Loe raamatut: «The Mystery Man Of Whitehorse»
Bridger hadn’t got what he’d come here to find. Not yet, anyway.
And now he’d made the acquaintance of Laci Cavanaugh. She was a cute thing, fair-skinned, slender, blue-eyed with short, curly blonde hair. She didn’t make him feel like such an outsider.
He’d come to town months ago, rented an old farmhouse just outside of Old Town Whitehorse and began his search, but he wasn’t any closer to learning his true identity.
Unfortunately, his quest had come at a high price. The woman he believed to be the ringleader of the illegal adoptions, Pearl Cavanaugh, had suffered a stroke.
Bridger tried not to get his hopes up, telling himself that if he didn’t find any adoption records, there was always Pearl’s granddaughter Laci. As it turned out, she was free for Christmas.
One way or the other, maybe he’d finally get lucky.
Available in September 2009 from Mills & Boon® Intrigue
The Sheriff’s Amnesiac Bride by Linda Conrad & Soldier’s Secret Child by Caridad Piñeiro
Her Best Friend’s Husband by Justine Davis & The Beast Within by Lisa Renee Jones
Questioning the Heiress by Delores Fossen & Daredevil’s Run by Kathleen Creighton
The Mystery Man of Whitehorse by BJ Daniels
Unbound by Lori Devoti
Private S.W.A.T Takeover by Julie Miller
BJ Daniels’s life dream was to write books. After a career as an award-winning newspaper journalist, she sold thirty-seven short stories before she finally wrote her first book. That book, Odd Man Out, received a 4½ star review from Romantic Times BOOKreviews. Since then she has won numerous awards, including a career achievement award for romantic suspense.
BJ lives in Montana with her husband, Parker, two springer spaniels, Spot and Jem, and an ageing, temperamental tomcat named Jeff. When she isn’t writing, she snowboards, camps, boats and plays tennis.
To contact BJ, write to her at PO Box 1173, Malta, MT 59538, USA, e-mail her at bjdanielsmystery@hotmail. com or check out her website at www.bjdaniels.com.
THE MYSTERY MAN OF WHITEHORSE
By
BJ DANIELS
MILLS & BOON®
MILLS & BOON
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This one is for good friend Al Knauber. Hope you’re loving Alaska. We’re missing you down here.
Chapter One
Laci Cavanaugh blamed the champagne. Normally she didn’t drink anything stronger than coffee, so of course the champagne had gone right to her head.
Her best friend’s wedding called for champagne, though. Laci and Alyson Banning had been friends since birth. Like Laci, Alyson had ended up being raised by her grandparents south of Whitehorse, Montana, just down the county road from each other. And while both had left for college and careers, both were now back.
Unfortunately, Alyson’s return had been bitter-sweet. Just weeks before her wedding, her grandfather had died. With the invitations already sent, she had stuck to her plans, knowing that’s what her grandfather would have wanted. The wedding reception now had the community center jam-packed, the large room shimmering with candles and silver streamers, the air alive with laughter and happy voices.
Laci had never seen her friend so blissful, and the best news of all was that Alyson and Spencer might be staying around Whitehorse after their honeymoon. All Alyson had to do was convince Spencer, and Laci didn’t think that was going to be a problem given that the man clearly idolized his new bride. Laci loved the prospect of having her best friend here. She was already fantasizing about their children growing up together.
Assuming, of course, that Laci’s Prince Charming came riding up soon and swept her off her feet, as Alyson’s had. It had all sounded so romantic—and, of course, being best friends, Alyson had told Laci everything. Love at first sight, Alyson had said. Not two weeks into the relationship she’d brought him home to meet her grandfather.
Laci had been in Billings with her cousin Maddie, so she hadn’t gotten to meet Spencer that time. She’d only really got to spend any time around him at the rehearsal dinner. But she’d seen at once why Alyson had fallen for the man. He was charming and incredibly handsome, not to mention attentive and clearly crazy about Alyson.
Laci had felt a twinge of envy. Unfortunately, men like Spencer didn’t come along every day. At least they hadn’t for her.
As she took a sip of her champagne and watched the bride and groom dance, she was overwhelmed with happiness for her friend. The two looked so perfect together: Alyson beautiful with her long, flowing auburn hair and slender body, Spencer tall, dark and handsome as any movie star. The perfect couple.
