Black Creek Burning (The Black Creek Series, Book 1)

by R. T. Wolfe

  Taking off her fleece jacket from her morning run, she walked to the kitchen to brew some coffee before heading out. Her feet stopped before the rest of her. She stuck her arms out to catch her balance and then rocked back on her heels. Her hands went instinctively to her hips as she looked through the glass of the back door at the bloody, mutilated animal strung on her deck rail.

  Chapter 5

  "Oh, hell. Not this again," Brie said out loud. Who had nothing better to do than leave ripped up animals around people's homes?

  She grabbed two plastic grocery sacks, doubled them as one and snatched up a hand shovel. Without bothering to put on a coat, she walked out to the deck and tried to scoop the thing into the bags. Rabbit. The slash from mouth to tail caused its insides to protrude from its belly. She fumbled it and watched as it tipped over the side of the rail on the five-foot-high deck onto the snowy yard. Storming down the stairs, she marched around to the carcass. Finally maneuvering it in the bag, she tied it and stomped with an outstretched arm to the garage.

  * * *

  A figure stood anxiously between houses, waiting in the cold to watch Brie's reaction. To see fear from the arrogant bitch. To see her distress, maybe some sobbing or running to big sister for help.

  Instead, there was a bit of frustration and a quick, efficient clean up. Clenched fists caused white knuckles. Cutting up the rabbit had been exciting. The thought of Brie finding it was arousing. Now, there was only disappointment.

  "Low-class slut. I will find what makes you snap. I have all the time in the world."

  * * *

  Carrying a load of rotted boards to the dumpster, Nathan slowed down as he noticed someone arranging outdoor Christmas lights across the street. As he tossed the boards into the huge metal box, he recognized the light blue coat, the matching hat and the brown hair falling out the back. She hadn't tied it in a tail today. He wanted to walk up behind her and pull off her hat to see what all that wavy hair looked like falling around her shoulders. Instead he made it to nearly the foot of her ladder without her noticing.

  "Is this a prank?"

  She jerked and nearly fell off the ladder. "Didn't your mother ever tell you it's not nice to sneak up on people like that?"

  "No. My mother was mostly the one doing the sneaking. What are you doing?"

  She kept working. "Putting up Christmas lights."

  "I can see that. Why isn't whomever you live with putting them up for you?"

  "I'm going to ignore the chauvinist comment. If you know what I'm doing, why did you ask? And I live alone."

  So, this wasn't going to be simple. Hmm. Walk away? He considered. Or stay and poke. Poking was much more fun. "Because I find it strange to put up decorations two days before a holiday when the rest of the world generally does it weeks before. Oh yes, and there is the whole This isn't your house question."

  She took an exaggerated deep breath and turned. "This is what I do. The home belongs to the Novicks. Nice neighbors. You'll like them. Recently retired. Travel a lot, but friendly people. They, as have several people of the good town of Northridge, hired me to put these up. Since they don't return from their cruise until tomorrow, I saw no reason to do this any sooner."

  She does cranky well, he thought.

  "And I'm sorry for being rude. I've had a bad morning."

  Interesting again. Cranky, but interesting. "No problem. Want some bad morning coffee? I've got some fresh in my kitchen. Well, actually in my mudroom that is my kitchen right now, but the coffee's good."

  She turned away from him and continued working. "I've been curious why a man would move his family into that old place. Picturing your kitchen stuffed into a mudroom makes me curious enough to ask."

  When she reached the end of a light strand, he absently handed her another. "Several reasons. Mostly to be closer to my folks."

  "Aren't there nicer homes closer to your folks?" She winced. "Sorry. That, too, was rude. You don't have to answer that. I really should just finish up here."

  "There are nicer homes, but I would just tear them up anyway. I like a house done my way. And I work a lot in the garage. Can't beat the garage on that old house. Come by some time for that coffee. I'll show you around."

  She turned to say something not quite so curt, but he was already walking that swagger of his back up his drive.

