“Even the kitchen?” asked Alder, his eyes wide.
“Except for the kitchen,” he said, and his face flinched as it had the first day she'd met him, like something pained him. “No cookbooks. Which is why I've hired your mother.”
“No cookbooks?” Alder looked over at her. “Can't imagine that.”
Annie looked at Drake, feeling apologetic for her lack of intellectual reading material. Something about this strange man made her self-conscious. “I do have a lot of cookbooks but not many other books.”
“She doesn't use her cookbooks,” said Alder. “She makes everything up in her head. She's legit.” He spoke with pride in his voice. Annie's eyes misted and she looked away, towards the majestic living room. The fireplace alone was enough to make a girl swoon.
“Legit?” asked Drake, sounding amused.
“Yeah. You know what that means?” asked Alder.
“Can't say that I do,” said Drake.
“Badass,” said Alder, with a matter-of-fact tone.
“Alder,” said Annie, flushing. “Don't say that word.”
“Sorry, Mom, but how else can I explain it?”
Her eyes darted to Drake. But instead of looking judgmental as she expected, he was smiling. It was the first time she'd seen him smile; it transformed his face. Despite her abhorrence for the man, her heart fluttered. Of course he had to be handsome. Just to mess with my mind.
“Alder, you want to look around the bookshelves? See if there's anything you want to read while you're here?” asked Drake.
“Can I really?” said Alder.
“Show me your hands,” said Drake.
Alder held them up. “I just washed them before I came here.”
“Good man,” said Drake. “Follow me.”
“My librarian at school says to treat books like babies,” said Alder.
“Smart lady,” said Drake.
“She's actually kind of crazy,” said Alder.
“How so?”
“Goes ape for books.”
“Well, she sounds like our kind of person. Badass.”
“Yeah, you're right. She is totally badass,” said Alder.
How was she going to get him to stop saying that word, Annie thought, as she watched them head over to the bookshelves. And was this the same Drake Webber from last week?
Before she started cooking, she went into the main room to check on Alder. He was sitting cross-legged on one of the tan couches, reading. He didn't even hear her come in; this was how he read, enraptured, oblivious to the outside world, living completely inside the pages of the story. The way he described it to her, it was like the zone she was in when she cooked. Everything else ceased to be and it was only her hands and her ingredients. It was a release, this. To fall into something you loved so your troubles and worries were no longer a roar in your mind.
She moved closer to her son, curious what he'd chosen from Drake Webber's bookshelves. It was Huck Finn. Wasn't he too young for Twain? Wasn't it something children read in high school? She watched Alder in amazement. His eyes moved quickly along the page. How had she given birth to such a smart child?
She turned to walk back into the kitchen. Drake was standing in the doorway, watching her. Feeling self-conscious, she pulled on a stray curl, tugging it into a straight line. “Just wanted to check on him,” she said as she approached Drake. “I'll get to work now.”
“Huck. One of my all time favorites.”
“I thought kids didn't read that until later,” she said.
“Some kids. But smart ones like Alder can read it now.”
She flushed with pride. “I don't know where he got it, honestly. I was always better with my hands than my brain.”
“We're made the way we're made—everyone with unique gifts.”
He moved aside so she could pass into the kitchen. Groceries were on the counter. There were fresh beans, tomatoes, and vegetables from Ellen's garden, still warm from the morning sun. She set them in the sink. Pulling out her extra set of chef knives from a canvas bag, she set them on the counter next to a cutting board. Drake Webber remained in the doorway, watching her, making her nervous, which always caused her to talk more than she should. “These tomatoes are perfect.” She held one up before bringing it close to her face and breathing in its particular scent. “Smells like summer.”
Taking it from her, he brought it to his nose. “Smells great. But summer smells like blackberry pie.”
She smiled at him. “Well, you might have something there.”
“My mother used to take us picking and then make pies. Best thing I ever ate in my life.” His eyes flickered. “No offense to your cooking, of course.”
“None taken. No one cooks like our mothers.” She hesitated, running cold water over the vegetables in the sink. “Well, not my mother. But other mothers.”
“In Alder's case it's actually true.” Drake went behind her and pulled a saltshaker from one of the cupboards. He held the tomato in his right hand like it was a baseball. “May I eat this?”
“Sure, I have plenty. Ellen, that's my neighbor, she grows this ridiculously large garden and is always trying to give me more than I actually need.”
Drake salted the top of the tomato and then bit into it like an apple. “Oh, that's so good. You can't find a tomato like this even in the finest organic stores.” He ate the rest in two bites.
“Are you hungry?” she asked, realizing it was close to noon. “Because I can make up some tomato sauce for pasta.”
“That sounds great.” He said it almost sheepishly, like a little boy. “Well, and Alder needs to eat too, right?” He paused. “I suppose you're one of these women who doesn't eat? No one looks like you do and eats much of their own cooking, I'm guessing.”
She reached for a clove of garlic and peeled it with her paring knife. “I used to eat way too much of it. But last year I lost thirty pounds. I'd been chubby all my adult life.” Taking her largest knife, she squashed the garlic with its flat side and began to chop it into fine pieces. The room filled immediately with its pungent scent. She stopped, knife in the air. Stop telling him things. “Mr. Webber?”
