by Cindy Myers
She couldn’t see his face clearly in the dark, but she thought he might be smirking. “I’m touched that you’d go to so much trouble for me.”
“I didn’t do it for you. I did it to save my equipment.” He picked up the hatboxes again. “Where to now? There isn’t another hotel or motel in Eureka.”
“I’m going to call in a favor,” she said. “I know someone in town who has plenty of room, and the feds won’t think of looking for me there.”
“Where is that?” Jack asked.
“I’m going to stay with that librarian—Cassie Wynock.”
“You look tired,” Gloria told Jack when he arrived to pick her up for what she couldn’t help but think of as their date Thursday afternoon. She immediately wished she could take the words back. Why couldn’t she have said something more complimentary? “You look great,” or even “I’ve been looking forward to this.”
“Late night last night.” He flashed a warm smile. “Drama with Faye Anne.”
“Oh? Is something wrong?” What was the right balance between being nosy and sounding concerned?
“Nothing too unusual. What about you? Anything new with your boss?”
“Cassie’s been floating on air since she wrangled that invitation to dinner at the Last Dollar. And this morning she was absolutely gloating.” She laughed. “I swear, I’d almost rather have the grouchy Cassie than the giddy one. She acts as if she’s privy to some huge secret I should be dying to know.”
“Maybe she has a hidden life you don’t know about,” Jack said.
“If Cassie has a hidden life, I definitely don’t want to know about it.” She shuddered. “It’s my afternoon off, so let’s not talk about either of our bosses. What’s on the agenda?”
“You tell me. I was hoping you could point out some local places I could film. Anything to give viewers a feel for the place. Things they won’t see at home.”
“I guess we start with mines, then. This whole region was settled by gold miners, and you can still see the ruins of old mines all over these mountains. Some of them are pretty picturesque.”
“Picturesque is definitely what we’re going for.”
“Head towards Telluride and I’ll show you some sites out that way. There are some scenic overlooks we can stop at on the way, too.”
“Sounds like a plan.” He guided his rental Jeep out of town and onto the highway. “Do any of these gold mines still operate?”
“Some of them do. I think Bob Prescott has some claims he still works. And the town of Eureka is getting ready to reopen one of the mines it seized for back taxes—the Lucky Lady. They have an investor from Texas who’s going in on it with the town.”
“Do they think they’ll strike it rich?”
She shrugged. “Who knows? I guess all prospecting is another kind of gambling. Some people get rich and others just lose whatever they put into the venture.” She leaned forward and pointed up the road ahead. “Pull off at the scenic overlook ahead. You’ll get a great view of the area.”
He pulled the Jeep into the otherwise empty parking area and they climbed out. A stiff breeze buffeted them, and she hunched her shoulders and pulled her coat more tightly around her. “I’d better hang on, or you might blow away,” he said, and slipped his arm around her.
She didn’t object; it felt good, sheltered in the lee of his shoulder. His arm was heavy, but not confining. When she looked up at him, she found he was gazing out at the view, giving her the freedom to admire the firm line of his jaw and the neat way dark brown hair curled around his ear.
“I think I know why people are so drawn to the mountains,” he said.
“Oh? Why is that?” She didn’t really care why; she just liked to hear his voice, deep and velvety.
“The mountains are so vast. They make you feel small and insignificant, yet at the same time you feel the limitless possibility. I mean, here we are on top of this peak that from a distance might seem impossible to scale. Maybe we should think of all our problems that way—like mountains that only look big from a distance.”
“Mountains look big up close, too.”
“But not as big when you’re on top of them.”
“I guess that is a good way to look at it.” She leaned into him, taking advantage of the situation. He didn’t object, or try to take advantage; she liked that about him. He seemed content to stand here, enjoying the view and the closeness between them. “What’s it like in Los Angeles?” she asked. “Do they have mountains?”
