by Terry Odell
She shook off the thought, grabbed a pad of paper and started making a list of everything she needed to do. With Thornton’s new start date, she was way behind schedule. And the sooner she finished, the sooner she could get out of here and away from Blake Windsor.
She tried to assure herself the man who was sleeping in a room exactly twenty-eight paces from her door couldn’t possibly know anything about Robert. Windsor was a handyman, sent to work on the project. Jack had vouched for him. Checked his references. He’d never send anyone who couldn’t be trusted. Still, the less contact she had with Windsor the better. No way was she going to risk spending the rest of her life in a Mexican prison.
The phone interrupted. Jack again?
“Hey Kelli, it’s Ranger Peterson. Doug. I wanted to make sure you were all right.”
The hairs on her neck prickled. “Is something wrong?”
“Nothing major. It’s the annual end-of-summer biker retreat, but a couple of fraternities are here, too. There was a fraternity versus biker difference of opinion. Probably escalated by alcohol.”
“I’ve heard the bikes all day. Nobody ever comes onto this property. I’m fine.”
“Okay. There were some campsites messed up. Petty vandalism. Law enforcement’s on it. You want me to come by? Just in case, you know?”
“No, but thanks. Good night, Doug.”
Hanging up the phone, Kelli shook her head. Even though he was a naturalist, not a park cop, Doug Peterson protected the park like it was his own backyard. Shortly after she’d arrived, he’d made some overtures. They’d reached an understanding that she wasn’t interested in anything other than her job, but every now and again he’d test the waters.
She stood, arched her back, and went to the window. The bike noises seemed to be getting closer. She waited, listening, and they faded away.
She sighed and turned to the paperwork for the Environmental Impact Statement. What seemed like hours later, only halfway through the mounds of paperwork, she gave up trying to fill out the requisite forms. Too restless to sleep, she clicked the computer mouse and opened her games folder. After setting the difficulty level to “evil,” she blasted Snoods, imagining Robert’s face as she wiped the colored icons off the screen. Robert was gone now, too, like the Snoods.
The smell of congealed Chinese food on her desk turned her stomach. She picked up the container and headed for the kitchen, remembering at the last minute to put on her glasses. She reminded herself to keep her guard up.
Seconds later, she was glad she had. Instead of being asleep, Windsor stood at the stove, his back to her. Her heart thumped against her rib cage. She froze. Before she could retreat, he faced her.
Chapter Two
Blake adjusted the burner under the teakettle. Kelli stood there, clutching the remains of her dinner, like she wanted the floor to swallow her. He tried his smile again. “I’m making chamomile tea. Want some?”
Kelli lowered her head. “No, thanks. I need to wash my dishes.”
He watched her, obviously struggling with the dilemma of joining him in the confined space of the kitchen. Without giving ground, he reached out his hand. “I’ll do them.”
Her chin lifted and her eyes, red-rimmed behind those big glasses, met his. “No need.” She edged into the space, turning sideways, arms tight at her sides, managing to avoid any contact when she bent over to scrape her leftovers into the trash can.
Something creaked outside. He jumped backward, jostling Kelli. The trash can tipped, spilling its contents over the linoleum. His stew can rolled across the floor, leaving a trail of gravy drippings. Kelli sucked in a loud breath.
“Hey,” he said. “Sorry. I heard something outside and it startled me.”
She pushed her glasses up on her nose, but didn’t look up. “It’s okay.” She bent over, cramming everything back into the trash.
He wet a paper towel and crouched down beside her. She smelled of soap and—green, like outside. Not the expensive perfume he was used to on women. Strangely enticing. “Let me. It was my fault.”
Avoiding his eyes, she scrambled to her feet and backed out of the kitchen, almost cowering. Thoughts of domestic abuse flashed in his mind. But how would that relate to Dwight? Blake had been so busy jumping to do Dwight’s bidding, he hadn’t really played out why his boss would want to find someone like Casey—or Kelli.