“What is it?” His voice was gruff and his eyes wary.
“I'm sorry I had to bring Alder again this week.”
He shrugged, brushing a hand through his hair. “I was surprised to see him.”
She continued chopping garlic, fully expecting him to say something nasty. But she wouldn't care this time. Compared to her problems this bitter and strange man was nothing to her.
“I didn't think he'd set foot on my property after last week,” said Drake. “The kid has guts. And a fierce loyalty to his mother.” He paused, picking up another tomato and bringing it to his nose. “I was the same way about my mother when I was a kid—she raised us alone—worked two jobs to keep us fed and clothed. Used to drag us all over the place when school was out. Until I was old enough to stay home with my baby sister.”
Then why did you give me such a hard time about it last week? she wondered.
“I felt like an ass after last week,” said Drake. “I don't want to be a guy that scares a little boy.”
Had she spoken that last part out loud or had he just read her mind?
“Like you said, how you run your home is your business.”
“Did I say that?”
“Something like that.”
He rolled the tomato on the counter like he was making a roll out of dough. “He's welcome here anytime. I'm sorry if I came off otherwise.”
Another apology? This time to her? Had she misjudged him?
“I appreciate it, more than you can imagine, actually. I have someone who watches him normally. But I have a situation. Somewhat serious, I guess is how you'd say it. And I don't want to leave his side until I figure out what to do.”
Something akin to curiosity but more intense crossed his face; his eyes were piercing, like a wounded animal peering out at the enemy from behind a bush. “What is it? Are
you in danger?”
She crossed her arms over her chest, trying not to cry. “Yes,” she whispered. “How did you know that?”
“Tell me,” he said, his voice gentle. “Maybe I can help.” She stared at him. He'd transformed, suddenly, from the cold man she'd first met to someone different. Entirely different, even; he'd changed from a nasty and sarcastic man to one at ease with a child. And here now was yet another aspect to this man, a man concerned over the safety of a woman: protective, alert. Like a man who understood about how dangerous other men could be.
“It's bad,” she said. “And embarrassing.”
He cocked his head to the side. “My life has been more difficult than anyone could imagine. Nothing you tell me will shock me or offend me. And no woman should be afraid. No child should be in danger.” His voice wavered, and he paused for a moment. She watched his Adam's Apple go up and down, as if he swallowed hard. “Just tell me what happened. Is it something recent?”
“Yes. Last week.” She fought tears, brushing hastily under her eyes. “My world blew up.”
His eyes were soft now. With a wide gesture of his arm, he indicated the table and chairs near the window. “Come. Sit for a minute.”
She did so, her legs shaking. “I got a call from Alder's father. I haven't seen him since I was eight weeks pregnant. He beat me regularly for two years. The night before I left, he almost killed me.”
“Go on.”
“After he was arrested for almost beating me to death and having a package of meth on him, he was sent to jail for ten years. But even before his trial, I packed what I could fit into my suitcase, filled up his car with gas, and drove north until I reached Oregon.”
“Here?”
“No, I lived on the coast for a few years—a little town called Legley Bay—and then up to Manzanita to a culinary school there—before I moved here. Small towns in Oregon no one's ever heard of are good places to escape and hide out. Until the press starts writing up your restaurant.”
“That's how he found you?”
“That's what he said. I feel so stupid. I never worried about it because it's been over ten years.”
“And these articles always name your location?”
“Right.”
“Crap,” he said, gazing out the window, a look on his face she couldn't decipher. “And he's been in jail all this time?”
“Yes. But apparently he's been released. What I can't figure out is how he got my cell phone number. But he said he's coming for me. And for Alder. He called first last week and then last night he called me at the restaurant. He said he's here, in town.” She began to cry. Saying it out loud to someone made it all that more real. “And I don't know what to do.”
“Have you talked to the police?”
“No.”
“You need to.”
“What will I say?”
“Tell them everything you know. Do you have his number on your phone?”
“No. It just says ‘private number.’” She stared out the window, feeling helpless, tears spilling down her cheeks. The sky was bright blue. Birds twittered in the pines. There was a rose garden at the edge of the yard, pink and yellow and red buds peeping just above the fence that kept them shielded from deer. Everything beautiful this world had to offer, here before her. Yet, she shivered, knowing that out there somewhere was the man who wanted her dead. Was he making his way towards her now, as she sat gazing at the splendor of this day?
“Please don't cry.” He moved suddenly, almost lurching at her. She flinched, her hand coming up to shield her face. But he didn't mean to harm her. Of course not, she told herself. He was just reaching out to comfort me. Don't be such an idiot.
“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you.” And in his eyes she saw he understood. She was afraid of men she didn't know, afraid he might try and hurt her, despite all the years between now and Marco.
“I know.”
“Just an instinct. Right?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
He gestured towards the other room, his expression dark. “I'll go look up the number for the police department in my office. Give a shout when lunch is ready.” He stopped at the doorway, leaning against the frame. “I could take you, if you want.”
“But I thought you didn't want to come off the mountain?”
