by Pamela Tracy
“They must have been pretty desperate,” Gary remarked, hoping as Wilma took off for the trees that she’d return. Goober stayed at his side.
Together, he and Oscar chose where to set up a campsite. Gary had lived in most primitive spots, places where the trees hid danger and where sleep didn’t come. This wide-open space didn’t feel right. While it shouted “Safe wide-open space!” he knew looks were deceiving. Nothing that looked this good could be this good. Somewhere there was a shell waiting to be stepped on.
Gary knew more about generators and leveling than Oscar, but Oscar understood pop-outs and gray water. When they were done with setup, there was not only a decent bed, but also a working bathroom, shower, kitchen with microwave and television. Hopefully Gary could get reception. In the military, he’d often slept on the ground in the rain using his pack for a pillow, so this was luxury. The dogs loved it.
“I’ll bring Peeve out here right before we leave,” Oscar said. “That will give you time to get a proper place set up for Wilma and Goober.”
Goober heard her name and returned to Gary’s side. Wilma, however, had disappeared into the trees. Gary knew where he stood in the pack; he’d be chasing Wilma down, not the other way around.
“Sounds good,” he said. “First thing I’m going to do is build kennels for the dogs. I don’t want either of them running lose while I work on the roof.”
“I’m beginning to think you actually like being a dog keeper. Aunt Bianca says you’re learning German just so you can speak to Wilma.”
“To get Wilma to behave and be a good dog,” Gary corrected.
“Call it what you want.” Oscar checked the generator and then advised, “Make sure to take time to go introduce yourself to Russell Blackgoat.”
Gary remembered Shelley saying Blackgoat land was next door. “I look forward to meeting him.”
“You’ll like him. He’s got a shooting range in his backyard. Zack, Leann and I come up every once in a while and target practice.”
“Zack?”
“New hire at the station, just a kid.”
“I’d like to get some practice in, too, once I get going on this project.”
Both men turned to stare again at Aunt Bianca’s cabin. “It has potential,” Oscar said. “When we get back from the cruise, I’ll come out and lend a hand.”
“I’d like that.”
For the last ten years, Gary had seen family only during holidays and if he were stateside. Spending time with family was a perk. Maybe Sarasota Falls would do for a while. No, not to settle, but to rest a bit. He gazed at the cabin, trying to remember ever visiting it, trying to imagine Berto Guzman standing on the porch. His dad had been a flannel-shirt, baggy-pants kind of guy, always smiling.
“Your father had big dreams but experienced little payoff,” his mother once told him.
Gary’s great-grandparents had built this cabin. A photo of them was in Aunt Bianca’s living room. They were stoic and steady, like this cabin had to be to survive this long. They’d raised eleven kids and had been married fifty-eight years. “You’ll do great,” Oscar said.
“I know.” On one hand, Gary liked the idea of restoring the cabin to its natural beauty. On the other hand, he’d be out here in the middle of nowhere without neighbors. He didn’t do well in crowds, but instinctively knew he needed to be in the thick of life-living, breathing, experiencing the day-to-day challenges. And, noise kept the nightmares away. Maybe because he’d rarely slept alone once he’d enlisted. He’d always been in a barracks, on a bunk somewhere or hunkered down in some hole with the unwashed bodies of his comrades next to him, trying to sleep while the next battle either engaged or disintegrated.
He looked at Wilma and Goober.
Hmm, maybe they’d be enough.
“Hey,” Gary said, “before you leave, did Aunt Bianca bring up our father to you before I arrived?”
“Not really, not like she did yesterday. You have any idea what brought it on?”
“No, except she got all melancholy about the way I’m with dogs and the way Berto was.”
“I lived with her and Peeve was with me. She didn’t make a connection.”
“Maybe it’s something else,” Gary mused. Then, asked, “Do you think there’s really anything worth investigating? I mean, could there be something to find here about his disappearance?”
Oscar shook his head, but he didn’t look completely convinced. “I’m sure that when Dad was reported missing Aunt Bianca told the authorities to come out here to the cabin. I’ll check the station’s old files and see if there’s anything. Should have done it long ago.”
“Why?”
“I’ve always wondered what happened. Haven’t you?”
Gary shook his head. He’d stopped wondering during his twelfth summer, the summer he’d gone camping just about every other week. Usually, he was with his uncle Ricardo and cousins. Sometimes, though, he’d shared a tent with his best friend, his best friend’s father and three or four other kids. It kept him focused and out of trouble.
Didn’t matter if he had a father or not, that’s what the twelve-year-old Gary figured.
As if Oscar knew what his kid brother was thinking, he tousled the top of his head and said, “Our dad loved us. Aunt Bianca’s right. We can look into this.”
It was some time later when Oscar drove away saying something about needing to get to work. Gary didn’t have time to note how alone he was because he spent the next while driving around on the quad Oscar had lent him, to find Wilma, and he’d not have gotten the beast returned to the camper without Goober’s herding her. When he got back, he walked the property and determined where he’d build the kennel.
The dogs had to come first, and once Peeve joined them, it’d be three dogs in the small camper. And that would be three dogs too many.
