“Yes.” No need to tell him she hadn’t yet paid. She started for the door.
“Where are you going?”
A quiver of fear licked up like a flame. It wasn’t him. It was inside her, like a frayed nerve reacting and not knowing when to stop. What was dangerous, what wasn’t? And when would it stop? It was a perfectly ordinary question, and she answered, “To look at the town.”
“Want a ride?” He folded the paper down over his knee.
“No thanks.”
He stood anyway and met her at the door with an easy stride. “The walk down’s not so bad, but up’s a bear. Much worse than my bite.”
Had he sensed her fear? Her mind whirring over endless possibilities of danger? She could drive herself crazy with what ifs. And the walk up the gravel road was daunting. “All right.” An instant trembling chased up her spine, but she resisted it.
He fished his keys from his pocket. “How’d you get up here?”
“I walked.” She passed through the door he held.
“I mean up to Juniper Falls.”
“The tour bus.”
“Aha.” He closed the door behind them. “So what brings you here?”
“I liked the look of it.” The questions were inevitable, but she hoped her terse answers would discourage him soon. She slid into the fawn leather seat of his car. Of course, his was the Corvette. “What does FSTLN mean?”
“Hmm?”
“Your license plate.”
“Oh. Just add vowels.”
Noelle solved it in her head, and as the gravel flew behind his tires, she fastened her seat belt. Though the grasses brushed the underbelly of his car, he drove with just enough velocity to keep her attention without putting her over the edge, literally. Then he parked in the central lot outside the general store. Fast lane indeed. She surveyed the street before her as he walked around to let her out.
“To the right, tourist row, down that way, the real town. Which will it be for starters?”
She followed the sweep of his arm with her gaze. “The real town.”
“It is something of a relic. The theater, for instance, was converted from an opera house in the forties and still shows a whopping one movie at a time, at least six months later than anywhere else.”
Noelle smiled. “Quaint.”
“Here’s the bank. It was robbed fourteen times in its first year, 1884. So they called in the Congregational minister, had him bless the place, and it’s never been hit since.”
Noelle stared at the stone structure. It looked like a toy compared to the skyscraping bank buildings of New York City. Finches fluttered around its eaves, ducking in and out of the tiny apertures, and a mudand-daub nest in one corner showed where a pair of rock swallows had raised a spring brood. “That’s interesting.”
“Coincidence, really. The silver shipments stopped changing hands here and went to Golden instead.”
She smiled again. “Sounds like you know your history.”
“I got all that from the professor.”
“Professor …”
“Jenkins, your fellow guest at the ranch.”
“Who else is there?” Since she had a guide, she may as well use him to learn what she could.
“A family from Michigan, three members of a Pathfinder Club, a couple on their honeymoon. Won’t see much of them. But the professor likes to gab.” They passed a hardware store, a drug store, and an icecream parlor.
Noelle paused at the French patisserie. “Is it any good?”
“Want to try it?”
“No, just wondering.” She started on before he could encourage her to share one of the pleasant umbrella tables on the patio. It was one thing to catch a ride and let him show her around, another altogether to linger and chat over pastries.
The general store she’d already seen, and there was a modern, though tiny, grocery mart. Across from that a square stone building housed the library, post office, and city hall. Next to that was the Roaring Boar Grill and Saloon, made of red granite with huge rough beams supporting a peaked roof.
Morgan stopped. “That’s it, except for private residences, the church there, and behind it the new community center for civic activities.”
“Such as?” She looked at the low-peaked warehouse-type building that looked completely out of place behind the old stone church.
“Oh, you know, Elks Club, ladies guild … a quilt show now and then. Pure excitement.”
Noelle smiled. He was irreverent but amusing, and her intimidation lessened. But her head throbbed and she was uncommonly tired.
“You okay?” Morgan eyed her.
She nodded. “My head aches.”
“That’s the altitude. Drink lots of water. You’ll acclimate in a few days. You want to see the tourist strip?”
“Not really.”
“There just might be a curio you can’t live without—ceramic hind end of a horse with the clever quip ‘Rocky Mountain quarter horse.’ Even has a slot for quarters. I won’t tell you where.”
Noelle groaned.
“I bought one for Rick in honor of his profession, but I haven’t seen it displayed.”
“I can’t imagine why.” She stepped over a missing chunk of sidewalk.
“All sorts of treasures. Bottle of fool’s gold that people buy to prove they really are.”
“No thanks.”
“Don’t want you to miss out on the priceless finds that bring the bus people every day.”
“I’ll bear responsibility.”
He shrugged with an emphasized sigh and led her back to the car. He held her door open and she climbed in, steeling herself for the drive. In truth, though he rode the edge, he was an accomplished driver, far safer behind the wheel than she’d be on those curves. As Morgan’s Corvette hugged the road up to the ranch, she looked down at the town nestled below.
He glanced over. “Sleepy little afterthought, isn’t it.”
She nodded. But it was perfect. No one would expect to find her in a little place like Juniper Falls. She could just disappear. When they reached the ranch, she went up to her room, tucked her legs beneath her, and sat on the bed. She’d landed. And now her life was her own. She breathed deeply.
