“Yeah, he did.”
She sighed. “I’m not sure I like someone coming and going at will on my property.”
“I’m not wild about it, either,” Jake said gravely. “Which brings me to the reason I’m here. When Perris said the guy came back, your living alone in the woods really started to bother me. I think you should get a dog.”
“A dog?”
He had to smile. He liked the way her sable bangs just missed colliding with her dark eyelashes, liked her sea-green eyes. “Yeah, a dog. They look a lot like Maggie—four legs and a lot of fur. Good ones bark up a storm when their owners are threatened.”
The little lift he felt when she grinned took a sudden nosedive.
“David loved dogs—big, slurpy breeds. And we did consider getting one for a time. But we worried that a big dog and our guests might not be a good mix.”
Jake looked away for an instant—told himself that Rachel’s mentioning David wasn’t any big deal. “Then you get a smaller, even-tempered dog with a big bark.”
“Maybe someday,” she said. “But I don’t see the need right now. The man I saw last night was angry at Tim, not me.” She glanced toward the home’s entrance, then brought her pretty gaze back to him. “Was there … something else?”
Annoyed with himself, he shook his head. Now she probably thought he’d made a special trip to talk to her, when he could have phoned or stopped at the campground later. “No, that’s it. I just thought I’d drop in because I had to pass the nursing home anyway.”
“Oh. Well, thank you.” She consulted her wrist-watch, and the sun glanced off the gold wedding band on her finger. “I’d better get back inside now, though. It’s almost lunchtime, and some of my friends need help with their food.”
With the workload waiting for her at the campground, she still took time to help others. He liked that about her. But today he wouldn’t tell her she was fabulous—or whatever idiotic word he’d used last night that made them both uncomfortable. “I have to go, too. But think about what I said.”
“I’ll do that. Thanks again.”
Brushing off her thanks, he headed for his vehicle. “No problem. Friends are supposed to look out for each other.”
Friends, he thought, getting his head straight as he started the green game-commission truck and pulled back onto the road. That’s what they were, and what he was comfortable with. He could do a lot worse.
At two o’clock, Rachel drove down into her wooded campground to see Nate Carter’s yellow company truck parked beside her white-sided camp store. Sunlight flashed off two long silver canisters in the truck’s bed, both secured by steel framing. She swung in beside him as Nate got out of his vehicle.
Nate was a compact man about her height with light brown hair, dated steel-rimmed aviator glasses and a nice smile. A denim jacket stitched with his company name—Carter Propane Sales—topped his jeans and chambray shirt, but on Sundays, he was a suit-and-tie man all the way.
“Afternoon,” he called, walking around the truck to meet her.
“Afternoon,” she called back. “Have you been here long?”
“Just a few minutes. I was making deliveries in the area and stopped to see if you needed to have your tanks filled.” He wiggled an empty foam cup before dropping it in the nearby trash receptacle. “I was also hoping for a cup of coffee and some scintillating conversation.”
Laughing and choosing a key from her ring, Rachel ascended the wide wooden stoop, opened the white screen door and inserted her key in the lock. “If you’re looking for ‘scintillating,’ you’ve come to the wrong place, but coffee’s doable.” She stepped inside, and he followed. “As for my tanks, I haven’t checked the gauges yet, but I’m probably low.”
“You are,” he admitted sheepishly. “I had some time to kill before you got here.” He stepped around three waist-high stacks of cartons on the floor. “You’re under twenty percent at your house. Camp store’s just a little better than that.”
Rachel dropped her keys on the blue counter separating her galley from the store, then slipped behind the bar to start her small coffeemaker. The large dispenser would be pressed into service when her guests began piling in.
“Well, then, let’s fill them.” She put a filter pack of coffee in the basket, added a dash of salt and turned on the unit. “How’s tomorrow for you?”
“Tomorrow’s good. Morning or afternoon?”
Rachel carried two white mugs to the counter where Nate had commandeered a stool. “Come anytime. It doesn’t matter. I’ll be here all day.”
“Great. I’ll stop by in the morning. Jillian has a hair appointment around three, so if my afternoon’s free, I can tag along. Maybe take her out afterward for an early dinner.”
