Finding You

by Carla Neggers

  Mercifully her nightgown fell over her breasts, and she pulled the comforter onto her lap.

  “If you want to do something useful with my crowbar,” she said, only her hoarseness giving away her own continued state of arousal, “there’s a family of garter snakes down in the cellar.” She slid down under the comforter. “I don’t mind bats, but I really do hate snakes.”

  “Cozie…” He sighed, raking one hand through his hair. He wasn’t accustomed to suppressing his desire for a woman, especially one he desired as much as Cozie Hawthorne. “Good night.”

  “Pleasant dreams,” she murmured.

  He headed back through the adjoining room. He couldn’t remember ever leaving a woman alone in bed when it was damned obvious she wanted him to stay. But this time he did. They needed to find Seth. Talk to him. Hear his side of the story. Daniel didn’t want to push things too far with Cozie until he was sure her brother hadn’t tried to kill him. Then they could tackle the issues between them, because no matter what Seth had been doing in Texas, his big sister was still a woman with roots, with family. A woman of wit and charm and an insight Daniel found both compelling and mystifying. And he was a nomadic firefighter. The black-sheep heir to a Texas oil fortune. He didn’t fit in her world. She didn’t fit in his.

  Back in his bedroom, he switched off his light and climbed under several layers of quilts and blankets. He watched the shadows on the slanted ceiling and listened to the quiet sounds of the night, hoping they would work their soothing wonders not just on his mind but his entire body.

  He’d be willing to bet Cozie Hawthorne was making similar efforts.

  It was craziness. He should be in there having good, heated, rousing sex with her. She should be in here with him.

  A solitary car whooshed by out on Hawthorne Orchard Road. He pretended he heard Cozie’s footsteps in the next room, coming to him.

  “Hell,” he muttered, and rolled over onto his side.

  When Cozie slipped down to the kitchen at six the next morning, nuthatches and finches and a slew of chickadees, undeterred by the milky fog, were at the feeders out front. She opted not to light the woodstove. Rattling around directly beneath her slumbering guest would be rude—and she needed time to pull herself together. She made coffee and drank a glass of orange juice at the table just as if it were an ordinary fall morning.

  But just as she started her second cup of coffee, the telephone rang, and she stiffened as she never would have if her life were back to normal. She didn’t answer it. She went into the back room to listen while her answering machine took the call. If it was Seth or Meg or someone from the paper, she’d pick up. But whoever it was heard her taped message kick in and hung up.

  She shut her eyes and tried to keep calm. Her caller. It had to be. He or she had gone to the trouble of stealing the evidence Cozie had collected and didn’t plan to provide her with any more.

  She heard the creak of bedsprings and Daniel’s feet landing on the floor above her.

  The phone rang again. It was a challenge, a dare.

  “Let it ring,” Daniel called down from upstairs.

  Cozie picked up. “Hi, I’m just getting up. Did you call a minute ago?”

  “Hello, Cozie Cornelia.”

  Her caller’s routine wasn’t going to change no matter what Cozie did. She gripped the phone but kept her fear and anger out of her voice as she tried a new tactic. “Good morning. Fog’s going to burn off, don’t you think?”

  “You want to know who I am, don’t you, Cozie Cornelia?”

  “I don’t care who you are. I just want you to stop.”

  “You know who I am. Think about it. You really do know.”

  Click.

  Daniel came down the back room stairs, in close-fitting jeans and an unbuttoned flannel shirt. Cozie turned away from him. It was as if he’d just walked into a private, nasty part of her life, one she didn’t like and couldn’t control. She felt vulnerable, victimized.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “Yes.” It was an obvious lie, but she didn’t care.

  She went past him, through the door and out onto the back porch, grabbing her sand-colored field jacket.

  “Where are you going?”

  His tone was undemanding, as if it didn’t matter to him whether or not she answered. But she knew it did, and not just so she wouldn’t sneak off behind his back to find her brother. He really was concerned about her. It was a complication probably neither of them needed.

  “I’m going for a walk,” she said. “I need some air.”

