“Not everyone gets a second chance at love,” Bessie was saying. “You have one, and you’re still young. You still have a lot of life ahead you. I’d be real sure before I threw that away. Maybe you should take what’s being offered you and not look back.” Bessie rose to take her dirty dishes to the kitchen. “Maybe you should leave Jon to be the man he is now.”
* * *
WHEN COLLIN CHECKED and Kate still hadn’t returned to her motel room, he walked down the highway through Buckhorn. He kept trying to curb his anger. This woman was going to be the death of him, literally. He’d been patient, waiting until she was ready to put the past behind her and marry him. This trip was to be a beginning. And now this?
Outside the café, he’d looked in to see her sitting in a booth with Bessie. He’d turned away quickly before either of them saw him. He couldn’t help feeling relieved. At least Kate wasn’t with Jon Harper.
Just the thought of the man made his temper boil up again. Kate was still determined to stay here until who knew when. Something had to give, because he and Kate would be crossing the Canadian border tomorrow evening before the small border crossing closed. He wasn’t leaving her here. She was coming with him.
He realized there was only one way to convince Kate to go—but only if he could prove that Jon Harper wasn’t her husband. He swore as he crossed the highway and shoved open the door into the workshop.
Jon turned, putting down the mug of coffee he’d been drinking. He didn’t look happy to see him.
“So, what all do you make here?” Collin asked conversationally as he closed the distance between them. He picked up a board the man had been working on.
“Rockers mostly.”
“Huh. In different sizes?”
Jon nodded. “I make some toys.”
Collin could see that the carpenter wondered what the hell he was doing back here. “What’s this you’re making?” he asked as he drew Jon away from the workbench. “What do you get for something like this?”
“A couple hundred,” Jon said of the full-sized rocker.
“That much, huh? How long does it take you to make one, though?”
“A month at least.”
Collin swore in surprise. “Not much of an hourly wage.”
“It isn’t about that.”
“No?” he said. “What is it about?”
“I like making things with my hands.”
Collin nodded distractedly as the carpenter loaded more scrap wood into his stove. “I just wanted to let you know that Kate and I are leaving tomorrow. Together.”
“That’s good to hear,” Jon said, finishing what he was doing and closing the woodstove door. “I hope you have a nice trip.”
Sneering, Collin walked out.
* * *
IT WASN’T UNTIL the man left the workshop that Jon glanced toward the workshop bench. He’d wondered what Collin’s real reason was for stopping by. Now he knew.
His mug of coffee was gone. He could see a dark spot on the dirt floor where the coffee had been poured out when he’d turned his back. Probably when he’d put more wood in the stove. He could think of only one reason the man had taken his coffee mug—and it wasn’t for a souvenir.
He leaned against his workbench, sick with the knowledge.
Worse, he’d seen something in Kate’s fiancé that made his gut roil. He told himself that just because he didn’t like the man didn’t mean there was anything inherently wrong with him. But he couldn’t help wondering if Kate really knew who she had promised to marry.
Trying to stay calm, he considered what to do. He’d pushed her toward this man, believing it was the best thing for her. Now he wasn’t so sure. The man had taken his coffee cup. That meant he knew someone who could get prints or DNA off it. Once those prints went into the national database, the authorities would know exactly who he was—and worse, where he was.
He swore. This was a game changer. He hadn’t wanted it to come to this. But wasn’t something like this what he’d feared if he couldn’t convince the woman she wasn’t the man she was looking for? Now he was down to two options. One was to leave immediately and keep going. He would have to empty out his security box and ditch his old pickup right away. Trouble would be hot on his tail. He wasn’t sure he could run far or fast enough before they caught up to him and killed him.
Running meant leaving Kate Jackson to that wiseass who’d just been in his workshop. All his instincts told him that Collin wasn’t who he was pretending to be. But then neither was he, Jon reminded himself with a curse. Which meant his second option was even worse.
Once his prints hit that database and he hadn’t run, he was as good as dead. Worse, he would bring his trouble to Buckhorn. But he couldn’t just let Kate marry this man until he knew for sure that Collin Matthews was good enough for her.
Which meant he had to move fast.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
YESTERDAY, AFTER HIS visit to Jon Harper’s workshop, Collin had taken the mug he’d lifted from the workbench straight to the post office. The post office was almost a joke: a small wall of numbered metal boxes and a tiny window with a plate that read Postmistress Vi Mullen.
He’d peered in, seen no one. “Hello?” No answer. He’d heard rustling somewhere in the back behind the small bank of postal boxes. “Hello!” he’d called louder.
That’s when he’d noticed the bell. It was silver and round with a small dinger on top. He had shaken his head in frustration. He’d known that she’d heard him call out to her. She’d just been waiting, determined he was going to ring her damned bell.
He’d slammed his hand down on it. The bell had practically skittered off the narrow ledge of the counter through the tiny window. He was about to hit it again, when the bell had been whisked away by a small pale hand.
The face that had appeared on the other side of the opening made him jump. A pair of ball-bearing-dark eyes had glared at him from a wizened, ghost-white, hard-angled face. Her pursed lips had only accented her wrinkles.
“Yes?” she’d snapped. Vi Mullen had appeared to be in her late fifties going on seventy.
“I need to send a package.” He’d wrapped the cup in a page from a newspaper at the motel since that’s all he had. “I need a box for this.”
She’d considered what he held, then had shrugged and disappeared for a few moments before returning with a box. “Is it breakable?” Clearly it was. “You’ll need some of this.” She’d shoved a small roll of plastic Bubble Wrap through the hole. “I suppose you don’t have any tape.” Had he looked like he had tape? She’d shoved some of that through the opening along with a pen that had feathers taped to it. So no one pocketed it?