Where There's Smoke

by Doreen Roberts

  Each time she’d seen him after that, she’d hoped that the feelings he stirred inside her had died. Instead she’d found them stronger than ever.

  The last time she’d seen him was at Stacey’s funeral. Torn with grief herself, she’d longed to go to him, to comfort him. But when she’d offered her words of sympathy, he’d been cold and withdrawn and had merely nodded before turning away. She hadn’t tried again.

  Now here he was, standing in front of her, exciting her senses and cutting off her breath, just as he’d always done. Maybe more so, now that he was no longer a married man. And that was dangerous. She couldn’t allow her personal reaction to him to get in the way of her judgment.

  “All right,” Turner said abruptly, shattering her thoughts. “Come and see for yourself. Then you can go back and tell those interfering old busybodies to mind their own business and let me and Harrie get on with our lives.”

  He swung around, then loped down the path at a pace that made it impossible for Claire, stumbling on her high heels, to keep up with him. By the time she’d limped up to the cabin, he had disappeared, presumably inside.

  Harrie must have been watching for her, however, since she burst through the door before Claire had mounted the sturdy steps.

  “I gave Melissa a special place,” she said in a voice pitched high with excitement. “Right in the middle of my bed. Her dress matches my bedspread real well.”

  Harrie now sounded more like the child she really was, and Claire felt her shoulders relax a little as she followed the chattering figure into the cabin.

  Claire wasn’t quite sure what she expected to see. Pauline Bridgemont had been quite scathing in her description: “Dresses like a little savage and lives like one in some rundown shack in the woods. If I hadn’t seen it for myself, I never would have believed it.”

  Glancing around at the simple, rustic furniture with its cheerful floral cushions and the yellow-and-white striped curtains at the windows, Claire thought it looked cozy and inviting.

  Next to a brick fireplace, a television set occupied one corner of the large room. The door beside it stood ajar, giving Claire a glimpse of a passageway beyond.

  “Come on,” Harrie said impatiently, “don’t you want to see all the bears?”

  Claire gazed down at the eager face. “I sure do. Show me where they are.”

  Harrie darted across to the open door. “They’re in my room. It’s down here.”

  She disappeared, and wondering where Turner was, Claire stepped through the door and into the passageway. A door on the right opened onto a small kitchen, and she was reassured to see a perfectly good stove and fridge in there. The cabin wasn’t nearly as primitive as Mrs. Bridgemont had made out.

  Perhaps she’d been exaggerating about the rest of it, Claire thought, her hopes rising as she made her way farther down the passageway toward another open door.

  Peeping in, she saw Harrie bouncing up and down on a bed, the new bear clutched in her slender arms. “Look,” she said as Claire stepped into the room, “see how her dress matches my bedspread?”

  Eyeing the dainty floral pattern on the bed, Claire nodded. “You’re right. A perfect match. I couldn’t have done better if I’d known what your room looked like.”

  Harrie grinned. “Now you do.”

  Claire glanced at the rest of the bears scattered around the room, recognizing most of them as ones she had bought. The older ones appeared a little worn, as if they’d been hugged a great deal, but the later ones looked like new.

  “You take very good care of them,” Claire said, wondering if perhaps Harrie thought she was too old to play with bears now.

  “I like them to look nice,” Harrie said in the prim voice that had disturbed Claire earlier.

  “Do you have friends come and play with you?” Claire picked up a bear dressed as a cowboy and tilted its hat at a rakish angle.

  “Nope. There aren’t any kids that live around here. There’s only the folks in Coopers Landing, and they’re all old. ‘Cept for my dad.”

  “Coopers Landing? That’s where your dad has his store, isn’t it?”

  Harrie nodded, still bouncing up and down on the complaining springs. “It’s only a little store, not like the ones in Portland. But he sells lots of stuff.”

  Claire set the bear down and sat next to the little girl. “Like what?” She slid her purse strap off her shoulder and let it fall onto the bed.

