Bitter Roots

by C. J. Carmichael

  “Not always. No.” His gaze was piercing, and she had an atypical urge to reveal more, which she resisted. “Let’s say around nine. I’ll bring the bourbon.”

  Dinner that night was a solitary affair for Tiff. Her aunt had a book club meeting in town and her mother decided to have a simple soup and sandwich up in her room. It seemed meals in her room where not unusual for her mom.

  Tiff ate her own soup and sandwich in front of the TV watching the local news. Lost Trail’s homicide was the leading story, and included a short interview with Sheriff Ford who spoke reassuringly about the victim’s questionable background in her home state of California and how authorities there were checking into the whereabouts of her former boyfriend.

  How clean and tidy. Tiff wondered if Zak was watching and what he thought of the sheriff’s take on things. Personally, her stomach ached whenever she thought about the young woman who had worked on Raven Farm only to end up dead in a back alley in Lost Trail. Maybe the culprit was someone from another state, a part of Riley’s earlier life.

  But until the evidence of that was found, Tiff thought Zak was right to consider other possibilities.

  At seven Tiff went to her mother’s room and found her sleeping, her meal only half eaten. She stood quietly for a few moments, gazing at her mother’s delicate features. When she was younger Rosemary had been known for her glowing, clear skin. But time was taking its toll. There were faint wrinkles at the corners of her eyes and puckered skin along her upper lip. From the deep frown grooves on her brow, it seemed, even in sleep, she found no peace.

  Back in the family room Tiff read for a while, then at nine, grabbed a bottle from the liquor cabinet, put on her coat and boots, and went out the back door.

  At some point while she was inside it had started to snow and now a full two-inch coating lay on the ground. The flakes were falling so slowly some of them seemed to be floating in space. No wind rustled the branches of the fir trees. All was silent except for the crunch of her boots through the snow as she made her way to the cabin, guided by the bluish light from the moon.

  She knocked at the wooden door and heard Kenny call out, “Come in.” A second later Spade let out a lazy bark, as if he knew it was her at the door and was barking as a matter of obligation.

  She stepped inside quickly, squatting to give the old family dog a hug. Spade wriggled appreciatively.

  The guest cabin on Raven Farm was basically one large room with an attached bathroom. The open space was divided by furniture groupings into three areas: a kitchenette, a bedroom with a queen-sized bed, and a sitting area where a leather sofa faced the fieldstone fireplace.

  Tonight the only light came from the glow of that fire and two table lamps on either side of the sofa. The atmosphere might have been romantic except for the sound of a football game.

  Kenny was in the kitchen area, taking a tray of ice cubes from the mini fridge. He’d obviously showered recently. His curly dark hair gleamed with moisture and the air felt humid, redolent with a fresh, crisp soapy smell.

  He grabbed the remote and muted the volume on the game. “Hey there. Still snowing outside?”

  Instead of answering, she shook the snowflakes from her hair, then slipped off her boots and draped her coat over a chair. Her eyes were adjusting to the dim light and everywhere she looked she could see signs of Kenny’s occupancy.

  The bistro table held his laptop and a large ceramic mug she didn’t recognize. An assortment of books, magazines, and a pair of gray and red striped woolen socks were on the low table in front of the sofa, and the fireplace mantel held several unfamiliar framed photographs, including the one he’d previously kept in the farm’s office.

  Kicking off his socks seemed to be a habit with him. There were socks under the kitchen table as well as beside his bed—which had been made in a very lazy manner, pillows askew and feather duvet lumpy.

  She brought the bourbon to the kitchen where he had set out two tumblers.

  Kenny nodded his thanks. “Want me to add some ice, ginger beer, and a little lime? My version of a Dark and Stormy.”

  “It’s the perfect night for it.” Except it wasn’t really. When the hard blizzards of winter rolled off the mountains and down from the Arctic they usually came with blustering winds, driving snow, and chilling cold. Tonight’s weather front was delivering the snow softly, as if anxious not to shock the world as it transitioned toward the upcoming cold, dark season.

