Rome edged closer, slanting Gwen a dark look that made her sex tremble before focusing his attention on the print. He raised his head and scanned the area before and behind him and then walked to the edge of the clearing.
Moving slowly, methodically, a hunter after prey, he followed the trail across the clearing before rejoining the group.
“The deep toe impressions tell me this individual was digging in to keep from slipping over the mud.” Rome placed his foot next to one print. “They seem huge because he wasn’t quite successful. There’s also smaller, lighter prints, probably female, mostly covered over by the male’s.
The stride lengths tell me they weren’t running together so the male must have been chasing the female for some...”
Rome stopped mid-sentence and suddenly straightened, his features a study of bemused horror.
“Porter. I need your phone.”
Porter handed over his cell with a curious, “What is it?”
“You calling the police?” James asked.
Gwen didn’t say a word, fascinated not only by the way his mind worked but also by the peculiar expression on his face. As if he were torn between laughing and vomiting.
She had no idea what could cause such a reaction on a man who’d been through two tours in the middle east and encountered some of the worst of humanity while in the ATF.
“Why don’t you guys check out the cabin. I’ll be right there.” He never looked up as his fingers raced over the buttons of the phone.
“Come on.” Porter said when James opened his mouth to argue. “Rome won’t say a word until he has all the facts. He’s stubborn like that.”
As they shuffled off, Gwen cast one last look over her shoulder at Rome. As if sensing her eyes on him, he raised his head and winked. Refusing to be amused, charmed or intrigued by the man, Gwen pressed her lips together and rounded the cabin.
Porter and James stood inside the now open door and stared at the ground. Gwen halted at the threshold and followed the direction of their gaze. Between the open door and the missing section of roof, enough sunlight illuminated the inside of the cabin for Gwen to see what was amiss.
“Uh, where are the floorboards? And why is there a large hole in the dirt?” Mounds of it were piled along the walls, leaving a deep depression about four feet by eight feet deep. Hands on hips, Porter frowned. “That’s what I’d like to know.”
James ran the tip of his boot over the dirt and stated the obvious. “Someone’s been digging.”
Confused, Gwen crossed her arms over her chest.
“Whatever for?”
Porter let out a sigh, his head moving in a derisive shake. “Stupid treasure.”
Gwen’s brows high in disbelief. She’d heard the story upon working for the Felixes, even used it at their insistence on the hikes they conducted. There was nothing like a pirate story complete with lost treasure to tantalize the guests.
Over three hundred years ago a French explorer, turned pirate, by the name of Claude Morgan, sailed throughout the Florida Keys pillaging trade ships from France, Cuba and anywhere else that was unlucky enough to come across his dastardly ship. It was believed Morgan settled down sometime during the Spanish and English war, with a mountain of gold and a young Calusa bride of noble birth. The exact location of Morgan’s residence was up for speculation. However, written documents recorded the original owners of the Felix estate – then a pepper plantation – as an older Frenchman with a young Native American wife. Not uncommon until one takes into account the appearance of the man. A hulking beast, light on his feet, with shaggy hair the color of midnight and eyes an eerie shade of greenish-yellow. The same description as the runaway pirate.
Cobbled together, the physical characteristics, the ethnicity of the husband and wife, and the amount of money required to build such a grand estate, people began to suspect the original owner, Cort Fylin, was in fact Claude Morgan. It was all supposition of course, but it made for a nice tale.
Until, like now, when someone took it a little too seriously.
“You have got to be kidding me.” Gwen said. “If the tale were even true, out of the whole five-mile area your family owns, why choose this spot?”
“I have no idea.” Porter said, exasperated. He kicked the tip of his boot against one pile of dirt and hit something hard. The floorboards.
“Well,” James interjected as Porter continued to roam in the confined space, “your grandfather did shore up the cabin some time ago and the stone bottom might make some think this building was built on top of another one.
