Where There's Smoke

by Doreen Roberts

  He stopped as she looked up at him and said urgently, “Turner, there’s something I think you should know.”

  His spirits plummeted like a stone. “What is it?”

  “I saw a light in the woods last night. I thought at first it was a fire, but then after a while I could tell it was a flashlight. The thing that bothered me was that whoever it was was moving away from the cabin, on the trail back to the Landing.”

  For a moment he felt light-headed with relief that it wasn’t something more personal. Then he understood the significance of what she’d said. “Did you see who it was?”

  “No, I didn’t. All I saw was the flashlight. But I did wonder if it was someone from the CSD, though I can’t imagine why they would be snooping around like that.”

  “More likely my friendly in-laws are behind this,” Turner said, reaching for the dinner plate again. “They’ve probably hired a private eye to keep track of me.”

  “I can’t believe they’d do that, either.”

  “You don’t know them as well as I do.”

  “I thought I did.”

  “You thought you knew my late wife, too. So did I.”

  Before Claire could answer, Harrie said behind her, “How do I look?”

  “Like a princess,” Turner said, forcing a light note into his voice.

  Harrie grinned at him, then looked at Claire. “Is this all right?”

  “This” was a pair of dark blue shorts and the pink tank top Claire had bought for her.

  “You’ll do just fine,” Claire told her. She glanced back at Turner. “Why don’t you go on to the shop? I’ll finish the dishes, then I’ll take Harrie into town. We can have lunch there and maybe visit the zoo.”

  “Oh, neato!” Harrie looked as if her grin would split her face.

  “Where do you get those expressions?” Turner muttered as he strode to the door. He glanced back at Claire as he reached it. He hated the thought that he still couldn’t quite trust her, but he had to be sure. “You are going to do this on your own, I hope?”

  He felt terrible when he saw the hurt expression that crossed her face. She said quietly, “I wouldn’t go against your wishes, Turner. No matter how I feel about it. If you don’t want Harrie to see them, then I won’t take her.”

  He gave her a long look, then a satisfied nod. “I didn’t think you would.” Stooping, he planted a kiss on Harrie’s cheek. “Be good, kitten.”

  “Give one to Claire, too,” Harrie said as he straightened.

  Puzzled, he gazed down at her. “One what?”

  “A kiss!”

  Claire made a small sound of protest. “I’m too big for kisses,” she said with a laugh that sounded strained.

  “No, you’re not. Is she, Daddy?”

  He looked at Claire, who had her gaze fixed on Harrie. He could see the flush still staining her cheeks. He didn’t want to embarrass her, but he wanted, more than anything, to touch that smooth cheek with his lips.

  He wanted a lot more, but a kiss would have to do for now. And he wasn’t going to pass up the golden opportunity. Somehow he didn’t think she’d mind.

  “No, of course she’s not,” he said softly. His heart started to pound as he leaned forward and pressed his lips to her cheek. He heard the trembling of her breath and felt ridiculously pleased with himself. Drawing back, he said lightly, “Be good,” and then turned to head out the door.

  Claire’s face tingled and she fought the urge to cover the spot where his lips had touched with her fingers. Be good, he had said. It had sounded casual enough, but had he been warning her? Did he really think she might go against him and take Harrie to see the Bridgemonts?

  She hoped not. She wanted him to trust her in the worst way. And it bothered her just how badly she wanted that.

  “Daddy gives nice kisses, doesn’t he?” Harrie said, her blue eyes studying Claire’s face.

  “Very nice,” Claire agreed.

  “You liked it. I can tell.”

  Claire tried to look nonchalant. “How can you tell?”

  “‘Cuz your face is all pink.”

  “Oh. Well, that’s because it’s getting warm outside. And we’d better hurry if we want to go to the bookstore and the zoo and have lunch.”

  It was just as well, she thought as she finished cleaning up the kitchen, that Harrie couldn’t see inside her body. The churning and tingling that were going on would really give her something to comment about.

