by Kym Roberts
“Because she’d already promised herself to the man of her dreams...” Missy whispered my fate with understanding. “What was your husband’s name?”
“Jacob Bradshaw. He died trying to save —”
Missy finished what I could not. “— my parents. Almost three years ago.”
“Two years, nine months and twenty-one days ago.”
“...nine months and twenty-one days ago.” Missy chimed in, the mirror image of myself — if you took away my brown hair and brown eyes, to her blonde and blue ... and the five inches in height I had over her.
“Are you saying your husband died in the same fire as Missy’s parents?” Steve spit it out more like an accusation than a question.
“Yes. That’s exactly what she’s saying.” Missy squeezed my hand before releasing it. “Do you have a picture of him?”
I crossed the room and picked up our engagement picture from the shelf next to the cold brick fireplace. Lovingly I smiled at my groom before handing over the treasured photo.
“I remember seeing his face on the news. I’m so sorry; I was so lost in my own grief, I didn’t even think about who may have lost him.” She stared at Jacob, reliving the past, recognizing the shared tragedy that slammed into both of us. I understood her despair, the questions that would never be answered, and she understood my agony, the “Why Jacob?”
“Do you know about his last moments?” Her voice cautious, she wanted to know if I dreamed of the pain, the fear, the fact that Jacob knew he was knocking on death’s door.
I had, and still did. “No.” I lied. “He called me before heading up the mountain, but at the time everyone believed he could get to your parents with no problem. Then the wind picked up and changed directions. He was caught in a pocket close to their cabin. That’s all I know.” I’d told the story so many times I shouldn’t have felt the fresh pain coursing through my system.
Missy reached out to clasp my hand again with a consolatory grip, only to have it cut short when Steve roughly grabbed her shoulders and guided her away from me. Away from my couch. Away from my living room and the tragedy we shared.
“Thank you for your time, Rilee. We appreciate you meeting with us but we have an appointment with the funeral home that we need to get to.” He took the photo out of Missy’s hand and handed it to me before leading her to the shop door. I followed numbly, wondering if the pain would ever stop for Missy. For me.
“Do you know when the funeral is going to be?” I asked. When Jacob died, the ceremony itself had nearly destroyed me, but the preparations had been the busy work I’d needed to protect my sanity.
Right now I could use something to plan to take away the pain these recent events had dug up.
“We’ll find out tonight. If you want, I can call you tomorrow and let you know when it will be.” My sister-in-pain needed me. Almost as much as I needed to see this through to the end.
“I would really like that.” I answered and watched Steve lead Missy away — pushing the same way he had pushed Ryan. Too quickly. Too forcefully. Too dominatingly. But this time he got no resistance. No joking. No camaraderie. Just solemn resignation from a woman who knew she could only meet the man of her dreams while she slept.
Again I wondered what Ryan would think. I was pretty sure he wouldn’t like the way Steve was manhandling his bride. The bride I had captured quite well in the missing figurine. A figurine I was suddenly determined to find.
Chapter Ten
Slobbery kisses were becoming routine in my life. Waking up with a warm body next to me, even if it was a dog, seemed right. The sun peeked through the curtains, letting me know Bogart’s desire to hit the woods wasn’t the only reason to drag myself out of my warm down comforter.
“Let’s go, Mr. Bogart. It’s that time of day.” Since my favorite Oregon Ducks ball cap had been washed downstream, I pulled my hair into a ponytail and changed into a pair of jeans and a hoodie. Then I met my favorite guy downstairs, where he waited patiently at the back door. His nose poking through the curtain, Bogart stared out the glass toward the woods.
“I see you’re taking Stone’s advice and checking to see if the axe murderers have chosen to visit our door.”
Bogart tilted his head back looking like a child who’d just learned Santa was a fairy tale — the thrill of Christmas morning dampened with the knowledge that life was not what it seemed to be.
I laughed at his pathetic look. “Caution is never a bad thing, Bogart. It will keep you from getting hit by a car or a tra ... train.”
