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Alan flashed his thousand-watt smile. Though no longer a leading man, he still had an on-camera charisma that attracted the female viewers. “I just thought we’d better discuss the next couple of shows. Unless Kaylie gets back soon, we’ve got to rethink the format. Starting with Monday.”
Jim scowled. “Reformat? How?”
“Well, I assume I’ll have to do all the interviews as well as the news.” Alan leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, looking earnest as he proceeded to explain to Jim that he could host the hour format of West Coast Morning all by himself.
* * *
For Kaylie, the next few days were torture. Torn between her life in San Francisco and the excitement of this adventure with Zane, she alternately formed plans of escape and talked herself out of them.
She felt as if she were on an emotional battlefield. One minute they were at each other’s throats, the next, waving the white flag.
Zane’s office hadn’t come up with any new information on Lee Johnston. “Ted” hadn’t called again. Dr. Henshaw was still out of town, though Brad Hastings promised to visit him at Whispering Hills the minute he returned. He also had an appointment scheduled with the administrator of the hospital.
Zane’s nerves were strung tight. He admitted that he felt useless up here, that he should be in San Francisco checking things out for himself, but at the mention of returning to civilization, he blew up. Kaylie was safe here—at least temporarily.
It almost seemed as if they were married again, except of course, they didn’t go to bed together. And, as in their marriage, Zane was dominating the relationship.
Half the time Kaylie was furious with him, and yet she could feel her emotions swaying and she was softening bit by bit. Often in the past seventy-two hours she’d caught him watching her when he’d thought she wasn’t looking, and she had noticed how he’d avoided even the briefest physical contact. That was the hard part—being so close to him and yet not touching.
During the days, they took horseback rides, mended the fence, worked on the house, took care of the stock, and Kaylie found herself fantasizing about Zane—remembering the good part of their marriage, the love that had been so special. In the evenings they talked, watched television, played cribbage or petted the dog. Franklin still wasn’t crazy about her, but he accepted her and even thumped his tail on the floor when she walked into a room. And that was progress.
To her surprise, she discovered Zane had changed, just as he’d said he had—he’d mellowed with the past seven years, and she couldn’t help wondering what life would be like now, were she married to him.
But that was an entirely irrational thought.
Now, as he knelt at the fireplace and laid firewood in the grate, she watched the pull of his jeans at his hips, the slice of skin that was exposed as his sweater inched upward. He glanced over his shoulder and motioned to the empty wood basket. “You could help, you know.”
“Could I?” She laughed. Seated on the couch and swirling a glass of wine, she added, “And here I thought you were going to treat me to a life of leisure—you know, pamper me to death.”
“No way.” He dusted his hands. “I thought you were a fiercely independent woman who wouldn’t let any man treat you as less than an equal.”
“Well, I am, but—”
“Then get some wood,” he suggested, nudging the empty basket toward her with the toe of his boot.
“Slave driver,” she whispered, taking a last swallow of wine. “You’ll pay for this, Flannery.” Smiling good-naturedly, she grabbed the basket and marched out the front door.
“I don’t doubt it,” he called after her.
Outside, a cool breeze swept over the mountainside and a thin stream of moonlight guided her. A few stars winked jewel-like in the black sky and an owl hooted from a nearby stand of pine. The wind picked up, and the air was heav
y with the promise of rain.
Kaylie walked past the Jeep and noticed that the interior light was on.
Her heart skipped a beat.
She reached for the door, and it opened.
She hesitated for a second. This was her chance, but did she really want to leave? She chewed on the inside of her lip and glanced at the house. Of course she had to leave—she had no choice! As long as Zane tried to control her, she had no will of her own. And she was falling for him again. That was dangerous.
Swallowing hard, she dropped the basket and slid into the interior, realizing that she didn’t have his keys. Crossing her fingers, she silently prayed that he’d left the keys in the ignition. No such luck. Even though Zane had made several trips carrying grain from the storage shed to the barn in the Jeep, he hadn’t forgotten his keys. Nor the phone. It, too, was missing.
“Damn!” she muttered, sneaking a glance at the house. Light spilled from the windows but she couldn’t see Zane. It didn’t matter. He was busy with the fire. He wouldn’t miss her for a good five minutes. But how in the world did one go about hot-wiring a car?
“Think, Kaylie,” she said, deciding that she had to look behind the ignition and try to find two wires that when touched, would create an electrical charge. Or at least that’s what she guessed. It seemed logical. And she didn’t have time for any other speculation. It was now or never. Do or die.
She lay on the driver’s seat, her head under the dash, eyeing the wires that ran every which way. Biting her lip, she tugged gently on a tangled group that seemed to feed into the ignition switch. There was a red wire and a black one—if she pulled them out of the dash, unwrapped the plastic coating, then touched the wires…?