As the dance ended, Alyson turned to say something to one of the guests. Laci found herself looking at Spencer, thinking how adorable the couple’s children would be.
Spencer was smiling, his eyes on his bride as he watched her converse with the guest.
And that’s when it happened.
His expression changed so quickly that Laci told herself she’d only imagined the look he gave his bride. It lasted all of a split second. Just a flicker of something dark and disturbing.
Just long enough for Laci’s blood to turn to ice. Her champagne glass slipped from her fingers, shattering as loudly as a gunshot as it hit the floor. Laci didn’t hear it. Nor did she see anything but the groom. It was as if only she and Spencer were in the room.
He turned his head. Maybe at the sound of the glass breaking. Or maybe he’d felt her gaze on him. His eyes locked with hers. Time stopped.
He blinked, then smiled as if he thought he could hide the fact that he was visibly shaken and upset. He knew she’d seen him. Laci gasped, not realizing until then that she’d been holding her breath. Music and laughter filled the space again. One of the caterer’s crew rushed to clean up her broken glass and the spilled champagne.
She stumbled back, feeling weak and sick to her stomach as she watched her best friend turn back to Spencer and whisper something in his ear. They both laughed, then Spencer swept Alyson into his arms and whirled her across the dance floor.
“They make a beautiful couple, don’t they?” said a tall brunette woman Laci didn’t know but whose too-sweet perfume was making her sicker.
Laci could only nod, her heart beating so hard it hurt. She fought her way through the crowd to the back door, feeling suddenly faint as she told herself that she hadn’t seen anything.
It was just the champagne. That and her overactive imagination. Or maybe she’d misread his look. She couldn’t even be sure he’d been looking at Alyson.
Her mind raced. All she knew for sure was that the look she’d seen had been hateful and dangerous. And now her best friend was married to the man. Not just married to him, head over heels in love with him.
It made no sense. Why would Spencer marry Alyson if he didn’t love her? Unless her friend was pregnant and he’d felt forced into the marriage?
But Alyson would have confided in Laci if that had been the case. Aly told her everything, didn’t she?
Outside, Laci took deep, gasping breaths, tears burning her eyes as she rushed around the side of the building to the darkness and leaned her palms against the wall of the community center and retched.
“Weddings have the same effect on me,” said a deep male voice behind her.
She started, fearful that Spencer had followed her. But the voice had come from the playground of the one-room schoolhouse next door.
A man in a tuxedo rose from where he’d been sitting on the merry-go-round and walked toward her. He handed her the napkin that had been wrapped around the stem of his champagne glass. The paper cloth was cold and damp. Just what she needed.
She wiped her face, the chilly night air slowly bringing her back to her senses. “Must have been something I ate.”
“Sure,” he said. “Couldn’t have been anything you drank.” His sarcasm was at odds with the deep timbre of his voice. He was tall and solid-looking and vaguely familiar.
She took a step back and bumped into the wall.
“You really should sit down,” he said.
“I need to get back inside.” It was the last thing she wanted to do. Just the thought of seeing Spencer with Alyson made her feel sick again.
“Here,” the man said, taking her arm. “Just sit down for a minute.” He drew her over to the merry-go-round, his grip strong and sure.
“I’m fine,” she protested, but she grabbed the railing and sat as her legs gave way under her.
“Yeah, you’re great,” he said. “If you were any better, you’d be flat on the ground.”
She put her head between her knees, afraid he was right. She’d never fainted in her life, but tonight could be a first.
She told herself she’d sit for just a minute, then she had to go warn Alyson. Even as she thought it, Laci questioned the sanity of that idea. She’d spent the last twenty-nine years going off half-cocked. Never one to look before she leaped, she’d suffered the consequences of her actions, especially when it came to relationships.
Was she seriously thinking of telling Alyson about the “look” she’d seen? Aly would never believe her, especially based on some brief, questionable glance. Laci would only come off as jealous or spiteful or both.
“You all right?” he asked as he took a seat next to her.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw him finish off his champagne and set the glass down on the ground. She mumbled, “Uh-huh.”