  She watched as Kenny mixed the drinks, noting the callouses on the tips of his long, elegant fingers.

  “Was it hard adjusting from ski guiding to working on a farm?”

  “I like the routine here better than I thought I would. Both jobs are physically demanding, but in different ways. I’m glad I get to spend the majority of my time outdoors.”

  “What does your family think of the change in your career?”

  “We’re not close. I don’t let their opinions concern me much.” He passed her a glass, then raised his in salute. “Cheers.”

  He’d shut that avenue of conversation down pretty fast. Not too sure what to talk about next, Tiff went to check the other photos on the mantel. They were all shots from his skiing days, one she recognized from a magazine article in Backcountry she’d found online.

  “What do you think of the drink?”

  She went to take a sip, but the sharp tang of ginger made her cough. Holding her breath, she tried a second time. The bourbon, ginger beer, and lime went down smooth and spicy. “That’s good.”

  He came to join her by the fireplace, standing close enough that his arm brushed against her shoulder. She inched to her left. “Looks like some epic ski trips.”

  He pointed to each photo in turn naming the state and the mountain. “Some of my favorite places in the world.”

  “So it’s the places, not the people, you want to remember?”

  “A little of both.”

  “I googled you,” she admitted. “You have quite a reputation as a ski guide. I also saw your name linked to an Olympic ski jumper from Canada. Kate Novak.”

  “You’ve really done your homework. Did you run a security check too?”

  “Should I have?”

  “Your aunt phoned my references before she hired me. Maybe you could rely on that. As for Kate, yes we were engaged, but after my accident I needed some alone time. Once I was strong enough, I drove the West Coast highway. Ashamed to say I got into some trouble in the bars I stopped at along the way. Then I got beaten up badly one night and that helped set me straight. I went back to Kate and told her I needed to change my life completely. Settle down, maybe start a family. Kate wasn’t on board with that, so we parted. Amicably.”

  She swept a sideways glance over his face, trying to gauge his level of heartbreak.

  “I missed her at first. But I’m doing fine now.” He raised his eyebrows at her. “How about you?”

  He’d been open with her, it was her turn now. She tried to give an honest answer. “I’m getting there.”

  “So what did happen out in Seattle? To hear your mom and aunt talk you were living a charmed life, getting promoted every third year and had a boyfriend who treated you like gold.”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “We’ve got time. And a lot of bourbon left in that bottle. Want to sit down?”

  She glanced at the sofa. Sitting made sense. And yet, something about that sofa, which wasn’t especially long, felt too intimate. So she perched on the rock ledge of the fireplace, right next to old Spade who was curled up to take best advantage of the warmth from the fire.

  Kenny went to the sofa, laying his arm along the back and angling his body so he occupied more than half the space.

  “My life was going along really well,” Tiff admitted. “But last winter, I started falling apart. I can’t say why. I started having anxiety attacks at night when I was trying to sleep. I’d end up staying awake until dawn, then falling asleep and getting to work late.”

  “And th
is hadn’t happened to you before?”

  “Never. I was always an early to bed, early to rise kind of person. Drove my friends crazy in college. But it served me well at work.”

  “Until the anxiety attacks.”

  “Yes. Not only was I getting to work late, I was also exhausted. I started making mistakes. Little ones at first. Then I messed up an important set of financial statements and compounded my error by arriving at the audit committee meeting a full hour late.”

  “Sounds bad. But not unforgivable.”

  “I haven’t told you the worst part.” She dug her fingers into Spade’s thick, brown coat. The dear old dog turned and gave her hand a lick, before dropping back to sleep. “The reason I slept in on that occasion was because I’d gone home for the night with the client’s son.”

  “Oh. Not so cool.”

  Unable to meet his gaze, she glanced into the fire. She’d already said too much, but she found herself continuing. “No, it wasn’t cool. Especially since I had a boyfriend at the time. We’d been together for years. Everyone expected we’d be getting married soon, including me. Needless to say, that will never happen now.”

