A HOME FOR THE HUNTER

by Christine Rimmer

  Oggie looked at the snapshot again. "The fellow in this picture don't look like you."

  "It isn't."

  "Hmm." Oggie returned the photograph, then sat back in his chair and fiddled with the grimy suspenders he wore. He pondered aloud, "It ain't you in the picture."

  "So what?"

  "So, you say she's your woman."

  "She is."

  "You say she's a good woman."

  "She's that, too."

  "But somehow, you let her get away from you."

  Jack felt his patience slipping dangerously. "Where the hell are you going with this, old man?"

  Oggie Jones let out a nerve-flaying cackle of laughter. "Well, I gotta tell ya, son. For a man to lose a good woman is the worst kind of carelessness. A good woman is what it's all about. Ask any of my boys, they'll tell you about the importance of a woman who can—"

  Jack chopped the air with his hand, a short gesture of starkly controlled violence. Oggie, who was not a fool, fell silent.

  "Look," Jack said very quietly. "When can I talk to Brendan Jones?"

  "A week, maybe two."

  Jack stared. "What the hell do you mean?"

  "I mean he's on a cross-country run. Left early this morning. Won't be back for a while."

  Jack murmured the crudest phrase he could think of. But then he realized what the old man had just said. "He left here early this morning?"

  "Yep."

  "Then I take it he did come back here last night?"

  "Yep." The old man grinned a crafty grin and puffed on his cigar. "He came in special, for his old man's birthday party."

  "So you saw him last night?"

  "Damn straight. It was my party I'm talkin' about."

  Jack slapped the photograph with the back of his hand. "Was the woman in this picture with him?"

  Oggie seemed to ponder deeply. "No, son. I can't say as she was."

  Impatience curled like a fist in Jack's stomach. He quelled it and pressed on. "Did he say anything about picking up a hitchhiker?"

  "No, he didn't say a thing about a hitchhiker as far as I can recall."

  The old man was so transparent, it was an insult. He was holding something back, and he didn't care if Jack knew it. Jack asked very carefully, pointing to the picture, "Have you seen this woman?"

  Oggie scrunched up his wrinkled face. He looked from the picture to Jack and back again. "Son—"

  "Stop calling me son."

  "Sorry, er, Mr. Roper."

  "Answer my question. Have you seen this woman?"

  Oggie looked torn. But at last he said, "I just can't see my way clear to answerin' that question right now."

  "So you have seen her."

  "I ain't sayin' that. I ain't sayin' anything."

  "Do you know where she is?"

  With some stiffness, Oggie Jones got to his feet. "For right now, Mr. Roper, I'm through talkin' to you." He turned to collect the cane that was leaning against the wall. "But I'm sure we'll be communicatin' in the future."

  Jack's hands itched to close around the old rogue's wattled neck. "You're damn right we will. I'm not leaving this town until I find her."

  The old rascal let out another of those ugly-sounding cackles. "I ain't surprised. When a man is damn fool enough to lose a good woman, the least he can do is give it all he's got to get her back."

  Jack, who'd always prided himself on his iron control, felt that control slipping. "Who the hell do you think you are, old man?"

  Oggie cackled again. "I don't believe you really want to know—at least not right now, anyway."

  Jack almost asked What the hell is that supposed to mean? But he stopped himself. The old man was right. He didn't want to know. He had more important things to think about, like finding Olivia and making sure she was all right.

  He reiterated, "I won't leave this town until I find her."

  Oggie gave a nod. "You told me that. Gotta go." He sidled around Jack.

  Jack held himself back, though the urge to violence was a hot, clawing thing inside him. He wanted to grab the old coot and shake him until the truth fell out. But he didn't. Mostly because he knew it would do no good. Oggie Jones was tough as old boots, that much was obvious. Jack knew he would get nothing out of him that he didn't want to reveal. So Jack watched, still and silent, as Oggie pushed the curtain aside and hobbled through it, vanishing from sight.

  When she heard the shouting from downstairs, Olivia was in the guest bathroom enjoying a long soak in the tub.