He didn’t say anything after that, just leaned back against the railing and stretched out his long legs. He wore cowboy boots with his tux. Something about that made her feel a little safer in his company.
Laci concentrated on breathing and convincing herself she was losing her mind. A better alternative than thinking that her best friend had just married not only the wrong man, but also a man who was…what? Dangerous?
After a few minutes, she sat up, feeling a little better, and glanced over at the man beside her. He was staring up at the stars, both hands behind his head, his profile serene.
“Better?” he asked, not looking at her.
“Yes. Thank you.” As she heard the front door of the community center open and the crowd rush out, she pushed to her feet, still feeling a bit wobbly.
“Looks like the bride and groom are about to make their departure,” her merry-go-round companion said without moving.
Laci hurried toward the excited guests. She could hear the sound of a motor. Exhaust rose into the darkness as a car was pulled around to the front of the center. Within moments Alyson and Spencer would drive away.
As Laci pushed her way through the crowd, she spotted the bride and groom. Spencer had his arm around Alyson and seemed to be searching the crowd for someone.
When he spotted Laci, he said, “There she is.”
“Laci!” Alyson rushed to her and threw her arms around her. “I told Spencer I couldn’t possibly leave without saying goodbye to you,” she said, sounding both breathless and blissful.
“Aly,” Laci said, hugging her friend tightly. “I don’t want you to go.”
Alyson laughed. “I’ll be back in a week.”
“No, listen—”
“Come on, sweetheart,” Spencer said beside them. Laci felt his hand on her arm. “Let me give Laci a hug, and then we really have to get moving if we hope to make our connections tonight.”
“No,” Laci said, fighting the feeling that this might be the last time she saw her friend. “Aly, listen, I have to tell you—”
Spencer pulled her into a breath-stealing hug that stifled the rest of her words. Her skin crawled as he bent his head, his lips brushing her ear, and whispered, “Goodbye, Laci.”
“No,” she cried as she pulled back from him and tried to see her friend. “Aly!”
But Spencer had already turned and swept Alyson up as he rushed to the waiting car, the guests surging around the pair, cutting Laci off.
Laci could only watch through tears as her friend waved from the back window, the car speeding off down the road, the lights dying away in the darkness of the November night.
Chapter Two
Laci Cavanaugh woke the next morning dizzy, headachy and sick to her stomach.
“How much did you drink last night?” she asked her image in the bathroom mirror and groaned. It was so unlike her to overindulge. She didn’t even sample the wine when she was cooking, although most chefs did.
After the bride and groom had taken off, the bridesmaids had insisted Laci go into town with them to one of the bars. She’d been in a daze. She vaguely remembered the bartender having to ask them to leave at closing time. No wonder she felt so horrible.
But as she stared into the mirror she knew it wasn’t just the drinks that had made her sick this morning. It was that niggling worry that she had tried to kill last night with alcohol. Alyson. Her best friend was in trouble.
Or was she?
This morning, in the light of day, Laci had to question everything that had happened last night at the reception. What had she really seen? A split second of something dark and disturbing on Spencer Donovan’s face. She couldn’t even be sure it had been directed at Alyson.
True, Laci had thought a second later that when he’d looked at her he’d been upset—as if he’d realized she’d seen him. She remembered how rattled she’d felt, how convinced he meant Alyson harm.
This morning, though, she admitted it was probably the champagne. Or her imagination—which, as her older sister Laney often pointed out, was more often than not out of control.
Even the way Spencer had said goodbye to Laci could have been innocent enough. Only she could read something into “Goodbye, Laci.” Just as she could have imagined that he’d rushed Alyson off in such a hurry because he was afraid of what Laci would say.
She sighed. As if there had been anything she could have said to Alyson to keep her from going. She cringed at the thought of what she might have said. I saw your new husband look at you funny. Like he hated you. I think he wants you dead. Great thing to tell someone right before they take off on their honeymoon.
Wandering into the kitchen, she poured herself a large glass of orange juice. To make matters worse, she recalled her behaviour in front of the man in the school playground. He’d looked so familiar, but she couldn’t place him now any more than she could last night. Not that it mattered.
Taking a sip of orange juice, she eyed the phone. Even if she could have called Alyson—who would now be on a flight to Hawaii for her honeymoon—she wouldn’t have, she assured herself.