Thus, he ordered the dogs back into his truck and headed into town. He purchased a few groceries and then stopped at the lumber store before heading to his new home.
Silence, except for wind, surrounded him. Tree limbs bent and waved as the late afternoon made its presence known. Wilma and Goober barked and bounded from the truck. Wilma ran off to explore the trees and Goober followed.
“Bring her back,” Gary shouted to Goober as he unloaded the ten treated posts from the back of his truck. He needed to dig ten holes, at least two feet apart, and then he’d mix the fast-setting concrete to secure the poles.
He turned toward the truck, then looked at the poles, before glancing back to where the holes needed to be. The only thing he’d forgotten to purchase was a shovel, and Gary really didn’t want to go back to town.
A shed stood a short distance from the house. It was a long shot, and the odds of a workable shovel slim, but it was worth a look. Old air and dust puffed out at him when he pulled the rickety door open. The shed was loaded, full of old tools, most needing to be thrown away or shown a little tender loving care. He knew how to scrub, how to use linseed oil, but such a job had to be way down on his to-do list. Stay on task, he told himself because really, what a great place to explore.
He’d been right to take a chance.
He spotted a vintage metal collapsible shovel in fairly good condition. He bent to pull it from under an old wooden table when he saw what was next to it.
A rifle. Old, with yellow on the handle.
Carefully, Gary moved the few things that were on top of it and freed it. Letting out a whistle, he tried to figure just what he’d stumbled across, but the only window in the shed had long ago ceased letting light in thanks to the dirt and spiderwebs.
Gary stood, aiming the rifle muzzle down. He doubted, even if it were loaded, that it could fire, but firearm safety had been ingrained during his stint in the military. Outside, he heard an engine taper off and the sound of a car door slamming.
He pushed open the shed door with hi
s butt and stepped outside, assuming he’d greet Oscar, who must have forgotten something.
Instead, Officer Leann Bailey stopped just twenty feet from him, surprise quickly switching to annoyance on her face. She whipped her gun from its holster, took a solid stance and said, “Put the rifle on the ground, kick it out of reach and put your hands in the air.”
That’s when he remembered the weapon in his hands. Not the best way to greet a cop you wanted to impress.
She sure did turn up at the most inopportune times.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“I WAS LOOKING for a shovel in the shed,” Gary explained. “And found this rifle under a table. When I heard a vehicle drive up, I thought it was Oscar returning.”
Leann didn’t move, just waited. Her hand, the one holding the gun, didn’t flinch.
Gary carefully set the rifle on the ground and nudged it away with his foot. His eyes never left hers but his lips were tipping up in a half grin even as he put his hands in the air. Finally, he stepped back, and she sighed in relief—not aloud, though, because she didn’t want to appear weak in front of him. She looked down at the rifle and whistled before stepping closer.
“That’s a Yellowboy.”
“It was too dark inside to tell much of anything,” Gary said.
“Any other weapons in the shed?” she queried.
“I haven’t had a chance to look. I just set up this morning.”
She glanced over at the camper, its door wide open. One chair, with a small table and ice cooler next to it, was on the outdoor carpet in front. There wasn’t a lived-in look. There was, however, already a temporary, desolate look.
“Which is probably why I caught the trespassing call just an hour ago,” she said more to herself than him.
Gary raised an eyebrow. “Someone called me in as a trespasser?”
“Your nearest neighbor, Russell Blackgoat. You probably need to head on up and introduce yourself. He’s lived here all his life and keeps a good eye on things in this area.”
She watched as Gary turned his head to the west, at the telltale smoke of a distant chimney. He’d known which way to look, so he’d already scoped out the area.
“Why didn’t he call Aunt Bianca before calling the police?”
“Because he really thought you were a thief, or worse, and didn’t want her to come out here to investigate.”
Gary had the good sense to nod and get rid of the grin.
“So, what are you doing here?” Leann asked.
As if answering, Wilma barked and came bounding out of the woods and straight to Leann.
“As you well know, I’ve got two dogs right now,” Gary explained. “When Oscar leaves on his second honeymoon, I’m watching Peeve, which will make it three. Aunt Bianca runs a bed-and-breakfast, not a kennel-and-kibble. Three meant I needed to temporarily relocate. Plus, I’ve always wanted to flip a house, and, well, Bianca has one that needs flipping.”
“Makes sense.” Leann holstered her gun, bent to give Wilma a brief but vigorous rubbing. “Apparently I spent some time here as a child. I’m trying to remember.”
Leann looked back at the cabin and imagined its potential. “This is a great place. I’m surprised that Bianca hasn’t done something with it. I’ve been out here twice, thanks to Russell. Both times I had to get partying kids off the property.”
“It is the middle of nowhere,” Gary said. “Peaceful.”
Gary had such a conflicted expression on his face as he studied the leaning porch beams that Leann couldn’t keep from smiling. Somehow, when looking at him, peaceful wasn’t an adjective that seemed to belong to him. She thought about their first meeting at the park: not peaceful. Then, she thought about him dealing with Goober’s owner: not peaceful. Maybe their meeting at the courthouse qualified as peaceful for him, but not her.
