhide coat, fighting his way over to the side of the road. But he couldn't see to the bottom of the ditch through the damned heavy snowfall.

Double hell.

He had no choice but to climb down into the deepest part of the ditch and see if he could spot her. Cam carefully eased along the part of the ditch that sloped the least, hoping his bum knee would hold him up as he tested each step for stability. The wind was blowing hard enough to cover this section of ditch with more than a foot of drifting snow within five minutes, so he pushed himself harder.

Needing to find her and get back on the road before his driveway became impassable, Cam had almost given up when he spotted something shiny under a thin blanket of new snow.

The woman was lying facedown, apparently unconscious. Was she drunk? Just what he needed. Triple hell.

He bent and pulled her into his arms, then turned and immediately started back up the bank toward his waiting SUV. Featherlight, even with the oversize backpack, she wasn't difficult to carry. But still Cam was careful to watch every step with his bad knee.

Hitting level ground in front of the SUV, he started around to the passenger door as fast as he dared on the slick surface. When the woman groaned and stirred in his arms, he was afraid she might bolt and take them both down.

“Easy does it,” he murmured. “You'll be safe.”

“Cam?”

The sound of his name on her lips drew his attention to her face. With one glance, shock jolted down his spine and he faltered midstep. He stared into the face he had sworn never to see again—but nevertheless saw nearly every night in his dreams.

The moment he gazed at the familiar face, his heart slammed against his rib cage and the blood drained from his head. The skin on her cheeks was turning a sickly blue. She tried to open her eyes but couldn't seem to focus.

Light-headed, he stumbled against the door. “Tara?”

“Cam, help me,” she cried weakly.

Regardless of how he felt about her, he had no choice.

“Almost there.” He recovered his equilibrium and managed to force open the passenger door.

As he placed her limp body into the seat and buckled her in, he noticed a gash on her head and a lot of blood splatter on her parka. It was possible her injuries had been caused by her tumble into the ditch. But it was also possible she had been one
of the people from the abandoned car that he knew the sheriff was still searching for in the woods.

Cam didn't like the idea of either one. There would be no possibility of taking her to the hospital tonight. No vehicles could make it up or down this mountain, at least until the snow stopped falling and the plows came out. And what if someone had been shooting at her? Where was that someone now?

As he made his way around the front of the SUV again, he found himself wishing this was only a bad dream. His life had suddenly gone from depressing and annoying to disturbed and conflicted all in the space of two or three ill-considered moves. He should've kept driving. He'd be almost home by now. But no matter what else he was or had become, he knew such a thing was not in him.

Climbing into the driver's seat and carefully releasing the brake, Cam tried to control his swirling thoughts. As a youth he had been so dead sure that life was his for the taking. Nothing bad could ever touch the beloved only son of the great William “Wild Bill” Farrell.

He'd had it all. A beautiful and loving girlfriend. The best grades in his class. A rich United States senator for a father. He was the golden boy who never stepped into dark places. His life had spread out before him like a juicy watermelon ripe for the eating.

As high as he was then, Cam never considered how far he might fall.

The SUV's tires suddenly slid against another patch of ice and all Cam could think of was that he couldn't lose control and put the SUV into a drift. As hard as it was snowing, it wouldn't be long before nothing but a snowplow would make it through to the house.

Hanging on to the steering wheel with both hands, he took a quick glance over at Tara, still slumped in the seat. Now that he'd made the mistake of picking her up, he was determined to see her live through this.

That is, before he packed her up and sent out of his life again—for good.

“T
ake it easy, Tara. You're safe.”

Cam kicked the front door closed behind him with his bad leg and pushed through to the great room, still carrying Tara in his arms. She was incoherent and he worried she was going into shock. After removing her backpack and laying her out on the long leather couch in front of the fireplace, he pulled a wool throw off a chair and gently covered her. Kneeling before the hearth, he prepared to light the kindling.

He'd already decided that Tara wasn't seriously injured. One of the gashes on her cheek might need a stitch or two, but the others were all superficial and would respond to a careful cleansing and some antiseptic.

But, dammit, just how long would it be before he could be rid of her again?

He still needed to check her toes and fingers for frostbite. Cam hoped to hell that wouldn't be a problem. He knew how to treat frostbite. You couldn't live all your life in the Colorado Rockies without learning. But he also knew the pain involved was severe.

“Where are we? Your house? Are all the doors locked?” Tara was still on the couch, but she was attempting to focus her eyes and fighting to sit up.

“Stay still. Don't move yet.” He checked on her over his shoulder as he made sure the kindling had ignited.

Tara groaned, but she also quit struggling to sit up and fell back against the leather. “Check the doors, Cam.”

“All the doors and windows are secure. The house is wired for security. Relax while you warm up.”

Her eyes were open again. “I'll be fine.”

Cam carefully began pulling off her boots. Frostbite was the biggest potential danger. Her socks were dry, but she winced as he gently removed them. Another good sign.

“Your feet and hands are going to hurt while they warm up,” he told her. “But they look good. You might have a little frostnip, but I doubt anything will blister. We need to get hot liquid down you and your cuts should be treated.