  “You want any company?”

  She turned around, and he was there, within arm’s length. She absorbed the sight of him, the dark slate of his eyes, the odd scar here and there, the muscles of his chest, the way his jeans hung low on his hips.

  She had to get out of there.

  “I’ll take Zep with me,” she said, slipping her stockinged feet into her mud shoes.

  Daniel leaned against the doorjamb. “I’ll start a fire while you’re out, take the chill out of the air.”

  “It’s not that cold, but you do what you want.” She left her shoes unlaced and was out the door, into the damp chill of the fog. “If you do start a fire, you could fill up the woodbox while you’re at it.”

  “Be glad to.” He followed her out the back door and stood on the landing, his arms crossed on his chest, a man absolutely unlike any other in her life. “If you find your brother, tell him he’s going to have to talk to me sooner or later.”

  His words went right up her spine and stopped her dead in her tracks. “Forget the fire. Pack up your toothbrush and be gone by the time I get back.”

  “Why?”

  “You know damned well why. You’ll do anything—anything—to get what you want. You’re not hanging around just to make sure my caller doesn’t come after me. You’re hoping I’ll lead you to my brother. The other stuff—what almost happened last night—that’s just because I was…convenient.”

  A laconic smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Honey, you’re anything but convenient.”

  “You know what I mean. You’re going to get your precious answers and beat a path out of Vermont as fast as you can.”

  Bare feet and unbuttoned shirt and all, he walked out into the cold, damp grass, right up to her. His toe touched her mud shoe; he was boldly—consciously—invading her space, forcing her to step back or endure his closeness. He brushed her chin with the tip of one finger. “I hope you find Seth.”

  Before she could respond, he about-faced and headed back toward the porch, giving no indication that the cold bothered him. “You know,” she yelled to his back, “not every woman in the world wants to go to bed with you.”

  “Nope.” He glanced around at her. “Not every woman.”

  He was determined to have the last word no matter what she said or did. So she let him. Calling Zep, she plunged through the fog up into the field above the toolshed, trying to adjust her own frantic state to the quiet and stillness of the autumn morning.

  Chapter

  12

  The tall grass, still wet from yesterday’s rain, soaked the legs of Cozie’s jeans, and the fog seemed to hold the damp, earthy smells of the field and woods. Some of the brightest, reddest leaves had fallen with the rain. Autumn was flying by. She thought of all the work she’d planned to do: till and mulch the garden, plant bulbs, put up applesauce and apple butter, maybe some pear butter, rake leaves, trim the deadwood in the trees around the house. Wash the windows. Put up the storms. But even as she listed it all—the simple, mundane tasks of the life she led, wanted to lead—the disembodied voice of her anonymous caller came to her.

  You know who I am. Think about it. You really do know.

  Did she? Was she just too afraid to admit it?

  “Seth,” she said aloud, “where the devil are you?”

  She pressed on into the woods, taking the familiar farm road over the rocky stream. Pockets of fog made everything damp and col
d. Zep had charged ahead, chasing a rabbit in the brush. If she were Seth, where would she go? He was an experienced hiker and camper. He could get along easily in the woods; it was where he was most comfortable.

  The monk hut.

  She would take shelter in what they called the monk hut, a cavelike structure located on a steep hillside en route to the orchard.

  She picked up her pace, hoping Daniel Foxworth wasn’t following her. But here she had the advantage: she knew the woods, knew their sounds and their paths and old farm roads and stone walls. He didn’t.

  Refusing to take a break, she kept moving until the road narrowed as it cut through the woods at the top of a ravine. She was above the fog. A light breeze stirred in the pine and hemlock overhead. Birds and squirrels and chipmunks went about their morning routines, oblivious to her tension. Leaving the path, she ducked through a stand of gray birches. Fog shifted and swirled at the bottom of the ravine. The steep grade of the hill forced her to crabwalk, to keep from sliding uncontrollably to the bottom. Sodden pine needles and brown, crumbling leaves from autumns past clung to her wet pants and socks and oozed between her fingers. About a third of the way down the hill, she started moving horizontally, over the trunk of one of several fallen pines. Thick, smelly pitch stuck to her hands, and she scraped her forearm on a broken branch.