After a short nap and several glasses of water, Noelle’s head had stopped aching. But she was hungry. She checked the schedule on the door and thankfully started down for dinner. A thin, stoop-shouldered man was already seated at the table; the professor, no doubt. She noted his Roman patrician nose and deep-set umber eyes beneath graying brows. His short-cropped beard had a dark brown V between two gray patches on his chin. She wondered if it was cleft underneath.
Rick spoke from behind her. “Noelle, this is Professor Jenkins, here for a couple of weeks on sabbatical. Professor, Noelle St. Claire.”
“I’m pleased to meet you, Professor.”
He nodded formally with a smile. “Likewise, Ms. St. Claire.”
Rick took the chair at the head of the long pine table, and Noelle sat on his left across from the professor. Two middle-aged men and a slightly older woman were introduced, and Noelle guessed them the Pathfinders Morgan had mentioned. The family from Michigan must be using their own kitchen, and, as Morgan had suggested, the honeymoon couple did not join them.
Morgan followed Marta in from the kitchen as she carried the first steaming platter to the table. “You can’t say that, Marta. I dated a girl so nice her worst nightmare was not getting to heaven. No joke. She dreamed she was in line behind Mother Teresa, and St. Peter told the bent old woman, ‘You could have done more.’ She dragged me through more good deeds—”
“There’s nothing wrong with wanting to better the world.” Marta turned back for the kitchen.
“Don’t I know. Just gotta have fun doing it.” Morgan took his place and winked at Noelle.
It could have been a family argument, a naughty nephew and a favorite aunt. She wondered if Marta was related, but the physical characteristics were too disparate. Though, to be sure, Ri
ck and Morgan were different enough. Marta laid out the meal: pork chops, potatoes, buttered peas, and rolls still steaming—exactly the kind of fare Noelle had expected there. Marta’s swift, concise motions were like the darting of a ground squirrel, but at last she stopped and stood at the foot of the table.
Noelle laid her napkin in her lap and reached for the rolls, then stopped, fingers extended, as Rick bowed his head and said, “‘I will extol the Lord with all my heart in the council of the upright and in the assembly.’”
She stared. She couldn’t help it. Never would she have taken him for a praying man, though now the cross over the mantel made sense.
“For this food we are deeply grateful. Bless it for our use in your service, O Lord. Amen.”
Amens surrounded her. Catching Morgan’s amusement, she dropped her gaze. She hadn’t meant to be so transparent, especially with Morgan more attentive than she wanted.
The professor turned to her. “Visiting from New York?”
She looked at him in surprise and with more than a little concern.
“How did you…”
“I detect an accent.”
“My tutor would be disappointed to hear that.” Noelle sliced open the steaming potato, noticing the glance Rick and Morgan shared. She shouldn’t have said that either. She wasn’t used to guile.
“I’m a bit of a linguist, you see—a trained ear.” The professor leaned forward. “While you lack the obvious accent, your diction does betray you. Long Island?”
She gave him a slight smile, but her heart thumped. Since she’d given her name, it would be a simple matter for them to trace her back to … But why would they? She’d done nothing wrong. She could go where she pleased, do what she pleased. What she’d lived before was the farce. This was real.
Morgan passed the rolls. “How’s the book coming, Professor?”
“Oh.” He shrugged. “I’m ruminating. That’s the most part.” He nodded to Noelle. “I’m writing a history of western expansion through the anecdotes of small towns such as Juniper Falls.” The timbre of his voice belied his spare, lanky frame, the long, almost delicate fingers with which he precisely cut his meat. He had the hands of an academic.
She responded politely, thankful when Morgan engaged him and the professor’s attention shifted from her. As he and Morgan conversed, with interjections from the hikers, the talk washed over her, just as it had so many times with her father and his associates. She felt invisible and was content to remain so.
Morgan seemed undaunted when Professor Jenkins corrected him. He shrugged carelessly and offered his rebuttal. Even she could tell he was fudging, but the professor took pains to correct him again. Rick said little but had the look of a man who attended every detail.
She was glad to be left to her thoughts. The food was like heaven. Marta was a good chef. Or maybe it was simply the first meal not from a machine that she had eaten in days. Whichever, its simple comfort and satisfaction was a healing balm. She cleaned her plate without shame.
Morgan engaged her eyes. “There’s a band at the Roaring Boar tonight. Want to go?”
“No thanks.”
“It’s a good band,” he coaxed.
She shook her head. “Not tonight.” Or any night. She handed over her plate to Marta’s waiting hands, excused herself, and left the table.
She went to the bookshelves that flanked the fireplace and searched the titles. There were classics from Homer to Mark Twain with a few by Michener and Clavell. Quite a few by C. S. Lewis and T. S. Elliot, whom she hadn’t read. Tom Clancy was the only current New York Times bestseller among them.
The other shelf held travel guides, historical, wildlife, and nature books. She found a Rocky Mountain botanical guide not unlike the one she’d studied for the Northeastern states. She slipped it from the shelf as Morgan approached.
“You can’t possibly think that would be more entertaining than a night on the town with the best band the Boar sports.”
She turned to him. “I’d like to recognize the plants I encounter here.” To own and absorb this strange place, to make it hers.
