Carla Neggers: The Cabin

Greed and vengeance disrupt the quiet stillness of the Adirondack mountains

Texas Ranger Jack Galway knows his wife Susanna loves him, so when their marriage hits a rough patch, he supports her decision to take their two teenaged daughters to Boston for a break. But when a few weeks turns into several months, Jack heads to Boston to get his family back.

Packing up the girls and her grandmother, Susanna heads to her cabin in the Adirondacks, trying to escape her fears, her secrets and even the man she loves. Little does she know she’s being followed, not just by her husband but by a murderer.…

Ex-convict Alice Parker left a mess back in Texas, and she’ll never forgive Jack Galway for killing her dream of becoming a Texas Ranger herself. Obsessed with revenge, she’s got her sights set on Jack’s family.

Trapped in the mountains, Jack and Susanna must find strength in each other if they hope to keep their family together and escape the cabin alive.

Praise for the novels of

Carla Neggers

“Well-plotted, intriguing and set mostly in the lushly described Irish countryside, the novel is smart and satisfying, and the paths of three couples growing even more devoted to each other are deftly woven into the suspenseful storyline.”

—Kirkus Reviews on Declan’s Cross

“With a great plot and excellent character development, Neggers’ latest thriller…is a fast-paced, action-packed tale of romantic suspense that will appeal to fans of Lisa Jackson and Lisa Gardner.”

—Library Journal on Saint’s Gate

“No one does romantic suspense better!”

—New York Times bestselling author Janet Evanovich

“Carla Neggers is one of the most distinctive, talented writers of our genre.”

—#1 New York Times bestselling author Debbie Macomber

“This heartwarming tale is full of fascinating secondary characters, and enhanced by plot threads involving the long-term effects of a flooded valley, a search for jewels and long-ago passion.”

—Booklist starred review of Secrets of the Lost Summer

“[Neggers] forces her characters to confront issues of humanity, integrity and the multifaceted aspects of love without slowing the ever-quickening pace.”

—Publishers Weekly

“Only a writer as gifted as Carla Neggers could use so few words to convey so much action and emotional depth.”

—New York Times bestselling author Sandra Brown

The Cabin

Carla Neggers

www.mirabooks.co.uk

To my daughter, Kate

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Acknowledgments

One

Susanna Galway sipped her margarita and watched the countdown to midnight on the television above the bar at Jim’s Place, the small, dark pub just down the street from where she lived with her grandmother and twin teenage daughters. It had been a fixture in the neighborhood for as long as Susanna could remember.

An hour to go. There’d be fireworks, a new year to celebrate. It was a clear, dark, very cold night in Boston, with temperatures barely in the teens, but thousands had still gone out to enjoy the many First Night festivities.

Jim Haviland, the pub’s owner, eyed Susanna with open suspicion. He made no secret that he thought she should have gone back to her husband in Texas months ago. And Susanna didn’t disagree. But, still, she hadn’t gone home.

Jim laid a sparkling white bar towel on one of his powerful shoulders. “You’re feeling sorry for yourself,” he told her.

She licked salt off her glass. It was warm in the bar, and she wished she hadn’t opted for cashmere. Silk would have been better. She’d been determined to feel a little bit elegant tonight. But Jim had already told her she looked like the Wicked Witch of the East coming in there in her black skirt, sweater and boots, with her long black hair—apparently only her very green eyes saved her. Her coat was black, too, but she’d hung it up and tucked her black leather gloves in her pocket before sliding onto her stool. She hadn’t bothered with a hat since the bar was only a few doors down from Gran’s house.

“I never feel sorry for myself,” she said. “I looked at all my choices for the evening and decided I’d like nothing better than to ring in the New Year with one of my father’s oldest friends.”

Jim snorted. “I know bullshit when I hear it.”

Susanna smiled at him, unrepentant. “You make a pretty good margarita for a Yankee.” She set her glass down. “Why don’t you make me another?”

“Okay, but two’s your limit. You’re not passing out in my bar. I’m not calling your Texas Ranger husband and telling him I let his wife fall off one of my bar stools and hit her head—”

“Such drama. I’m not getting myself drunk, and you’d call Gran, not Jack, because Gran’s just up the street, and Jack’s in San Antonio. And I know you’re not the least bit intimidated because he’s a Texas Ranger.”

Jim Haviland gave her a half smile. “Sixty-eight degrees in San Antonio.”

Susanna refused to let him get to her. He was the father of her best friend in Boston, her own father’s boyhood friend and a surrogate uncle to her these past fourteen months since she’d been on her own up north. He was opinionated, solid and predictable. “Are you going to make me that margarita?” she asked.

“You should be in Texas with your family.”

“I had Maggie and Ellen for Thanksgiving. Jack has them for Christmas and New Year’s.”

Jim scowled. “Sounds like you’re divvying up dibs on the neighborhood snowblower.”

“It doesn’t snow in San Antonio,” Susanna said with an easy smile. She’d put an imaginary, protective shield around her to get her through the night, and she was determined nothing would penetrate it—not guilt, not fear, not thoughts of the only man she’d ever loved. She and Jack had done the holidays together last year. That hadn’t worked out very well. Their emotions were still too raw, neither ready to talk. Not that her husband was ever ready to talk.

“You know,” Jim said, “if I were Jack—”

“If you were Jack, you’d be investigating serial killers instead of making me margaritas. What fun would that be?” She pushed her glass across the bar toward him. “Come on. A nice, fresh margarita. You can reuse my glass. Hold the salt this time if you want.”

“I’ll hold the liquor before I hold the salt, and I’m not reusing your glass. Health laws.”

“There are six other bars within walking distance,” Susanna said. “I have on my wool socks. I can find somebody to serve me another margarita.”

“They all use mixes.”

But Jim Haviland didn’t call her bluff. He snatched up her empty glass and set it on a tray, then grabbed a fresh glass. His bar was impeccably clean. He offered one nightly dinner special and kept an eye on his customers, running his bar in strict accordance with Massachusetts law. People didn’t come to Jim’s Place to get drunk—it was a true neighborhood pub, as old-fashioned as its owner. Susanna had always felt safe there, welcomed even when Jim was on her case and she wasn’t at her nicest herself.