“Can’t imagine her saying no to that,” Rachel returned, smiling.
“Yeah, she’ll like that.” He paused for a moment as the rich aroma of coffee brewing spiced the air, and steaming, spitting coffee dripped into the carafe. A sly twinkle rose in his eyes when Rachel took the stool beside him. “So,” he said far too innocently, “anything new going on in your neck of the woods?”
She had to laugh. So that’s why he’d waited for her. He’d heard. Some days she swore the number of police scanners in Charity outnumbered the population. “Let me guess, you have a scanner.”
“No, I ran into Emma Lucille at the Quick Mart early this morning. She’d just turned over the dispatcher’s desk to Sarah. You know Charity. On a slow day, somebody’s hangnail is big news.”
That was an understatement.
“Anyway, Emma Lu was talking to Ben Caruthers from the hardware store, who apparently does have a scanner, and they were discussing your prowler. Ben was really champing at the bit for information—wanted to know if Fish had made an arrest.”
“Well, if you heard her answer, you know he didn’t. And technically, the guy was Tim Decker’s prowler. Apparently, Tim’s not one of his favorite people.”
“Apparently.” Nate’s broad face lined in concern. “Rachel,” he began hesitantly, “I know this is none of my business, but … do you have a gun?”
“A gun?” she repeated.
He hurried to explain himself. “Only for your protection. What if this guy thinks you recognized him? You’re miles from help if you need it.”
First Jake’s suggestion that she get a dog, now this. God had been good to her. He’d blessed her with wonderful friends … and one very caring neighbor. “Nate, I appreciate your concern, but really, who would risk killing someone over an act of vandalism? We’re not talking about the mob here.”
“I know that, but you’re alone,” he said, pressing his point. “Non-mob things happen. Now if you want a gun—”
“No way.” Rising, she retrieved the coffee carafe and returned to fill their cups. “A gun in the hand of someone who’s never used one is a surefire recipe for disaster.” She reached under the counter for a basket filled with stir sticks and sugar and creamer packets. “Now let’s talk about something uplifting. Something that will put a smile on my face.”
Still troubled but seeming to know that she wouldn’t change her mind, he conceded. “Okay, like what?”
Rachel laughed. “Well, you could tell me that my propane will be cheaper this year.”
* * *
Maggie crashed into the woods after another chipmunk, and with a sharp whistle, Jake called her back and slowed his run. The sun was sliding toward the horizon, but the day was still warm, full of the smells, sights and sounds of spring. Every bird in the valley was out doing what birds did, and seemingly overnight, grassy fields had become endless carpets of dandelions.
He wiped his face with a hand towel, jammed it into his back pocket, then settled into a cool-down jog. He paused to listen outside Rachel’s camp store. Music. Somewhere on the property, country singer Alan Jackson was recalling coming of age on the Chattahoochee. Jake followed the song to the bathhouses—and Rachel. She’d propped the door open with a rock, and low sunlight shone through i
t, highlighting her face-framing sable hair as she slapped mint green paint on a wall. She looked young and industrious in cutoff jeans and a yellow T-shirt.
She whirled around in surprise when Maggie dashed past him and bolted inside to say hello, her toenails clicking on the concrete floor. “Three visits in one day?” she said, laughing and scrubbing her fingers through the setter’s silky coat. “You two are going to spoil me.”
Jake worked up a smile. That’s what he’d been afraid of. Not the spoiling part. He was worried about sending the wrong message. He didn’t want her thinking what women probably thought when a man made three trips to see them in one day. He was here only because his house felt empty, he’d put in a full day, and he was—as his grandmother used to say—at loose ends.
Rachel took in his navy cutoffs and white tank top. “Out for a run?”
“Just a short one. I was about to head for home when I heard the music and thought I’d see what you were up to.”
She had amazing eyes. Eyes that saw too much, he decided, recalling the conversation he’d put a stop to this morning. He knew he’d piqued her interest. But no man with an ounce of pride admitted to a beautiful woman—even one who still wore a wedding band—that his fiancée had preferred someone else to him.