“There are hills. Nothing like this. But the ocean is nice. It has the same kind of vastness and grandeur.”
“I’ve never seen the ocean,” she said.
“Really?” He looked at her at last, his eyes bright with interest.
“I’ve lived around here all my life. It’s one reason I’d like to travel—to see things like oceans and deserts and rain forests.”
“I’d like to go to Vietnam,” he said. “Can you believe it? My parents are from there, and I’ve never been.”
“Why don’t you go?”
“I don’t know. All the usual reasons, I guess. No money. No time. But one day I’ll get there. My mom and dad went back two years ago for their anniversary. They hadn’t been back since they came to the United States as refugees in the seventies. My mom said a lot had changed, but a lot was the same, too.”
“You should go,” she said. “Soon.”
“I will.” He nodded. “Maybe I’ll quit working for Faye Anne and go next week.”
“It sounds wonderful, to be able to just quit a job, pick up and go.” She’d never been daring enough to even consider the possibility, but Jack had her looking at a lot of things differently.
“You could do it,” he said. “I mean, what do you have tying you here? Are your parents here, or children?”
“No parents here, and definitely no children.” She shrugged. “I guess I always figured I couldn’t afford to leave.”
“I figure there’s always some kind of work somewhere. I guess it just depends on whether or not you’re happy where you are.”
She wouldn’t have said she was happy here in Eureka; but she wasn’t unhappy, either. “Are you unhappy where you are?” she asked. Traveling around the country, filming for a television show sounded so glamorous and exciting to her.
“Oh, it’s okay. It’s just not what I really want to be doing.”
“You asked me what I would do if I could do anything, but you never told me what you’d do,” she said.
“I’d still make films, but something more meaningful than cooking shows.”
“Hey. Food can be meaningful.”
He laughed. “You’re right.” He released his hold on her and turned back to the car. “Let me get my camera so I can shoot some footage of this view.”
She waited while he unpacked his equipment, then filmed the view from several different angles. He knelt on one knee and leaned in to get a closer view of a pasque flower just unfolding from the soil at the edge of the parking area, then climbed onto the hood of the Jeep for a different panoramic view. “You may not enjoy your job all the time,” she said after he climbed down from the Jeep. “But I can tell you really do love your work.”
“It’s what I’ve wanted to do ever since I was little.” He opened the case and began putting away the gear. “My parents gave me my first video camera when I was eleven and I was hooked.”
“Then I’d say it was meant to be.”
“Maybe.” He stowed the cases in the back of the Jeep. “Do you believe in fate?”
“You mean God?”
“You could call it God. Or something bigger than us in charge of everything. Or do you believe we control our own destiny?”
She thought for a moment. She wasn’t used to people asking her opinion about such deep subjects, but she liked it. “I guess I believe in both,” she said. “A God who works behind the scenes, and who gives us the opportunity to shape our own lives.”
He closed the back o
f the Jeep, but instead of walking around the driver’s side, he moved toward her, and took her hand. “Do you believe two people who haven’t known each other very long could form a special connection? That fate or God, or whatever you want to call it, brought them together?”
“I think that’s a lot of pressure to put on a relationship,” she said.
He looked disappointed, and started to release her, but she held on to his hand. “I don’t have to know why I feel the way I do,” she said. “It’s enough to know that I like you and I want to get to know you better.”
When he looked into her eyes, she imagined he was looking past her plain features and shy nature, to the woman inside that she wanted to be—bolder and more beautiful and worthy of a great love. Then he bent and kissed her, and she was sure that he saw all the things she wanted for the future, and more.
ROSEMARY LAMB CHOPS
Ingredients:
4 lamb chops, about ¾ inch thick
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 large clove garlic, minced
1 teaspoon fresh rosemary, minced
½ teaspoon black pepper
½ teaspoon kosher salt
Directions:
Combine olive oil, garlic, rosemary, pepper, and salt. Pat mixture onto lamb chops. Arrange on a plate or in a pie pan, cover with plastic wrap, and refrigerate at least one hour, up to overnight.