Remembering Ryan jolted me back to my determination to find his bride. “Can you wait for me to make a phone call first?” I asked my companion.
Bogart laid down in his spot, put his head over his legs and patiently waited for me to give the signal that it was time to go. His intelligence put a smile on my face, lightening the burden of making inquiries to the police.
I found the business card of the officer I’d talked to the morning of Ryan’s death and dialed the number. After a couple rings, the same bored-stiff voice that made me think nothing fazed him, picked up on the other end. “Officer Martin.”
“Officer Martin, this is Rilee Dust, from the...the...” What the hell should I call it? Death scene? Murder scene?
“Accidental death on the railroad tracks.” He filled in without the least bit of inflection.
“Accidental?” Did they already dismiss Ryan’s death as just one of those things?
“Yes, Ms. Dust. Based on the interviews and evidence at the scene, the Coroner’s Office ruled it an accident.” The police radio echoed in the background.
“I see.” But I didn’t see it at all. What I wanted to say was, No. You’re wrong. Something isn’t right. Yet I had nothing to base that on. Just this growing feeling in my gut that things weren’t what they seemed to be.
Not the kind of evidence a cop like Officer Martin would want to hear.
“Can you tell me if a carved figurine of a bride was found on ... on...?”
“The body.” Officer Martin didn’t mince words. Straight to the point. Love it or leave it. “Just a moment and I’ll check the report.”
I could hear his fingers tapping away on a computer and wondered if he was at the police station. Then again, maybe he had one of those computers in his patrol car that I’d seen the sheriff use as a table for his lunch. Martin read off a list of items in police custody.
“One wallet containing personal credit cards and identification. Miscellaneous receipts, stained and damaged clothing and a pair of men’s shoes. And one damaged wooden figurine. No cash. No jewelry.”
My heart leapt with hope. A figurine.
“Sorry, Ms. Dust. The only figurine recovered at the scene was the one you gave me.” My heart sank. Somehow the groom had disappeared into the recesses of my mind. And the bride was still missing.
“Thank you, officer.”
Our conversation ended with as much emotion as it had begun. Officer Martin just doing his job and me determined to give a fellow widow the closure she needed.
“Come on Bogart, we’ve got some work to do.” I opened the door and Bogart bound down the steps, hitting only the middle one in his haste.
So much for caution.
The woods were quiet, void of traffic noise and human intervention. Fog had settled through the night, muting the rising sun in the distance. As we walked deeper into the forest, animals scurried for cover, and the creek roared with life in the background. A lone eagle flew above us, squawking his displeasure at the interference in his hunt, while the fresh scent of the woods filled me with memories of how much Jacob loved being here. Our shared love of the outdoors had transcended into a lifelong relationship with each other.
Crossing the footbridge over Tickle Creek, Bogart deserted me for more exciting pleasures while my heart rate remembered with a ba-bump-bump, the freezing trip down stream and the prosthetic foot that saved my life. Stone had come into my life the same day I’d found Ryan’s body. He�
�d been my savior A handsome, albeit frightening, knight in shining armor. He was aloof, but thoughtful. Strong and resourceful, and too damned attractive when he smiled. Which luckily for me wasn’t very often.
“Obviously you’re thinking about a man.”
His voice choked the spit right out of me. I sputtered and gasped as he came out of the woods. “Geez, Stone. You scared the shit out of me.”
“You really are a walking victim. Didn’t anyone ever teach you about safety?” He closed the distance between us to tower over me and I caught the fresh scent of rain and campfire coming off of his green Army-styled coat and wondered if he was a vet.
“This is Tickle Creek, not New York. We have a population of one hundred and thirty-seven. And I think the mayor counted Anderson crew twice to get that number. We don’t have any axe murderers, nor does Sandy down the road. Portland may have had one twenty years ago, but that type of crime doesn’t occur here.” My shoulders took on a bravery my heart rate didn’t.