A clattering from outside had him on his feet. “Did you hear that?”
Kelli half-turned and shrugged. “Probably a raccoon. They like to get into the garbage cans if the lids aren’t secured.”
“Raccoons. I can handle that. Davy Crockett tails, Lone Ranger masks, right?” He smiled. The tiniest quirk of her mouth told him he’d made his first bit of headway.
She raised her eyebrows. “Of course it might be a bear.”
“A bear?” Bears? Holy crap. Involuntarily, he stepped back and saw one corner of Kelli’s mouth turn up. First law of the boardroom, and he’d blown it. Never let them see fear. Round two to Kelli.
He tried to recover some ground. “Um … should I check to see if the lids are tight?”
She gave an exasperated head shake and rolled her eyes. “They’re fine. Besides, the bears knock over the cans. That wasn’t loud enough.”
“It doesn’t bother you, having bears so close?” He did not want to get up close and personal with the natives. He wondered if Kelli would think he was a wuss if he drove the fifty yards to the cabin every day.
“Oh, I don’t mind the bears,” she said. “It’s when the deer eat my herbs that I get really mad.”
“Touché.” He held up his hands, palms out in mock surrender.
“Actually, the two-legged creatures cause most of the problems. One of the rangers called to tell me about trouble with some campers. The Park Service takes care of it. Nobody’s ever come out this far.”
“Anything to do with the bikes I’ve been hearing?”
She nodded. “Bikers and frat guys. But the rangers are on top of things.”
As if on cue, the bike noises were back. Kelli glanced toward the door.
“Are the building supplies secure?” she asked.
“Not really.” As the roar grew louder, he glanced in the direction of the cabin. “I thought you said nobody ever came by.”
She lowered her head and massaged her neck. “There’s a first time for everything. I’m going to go check it out.”
“No. Let me go.”
Her head lifted. “That won’t be necessary, Mr. Windsor.” Her expression belied her words.
“I insist. No need for you to go out. It’s late. I’ll move everything inside the cabin and get a padlock on the door.”
She studied him for a moment, as if weighing all the options and consequences. “Suit yourself.”
“I’ll get a jacket.” He went to his room, wondering what had possessed him to volunteer to go outside in the middle of the night in the middle of nowhere. In bear territory. He thought of the expression on Kelli’s face when he’d volunteered, and he knew.
He pulled a leather string from his pocket and tied back his hair. Shrugging into his parka, he had one hand on the front doorknob when Kelli came out of her room.
“Here,” she said and stretched out her arm, extending a large Maglite. “Whistle.”
He accepted the light, letting his fingers brush over her hand before her words registered. “What? Did you say ‘whistle’?”
“Yes. Most wildlife wants nothing to do with humans. Make noise. They’ll know you’re coming and leave you alone.”
“Thanks. I think.”
He clicked on the bright beam and swept it back and forth across the driveway as he started for the cabin. Nothing seemed unusual, but how would he know? Every now and then he stopped, shone the light into the bushes and up into the trees. Somewhere in the distance, an owl hooted. At least he thought it was an owl. Trees creaked. Bushes rustled. Or things in the bushes rustled. But nothing came scurrying across the roadway, or swo
oping down from the sky.
The trees that lined the path brought images of the haunted forest in one of the few books he’d owned as a kid. It had scared him then, too—or his brother had when he’d read it to him with melodramatic sound effects.
Whistle? A lost cause. His mouth was too dry to manage more than a feeble note, but he figured his singing would scare the hell out of anything lurking in the trees. He burst into a shaky but loud rendition of Bad, Bad Leroy Brown.
* * * * *
Kelli watched as Blake worked his way down to the cabin, sweeping the flashlight up, down and around. Afraid of a little wildlife. Drop-dead, soap-opera-star gorgeous. Chamomile tea, for God’s sake. He was probably gay. Heck, even his hair looked better than hers did. The thought of Windsor under her roof became a little less intimidating.