  “The boyfriend found out?”

  “I told him. How could I not? Anyway, I lost my job and my boyfriend and so I decided the logical next step would be to go traveling until I’d blown all my savings.” She forced a smile. “So there’s my story.”

  Kenny said nothing for a long while. Finally she glanced at him, and was surprised to see a total lack of judgment in his eyes.

  “Want some more bourbon?”

  She hadn’t realized her glass was empty. “Another Dark and Stormy? Sure.”

  He took their glasses back to the kitchen area.

  The drinks were strong and a second probably wasn’t a good idea, but it felt good being in this cabin with Kenny. She was beginning to forget why it was she’d taken such a strong dislike to him at first. When he returned with the refills, she was sitting on the other side of the sofa.

  “Decided I won’t bite?”

  She smiled. Truth was, she wouldn’t mind if he did. She held her breath and took a sip of the fresh drink. “Even better than the first one.”

  “Well, go easy this time, Tiff. These drinks are strong.”

  They’d covered his past and hers. Tiff moved to the next obvious subject of conversation. “Did you listen to the news tonight? It sounds like the authorities in California are on the hunt for Riley’s ex-boyfriend. Did she ever talk about him with you?”

  “No. She didn’t discuss her past, period. She was quiet. And I thought a little sad, too. It was part of why I felt sorry for her.”

  An image of the silky pink thongs came back to her. Kenny had assured her the situation wasn’t as it appeared. But suddenly she remembered something else. Her mother telling her that the night Riley died she’d thought she’d heard a vehicle in the driveway. Her mother had gone to the window and seen no one—but maybe that was because the vehicle hadn’t been arriving, but departing.

  Kenny, going to meet Riley?

  Hadn’t he just told her today he sometimes went for a drive when he couldn’t sleep? Maybe he’d been trying to create a cover story for himself.

  Fear pressed a cold hand to the back of her neck despite her immediate rationalizations. Maybe her mother had imagined the sound. It could have been someone other than Kenny. Logic told her both explanations were perfectly plausible.

  Regardless, she no longer felt safe here with him. She set down her glass abruptly. “You’re right. These things are too strong for me. I’d better go home. Check on my mother.”

  Kenny looked taken aback, but he didn’t argue. At the door, he offered her the bottle. “Not much left, but you should take this with you.”

  “That’s fine.” She didn’t dare meet his gaze in case he saw too much in hers. “You keep it.”

  Outside the snow was still falling. She could hardly see her own footprints from earlier. She started out walking but then she ran. Tonight she would be locking all the doors and windows.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Justin crept from the bathroom to his bed in the dark, sliding between the sheets carefully so he wouldn’t wake Willow.

  “It’s okay,” she said softly. “I’m not asleep.”

  “Sorry. I tried to be quiet in the shower.” After tucking Geneva into bed, he’d spent two hours working out in his downstairs gym. He’d needed to push himself physically to keep his dark thoughts at bay. His hope had been to exhaust himself so he’d fall asleep quickly.

  “I was having trouble sleeping anyway.” She was quiet for a moment then said in a tone he rarely heard from her, one that was almost beseeching, “Will you hold me?”

  “Of course.” He moved closer, adjusting his body to accommodate hers. After their marriage he’d started wearing cotton T-shirts and boxers to bed. She snuggled her face against his chest.

  “You always smell so nice.”

  “I didn’t twenty minutes ago.”

  She traced her hand down his chest to his six-pack. “No wonder you’re so buff. You work out a lot.”

  “It’s a good release for me. But maybe I should ease off on my workouts. Spend more time with you?”

  “Oh, I’m fine. I took a few books out of the library yesterday. Geneva and I both got new library cards. I’d forgotten how nice Sybil Tombe is. She invited us to the preschool reading circle on Thursday.”

  “Good idea. Geneva can meet some kids her age. But do you think Geneva will go?” Since her move to Lost Trail, the little girl had been reluctant to try new things or meet new people. His dad was pretty much the only person she appeared to enjoy spending time with.