  * * *

  It was cold enough overnight to make the snowfall light and dry. Brie had been right; it coated everything with a fresh blanket of white, including her tracks in the Novicks' yard. Waking, she gave a long sigh at the thought that it was Christmas Eve. She stuck another pillow under her head, propping herself up enough to pretend like she was at least starting to become vertical.

  She looked around the enormous room and remembered when it belonged to her parents—passed down to them from their parents. It had been filled with antique furniture that was covered with knick knacks and different sized photos in frames that didn't match. The walls had striped wallpaper along the bottom, a wooden chair rail and a floral pattern covering the upper section.

  She thought of when she would bounce into the room and nose herself between the two of them early on Christmas Eve, trying to convince them to allow the opening of presents a day early. Her father worked as a home builder and rarely had days off. Yet, he would patiently explain she would find only coal in any opened-early gifts.

  She sat up and crisscrossed her legs. That room was gone. The furnishings and keepsakes had all been scorched as well as most everything throughout this side of the house. Pulling herself up, she went to look out her back window.

  The spectacular blanket of snow shone in the moonlight in the still dark, morning air. She decided to use her snowshoes and take Macey for a walk. Afterward, she would take a hot bath and read a book. The dog slept curled in a ball in the corner of the room. She gave her a little nudge.

  "Come on, girl."

  Macey recognized what the tone meant. She stood, stretching her legs and arching her back.

  She was five minutes from making it out the back door when the phone rang. She piled on thermal wear and extra socks as she answered it, then rolled her eyes.

  She knew Liz hated that she insisted on being alone on Christmas Eve.

  "I knew you'd be up. One o 'clock tomorrow, and bring Macey. My kids won't forgive me if I didn't remind you to bring her."

  "I'll remember, and stop worrying about me. Macey and I have plans."

  "You should be with family on Christmas Eve."

  "Sounds like a greeting card." She held the phone between her head and shoulder while lacing her boots.

  "Okay, but you know our door is open."

  "I know and I love you. See you tomorrow." She zipped her coat and lifted her snowshoes from the hook in the mudroom. Macey would do without a leash this morning.

  * * *

  Nathan stood at his bedroom window sipping coffee. The boys were still sleeping as was their dog that lay at the foot of Duncan's mattress, belly up, legs in the air. As usual, Andy had moved to Duncan's mattress sometime in the night. And as usual, Duncan moved over for him.

  The sun was just beginning to expose the homes, the trees and the lake that was covered in a blanket of white. Nathan noticed something moving in the light of dawn. He recognized the dog. The coat. The hat. He wondered what she was doing out at this hour. Were those snowshoes? He shook his head as he thought she looked like a postcard walking in the endless snow along the creek that sprouted tall pieces of white-topped brown from the plants that lay dormant. Her dog buried its nose in the snow, looking for something that must be waking from the night—or possibly just nestling in. He grinned and turned to make his way down for breakfast. He and his nephews would spend the day at his folks as they did every year. Only this time, they'd arrive by car instead of plane.

  * * *

  The world seemed to finally slow to a peaceful pace when the Christmas rush ended. Brie still had a few days before the first of the year when she would need to st
art taking down all the lights she had put up. She scooped up the paper off her front porch and toed off her shoes from her morning run. Walking into her kitchen, she headed for the coffee grinder before noticing the new neighbor's dog wandering in her backyard.

  Macey snarled and pressed her nose against the glass of the doors that led to the deck. Her fur stood straight on the back of her neck. Goldie jerked his head when he heard her and began wagging his tail furiously, tumbling up the snowy steps of the deck. Macey's snarl turned into frustrated barking. This time the yellow Lab seemed clueless to Macey's warning and started whimpering like he'd found a long lost friend. She couldn't help but laugh. She gave Macey the command to stand down and opened the door.

