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CHAPTER THIRTEEN

M ax panted as he lugged a barely conscious Becca to the house. “I’m glad I worked out this morning,” he muttered to himself. She was heavy.

“You’re not supposed to notice,” Becca whispered. Her hand was wrapped around his neck, but it loosened as she began to fade out again.

“I said you were a Valkyrie when you first showed up,” he said. “I didn’t expect you to wimp out on me. Come on now, stay with me.”

In the yellowish light from the pole lamp, she looked half dead. A smear of blood marred her cheek, and he felt the warm trickle of more on his hand from where it dripped off her arm.

He jiggled her when she failed to respond. “Who did this?” he demanded.

“The Windigo,” she murmured. “Or maybe something else.” Her lashes fluttered, then her eyes closed again.

She was delirious. She must have some kind of fixation about the Windigo. Panic flared when he saw how white she was. In the dark, he couldn’t tell how serious her wound was. He had to get her inside and tended to.

He reached the back door and shouted for help. Her hand along the back of his neck tightened, and he found himself gazing into her eyes. Twin pools of blue that beckoned as much as the cold, refreshing water of Lake Superior. He wanted to shake her for scaring him half to death, but at least she was conscious again.

“Open the door!” He kicked it with his foot.

Mrs. Jeffries opened the door. “What on earth. . .” She held open the door while he carried Becca across the floor to a chair.

“Get me some soap and water and peroxide,” he ordered. A little more color was showing in Becca’s cheeks. She tried to sit up, but he pushed her back. “Lie still.” He shoved up her sleeve and probed the wound. She winced. “Sorry,” he said.

Mrs. Jeffries carried a basin of water to him. She had a bottle of peroxide tucked under her arm. “Want me to call the doctor?”

“No, I’m fine. I think it was just shock.” Becca tried to sit up again.

“You are so stubborn,” he said “Lie still and let me tend to this.” He cleansed the wound. “I think she’ll be okay. It’s not deep. Get me some tape.” He poured peroxide on the cut. He winced when Becca’s face went whiter and beaded with perspiration. If he ever got his hands on the madman who did this, he’d throttle him.

Becca gulped. “It’s better now,” she whispered.

“What happened?” he asked as he cut strips of white tape to make butterfly stitches.

“Someone had Misty in a cage, I assume to lure me out to look for her. He came at me with a knife.”

“Could you see any features?”

“No, it was too dark.” She looked around. “Where is everyone?”

Max looked around. He’d been so focused on tending Becca he hadn’t noticed. “I don’t know.”

“Mrs. Baxter went to bed, and the young ones went out. Tate and Shayna had a fight, and they went different directions. Mr. Nick went for a walk along the beach.”

Max didn’t want to think anyone in the house would have tried to hurt Becca, but it had to be someone who had access to the house. Someone had taken Misty out. His gaze sought Becca’s face again.

“Are you ready to tell me the truth yet?”

She flushed, but her gaze didn’t waver. “I was going to tell you—all of you—tonight until we discovered Misty was missing.” She glanced around. “Misty, where is she?”

“I brought her in,” Mrs. Jeffries said. “She was yowling at the back door. She’s eating.” She pointed to the corner where Misty crouched over her dish of food.

Becca sighed and sat back in her chair. Her hands were visibly shaking, but Max hardened his heart. “I want to know the truth. Now.” Though he knew the truth, he wanted to hear her say it. It would mean more if she told the truth. He hated liars.

“I’m Rebecca Lynn Baxter,” she said simply.

“Becky?” Mrs. Jeffries said sharply. “No wonder you’ve been nothing but trouble since you got here. You always were one to go from one mess to another.”

“That’s enough, Moxie.” He fixed her with a stare, and she pressed her lips together.

Tears flooded Becca’s eyes at Moxie’s harsh words. “I always knew you didn’t like me,” she said. She blinked and looked up at Max. “No one has called me Becky in years though. Everyone calls me Becca.”

“You’re here to find out what happened to your parents.”

She nodded, and her lips trembled. “I know they were murdered.”

Max was beginning to understand her motives. “It was an accident.” He softened his voice. “I know it’s hard to accept when something like that happens, but you have to face facts.”

“Then why is someone trying to drive me away?” She held up her arm. “What about this?”

She had a point. “Has someone recognized you?”

“They must have. Only Saija Karola—Korpela knows.”

“Molly’s friend’s mother.”

She nodded. “We recognized one another when I picked up Molly the other day.”

“Could she have told someone?”

“Even if she did, it wouldn’t explain why someone tried to roll the rock on top of me the day after I got here. Or the Windigo figurine on my bed.” She shook her head. “Someone recognized me the day I arrived, and he wants to make sure I don’t find out who killed my parents. But I’m not leaving until I do.”