  * * *

  Turner opened the door of the shop just as Ray Newberg arrived in his brand-new black Lincoln. The antique business must be really good, Turner thought as he propped the door open with the cast-iron doorstop. Fashioned in the shape of a cat, it had been a Father’s Day present from Harrie.

  She had bought it from the antique store, and Turner had been outraged to learn how much she’d paid for it. A whole month’s allowance. She must have been saving up for weeks. The old buzzard could have given the kid a break.

  Still, he was touched that she’d wanted to spend her money on him and always felt a rush of pleasure every time he looked at it.

  He was surprised when he heard the antique dealer’s voice behind him. Ray Newberg was a strange bird, never spoke unless he was spoken to and always seemed to do his best to avoid the rest of the shopkeepers on the Landing.

  Hearing the man’s jovial greeting, which sounded a bit phony to his ears, Turner twisted his head to look at him. The dealer had strange eyes, they always seemed to be watering and appeared as if they were bulging behind the lens of his rimless glasses.

  Turner always felt a little uncomfortable looking into them. “‘Morning,” he answered with a brief nod. “Seems like it’s going to be a good one.”

  “Yes, it does.” Newberg shaded his eyes with one fleshy hand and peered up at the sky. “Good for your business, bad for mine, huh?”

  “I guess so.” Turner made a move toward his doorway, but Newberg’s voice stopped him.

  “Still can’t complain, I guess. Business has been fairly good this year.”

  “So I noticed,” Turner said, thinking about the customers he’d seen go in and out the store.

  “Ah, yes, it’s the ad that brings them out, you know.” Newberg nodded, the top of his head glistening in the sun. “I specialize in certain items. They’ll go miles, some of them, for that special piece they’re searching for.”

  “I guess they will.” Though personally, Turner thought, he couldn’t see anything in the store window he’d pay more than two cents for. Still, he hadn’t been inside the door, so he was in no position to judge.

  “I, er, see you’ve got a new housekeeper,” Newberg said, his lips spread in a semblance of a grin.

  Surprised, Turner looked at him without answering.

  “Oh, well, she was in the store yesterday with your kid, er, your daughter. Bought a brass planter. Rather nice piece, too.”

  She must have left it in the car, Turner thought, nodding politely. He hadn’t seen it.

  “Yes, well,” Newberg went on, “I hope this one works out. There’s been so many. Don’t need a lot of strangers cluttering up the place, do we?” He laughed heartily, as if he’d said something funny.

  Turner narrowed his eyes. The man was as nutty as a squirrel’s nest. “I thought that was the idea,” he said dryly. “None of us would be in business without customers.”

  “Ah yes, well, customers, that’s a different thing, now. We need customers. Of course we do. But they come and go. They don’t hang around the place, poking their noses in where they’re not wanted, now do they?”

  Turner wondered which one of the housekeepers he’d hired had upset the old coot. “Well, I don’t think you need worry about Claire Spencer. She’s not the nosy kind.”

  “Glad to hear it.” Newberg nodded once more and shuffled off. “At least this one is pleasant to look at,” he added over his shoulder as he went.

  Turner grinned and walked into his own shop, shaking his head. He had that on
e right. Claire was very good to look at. In fact, the sight of her drove him crazy.

  He’d forgotten how good it was to have a woman around the place. He never would have thought that someone like Claire Spencer could have fitted in as well as she had in such a short time.

  He liked the way she handled Harrie, with just the right blend of quiet authority and warm companionship. If she had to caution Harrie, she’d take the time to explain why. Something he’d never heard the other housekeepers do.

  She didn’t mind getting her hands dirty, either. Not like Stacey, who threw a fit when Harrie put a sticky hand on her clean blouse.

  In fact, Turner mused as he checked out the till, Claire Spencer was really nothing like Stacey. Maybe he’d misjudged her. It was time he started trusting her.

  True, she had a sophistication about her that spoke city, but she tempered it with a willingness to muck in when necessary. Like the day she’d cleaned the cabin after the fire. Stacey would have hired someone to do it.

