Strangers in the Night (3 page)

Jake never imagined she'd give in so easily. He expected a long and arduous argument. In a way, he wanted to back up and tell her to wait. She didn't even know him, for Pete's sake.

She'd asked him where he was staying and told him she'd be in touch. She'd be ready to leave in the morning if he was okay with that. Then off she went to check on some paintings. At least that's what she'd said. He'd been too shocked to do much more than nod.

Maybe she was thinking of running again. The thought slammed him alongside the head. He had no idea where she lived or how to find her. Not even her parents knew that. They wrote to a post office address. That was one of the places he had planned to go on Monday on his quest to find her.

Jake prayed that he hadn't spooked Abbie. He hated the thought of having to go back to Oregon empty-handed. Not certain what else to do, he browsed around the art fair for a while then headed back to the hotel. He'd make a couple of phone calls and take a nap and maybe come back for the evening's entertainment. Maybe he'd be lucky and Abbie would be there. Maybe he'd ask her to dance. And maybe, she'd say yes.

At the hotel he made a call to Abbie's parents in Oceanside. Lyle Grant answered almost immediately.

“I found her.”

The declaration brought resounding cheers from Lyle and his wife, who was talking in the background. “Abbie has agreed to come back to Oregon with me.”

“That was quick.” Lyle sounded pleased. “I'll have to add a bonus. I knew you were the right man for the job.”

“I wouldn't celebrate quite yet. Abbie could change her mind.”

“You told her about Skye?”

“I did.”

Lyle breathed a heavy sigh. “She won't.”

As they said their good-byes, Jake couldn't help but wonder why the Grants didn't just write to Abbie about her sister and about the property for that matter. Then it occurred to him that talking one-on-one with Abbie was a much more humane way of breaking the news and encouraging her to come home. He was glad they'd sent him. He'd been able to answer her questions and provide a measure of comfort and security. At least he hoped that was the case. On the other hand, he may have only been instrumental in chasing her even farther away.

Jake placed the telephone earpiece on the cradle, hoping his report to Lyle Grant was correct. He didn't want to disappoint his clients, but it was more than that. Maybe it was his imagination or maybe the fact that he'd stared at Abbie's picture most of the way to North Dakota, but his heart ached for the Grant family. He felt connected to them. Theirs had certainly become much more than a Realtor/client relationship.

Jake shook his head to dispel his thoughts and switched modes. Picking up the receiver again, he dialed the number for his real estate office in Oceanside.

Prior to the trip east, he'd left his agent, Barbara Nichols, in charge, and had given her the phone number of the hotel in Grand Forks in case she needed to contact him. Barbara hadn't called, nor did she answer now. According to the answering service gal, Barbara hadn't called in for messages since Friday afternoon.

He wished people would be more dependable. Barbara usually was, but then Jake didn't usually take trips lasting more than three days. “Give the messages to me now in case I need to call any of our clients.” Opening his briefcase, Jake removed a pen and notepad and began writing. Ten messages in all and most were clients that Barbara should have dealt with.

“Thanks, Sarah,” he said, trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice. “Tell Barb to call me the minute you hear from her. If I'm not here she needs to leave a message with the front desk.”

“Will do.”

He checked his watch and deducted two hours for the time-zone change. Barb might be out to lunch or with clients. He'd try again later.

Jake made the necessary phone calls to their clients—nothing that couldn't wait really, but he wanted to keep them happy.

Frustrated, Jake went back down to the desk and snagged a copy of the
Grand Forks Herald
. And for the next hour, he sat in the lobby of the hotel, watching people and reading articles about President Kennedy's arrival in France. Not surprisingly, politics took second to fashion as France fell in love with the first lady. He couldn't blame them. Jackie Kennedy commanded attention everywhere she went. She was the perfect first lady: elegant, soft-spoken, wealthy, and a mother. Jack had made a good choice in a mate, or perhaps the choice had been made for him. After all, the Kennedy family was the closest thing the US had to royalty.