  “Oh, you know, stuff. Like fishing stuff and stuff for boats.”

  “Do you help him in the store?”

  “Nah, it’s boring.” She pulled a face. “I like playing in the woods better.”

  With knives, Claire thought grimly. “Are there a lot of stores in Coopers Landing?”

  She watched Harrie painstakingly touch each finger as she counted. “There’s the one that sells all that old stuff that people throw away, but I don’t like the man who’s in there. He’s mean. Then there’s the food store—” she looked up with another of her mischievous grins “—I like that one.”

  She looked back at her fingers. “The shop that sells books, and a neat store where you can get T-shirts and all kinds of stuff with Oregon on it.” Once more she glanced up, this time with an air of triumph. “Five stores. And a post office that’s in the corner of the food store. Does that count as six?”

  “I would think so. The stores sound like more fun than the woods.” And certainly a lot safer, she added inwardly.

  “Oh, no, they’re not.” Harrie shook her head vigorously. “There are lots of things to do in the woods. Lots of animals to look at, and trees to climb and places to hide.”

  “Why do you need to hide?”

  “I like to hide and play pretend.”

  “Pretend? Like what?”

  Harrie shrugged. “Just things.”

  “Do you play on your own all the time?” It was no wonder the child had to pretend so much, Claire thought, since she spent so much time alone.

  “Yeah, mostly. In the summer, anyway. In the winter I go to school, but I don’t like the kids there.”

  “Why not? I should think you’d enjoy playing with other kids.”

  The look Harrie gave her was pure adult. “They’re babyish and stupid,” she said clearly.

  Claire sighed. “So is your dad a good cook?”

  Harrie’s expression brightened. “He makes the best hamburgers in the whole world. Better’n the ones you get in Portland.”

  “Do you like to cook?”

  For the first time, the child seemed to sense where the questions were leading. She narrowed her eyes and mumbled something Claire didn’t catch.

  “You told me you take care of the house,” Claire said, hoping to reassure her. “I wondered if that included cooking.”

  “Well, you can stop wondering.” Turner’s harsh voice spoke from the doorway. “I do all the cooking.”

  His gaze flickered over her, and aware that her skirt had ridden up her thighs, Claire got up hastily from the bed. “I was just chatting,” she said quietly.

  “Sure you were.” His eyes glinted dangerously at her. “Harrie, go wash up for dinner. Aunt Claire is leaving now.”

  Claire hid her resentment as she smiled down at the little girl. “I’ll see you again soon,” she said as Harrie slid off the bed.

  “Okay, Daddy.” Without looking at Claire, Harrie mumbled a low “‘Bye” and scrambled through the door.

  “I’d like to talk to you before I leave,” Claire said, picking up her purse from the bed.

  “If it’s about Harrie, forget it. The discussion is closed.”

  “I’d like to help, if I can.” She met his gaze, and after a moment he stepped back into the passageway.

  “We’ll talk in the living room. Five minutes, then I have to get dinner.”

  It was better than nothing, she thought ruefully as she led the way back to the living room. She sat down on the edge of the comfortable couch, making sure to tug her skirt over her knees. She looked u
p, her pulse jumping when she saw Turner’s glance skip away, as if he’d been caught staring where he shouldn’t. “Look,” she began, determined to put all her cards on the table, “it’s true that I sort of promised the Bridgemonts I’d check into things.”

  Ignoring his derisive explosion of breath, she added quickly, “But I can understand how they feel. They’re worried about Harrie. They haven’t seen or heard from either of you in months. And the last time they came here to see Harrie, you threatened them.”

  “For good reason. They were harassing my daughter.”

  Eyeing the stubborn angle of his jaw, Claire sighed. “I don’t know why you feel that way, Turner. But I have to warn you, even if I say nothing at all to them, sooner or later they are bound to find out that Harrie is left alone a good deal of the time. It’s not going to take an investigator from Children’s Services long to figure that one out.”