  He was surprised at how the thought of Stacey no longer seemed to cut at him as badly as it once had. Oh, he still bitterly resented what she had done to him. But the pain of it was finally beginning to fade. Maybe it was his pride that had been hurt more than anything, and he was starting to heal at last.

  He finished counting out the bills and slipped them back into the drawer. Not enough to take to the bank yet. Though he didn’t like to let it pile up too much. Coopers Landing was a tiny place, and out in the wilds. It wouldn’t take much to break in and empty the till.

  He frowned, thinking about the light Claire had seen the night before. Could have been teenagers out joyriding. Or a fisherman who strayed farther than he’d thought. Could have been just about anyone. Still, it was disturbing.

  He’d feel better once he got this business of a housekeeper settled, he told himself. It was too bad Claire couldn’t take the job on permanently.

  Startled by the thought, he paused, his hand in midair. He was shaken by the sheer pleasure he’d felt at the prospect. It would be so good to see her around the place every day, hear her laugh as she joked with Harrie and share a glass of wine with her while they chatted across the dinner table at night.

  His blood began to tingle. It would be even better to wake up with her head next to his on the pillow every morning. See her smile at him as he reached for her—

  Catching himself, he slammed the drawer shut, destroying the rest of the vision before it could begin. What the hell was he doing? He couldn’t go on like this. He was in worse trouble than he thought.

  He shoved his chair back and strode to the door, as if the sight of the river surging past the Landing could clear his head. This was dangerous thinking.

  He stood for a long time, watching the fast-running water and trying not to think about a time when he had loved a city girl and thought she had loved him, too. Until one dark, wet night when they’d told him the truth.

  No, he decided as he walked back into the shop. It wasn’t worth the risk. What if he did get involved and then it didn’t work out? That could put a strain on the relationship between Claire and Harrie.

  He knew that his daughter was becoming attached to Claire. She had lost so much in her young life. There were times when he felt guilty about keeping her from her grandparents. But he couldn’t have Harrie turning out like her mother. Spoiled and selfish, thinking that all she had to do was want and she could get.

  He wished, with all his heart, that things could have been different. It wasn’t just his physical reaction to Claire. He genuinely liked Claire. He liked her very much. Under the right circumstances they might have had something good going.

  Sighing, he turned his attention to the new fishing lures that had been delivered the day before. They all had to be sorted and hung on the display racks. It would give him something to do and help keep his mind off Claire Spencer.

  Chapter 6

  “This is a neat place,” Harrie announced as she swiveled in her seat to look out the window. “I can see all the city from here, and Mount Hood, and the river, and all the bridges....”

  “Well, not quite all of them,” Claire said, smiling. “But most of them.”

  “We’re very high up here, aren’t we?” Harrie craned her neck to look down. “Those cars look real tiny.”

  “Pretty high up.”

  “Like on a mountain?”

  Claire laughed. “Not that high. But this is one of the highest hills overlooking the city.”

  “Look at all those boats on the river!” Harrie twisted her head to see in the other direction. “Look! There’s a plane coming down, and another one! Is that the airport?”

  “Yes, it is. Have you ever been on a plane?”

  Harry shook her head. “Mommy went sometimes, but I couldn’t go.”

  “That’s too bad,” Claire murmured, her heart sinking when she thought about Stacey and what she’d learned about the friend with whom she’d shared so much.

  Determined not to dwell on it, she spent the next few minutes discussing the menu with Harrie. They decided on lasagna and salad and were pleased with their choice when it arrived.

  “This was one of your mommy’s favorite places when I lived here,” Claire said, watching Harrie load up her fork with the pasta.

  “It was?” Harrie’s eyes brightened. “Did she like lasagna, too?”

  “They didn’t serve it then. At least, I don’t remember. We always had a hamburger.”

  “I like hamburgers, too.” Harrie swallowed a mouthful of food and grinned. “But I like this better.”

  “So do I.”

  “I have a favorite place, too,” Harrie said after a few moments of quietly enjoying her food.

  “You do? Where is it?”

  “It’s a secret place. Nobody knows about it but me.”

  Thinking she’d meant a restaurant, Claire frowned. “Where is this secret place?”

