by Paula Graves
Landry couldn’t stop a soft laugh. “Oh, Livvie. Still twisting the knife with a smile, aren’t you?”
She arched an eyebrow at him. “Me?”
“I will do everything I can to help find Carver.” God knew, the guilt was starting to eat him up.
“I know you will.”
Alexander Quinn stopped by the dorm room a few minutes later. “The roads into North Carolina have been deemed passable by the Tennessee and North Carolina Highway Patrols.” He handed over a key to Olivia. “There’s a Chevy Tahoe parked out back, gassed up and ready to go. It should be able to handle any icy patches left on the road.”
Olivia glanced at Landry. “Is Rachel’s uncle expecting us?”
“Yes. He’s setting up the guesthouse for you. If anyone asks, you’re distant relatives from Georgia, up here to enjoy the winter season in the Smokies.”
“I don’t want to put anyone else in danger,” Landry said. The closer he got to leaving The Gates, the more he feared he was making a mistake. “Maybe I should just wait here for the FBI to show up and take me into custody. I can call a lawyer I know in Richmond, make sure he makes noise with the Richmond field office so they’ll know someone’s watching.”
“Why didn’t you do that when you got away from the BRI?” Quinn asked.
He wasn’t sure he had a good answer. At the time he got away from his captors, his only thought was to get clear of their reach and find a place to hunker down until he could figure out what to do next.
The problem was, he never really figured out what to do next.
“Go to Bryson City. Do some thinking without the pressure of the FBI breathing down your neck,” Quinn suggested. “Maybe you’ll figure out how you want to handle things with the FBI from a place of clarity.”
Clarity, Landry thought. He wasn’t sure he knew what the word meant anymore.
* * *
THE DRIVE TO Bryson City took two hours on slick roads through the Smoky Mountains, but the Chevy handled the conditions as well as Olivia could have hoped, and the scenery was so breathtaking she had to struggle to keep her eyes on the road instead of the snowy landscape.
“I wish this was a pleasure trip,” Landry murmured as they rounded a curve and came upon another breathtaking mountain vista.
“So do I.”
“Do you know anything about this place where we’ll be staying?”
“It’s actually an extension of a restaurant and music venue, Song Valley Music Hall.”
“A music hall?”
She glanced at him, taking in his confusion. “It belongs to Rafe Hunter, Rachel Hammond’s uncle.”
“Wife of the con man.”
“Former con man.”
“Whatever.”
“Her aunt and uncle have run this place for years. They’re actually quite well-known for what they do. Apparently, Rafe Hunter is known in music circles as a brilliant judge of talent. Seth says playing at the Song Valley Music Hall is a badge of honor for a new artist.”
Landry was silent for a moment while Olivia eased the Tahoe into a slushy curve. Once they’d reached the straightaway, he added, “Does this Rafe Hunter know who we are and why we’re there?”
“He knows I work with Seth. He thinks you’re my boyfriend and this is a winter getaway for us.” She glanced at Landry and saw him frowning. “Is that a problem? It seemed like the easiest cover story.”
“No, it’s fine.”
“We aren’t going to see much of Mr. Hunter, so you don’t have to pretend anything.”
“That’s not the problem, believe me.”
“Then what?”
“Are we going to share a room?”
She slanted another look at him and found his intense green gaze on her. Heat flitted up her neck and into her cheeks, and she forced her gaze back to the winding road. “It’s a guesthouse. There are two bedrooms.”
His voice dropped to a soft growl. “That didn’t entirely answer my question.”
Her breath caught. “I don’t know,” she admitted.
“Then maybe that’s the answer.” He leaned back against his seat. “I think we should both be really sure about anything that happens between us this time. We both ignored a lot of doubts the last time and jumped into things recklessly.”
“That’s how you remember our relationship?” She tried to quell the sense of hurt that rose in her chest, but she didn’t have much luck. “As a reckless mistake?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“I think you did.”
He fell silent for the rest of the drive, tension stretching between them until Olivia felt that she’d snap in two. The sight of the Song Valley Music Hall through the front windshield of the Tahoe was a palpable relief.
The place was packed, parking hard to come by, but Olivia found a slot for the Tahoe near the far end of the parking lot and cut the engine. “You stay here. I’ll go find Rafe and tell him we’re here.”
