by Norah Wilson
“A truce until we find the truth?”
“Exactly.”
“What about afterward?”
She bit her lip. For a second, it looked like she was going to say something, but someone else’s words cut through the morning air.
“Oh, for the love of all things holy! Will you two get a move on? The Wild Man of Harkness Mountain has a job to do in town today.”
Shit. Ryker Groves, standing just outside the tree line. Guess there must have been another lull in the wind.
“Yeah, well, considering how much I paid for this ride, I’m thinking you can wait for What’s-His-Name to actually get to the boat.”
“We’re on our way,” Ember called, whereupon Ryker turned and tramped back down toward the river. She looked up at Jace with a wide grin. “Your voice really carries.”
“Apparently.” In this light, with that wide smile on her face, she was hands down the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. And with her tucked in tight to his side, he could feel her warmth and strength, smell her hair. Maybe this truce thing would be all right.
“Ready?” she asked.
He nodded and they started the hundred and fifty yard walk down to the water.
It was even more excruciating than he thought it would be. There sure as hell wasn’t any room in his head for appreciating the smell of her shampoo. He very quickly learned that every step made his ankle throb harder than the last. Most of his focus was taken up trying not to gasp or groan with every movement. And once, despite the bracing job Ember had done, he managed to sort of twist the ankle. He did gasp then, but given that he wanted to vomit, he counted that small sound a victory. Ember noticed it, though, and insisted they pause a moment to let the pain settle down.
At his nod, they resumed. The thick trees became more sparsely spaced as they neared the river, and Jace could hear the rushing water. Then he saw him. Ryker Groves, standing on the shore.
He’d looked like a big lumberjack when Jace had seen him at the edge of the clearing minutes ago, but holy shit. He was freakin’ enormous. He had to be six foot six, maybe six seven, and probably tipped the scales at two twenty or more. And not the refrigerator-shaped two twenty. The lean and muscular kind. Hell, the guy probably could have thrown Jace over his shoulder fireman style and walked him right out of the woods to his Escalade, let alone down to the river.
Ember did the introductions. “Ryker, this is Jace Picard. Jace, this is Ryker Groves, or as some of us call him, Seven Ten Sun.”
Ryker snorted. “You’re the only one who calls me that, Red.”
Seven Ten Sun? Or was that Son? What did that mean? Was it a reference to his height? He was tall, but nowhere near seven foot ten.
Ryker must have read his thoughts, because he grinned, ridiculously perfect white teeth flashing in his darkly tanned, bearded face. “It’s a long story.”
“I’m sure.” Clamping down on a surge of completely unwarranted jealousy, he gave Groves a nod. “Thanks for coming.”
The big guy nodded back. “Hey, Ember calls, I come.”
“Especially when there’s a good commission in it, huh?” Ember teased.
“Don’t tell him,” Groves said, nodding toward Jace and lowering his voice confidingly, “but I’da come out here just to catch up with you.”
She laughed. “We do have some catching up to do, huh? But I’m afraid it’s going to have to wait. Jace and I have some business to take care of straight away.”
“Good thing I’m a patient man, Red,” he said. “Call me when you’re free and we’ll grab a beer, okay?”
“Okay.”
He handed both Jace and Ember a yellow life vest. “Put that on, then we’ll see about getting you boarded.”
The boat was a fairly sizeable skiff. Groves had lashed it to the small floating dock, but it bobbed rhythmically with the wind-whipped waters. It took a moment—and some steadying help from both Ember and Groves—for Jace to clamber aboard. He sat on the bench in the center, as instructed. As Groves steadied the craft, Ember climbed in, moving easily to the bow. Then Groves untied the boat and hopped into the craft, taking up position at the tiller.
The outboard roared to life and Groves guided them into the river. It took some expert manoeuvring to reverse direction in the white-caps, involving lots of spray smacking Jace in the face and dampening his jacket while they were at cross-currents. Up front, Ember took even more of the brunt, but she laughed in delight even as she clung to the gunwales. Strands of hair, luminous as fire in the diffused light of dawn, danced around her face.