Before heading out for his evening meal, Jake tried calling Barbara again—no answer at the office or at her home. Barbara normally would have called to check in, but in the real estate business, time was rarely one's own. He doubted there was a problem but couldn't help but worry.

That evening, when Abbie told Margie about Jake and her parents' offer, her doubts returned with the driving force of a tornado. It didn't help that she had picked up her mail from the post office and found nothing from her parents.

“I wish I could have met him.” Margie pulled her knitting bag from beside the sofa and lifted out the maroon sweater she was making. “I trust your judgment and everything, but you wouldn't be the first person to get sidetracked by a good-looking man.”

“Did I say he was good-looking?” Abbie remembered no such thing.

“You didn't have to.” Margie adjusted her needles and began working a purl stitch. “I could tell by the way you talked about him.”

“Humph.” Had she really given Margie that impression of Jake or was Margie just guessing? “Just because he has blue eyes like Sinatra and a dreamy smile doesn't mean I was swayed by his charms.”

“When are you seeing him again? I want to be there.” Margie said it as if she were the better judge of character. Maybe she was. Abbie had to admit that she herself was being led more by her heart than her brain.

“I'm supposed to hook up with him in the morning.” Abbie pressed a throw pillow against her chest, hoping to ease the discomfort that had lingered all afternoon.

“I don't like it, Annie.” Margie began to knit. “It's too soon, too fast. Are you sure you can trust him?”

“I don't know. I tried calling Mom and Dad from a payphone downtown to verify what he said, but they didn't answer.” She regretted her hasty response to Jake, but for those few minutes, desire to see her parents and Skye and to go back home overrode common sense. That and those trusty blue eyes.

“Then wait until you can get hold of them.” She paused to look at her instructions. “Besides, how can you expect to be ready so soon?”

“It's not like we have much to pack. But you're right. Only…if he were with the police, he'd have arrested me, don't you think?”

“Probably.” She peered at Abbie over her glasses. “It's not the police I'm worried about. It's Leah. What if she hired this Jake guy to find you? He wins your trust by making up some wild story about your parents and Skye and this property to lure you into a trap. He takes you along and ditches you somewhere then takes off with Emma.”

“I can't imagine anyone going to such lengths.” A lump the size of a boulder lodged in Abbie's throat. Could Leah have discovered where she'd gone? “He sold a house to my parents. Jake lives in Oceanside.”

“So he says. Do you know that for sure? Did he give you a business card? Did you ask for his identification?”

“No, I…He's staying at the Dakota Hotel.”

“Tell me you didn't give him our address.” Margie lowered her knitting.

“I didn't. I'm supposed to call him tomorrow morning.”

“That's something.” Margie sighed. “We should really check this guy out.” She placed her knitting back in the basket and headed for the kitchen. Lifting the receiver, she began to dial.

“Who are you calling?” Abbie demanded.

“My friend Charlie at the police department.” Into the phone she said, “Yes, hello, can I talk to Charlie Wells?”

Abbie's pulse ratcheted up. “Are you crazy?” She spoke in as loud a whisper as she dared. “Getting the police involved is paramount to a prison sentence for me.”

Margie covered the mouthpiece. “Relax, will you? I won't even mention your name. Besides, Charlie doesn't know anything about your background.”

Margie turned her attention back to the phone. “Hi, Charlie. Margie here. Good. No.” She chuckled. “I haven't forgotten. Listen, I need a favor. There's a stranger in town who's looking to sell a friend of mine some property out West. I'm wondering if you could check him out for me. See if he's legit.”

She listened a moment, and Abbie, her stomach churning, sank back against the sofa. On one level, she needed to know if Jake was who he claimed to be. On the other, she was afraid to find out. Afraid that his offer might be bogus. Margie was right to question her sanity. Saying yes to a man she didn't know—saying yes to an offer that was far too good to be true, and worse, agreeing to drive all the way back to Oregon with him—made no sense whatsoever. Still, she'd told him that she'd need to call her parents to verify his story and he'd agreed that she should. Didn't that mean he was being honest?

