Free Stonebrook Cottage by Carla Neggers Page A

started to shake uncontrollably, his self-control crumbling. He stiffened visibly, but the shaking didn't ease. Tears rolled down his cheeks, shining in the light from the street.
    "Aunt Kara… please, you have to believe us. We're in danger."
    If they were in danger, there was no question she should call Sam, but she'd never get that far. The kids would bolt. They'd skipped out on the dude ranch and made it all the way to damn Austin on their own— they'd skip out on her, too.
    She still had to deal with the letter from Allyson. Did she believe Allyson had written it? Did it even matter at this point? It demonstrated what Henry and Lillian believed was at stake.
    And if they didn't release her from attorney-client privilege, there wasn't much she could tell Sam, anyway.
    "All right." Kara tried to sound decisive, although her plan was still sketchy, in its early stages—and crazy, every bit of it. "You're going to have to trust me and let me make some decisions. I'll get you to Stonebrook Cottage and your mother, okay? I'll do what she says in her letter."
    They nodded, Henry brushing at the tears on his thin cheeks. Lillian was solemn, very pale.
    Kara hugged them both, squeezing hard, smelling the rancidness of their fear. The hell with everything. She had to get them safely to Stonebrook Cottage and their mother and stay one step ahead of anyone who might be after them—no matter the reason, good, bad, real or imagined.
    She couldn't believe she was cutting out on Sam Temple, Texas Ranger.
    She smiled suddenly, and she noticed how reassured her godchildren looked now that she was taking charge—and they were getting their way. Well, what else could she do?
    "Let me throw a few things together," she told them. "Then we're out of here."

Five
    P ete Jericho regarded the stripped logs piled on the edge of the gravel pit with satisfaction. He'd always liked work he could see getting done. Finish one job, move on to the next. Hard, physical work suited him. He squinted up at the hazy August sky, the humidity on the rise, seeping in from the south. He had a lot of work to get done before the first killing frost. Maybe keeping himself busy would put in check his anger and frustration—his sense of loss since Allyson had stepped up to the governorship.
    Stupid to fall in love with her in the first place. He'd known it years ago, when he'd see her and Lawrence up at the Stockwell place, around town. She was a few years older than Pete, but that never mattered to him. After Lawrence died, Allyson was so overwhelmed and quiet, and Pete realized what he felt wasn't just an infatuation. He was truly in love with her.
    But Madeleine Stockwell had recognized it before Allyson did—maybe even before he did—and that was his undoing.
    He started back to his truck, knowing there was no point in trying to blame Madeleine for his current predicament. Even without the prison record, he suspected Allyson would want to keep their relationship secret. He was the blue-collar guy down the road. He lived on the family homestead and worked with his father chopping wood. The Jericho family had been working their land for seven generations. They used to dairy farm, but now they scraped together a living cutting wood, growing Christmas trees, leasing hay fields to the few dairy farmers left in the area, raising chickens and sheep. Bea Jericho, Pete's mother, handled the chickens and sheep. She was talking about getting some goats and making her own goat cheese, something Pete's father wasn't too keen on.
    But these days they earned the bulk of their money managing other people's property, the trophy country houses rich part-time residents built on ten-acre mini-estates carved out of land once owned by people like Charlie and Bea Jericho.
    Pete knew his parents didn't know about him and Allyson. Otherwise they'd have said something. Just as well, because it looked as if he'd been dumped; she didn't even plan to call and tell him. He was supposed