Remove lamb from the refrigerator. Preheat grill over high heat. Brush grill with olive oil.
Grill lamb about 4 minutes each side.
Chapter Seven
Faye Anne had not shared living space with another woman since her first year out of college, when she’d split an apartment with a woman named Reba Sinclair, who had been six feet tall, weighed almost three hundred pounds, and collected monkey figurines. No one—including Faye Anne—had ever argued with Reba, but after sixteen months sharing space with her, Faye Anne had begun to have nightmares about monkeys and had to move out.
Hiding out with Cassie Wynock had a lot in common with those days. Cassie had willingly taken Faye Anne in, especially when she’d figured out that Faye Anne was desperate and had chosen to turn to Cassie—of all people!—for help. She’d installed her guest in a back bedroom that smelled suspiciously of mouse and provided a list of house rules. Cassie had a lot of rules—everything from a requirement to remove her shoes as soon as she stepped over the threshold to strict rationing of towels, soap, and toilet paper. Worse, Cassie’s house had more in common with a museum than a home. It was crammed with old and fragile furniture, dishes, paintings, and bric-a-brac. Everywhere Faye Anne turned, she bumped into another fragile belonging. “Don’t touch that!” Cassie would scream, lunging for the porcelain statue, candy dish, nutcracker, or side table. “That’s a priceless family heirloom.”
The whole place looked as if it had come from a junk shop to Faye Anne, but she was smart enough not to say that to Cassie. In any case, she didn’t plan to be here any longer than necessary. The morning after she’d fled to the Wynock manse, as soon as she’d determined the feds weren’t parked out front, she’d telephoned the Last Dollar.
“Danielle, this is Faye Anne. There’s been a slight change in plans and we need to hold the big dinner tonight instead of tomorrow night,” she said.
“But you haven’t give me the guest list. And—”
“Invite whoever you want. It doesn’t matter. We just need to get this done. I have to leave town earlier than I’d anticipated.”
“Does this have anything to do with the two men who were here last night, asking about you? They said they were from the IRS.”
The mention of federal agents made Faye Anne a little short of breath. “Did you tell them where to find me?”
“I told them you were staying at the hotel.”
“If they come back, say I’ve left town,” Faye Anne said. “Say you have no idea where I am.”
“Isn’t it a crime to lie to federal agents?”
“You don’t have to lie. Just—change the subject or something. Spill hot coffee on them. I’m sure you can think of something.”
“They came back this morning and towed your car. I tried to reach you, but your phone went to voice mail.”
“That number isn’t good anymore,” she said. She’d destroyed the phone, having read somewhere that the government could track someone via her cell phone even if the phone was switched off. “Just have everyone there tonight at six-thirty so we can film the finale. Oh, and tell them all to dress for spring—what the rest of the country considers spring. Short sleeves and light dresses and such.”
“I don’t know if we can have all of the food ready by then.” Danielle’s voice was faint; maybe they had a bad connection.
“Do the best you can. Like I told you before—the food really isn’t that important. We’re selling an experience.”
She hung up and turned to find Cassie at her elbow. “So you’re just going to film your show and skip town,” the librarian said.
“I’m not skipping town. I’m completing a job and moving on. It’s what I do.”
“That’s the trouble with the world today. People don’t have roots. No sense of heritage—of being tied to one place.”
“You call it tied. Some people might think of it as trapped.” If Faye Anne had ever had roots, they were in a small town in Ohio that she refused even to think of by name. She hadn’t been able to get out of there fast enough. “Just because you’ve chosen to spend your whole life in one place doesn’t mean that’s the right decision for everyone.”
“I didn’t choose to stay here,” Cassie said. “But I accepted the hand I was dealt. I’ve embraced my lot in life.”