She wondered if he was really going to whistle. Instead, Bad, Bad Leroy Brown floated through the air. She caught herself before she laughed out loud. Windsor’s off-key singing would definitely keep the critters at bay.
She absently rubbed her hand where Windsor’s had touched her when he took the flashlight. A frisson ripped through her. It had been an uncallused hand, with very well-tended nails.
Her mouth dried up. There was no reason a handyman couldn’t be gay, but soft hands? Her brain whirled. It made no sense. Undercover cop? Private detective? Didn’t fit. They wouldn’t be spooked out here.
Was he really going out there to keep the project supplies safe? Or using the cover of the bikers to do some sabotage of his own? Whoever Blake Windsor was, he was not going to stop Camp Getaway from opening on schedule. She darted into her room and retrieved her thirty-eight from the nightstand drawer.
She pulled on her parka, stuffing her revolver into the pocket. Moving through the shadows alongside the road, she approached the cabin, sticking to the cover of the trees. A faint glow filtered through gaps in the plywood-covered window openings. A moment later, Blake came out, picked up one of the new windows propped against the exterior wall, and carried it inside. He returned for another and she noticed the heavy work gloves on his hands. So, he protected his hands. A fragment of tension dissolved.
Reminding herself it was for the kids, she stepped forward. “What can I do?”
He jumped but recovered quickly, flashing her a smile. “I’m just moving everything inside. These are custom windows. If they break, you’ll be behind schedule.”
“It’s good to know you take your work seriously.”
“No point in doing a job if you can’t do it right.”
She reached for a window. Good grief, she didn’t want to like this guy.
* * * * *
“I never had my tea,” Blake said when they were back in the house. “Please join me. It’ll warm you up.” He gestured to the chairs beyond the counter. “Have a seat. It’ll only take a couple of minutes.”
Kelli hadn’t spoken a word while they’d worked and he’d backed off trying to engage her in conversation. But he’d made progress and wasn’t going to lose what little advantage he had.
She hesitated and he found another mug in the cabinet. “Humor me?” He turned the burner to high and willed the water to boil before she could change her mind.
“Okay. I’ll be right back.” She disappeared into her room.
The kettle whistled and he stared at her closed door. When he heard the knob turn, he smiled and poured boiling water over the tea bags. “Relax. It’s just a cup of tea. Sit. Please?”
Kelli slid into a chair—the one farthest from the counter—and rearranged the salt and pepper shakers on the red Formica tabletop. He maintained the silence while the tea steeped, then stirred milk and honey into the mugs. “Here you go.” He leaned across the counter and set one mug onto the table.
She took a sip and her eyes met his for an instant. “Not bad.”
“Ah, another convert.” He stayed where he was, leaning against the kitchen counter. “Nobody thinks you can put milk and honey into chamomile tea, but I prove them wrong every time.”
She took another sip and a tiny smile teased her mouth, although she didn’t look at him again. He stepped around the counter and pulled back one of the three empty chairs. He lifted his eyebrows in question, pleased enough when she shrugged. He set his mug down, then took a seat.
“Been here long?” he asked.
“Around six months.”
“Where are you from?”
“I move around with the work.” She studied her tea.
He waited, content to watch Kelli accept his presence, seeing some of the apprehension leave her eyes. He tried again.
“Have you worked on a lot of these camp projects?”
She shook her head. “Usually I do straight environmental studies. Document what lives there. In and out in a matter of days. But this project is a new venture for EnviroCon. Thornton, the backer—he’s some kind of philanthropist—he’s done a bunch of similar ones. Camp Getaway could be the first of many for Jack and it’s important to him.”
Although she still wouldn’t look at him, her tone had softened. The project was clearly important to her, too, and not simply because it was her job. She sipped her tea then set the mug down. Her fingers, with their short, unpolished nails, beat a quiet tattoo on the handle.