  She hadn't considered how Goldie might have gotten over to her place until the dog bounded into her kitchen with sloppy, muddy feet that must have trudged through Black Creek. Macey, the traitor, started whining with Goldie and nuzzled noses. As they circled each other the Lab spread black prints over her ceramic floor.

  She pressed her hands on top of her head and tried, "No. Down. Lay. Stop!" Both dogs ignored her and continued their circling and sniffing around the kitchen island. She stomped to the mudroom to pull down Macey's leash and slipped on her boots. Grabbing her light blue coat, she headed back to the kitchen. The dogs had moved their reunion to the family room, trailing footprints of mud all over her carpet.

  "Stupid, stupid dogs. Idiot man."

  The dogs sensed the fun was over as the leash clicked on Goldie's collar. She faced Macey, held her arm out, elbow locked and pointed toward the mudroom. The dog's tail went between her legs and her ears lay back as she slumped obediently to her rug. Goldie tried to follow, but Brie maintained a good hold on him.

  She went out the door the mongrel had entered; the door she had so generously opened for him. Together, they stomped through the shin-deep snow of her backyard and along the creek's floodplain. When Goldie tried to bolt for the water, she gave the leash short, quick jerks to bring him back to her side. By the time they reached the road and started over the bridge, she couldn't help but be impressed with how quickly he was learning to heel. She scratched his head as they walked. It wasn't the dog's fault his owner couldn't keep an eye on him. As they rounded the corner, she had to work a little to get her mad back up again.

  She walked up the drive, noticing a dumpster that overflowed with old carpet and rotted boards. The snow on the drive was packed, the garage door open. She saw Nathan bundled up, wearing headphones and using thick chains to beat on some very long boards that were draped across large rectangular tables. This was the strangest man. She had to tap him on the shoulder to get his attention.

  Normal people would jump if they were alone, listening to music and someone tapped them on the shoulder. Nathan Reed simply stopped beating the wood, turned his head and lifted an eyebrow. His eyes met hers, dropped to her leash, then down to his dog. Soon after she saw the realization in his eyes, he turned his head and shoulders to look at the door leading from his mudroom to the garage that hung wide open. He shut his eyes tight and turned his head back to her as he slid off his headphones.

  Oh, yeah, her mad was back. She pulled on Goldie's collar as she eased his rump down. Placing her open hand in front of his face, she gave him the command to sit. "Do you know what your dog has done? Did you know we have a leash law in upstate New York? He came running through the creek and trailed a muddy mess through my house. And why the hell are you beating on that wood?"

  Add temper to cranky, Nathan decided. Yes, very interesting. He'd have to remember to keep an eye on the temper. Watching the rant, he thought she had the prettiest mouth he'd ever seen. He hooked his thumbs in his front pockets.

  "You just told me what my dog has done. I know the laws in upstate New York as I'm originally from here. And how did he get inside your house?"

  Brie let out a quick, "Huh?" and put her hands on the back of her hips. "I... let him in." She sighed as her shoulders dropped. "I didn't notice the muddy paws, and you still haven't answered my question about why a grown man is taking out his frustrations on perfectly good boards. They look new."

  He considered letting his dog run loose more often if it got her to talk this much. "I'll apologize for the dog. I didn't realize I'd left the door open. Looks like I've been heating the neighborhood." He kept talking as he meandered over to shut it. "I'm not beating on the boards. I'm distressing them. Come, I'll show you."

  He reached to take the leash from her. No gloves today and no ring. Add intriguing to interesting. As he reached, she pulled back. He decided he would have to work on the personal-space issue slowly.

  "I thought I'd tie him up for a while. Seems he'd rather be outside. I've got a nice long rope around front." He took the leash from her.

  As he walked out and around to the front porch, Brie waited in the garage.

  "Nice one, mutt," he muttered to his dog and couldn't decide if he meant it sarcastically or appreciatively. Not sure if Brie had stepped out to watch, he turned his back toward the garage to conceal that he scratched his dog's ears before leashing Goldie to the porch. But she wasn't there when he turned.