“Where’s the guesthouse?” he asked, giving the low-slung saloon-style facade of the music hall a skeptical look.
“I’m not sure,” she admitted. She’d assumed there would be some sort of residential structure attached to the building, but there was nothing like that in sight as she crossed the gravel parking lot and entered the music hall.
An early dinner crowd filled the place with talk and laughter that rang in her ears after the long, mostly silent drive through the mountains. The smiling man at the bar at the back answered her query by pointing to a short, jovial man talking to customers at a nearby table.
Olivia waited for him to finish the conversation, stepping into his path as he turned toward the next table. “Mr. Hunter?”
He had to look up to meet her gaze. His smile widened. “Lord, you must be Olivia. Seth described you over the phone.” The twinkle in Rafe Hunter’s eye made her wonder if the nickname “Bombshell Barbie” had come up. She tried not to take it as anything but a compliment, but she tired of everyone focusing on the fact that she was tall, blonde and on the curvy side. She was also smart, resourceful and dangerous.
Then again, being underestimated could often work in her favor.
“How far is the guesthouse from here?” she asked as she followed him to a back room in the music hall. The cramped little space was clearly his office; he dug through the lap drawer of the desk and retrieved a key.
“Not far,” he said with a smile, nodding for her to follow him back to the main hall, where a four-piece bluegrass band was warming up for their first set. Rafe motioned for her to wait a moment while he crossed to speak with the mandolin player. They exchanged a few words and laughter before Rafe returned to Olivia. “Sorry about that—new act, and there’s a record-label scout in the audience tonight. They’re as nervous as pigs at a barbecue joint.” Rafe laughed at his own joke. “I like to put ’em at ease. They play better if they’re laughing.”
They stepped out into the chilly twilight air. Overhead, stars and a waxing moon glowed through wisps of clouds visible above the trees. “Y’all get a lot of snow over there in Tennessee?” he asked conversationally as they walked toward the side of the music hall, not far from where she’d parked the Tahoe.
“Enough,” she answered, his friendly mountain twang coaxing her own Sand Mountain drawl out to play.
He led her around the building and waved his hand at what the music hall’s bright facade had hidden. About twenty yards behind the music hall stood a lovely two-story wood cabin, glowing with warm light from within. “That’s where my wife, Janeane, and I live. And right behind that house is the guesthouse. We built it for Janeane’s mama, thinking she’d come live with us after Janeane’s daddy died. But Donna fell in love with the funeral director and eloped about four weeks later.” Rafe laughed, apparently finding the story hilarious.
“Well, that’s Donna. Fast and brash. It’s a big part of her charm.” Rafe stopped walking and turned to her, handing her the key he’d brought with them. “Just head on down the flagstone walk past the house and you’ll see the place. Janeane knows you’re arriving, but be sure to pop your head in the back door and let her know you’re here so she won’t go for her shotgun.” He walked back toward the music hall, laughing.
Olivia started for the Tahoe, but Landry met her halfway, carrying their suitcases in both hands, the shoulder strap of the duffel bag full of their supplies draped across his body.
She relieved him of one of the suitcases. “That was Rafe Hunter.”
“I figured.” He looked past her at the wood cabin. “Is that it?”
“No, that’s Mr. Hunter’s place. He said the guesthouse is behind their house, down this flagstone path.” Nodding for him to follow, she walked down the dark path, animal awareness prickling the hairs at the back of her neck. How much of her unease could be attributed to the danger lurking around them and how much to the prospect of several days alone with Cade Landry in a scenic mountain cabin, she couldn’t say.
The guesthouse came into view as they passed the back corner of the Hunters’ cabin, a small, pretty one-story cabin decorated with the slow-melting remains of the earlier snowstorm. Boxwood shrubs flanked the steps up to the porch, giving the log cabin the appearance of a quaint country cottage.
“Cute,” Landry commented.
Olivia slanted a look at him.
He met her gaze, smiling. But his smile faded in an instant, and his eyes widened as he looked at something behind her.
She heard the unmistakable clatter of the fore-end of a pump-action shotgun sliding back, ready to fire.
“State your business.” The voice behind them was female, mountain-accented and deadly.
Dropping the suitcase to the ground beside her, Olivia lifted her hands and slowly turned to face the small, silver-haired woman pointing a shotgun at her chest.