“I swear you're safe,” he added, more to keep her quiet than anything else.

“But I have to tell you…”

“Hold those thoughts.” He slipped a pillow under her feet and hurried into the kitchen to put on the kettle and retrieve the first aid kit.

By the time he returned with the kit and a steaming mug of hot herbal tea, Tara was sitting up. Her feet were still elevated on the couch and she was in the process of pulling off her gloves.

“Was I ever glad to see you,” she said when she looked up. “I thought I was dead for sure. Where's my backpack?”

He nodded to the pack, sitting on the floor beside the hearth and handed her the mug. “Here. Drink this down before you do anything else.”

She flicked a glance at the pack then tried to grab the mug's handle, but her fingers wouldn't do as she asked.

“Hold on with both palms and let the heat of the mug warm your hands. You didn't notice any frostbite on your fingertips, did you?”

Shaking her head, she said, “They're white and numb, but nothing is blue. Judging from how badly they throb, I would bet none of them are frosted. I wouldn't vouch the same for the tip of my nose, however.”

“We'll keep an eye on it. You were lucky. The temperature is moving even lower now as the winds pick up.”

She was also lucky that he'd come across her when he had. Or in short order hyperthermia would've set in.

“What happened to your car?” He didn't wait for an answer. “And what are you doing on Farrell Mountain in a snowstorm? I haven't heard a thing from you in ten years.”

“I came here to see you.”

His heart jumped at her words, but he gritted his teeth and tried to find a little righteous anger. “Ever heard of calling ahead?”

If she'd called and asked to see him, Cam would have warned her off. Apart from the currently dangerous snowstorm swirling around his mountain, he could've told her not to bother. He had nothing to say to her after all this time.

“It's a long story, Cam. I didn't come for a reunion. I came here seeking help from the sheriff.”

Hunkering down on his heels beside the couch, he opened the first aid kit. “I haven't been the sheriff for the last four years, Tara. You endangered your life in a snowstorm for no reason.”

She looked surprised but recovered quickly. “You were still my best bet for protection. I don't trust anyone else. Besides, you were close by. I was trying to shake the man following me. He wants to kill me.”

“Was that your car on the public road with the bullet holes?”

She nodded and closed her eyes. “I thought I was dead for sure this time.”

Filing the “this time” remark for later, Cam pulled supplies out of the first aid kit and put a little antiseptic on a swab of cotton. “I need to tend your cuts. Hold still.” She wasn't making much sense. What on earth had she gotten herself into?

“Can you do it while I talk?”

He grabbed her chin and held her still. “Shut up for one more minute and let me finish tending your face. Then tell your story.”

Curious, but more annoyed at the intrusion from his past, Cam carefully cleaned her cuts. Only one was deep enough to need a butterfly bandage. The rest were minor and would heal with no trouble. Too bad his heart hadn't healed from her betrayal the same way.

He distinctly remembered those first long years of misery, the endless days and sleepless nights after he'd sent her away. Just thinking of it now put a pain in his chest that wouldn't stop.

“Facial cuts are done,” he told her as he sat back and checked his work. “And your nose is turning red. It'll be okay, too. Any other cuts?”

“Everything else was covered.” She shrugged out of her jacket. “But this parka is definitely ruined. Too bad. It was a lifesaver.”

“Tell me about the man who shot at you.”

“A hired killer. Don't know his name. But I'm fairly sure there's a contract out on my life. If it wasn't him, it would be another.”

“Why?” This wasn't becoming any clearer. “What the hell have you been doing?”

“I've been undercover.”

If she'd said she was Chloe's angel, Tara couldn't have surprised him more. “Maybe you'd better start at the beginning.” He dragged a chair closer.

“I will. But I think we'd better call for reinforcements first. That guy is probably still out there. Is the new sheriff someone you can trust?”

“Definitely. I've known him for years.”

“My cell isn't working due to the storm, I'd guess. Have a landline?”

Cam nodded and went to the desk in the corner. “I saw Sheriff Reiner on the way in just now. He'd been searching
the area near your totaled car to find any survivors. But his department's having a real bad day. People are always getting stuck or lost in storms like this one. Hearing about a hired killer in his territory won't help matters.”

Picking up the desk phone, Cam was surprised to find it dead. “I guess the landlines are all down with the storm, too. I'm afraid we're on our own.”

“Maybe you and I can take care of ourselves, Cam. But I'm worried about your family. What are they…?”

He stopped her with a raised hand. “We're in the house alone. It's just us.”

Tara suddenly looked stricken. As though that was a situation she had never considered.

As he opened his mouth to explain, the lights flickered and then the room went dark save for the light from the fireplace.

 

Tara couldn't help the gasp that escaped her lips. “Is that normal? Or should I be worried about the killer coming for me in the dark?”

“It's probably storm-related.” He turned and headed to the foyer. “I'll get my coat and turn on the generator. Afterward, I'll give the outside a once-over. If anyone is out there, they'll be suffering from the weather. While I was making your tea, the TV news predicted another twenty inches tonight. No one will be able to get in or out of this property until the storm stops.”