They came about gradually until they were pointed into the current, and Groves opened the throttle. There was still some mist and spray to contend with, but at least they were on their way. One step closer to finding Bridget and solving the mystery. The knowledge allowed him to relax. Well, as much as a person with a throbbing ankle could relax while motoring into a headwind on the Prince River on a blustery day.
A number of large birds lifted from the trees on the far shore, claiming his attention. For a moment, he thought they were going to be treated to bald eagles fishing, but as he watched them soar, he realized they were turkey vultures. They could be hard to distinguish from a distance, but his stepfather had taught him how to tell the difference. Vultures held their wings in a slight V-shape as they soared, whereas an eagle’s wings would be completely flat. He could hear Wayne now: “Just remember, V is for Vulture. Look at the outspread wings.”
The kettle of vultures wheeled in unison and angled off over the trees.
The beauty of it all hit him afresh. Dammit! What Terry planned for the region was so contrary to their father’s vision.
At the same time, he knew that if he’d been driving along the back roads instead of up the pristine river with its tidy lodges and hunting camps, he’d be struck just as hard by the rural poverty he saw. Homes and properties in need of repair. Rusted-out cars standing in yards. Too many citizens of the region had been out of work for too long. Jobs were needed here—in Crandler, in Harkness, in Tynsdale. All through the Prince Region.
Twenty minutes later, Groves pointed the boat toward a large new-looking place perched on the left bank of the river. As they drew closer, Jace realized it was a very nice house. So was the dock. Like the Picard wharf, it was a floating proposition, but that’s where any resemblance ended. It was basically a floating boat slip with a roof on top to keep the boats out of the weather. Yes, boats, plural. The other was a flat-decked bass fishing boat. A four-seater. The man had some money and liked his outdoor pursuits.
“Can you park this thing already?” Ember said. “I have to pee like a racehorse.”
“Doesn’t that camp have a toilet?” Groves shot a quick look at Jace. “I could fix that for you, for a price. Install a small septic system and drain field.”
“It has a toilet,” Ember hastened to assure him. “I just neglected to use it before we left.”
“In a little bit of a hurry, were you?”
“Yes,” she said crisply. “And now I’m in even more of a hurry.”
Groves laughed, but he tied the boat up and helped Ember out. Without a backward look, she hurried down the dock and up the stairs toward the wide house with its gleaming front wall of windows.
Groves secured the front end of the boat, hopped back in, and threw their backpacks onto the deck.
Then he looked at Jace. “If I steady her, can you get yourself onto the wharf? Or do you need me to help you?”
Jace waved him off. As much as his ankle hurt, he’d do this himself or die trying. “I can manage.”
Groves nodded. “Okay, but for God’s sake, be careful. If you take a fall, Red’ll kill me.”
As tempting as that sounded, it wouldn’t be worth the aggravation to his injury. And as it turned out, getting out of the boat was easier than getting in had been. Still, beads of sweat had popped out around his hairline by the time he stood upright on the dock.
Groves went over to a giant c
overed storage bin, rummaged around for a moment and came with a baseball bat. He strode back toward Jace, gripping the bat part way up the handle with one hand and tapping the head of it into his left palm in a slow, rhythmic way. Jace’s heart leapt. Immediately he went into boxer mode, his arms coming up. The guy was a giant, but if this whole thing was going south, he’d give him a run for his—
“Relax. I was just thinking you could use it like a cane to get upstairs.” Groves gripped the bat by its knob and thumped the end of it on the deck to demonstrate. “Seems about the right height.”
His words sounded helpful, but there was an unmistakeable warning in those dark eyes. He didn’t have to say it out loud. Hurt Ember and that ankle will be the least of your worries.
“Thanks for the help.” Jace met the other man’s gaze unwaveringly as he took the Louisville Slugger from him. Then, propping the bat against his good leg to free both hands, he dug his wallet out. Quickly, he counted out a wad of bills and handed them to Groves. “Appreciate it.”