  "Where is that gal? I gotta see her right away." The voice was unmistakable: the old man, Oggie Jones.

  Faintly, Olivia heard a chorus of feminine voices raised in protest, though she couldn't quite make out the words that the women said.

  Oggie's reply, however, came through loud and clear. "It can't wait. I gotta talk to her now."

  "But, Father—"

  Olivia heard the sound of stomping on the stairs. And then more feminine protestations, one voice after another. "Give her a few minutes."

  "She's relaxing in a nice, hot bath."

  "You can't—"

  "Watch me." Oggie sounded resolute.

  "She's been through so much, she needs a little peace."

  "Peace?" Oggie snorted. "She wanted peace, she never shoulda showed up around here."

  Olivia sat up straight in the tub as Oggie began pounding on the door. "I gotta talk to you, gal. Get decent and get out here."

  "All right," she called back. "Give me five minutes."

  "You got 'em. But no more."

  Olivia heard the sound of retreating footsteps, the stumping of Oggie and his cane, followed by the lighter tread of the Jones women. Quickly she reached for a towel.

  Four and a half minutes later, she emerged from the bathroom dressed in clothes borrowed from Delilah. At the bottom of the stairs, Delilah was waiting.

  "He's in the study." Delilah pointed to a room right off the entrance foyer. "Be careful."

  Olivia shot her a puzzled look. "What do you mean?"

  "Just what I said. I don't know what he's up to. Watch your step with him. He comes up with these schemes sometimes. You have to watch him, that's all."

  "What kind of schemes?"

  Delilah rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Got a month? I'll tell you a few of them. You'll understand, the longer you know him. But for right now, just watch yourself. And watch him."

  "Okay."

  "Now go on. He's waiting."

  Cautiously Olivia approached the open door of the study. She peered around the doorframe and saw Oggie, sitting in a leather swivel chair, an unlit cigar clamped between his teeth.

  "It's about time. Come in. And shut the damn door."

  Olivia did as she was told.

  "Sit down."

  She sat.

  Oggie chewed on his cigar, then took it out of his mouth and looked at it. He stuck it back between his teeth unlit. "You're feeling better, I see."

  Olivia cleared her throat. "Um. Yes. Much. Thank you."

  "My whole damn family's taken a real shine to you."

  "I'm glad. I feel the same about them."

  "Yeah. It's odd, ain't it? I mean, you show up here outta nowhere, and all the women want to mother you and the men want to protect you."

  "Your family is kind."

  "It's more than that."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I think you know." His eyes bored through her. Then he shrugged and explained, "It's you, gal. They all sense your need, sense the rightness of your being here. It was the same for me. I was thirty-five when I first came here. And the minute I set foot on Main Street

  , I knew I was home. I met the woman I would marry that first day, and I knew she was the one. And she knew it, too. And so did her people, the Rileys. I believe you're like me. And like Eden and Sam, too."

  "Eden and Sam?"

  "Yeah. They came here seekin' their place. And they stayed. You been lookin', ain't you?"

  "Looking?"

>   "For your place." The rough voice was a little impatient now. "For the place where you belong. And now you're beginnin' to realize that North Magdalene might be it. Am I right?"

  Olivia didn't know quite what to say. This whole conversation was exceedingly odd, especially considering the decisions she'd just made with the help of the Jones women.

  "Well?" The old man's eyes were full of secrets. "Am I right?"

  "Yes." Olivia swallowed. "As a matter of fact, you are."

  "'Course I am." Oggie sat back in his chair and fiddled with his suspenders a little, chortling to himself. Then he craned forward once more. "Now, I got some news for you."

  "You do?"

  "You bet. Your man's tracked you down."

  Olivia blinked. "Excuse me?"

  "Your man. Jack Roper. He's in town."

  Olivia's mouth dropped open. Deep in her heart she'd always known he'd find her. But she'd imagined it would take a little longer than this. "Already? But that's impossible. How could he have found out where I went?"

  Oggie waved a gnarled hand. "I ain't got a clue how. All I'm tellin' you is, he's here. He's flashin' a picture of you and askin' a lot of questions."