Margie gave Jake's name to Charlie. “He's a Realtor from Oceanside, Oregon. That's about all the information I have.” After a moment, she said, “Thanks a bunch, Charlie. I owe you one.” Her giggle suggested that Charlie might be growing into more of a friend than Margie let on. Charlie had been her husband's partner when they'd gotten into a clash with some local thieves. Her husband, Nick, had taken a bullet in the chest and later died.

Margie hung up and came back to her knitting.

A cold dread shuddered through Abbie, and she pulled the afghan that was draped over the back of the sofa around her. Drawing up her knees, she covered her legs as well.

“What did he say?”

“He'll call the police in Oceanside. We should know within an hour.”

On a warm Monday morning, three days after Jake's arrival in Grand Forks, Abbie, Emma, and Jake rolled out of Grand Forks in Jake's brand spanking new white 1961 Cadillac convertible.

In a way, the car defined the man who drove it—a classy gentleman with good taste, but not always practical. Abbie leaned back for a moment, running her hands over the luxurious white leather bench with its fold-down armrest, drawing in the new car scent.

It had been a long time since she'd ridden in a car so elegant. In her youth, there'd often been limousines and specially designed coaches on railway cars—the opulence that often came with successful show business people like her parents.

She'd given it all up when she married Nate. Young and so much in love, she'd looked forward to their new life on the farm he and his brother Daniel shared with his parents. That had been a lifetime and a hundred heartaches ago.

Panic sliced through her again as it had so often since meeting Jake. Had she made the right decision? She already missed Margie, and they'd barely driven ten miles. Jake had passed Margie's scrutiny with flying colors once Charlie gave the all clear.

Abbie left with Margie's blessing, promising to call as soon as she arrived at her parents'.

“I'll be praying,” Margie said as she waved their final goodbye. Abbie hoped her friend's prayers would be enough.

I'll be praying
. Abbie couldn't help but think about how often she had prayed over the years. Even though she had taken Emma illegally, she felt God had been with her. Had God really helped her escape? If so, then why did she feel this urgency to go back?

Leah prayed too. Too often, she had heard Leah use those same words. Leah, so full of faith and good works, and so determined to do God's will. Two years ago, Leah insisted it was God's will that she take custody of Emma.
“You're not fit to be a mother. You're a bad seed, just like your parents. It's terrible the way they carouse around in bars, smoking, drinking, dancing. And they raised you to be just like them.”

Remnants of anger and resentment rose in Abbie as bitter bile. If Leah was right about God being on her side, then what was Abbie to believe? Abbie had grown up knowing a loving God, full of grace and truth. Leah had shown nothing but contempt for Abbie and her family. Yes, her parents had played in supper clubs all around the country. Yes, they danced and played beautiful music. Her father had smoked, but everyone in his circle did. Nearly everyone.

Abbie closed her eyes, trying to keep the tears from coming and the old wounds from splitting open. Glancing now at Jake's profile, she felt strangely reassured. He had given her sound advice. It was time to stop running. She was doing the right thing, and that alone brought a certain peace.

Jake had promised that somehow everything would work out. She hoped so.

“Mommy?”

Abbie turned around. “What, sweetie?”

Emma leaned against the back of the front bench seat. In a stage whisper she asked, “Mommy, can I sit up there with you and Unca Jake? It's lonely back here all by myself.”

“Lonely?” Jake chuckled and winked at Emma in the rearview mirror. “We can't have that, now can we?” He pushed in the armrest that separated him from Abbie and patted the seat beside him. “Come on.”

Emma grinned and crawled into the front seat with Abbie guiding her feet. Her shoes had been removed early on to protect Jake's white seats.

“What do you say to Uncle Jake?”

“Thank you, Unca Jake.” She leaned against him and five minutes later was asleep.

Emma had taken a shine to Jake the moment she met him. Abbie might have too if not for the baggage she carried in her heart.