Groves took the money. Without counting it, he transferred it into his own wallet, then slid it into his back pocket. “Anything for Ember.”
“Yeah. I got that.”
A grin flashed in that dark face, then it became serious. Groves marked him with a hard stare. “She was yours? Years ago?”
“Yes.” His ankle throbbed like a bitch, the longer he stood upright. Jace leaned on the bat. It helped. “She told you?”
He shrugged. “I knew there was someone from her past. And I knew it was you the moment I saw the two of you together.”
Jace felt that muscle tic in his jaw. “That was a long time ago.”
“We’ve been friends for six years. Since I moved up from Arizona.”
“You’re a long way from home.”
“Not anymore,” Groves said. “Look, I don’t know what you’re looking for in tracking down this other woman.”
Seriously? “Ember told you?”
“Don’t worry. All she said was you needed to see this person from your past. That you both did.” Jace’s relief that she hadn’t told him more dissolved when he continued. “Dude, I don’t know what you’re hoping to find in Crandler this weekend. And I don’t know what happened between you and Red.”
Sweet baby Jesus, why couldn’t he have just left that ominous bat-thumping routine to speak for him? “No you don’t,” Jace said, hearing the irritation in his own voice and not giving a shit. “But something tells me I’m about to get some free advice on the matter.”
“Don’t hurt her. That’s one heart that doesn’t deserve to break ever again.”
Jace felt like he’d been punched in the gut. He looked down at the briefcase strapped so tightly to his backpack. He wished he could tear that case loose and send it skipping across the water to sink in the Prince River. Because when she found out about the sale of her family home, her heart was going to break all over again.
Because of him.
Chapter 8
ARDEN STANDISH looked up from his newspaper at the sound of the knock on his door. His kitchen door, which meant family or friends. Of course, in Harkness, that was pretty much most of the town. Except he didn’t need to pull back the curtain on the window to know which citizen of Harkness was knocking on his door at eight o’clock in the morning.
He set his coffee cup down and smoothed a hand over his whisker-free face—glad he’d taken the time to shave this morning.
“Door’s open,” he called. “Come on in.”
Faye Siliker let herself into his kitchen bearing a large Tupperware container, the kind ladies used to transport cakes and pies.
“Good morning, Faye.”
“Good morning to you, Arden.” She greeted him with a smile. “I brought you a chocolate cake.”
“That’s too kind.”
“Nonsense,” she said briskly, crossing the roomy kitchen to deposit the container on the counter. “It’s the least I could do to say thank you for your son saving my daughter.”
“Saving her? From what I understand from Scott, everything’s under control up there on the mountain.”
“I’m sure it is. And if I know my Ocean, it just might be Titus who needs saving from her,” she said dryly.
“I hope you’re right.”
They shared a chuckle.
He went to the counter and lifted the top off the cake carrier. Yup, chocolate cake, piled high with frosting. “Land sakes, woman, that looks deadly.”
“Oh, no. Hardly any calories at all.”
Please don’t let it be vegan. “Really? How’d you manage that?”
“I made it with tofu, of course.”
“Tofu chocolate cake.” He covered his disappointment gamely. “Sounds delightful.”
Faye snorted. “Arden Standish, you’re the worst liar in all of Harkness.”
Whoops. Guess he didn’t cover his disappointment as well as he’d thought. “Am I?”
“Definitely. And clearly, I’m way better at lying than you are, judging by the expression on your face just now.”
He brightened. “It’s not really made from tofu?”
“Hell, no. I save that crap for when River’s home. This is the real, wicked deal. You don’t want to know how much butter and confectioner’s sugar went into the butter cream icing alone.”
“Oh, thank God.” He glanced at the triple-layered work of art. “That would have been a crime.” He looked up, catching her looking at the cake a little hungrily herself. “Now tell the truth—you just wanted an excuse to eat cake for breakfast, didn’t you?”