Besides, what would she say to her friend? By all appearances, Spencer seemed to be the perfect husband. Attentive, handsome, obviously educated, successful and well-off financially. Plus, Alyson adored him.
“You’re wrong about him,” Laci said with false conviction as she picked up the phone and dialed her sister’s cell. Laney was the sensible one. That’s why Laci always used her as a sounding board. And right now she needed sensible—even if her sister was on her own honeymoon.
BRIDGER DUVALL STOOD in the middle of the musty building in downtown Whitehorse, telling himself he should have gone with his first instinct and left town.
“What do you think?” the young Realtor asked. She was a cute blonde with a husband and at least one young son and was so green that he suspected this could be her first sale.
What did he think? He thought he should have his head examined. He looked around the building. The structure had been sitting empty for a couple of years at least. Which should have told him that opening any business in this town was more than a little risky, but a restaurant was crazy.
The building needed to be completely remodeled. Fortunately, he could do a lot of the work himself.
As he stood there, he could imagine the brick walls with art on them, cloth-covered tables along both sides with candles glowing, low music playing in the background and some alluring scents coming out of the kitchen at the back.
If he closed his eyes, he could almost smell his marinara sauce and hear the clatter of dishes, the murmur of voices and, of course, the comforting ding of the cash register.
“It would need a lot of work,” the Realtor said.
An understatement. “It would need a whole lot of work.” But even as he said it he knew he was going to take the place. There was plenty of light, the building was more than adequate for what he wanted to do and the price was right. With luck, he could be open before Christmas.
It wouldn’t be the restaurant of his dreams. Not in this isolated part of the state. But since he couldn’t leave here, he might as well do something while he was waiting.
“Let’s write up an offer,” he said and saw the Realtor’s surprise.
“Really?”
He laughed. “You talked me out of every other place in town.”
“Maybe I should try to talk you out of this one.”
“Don’t waste your breath.” He looked around him, seeing again the dust and dirt and peeling paint. Still…“There is something about this place.”
She followed his gaze, clearly not seeing it. “Well, if you’re sure this is the building you want…”
He smiled at her. “It is.” Wait until the residents of Old Town Whitehorse heard he was opening a restaurant. It would be a clear message to them: he was staying until he got what he wanted. Or until he went broke, he thought with a wry smile.
“DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA what time it is out here?” Laney Cavanaugh Giovanni asked, sounding half-asleep as she answered the phone.
Laci hadn’t thought about the time difference between Whitehorse, Montana, and Honolulu. “Sorry. I needed someone to talk to.”
“You should get a pet. Or just talk to yourself.”
“I am talking to myself. I just don’t like the answers I’m getting.” Laci could hear her sister get up, then the sound of glass doors opening and closing as Laney took the phone outside. She could imagine the view of the ocean, the smell of salty sea air, the lull of the surf below the balcony and the cries of the gulls. Every woman she knew was on her honeymoon.
“How was Alyson’s wedding?” Laney asked after a big yawn. But she sounded more awake. And it wasn’t as though Laci would have let her go back to sleep—and she would know that.
“It was…nice.”
“Nice?” Laney asked. “Okay, what happened? You didn’t do anything you shouldn’t have, did you?”
Now that she had her sister on the phone, Laci wasn’t sure she wanted to tell her. It sounded too nuts, even for her. “Of course not. Look, it’s nothing. Really. Sorry I woke you up. I should let you go.”
“Oh, no, you don’t. What is it?” her sister demanded.
Laci groaned. “You’re going to think I’ve lost my mind.”
“I already think you’re nuttier than peanut brittle,” Laney said, repeating something their grandmother Pearl always used to say before a stroke had left her incapacitated in a nursing home.
“Okay, something did happen. At least I think it did. It was probably just my imagination. I’m sure it was.”
“Laci!”
“It’s Alyson’s husband, Spencer.”
“Do not tell me he made a pass at you at the reception.”
“No,” Laci said. It was much worse than that. “I caught him looking at Alyson strangely.”
“How strangely?” Laney asked, sounding as if she was taking this seriously.