  "You've talked to him?"

  "I have."

  "Did you tell him—?"

  "Nothin'."

  "Oh." Olivia forced herself to take a few deep breaths. A thousand emotions warred within her. Apprehension. Fear. Defiance. Anticipation. And longing.

  "In this town," Oggie said, "he'll find you soon enough. We got a lot of real talkative types around here, folks that can't keep a secret even if you staple their lips shut."

  Olivia pondered this information and realized that it didn't upset her as much as it probably should have.

  Now that she'd enjoyed a long sleep and a good heart-to-heart talk with four sympathetic women, she felt much more able to cope. And she'd made a few plans now. She knew she wasn't going to be running anymore. She fully intended to call her father as soon as this impromptu interview with Oggie Jones was concluded. She was going to tell Lawrence Larrabee of the new plans she'd made, and she was going to carry out those plans, no matter what her father said.

  Facing Jack would be harder. But she'd do it, somehow.

  "It's okay," she told Oggie.

  Oggie was studying her. "What do you mean, 'It's okay'?"

  She drew in a breath. "I mean, you've all been wonderful. But I'm not hiding. At least not anymore. If Jack asks you again where I am, you just tell him. All right?"

  Oggie looked doubtful. "That man is one tough character. And he ain't in a good mood. You know what I'm sayin'?"

  Olivia sighed. "Yes. I'm afraid I do. And thanks for the warning. But I mean it. Just tell him where I am. I'll talk to him. I'll straighten things out."

  "If you say so."

  "I do." Olivia stood. "And now, if that's all, I'm going to call my father and—"

  "Sit back down, gal."

  "What?"

  "It ain't all." The old man's voice was flat.

  Olivia sank slowly back into the chair. "What? What's the matter?"

  The old man looked at her, a piercing look. Then he turned his gaze out the window at a birch tree there. He watched the little gold leaves flicker in the gentle wind. A few blew off and floated to the ground before he admitted, "This is the hard part. And I'm at a damn loss."

  Olivia said nothing. She had a feeling that being at a loss was a rare thing for Oggie Jones.

  "You seen my oldest son, Jared?" Oggie asked, suddenly. "He's Eden's man. He was tendin' the bar last night."

  Olivia recalled the tall, gray-eyed bartender. The one who had looked so much like a dark-haired version of Jack that she'd imagined she was hallucinating when she saw him. "Yes. I remember him."

  "Jared looks just like my own father." Oggie spoke in a musing tone. "Got that tall, lean, hungry look. You know the look I mean?"

  Olivia knew. It was the same look Jack had. She nodded.

  "My father wasn't much of a man, to tell you true. Oh, he was tough enough and mean enough. But he had no heart. He died in a brawl when I was thirteen years old. That was back in Mission, Kansas. A long time ago."

  Oggie chewed on his unlit cigar a little. His eyes were faraway. Olivia had a pretty good idea what was coming. Anticipation made her shiver a little, but she knew enough not to try to rush the old man over something as important as this.

  Oggie continued. "My father had strong blood, though. His look is in all my kids. And in their kids. Some more than others." Oggie turned his beady black eyes on Olivia now. She felt he could see into her mind. "It's the look of your man, Jack. Did you notice?"

  "Yes. I noticed." Olivia's voice was barely a whisper.

  "You know your man's history?"

  "Some of it."

  "You know his mama's name?"

  "Yes."

  There was a long silence. The old man sighed deeply. Then he said, "I want to tell you a little story, gal."

  "Yes. I want to hear it."

  "But you got to promise me—"

  "Anything."

  "You won't go pushin' the truth on that man. You'll let him come to it in his own time."

  "What?"

  "You heard what I said."

  She'd heard, all right. But she didn't like it. She tried to protest. "But the truth is important. He should know it."

  The old man waved her argument away. "He doesn't want to know it right now. You gotta let him find his way to it in his own time."

  Olivia captured her tongue between her teeth, the way she always did when she was pondering heavily.

  "Well?" Oggie prompted.

  "But I—"

  "No buts. You keep your mouth shut, or this little talk stops now."