Between the padlock and steel door, maybe someone thought you were hiding something inside.”
“Yeah. Rotted wood. We didn’t want anyone to get a splinter and sue us.”
A shadow moved over Gwen and this time she knew Rome was behind her before he spoke. “Found out who made the tracks.”
Porter’s eyes narrowed. “Who?”
“Dad.”
“Why would he be running around out here barefoot?”
James wanted to know.
Rome grimaced. “He was chasing mom.”
“Chasing mom?” Porter’s head cocked. “Why would he...Oh. Oh no.” Porter pressed his fingers to his eyes.
“Ugh. Shit. Now I need a brain scrub to get the picture out of my head.”
“You mean they were out here having sex?” James gaped. “In the rain?”
“Shut up, man.” Porter groaned. “You’re not helping.”
Gwen sighed and leaned against the doorjamb. “I think that’s wonderful.”
“Wonderful?” Porter eyed her through his fingers.
“That they still play and have fun with each other after all this time. It’s just,” she lifted a shoulder. “Wonderful.”
“But it’s our parents,” Porter whined. “You’re not supposed to think of your parents doing stuff like that. It’s unhealthy.”
Gwen snorted. “Come on, Porter. You’re an adult. You know these things happen. You’ve probably done it yourself a time or too.”
“While I agree it’s great they still, uh, play,” Rome interjected before his brother could form a retort, his breath a warm whisper along Gwen’s cheek, “I have to side with Porter. It’s not something I want to dwell on. Especially considering the participants. So next topic. What’s with the hole?”
“Porter thinks someone’s after the Morgan treasure.”
Gwen told him.
Rome’s arm brushed hers as he scrubbed a hand over his face. “First squatters, then poachers and now treasure hunters?”
“Unless our parents were doing something else kinky.”
Porter lamented.
A chime sounded from James’ watch and he glanced down at the time. “Sorry guys, but I gotta go.”
“That’s right. Matt’s party.” Porter looked from James to Rome. “What do you want to do?”
Rome’s lips pursed in thought, drawing Gwen’s eye, but before her mind could skyrocket into fantasy mode, his spoke, engaging her brain into reality. “We’ll call the police when we get back, just so there’s a record of trespassing and vandalism. The only prints would have been on the lock, which between the three of us we obliterated, and a new one obviously won’t sway the hunters.”
“What about posting guards or something?” Gwen asked.
“That will only delay the search.” Rome said, sounding so positive that she believed him. “We can’t keep a guard out here indefinitely. I say let them dig to China. When they don’t find anything, they’ll move on.”
Though it seemed logical to Gwen, she couldn’t abide letting criminals get away. As everyone moved outside and Porter closed the door, Gwen refused to let it go. “What about a camera? A motion sensor one?”
The idea must have intrigued Rome because he didn’t respond in the negative right away. “It would have to be wireless, with the capacity to travel over several miles.
Maybe a satellite one?” The latter he said more to himself then her. “I�
�ll have to make some calls.”
Though he was no longer with the government, Gwen imagined he had contacts that could provide him with everything he might need. Satisfied at his willingness to at least consider her suggestion, Gwen hurried down the trail after an anxious James.
Chapter Four
Gwen climbed into the passenger side of the jeep she and James had ridden up in, leaving Rome and Porter to continue their discussion on possible ways to secure the clearing and contact their parents, Santos, and the police.
Thankfully she didn’t run into anyone as she mounted the stairs to her room, not wanting to explain why she was wearing so much dirt. There she stripped off her work clothes and jumped in the shower. After pulling her long, damp hair in her custom braid, she sorted her clothes and made the journey down to the first floor and the large room off the kitchen that served as the laundry facilities. It amused her every time, seeing all the washers and dryers lining two of the room’s walls. Her own mother would have been in heaven. Raising five kids meant her own single set had rarely been idle.
While her clothes were washing, she headed back upstairs to her suite and spent some time on the internet looking up information about the pirate Claude Morgan.