He pulled on his ear, gazing at the floor, as if thinking it through, before looking back at her. “Just this once. I don't think you should go alone.”
“It won't just be the police station. We'll have to drop Alder at Ellen's. I can go alone.”
“I don't think that's a good idea.”
“Why?”
“Because he's out there. Waiting.”
Twenty minutes later, she carried a steaming plate of spaghetti, along with silverware and a napkin, into the dining room. Alder lifted his face from the book and took in a deep breath. “Mom, that smells awesome.”
“Go in the kitchen for yours, Baby. I went light on the garlic.”
“Thanks, Mom.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “But could you not call me Baby in front of Mr. Webber? It makes me sound, well, like a baby.”
“Sorry, honey.”
“Mom!”
“I mean, Alder.”
Drake appeared then, freshly showered and dressed in slacks and a button-down shirt. Why did he have to be this good looking? “Smells great,” he said, sitting at the table. He looked over at Alder. “You want to eat with me?”
“Me?”
“Yeah, you. We can talk about your favorite books.”
He jumped up from the couch, reminding Annie of Goldie when she saw Alder in the mornings. “Cool.”
“I'll fetch your bowl from the kitchen,” said Annie.
“Thanks, Mom.” Alder pulled out a chair and plopped into it, grinning.
She quickly gathered Alder's plate and silverware from the kitchen and set it in front of her son at the dining room table. Alder grabbed the fork and dug it deep into the plate of pasta.
“Alder, Mr. Webber might like to pray before eating.” Maybe he wasn't a complete heathen like her son obviously was.
“No, it's fine,” said Drake. “I don't pray.” Again, something crossed over his face that looked like a physical pain. “Anymore,” he added, almost under his breath.
Alder was staring at him. He was curious too, she thought. What was this man hiding from his past? What had happened to him?
“Aren't you eating?” Drake asked her.
“I nibbled on something while I was cooking,” she said. One slice of turkey on a piece of wheat bread. Mustard, no mayonnaise. 180 calories.
“Jeez, Mom, you should've had this instead. It's the best ever.” Alder swiped his napkin over his entire mouth before leaning close to his bowl and taking another large bite.
Drake watched her with those light eyes of his. It made her think he knew all her secrets, this way he had of looking at her. Avoiding his gaze further, she went to the kitchen, both her temptation and her sanctuary.
Chapter Six
AFTER LUNCH, Drake put them both into his four-door black Mercedes and drove to Ellen's. On the way, Annie breathed in the pleasant smell of new leather, willing herself to remain calm.
Ellen was in her garden when they arrived, picking peas, wearing her straw sunhat, shorts, and a tank top. Her skin was tanned from working in the garden, even though Annie insisted she wear sunscreen. Ellen took off her hat and fanned herself as they walked over to the fenced garden. “What's this now?” Ellen's eyes skirted from Drake's car to the man and back to Annie in a matter of seconds before letting herself out of the gate and into the yard.
Annie introduced them and they shook hands, Ellen's watchful eyes upon his face. What did she see, Annie wondered?
“You all want some iced tea?” asked Ellen.
“No, we can't stay,” said Annie. “Just Alder.”
“What's going on?” asked Ellen, her gaze sharp now. “Did something happen?”
&nb
sp; Annie asked Alder to head inside.
“I've got fresh pie and lemonade in there,” Ellen called out to Alder as he walked towards the house. “Help yourself.”
“Thanks, Momo,” said Alder.
Ellen continued to look at Drake as if he were a suspect of some kind. In this way, there was no doubt that Lee and Ellen were related—both suspicious until they understood the nature of your character.
Drake indicated the car. “You want me to wait for you?”
“Sure. Thanks.”
After he was gone, she turned to Ellen. “Put your hat back on,” she said. “Sun's too bright this time of day.”
“Stop fussing over me and tell me what the heck's going on.”
“I have a bit of a situation,” said Annie.
“Oh, for Pete's sake. When you and Lee tell me something's a situation I know something's about to make me worried sick.”
“I'm afraid so.”
The police station, a small brick building next to the post office, was on a side street in the middle of town. Drake and Annie walked into the small waiting area, which consisted of a desk and several vinyl chairs but no personnel. Drifting into the reception area was the sound of someone talking, most likely on the phone, given the stops and starts in conversation. Annie, catching Drake's eye, shrugged. “How do we let him know we're here?” she asked, as if he would know.
He pointed to a small silver bell, like teachers had in grade school, at the reception desk. “Maybe ring that,” he said. “This is not giving me a lot of confidence.”
She rang the bell. The town's deputy, Fred Hughes, appeared in the doorway of his office, holding a cell phone up to his ear. “Hey, I gotta go, Mom. I'll call you later.” He clicked off and motioned for them to come inside. “Annie, everything okay?” He sat behind his desk, his receding hairline shining under the lights. Fred couldn't be older than twenty-two, Annie was fairly certain. This was his first job, she knew, because he'd told her all about it at the bar one night. He was short, slightly chubby, and had the look about him of being pink and scrubbed, like a baby pig after a bath. His hair would be completely gone by the time he turned twenty-seven, she thought. Poor guy.
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