  Olivia mustered up a glare and aimed it at the old man. "I think he should know."

  "He will know. When he's ready." Oggie folded his hands over his paunch. "I'm waiting."

  "This isn't fair."

  "You're damn right."

  Olivia threw up her hands. "Oh, all right. I won't say a word."

  The old man beamed. "Attagirl."

  "Now tell me." Olivia leaned forward eagerly. "Tell me all of it."

  Oggie glanced at the door to see that it was firmly shut. Then, in a low, intense voice, he began to tell his story.

  * * *

  Chapter 11

  « ^ »

  Less than an hour after he'd confronted Oggie Jones at the Hole in the Wall, Jack found one of those people who couldn't keep a secret if you stapled their lips together.

  His name was Ben Quail and he was eighty-three—or so he told Jack. His lined face was wide and his false teeth clicked together when he talked. He had two gray wisps of hair on his head, which he'd combed carefully over his crown. Jack found him sitting on a bench in front of the North Magdalene Grocery.

  The first thing Ben said was, "You look like a Jones to me." The second was, "You hear about the big commotion over at the Hole in the Wall last night? Some woman came in out of the rain just when Oggie was blowing out the candles. It was Oggie Jones's birthday, see? Anyway, this woman was soaked to the skin. She took a look around the place and fainted dead away."

  "No kidding. What happened next?"

  "She came to, soon enough. And they took her over to Delilah's for the night."

  "And where does Delilah live?"

  "With her husband, Sam. Down Bullfinch Lane

  . Big, new house on the left, near the end. Can't miss it."

  "Thank you, Ben."

  "Don't mention it—you sure you aren't a Jones?"

  In less than ten minutes Jack was ringing the doorbell at the house Ben Quail had described. It was opened by a petite dark-eyed woman with large breasts, a stubborn chin and a lot of glossy black hair around her face.

  Jack and the woman stared at each other for a moment before either spoke. Once again, with another stranger, he had to fight down that disorienting feeling of familiarity.

  "Yes?"
The woman eyed him as warily as he was eyeing her.

  "Hell." It was Oggie Jones's voice. "It's him. Better let him in."

  Jack looked beyond the woman's shoulder and through the small foyer into the living room. He spied the old coot, stretched out in a fat easy chair, his feet propped on an ottoman.

  "Where is she?" Jack demanded of the old man.

  "Now, just a minute here," the gypsy-haired woman warned.

  Oggie waved a hand. "Let him in, Delilah."

  "I don't like his attitude."

  "Delilah. Let him in."

  Delilah turned enough to look over her shoulder at Oggie. They glared at each other for a moment. Then she turned back to Jack and stepped aside. "All right. Come in."

  "Thank you," Jack replied, laying on the sarcasm.

  He walked right by Delilah and into the living room, which was a very pleasant room with high ceilings, filled with books and comfortable-looking furniture. He saw Oggie and a big man with red gold hair combed back into a short ponytail.

  But he didn't see Olivia.

  "Where is she?" he demanded again.

  Oggie chortled. "Allow me to introduce you folks. This is my daughter, Delilah, and her husband, Sam Fletcher. Sam and Delilah, meet Jack Roper."

  "Where is she?"

  "You got a one-track mind, there, son."

  "Don't call me—"

  "Jack."

  Jack turned at the sweet sound of her voice.

  She was standing on the landing at the top of the stairway, to his right. Her tawny hair was a halo around her pale face, and her eyes were soft and wide. She was wearing jeans that were a little too short for her and a shirt that was made for more generous curves. Her tender mouth trembled a little, but she appeared neither ill nor injured. She was the most adorable sight he had ever beheld in his life.

  And she was all right. Every cell in his body screamed with relief.

  "Olivia." He said her name, and that was all he could say. Something had temporarily cut off his air. His heart was doing the most disturbing things inside his chest.

  "Oh, Jack…"

  "Damn it, Olivia. You scared me to death."

  In his easy chair, Oggie cackled.

  Delilah said, "You don't have to deal with him now, Olivia, if you're not up to it."