Laci realized she’d hoped that her sister would tell her what a fool she was and relieve her mind. “He looked as if he couldn’t stand the sight of her. As if he hated her. As if he wanted to harm her.” The words were out and she wished she could call them back. She felt as if she was being disloyal to her best friend. “I know it sounds round the bend—”
“How was he acting right before that?”
“That’s just it. He was laughing and smiling and dancing with her as if he couldn’t believe how lucky he was to have married her. I’m sure I must be mistaken.”
She groaned, remembering the look Spencer had given her when he’d felt her watching him. He’d been upset, hadn’t he?
“That is really odd,” Laney said. “You’re sure he was looking at Alyson?”
“No. But since he doesn’t know anyone else in town, who else could he have been looking at? Like I said, it was just for an instant. I’m probably wrong.”
She waited for her sister to agree, but instead Laney asked, “Have you seen Alyson since?”
“No. Right after that they left on their honeymoon.” She recalled the way Spencer had hustled Aly off. “Just tell me that I’m silly to be worried about her.”
Her sister seemed to hesitate. “You’re silly to worry about her.”
The words lacked conviction but Laci felt better. “Speaking of honeymoons…”
“Yes, I probably should get back to mine,” Laney said, a smile in her voice.
“You know that I will always suspect that you eloped so you wouldn’t have to ask me to cater your reception,” Laci said.
Laney laughed. “I eloped because I’ve decided to become more impulsive, like you.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Laci said in all seriousness. “One of us has to be the stable one. I like it when it’s you.”
“Eloping was the first impulsive thing I’ve ever done. You’re the one who always told me to go with my feelings instead of being so analytical.”
“I don’t know why you would take advice from me.”
“Maybe we’ll have a reception when we get back,” Laney said. “And you can cater it.”
“Okay,” Laci said but without her usual enthusiasm. Her mind was back on Alyson.
“We can talk more when I get home. It won’t be that long, which is why I’m resuming my honeymoon now,” Laney said, and Laci could tell by her sister’s tone that Nick had joined her on the balcony. Nick was gorgeous and crazy in love with her big sister. “'Bye, sis.”
“Oh, Laney, I forgot to tell you. Alyson and Spencer are spending their honeymoon in Hawaii, too. Maybe you’ll run into them.” But Laci realized her sister had already hung up.
AFTER WRITING UP AN offer for the building, Bridger Duvall spent the rest of the day digging through old newspaper archives, looking for any mention of Dr. Holloway, the Whitehorse Sewing Circle or Pearl Cavanaugh.
As he searched, he thought of Pearl’s grand-daughter Laci and their chance meeting at the wedding. Fate? Not likely given the size of Whitehorse, Montana. Laci lived five miles south of town in what was locally known as Old Town. The now near ghost town had once been Whitehorse. That was, until the railroad came through in the 1800s and the town moved north to the rails, taking the name with it.
He recalled the first time he’d seen Old Town. If a tumbleweed hadn’t rolled across the dirt street in front of his car, he wouldn’t have slowed and would have missed the place entirely.
Little was left of the small ranching community. At one time there’d been a gas station, but that building was sitting empty, the pumps long gone. There was a community center, which was still called Whitehorse Community Center. Every small community in this part of Montana had one of those. And there was the one-room schoolhouse next to it.
There were a few houses, one large one that was boarded up, a Condemned sign nailed to the door, an old shutter banging in the wind.
For years the community had been run by Titus and Pearl Cavanaugh, both descendents of early homesteaders and just as strong and determined as the first settlers.
Titus was as close to a mayor as Old Town had. He provided a church service every Sunday morning at the community center and saw to the hiring of a schoolteacher when needed.
Pearl’s mother Abigail had started the Whitehorse Sewing Circle. The women of the community got together a few times a week to make quilts for every new baby and every newlywed in the area.
The old cemetery on the hill had also kept the Whitehorse name. The iron on the sign that hung over the arched entrance was rusted but readable: Whitehorse Cemetery.
Bridger had learned a lot about the area just stopping at a café in Whitehorse proper, five miles to the north and the last real town for miles. All he’d had to do was ask about Old Town Whitehorse and he got an earful. The people were clannish and stuck to themselves. The old-timers still resented the town moving and taking the name. And, like Whitehorse proper, both communities were dying.