  “Harrie prefers to be left alone.” He ran a hand through his dark hair. “I’ve tried to keep her occupied in the store, but she hates being cooped up in there and in this weather who can blame her? Besides, she’s mature for her age. She’s more than capable of taking care of herself.”

  “By throwing knives?” Claire shuddered. “You said yourself she could need protection. You must know the kind of danger she could be in alone in this environment. You never know what kind of maniac could be wandering around.”

  He still looked belligerent, but she could see an uneasiness behind his eyes that suggested he, too, had worried about that. “She’s never that far from the Landing. She has strict instructions to stay between the cabin and the stores. She’s very good about obeying my instructions. If she needs help she only has to run to the Landing, a couple of minutes away if she cuts through the woods. The rest of the storekeepers are good friends of mine. And if I’m going to be away from there, they take care of her.”

  “If she’s out of sight, she’s out of supervision,” Claire argued. “I know you’re doing the best you can, but a child like Harrie needs a controlled environment with a parental figure to supervise her.”

  “Don’t you think I know that? But what can you expect? I can’t be in two places at once. Harrie is fed, clothed and has a decent home to live in. That’s the best I can do.”

  “It might not be enough to satisfy the Bridgemonts.” She was beginning to feel sorry for him. Now that she’d had time to talk to Harrie and see how things were for herself, she felt sure that Turner was doing the best he could. But she had to make him understand.

  “If only you weren’t so stubborn about allowing Harrie to see them. She could at least spend some time with them during the summer while—”

  “No, damn it, she is not going to be brainwashed by that—” He snapped his mouth shut, cutting off his own words.

  She knew it was pointless asking him what he meant. Though she would dearly love to know why he was so adamant. She needed to talk to the Bridgemonts again, she decided. And as soon as possible.

  “Turner, I’m only telling you what the investigators will tell you if they come snooping around,” she said, choosing her words carefully. “Right now, it appears that Harrie pretty much runs wild all the time you’re at the store, and she’s the one who supervises the household, from what I can make out.”

  His gaze was lethal as he glared at her. “And I suppose that’s what you’re going to tell the Bridgemonts?”

  Deciding it was time to leave, Claire stood. “I’m not going to tell them anything for the moment. Not until you’ve had a chance to do something about the situation. Perhaps you can hire someone to take care of Harrie while you’re at the store. Or find someplace she can go where someone can keep an eye on her for you.”

  “I’ve tried that. Harrie has trouble getting along with the women I’ve hired. But I’ll give it another shot, if it means getting you off my back.”

  She winced at the sarcasm in his voice. “It really has nothing to do with me, Turner. It’s Harrie who is the important person here.”

  “And what brought you charging in all of a sudden to take up her cause?”

  Looking at him steadily across the room, she said quietly, “Stacey was my best friend. My only real friend. When I accepted the role of godmother, I made a promise that if anything happened to Stacey, I would see that her daughter was well and happy.”

  “Stacey’s been gone two years.”

  His closed expression told her she was on dangerous ground. “As I said, my job has kept me out of the country for most of that time. The letters from the Bridgemonts never indicated that anything was wrong. And Harrie’s letters were always brief. When I decided to quit my job and come back to Oregon, I went to see them.”

  “And they told you I was abusing my daughter.”

  She sighed. “Abuse is a strong word, Turner. I think they are concerned you’re neglecting her.” Seeing his scowl, she added hastily, “Not intentionally, perhaps, but you must see why they are concerned about Harrie’s welfare.”

  “And I’m not?” He looked away, cursing under his breath. “No, you wouldn’t understand. You’re on their side, of course.”

  “I’m on Harrie’s side,” Claire said quietly. She turned to go and heard him come up behind her. Reaching past her, he opened the door for her, then stood back to let her pass.

  “I take it you can find your way back to your car?”

  “Of course. It’s right at the end of the trail.”

  Her nerves tingled once more as his gaze swept over her. “Not exactly dressed for hiking, are you?”