“Maybe it has nothing to do with your parents. Maybe the explosion really was an accident—a fortuitous one as far as the attacker is concerned. Maybe his main focus is on driving you away to keep you from inheriting. Everyone here stands to lose if your grandmother decides to leave you her money.”

She was shaking her head even as he spoke. “I don’t want Gram’s money.”

“The attacker might not know that.” He wasn’t sure he believed her. Who would turn down an inheritance if it was offered? Tate and Becca were Gram’s grandchildren. They stood to gain the most, as did Becca’s siblings.

And Tate stood to lose the most. Only one grandchild would inherit the bulk of the estate including the house and property. Could Tate be behind this?

Max thought of his own daughter. He needed to protect Molly’s interests too. He pulled Becca’s sleeve down. “There you go. I think you’ll live.”

“Thanks.” She rubbed her arm. “We should call the sheriff and report the attack.”

“I was about to suggest the same thing.” Max went to the phone and dialed. The sheriff promised he’d be out to look around the woods, but Max knew the attacker was long gone.

A thought occurred to him. What if there was no attacker? Becca could have cut herself. The wound wasn’t deep. Maybe she had done it to garner sympathy from Gram. She had to have known he was suspicious and figured this would be a way to dispel his disfavor and get Gram more firmly in her camp. Maybe she wanted the house and estate.

He wanted to reject that idea and believe Becca wasn’t that devious. Looking at her sipping the tea Mrs. Jeffries brought her, he remembered the way she’d skirted any questions he’d asked. She hadn’t been truthful with him. It made it harder to trust her now. The best he could do was withhold judgment and watch to see what she did.

The sheriff had come and gone. He’d never been the most ambitious of law personnel, seeming to prefer to let the Baxters handle their own issues. Becca ached all over. All she wanted was to crawl into bed and pull the sheets up to her chin. Reaction had set in, and she felt like she was quivering inside. At least she knew it wasn’t Max who had tried to attack her.

But did she? She watched him carefully over the rim of her teacup. They’d been separated. He could have doubled back and attacked her in the dark. She didn’t know what to believe or who to trust.

God was always trustworthy. She knew God would help her untangle this mess. Faith in him had brought her this far. But she wished she had an ally here in the flesh. She wanted to trust Max, but he had too much to gain by making her disappear. She would never do anything to harm Molly’s future, but he didn’t know that.

She put down her cup. “I think I’ll go to bed,” she said. She stood and staggered a bit as she turned.

“Let me help you.” Max was at her side in two steps.

“I’m fine,” she said.

“No, you’re not. You’ve had quite a scare.” His warm fingers closed on her arm, and he steadied her as she went toward the back stairway. He walked her up the steps and down the hall to her room.

“Call me if you need anything,” Max said.

He made no move to leave her, and his hand was still on her arm. Becca was certain he must be able to see the way her heart was beating. Her mouth was dry, and she swallowed. She knew she should just turn and open the door and go into her room, but she couldn’t seem to make herself move.

His hand released her arm then traveled to her face. Gentle fingertips brushed across her cheek.

“You’re really something, Becca. A scare like that and you came up fighting.” His voice was husky. He ran his thumb across her lips then bent his head and brushed her mouth with his own.

The kiss was feather-light and brief, but the encounter left Becca breathless. She had to keep her distance from Max. He was away from the Lord, and he just might be a killer. She stepped back and opened the door. “Good night,” she whispered.

She shut the door and leaned against it before he had a chance to answer. She listened in the dark until his muffled footsteps went down the hall. She went to her bed and prayed for strength and guidance. She needed all the help she could get.

Becca tossed and turned all night, her arm a throbbing pain that kept her from resting properly. She finally dozed off near dawn and awoke with the sun streaming across her face. Her arm still hurt but the pain had dialed down a notch. She stretched and got up.

Today she was going to have to tell everyone the truth. She couldn’t put it off any longer. Max knew now and whoever had been targeting her knew as well, so it might not come as a big surprise to very many people.

By the time she got downstairs to breakfast, the rest of the family had assembled in the dining room.

Her grandmother met her at the doorway. “You should have awakened me last night,” she scolded. “How are you feeling this morning?”

“Okay. A little sore, but I’m all right.”

She started toward the table, but Gram put her hand on her arm. “Say nothing,” she whispered.

Startled, Becca glanced at her grandmother and saw an urgent plea in her eyes. She gave a slight nod to Gram and went to the table.

“I’m going shopping on the mainland today, Becca. You want to come?” Shayna asked.

“She’s not up to going anywhere,” Max put in.

“I feel fine,” Becca protested.

“In that case, you can join me in the office to do a little work.” His voice brooked no argument.

Shayna made a face. “Slave driver.”

