The place was cram-packed with people of various ages, sexes and races. Water from the melting snow that had stuck to customers' feet dotted the black-and-white tile floor. Reece glanced out the windows, the heavy falling snow so thick he couldn't even see Ted's car in the parking lot.
The front door swung open. Reece's heart stopped. A local deputy walked into Dorajean's. Damn! He warned himself to stay calm, but his gut instincts told him to run. Hell, he was wearing county-issued coveralls, another deputy's winter coat and carrying a gun registered to the sheriff's department. What should he do? Did he dare risk staying long enough to eat? Surely the deputy wouldn't spot one man in the middle of so many people.
The deputy walked over and sat on the empty stool next to Ted Packard. Reece clutched his hands into fists at his sides to keep them from trembling. He wasn't going to get caught. He couldn't bear the thought of going to prison. He had to stay free long enough to find out who had killed B.K.
"Here you go, sugar. Dorajean's special for today." The redhead set the plate of piping-hot food in front of Reece.
"Thanks." He was hungry. He hadn't been able to eat more than a few bites of his breakfast this morning.
"You look like you've been in a fight, good-looking," the waitress said. "You got bruises all over your face and some dried blood on your forehead."
"Wrecked his car a ways back," Ted said. "I gave him a lift into Dover's Mill."
Why didn't they just shut up? Reece wondered. The more they discussed him, the more likely the deputy would take notice.
Reece shoved a spoonful of meat loaf into his mouth, following it with huge bites of potatoes and peas. Then he felt someone watching him. Not turning his head, but glancing past Ted, he saw the deputy glaring at him.
Reece stood. He had to get away. "Where's your rest room?"
"Round the corner, to the right," the waitress told him.
"Thanks."
Reece scanned the restaurant, looking for another entrance. There wasn't one. He headed in the direction of the rest room, then made a quick turn and walked into the kitchen, hugging the wall, hoping the cook wouldn't notice him. Easing slowly toward the back door, he breathed a sigh of relief when he stepped outside. The thick veil of snow created limited visibility, so Reece wasn't surprised when he stumbled over a low stack of wood and fell headlong into a row of metal garbage cans. Dammit, what a racket they made.
A sharp pain sliced through his side, and another zipped up his injured leg. Blood oozed down the bridge of his nose. He wiped it away. Every inch of his body ached, every bone, every muscle, every centimeter of flesh.
He headed into the wooded area behind the restaurant, not daring to go back into the parking lot. Sooner or later, when he didn't come back to the counter, Ted and the waitress would wonder what had happened to him. It couldn't be helped. He had to find someplace to stay until he'd mended enough to travel home to Newell.
When Reece tried to run, the pain hit him full force. He walked as fast as the snow-laden ground would allow, then as the cold seeped into his body and he became one with the pain, he increased his speed, finally breaking into a run.
Incoherent thoughts raced through his mind. Panic seized him, forcing him onward when common sense would have cautioned him to stop. Bleeding, out of breath and disoriented, Reece felt himself falling, falling, falling. When his body hit the ground, cushioned by a good seven inches of snow, he wanted nothing more than to lie there and go to sleep. Can't do that! Got to get up. Keep moving.
Come to me. I'm waiting. I can help you.
Reece heard the voice as clearly as if someone was standing beside him, speaking. Dear God, I'm losing my mind, he thought. I'm hearing voices.
With an endurance born of a lifetime of struggle and determination, Reece rose to his knees and then to his feet. He walked. He ran slowly. He fell. He picked himself up and walked again. He sloshed through a partially frozen stream, the water rushing around chunks of ice. His foot caught on a limb and he fell, his hip breaking through the ice. Cold water seeped into his coveralls. Righting himself, he stood and tramped down and out of the stream.
Minutes ran together, warping his sense of time, until Reece had no idea how long he had trudged through the woods. The sky had turned from gray to black. Not a star glimmered in the heavens. Swollen snow clouds blocked the moon, allowing only the faintest light to filter through the darkness. Reece couldn't see a damned thing, not even his own hand in front of his face. And he was so numbed from the cold and the constant pain that he barely felt the chilling wind or the freezing dampness.
It had to be night. That meant it had been hours since he'd left the restaurant back in Dover's Mill. Why hadn't he found shelter? Surely someone had a cabin or a shack out in these woods.
Reece felt his legs give way. He stumbled to his knees. Knowing that if he lay down in the snow he would never get up, Reece struggled to stay awake, to keep moving. He began crawling. One slow, painful inch at a time.
Beckoned by an unseen force, by a comforting voice inside his head, Reece refused to surrender to the pain and hopelessness. Then suddenly a sense of excitement encompassed him. That's when he saw it-an enormous wood-and-rock cabin standing on a snow-covered hill. Lights shone in every window as if welcoming him home. Dear God in heaven, was he hallucinating? Was the cabin real?
With what little strength he had left he forced himself to his feet, then checked in his pocket for the automatic. He was going to find out if that cabin was real. If it was real, then someone lived there and that person wouldn't take kindly to an escaped convict spending the night.
Lifting his feet, forcing himself to trek up the hill, Reece felt weighted down with numbness. The cabin hadn't disappeared. Still there. A warm, inviting sight. Only a few yards away. Huge steps, wide and high, awaited him. Pausing briefly, he stared up at the front porch. He'd have to break in, maybe through a window. But first he'd try the door, test its sturdiness, check out the lock.
One step. Two. Three. Four. He swayed, almost losing his balance. Can't pass out. Not now. So close. He lifted his foot up off the last step and onto the porch. The front door was so close, but somehow it seemed a mile away. If he couldn't figure out a way to pick the lock on the door, did he have the strength to smash in a window? Whoever lived inside was bound to hear the noise. He ran his hand over the bulge the 9 mm made in the coat pocket. Would he use the gun? Could he? Whoever lived inside would be an innocent victim.
Reaching out, his hand trembling, he grabbed the door handle. With shocking ease the door opened. Reece couldn't believe his good fortune. The door hadn't been locked. Who in their right mind would leave a door unlocked?
He eased the door back an inch at a time, hesitant, wondering what he would face inside the cabin. When he had opened the door completely he stared into the softly lit interior, the warmth of the house enveloping his frozen body, creating razor-sharp pricks of pain as the protective numbness began to thaw.
The smell of chicken stew permeated the air. And coffee. And something rich and spicy. Cinnamon. Maybe an apple pie.
He heard a noise, a low animal groan, then a deep growl. That's when he saw the animal. Thick black fur. Eyes like amber glass ovals. Sharp white teeth-bared. Hackles raised. What the hell was it? It looked like a damn wolf.
"Easy, Mac." The voice was gentle, soothing and captivatingly feminine. "It's him."
Reece gazed into the eyes of the most incredibly beautiful woman he'd ever seen. She stood just inside the enormous great room of the cabin, the wolf at her side. Her hourglass figure was covered with a pair of faded jeans and a red turtleneck sweater, overlaid with a plaid jacket. Reece couldn't stop staring at her, gazing deeply into her pure blue eyes.