“Is he going to be my dad?” Emma had whispered to Abbie during Jake's first visit to Margie's. Abbie had hurriedly told her he could be her uncle, but not her daddy.

Abbie hadn't slept much since Jake's appearance in Grand Forks last Friday. His presence and the idea of going home to face kidnapping charges triggered an explosion of events, and memories she had tried to put behind her. Memories of nearly losing Emma, of Nate's death, and thoughts of what might have been if Nate had lived. Abbie closed her eyes, willing sleep to come. What came instead was a memory she couldn't escape. A memory she would never forget.

She and Leah had been canning peaches in late August.

“Want something to drink?” Abbie kneaded her fists against her lower back, trying to ease the pain she got whenever she was on her feet too long. Her big belly and the extra weight of the baby weren't helping. Emma, now two, had been much easier. Or maybe time had simply deemed it so.

Sweat dripped down her back, adding to the moisture already dampening her sleeveless cotton shirt. Pulling out the pitcher of the iced tea she'd made that morning, Abbie pressed it against one cheek then the other. Iowa in August could be wretched. Maybe next year at this time she, Nate, Emma, and the baby would be settled into their home in the Northwest, enjoying the cool Oregon Coast breeze.

“Humph,” Leah grumbled. “We'll never get these peaches done if you keep taking breaks. But—”

“I'll take that as a yes.” Abbie pulled down two tall glasses and filled them with ice. The blast of cold air made the beads of sweat on her face and chest tingle.

Nate should have let her buy the water cooler as she'd wanted to do their first summer here. Murray and Leah didn't have the money, and she would have offered, but Nate refused to let her spend any of her trust fund on the farm, saying he wanted her to save it for something important. He'd even asked her not to mention “the money” to his family—as though having it was a deep dark sin. He was funny that way—intent on supporting his family without her finances. Now she wondered if he felt the same way about her parents as Leah did. He wanted nothing to do with their money.

A brief flare of anger rose and fizzled. It was too hot, and she was too tired to get riled up. She sighed instead. Men could be so stubborn at times. In the past year, however, Nate seemed willing to talk about living somewhere other than the farm.

She filled the glasses with the cinnamon-colored brew that was made with a blend of black teas and peach juice, smelled as sweet as the peaches they were canning. After pouring the tea, she put the pitcher back, once again reveling in the brief but welcome chill.

Abbie set Leah's tea on the counter and took a long drink of her own.

“Thank you.” Leah rinsed her hands and reached for the iced tea. After taking a drink she said, “This is nice.”

Abbie had to smile. Despite Leah's stern temperament, the woman could be likeable at times. Abbie felt another pang of guilt. Her in-laws worked hard, and Leah went out of her way to include Abbie as one of the family. She hadn't approved of the marriage from the beginning, and Abbie doubted they'd ever be close. They were simply too different, which was one of the reasons Abbie wanted her own home. There she could have a craft room with lots of light and no one to tell her that drawing and painting were a waste of time.

Abbie turned the overhead fan on high and went back to the sink and the peaches waiting to be packed into jars.

The phone rang and Leah grumbled. “Get that, would you, Abbie? It's probably Janet reminding me to bring cookies to church on Sunday.”

“Sure.” Abbie dutifully lifted the bell-shaped hearing device to her ear. But it wasn't Janet.

“Hello, darling. How are you?”

“Mom.” Abbie sank into the chair next to the phone, happy to hear her mother's voice. “How are you? And Pops? He's okay, isn't he?” Lyle Grant had recently suffered a bout with the flu. She worried about them—though she needn't have. They weren't old— in fact her mother was a young fifty-five. Dad was sixty.

“Your father is fine. We both are.” Her mother hesitated. “He says hi. We're doing a special outdoor concert in Oceanside tonight.”

“Sounds like fun.” Abbie smiled just thinking about them out on the stage, singing familiar favorites that their band had made popular.

Her mother chuckled. “Should be a blast. Your dad's been practicing his sax all day.”

“I wish I could be there.”

“I wish you could be here too, sweetheart. It's been too long. Remember those road trips we used to take with you kids? You all would sing along with your father and me.”