  But up ahead she could see the cluster of boulders that marked the spot where, just beyond them, it was said ancient Celtic pagan priests—Druids—had built a small, stone-lined chamber into the hillside, hundreds of years before Columbus. The monk hut, she and her brother and sister called it. Scholars disagreed as to the authenticity of the claim that Bronze Age Europeans had traveled across the Atlantic and constructed their megaliths throughout central and northern New England. Grandpa Willard had insisted the hut was more likely something the Abenaki Indians built, or was just an old root cellar.

  Cozie made her way to the opening, under a large, flat slab that served as roofing. The drystone construction kept the chamber at a relatively even temperature and protected anyone inside from the elements—and gave Cozie the creeps because the “anyone” could have been a dead body. Many scholars thought the megaliths were burial chambers. As she peered inside, Cozie preferred to think about stored potatoes.

  “Bingo,” she said softly, seeing her brother’s sleeping bag and camping paraphernalia.

  He, however, was not in sight.

  Twigs crunched behind her. She flew around, and Seth dropped down from a huge boulder. “I should have figured you’d find me.”

  Unshaven and in need of a hot shower, he looked fit enough. He was accustomed to long spells in the woods. But Cozie noticed his jeans were worn at the knees, patched and frayed, and one of the lesser brands. His chamois shirt had a button missing, a facing ripped half off. His hiking shoes needed replacing. Because he’d never indicated he gave a damn about whether or not he had money, she’d never considered he might be struggling financially—enough, she wondered, to steal from the Vanackerns?

  “Seth,” she said, “we need to talk.”

  He shook his head, not countering her so much as willing her away. “You don’t have to worry about me, Coze. I don’t want you worrying about me. I’m doing just fine.”

  “Then why did you come out here?”

  He didn’t answer, just sat on one of the smaller boulders, adopting an expression she knew only too well. It said he’d just sit there and wait her out. So she plunged right in. “Seth, the Vanackerns think you’ve been stealing from them. Thad spoke to me about it on Sunday. He wants me to talk to you.”

  “Why doesn’t the chickenshit talk to me himself?”

  “Because he can order me to, I suppose. He found some cash and valuables missing—”

  “And figured I’d stolen them. I work my stinking butt off for that bastard and he accuses me of stealing. Real nice. But he shouldn’t be sticking you in the middle.”

  Cozie picked pine needles off her wet pants legs. “That’s the least of my worries.”

  “He going to the police?”

  “He said he doesn’t want to.”

  “What, I can hand over the missing stuff and all will be forgiven? He thinks I’m stealing, fine: let him prove it.”

  “Do you have any idea who it could be?”

  “No. I just know it’s not me.” He looked at her, the question in his eyes plain. “What about you?”

  “I know you’re not a thief! Geez, Seth, how could you even ask?”

  “A lot’s been going on the past few months.” He gave her a wan smile. “All that hobnobbing with the rich and famous you’ve been doing could’ve loosened a screw or two.”

  “Could have,” she allowed. “But it hasn’t. Seth, there’s more.”

  He breathed out. “Daniel Foxworth.”

  “He knows you were in Texas.”

  Seth shut his eyes, looking pained and—rare for him—embarrassed.

  “His partner saw you and Julia arguing before their helicopter went up. He came up here looking for an explanation. Then he finds out you didn’t tell anyone about your trip to Texas or your relationship with Julia, and the Vanackerns think you’ve been stealing from them—and you take off.”

  “Yeah.” He launched himself to his feet. “I didn’t know what else to do. Coze, you don’t have to bail me out. It’s not your problem.”

  She thought of the harassing calls and knew, in her gut, he was wrong: whatever was going on, it was her problem, too. But she said, “I’m not trying to bail you out.”

  He said nothing, just stared up at the sky.

  “What about you and Julia?” she asked quietly.