Horrified at the prospect of being stranded here with a killer stalking her outside and a sexy but annoyed ex-lover inside, Tara watched Cam while he donned his coat, hat and a pair of snow boots.

“Stay by the fire and make yourself at home,” he told her as he headed for the kitchen. “I need to check on the animals' welfare after I get the generator up and running. But I won't be long.

“When I get back,” he continued, “I want to hear all the details on this undercover operation of yours.” Shaking his head
as though the idea of her undercover was absolutely absurd, Cam disappeared around the corner.

Tara didn't know whether to be insulted or scared. She'd been so sure that Cam's whole family would be here for the holidays. It had never occurred to her that the two of them would be isolated together—alone.

Facing a hitman might be preferable.

Needing to move around so she could think her predicament through, Tara tested her feet by placing one down on the hardwood floor. Man, that hurt like the devil. She was sure glad she'd thought to put on her padded socks under her boots and jeans before she'd left her apartment this morning and headed out for the governor's vacation home in Aspen. If the governor had still been in Denver instead of spending the holidays with his family, she might've been dressed in something totally unsuitable.

Brrr. The idea gave her chills. She could be worrying about losing her feet to frostbite instead of fussing about spending time alone with an old boyfriend.

An old
married
boyfriend.

The stabbing pain in the bottom of her foot became bearable, so she put the other one down on the floor next to it. Yipes. She had to bite her lip to keep from screaming. But within minutes she felt stronger and more stable. Maybe she was going to live through the experience after all.

As she straightened and looked around the great room, the lights came back on. Then she heard the heater cycling on in another part of the house. She wondered how long the generator would last without running out of fuel.

She went to the fireplace, added a few more logs and stirred the fire. Soon it was blazing.

Looking around the room again, Tara finally realized what she was seeing. Or not seeing. She'd been to Cam's home during the holidays many times growing up. Back then, the whole place had glowed with decorations, lovingly put up by Cam's grandparents. Festive lights, wrapped packages and yummy
smells coming from the kitchen. Those were some of the clearest memories from her childhood.

Yet today, a few days before Christmas, this great room was empty of everything but furniture. Except for the roaring fire, it might as well be August.

Where was the tree? Where were the wreaths and holly?

Wandering from room to room downstairs, she searched for anything that said Christmas. With no luck.

Tara easily climbed the stairs to the second floor bedrooms. Surely up here she would find some sign of holiday spirit.

She checked each room as she went down the hall. The first two were guest rooms, and bland. When she came to the room she'd used as a teenager, her hand hesitated on the door handle. Tara wasn't sure she wanted to see this room again after all these years. Too many memories. Both good and bad.

But as the door creaked open, Tara was shocked to see a fantasyland in various shades of pink instead of the cool blues and greens of her youth. The bed was covered with stuffed animals. Yes, this room was most definitely being used by a little girl.

Cam must have a daughter. As Tara moved around the room, she lightly touched the toys and the music boxes. This could be her own little girl's room. If only things had worked out differently.

On top of the dresser, she found several framed photos. A little girl with blond pigtails, holding Cam's hand. An older couple with the same girl at a birthday party. Tara looked around again, but couldn't find any pictures of Cam's wife.

In fact, Tara couldn't remember seeing any pictures of a young woman anywhere in the house. She quickly walked out of the girl's room and headed for the master bedroom. This was going to hurt, but now that she'd thought of it, she needed to see some evidence of the woman who shared her life with Cam.

Tara hesitated once again at the door, but then took a breath and pushed it open. The room that had once belonged to Cam's grandparents had not changed much.

Still the same beige walls. The same heavy, hewn wood furniture. Even the same king-size bed with the thick down-filled mattress.

But there were no photos. None at all that she could see. Not even of the pretty little girl.

Something was wrong in this house. Turning, she headed for the walk-in closet and threw open the doors.

Except for Cam's clothes, the huge closet stood empty. Empty? Was Cam divorced?

“Find what you were looking for?” Cam's voice spun her around.

Busted.

 

“Cam, where is your wife?”

Furious at the nosy question, Cam said, “Not that it's any of your business, but Mandy died giving birth to my daughter. Four years ago on Christmas Eve.”

Tara had the decency to look embarrassed. “Oh, I'm so sorry. This time of year must be terribly hard on you. I…”

“Let's take this discussion down in front of the fire. The generator is set to cycle on and off every two hours to save both propane and the pipes. The great room will remain the warmest part of the house.”

He took her by the elbow and ushered her out of his bedroom. Standing in the master bedroom closet, staring at the empty space where Mandy's clothes once hung, was the last place Cam had expected to find Tara. When he was younger, he had dreamed many times of Tara's clothes hanging in a closet next to his. He had built a lot of pipe dreams on that very idea.

Now he refused to succumb to the temptation that her presence ignited. It was wrong of him to still want her as much as he did. Made him feel disloyal to Mandy—a not unfamiliar emotion.