Her Best Friend's Husband. Justine Davis
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don’t think the Waldrons are doing that, do you?”
“No. For all her sweet acquiescence, Gwen is a strong woman. She wouldn’t, and wouldn’t let Earl, either.”
Gabe couldn’t have agreed more with that assessment. And her easy statement of it reminded him once more of the quiet girl who would never have spoken of someone of her parents’ generation in such a way. “You’ve really gone and grown up, haven’t you?”
She smiled then, a flashing, bright expression that nearly stopped his heart in his chest.
“It happens,” she said, her tone so teasing he couldn’t help smiling back.
And just like that the mood in the car changed, from a rather edgy tension to an easy camaraderie he was thankful for; it was much easier to handle.
When they started up the mountain highway called the Rim of the World—for obvious reasons, given the curves and steep drop-offs that marked every mile—they were talking like the old, fairly close friends they’d been. He asked about her own parents, found out they were living in Oregon, where her father was headed toward a happy retirement of endless fishing and her mother was building yet another of the beautiful gardens she was known for. She asked about his father in turn, and smiled when he told her the admiral was still as gruff and feisty as ever at sixty-one, and running his staff ragged down in San Diego.
“He never remarried, after your mother died?”
“No. He says there’s not another woman on the planet who would put up with him the way Mom did. Having lived with him myself, I tend to think he might be right.”
She laughed, and an unexpected warmth flooded him again.
Strange, he thought. He never would have thought seeing quiet little Cara Thorpe again would stir up so much emotion in him. True, she’d been a big part of his life for a while, although always on the edges, and he’d accepted her at first because he loved Hope and she was her best friend. But later he’d come to like the quiet girl for herself, enjoyed trying to gently nudge her out of her shyness, to get her to open up and talk to him.
He’d seen flashes of a different Cara back then, times when she’d surprised him with a cogent, astute observation about something that had made him realize she was indeed the personification of still waters running deep. But he’d been wrapped up in first true love, and hadn’t thought much beyond that about the girl who was the quiet shadow of the lively, vivid Hope Waldron.
Cara Thorpe now would stand in no one’s shadow, he thought suddenly. Not in looks, demeanor, or personality. She—The ring of his cell interrupted his thoughts. He hit the button on the hands-free system built into the controls of the Lexus.
“Taggert.”
“Smallest village in the county. No sheriff’s substation. Two restaurants, one twenty-room motel, some touristy stuff. Post Office in the back of the general store. Same person running it for thirty years. Anson Woodruff. Town gossip. He’s there now.”
Gabe stifled a grin at St. John’s clipped, concise report, and at Cara’s bemused expression as the man’s brusque voice sounded in the car.
“Thank you,” he said.
“More?”
“Not yet. I’ll let you know.”
The click was audible as the connection was severed.
“I gather that was…the machine gun?” Cara said.
“It was.”
“I see what you mean. He’s always like that?”
“I don’t know for sure. This is the first time I’ve dealt with him at any length on the phone.”
“Surely he’s not like that in person?”
“No, he’s mostly silent,” Gabe said, still grinning. “At least, he has been the few times I’ve met him. He’s got quite the reputation for being a man of no words. So when he does talk, you’d best listen.”
“He seemed…efficient in the extreme.”
“That’s the other part of the reputation,” Gabe said. “Josh says if you ever hear him talking normally, look out. That’s when he’s the most dangerous.”
“Dangerous? Odd word for a business executive, isn’t it?”
“Not when you meet him.”
She seemed to ponder this for a moment. But when she spoke again, it was about their destination.
“We start with Anson Woodruff?” she asked.
“Seems the most logical. Let’s hope he has a good memory.”
Cara smiled. “In my admittedly limited small-town experience, it seems town gossips usually do.”
He laughed, and even as he did he marveled a little that he could, given the mission they were on.
And it was a mission, he couldn’t deny that. That he was on it with the most unlikely of people didn’t change that.
No matter how much Cara Thorpe had changed.
Chapter 6
Mr. Woodruff, as it turned out, all seventy-two years of him, had an excellent memory.
And absolutely no problem with sharing everything in it, without even asking who they were or why they wanted to know. The problem, Gabe soon realized, was in keeping him on the track they wanted.
“That was the summer the old roadhouse burned down,” he was saying now, rubbing a hand over his bald head as if it were a long-standing habit. “Never seen such a fuss, although if you ask me, it was no great loss. Place had turned into a dive, nothing but drunks and pool players every night. Firemen had to go in and pull those sorry drunks out. And we only have a volunteer fire department you know, they’re not—”
“It must have been awful,” Cara said, just as Gabe was about to impatiently yank the man back to their original question. “Was this before or after you saw Hope?”
“Your friend?” the man asked, as if it had been hours ago, not ten minutes, when they’d first come in to ask.
“Yes,” Cara said patiently.
Gabe himself was ready to snap, Yes, the only reason we came in here! but realized Cara’s approach was much more likely to be productive.
“Oh, before,” Mr. Woodruff said. “She came in the very next day. Lovely young woman. I told her all about the fire, she was very interested.”
I’ll bet you did, Gabe thought. He let Cara continue; if the old gent preferred to talk to another lovely young woman, far be it for him to interfere.
“How did she seem to you?”
“Seem? Why, a pretty young girl. Charming, just charming. She bought that card, went over to the café to write it, then came back and mailed it.”
“So she wasn’t…upset, or distraught, anything like that?”
Mr. Woodruff drew back slightly, his thick, bushy gray brows lowered. “Upset? Why, no, she didn’t seem to be. In fact, she seemed very happy, excited even. Bubbly,” he added, smiling.
That was Hope, all right, Gabe thought. Except when she was upset at his long absences, she’d always been that way.
“You’re sure?” he asked.
“My memory,” Mr. Woodruff said primly, “is razor-sharp.”
Yeah, he definitely preferred talking to Cara, Gabe thought. Can’t blame the old guy for that.
Cara asked quickly, “She didn’t seem like she was unhappy, or frightened or anything?”