His Honour, Her Family. Tara Randel
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find here. It wasn’t a matter of being picky, but he did want something that would immerse him in the town so when he met the target it would seem natural. To her anyway. Working in a restaurant wasn’t at the top of his list, so when he happened upon the help-wanted sign in the front window of Put Your Feet Up, his gut urged him to go in and inquire about the job.
Not only would being a guide be the perfect cover, he also enjoyed working outdoors. In many ways, he hoped this job would distract him from the recent events that had changed his life.
Across the street he could just see into the window of the Put Your Feet Up office. Miss Harper walked past the window, the sun lighting on her chin-length, blunt-cut blond hair. Clearly she’d hired him because she was desperate, not because of his witty repartee. The tourist season was upon them, which worked to his advantage, and since she couldn’t be the guide and run the office at the same time, she was stuck with him. He took another sip of his coffee and savored the rich taste. Yeah, she hadn’t been charmed by him—not that charm was his strong suit, he’d been told more than once—but he had to admit, when she’d mentioned she was a criminal lawyer, it was all he could do not to walk out the door. Probably would have, if this entire mission didn’t focus on his mother.
A ding sounded from his pocket. He extracted his phone to find a text from his oldest brother, Derrick. Heard you got a job. Fast work.
What, had Dylan sent out a memo right away?
Another ding. Let me know if this is too much.
Deke clenched his jaw. He loved his brothers, but their concern smothered him. He liked being alone. What was the big deal?
He typed, I can handle it.
While he waited for a response—because Derrick was not the kind to leave well enough alone—he pulled up his photo gallery. Scrolled through until he found a recent picture of his friend Brittany, with her husband and two young sons.
His hand trembled as her sunny smile tore at his heart.
It wasn’t your fault, his inner voice asserted.
His chest squeezed tight and he could barely breathe.
A ding jarred his guilty memories. Call me if you need me, Derrick texted.
Deke didn’t need his brother’s, or anyone else’s, help. He was dealing with the tragedy and he’d be fine. In time.
The idea of swallowing another mouthful of coffee made his stomach sour. He tossed the cup at the nearby trash can. It hit the edge, then tottered inside. Not a slam dunk, but then Deke wasn’t exactly proficient in sports, even if he did excel in competition with his brothers. He’d do fine leading outdoor tours for the time being before deciding what to do with the next stage of his life, because going back to analyzing crime scenes when his investigation had put a good friend in a deadly situation wasn’t an option right now. Sighing, he stretched his arms along the back of the hard bench, the warm sunshine beating down on him as he watched the happenings of Golden, Georgia.
He’d done his research before arriving in town. His brothers always razzed him about his geeky tendencies, but who did they come to first when they needed information about one thing or another in their lives? That’s right. Him.
The town had been established around 1835 after a gold vein was discovered in the surrounding mountains about five years earlier. Folks had trekked to this beautiful spot of land, hoping to make a fortune. Gold mines popped up, much like the historical structure Deke had passed when he first drove into town. The US Mint built a branch in a neighboring town and produced gold coins. Eventually the rush slowed and those with gold fever moved on to California. From the signs posted on the curvy roads in the mountainous area, gold panning was a popular tourist attraction. He supposed he’d have to check it out before he left.
Golden’s greater downtown consisted of six blocks of tree-lined sidewalks built on an increasing incline. There were gift shops, restaurants, lodging and a few professional offices. The buildings were painted in vivid colors. Old-fashioned, ornate cast-iron lampposts lined the main street, supporting large planters overflowing with bright marigolds.
Once off the main street, there were further blocks of housing in all directions, but then the lots grew larger and farther apart as the thick woods and the slopes of the mountains took over the surrounding areas. Golden Lake was situated north of town, a popular tourist destination.
The pace was slow, the town folk friendly. Cars moved down the street in a leisurely fashion, unlike the massive traffic tangles he dealt with daily in Atlanta. He didn’t miss the job, the place or the memories one little bit, but he couldn’t stay away forever. At some point he’d have to return to the job. He’d need to give his superiors an answer on whether he wanted to continue working for the bureau or not, and as of right now, he couldn’t truthfully say.
He wasn’t posturing when he told Miss Harper working outdoors would be a good fit for him. He needed space from the events that had caused him to question not only his line of work, but life in general. Thinking about the tragedy left him with lots of questions and zero answers. Being outside in the fresh air and sunshine might help him discover what step to take next. If not...well, he’d deal with that later.
Miss Harper moved before the window again, this time stopping to gaze outside. He couldn’t see her well from here, but he’d cataloged her details right after meeting her. Sparkling green eyes. Milky complexion. Probably only five and a half feet to his nearly six. Spunk, and plenty of it.
An attorney. What were the odds?
He’d freely admit he was biased when it came to his current personal struggle. She might be a criminal attorney, but that didn’t mean she found ways to let killers go free. He knew he needed to work on the anger and yes, deep down, the guilt.
His new boss must have noticed him. She waved, then disappeared.
Yes, he’d make himself work with Miss Harper because this entire mission was about getting the truth for his mother. There was no way he’d let a criminal, if James Tate was indeed one, destroy another person he loved.
“MAMA, HOW MANY times do I have to tell you to stay put? Bagsy will be fine.”
“Not if I don’t feed him,” her mother argued, hobbling with her wrapped ankle and cane across the scuffed linoleum flooring to the pantry. There was no stopping the woman when she worried about her fluffy, white feline companion. “He’s all I’ve got.”
How many times had Grace heard this refrain? She really thought she’d gotten past Mama’s guilt trip, but apparently not. Her heart squeezed at the sight of the woman, face drawn and skin sallow, looking smaller than the last time Grace had seen her, if that was possible. Her mother was on the petite side, but in the last week she’d lost weight, concerning Grace even more.
“Mama, have you been eating?” she asked as she marched to the refrigerator and opened the door. Sure enough, the perishables Grace had brought over yesterday sat on the shelves, untouched.
Her mother waved her hand at Grace. “Don’t worry over me.”
“Right, like the way you don’t fuss over Bagsy?”
“That’s different. If I don’t feed him, who will?”
“None of us will let him starve.”
“If any of my children were around,” she muttered under her breath.
“Really? Am I just a figment of your imagination?” Grace blew out a sigh. Call it oldest-child syndrome or the fact that Grace had managed her mother’s life since their father had...left, it was the same song and dance.
The cat came running when her mother poured the dry food in a bowl, a grimace lining her face. After a quick pet on Bagsy’s head, she sank down into a chair at the kitchen table and lifted her bruised and swollen foot to rest on another.