A lack of jobs was sending the younger residents to more prosperous parts of the state or the country. The population in the entire county was dropping each year. People joked about who would be around to turn the lights out when Whitehorse completely died.
While Bridger had learned a lot, he hadn’t gotten what he’d come here to find. Not yet, anyway.
And now he’d made the acquaintance of Pearl’s granddaughter, Laci. She was a cute thing, fair skinned, slender, with short curly blond hair and blue eyes.
Life was strange, he thought as he continued to search the old newspapers. In a way, his life had started here. And now here he was, thirty-two years old and back here in hopes of finding himself.
The one thing he’d learned quickly was that being an outsider was a disadvantage in a small Montana town. Not that he’d expected to be accepted immediately just because he lived here and was now opening a restaurant.
But he’d found it was going to take time. Fortunately, time was the one thing he had plenty of.
His eye caught on a notice in one of the old news-papers he’d been thumbing through. A city permit for a fence at a house owned by the late Dr. Holloway.
Bridger felt a rush of excitement. For months he’d been trying to track down his birth mother after finding out that he was adopted.
Not just adopted—illegally adopted. The story his adoptive mother told him on her deathbed involved a group of women called the Whitehorse Sewing Circle.
Thirty-two years ago, his parents, both too old to adopt through the usual channels, had gotten a call in the middle of the night telling them to come to the Whitehorse Cemetery.
There an elderly woman gave them a baby and a birth certificate. No money exchanged hands. Nor names. Bridger had surmised over his time here that the woman in the cemetery that night was none other than Pearl Cavanaugh.
How a group of women had decided to get into the illegal adoption business was still beyond him. Nor did he know how many babies had been placed over the years.
He’d come to town months ago, rented an old farm-house just outside of Old Town and begun his search.
Unfortunately, his quest had come at a high price. Most of the people involved were now dead. The doctor who Bridger believed had handled the adoptions—Dr. Holloway—had been murdered by one of his coconspirators, his office building burned to the ground, all records apparently lost.
The woman he believed to be the ringleader, Pearl Cavanaugh, had suffered a stroke. Another key player, an elderly women named Nina Mae Cross, had Alzheimer’s. Both women were in the nursing home now. Neither was able to tell him anything.
But Bridger was convinced Holloway was too smart to keep records of his illegal adoption activities with his patients' medical records at the office. So he held out hope that the records would be found elsewhere.
But where would the doctor have hidden them to make sure they never surfaced? Maybe in this house Bridger had discovered.
Or maybe no records had been kept. Certainly no charges had been filed against anyone involved, for lack of evidence.
But even if Bridger found proof, not one of the women in the original Whitehorse Sewing Circle was less than seventy now. None would ever see prison. The only thing he could hope for was learning his true identity.
“Even if you had proof that would stand up in court,” the sheriff had said, “you sure you want these women thrown in jail? If they hadn’t gotten you and your twin sister good homes, neither of you might be alive today.”
Bridger knew he probably owed his life to the Whitehorse Sewing Circle. The women had taken babies who needed homes and placed them with loving couples who either couldn’t conceive or were ineligible to adopt because of their age.
Also, something good had come out of his quest: he’d found his twin sister, Eve Bailey. Eve had grown up in Old Town and suspected from an early age that she was adopted. She’d come back here also looking for answers and, like him, had ended up staying.
As he copied down the address of the house that Dr. Holloway had owned, he felt a surge of hope. The doctor had lived in an apartment over his office. So what had he used the house for?
Bridger tried not to get his hopes up, telling himself that if he didn’t find anything at the house, there was always Pearl Cavanaugh’s granddaughter.
One way or the other, maybe he’d finally get lucky.
LACI JUMPED WHEN THE phone rang and picked it up before even checking caller ID. She’d been thinking about Alyson, so she’d just assumed it would be her.
“Laci?”
“Maddie?” She realized she hadn’t heard from her cousin in weeks, not since Maddie Cavanaugh had moved to Bozeman to attend Montana State University. “How are you?”
“Great. Really great,” Maddie said, sounding like her old self again.
Laci couldn’t have been more relieved. Maddie had been through so much, not the least being suspected of murder. But probably the hardest was her breakup with her fiancé, Bo Evans.
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