Shirlee McCoy - Fugitive

The thought of selling his cabin and shop and everything in them made her stomach churn.

Her hand slipped, the drill sliding from the lock and digging into the wood.

“Careful.” Logan grabbed her hand, holding it steady for a moment.

“Sorry.” She pressed the drill in again and focused her attention on forcing the lock open. It took three tries, but the lock finally popped. Not a pretty job, but done. “You’re free.”

“Thanks.” Logan slid out of the cuffs, rubbing the raw red welts on his wrists. He was still shivering, but he had some color in his face.

Good.

Not so good that she’d just freed a convict from handcuffs. She might believe Logan’s story, but a jury hadn’t.

“We should go back to the cabin.” She put the drill back exactly where William had always kept it, then ran her finger over the ding it had made in the table.

For some reason, tears burned behind her eyes.

Not grief. She’d cried a million tears in the weeks after William died. Maybe it was just sadness over all the dreams she’d never live with him.

“You okay?” Logan lifted her hand from the wood and ran his thumb across her knuckles. Even hurt and cold, he seemed larger than life, his dark blue gaze so intense that she had to look away.

“Fine. I just think we should get back and start planning how we’re going to get off the mountain.”

“We’re not going to get me off. I’m going to do it. You’re going to pretend that you never saw me.” He tugged her outside and back into the cabin, slamming the door against the bitter cold. The fire had nearly died, and Laney shrugged out of her coat, shivering a little as she piled logs on the embers and stoked them to life.

Logan didn’t speak as he grabbed the pile of clothes she’d pulled out for him. He didn’t say a word as he walked into the small bathroom and closed the door.

She wondered if he’d return, or if he’d climb out the bathroom window and disappear into the storm.

Would she go after him if he did?

She’d been raised to follow the rules, to strive for perfection. Nothing short of that had ever been acceptable. As an adult, she’d tried to move past the need for flawless living. She’d tried to concentrate on what God wanted from her rather than what people wanted. She’d let her hair be messy sometimes, allowed herself to dress in jeans and sweaters.

Still, she’d never skirted the law, and in helping Logan she’d done more than that. She’d broken it.

The bathroom door opened, and he walked out, William’s flannel shirt hanging open over a black T-shirt. His faded jeans hung low on Logan’s leaner hips. William had been shorter, a little broader and a lot older. On him, the clothes had looked comfortable and easy.

On Logan...

She frowned, pouring still-warm water into a mug. “Warmer?”

“Much. And, now that I am, I really need you to leave. If this is the only cabin on the mountain—”

“It is.”

“Then eventually someone is going to show up here looking for me. I don’t want you here when it happens.”

“If I leave, how will you get off the mountain?”

“I’ll manage.”

“You can’t walk out. It’s too far.”

“Like I said, I’ll manage. Did your husband keep a handgun around?”

“In the lockbox on the top shelf of the closet,” she responded and then wished she hadn’t. She’d already broken the law. She was breaking it again by providing a felon with a firearm.

He grabbed the box and set it on the satiny wood of the little table William had crafted on their last visit to the cabin together.

“Do you know the combination?”

“Why do you need a gun?” she asked, unable to look away as Logan fiddled with the combination lock. With his dark hair almost dry and his chin shadowed with the beginning of a beard, he looked tough and dangerous.

“I’m not planning to kill a cop with it, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“I’m thinking that helping you get out of those cuffs was one thing. Giving you a weapon is something else. Unless you have a really good reason for wanting it, it’s probably better that it stays locked up.”

“It’s not a weapon—it’s a firearm. And I’m only planning to use it for protection.” He looked up from the box, his eyes blazing. Familiar eyes, and she couldn’t deny them, couldn’t turn away from the truth she saw there. She rattled off the combination, and he lifted the pistol, checking to see if it was loaded and then grabbing the ammunition that William had locked up with it.

“I’d better go,” she said because looking at him wearing William’s clothes and carrying William’s firearm made her chest tight and her stomach ache. She’d loved William. He’d been her best friend and confidant. Her cheerleader and supporter. With him, she’d had freedom from the chaos and drama that she’d grown up with.

The thing was, she’d loved Logan, too, all those years ago. Had loved him with the kind of love only a child who’d been desperate for affection could feel.

She didn’t want to leave him, but she didn’t know how she could stay when staying meant turmoil and trouble. She’d run from that thirteen years ago. And she’d lived more than a decade with peace and stability and order in her life.

“Be careful on the roads, and don’t stop for anything but a marked police cruiser,” Logan said as she opened the front door.

She nodded but couldn’t speak. Her eyes burned with tears, all the things Logan had done for her when she was young and hurting and scared crowding into her brain.

Don’t cry, Laney. Don’t give them that power over you.

Those were the first words he’d ever spoken to her. She’d shoved the memory so far back in her mind, she hadn’t known it was still there.

She walked outside, let the wind cool her hot face and burning eyes and tried to tell herself that she wasn’t abandoning the man who’d lived in her parents’ home for five years because he hadn’t wanted to abandon her.

She was doing the right thing. She had to believe that, had to trust that God’s plan would work itself out. He would protect Logan.

He didn’t need Laney’s help for that.

Still...

Thirteen years, and Logan was suddenly back in her life.

That had to mean something.

Didn’t it?

She slid behind the wheel of the Jeep, her gaze jumping to the cabin. She needed to drive away, but she couldn’t quite make herself start the engine.

The cabin door opened, and Logan appeared, silhouetted in the light. He walked to the car, his stride long and confident.

She unrolled the window as he approached.

“Did you change your mind about wanting a ride?” she asked, half hoping that he’d say he had. Half hoping that he wouldn’t.

“I need to toss this into the woods. Ten minutes, and it’ll be covered with snow.” He held up his prison uniform. “If anyone finds it, they’ll assume I’m hypothermic and out of my mind with it. I don’t want anyone knowing I was here. Not for a while, anyway.”

“Logan...”

She wasn’t sure what she planned to say, what she should say.

“Everything is going to be okay,” he cut in before she could gather her thoughts. “Now, go. Because the longer you sit there, the longer I’m going to be standing out here, and the colder we’re both going to get.”

He meant it.

She was absolutely sure that he’d stand there until she left. She nodded, rolled up the window and started the engine, her heart beating a heavy, hard rhythm as she pulled away.

THREE

Snow splattered against the Jeep’s windshield and Laney turned on the wipers, her hand shaking a little.

She had to do this.

Had to.

Because it was what Logan wanted, and because Laney’s trip back home was designed to help her close the door to the past. Not revisit it.