  He found her still in his garage, bent over, face close to one of the boy's bedroom dressers. Two of them stood side by side next to the two full-sized beds, matching dressers and nightstands. Once again, he found himself merely watching her. She rotated her head to the boards he'd been working on to match the furniture, then back to the dresser. As if it might bite her, she slowly reached out and ran her hands over the finish, stopping at the indented distressed marks.

  The generous reaction from the public toward his work was always flattering, but this was more. The awe in her eyes and her cautious touch was... humbling. It reminded him of when he'd learned the magic of creating the comfortable look in the wood.

  "As I said, it's called distressing, but it works on frustrations, too."

  Her hand jerked back. "Sorry. It's beautiful." She didn't turn to him. "Where is your family?"

  "You need to stop apologizing. The furniture's been in the rooms of young boys. It's been through worse than a woman's touch. They're with my folks." He placed his hand on top of hers, ready for the escape attempt and placed it back on the dresser.

  She ran her hands along the top, along the smooth marks. "The ones you moved to be closer to."

  "Yes." He handed her leash back to her. Those eyes. So much going on behind those large, green eyes.

  She shook her head slightly twice and stood. "I can't have your unneutered dog around mine."

  Startled at the turn of the conversation, he paused to gather his thoughts. "It's a little hypocritical to give me grief about my dog not being fixed. I'm assuming you don't want him around because yours isn't fixed, either." The corners of his mouth lifted.

  Brie gave another, quick shake of her head. "I'm waiting for another golden retriever to come of age to breed her. She's about three, and I'd like her to have a litter of pups before I have her spayed."

  His mouth opened, then shut again. He pulled his head back. "Bred? She doesn't have a say in it? That's rough."

  Brie shook her head more dramatically, this time, and smiled just a bit. "Just keep him out of my yard," she said as she headed down the drive.

  Chapter 6

  Brie's brothers and sister would arrive at seven thirty; guests would begin showing up shortly after that. She stood in baggy, gray sweat pants and an oversized flannel shirt. The clothes were a stark contrast to her finished makeup and hair piled high on her head. Standing with arms crossed and legs locked, she stared at the folding chairs that still stood stacked against her foyer wall as she mentally went over the list of things yet to be done. Why, she wondered, hadn't she listened to her sister and bought that family room furniture she needed—or dining, or sitting room furniture either?

  Oh, well, she thought, pulling nervously on an ear, and turned to head for the kitchen. People liked to stand and talk at these things.

  There
would be a band and spirits downstairs. The main floor would be more for talk and food. She needed her brothers to help her move the large oak table from the kitchen nook to the dining room for the food that waited, neatly arranged on platters, in the fridge and on counters. Candles were scattered and ready to be lit. Coolers of soda and beer needed to be hauled from the deck, where they stayed cold, to the buckets that were scattered around the house.

  Rubbing her hand along the back of her neck, she realized it didn't matter. It would never be the same. Never like it was when her parents were the host and hostess. Yet, the same people would come. She took a slow, deep breath and straightened her shoulders, listening as the sound of her house shoes changed slightly when she moved from the foyer's hardwood to the kitchen's ceramic tile. It would be nice to catch up with old acquaintances and visit with good friends, she convinced herself.

  When the doorbell rang, she looked at the clock and glared. Six o'clock. Who would dare? Liz didn't even have the nerve to come this early. She opened the door and stood with brows tucked tightly together. Nathan Reed stood on her porch in black jeans that matched the color of his slightly damp hair. Okay, so the unshaven look must have been out of comfort rather than for appearance, as he was clean shaven tonight, but what the hell was he doing here two full hours early?

  The boys stood frozen, each holding a container covered in foil as Nathan walked past her without so much as a polite hello, let alone waiting for an appropriate invitation. "Thought we would make up for the muddy carpet and come by to help. Boys, you remember Miss Brie."