She took a breath, noting the heady scent of trees, grass and more. The wind sent a stray strand of hair fluttering against her cheek. Relaxing, she began, “So, Bianca thinks you have skill enough to hire you to transform this?”
“Hire me? Not really. More like I’m earning my keep.”
“Chief dog master and renovator.”
“Among other things.” Gary reverently picked up the rifle from the ground and looked at it. “You called it a Yellowboy?”
“Now that I think about it, it’s probably a replica.”
“Can you tell the difference?” His right hand went near the trigger, not on it. She noted the confident way he stood, how strong he appeared. The weapon was pointed down with the butt close to his shoulder.
“The replicas,” she informed him, “have a half-cock safety notch on the hammer.”
She took the rifle, her fingers briefly touching his, noting again how physically aware she was of his proximity, and turned it round and round in her hand, touching the loading gate and the yellow receiver, studying the hammer.
“No, not a replica.” She stepped closer to him, telling herself he was just Oscar’s brother, holding the rifle so the top of the barrel was easily visible. “It has all the basic markings. Should be worth some money if it works and you don’t botch the cleanup.”
“You speak German and know antique guns. You just might be the perfect girl.”
“Woman,” she corrected before she had time to blush.
“Woman,” he amended.
She handed him the gun. “Check the shed for more firearms. Last thing we need is some fool—” she looked him up and down “—finding the weapons and possibly shooting himself.”
“I don’t fool around...” he paused, looking at her and added with emphasis “...with guns.”
She wanted to argue, but believed he was right. Sometimes it felt like everyone was better at shooting a gun than her. She already knew that Gary had been military police and more, meaning she needed to admit, “You probably, no definitely, can handle a gun better than me. I keep barely passing every time I have to qualify for marksmanship—with modern weaponry.”
“No one’s great at everything.”
Nice. But his words didn’t make her feel any better.
He looked down at the gun in his hand and repeated, “So, how do you know so much about guns?”
“I watch Pawn Stars.”
“And you remembered everything from one episode just in case you ever ran into an ex-soldier and needed to identify a rifle he’d just found?”
She shrugged. “When my ex-husband and I were in Germany, we lived next to a man who owned one of these. Hans had inherited it from his great-grandfather who’d been a soldier in the Russian-Turkish War.”
The fatigue of working a twelve-hour shift had to be affecting her because Leann felt a smile curling as she thought about those long-ago days. Learning so much about history had been fascinating and made her wonder if she should have pursued it. Was it too late to do something for herself? At the time, she’d been desperate to find anything that she and Ryan could do together, some hobby they could share.
“Ryan,” Leann said, realizing she’d just been standing there, dazed, while Gary looked at her concerned, “and I learned so much from him. He taught me how to clean and assemble quite a few types of guns.”
Something she didn’t share with Gary was that the gentleman had taught her how to cook and bake, as well. Her childhood hadn’t involved a stove, making a bed or even doing her own laundry. She’d been overwhelmed that first year. Hans had been an answer to a prayer.
“Hans sounds like a person I’d like to know.”
“He’s a true gentleman.” She almost added that true gentlemen were rare, but something in Gary’s expression stopped her. Some other emotion had manifested in his eyes. She couldn’t quite describe it, though it drew her to him.
Moments ticked by. She tried desperately to think of something to say, something that didn’t sound lame or was borin
g procedural work stuff.
Gary, however, spoke first. “Best way to protect the town and its good people is searching the shed with me. There might be other weapons. You wouldn’t want me to find anything I couldn’t handle.”
“I doubt there’s much you can’t handle.” She couldn’t stop her cheeks from heating. Best to leave now before he said anything else to make her regret—or worse, rethink—her “never again” rule.
Instead, she said, “Give me a minute,” and called Chief Riley to let him know she needed to clear a shed of potential firearms.
“How did that happen?” Chief Riley groused into the phone. “I sent you on a trespassing call and now you’re inventorying firearms?”
“I’ll explain it when I see you.” Leann hit the off button, fetched a flashlight from the trunk of the police car and made it to the shed before Gary so much as moved. Good. She wanted him to know she was efficient. She reached for the shed’s door handle and pulled; it stuck. She started to pull harder, but a body came too close and an arm went around her.
For a moment she couldn’t breathe. As Gary opened the shed door easily, he opened something inside her, too. Something that made her lose her breath and consider turning to look up at the dark and handsome face, readying her lips for the kind of kiss that...
She tried to enter quickly, ducking under his arm, striving to vanquish traitorous yearnings. All she managed to do was bump her head on a beam. Goober followed them, nosed around and decided to wait outside. Smart dog.
“Where were you stationed in Germany and when?” he queried, following her into the shed. “I spent some time there.”
She turned on the flashlight. “Schweinfurt. We lived there for two years. Aaron was born there.”
“Your son?”
“My ten-year-old. Do the math and that will tell you when. I have a twelve-year-old, too. He was born stateside. They’re a handful.” She said the last sentence a little louder than she needed to. In her experience kids were a great way of discouraging potential suitors: preteenage boys were especially off-putting.