Peppermint Creek Inn

by Jan Springer

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  It was as if she hadn’t said anything. His narrowed gaze scanned the bedroom. “The gun. The handcuffs. Where are they?”

  “They’re safe.”

  “I need them. The law can’t even suspect you’ve been harboring me. They’ll kill you just as soon as look at you.”

  “They don’t suspect a thing, Tom.” Sara kept her voice as calm as possible. Hopefully her calmness would brush off on him.

  He followed her back out into the kitchen where she reached into the cupboard to get the supplies she needed to prepare supper.

  “Listen to me, dammit!” He was shouting now and she didn’t appreciate being bullied around, but she understood his fear for her safety. She felt the same way about his. “I’ve overstayed my welcome. It’s time for me to clear out. You need to find a safe place for yourself until this blows over. Go to your private eye sister’s place and stay with her.”

  “What’s the matter with you? I said I’m not going anywhere. This is my home. And no one knows you’re here, why run?”

  “My God, woman! Are you deaf? Didn’t you hear that cop? He said I had something to do with his partner going missing. Aren’t you afraid I might make you disappear, too?”

  She turned around to see a muscle twitching crazily in his jaw and his eyes narrowed further.

  Sara felt a sudden chill shoot up her back. He thought he would hurt her again. Grab her like he’d grabbed her yesterday in the loft. The thought struck her like pepper spray. Instinctively though, she knew there was no way he would hurt her, especially not after the way he’d tenderly seduced her pussy this afternoon after their picnic.

  “Just relax, Tom. I trust you.”

  He threw her a look of disbelief. “How can you be so sure you can trust me? I practically assaulted you at our picnic. I couldn’t keep my hands off of you.”

  “You only did what I asked you to do. Please don’t read anything else into it.”

  A look of hurt flashed across his face and then it disappeared leaving Sara wondering if she’d even seen it.

  “Besides, there’s something wrong with Justin’s story.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Justin said you stole his gun.”

  “Yes, I heard. It means I could have used it on his partner.”

  “That gun is not police issue.”

  “How do you know?”

  “My husband was a cop. Justin and Sam are cops. Cops don’t have those types of guns. Besides, it’s old and too hacked up. Looks old.”

  “Then it’s mine.”

  “Could be.”

  “And it was empty and that’s why I took Jeffries’ gun.”

  “Maybe,” Sara said thoughtfully.

  Tom frowned. “You know something.”

  “Why would you throw Justin’s gun away?”

  “I must have dropped it while I was running.”

  “Might have.”

  He shoved a furious hand through his hair. “Why can’t you just admit I am a criminal? I took the cop’s gun. Killed his partner. Then dropped it.”

  “Why drop a loaded weapon and keep the empty one?”

  “Because I had it in my hand. I dropped it. There’s nothing sinister going on here. I am a criminal.”

  “If you’re a criminal then why do the police want to kill you?”

  Tom inhaled deeply. “Okay, I see where you’re going. Something else is going on here.”

  “I’m glad you’re beginning to see it my way,” she smiled at him, but his frown remained intact. “Besides this is the last place the police would think a criminal would be hiding.”

  “Why do I suddenly get the feeling I don’t want to hear why this would be the last place a criminal would hide?”

  “Because you don’t want to hear that Peppermint Creek Inn is a private resort. It’s geared toward—law-enforcement officers and their families.”

  She’d expected an explosion from him, but it didn’t come. He merely blinked as if trying to analyze this new piece of information. Then he slowly nodded his head and gave a strangled laugh. He put on his jacket.

  “Okay. If you don’t want to leave, I’ll leave before the cop shows up,” he tossed over his shoulder as he headed for the door.

  “Hold on!” She caught up to him and grabbed his arm in an attempt to stop him. Heated electricity jumped between the two of them and Sara quickly let go.

  He must have felt it too because he looked at the area where she’d grabbed his arm then his gaze traveled up to her face. Every nerve in her body tensed and sparkled as he stared at her. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. He remained quiet for a moment then said slowly, “I didn’t want to tell you, but I guess it’s time. Yesterday, I saw someone lurking around right outside your bedroom window. I’ve been trying to make myself believe it was just a dream but it wasn’t.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “By the expression on your face I’d say you know what I’m talking about. Who is he?”

  Her heart began a wild hammering against her chest. Her suspicions about Tom seeing someone had been right.

  Was the shadow back?

  “Don’t be ridiculous. There’s no one around for miles. You’re right it was probably just a dream.”

  Wasn’t that what she’d been seeing for the past couple of years? Shadows lurking around every corner.

  “I smelled the smoke, too.”

  “Smoke?” she said dumbly. A wave of lightheadedness swept over her. Her knees threatened to buckle.

  “Cigarette smoke. You don’t smoke, do you?” Tom didn’t wait for an answer. He withdrew something from his back pocket and held it in his outstretched hand.

  “Found this, just a few minutes ago. Out in the parking lot. It’s brand new.”

  Her mouth dropped open as she stared at the cigarette stub.

  Tom frowned and looked at her in a strange way.

  “What’s the matter?”

