“I won’t be here,” I stuttered quickly.
“Sorry? You need to give your statement. You can leave after that.”
“Can’t I give my statement now? I don’t want to stay here another minute.”
“Patti, it’s two in the morning. It’s dark outside. And at this time, the roads are covered with animals. It’s not safe. You’ve had a long day. Drowsiness can kill. Just wait until the morning.”
Everything he said made sense.
I didn’t want to hear sense right now though.
Stalking over to my suitcase, I started to finish packing.
“Hey, I would be negligent if I let you drive like this.” He walked up behind me and kind of hovered there, clearly not wanting to do something brash like grabbing me, yet still wanting to stop my frantic packing.
“Weather conditions can change quickly on some of the higher roads. If you aren’t prepared and you aren’t rested, it’s god darn easy to crash. Trust me; I’ve attended more accidents than I ever want to remember. Patti, just calm down.”
I wanted to throw something at him, but I restrained myself. “I can’t stay here.”
“Fine, but I’m telling you, I’m not going to let you go either. You can leave in the morning.”
“I’ll just sleep in my car then,” I concluded angrily.
“We can find you someplace else to stay.”
“As you already pointed out, it’s two in the fucking morning. And this is Wetlake. Everywhere is booked out, and no one is going to be staffing a lobby at this time in the morning. So I will sleep in my car.”
“Hey, that’s not an option. Okay… look… you can… ,” he began.
I looked up sharply.
“I have a spare room,” he hazarded awkwardly. “I have to go back to work, but you can have free reign of my house if you want to.”
I didn’t want to stay here; I couldn’t stay in this motel a second longer, let alone for another night. But could I really take Thorne up on his offer and go back to his house? It didn’t matter if he wouldn’t there; it would be a terribly personal and familiar move to accept the invite.
I’d just met the man again for the first time in years.
Did I really have any other option though?
“You can leave in the morning after you’ve given your statement,” he repeated once more.
I nodded.
He let a trapped breath through his teeth. Then he took a brief moment to push his fingers hard into his crumpled brow.
He looked tired and very, very stressed out.
A little of my hardened anger began to melt.
I wasn’t the only one wrapped up in this situation. And while I was dealing with the stress of figuring out if I was next in line for the killer’s devoted attention, Thorne had to deal with the responsibility of stopping this before another body wound up dead in the roses.
“I am… sorry,” I managed, “sorry for being so stressed out and irascible. This must have been a really terrible night for you.”
“Yeah, with one thing and another, I missed dinner.” He pressed his lips together, his chin dimpling in the world’s smallest smile.
“So did I.” I returned the world’s smallest smile.
“You want to grab your stuff? You can follow me in your car, and I’ll lead you back to my house. Like I said, I can’t stay long though.”
I nodded. “Thank you, Thorne. And sorry—”
“You don’t need to apologize, Patti. You just need to keep safe and get some rest.”
I let my smile deepen at that.
His tone was genuine and the look he matched it with was about as honest as they came.
I’d been too hard on this guy, hadn’t I? Just like his brother, I’d been too quick to write him off when he’d done something I hadn’t liked.
We were all stressed, and I had to start taking account of that.
I finished packing quickly and then dragged my luggage out to my car. Offering the darkened motel a final look, I wondered whether I should go and find Denver to tell him where I was going and that I was okay.
Yet I doubted he would be in. Denver would be out trying to get to the bottom of this case—or maybe he would be in the pub trying to drown out whatever he’d seen in Nancy’s room.
Imagination driving me wild, I followed Thorne’s car as he led me slowly through the dark night.
I drove mechanically with just enough attention saved for the road and his taillights so I didn’t crash. The rest of me ran over the day’s events obsessively.
First the postcard on my toilet, then the murder of Hank Reaver, and now whatever had been in Nancy’s room. It all had to be connected, right? Though I didn’t know what Nancy had found, it just had to be something grisly, didn’t it? I’d seen how ashen Denver’s face had turned, and he did not seem like the kind of guy to lose his stomach over a mere splatter of blood or the sight of a lifeless corpse.
“Come on, think,” I mumbled to myself.
I wanted to figure this all out, but I had to face facts: I didn’t know enough even to begin to try.
All too soon, I watched Thorne pull his car up a long driveway, and I turned in behind him. He led me up to a small but charming log cabin with dark firs and pine trees that hemmed it in from all sides. The grass along the path was long and untrimmed, and what had once undoubtedly been a garden was now a collection of rampant ivy and a few scant bushes.
Thorne was obviously not one for property maintenance.
“Sorry about the yard,” he muttered as he waved a hand up and activated the outside light, “that’s the problem about living out in the wilds; there ain’t that much you can do to keep it at bay.”
The wilds. I hadn’t ever thought of Wetlake as being wild. Boring, yes, and terribly, terribly pedestrian and drab.
Now as I walked through the shadows and up to Thorne’s door, I took a moment to pause and take in the view. There was a gap between the dark spruces to my left, and it led down to a dramatic view of the mountain ranges beyond. Touched with the silver and ghostly white of a half-moon, they looked rugged and yes, wild.