  “Up on Hunter’s Ridge.” Very carefully Harrie put her fork down. Her face wore a serious expression as she added softly, “I’ll show you if you like.”

  Aware that she was being bestowed a great honor, Claire felt a rush of tenderness. “Oh, Harrie, I’d like that very much. When can I see it?”

  “Tomorrow. I’ll show you tomorrow.”

  “That would be wonderful. Where is Hunter’s Ridge?”

  Harrie looked amazed that she didn’t know. “That’s the name of the hills next to the woods at the Landing.”

  Claire thought about the row of steep hills that marked the edge of the national forest. The foot of them had to be about a mile and a half from the cabin. That was going to be quite a hike.

  “Do you go there often?” she asked, wondering if Turner knew his daughter wandered that far from the Landing.

  Harrie shrugged. “Not much. I’m not supposed to go there by myself. I have lots of secret places, but that’s my favorite.”

  Claire was about to ask more about these secret places, when Harrie’s expression changed to one of delight. She waved her hand at someone across the room, and Claire turned her head to see who apparently knew Harrie well.

  To her intense dismay, striding purposefully toward her between the tables, came Pauline Bridgemont. And judging by her face, she was about to make trouble.

  “Well, this is a surprise,” Mrs. Bridgemont said, seating herself in the vacant chair at the table without asking. “No doubt you intended to tell me about this little excursion?”

  Her frosty gaze cut off Claire’s stammered greeting. “I must say,” she went on, her biting voice penetrating every one of Claire’s nerves, “I am disappointed in you, Claire. I would not have thought you were the kind of person to be influenced by hormonal attraction. Apparently living on the East Coast has degraded your ethics.”

  Indignation robbed Claire of a suitable response. While she was still trying to think of one, Mrs. Bridgemont turned to Harrie and in quite a different voice asked, “And how is my very favorite person in the whole world?�
�

  Harrie beamed. “Hi, Gran’ma! Are you going to have lasagna with us, too?”

  Mrs. Bridgemont barely suppressed a shudder. “Harrie darling, what on earth have you done to your hair? When did you have it last cut?”

  Harrie shrugged. “I dunno. When I was at school.”

  “And those clothes! More suitable for the beach than a restaurant. Whatever was your father thinking of, allowing you to come out dressed like that?”

  Claire was about to protest, when Harrie said loudly, “Claire said it was okay to wear this.” She looked down at herself. “I like wearing these clothes.”

  Behind her glasses, Mrs. Bridgemont’s eyes seemed to sparkle with a dangerous light. “Then Aunt Claire should have known better.”

  “She said at breakfast that we—”

  “Breakfast?”

  Claire winced. The steely voice seemed to echo throughout the crowded room, though she knew it was just her imagination. She cursed the impulse that had prompted her to bring Harrie to one of her grandmother’s favorite restaurants. It just hadn’t occurred to her that Mrs. Bridgemont would choose this day of all days to have lunch there.

  “I was there early to pick up Harrie—” she started to say, but Harrie, as usual, was ahead of her.

  “Claire is taking care of me now. That’s why she had breakfast with us this morning.”

  Very slowly Mrs. Bridgemont’s face swiveled in Claire’s direction. “Is this true?”

  With a sinking feeling in her stomach, Claire nodded. “Turner was having some difficulty in finding a suitable caretaker for Harrie, so I agreed to step in until he could make a permanent arrangement.”

  “I see,” Mrs. Bridgemont said, sounding ominously as if she had added two and two and come up with five.

  Claire could feel the heat washing over her face. “No,” she said evenly, “I don’t think you do.”

  “Well, all I can say is that Turner’s technique must be quite remarkable. How convenient for him to have you move in with him. It must make it so enjoyable for you all.”

  “I haven’t—”

  “No need to explain, my dear. I was young once, too. Though I do feel I should warn you. Turner is only using you to prevent action being taken on my complaint. A live-in housekeeper, if he can call it that, would certainly help his cause. Though once the Children’s Services Division knows what is going on I’m sure they will take a dim view of that.”