  “I think so. Sybil was good at drawing her out. She let Geneva play with the hand puppets they use for story hour. Geneva seemed enthralled.”

  “Might be good for you, as well. Maybe you’ll like some of the other parents.”

  “Maybe.”

  She sounded skeptical and he didn’t push. A few weeks after Willow and Geneva moved in with him, he’d suggested inviting some of their old school friends over for dinner. Willow vetoed the idea.

  “When we were growing up you were pretty much the only person in Lost Trail who didn’t bore me to tears. I came back to be with you. No one else.”

  “And I appreciate that. But you’ll go stir-crazy if you don’t get out and meet people. Do things.”

  “I’ll sort out the problem of what to do with my time on my own. Just don’t expect me to fall into whatever mold married mothers fit in this town. I’ll only disappoint you.”

  “Be yourself. Do whatever makes you happy, and I’ll be good with that.”

  The words had been easy to say back then, before she’d turned herself into a virtual hermit. Once a week she drove with Geneva to Hamilton to do grocery shopping and other errands, but the only other time he’d heard of her venturing downtown had been to take Geneva to the clinic for her vaccinations.

  “It’s snowing tonight,” Justin said, brushing his fingers over her dark, silky hair. “But it’s supposed to be sunny in the morning. Maybe you guys could go for a walk...and take your camera. I bet it’ll be gorgeous out.”

  As long as he’d known her, which had been since kindergarten, Willow had been obsessed with photography. As a little girl she’d carried around a boxy green camera, made for children, but as soon as she was old enough to babysit, she’d saved up money to buy her first Olympus.

  When she’d moved in, he’d seen she now owned top-of-the-line professional equipment, including an array of lenses and a tripod. He’d offered to renovate half the basement for her, set it up as her own photography studio.

  But she’d shaken her head and stowed the equipment away in a large plastic tub.

  “You forget, I’ve lived here before. I’ve taken every sort of picture you could imagine in Lost Trail.”

  “None with Geneva, though.”

  “Photographing people isn’t really my thing.�
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  He felt her stiffen in his arms. She hated when he pushed her, but he couldn’t help himself. Willow’s boredom was practically palpable. She desperately needed to find something stimulating to occupy her time. She was too much of a free spirit, too creative and adventurous, to be happy as a stay-at-home mom in a town that bored her.

  “You know what Geneva told me after I read her bedtime story?”

  “Hm?” Willow lifted her head.

  “She said her other daddy thought you were the most talented and beautiful woman in the world.”

  “Really? She said that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Amazing. Paul did used to say that all the time. I think she got it word-for-word.”

  “Well, Paul was right. You are talented. And beautiful.”

  “Please,” she protested. “Paul can get away with that sort of hyperbole. But truth is more your style. I have made some beautiful pictures, I agree. But only because Paul took me to some of the most stunning places in the world.”

  Despite his effort not to react, he could feel his body tense.

  “I don’t mean to complain,” she added hastily. “Traveling with Paul was fun while it lasted, but what we have here with you is much better for Geneva. And that means a lot to me. So thank you.” She kissed him softly on the cheek.

  He noticed she said nothing about what was better for her. “I still have a way to go with Geneva. I think she’s starting to trust me. But as hard as I try, I can’t seem to build the same rapport with her that my father has.”

  “I still think it’s your size. Your father is a smaller man. Less...threatening.”

  Now they were brushing up to the topic that had been in his thoughts since their conversation last night. He couldn’t resist probing again.

  “Do you think Paul could have abused her?”

  “I’ve told you, no. He wouldn’t. And yet—ever since that nurse made those comments I’ve been going over things in my mind. I told you Paul didn’t have much patience with Geneva. He sometimes spoke very harshly. And I did see him swat her once. He swore it was the first time and he’d never do it again...but what if he did? Maybe I loved Paul and the lifestyle he provided so much, I subconsciously ignored signs that should have sent me packing a lot sooner.”