Drawing in a deep breath, I smelt the damp of rain and the dank earthiness of the forest around me.
Lingering there, I heard the call of animals.
It made me shiver.
“It’s an incredible view; it’s why I bought this place. It’s cold as hell in winter—most of the year, in fact—but you can see for miles and miles. You don’t get a place like this in the city.” Thorne wrestled with his keys in the front door and then shouldered it open. “Okay, I have to warn you, I’m a single guy living alone, and the place is a tip. If you kick the old videos and papers off the bed in the spare room, you’ll be fine though. Sorry I can’t come in to give you a hand, but I have to get back to the station.”
I nodded at him. “Thank you,” I gave a croaky whisper as he shifted past me.
Still facing me as he walked backwards, he gave a low nod. “I’ll see you in the morning. If you need to contact me, just call the local station.”
I nodded, pushing my lose hair behind my ears.
“I’ll be back around seven-ish. Have… a good night,” he coughed awkwardly then turned and left.
I watched him go. I even waited there on his over-grown path until I heard his car scrape over the driveway until it reached the main road far below.
The night air was still fresh, and the forest behind was still dark and laced with the call of animals and insets.
If I’d been feeling in a braver mood, maybe I would have stood there staring at that thin slit of a view through the break in the spruces and pines. Yet as another call split the air, I shivered and made it quickly inside.
Closing the door behind myself with a gentle and hesitant move, I turned to survey Thorne Scott’s house.
It was a tip, but perhaps not a deliberate one. It wasn’t full of rubbish or junk—just stuff, and lots of it.
There were boots, jackets, tools, an
d boxes of wood for the winter. Amongst all the mounds and piles was a kitchen though, and beyond that a small lounge room. A very warn and dark-brown leather couch was turned towards a set of large windows.
The view was breathtaking.
The house was raised up on stilts on this side, and the windows looked right out over some short firs and into the mountain ranges beyond.
The still and dark beauty of the scene was different to the city; Thorne was entirely right about that.
I walked over to the couch and sat down.
The house was cold, but I just wrapped my arms closely around my middle and kept on staring out of the windows.
Eyes wide, I can’t tell you how long I sat there like that.
Eventually I lay down, pulling a threadbare, crochet pillow under my head and finally closing my eyes.
From threats to murders to interrupted trysts with Scott boys, my day had been viciously harsh.
Closing my eyes to that startling and rugged view, I couldn’t deny Wetlake wasn’t how I remembered.
Dangerous, confusing, and beyond wild.
Chapter 10
I woke up to the smell of eggs and dill.
My stomach rumbling in anticipation before I’d even blinked my eyes open, I sat up.
I wasn’t in my own bed; I wasn’t at the motel either.
Forcing back the sleep, I swiveled my eyes to the left and was immediately struck by the incredible view beyond.
The sun was already peeping above the tall mountain ranges and sending long lines of glimmering light tracing along the ragged peaks.
It was such a stark sight that I stared at it for entirely too long until I remembered where I was and why I was here.
I stood up, pivoting my head towards the kitchen.
Thorne wasn’t there, but as I padded across his worn carpet, I saw a skillet on the gas stove, several eggs spitting away inside.
Hearing running water, I followed a short corridor that branched off into several junk-filled rooms.
Turning a corner, I finally saw Thorne.
Without a shirt on.
“Oh, sorry,” I took a sharp step backwards.
He was leaning over a sink, shaving, wearing sweat pants but no shirt.
He glanced my way, tugging the razor over his soap-covered throat. “It’s fine. I thought you were still asleep. I didn’t want to disturb you.”
I turned, trying to give him some privacy.
Though Thorne had an incredible physique, I didn’t want to stand in the door to his bathroom and ogle him while he shaved.
“Do you mind checking the eggs for me?” he nodded towards the kitchen.
“Sure,” I mumbled, trundling back down the corridor. My cheeks felt hot, and hell, they probably were.
Rubbing at them to chase away the flush, I reached the kitchen and pried at the eggs with a metal spatula. Before I could decide whether they were done, Thorne walked in, tugging a shirt over his head. Reaching past me, he grabbed up two pieces of toast just as they jumped out of the toaster. Chucking them on two waiting plates, he turned off the gas. “I hope you like eggs, because that’s all I’ve got. I haven’t had a chance to grab any groceries for a while; I’ve been kind of busy.”
“It’s fine. They smell great.” I scrunched my lips together as I tried to think of something else to say.
The truth was, I had nothing but questions for Thorne, but I realized he wasn’t going to answer any of them. So instead I trailed into an awkward silence as I picked at the worn edges of my jacket.
“I thought you’d take the spare bed.” Thorne scraped the eggs onto the toast, again not exactly placing them so much as chucking them. He clearly wasn’t a chef, but his food still smelt great. Then again, maybe he was the one who smelt great: a mix of shaving gel, fresh herbs, and coffee.
“Do you want to grab the pepper from the spice rack over there?” He gestured with his spatula.
I obediently picked it up then followed him over to his very small and very dirty table.
Placing the plates down, he swept away his piles of paper and maps, and gestured for me to take a seat.