“You can’t go anyway,” Tate said. “I have to take the boat to town. I’m trading it on a new one.”

Shayna clapped her hands. “A new boat! What are we getting?”

“A new sailboat,” he said.

“A sailboat? I can’t take that when I want to go to town!”

“You’ll have to take the ferry.”

“This is just another way to make sure you keep me here, isn’t it? Well, it won’t work.” Shayna rose and rushed from the room.

Tate started to go after her, but Becca beat him to it. She hurried after the other woman and found her sobbing in the sunroom.

“I hate him,” she said when she saw Becca. “He spoils everything.”

“You know you don’t hate him,” Becca told her. She sat beside her on the sofa.

“Yes, I do. You don’t know what it’s like living with a man who wants to control every single thing I do. I hate my life. I wish I was dead!” Shayna buried her face in her hands and wept.

“God loves you, Shayna. He’s there for you in all your problems.”

“No, He isn’t. No one is.” Shayna turned and buried her face in Becca’s shoulder. “My life is such a mess. I don’t want to be married to Tate anymore.”

“You guys can work it out. Why don’t you go see the pastor at the church in town?”

“Tate would never agree to it. And besides, I don’t love him anymore.” Shayna pulled away and wiped at her eyes. She glanced at Becca, a calculating look that seemed out of character with her sadness. “I want Max.”

Becca blinked, and a sharp pain of something she was ashamed to identify as jealousy shot through her. “Max?”

“He loves me, too. We’re going to go away together.”

Becca had known there was something there after hearing Tate warn Max off, but she’d hoped she’d misread the situation. “I don’t know what to say.”

“I’m only telling you this so you can avoid embarrassment. I’ve seen the way you’ve been throwing yourself at Max, and he’s been mortified about it.”

“There is nothing between me and Max,” Becca said through stiff lips.

“Oh, I know.” Shayna gave a tinkling laugh. “But I like you, and I don’t want to see you hurt. Max likes to flirt. Poor thing, he can’t help it. But it means nothing. He loves me.”

The room felt hot. Suffocating. Becca rose. “I think I’ll get some air,” she said. She wouldn’t cry. Not in front of Shayna. Escaping the room, she rushed out the door and around the corner of the manor to the garden. The cool serenity welcomed her, and she followed the path through the woods to the folly. She went to her favorite spot near the ruined fountain.

Sinking to her knees in the soft grass, she prayed for God to take away the feelings she was developing for Max. This morning’s reality check had been a hard one. She stayed in that position so long that when she finally tried to get up, her knees locked. Glancing at her watch, she realized she’d been out here nearly an hour.

Staggering to her feet, she heard a sound. Peeking over the top of the bushes, she stared into the brick ruins that were the far border of the folly. A man was backing out, looking around in a stealthy way.

Tate.

Becca watched him as he pulled the door shut behind him then walked confidently toward the house. What could be in those ramshackle ruins that would entice him to risk a broken bone or worse? Though Gram had always warned the children to stay out of the old ruined house because the walls could fall in at any time, they had played here anyway. She wouldn’t risk it now. Over the years, some of the walls had crumbled even more. It looked much more dangerous than she remembered.

If Tate had gone in there, it must be safe for her to explore as well. With a final regretful look at her watch, she knew it would have to wait. She was already late for work this morning.

If only there was a way where she’d never have to see Max again. She didn’t want to face him after the things Shayna had said. Did Max really feel she’d been chasing him? Becca’s face burned. From now on, she’d be cool and distant, an ice princess. He’d soon see she had no romantic interest in him.

She’d known the minute she saw him he wasn’t to be trusted. He looked like a pirate, and he’d deliberately tried to get past her defenses. A thought struck her. Maybe he had flirted with her to try to discover who she was. He’d been using his charm to coax the truth out of her.

The thought made her mad, and she practically stomped to the office.

“I thought maybe you weren’t going to show,” Max said.

“I’m here. What do you want me to do first?” Her tone was clipped, but she didn’t care. Let him wonder what was eating her. She’d endured his bad moods often enough.

“I’d hoped you were going to tell the others who you were this morning.”

“I was going to, but—,” she broke off. There was no way she was going to implicate Gram in anything.

Max shot her a quizzical look but didn’t say anything else. He pointed to the desk. “I printed out the first five chapters, and I’d like you to go over them for continuity and accuracy of research. They’re on your desk. If you like, you can take them to your room and rest while you read.”

His kind tone almost melted the ice around her heart. Almost but not quite. She could still hear Shayna’s earnest voice in her head saying her behavior had mortified Max.

She held onto her cool reserve. “I think I’ll do that. You won’t have to put up with my company that way.” She grabbed the pages and sailed off like she didn’t have a care in the world.