  “I came straight from an appointment. If I’d realized it was this...” She paused, and his eyebrow lifted. “Rugged out here,” she finished, “I would have worn something more casual. I’ll know next time.”

  “If there is a next time.”

  She looked at him, giving him a thin smile. “Oh, there’ll be a next time. You can count on it.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I was afraid of.” His expression was a smooth mask, devoid of emotion, and her heart ached a little as she made her way back down the trail to her car.

  If only things could have been different. Startled by the longing that thought aroused, she closed her mind on Turner Mitchell. He was off-limits. Just like any other man.

  Chapter 2

  Instead of taking the road back to Portland, Claire turned in the other direction and pulled up in front of the row of stores that apparently made up the entire commercial section of Coopers Landing. Mrs. Bridgemont had told her that the Landing was nothing more than a boating dock on an isolated stretch of the river, catering to the tourist and fishing trade along that section of the highway.

  Standing in front of the dilapidated buildings, Claire could see why Harrie’s grandmother had so much disdain in her voice when she spoke of the Landing. The entire row of storefronts looked like something out of a low-grade Western movie.

  Ragged awnings, long shattered by the fierce wind that constantly swept through the Columbia River Gorge, rattled and shook as Claire approached the first door. A sign hung at a dejected angle, with the words Ray’s Antiques barely visible on it.

  Figuring that this had to be the store that “sells all that old stuff that people throw away,” Claire pushed the door open and peered inside. From somewhere in the dismal shadows a bell rang, and as she stepped inside the musty-smelling building a man emerged from a room at the rear of the store.

  He was short and stout and wore rimless glasses, which he pushed higher on his nose with his forefinger as he approached Claire. His eyes glistened with anticipation when he reached her. “Can I help you with anything? Were you looking for anything in particular or simply browsing?”

  She was probably his first customer in weeks, Claire thought as she scanned the contents of the store. It didn’t appear as if anything had been touched, much less dusted, in years. She looked back at the hovering man and gave him a polite smile. “As a matter of fact, I was looking for the store that sells fishing supplies. I believe T
urner Mitchell is the owner?”

  Disappointment made the dealer’s voice curt. “It’s next door. But it’s closed. He always closes early. Got a pesky kid he’s got to take care of.”

  Well, that was one thing in Turner’s favor, Claire thought as she picked up a polished horse brass and pretended to study it. “Do you know what time he opens in the morning?”

  “Can never tell. I guess it depends on the kid. Shouldn’t be running around on her own—that’s what I say. Always poking her grubby little nose into someone’s business. She’ll come to a bad end one day. You wait and see. She needs some discipline—that’s what she needs.”

  Something about the way he said it made Claire’s flesh creep. She could just imagine what kind of discipline he was talking about. Apparently he had taken a dislike to Harrie. Or maybe he disliked kids in general.

  As always, at the thought of people like that, Claire’s resentment flared. Deciding it was time to leave, she dropped the horse brass back onto the table. “Well, thank you, anyway,” she murmured, and left, sensing the man’s cold stare on her back all the way out of the door.

  The sun had dipped behind the craggy rocks of the canyon as she stepped outside into the hot wind once more. As long as she was there, she decided, she might as well meet the rest of the Landing storekeepers.

  Half an hour later, she was on her way back to Portland, uneasiness lying heavy under her ribs. Without exception, the shopkeepers had seemed to resent her casual questions and had greeted most of her remarks with tight-lipped silence. There wasn’t one among them whom she would want to entrust with a lively, energetic seven-year-old.

  Hugging the shoulder as she sped around a curve, Claire tightened her hands on the wheel in frustration. All her instincts warned her not to get involved. She could see nothing but trouble ahead. Bearing in mind her unpredictable reaction to Turner Mitchell every time he looked at her and her natural love of children, the pitfalls were obvious.

  Yet she was Harrie’s godmother, and as such she felt compelled to see that the daughter of the dear friend she had lost was given every chance to take advantage of the best opportunities open to her.