“Of course I remember.” Tears gathered, and Abbie used the back of her wrist to wipe them away. “I do, Mom.” She glanced toward the kitchen where Leah kept looking over her shoulder and glaring at her. “I really don't have time to reminisce. Peaches are waiting to be canned.”

Her mother sighed. “You work too hard. How is Emma?”

“She's terrific and so excited about the baby.”

“I wish I could be there with you.”

“I do too.” Abbie swallowed around the lump in her throat. She wanted so much for her parents to come and stay, but there was no room at the house, and even if there had been, Leah had made it clear from the beginning that “those people” were not welcome in her home.

“Honey, the reason I called… Did you get a chance to talk to Nate about moving out here?”

Abbie's breath caught. “Yes, last night. He said it sounded… promising.”

Those hadn't been his exact words. Nate had told her she could look at property in Oregon and visit her parents if she wanted. She'd gotten the distinct impression that he didn't want her to go. He'd talked again about building them a house in Iowa over by the pond—something he'd been promising for four years. The time had never been right. Would it ever be? Funny how he only mentioned that when she talked about moving out West.

“That's wonderful,” her mother said. “So you're all coming then.”

“No.” Abbie cleared her throat. “Nate can't take the time off right now, but said Emma and I could go without him. I have train reservations for September sixth.”

“Oh, I was hoping you could come sooner,” her mother said.

“I can't leave now. I need to help Leah with the canning. The sixth is only a couple of weeks away.”

“That's getting close to your due date. Will you be okay to travel?”

“I think so. If not, I'll have to come later.” She wasn't due until mid-October, so she'd have plenty of time.

“I can't wait.” Her mother hesitated. “Tell Emma her Nana Carlene and Papa Lyle love her. And give her a big hug and kiss from us. Skye says hello too. Are you showing her our pictures so she knows us?”

“Of course.”

“I'll line up some places for us to look at when you come. It'll save you some time.”

“Sounds good, Mom, but I really have to go.” Abbie pushed herself out of the chair. A knot formed in the pit of her stomach when she said good-bye. She hung up and took several deep breaths before going back into the kitchen, vacillating between excitement and trepidation.
What if I find a home for us and Nate refuses to move?

She didn't know how much longer she could stay on the farm and maintain her sanity. Every day seemed more of a struggle. Part of that was the pregnancy, but not all. She missed her family and her art, and the mountains and greenery of the Pacific Northwest.

Your place is with your husband
, Abbie reminded herself.

According to Leah, the farm was the perfect place to raise children.
Am I being selfish? Is this where God wants me? If so, then why has He created such a strong desire in me to go home?

Abbie ran a hand through her blond hair and reluctantly joined Leah in the kitchen. “My mother,” she explained.

“I know.” Leah cast a sidelong glance at Abbie, disapproval narrowing her eyes. “I heard you say you've made train reservations. You're planning another trip out there?”

“They want me to look at some property near the coast.”

“Property.” Leah spit out the word as if it were an obscenity. “What on earth for? You're not planning on leaving us, are you?”

“Nate and I have talked about moving out West for a while now.”

She smiled then. “You can forget that. Mark my words, Abbie, Nate has no intention of moving out West or anywhere else. He's a farm boy and always will be. You should know that by now.”

He could farm in Oregon if he wanted to
. Abbie didn't bother arguing.

Nate had said they'd move one day soon. But would they? Was Leah right? Abbie washed her hands then packed the sliced peaches into one of the dozen or so clean quart jars that still waited on the counter.

They worked in strained silence for several minutes before Abbie spotted their neighbor's pickup truck racing along the gravel road heading into town. “Mr. Olson sure seems in a hurry. Wonder what's going on.” She dropped peaches into another jar.

Leah's round face crinkled in concern. She wiped her hands on her soiled apron. “Sure hope neither of them is sick. Jim and Mary Beth aren't getting any younger. He needs more help than what those kids of theirs give them, that's for sure.”