Finding nothing new, and feeling a touch homesick, she called her mom. Knowing her mother worried about Gwen, especially her lack of interest in the opposite sex after Steven’s cheating, and equally knowing how it would make her mother laugh, Gwen relayed her introduction to Rome.
“Is he single?” Kathleen wanted to know after her chuckling eased.
Gwen closed her eyes. “He’s not married, if that’s what you mean.”
“And is he handsome?”
Pressing her lips together, Gwen hesitated before saying, “Yes. But,” she rushed on to say, “I don’t know if he’s all there. In his head I mean. Seriously, who pounces on a woman like that?”
Something suspiciously like a snort came over the line.
“Honey, every woman likes to be pounced on now and again. It makes us feel terribly wanted.”
“TMI, Mom! Besides, I’m not talking about a husband.
I’m talking about a stranger.”
“Who was with the ATF, you said. That’s a dangerous job. You don’t know what he saw.”
“Which makes him a dangerous man.”
“No. I’d say protective, if he thought you were in danger as he said.” Kathleen argued softly. “Single, handsome and protective. I think you should go for it.”
“I’m not going to get involved with my employer’s son.
No hanky panky where I work. You know how well that turned out.” Gwen complained.
Her mom was silent a moment. “Steven was an ass, baby. Not all men are like that. I worry that his stupidity colored your outlook on the male gender.”
Gwen stared down at her fingers which idly rubbed along the top of the small wood table that function as both a place to lay her food and desk for her laptop. “I know that, Mom. But at the same time I don’t want to make another mistake.”
Kathleen’s mom-dar picked up on what Gwen hadn’t said. “So you like this Rome?”
Gwen squeezed her eyes shut. How did she do that? “I barely know him so I can’t form an opinion.”
“Which means you do like him.”
Exasperated, Gwen huffed out a breath. “I’m going now, Mom. It’s time for dinner.”
Another delighted laugh. “Avoidance. Now I know you like him.”
Gwen shook her head, her lips curved in a rueful smile.
She should know by now that her mom knew everything.
“Love you. I’ll talk with you later.”
“Love you too, baby girl.”
Closing her cell with a soft snap, Gwen padded into the bathroom and debated on makeup. She didn’t normally wear much; moisturizer, sunscreen, protective lip balm.
Anything more generally melted in her profession. When not working she added tinted powder to combat shine, but as she wasn’t sure who might be at the dinner table tonight, she scrutinize her reflection in the mirror over the sink.
With her hair off her face, every blemish was out front and center. She wasn’t vain enough to say she was gorgeous, but she was realistic enough to know she wasn’t butt ugly either.
Her skin wasn’t creamy and flawless, it was oily. Acne had been horrid to her in puberty and still visited every now and then to torment her. On the bright side, her face didn’t have a single wrinkle like so many of her counterparts seemed to collect at an early age, despite the protection they wore and slathered on their faces. Two small, roundish scars, one above her left eyebrow and the other at her right temple, were a result of a bad case of childhood chickenpox.
And was that a pimple forming on her chin?
And why she suddenly cared about her looks was irritating. Blowing out a rude sound, she dabbed concealer over the pimple and called it good. After all, she wasn’t trying to make Rome, or anyone for that matter, interested in her. Work and romance did not mix. Unfortunately for Gwen, the fluttering in her tummy started as soon as she stepped out of her room and headed for the kitchen, making a liar out of her brain.
Dinner at the Orchards Bed and Breakfast was served at six-thirty, an informal affair as guests and family members ate together, which was why Gwen never knew who to expect. Melinda Felix was a social butterfly to her husband’s quiet strength. Melinda also had a talent for drawing people out and making them feel at ease, creating a welcoming and lively atmosphere at the dinner table.