She shrugged. “Who doesn’t want an excuse to eat cake?”
“True,” he conceded. “Take a seat, Faye, and I’ll put the water on.”
“Perfect. But I’ll cut us a couple of slices before I sit.”
She transferred the cake to the table, then rummaged in the utensil drawer for a knife and cake lifter. Meanwhile, he reached for the kettle and carried it to the sink to refill it. They worked companionably, the way only old friends could. Faye and Margaret had been close friends for many years before his wife died. Arden enjoyed Faye’s company more and more as time distanced him from Margret’s death. And he believed the feeling was mutual.
“What kind of tea would you like?” he asked.
“I’d love some of that chickweed tea, if you have any left.”
“I’ll check.” He didn’t have to check very hard. He’d picked up a package at the specialty tea shop last week when he’d been in Fredericton. Just in case Faye dropped by sometime, like she had a couple weeks ago, and a week before that.
When he came out of the pantry a minute later, the kettle had started to steam gently. Faye—quite adept at making herself at home in the Standish kitchen—had already set the table for two. But now she stood motionless, looking at the open china cabinet and the box at the end of the table with half of Margaret’s Christmas dishes already packed.
“They’re Ember’s now,” he said.
“Did she ask you to pack them for her? And does that mean she’s decided where she wants to practice?”
“No. On both accounts.”
Faye lowered herself into a chair. “It’s true then. You’re selling this place?”
The kettle whistled. Grateful for the interruption, he turned off the burner and proceeded to make the tea. Faye waited quietly, if not patiently.
He should have told her about the sale. Had meant to a handful of times. However, he could never bring himself to do so—not before the kids knew. That’s what he told himself, anyhow. But there was more to his select silence on the matter. Way down deep inside, he hoped for a miracle.
Faye had served up thick slices of cake. He put the teapot on a woven hot pad in the centre of the table and took a seat. Neither of them reached for a fork.
“How’d you find out?” he asked.
“Scott told me. Well, you and Scott.”
His eyebrows shot up. “But—”
“Relax,”
she said. “Scott didn’t say anything. In fact, I’m guessing he doesn’t know himself. I just put it together.”
“Put it together from what?”
She lifted her shoulder in a shrug. “Scott mentioned that Titus had asked him and Ember to come home to talk something over. This on top of the fact that you’ve been acting strange lately. More quiet than usual. Then I come in and see you’ve been packing up Margret’s—Ember’s—Christmas dishes.”
“The kids always said you were a sharp one.”
“I repeat, you’re a terrible liar. The kids thought I was a holy terror. But they did learn in my class.” She shook her head. “Why, Arden? Why are you selling the homestead?”
He almost squirmed in his seat. “I’m old, Faye—”
“Oh, that’s the biggest load of bullshit you’ve every dropped.” With that eloquent pronouncement, Faye snatched up her fork and attacked the cake like she meant business.
Arden chuckled. “You never were one to mince words.” He picked up his own fork and took a bite of the cake. It was just as rich and heavenly as he’d known it would be.
“You’re not old, Arden. You’re three years younger than I am.”
“That’s still too old to run this place alone.”
“Then hire someone to give you a hand. It shouldn’t be that—” Faye cocked her head. “Wait a minute…alone?”
This time, he did squirm in his seat. “It’s Titus. He’s spent his whole life here. Even when he went to university in Fredericton, he commuted to and from school nearly every weekend. And no sooner did he complete his degree when his mother got sick. He stepped up, took over running the farm. He even helped me take care of Margaret.” He swallowed. It was hard, thinking about the sacrifices Titus had made. He’d been accepted into the RCMP cadet program and had been poised to fly out to Regina to start his training when Margaret’s cancer came back. Without being asked, he’d made the decision to stay home to manage things, while Scott and Ember had gone off to chase their own dreams. But he didn’t have to tell Faye any of that. She knew the history.
Arden cleared his throat. “He deserves his chance too. To get out into the world. When I made the offer to sell the farm—”