“What about the dead guy on the tracks?” Taking a step closer, I got the impression he was still trying to scare me … or…
I didn’t back down. Just looked up a little higher. “It was a tragic accident.” If I repeated it enough, maybe I’d convince myself.
“The coroner’s office ruled it an accident?” Stone’s brow furrowed, adding to my unease.
“You don’t think it was accidental?” I knew my voice was a little breathless. What I didn’t know was if it was from his proximity, or fear of a murderer running loose in Tickle Creek.
“Don’t you think it’s odd that he would go for a walk in the woods when he was waiting for a tow?”
Odd yes, but what seemed more out of place was that Stone knew more than I did. How was that possible for a man who appeared to be camping in the woods? But more importantly, why?
Without warning, Stone lurched toward me. His eyes rounded, almost like he was as startled as I was and I instantly thought of his leg. I tried to catch him as he stumbled forward but slipped on the wet forest floor.
Whump.
I sprawled gracelessly on the ground. Watery leaves and pine needles prickled, poked, and punctured my back through the thin hoodie as the air rushed from my lungs with a very unattractive grunt when Stone landed on top of me.
For a moment I didn’t see anything. I knew I should be looking straight at the sky and the treetops, but they weren’t there. Nothing was there. Not even darkness, and that was something I couldn’t figure out. If I couldn’t see, shouldn’t the lack of light be dark?
“Rilee.” His voice held that edge again. The demand that I listen to his commands. Yet he hadn’t issued one.
“What?” I squeaked. And there he was. Out of nowhere he just magically appeared above me. Looking down. His face inches from mine. His blue eyes looked silver and they were watching my mouth.
Suddenly dry beyond belief, I licked my lips for moisture. That was all. But I saw the look that crossed his face and realized my mistake. I pushed with all my might and Stone rolled off of me. It was only then that I realized my legs had wrapped around him when we fell.
I scurried away, half walking half rolling across the leaves. Embarrassed by our missionary style position, I pulled myself to my feet and huffed with indignation.
“I’m a married…” Something felt wrong, but I finished anyway. “…woman, Mr. Stone.” Busying myself with brushing off the debris from my clothes, I turned away and called for my dog to follow. “Bogart, here.”
A low rumble behind me echoed through the woods. I glanced back, just to make sure Stone wasn’t injured, and in time to see my traitorous dog lick his cheek. And Stone was laughing. Uncontrollably. The guy I thought was about to kiss me was sitting on the wet cold ground, fending off the mauling tongue of my dog — and laughing.
A bubble built in my throat. Refusing to be swallowed, it burst into a giggle. A giggle. Me — the woman with her toes firmly planted on the ground — began giggling at the thought of me giggling.
Stone got control of the wayward tongue bathing his face and looked so damn appealing — my laughing stopped at the cheating thump of my heart.
“I didn’t mean to lunge at you, your dog jumped on my back.” As if on cue, Bogart barked. “But I’d be happy to test those vows...” He sat there, looking up at me while flopping Bogart’s ears between his fingers. “May I?”
“May you...what?” I stuttered.
His smile returned. “Get my ass off this wet ground without you thinking I might maul you?”
Embarrassed by my ridiculous behavior, I scurried forward and reached out to help him up. His warm hand engulfed my own as he rose to stand above me.
“I’m not an invalid.” The twinkle in his eyes sent me backward with my suddenly cold hand begging to be covered from the heat of his touch. As if sensing my discomfort, his sparkle died and his eyes became serious once more.
“I never thought you were.” My response sounded more defensive out loud than it did in my head.
“You thought I wouldn’t be able to get up without your help.” Stone pulled a pine needle out of my hair. I flinched and he smiled. “If you remember, I had to carry your half naked body from the bridge all the way to your cabin.”