Faye Anne looked around the mausoleum of a house, then back at her hostess. “I don’t get it,” she said. “What’s keeping you here? You don’t have a husband or kids. It’s not as if other places don’t have libraries where you could work. Sell this barn of a place and you’d probably get enough money to finance a move, travel—whatever you want.”
Cassie’s expression grew more pinched. “My ancestors founded this town. Four generations of Wynocks have lived in this house. In Eureka, the Wynock name means something.”
And anywhere else, the name meant nothing. Faye Anne didn’t say the words out loud, but she understood. Better to cling to whatever recognition you had—a family name or a career as the formerly top-rated television cooking show host—than to risk the isolation of anonymity.
In a few years, would she be like Cassie—bossy and bitter, fighting to control things no one else cared about? She pushed the thought away. “Come on.” She gently took Cassie’s arm. “I could use some help getting dressed.”
Cassie looked as if she might balk, but she allowed Faye Anne to lead her into the back bedroom. “Why do you always wear red?” she asked, as Faye Anne flipped through her wardrobe choices.
“Red is bright. It says confidence and power.” She pulled out a red rayon dress—one of her favorites. Heads turned when she walked into a room with this outfit.
“My mother always told me only loose women wore bright red,” Cassie said.
Faye Anne’s mother had said the same thing. “Your mother was wrong.” She opened one of the hatboxes and took out a wig that was a masterpiece of long curls, feathered bangs, and artfully arranged tendrils. Another showstopper.
“Why a wig?” Cassie fingered her own iron-colored curls.
“A wig is an efficient way to look glamorous.” She pulled off the blond bob and ran a finger through her sparse locks. “Especially when your own hair is thin, limp, and the color of mouse fur.”
Cassie sat on the side of the bed and watched as Faye Anne slipped out of her skirt and blouse and into the red dress. When Faye Anne turned her back to her, Cassie obligingly pulled up the zipper. Faye Anne slipped on the wig, then leaned into the mirror and touched up her makeup. When she was done, she stepped back to assess the results.
“You look very nice,” Cassie said. “Not li
ke a tramp.”
She supposed that was a high compliment, coming from Cassie. “Thank you.” She turned to her hostess. “What about you?” she asked. “You’re coming to dinner tonight, too.”
Cassie looked down at her drab shirtdress and sensible flat shoes. “I don’t have any fancy clothes.”
“Come on, let’s take a look.”
In Cassie’s bedroom—which contained a rather magnificent four-poster bed and an antique mirrored armoire—Faye Anne surveyed the rows of sensible shirtwaists, straight skirts, and drab dresses. No wonder the woman was depressed. She was about ready to declare the situation hopeless when she spotted a bit of floral fabric at the very back of the wardrobe. She tugged and pulled the garment free. It proved to be a light, floral frock with cap sleeves and a full skirt. “This will be perfect,” she said.
“Oh, I don’t think—” Cassie stepped back, hands over her chest as if warding off a curse. “That was my mother’s,” she said.
“It’s a classic cut. Very stylish.” She held the dress up to Cassie’s shoulders. “Maybe a little shapewear—the right foundation is so important. I’m sure it will look perfect. We’ll flat-iron your hair, use a light hand with the makeup—you’ll look wonderful.” Or at least better than she looked right now.
“There’s nothing wrong with the way I look now,” Cassie said stiffly.
“Of course not,” Faye Anne soothed. “But this is your television debut. You want to look special. Think of it as donning a costume for a role.”
Cassie relaxed. “Well, if you put it that way . . .”
Playing dress-up with a bitter, reluctant older woman would not rank high on Faye Anne’s list of things to do, but to her amazement, she actually enjoyed transforming Cassie. Except for a brief tussle over the necessity of shapewear—which Faye Anne won—she had to admit a great deal of satisfaction in seeing the librarian blossom beneath her hands. Cassie Wynock would never be a prize-winning rose, but at least now no one would mistake her for a weed.