He glanced around at Rachel’s handiwork. “Looks good.” The bathhouse was constructed of cement blocks, smooth now under countless coats of paint. Above white fixtures, a long, wood-framed mirror was bolted to the wall, while the opposite wall hosted freshly painted shower stalls. “Got another brush? I’ll help you finish.”
“Thanks, but I only have one wall to go.” Rachel dipped to scoop a rag from the floor, then wiped her brush and walked toward him. She was long and lithe, grace in motion on two white-sneakered feet. “I was ready to call it a day anyway. Give me a minute to seal the paint can and clean my brush, then we can walk up to the store. You and Maggie look like you could use a cold drink—and I know I could use one.”
“Sounds good,” he said. “But I’m buying.”
They didn’t stay at the camp store; they walked. The store was too warm, and the sunset was too vibrant to miss. In a while, they found themselves sipping Pepsi from plastic bottles near the site of last night’s vandalism. The twilight song of the peepers filled the air, Alan Jackson’s boyhood reminiscing long gone.
Rachel glanced at the partially chewed-up earth and lone piece of equipment and once again felt a twinge of guilt over the dozer’s damage when it was in her care.
Jake spoke. “Looks like Decker moved his other equipment before it could suffer a similar fate.”
Rachel nodded. “Chief Perris suggested it, but Tim had already decided to move them until they were ready to resume work. He’s sending a flatbed for the bulldozer tomorrow.”
“Nothing from the police yet?”
“No, but the way Perris feels about me—make that women in general—I’m not expecting a call.”
Rachel watched him take another swig of his Pepsi, then screw the cap back on. “I have a favor to ask.”
A favor? “Since I can’t imagine you asking anything I wouldn’t say yes to … sure. What do you need?”
“I’d like you to invite Maggie to a slumber party.”
She cocked her head. “You want me to keep your dog overnight?”
“Yeah, I do. I have a meeting in Harrisburg first thing tomorrow morning. I could drive down there at the crack of dawn, but I’d rather leave tonight.” He pinned his gaze on the dark pines and leafy maples lining the road ahead. “Naturally, I explained to her that she’d be fine in her pen, but after hearing about your prowler … Well, weird as it sounds, Maggie said she’s afraid to stay alone.”
Rachel smiled, a lovely warmth enveloping her. He wasn’t concerned about Maggie, he was concerned about her. “Maybe you should tell Maggie that she has nothing to be afraid of. Now that the nasty man has accomplished his nasty deed, there’s no reason for him to come back.”
As if to punctuate his point, Maggie crashed out of the darkening woods and undergrowth, her golden-red fur wet after a splash through the creek below. She circled her good-looking master, then nuzzled his hand until he reached down to scratch behind her ear. But his gaze never left Rachel’s.
“You’re probably right,” he said, straightening. “Chances are he won’t come back, but I still wish you’d keep her. She wouldn’t be any trouble. She could sleep on your deck.”
“Jake—”
Briefly touching a finger to her lips, he softened his voice. “Before you refuse again, maybe I should tell you something. I’ve mentioned my younger brother Greg to you before, haven’t I?”
Rachel searched his face. “Yes.”
His dark gaze clouded. “Once upon a time we had a sister.”
THREE
Had. They’d had a sister. Past tense.
“Tell me,” she said quietly.
He took a second to gather his thoughts, then began. “One summer night, Carrie and two of her friends were walking home from the library—something they’d done dozens of times before. It wasn’t quite dark, and we lived in a safe neighborhood. So as everyone said later, there was no need for our parents to worry.”
But there was a need, Rachel realized, and a feeling of dread settled over her.
“That night, Carrie and Erin dropped Liza off at her house, then half a block from ours, Carrie said goodnight to Erin and headed home.” He paused and his brow furrowed. “She’d just turned sixteen. She was pretty and smart, and she wanted to be a fashion designer. She drew all the time.” He blew out a breath. “They never caught the man who raped her. She died from a blow to the head during the assault.”
Rachel didn’t know what to say for a moment, then murmured a time-worn response that never really said enough. “Jake, I’m so sorry. How old were you when Carrie died?”
“I was her big brother by three minutes.”