“That’s what the daytime’s for. The night was made for fun.”
She had him pegged now, but merely opened the cover of the botanical and said, “No thanks.”
“We’d have a good time.”
She expected he would. But she was not there for a good time. “No thank you, Morgan.”
This time he shrugged and left without her. And that was telling as well. He might coax, but he didn’t force the issue. She released a slow breath. She was learning, reading them, apprehending her situation and those others within it. She glanced up from the book as Rick crossed to the door after Morgan. “Excuse me. Are these for anyone’s use?”
He took a jacket from the hooks and reached for the doorknob. “Help yourself.”
Through the front window she watched him cross to the stable. It seemed he wasn’t joining Morgan in town. He was going back to work. For brothers, they could hardly have been more different. If she’d had a brother or sister, would they be her opposite? Staring at the darkening window, she imagined a sister, brave, brash, and outspoken.
With a sigh, Noelle carried the botanical guide to her room. No doubt many of the plants, trees, and flowers pictured would be ones she already knew. But mountain flora had to differ from that of sea level, and she was genuinely interested in what she might find in her new environment. Before she settled in, though, she checked the money in the makeup pouch from the shelf, counted each bill. She should have taken more than two thousand dollars, but she had only been thinking of travel money, hadn’t thought past her escape.
Paying bills had never occupied much of her thoughts. It was automatic; she either signed for her expenses or used a credit card. She never carried cash. To walk around with four hundred dollars in her pocket—She realized with a jolt that she hadn’t given Rick her payment. It was still in that pocket.
But he hadn’t asked for it. Was he a careless businessman? It seemed contrary to what she’d noted as his methodical and diligent nature. Well, she could hardly chase him down as the evening drew toward dusk. She left the rent in her pocket and replaced the makeup bag on the shelf. The money ought to be in a bank, even the little one in town, but an account could be traced. She would have to figure that out, but tonight she was too tired. She put the bag back on the shelf.
After changing for bed, she read until her eyes would not stay open, then turned out the lamp and curled under the coverlet. She had never slept in a place so unfamiliar, except on the numerous buses from the past days, and already that seemed like a strange interlude, a pinch time that may not be real. Lying in the pine bed, she drifted into a warm, nebulous calm. The sleep that had been fitful as she traveled now came heavily, and she gladly succumbed.
Without warning, she sensed the shadow above her, heard the beating of the wings. All her flesh trembled, and she crouched, pulling the grass down around her. But the blades were too thin and brittle to conceal her. Helpless, she grasped at them, frantic to cover herself, then, despairing, turned her face up to the cruel beak and talons.
CHAPTER
4
William St. Claire sat in his office. He stared at the plaques on his wall—certificates, awards, and mementos of achievements that did nothing to lighten his mood. Not after a miscarriage of justice, a guilty man set free. He was not fool enough to believe every client innocent of the charges against him, though the Constitution presumed so. But this time the realization of his client’s probable guilt came after he had accepted the case. It didn’t change his job; the man was entitled to defense, the best his money could buy, and William had billed accordingly. But where was the strength of the system? Why was it so easy to win? And why was his heart still in prosecution after all these years?
The prosecutors should do their job as effectively as he and Michael did theirs. He sighed. He was getting old—he would turn fifty-nine this year. He sat down in the smooth
leather chair and massaged the back of his neck. Where were the answers he’d thought he knew? How brash and arrogant he’d been as a young man. But no more. Now he understood too much and believed too little.
Ordinarily when he felt this gloomy he would call Noelle, have her come for supper. Simply seeing her restored his spirits. But that wasn’t possible just now, was it? Ohio. Was she there, or had it been only a along the way? And why had he withheld her location from Michael?
Maybe Michael could have suggested some reason his daughter would be calling from a pay booth in Columbus, Ohio. But then, maybe not. And something had kept William from telling. Did he trust Michael? As much as he trusted anyone besides Noelle. He sighed. It would sort itself out. He had to believe that and not let irrational fears make a bogeyman in every shadow.
Noelle was safe. She had sounded calm. And if she’d never done anything like this before, it wasn’t as though she couldn’t do it now. She was twenty-three years old. Hardly a child, certainly not the vulnerable child she’d been when … His stomach seized. Would it ever cease, the physical reaction to the memory, to the awful, awful memory?
Or was it another instinct? One he should heed? It wouldn’t hurt to learn where she was. He wouldn’t interfere, just… He pinched the bridge of his nose. Where was the balance? His daughter was grown and intelligent, and she had assured him she was fine. His need to know should not violate her right to privacy. He would wait… for now.
Noelle awoke to the scolding of a magpie outside her window. The early morning sunshine poured into the room, and she stared at the log walls and ceiling, then made sense of it as full consciousness returned. Hardly a vestige of the dream remained, and she felt surprisingly refreshed. She slipped out of bed.
When she had showered, she pulled her hair into a loose French braid. She dressed in jeans and a V-neck T-shirt. She could hear Marta humming in the kitchen as she started down the stairs, a homey sound that cut straight to her heart. The staff at home would never draw attention to themselves that way.
A Rush of Wings Page 4