  She tried to shake the fear building in her head. Stupid to be afraid of a shadow. Stupid to be afraid of a cigarette butt. But why was she so scared? Terrified in fact.

  “How is that possible?” she whispered.

  “How’s what possible?”

  Tom had seen the shadow. Someone besides herself had actually physically seen the shadow.

  This time the shadow had appeared in broad daylight. And Tom had smelled the cigarette smoke. Had found a butt. A fresh one.

  “I can’t help you, if you don’t tell me what’s going on, Sara.” His voice was low. Soft. Gentle.

  She bit her lower lip and remained silent. She wanted to tell him. Oh, God, how she ached to tell him everything, but she didn’t know where to begin.

  “Just a few minutes ago you said you trusted me.”

  Son of a bitch. He was right. She had said that.

  She sighed her frustration and found herself whispering, “Sometimes when something really tragic happens in your life, it’s so painful your heart just shuts down. You can’t share the pain with anyone.”

  “Is that why you’ve stopped living?” His words weren’t harsh. They were spoken softly. But they hurt nonetheless.

  “Sara, when we close our hearts off to pain, they stay closed. We can’t experience the other things life offers us. The joys, sadness, love.” He nodded toward the quickly darkening sky. “The beauty in a sunset.”

  She followed his gaze to look out the bedroom window and saw the wisps of pink and pale lilac edging the giant blooming gray clouds.

  In the past, she would have found the sunset a spectacular sight, something to look forward to every evening during the off-season. Now she couldn’t feel anything. Only a deep clawing numbness.

  He sighed his frustration, audibly giving into Sara’s desire to stay then said, “I’m going to start clearing some of this brush off the veranda. Let me know if you want to talk.”

  She nodded and watched him walk out of the bedroom. Moments later she hear
d the kitchen screen door creak open and close gently.

  Sara inhaled a deep breath and frowned.

  Tom was right. She had stopped living. Given up on old friends, discouraged new relationships and completely lost her passion for painting. All she had left was the burnt down inn.

  And her memories.

  She had in effect become one of the walking dead.

  —

  Tom yanked brutally at the branches, wincing as pain sliced through his injured hands. But he didn’t let the pain stop him. He continued to haul the branches off into the front yard. If he piled them the proper way and allowed air to pass through in an effort to dry the wood, they’d be seasoned enough for the summer guests.

  The tree would bring great pleasure to the campers as they sat around the campfires at night, toasting marshmallows and hot dogs, singing songs and sharing ghost stories.

  Hopefully the physical work would keep his horrifying thoughts at bay. Thoughts about what the cop had said over the phone to Sara. Thoughts about how the cop’s partner had gone missing.

  Did he have something to do with the police officer’s disappearance?

  The slightest ache began to throb in his right temple and his back was aching like a son of a bitch. Remembering his promise to Sara that he’d take it easy, he slowed his pace as he continued to snap the branches.

  If he regained his memory, would he turn into a man with different priorities? A man with no scruples? A man who would kill another human being without any sign of remorse?

  Is that why the cops had handcuffed him? Beaten him? Because he’d acted so wild and it had been the only way to bring him down?

  He tried to remember, but nothing came to mind, only the thick, black emptiness. He shook his head in frustration. Why waste valuable energy on trying to remember? He needed to focus on the job at hand. To regain his strength. And to stay as far away from Sara as he could.

  —

  Hours later Sara stood in her kitchen, anxiously peering through the screen door into the brightly lit front yard. There was an eerie silence tonight. The frogs didn’t chirp. No owls hooted. No faraway cries from the loons. Not even a breeze to keep her company.

  Tom had kept himself busy breaking up the branches for kindling and then he’d chain sawed the tree into small sections, piling the logs so he could split them at another time. When it had gotten dark, she’d called him in for dinner, but he’d declined supper saying he wanted to get some more work done. So, she’d flicked the outside spotlights on to allow him to continue.

  That had been over three hours ago.

  And now, it was almost nine and Tom was nowhere in sight. The chain saw had been turned off over fifteen minutes ago and she’d waited for him to return. But he hadn’t come back inside.

  He was out there somewhere in the inky blackness. And she stood inside torturing herself with one horrid thought after another. Maybe he’d left without saying goodbye? Or maybe the shadow had taken him? Or maybe he’d fallen ill?

  It was still too early for him to be doing all this heavy work. She should have stopped him. He should have better sense. Damn his stubborn hide. The old saying was definitely true, the bigger they came the more stubborn.

  Slowly, she inched the screen door open and cringed as the hinges screamed like a wild animal into the cool night air. She’d forgotten to oil them again. Tomorrow, she’d do it.

  A tiny flicker of lightning scraped across the western horizon and a freezing chill sliced up her spine.

  A familiar feeling of panic shot through her system.

  “Oh, God! Oh, God!” she whispered.

  Not another storm. Not tonight.

  Turning she readied herself to bolt back inside when Tom’s gentle voice curled out of the darkness from the corner of her veranda.

  “Talking might make you feel better, Sara.”

  “Tom! Damn you!” She spat angrily as she spotted him sitting quite snugly on the porch swing. He’d been here all this time, while she’d been mere feet away worried half-sick about him.