Twins. That seemed to make losing her even worse. They’d begun life together, were born together—learned to walk and talk together. How many times had he wished he’d been with her that night? Rachel wondered. Big brothers were supposed to look after their baby sisters—keep them from harm. But he hadn’t been able to do that. And now she understood his need to protect. What was it her mom always said? If you want to understand someone, take a look at their past.
“Okay,” she said softly. “If Maggie would feel better hanging out with me tonight, then a slumber party it is. But she’s staying in my room.” She smiled a little. “We can’t possibly braid each other’s hair and talk about boys if she sleeps on my deck.”
The tenderness in his dark eyes brought back that billowing feeling in Rachel’s chest. “Good,” he murmured, returning her smile. “Good. Now I won’t worry about her while I’m gone.”
Rachel closed her Bible, then lay back and turned off the light, a contemplative mood settling over her. She’d read passages from Revelations, then moved on to the Book of Psalms, and one verse kept repeating itself in her mind, probably because of Carrie Campbell’s death. Psalm 34:18. “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted; He rescues those who are crushed in spirit.”
For the second time today, Rachel wondered how Jake had dealt with his twin’s passing. She’d needed her faith, needed her trust in God when David died. The comfort she’d received from her family and friends had been invaluable as she’d found her way back to a life without him. But without her faith, and the solid belief that David was whole and happy again, she knew she would still be broken and adrift. She hoped that sixteen-year-old Jake had turned to God, as she did, and found peace. He’d never mentioned his beliefs, but she knew he didn’t go to church.
Rachel repositioned her feet, smiling when they bumped into a big, muscular lump. After a few sad, high-pitched whines when Jake left without her, Maggie had accepted Rachel’s hospitality and settled in for the night. Now, as she lay curled up at the foot of the bed, she snuffled from time to time, doggie-dreaming.
; “I guess I should get some sleep, too, Lord,” Rachel whispered in the silence. She’d already told Him how much she regretted the vandalism done on her land. Now it was time to center on the good in her life. “Thank You for this day, and for my friends and family. Please watch over my dad as he continues to get stronger after the stroke, and keep my mom well in Your care.” She paused. “Also, a friend of mine is on the road tonight. He’s a good man, Lord. Keep him safe.”
Then she rolled onto her side and, minutes later, welcomed the dozy, groggy beginnings of sleep … fuzzy shapes and images coalescing behind her closed eyelids.
Two hours later, a sharp bark shattered Rachel’s dreams and she bolted upright to see Maggie vault from the bed and disappear into the hall. Rachel pulled on her robe and hurried to the kitchen where the Irish setter was barking and leaping against the patio’s glass doors. Nerves buzzing, she snapped on the kitchen and deck lights.
Did dogs go ballistic over minor sounds in the night? Or had her intruder returned to wreak more havoc on Tim Decker’s already-damaged bulldozer? Rachel snagged the dog’s leash from a hook in the broom closet, then clipped it to Maggie’s collar, grabbed a flashlight and pulled open the door. She couldn’t let Maggie out on her own. She couldn’t risk the dog being hurt when she was in her—
Maggie lunged onto the deck, yanking the leash out of her hand.
“Maggie!” Rachel rushed barefooted down the steps after her. “Maggie, get back here!”
She clicked on her flashlight, played it around until it landed on fifty pounds of reddish-gold fur. The dog stood rigidly, a low growl vibrating in her throat, her attention pinned to the construction site. Rachel looked around apprehensively, then quickly picked her way over the dirt and stones in her driveway and grabbed the leash—tugged the dog back.
Suddenly something shifted in the shadows. Rachel’s fear skyrocketed—until she saw five massive figures wandering in the moonlight near the small cluster of gnarled apple trees close to the site.
She blew out a breath. “Really, Maggie. All this over a few elk?” Her yard was a constant stopover for animals making their way from the woods west of her house to the clover and trefoil across the highway. She loved to see them come through. They were shedding their winter coats now, and the bulls had just begun to sprout velvety antlers. Soon, they’d be stately and majestic again. But obviously Maggie wasn’t as impressed with them as Rachel was.
On Deadly Ground Page 3