  “There is no me and Julia, not anymore.” He squinted at her. “I didn’t sabotage Foxworth’s helicopter. If that’s what he wants to believe, that’s his business.”

  “Did you recognize him when you brought him the wood on Friday?”

  He nodded. “We never met face to face, but somebody pointed him out when I was looking for Julia at the base camp his outfit had set up for fighting the tanker fire. I figured he’d come here looking for a scapegoat.”

  “You.”

  “He could have wondered if I’d sabotaged his helicopter in a fit of—I don’t know what, anger, I guess. Julia had really given me the heave-ho. I left thinking she was going on board with him.”

  “You went to Texas specifically to see her?”

  “Sounds pretty stupid now, but, yeah, I did. Guess I was too dumb to take a hint. I thought we had something going. Then next thing I know, she won’t talk to me, won’t even come to Vermont; I couldn’t figure out what went wrong. So when I found out she was in Houston, I hopped a plane and went down to see her. Sounds like a lovesick, dumb-ass thing to do, doesn’t it?”

  “You’re hardly the first,” Cozie said, remembering herself last night with Daniel Foxworth.

  Seth shook his head. “I guess I was supposed to divine it somehow. She wasn’t too happy to see me, I’ll say that. She basically told me to get lost, and so I did. Packed up and headed on home.”

  “Seth…” She hesitated. “You don’t need money, do you? There’s no way anyone can demonstrate you’d steal from the Vanackerns because you’re in debt up to your eyeballs or something?”

  He shrugged. “I’d like a new engine for my Rover.”

  “Your trip to Texas didn’t put you back too much?”

  “It cleaned me out, but I had the money.”

  There wasn’t a hint of defensiveness in his tone: to her knowledge, money had never been her brother’s measure of himself—or anyone else. “What about the helicopter crash?” she asked. “When did you hear about it?”

  “Not until I got back home. I figured Julia was lucky not to have been on board, but I never thought—it never occurred to me Foxworth would think I might have sabotaged it.”

  “Okay,” Cozie said, her wet pants legs ice cold in the chilly morning air. “But cutting out like this could make you look guilty.”

&nbs
p; “I just needed some space to get my head together. I’ll be okay.” He balled his hands into fists, as if to contain his frustration. “I can keep an eye on the sawmill and the Vanackern place from here, maybe figure out what’s really going on—if anything.”

  An uneasy silence fell between them, interrupted only by the sounds of the woods. Crows called to each other overhead, and the sun made a stab at penetrating the fog.

  “Coze?”

  She had no choice. She had to tell him about the calls.

  When she did, Seth looked at her, serious. “Nobody can lay that one on my doorstep. I got a problem with you, Coze, you’d be the first to know.”

  “I realize that, but—”

  “But it doesn’t mean anyone else will,” he finished for her.

  “What would you like me to do?” she asked softly.

  “Be careful.” His eyes reached hers, and she realized, as perhaps she never had before, that he wasn’t a kid whom trouble always seemed to find, not anymore. “Lay low. Hell, get out of town or go stay with Meg or Aunt Ethel for a while.” Suddenly, out of nowhere, came one of his trademark lazy grins. “Geez, I’m starting to sound like you.”

  She tried to smile. “And count on me paying about as much attention to you as you do to me.” But her breath caught, her smile faltered. “This is going to work out, Seth. It will.”

  “Yeah.” But his grin, too, had already faded.

  “Do you need anything?”

  “No, I’m doing okay. I’ve been sticking to uncooked food, so a pot roast’ll sound good after this mess gets straightened out. But I’ve survived lots worse conditions. The monk hut’s better than a lot of tents I’ve been in.” An awkwardness came over him. “I’ll be fine.”

  “Maybe this will turn out to be a tempest in a teapot.”

  “Yeah. Watch yourself around Foxworth, okay? From what I heard while I was down in Texas, he’s your basic black-sheep rich guy, women falling over him all the time, arrogant—most likely he took that helicopter up without taking proper safety precautions.”