“You sleep okay?” he asked as he pushed a plate over to me, obviously not caring that the chipped ceramic of the base scraped over the veneer of the wood.
I nodded. Despite the fact I’d been cold and the couch had been lumpy, as soon as I’d allowed my eyes to close, they hadn’t opened again until morning.
Late morning if the height of the sun was anything to go by.
“I’ve got to apologize for the mess again. I’m really not used to visitors. The only people I get coming around are my dad when he’s here to help with a fallen-down tree or my mum when she has spare casserole left over.”
I smiled.
“Not really the most glamorous of bachelors, am I?” Thorne chuckled through a swallow.
Though his observation seemed innocent, there was a hint of something else flickering behind his eyes.
Defensiveness.
I recognized it; I’d felt it before myself.
It was the sense that others were judging you for something you were proud of. Thorne had clearly chosen his current lifestyle, and while it lacked sizzle and style, he appeared to enjoy it. That wouldn’t stop him from realizing a lot of people would turn their noses up at the piles of tools and maps, and their mother dragging around leftovers every Sunday.
I didn’t answer; instead I took a bite of my eggs. I realized how delicious they were just as my stomach reminded me how freaking hungry I was.
I’d hardly eaten at all yesterday.
“These are great,” I managed between a mouthful.
“They come from my own chickens. And there’s garlic and dill and parsley from the garden. I can’t say the oil is mine; that comes from the supermarket. But the bread is locally made.”
“Wow, you could start your own boutique B&B here; people would empty their wallets for rustic food like this where I come from.”
“I don’t think I’d pass the standards; my entire house is a tripping hazard. But thanks for the compliment anyway.”
As soon as I finished my eggs, Thorne disappeared into the kitchen and grabbed me a steaming hot mug of coffee.
I immediately took a sip, despite the heat rising off it. “Wow, do you happen to grow your own coffee too? Because this is great.”
Thorne laughed. “No, owing to the fact coffee is a tropical crop. The milk is local though, and there’s a little honey in it from one of my hives.”
“You have hives?”
Thorne laughed again. “As in the bees, not the blisters. But yeah, they’re out back.”
I indulged in another long sip of coffee, enjoying the bouquet and getting lost in the steam as it played across my cheeks and nose.
Looking up, I saw that Thorne was glancing my way, a half-smile shaking up his lips.
“What?” I wiped my nose in case it was covered in milk or egg.
“Nothing. I just… ,” he rested back in his chair and scratched his head, “didn’t think a city girl like you would appreciate a breakfast like this.”
“Homemade bread and honey fresh out of a hive? Are you nuts? Of course I’m loving this. It beats the nasty sandwich I picked up from the motel yesterday.”
We dwindled into silence as I continued to drink my coffee. Occasionally I would glance over Thorne’s shoulder and get lost in the view again.
Then occasionally I would glance back and get lost in an entirely different view.
Thorne Scott—a home-cooking, rugged, mountain man with stubble to match and a stomach you could strike a match off. He had a distracting and deservedly good physique, but he was smoother than most of the buff guys I met in the city and a heck of a lot less lumpy. Thorne didn’t get his definition and muscles by sweating madly while staring at himself in the mirror and pumping iron. He got it by working—by trekking through the mountains and lugging lumber around his yard.
Sure, his face had a bit more su
n damage and a lot less moisturizer than you’d find on a city boy, but I didn’t mind one bit.
Thorne was the genuine article.
A genuine article who was now sitting across the small table from me and industriously staring at his empty plate rather than glancing my way.
I was suddenly struck by how… different he was. Not just from the boy I’d crushed on during all of high school, but your usual stereotype of a classically good-looking guy.
He was charming, but he sure as heck wasn’t confident—or at least not the kind of impenetrable confidence you found in your average city slicker with cash to burn and wild times on his mind.
Humble.
That’s it. That was the perfect word for Thorne Scott. He was full of this rugged, country decency.
He wanted to do the right thing by you.
That’s why he’d tried to reassure me the postcard meant nothing, and that’s why he’d offered me his own house rather than letting me drive in the dark through roads I barely remembered and my GPS often mistook for fields.
He desperately wanted to do the right thing by me.
I was thawing out something quick, and trying hard not to let it show.
“So… you want to give that statement and get on your way?” He nodded to the door.
“Yeah… of course. But… thanks.”
“You don’t need to thank me, Patti. I feel I owe it to you. I know it must seem I didn’t take that postcard seriously, but I just wanted to put your mind at ease. If anything else had come up, I would have acted on it immediately.”
I offered him a commiserating and gentle smile as I realized how tired he looked. “I know. And I’m sorry for overreacting.”
“Oh hell, there you go again, apologizing for something you shouldn’t be. You were scared, and you had every right to be. I should have tried harder,” he stopped midway through his sentence.
He was thinking about the murders, wasn’t he? And whatever he’d found in Nancy’s room.
A lump formed in my throat, and no matter how hard I tried, I could not swallow it down.
“We should get going. Then you’ll have plenty of daylight for your long drive.” He gestured to the full sun streaming in through the windows behind him.
Odette C. Bell - Ladies in Luck - An Unlucky Reunion Page 11