“This job meant long-term studies, tons of government paperwork, planned curriculum, not to mention getting permission to bring kids in. If they’re going to stay in the dorm, it’ll need a Certificate of Occupancy.” She raised her eyes, almost in challenge. As if she didn’t think he could do his job.
“I can handle it. Fitting the new windows into the old openings will be the trickiest. Driving that road with them was nerve-racking, but they survived the trip and I think they’re safe where they are now.”
She gave him that same exasperated headshake he’d seen earlier. Even exasperation was better than the way she avoided and ignored him.
He smiled. “What? Did I do something wrong?”
“On a winding mountain road, it’s considered common courtesy to hug the shoulder, not the center line when there’s someone behind you.” She mumbled the words into her mug.
He thought back to the drive up, of a Wrangler zipping past him when he’d been trying to get a cell signal. “Sorry. Lesson learned. Most of my jobs don’t involve mountain driving.”
“And where would those jobs be?”
Another step forward. She’d actually initiated a question. “Seattle most recently, but I move around with the work, too.” Crap, he was tired. He’d almost said Chicago.
With a nod, she stood and carried her mug to the sink. “Thanks for the tea, Mr. Windsor. We both have an early start tomorrow.”
“Good night, Kelli.” He fixed another mug of tea and brought it to his room, along with the Sherlock Holmes book. To the tea, he added a generous shot of Scotch from the bottle he’d brought with him. Along with convincing him tai chi would help him relax, his sister-in-law extolled the calming virtues of chamomile tea. He never told her about the Scotch.
On his narrow cot, Blake tossed and turned, listening to unfamiliar night noises. When sleep wouldn’t come, he replayed the night’s events.
Kelli, or whoever she was, had appeared out of the darkness, nearly giving him a heart attack and then slipped into rhythm working beside him. Together, they’d secured all the supplies, but for two people working side by side, they might as well have been on separate planets.
He wondered why she intrigued him. In his world, he’d never give her a second glance. He imagined unfastening the clip she used to hold back her hair, watching it tumble past her shoulders. Running his fingers through it. Taking off her glasses, giving him an unobstructed view into the depths of her brown eyes. He groaned and tried to find a comfortable position on the lumpy mass masquerading as a mattress. When that failed, he picked up the book and started reading. Maybe some of Sherlock’s powers would rub off on him.
Sunlight streamed through the bare windows. Blake crawled o
ut of bed, dealt with a lukewarm shower and staggered into the kitchen for coffee. Kelli’s Jeep was gone, but she’d locked her doors. He made a peanut butter sandwich and went to the cabin.
He’d been working about twenty minutes when he heard the Jeep approach and stop. Aware he was being watched, he focused on his work, giving Kelli a quick nod only when she wheeled the Jeep past him on her way to the house.
When the afternoon sun beat down, he moved from the roof to work inside where it was cooler. He heard Kelli drive off again and he stepped out of the musty confines of the cabin, tugging the rawhide thong from his hair. He shook his ponytail free, trying to dispel some of the sawdust. The cabin floor was covered with it. More clung to his clothing and he slapped his jeans and stomped his feet in a futile attempt to be rid of it.
He needed a break and he needed to report to Dwight Hollingsworth, not that he had much to say. He’d demand Dwight tell him why he was really here, or—or what? He’d go back to Chicago and start work on the Whitaker account? No way. Dwight had insisted he play carpenter in this godforsaken wilderness, and that’s what he was going to do. It certainly had nothing to do with wanting to help Kelli.
He drove about a mile down the winding dirt road before finding a spot wide enough to pull over. He checked for a phone signal. Nothing yet. Running his fingers through his hair, he sat for a moment, listening to birdsong and the wind rustling the leaves, not the traffic noises he was used to. He got out of the cab and opened the lockbox in the bed of the truck.
He wrested the large manila envelope from under the spare tools. Although he’d encountered only a few cars, he jumped down from the truck and hiked down a trail until he came to a clearing. Once he was certain he was away from any eavesdroppers of the human variety, he unfastened the clasp and slid out the small stack of papers.