My cheeks flamed with the hazy memory that I wanted to keep blurry and I struggled with the right thing to say without sounding like a total ingrate. “I’m sorry ... I just thought that it would be difficult because you ... you’re …”
“An amputee. That’s the official term according to the doc at the VA.” His flirtatious smile disappeared and his voice lost all emotion. It was as if losing his leg meant nothing to him. Or everything. Or he was so comfortable with Stone the man, that Stone the amputee was just a label. Like the first name he wouldn’t reveal, the label was disposable.
“Why are you always in the woods?” Changing the subject allowed me to hide my discomfort.
“I could ask you the same thing.”
“You are a difficult man to have a conversation with.” Stone started walking away and I had to hurry to keep up. “Are you going to answer my question?”
“My campsite isn’t too far away from here.” He glanced down at me and I suddenly felt like he was asking me back to his place. In the woods.
I swallowed the discomfort and forged through with my questions. “So you’re just traveling through town? You aren’t from around here?”
“I have a cabin at the base of Tom Dick and Harry; I’ve just been doing some fishing at Mirror Lake.”
Tom Dick and Harry is a desolate mountain just south of Mt. Hood with almost no residents, because the area is a protected peregrine falcon nesting territory. The people who did own land kept it in the family for generations and got spectacular views of Mirror Lake and Mount Hood. And a lot of visits from hikers who seemed to believe every scrap of undeveloped land was available for their outdoor pleasure.
“Have you lived there long?”
“Depends on how you define long.”
At this rate, I’d make more progress trying to cut a century old pine down with a butter knife. “Long as in...” I guess he had a point since I suddenly felt myself needing to define long in my own mind, “...as in over a year?”
“Nope.”
An entire forest could be cut down, replanted, and cut down again before I got the answers I was looking for. I needed to change my interview technique.
“How long have you lived on Tom Dick and Harry?” My voice was beginning to sound husky. I was pretty sure it was from the pace we kept and nothing more.
“Long enough to know the area.” His eyes scanned the forest as we trekked toward the lake. Most of the time I didn’t go this far away from my cabin. Everything I needed was within a half mile, and I suddenly felt like we were the only two people in the state of Oregon. I welcomed that feeling of isolation when I lived with my Jacob. With Stone I was beginning to feel like I’d made a big mistake.
“Step over the trip wire.” His t
one said, ‘do as I say and don’t ask questions.’
I couldn’t help myself. “The wh...what?” I’m a little slow with that type of communication, but to my own disbelief I found myself following Stone’s lead and stepping over a long wire traveling through the trees. What exactly I’d be ‘tripping’ if I did get caught up on the line remained a mystery.
“What were you looking for, Dusty?” His voice held a masculine vibration that rocked me to my core. A core that was beginning to feel very unfaithful to my marital promises.
I stomped the core back where it belonged. “I was looking for a piece that I carved for the man who was killed by the train. My dog brought me one of the pieces, but the second piece appears to be missing. I was hoping to locate it and help his fiancée have some closure.”
His eyebrow lifted as he assessed me. It was like a radar for deception was scanning my entire body. “Why does a local business woman care about giving closure to a dead guy’s girlfriend?”
“He was my customer —” A knot formed in my throat, choking off any further explanation. Apparently Ryan’s death still affected me more than I cared to acknowledge.
Stone stopped. We were standing in front of a camouflage tent that looked more like a ghillie suit — the kind a sniper would wear as he crawled across the ground. Not your average camping tent. Dead tree branches, mixed with live pine needles stuck out every which way, making his tent disappear into the surroundings. Luckily it wasn’t made for two, its width and height about two feet off the ground. With no signs of a fire pit, I probably never would have seen Stone’s camp. It didn’t look like any of the campsites I’d seen. In fact, it looked more like a hideout ... for an assassin.
Oh crap.
Chapter Eleven
The lump in my throat took root. Swallowing it down, the telltale sign of fear escaped my mouth.
“I suppose you’re questioning your intelligence again?” Stone’s voice held something I couldn’t identify. Humor?
“Of course not.” My chin raised with bravado. “I trust my instincts.”