On Deadly Ground. Lauren Nichols
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Night, Jake.”
“Night, Fish.”
And in short order, the cruiser’s red taillights had disappeared, leaving her alone with Jake again. Rachel looked up at him. She was more attuned to his presence now that they were alone, more attuned to their woodsy isolation.
“I should get moving, too,” he said with some hesitance. “Will you be okay? Do you want to call someone to stay with you?”
“I’ll be all right,” she replied. “I’m a lot tougher than I look.”
A faint smile tipped his lips. “So I’ve noticed. You paint, you plow snow, you run a successful business and you even make a decent cup of coffee. I’m impressed.”
“Don’t be,” she said, smiling. “It’s all smoke and mirrors.”
“No, it isn’t,” he returned. “It’s all you.” Then out of the blue, the night seemed to shrink around them, his gaze softened and he looked at her in a way no man had looked at her since David. “You’re an extraordinary woman, Rachel.”
For a few seconds, she didn’t even breathe—and she wasn’t alone. Jake seemed just as stunned by his words as she was. Then he quickly rebounded and spoke again, his tone a little gruff.
“Well, I’m out of here. Maggie’s probably wondering why she’s still in her pen.” He drew a breath. “If there’s another problem, and you’re not sure it’s serious enough to call Fish, I’m only a phone call away.”
Rachel found a smile somewhere, but her heart was still racing. “Thanks. And thank you for checking up on me.”
He sent her a tight-lipped nod. “Just being a good neighbor.” His brow lined then, and he glanced toward the construction site. “Make sure you lock up, okay?”
“I will. Good night.”
Rachel waited until his vehicle, too, had been swallowed by the fog, then went back inside and shoved the lock into place. Her pretty hunter green-and-burgundy kitchen was ablaze with light, warm and welcoming. But she was far from relaxed. She and Jake had developed a comfortable friendship since he’d transferred from Potter County to the valley last November. Shortly afterward, he and his Irish setter had started showing up at her camp store. Several times over the winter, he’d even plowed the campground’s incredibly long driveway before she could get David’s snowblower out of the utility shed. Now … now their friendship was changing. She couldn’t deny her attraction to him. What woman with a beating pulse and decent vision could? But she’d loved only one man in her life, and she’d loved him with all of her heart. This felt …
Wrong? a tiny voice in her head asked.
“No,” she whispered. “And it should.”
Jake clicked on his low beams and drove deeper into the mist, his nerves on edge. What had happened back there? And what had possessed him to say something so totally idiotic? The second the words left his lips, he’d felt the hairs at the nape of his neck stand on end. She was beautiful and smart, and so many other things. But the widow Patterson was still grieving, and he wasn’t looking. Not after Heather trashed his dreams and took a sledge hammer to their future. No, he wasn’t looking for anything more than friendship, some pleasant conversation and, occasionally, a good cup of coffee—maybe one of her chocolate chip cookies. She liked to bake.
He followed the winding lane to the highway, waved to Fish who’d just exited one of the side loops, then turned right and headed for home. He snapped off the radio when Hank Williams’s twangy “Your Cheating Heart” flowed from the speakers. He didn’t need a musical reminder. The stack of bills he’d paid for the November wedding that hadn’t happened was reminder enough.
A pregnant cow elk that looked mere minutes from delivering lumbered out of the fog and crossed the road. Jake touched the toe of his boot to the brake. He managed a smile. It was birthing time in the Pennsylvania wilds—which seemed to be happening a week ahead of time this year. Other wildlife conservation officers had already reported seeing a few calves. Unusual, but calving time generally occurred when the most nutritious food was available, and they’d had an early spring.
The commonwealth’s huge elk herd was approaching seven hundred here and in neighboring counties, and drew visitors from all over, especially in the late summer to early fall when the bulls were bugling and gathering their harems. Rachel had mentioned that she did a booming business then.
Pretty, shocked-by-his-words Rachel who would always love her husband with a quiet devotion Jake would never know. Never even glimpse. But that was life, wasn’t it?
Suddenly a vehicle shot past him in the opposite direction. Glad for the distraction, Jake made a U-turn in the middle of the road and hit the gas. The dated SUV had two people in front, and as he gained on it, he tried to make out the license plate. Even if one of them was Rachel’s night visitor, Jake couldn’t stop them; he had no authority. He could get some information for Fish, though. They hit a stretch of road where the guardrails seemed to pin back the fog.
He clicked on his high beams—and quickly recognized young Marty Miller’s beat-up beige Cherokee. Then he dropped his gaze to the brand-new vanity plate on the back of it and rolled his eyes. RD HNTR. Road Hunter.
It took only a few moments for Jake and his gut to decide that twenty-something Marty wasn’t Rachel’s 2:00 a.m. trespasser. He’d talked to the kid a few times, and while Marty seemed to enjoy grinning it up and waving red flags at authority figures, he wasn’t the clandestine type.
Clicking on his low beams again, Jake put some space between their vehicles, then smiled at the mocking license plate. Kids.
When he got to the only red light on Main Street, he pulled into the left turning lane beside the driver and put his window down. Marty did the same. “Nice plates,” Jake called.
The kid with the bushel basket-size mass of brown curls smiled. “Thanks. Just got ‘em.”
Jake smiled back. “You weren’t doing anything you shouldn’t out there tonight, were you? Like spotting the fields looking for newborns?”
Miller glanced at the cute blonde beside him. “Nah, I wasn’t grocery shopping. Even if I wanted to—which I don’t—she wouldn’t let me. She likes the babies.”
“Good. Now you should get her home before her dad comes looking for you.”
“Don’t have to,” the kid returned in a cheeky voice. “She has her own place. Her dad doesn’t know she’s still out.”
“Yeah? He’ll know if I tell him.”
Laughing again, the kid waved, raised his window and drove off.
Nice kid, Jake decided. But if he caught him hunting from his car, he’d still fine his scrawny butt.
Slowly, barely crawling along, the vehicle left one of the rutted logging roads lacing the woods, only dim parking lights illuminating the way. A large cloth bag and shovel lay in the backseat. Nervous thoughts zinged through a mind too rattled to think clearly. How much had Rachel Patterson seen? Was the hood and fog enough to obscure her view? What to do? What to do? A small, jittery voice whispered that the only solution was to leave Charity. A louder one shouted, No! Not when things are finally working out.
Unquestionably, the second voice was right. The idea of leaving Charity was nearly as disturbing as the thought of a prison term. He commanded himself to think. He had to delay that construction project or risk losing everything. Sugar in the diesel tanks wouldn’t work … and the tires were too thick to slash and too easily replaced. If only he’d heard about Rachel’s plans sooner than yesterday.
Gripping the steering wheel, he exhaled a blast of frustration. With construction starting tomorrow, his only recourse was to go back and try again.
Or was it?
A dark thought rose, then twisted and turned and became increasingly darker.