Questions about horseback riding were directed to Porter as the horses were his babies. Deep sea fishing inquiries went to Santos. Though not his love, he handled that aspect of the company when necessary, preferring to run the orchards themselves along with his father. Luckily for Santos, fishing trips were generally secondary to horseback riding and he could often push the task on to his younger brother, making Porter the second most visible family member of the B&B.
Gwen was present for a couple of reasons. Mainly to respond to guests’ questions about hikes and to meet those who already reserved hikes. It was always good to meet and get to know those you’ll be spending several long, hot, physically active hours with before hand. Mostly, though, she joined those at the dinner table because she couldn’t cook a pot of boiling water.
Living at the house sure had its benefits, personally as well as professionally. Since she was the one who led the weekday hikes, Dennis handled the weekends; the meetand-greet dinners, as she liked to call them, afforded her the opportunity to size up the guests, giving her advanced notice of any physical or temperamental complications.
Tonight she met a young family of four with two boys: the Merchins, an older couple on their honeymoon, and a group of three female friends, not much younger then Gwen, who’d previously been to the Orchards.
To Gwen’s surprise, only Melinda was at the table, all the men suspiciously absent. Beth, one of the single females, commented on Porter’s absence – because he’d been soo very helpful the last time she’d been to the Orchards, gag – and Melinda smiled, stating that her son was engaged elsewhere. As welcoming as the family was, they were still very private about certain matters, and opening their home to outsiders only meant their personal lives were that much more private.
Gwen knew Porter was every bit as outgoing as his mother and his dark good looks and natural charm drew women like flies to honey. But she also knew he never messed around with the female guests. At least not while they stayed in his mother’s home. Once they left, all bets were off, and if Porter had had a fling with Beth and called it quits, then it was no surprise he was missing in action. But that didn’t account for the absence of the other men.
When Beth opened her mouth for the hundredth time in ten minutes, Melinda slanted Gwen a hard look. That was her cue to launch her hiking spiel, effectively taking everyone’s attention off whatever topic Melinda deemed too personal or persistent and back to professional status.
It
was one they used quite often.
“So,” Gwen began, “since you’re all here, I’d like to tell you an interesting story about a pirate named Claude Morgan.”
Thus the intrigue turned to history rather than the present. As expected the two young boys, appearing too quiet at the start of dinner, became animated and excited as talk of pirates and lost treasure took root. Unfortunately, due to the events of the day, Gwen wondered if maybe the tale of Morgan should no longer be told. Because someone, most likely a former guest, had taken the story far too seriously.
Much later, after dinner was long over, Gwen slipped from her room and headed to the large garden behind the house. Millions of stars twinkled clear and bright and, with the help of the full moon, a warm glow enveloped the lush landscape. The soft soles of her canvas shoes made very little noise as she made her way over the brick pathway, winding around a white gazebo and then left past one of the several decorative benches scattered invitingly throughout the garden. Reaching her destination, she curled up on the padded seat of the covered swing, leaving one leg free to dangle over the edge and push it in motion.
It was soothing, sitting out in the darkness, letting the silence, the scents of the tall rose bushes in front of her, and the motion of the swing weave their magic. She often came to this spot, to think, to dream and to calm herself if her day had been full of people. It wasn’t that she minded people, for the most part, but surrounded by nature was definitely her comfort zone.
Having grown up with rowdy siblings made finding quiet time a precious commodity. Gwen would take long walks to get away from the commotion and to clear her head. Those walks turned into hikes which then led to an interest in the forestry service. It was a nice balance of social activity and peaceful silence. Though here, at the bed-and-breakfast, sometimes the social outweighed the peaceful.
Tonight she was beyond tired; yet too wired to turn herself off. Irritation and anger at the vandalism done in the reserve played a huge role in her restless brain, making her wonder the whos, whys and wherefors. Then sneaking in like a thief amongst those thoughts was Rome. Mostly remembering how it felt to have his hard length pressing along her backside, which then burgeoned into wondering how the same position would feel if they’d been naked.
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