  “You must be tired. You should be in bed.”

  “So should you,” came his steamy reply. She didn’t miss the sweet insinuation in his voice and it only made her more furious.

  “I’m not the one who’s been through a terrible ordeal,” she hissed back at him. Wrenching the screen door open, she readied herself to retreat from the oncoming storm.

  “Looks like you have. Why else would you be so scared of a harmless storm?”

  “That is none of your business,” she snapped angrily.

  Stomping back inside she let the door slam shut behind her with such furious force the dishes clattered in the nearby hutch. Irritation burned bright inside her, and she slammed a pot down on the stove.

  “Typical man!” Sara muttered under her breath, poured spring water into the pot and turned the gas on. “Always sticking his nose in where it doesn’t belong.”

  A moment later, he came into the kitchen and sat down at the kitchen table. From the corner of her eyes she noticed him remove the work gloves he must have found in the barn. At least he’d had the sense of protecting himself. She watched silently as he rubbed his hands.

  All her anger dissipated and concern for his well-being took over. The man looked totally beat. His feathery hair was tangled, dirt smeared his face, yet he still had the time to be concerned about her reaction to the storm.

  “You want some ointment for your hands?” she asked after a minute.

  “No, it’s okay. I can get some later.”

  “You want some peppermint tea?”

  “Sure.”

  They’d had their first couple of fights today and at the end of it all they could still sit down like two civil human beings and enjoy a hot cup of peppermint tea together before heading off to bed.

  “I couldn’t save your heart. I’m sorry. The tree shattered it beyond repair when it split.”

  He was talking about the heart Jack had carved into the tree. The pain of its loss cut deep, searing her insides and she had to bite her lower lip to keep from crying once again like a blubbering idiot.

  Her heart was shattered beyond repair. Just like her heart. She merely nodded and kept her eye on the pot of water on the stove.

  “I managed to save most of the others though. They’re in the barn.”

  “It’ll make their owners happy, I’m sure,” she tried to keep her voice light and airy. It was a desperate tactic to hide the fact a silly wooden carving would have such a devastating effect on her.

  He remained silent for another minute and then her world exploded.

  “It’s a nice view.”

  She jumped at his unexpected words. Instinctively she knew what he was talking about.

  He’d found the cemetery. Found them.

  The pot on the stove blurred. Angry, bitter tears spilled down her face and she quickly swiped them away with the back of her hand, only to have them replaced by another flood. She hated it when someone saw her crying. She’d done so much of it over the past couple of years. And she figured she should be over this mourning bit, but there was always something around that triggered another crying jag.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered gently. His affectionate arms slid around her waist and his lean body pressed hot against her back. His warm breath sensuously caressed her neck.

  “You can’t run away from your pain forever. One day you’ll have to stand and fight.”

  She found herself melting against him. Felt herself feeling safe and secure for the first time in a long time.

  “All right. I’ll tell you.” Just saying those words already brought her immense relief.

  A few minutes later, it was Tom who placed a mug of steaming peppermint tea in front of her. She fidgeted nervously with the cup’s handle as he sat down opposite her at the kitchen table, a giant mug cradled in his large hands.

  “I don’t know where to begin,” she said simply as she stared into the cup’s steaming depths.

&n
bsp; “Best place to start is at the beginning, sweetness.”

  Closing her eyes, she sighed deeply. When she opened them, his gaze was so green and tender and soothing she felt the dam burst inside her and the words just started tumbling out.

  “It happened a little over two years ago. Indian summer. The night air blowing into the nursery was mild and pleasant. I was putting the finishing touches to the nursery. I’d decorated the walls with these really cute cartoon characters. I was talking to the kids. Y’know, things soon-to-be-moms do.

  “The only thing left was to hang the handmade mobile. I’d made it myself out of scraps of fabric from the same material I’d used for the curtains. They were happy faces. All kinds of colors. Bright and cheerful. I’d walked over to one of the nursery windows to hang it when I looked outside…”

  Sara gazed downward to the giant log structure of Peppermint Creek Inn barely visible in the glow of the bright white moon. All the shutters were clamped tightly over the windows to ward off the severe winter weather. The plumbing had been drained, and all the other things that needed doing for the winter close-up were finished.

  She shifted her gaze to the cheerful buttery light spilling from the many windows of the tiny one room cabin office snuggled amidst the towering jack pine trees. The office looked like a sweet little gingerbread house, totally devoured by the immenseness of the nearby inn.

  Inside the tiny building, she knew her husband worked furiously, getting the paperwork out of the way so he could get back to his favorite hobby of carpentry. He’d started a project during the summer. Carving out a new sign to hang up at the main road entrance. Many of the guests had complained the old sign was weather-worn and hard to see.

  A low rumbling sound captured her attention and she lifted her gaze to the sky. “Uh-oh,” she murmured to the twins. “Looks like Indian summer’s over.”

  On the western horizon, just above the tree line, icy gray swollen clouds raced toward the moon with lightning speed. An earsplitting crack of thunder made her jump involuntarily and she laughed at her reaction. And giggled at the wonderful growl of thunder.