Cover image for The cabin
The cabin
Neggers, Carla.
Personal Author:
Publication Information:
Don Mills, Ont. : MIRA, [2002]

Physical Description:
379 pages ; 18 cm
Format :


Call Number
Material Type
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Item Holds
X Adult Mass Market Paperback Open Shelf
X Adult Mass Market Paperback Central Library

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After realizing that his wife Susanna does not plan to return from her trip to Boston, Texas Ranger Jack Galway sets out after her, not knowing that Alice Parker, a woman he sent to prison, is following him with plans of revenge.

Author Notes

Carla Neggers received a degree in journalism from Boston University. Before becoming a full-time fiction author, she worked as an arts and entertainment reporter. She has written over 60 romance novels including the Sharpe and Donovan series and the Swift River Valley series. She also writes under the names Anne Harrell and Amalia James.

(Bowker Author Biography)

Reviews 1

Publisher's Weekly Review

Although Texas real estate developer Beau McGarrity is suspected of shooting his wife, he isn't charged because policewoman Alice Parker has compromised the investigation by tampering with the evidence. Nevertheless, he stalks and threatens financial planner Susanna Galway, wife of the Texas Ranger who turned Alice in. Stuck in a marital stalemate, Susanna doesn't tell her headstrong husband, Jack, that Beau has visited her. She also neglects to mention that she has recently made a fortune in the stock market. Instead, she flees north to her feisty grandmother's, then heads with her grandmother and twin daughters for a secluded Adirondack cabin. When both Beau and Alice pursue her there, the women are pulled even deeper into a web of violence and intrigue. Inevitably, Jack and a fellow Ranger arrive on the scene to save the day. The plot is confusing at times, and Susanna's financial secrecy will make it difficult for readers to sympathize with her. Indeed, what kind of middle-class woman could make $10 million in this market, much less fail to mention it to hubby? Still, Neggers's (The Carriage House) characteristically brisk pacing and colorful characterizations sweep the reader toward a dramatic and ultimately satisfying denouement. (Jan.) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved



Chapter One Susanna Galway sipped her margarita and watched the countdown to midnight on the television above the bar at Jim's Place, the small, dark pub just down the street from where she lived with her grandmother and twin teenage daughters. It had been a fixture in the neighborhood for as long as Susanna could remember.     An hour to go. There'd be fireworks, a new year to celebrate. It was a clear, dark, very cold night in Boston, with temperatures barely in the teens, but thousands had still gone out to enjoy the many First Night festivities.     Jim Haviland, the pub's owner, eyed Susanna with open suspicion. He made no Secret that he thought she should have gone back to her husband in Texas months ago. And Susanna didn't disagree. But, still, she hadn't gone home.     Jim laid a sparkling white bar towel on one of his powerful shoulders. "You're feeling sorry for yourself," he told her.     She licked salt off her glass. It was warm in the bar, and she wished she hadn't opted for cashmere. Silk would have been better. She'd been determined to feel a little bit elegant tonight. But Jim had already told her she looked like the Wicked Witch of the East coming in there in her black skirt, sweater and boots, with her long black hair--apparently only her very green eyes saved her. Her coat was black, too, but she'd hung it up and tucked her black leather gloves in her pocket before sliding onto her stool. She hadn't bothered with a hat since the bar was only a few doors down from Gran's house.     "I never feel sorry for myself," she said. "I looked at all my choices for the evening and decided I'd like nothing better than to ring in the New Year with one of my father's oldest friends."     Jim snorted. "I know bullshit when I hear it."     Susanna smiled at him, unrepentant. "You make a pretty good margarita for a Yankee." She set her glass down. "Why don't you make me another?"     "Okay, but two's your limit. You're not passing out in my bar. I'm not calling your Texas Ranger husband and telling him I let his wife fall off one of my bar stools and hit her head--"     "Such drama. I'm not getting myself drank, and you'd call Gran, not Jack, because Gran's just up the street, and Jack's in San Antonio. And I know you're not the least bit intimidated because he's a Texas Ranger."     Jim Haviland gave her a half smile. "Sixty-eight degrees in San Antonio."     Susanna refused to let him get to her. He was the father of her best friend in Boston, her own father's boyhood friend and a surrogate uncle to her these past fourteen months since she'd been on her own up north. He was opinionated, solid and predictable. "Are you going to make me that margarita?" she asked.     "You should be in Texas with your family."     "I had Maggie and Ellen for Thanksgiving. Jack has them for Christmas and New Year's."     Jim scowled. "Sounds like you're divvying up dibs on the neighborhood snowblower."     "It doesn't snow in San Antonio," Susanna said with an easy smile. She'd put an imaginary, protective shield around her to get her through the night, and she was determined nothing would penetrate it--not guilt, not fear, not thoughts of the only man she'd ever loved. She and Jack had done the holidays together last year. That hadn't worked out very well. Their emotions were still too raw, neither ready to talk. Not that her husband was ever ready to talk.     "You know," Jim said, "if I were Jack--"     "If you were Jack, you'd be investigating serial killers instead of making me margaritas. What fun would that be?" She pushed her glass across the bar toward him. "Come on. A nice, fresh margarita. You can reuse my glass. Hold the salt this time if you want."     "I'll hold the liquor before I hold the salt, and I'm not reusing your glass. Health laws."     "There are six other bars within walking distance," Susanna said. "I have on my wool socks. I can find somebody to serve me another margarita."     "They all use mixes."     But Jim Haviland didn't call her bluff. He snatched up her empty glass and set it on a tray, then grabbed a fresh glass. His bar was impeccably clean. He offered one nightly dinner special and kept an eye on his customers, running his bar in strict accordance with Massachusetts law. People didn't come to Jim's Place to get drunk--it was a true neighborhood pub, as old-fashioned as its owner. Susanna had always felt safe there, welcomed even when Jim was on her case and she wasn't at her nicest herself.     "I shipped Iris and her pals up a gallon of chili," he said. "How do you like that? Even your eighty-two-year-old grandmother's having more fun on New Year's than you are."     "They're playing mahjong until five minutes after midnight. Then they're calling it quits and going to bed."     Jim eyed her again, less critically. He was a big, powerfully built man in his early sixties who treated Susanna like an honorary niece, if a wayward one. "You went home last New Year's," he pointed out softly.     And she'd meant for her and Jack to settle whatever was going on between them, but the one time they were alone, on New Year's Eve, they'd ended up in bed together. They hadn't settled anything.     Exactly one year ago, she'd been making love to her husband.     Two margaritas weren't going to do the trick. She could get herself rip-roaring drunk, but it wouldn't stop her from thinking about where she'd been last year at this time and where she was now. Nothing had changed. Not one damn thing.     Fourteen months and counting, and she and Jack were still in limbo, a kind of marital paralysis that she knew couldn't last. Maggie and Ellen were seniors in high school now, applying to colleges, almost grown up. They'd called a couple of hours ago, and Susanna had assured them she was ringing in the New Year in style. No mahjong with Gran and her pals. She didn't want her daughters thinking she was pitiful.     She hadn't talked to Jack.     "There's nobody here, Jim," she said. "Why don't you close up the place? We can go up on the roof and catch the fireworks."     He looked up from the margarita he was reluctantly fixing for her. His movements were careful, deliberate. And his blue eyes were serious. "Susanna, what's wrong?"     "I bought a cabin in the Adirondacks," she blurted. "But that's good. It's a great cabin. It's in a gorgeous spot. Three bedrooms, stone fireplace, seven acres right on Blackwater Lake."     "The Adirondacks are way the hell up in New York."     She nodded. "The largest wilderness area in the lower forty-eight states. Six million acres. Gran grew up on Blackwater Lake, you know. Her family used to own the local inn--"     "Susanna. For God's sake." Jim Haviland shook his head heavily, as if this new development--a cabin in the Adirondacks--was beyond his comprehension. "You should buy a place in Texas, not in the boonies of upstate New York. What were you thinking? Jesus, when did this happen?"     "Last week. I went up to Lake Placid for a few days on my own--I don't know, it seemed like a (Continues...) Excerpted from THE CABIN by Carla Neggers. Copyright © 2002 by Carla Neggers. Excerpted by permission. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.