Swallowing the instant flood of terror that came with facing a shotgun barrel, Olivia forced her voice through her tightened throat. “Janeane Hunter, I presume?”
Chapter Thirteen
“I told her to poke her head in the back door and tell you she’d arrived.” What Landry assumed was Rafe Hunter’s plaintive voice was audible over the phone Janeane Hunter held to one ear. The shotgun remained in her other hand, though she’d dropped the barrel until it pointed toward their legs instead of their midsections. Landry wondered if they could make a run for it before Janeane Hunter could whip the barrel up and give the fore-end a pump. After another look at her sharp-eyed gaze, he decided it would be folly to try.
Janeane made a face at the phone. “That might’ve got her shot for sure, you old fool.”
“I would have knocked,” Olivia offered helpfully.
Janeane flashed her a pointed look, and Olivia pressed her mouth to a thin line. Landry quelled the urge to laugh, despite the jittery adrenaline flooding his system.
“Did she show you any ID?” Janeane asked.
“No, but hell, she looked like what Seth described, and there can’t be too many that do,” Rafe said. Landry couldn’t argue with his logic. Rafe was right. There weren’t many women in the Smokies, or anywhere else, like Olivia Sharp.
“Well,” Janeane said doubtfully, “if you’re sure.”
“Let the kids go, hon. I’ve got to run. A new set is starting.”
Janeane hung up the phone and engaged the safety on the shotgun before she set it down in the corner by the fridge. “Sorry about that. Been having some home invasions in these parts recently. Damn meth heads.” She extended her hand. “Janeane Hunter.”
“Olivia.” Olivia shook the woman’s hand. “This is my friend Jack.” Jackson was Landry’s middle name, and Quinn had suggested using that name instead of Cade, since it was a little less uncommon.
“You work with Seth?”
Landry could tell from the woman’s smile that she liked her niece’s husband. He was a little surprised, given the man’s rather colorful history.
“I do,” Olivia said with a smile.
“He’s an interesting character,” Janeane said drily. “But good people, deep down. Loves our Rachel, and he’s real good to her. Have you seen pictures of the new baby?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Olivia said with a laugh. “Beautiful like her mama.”
Janeane beamed. “I think so, too.” She caught herself up, her smile turning a little sheepish. “Here I’ve held you at gunpoint and now I’m talking your ear off about my little grandniece. You folks must be tired. You hungry? I could have Rafe send something from the music-hall kitchen down to the cabin.”
“Actually,” Olivia said, “I think we’re going to head back to the music hall after we unpack. I’ve heard good things about the food and the entertainment.”
“Well, you know I agree,” Janeane said with a bright smile as she walked them to the door. “I’ve got to get this month’s books done tonight or I’d join you.” She remained on the back porch, watching while they walked to the guest cabin a few yards away.
Inside, the small cabin was clean and casually furnished with a cozy leather sofa and a pair of matching armchairs filling the front room. They explored the rest of the cabin, finding a small but complete kitchen in the back and two bedrooms, each with its own full bath, on either side of a narrow central hallway.
Unlike Olivia’s cabin, which had been originally built as a tourist rental cabin and was outfitted with the sort of luxuries vacationers preferred, the Hunters’ guest cabin was simpler, designed for everyday living. The bedrooms were reasonably large, but there was no hot tub on a back porch or roomy claw-foot tub in the bathrooms, just a simple toilet, tub and sink. Landry washed up, unpacked his bags and met Olivia in the front room a half hour later.
“Were you serious about going to the music hall?” he asked, noticing she’d changed out of her travel clothes into a pair of tweed trousers and a slim-fitting sweater the color of the Gulf of Mexico in the summer, a brilliant blue green reflected in her bright eyes.
“I thought it might be nice to get out and eat something besides a protein bar or a can of soup. Seth says the music’s really good if you like bluegrass, and I know you do—”
“What if someone spots us?”
“You can wear that farm-supply cap I packed for you. You haven’t shaved in a couple of days, and a beard always makes you look a little different. And here.” She reached down and picked up a tweed newsboy cap and a pair of steel-rim glasses he hadn’t noticed sitting on the coffee table nearby. She set the cap on her head, covering most of her short blond hair, and donned the glasses. “I’ll wear these instead of contacts. My own mother wouldn’t recognize me.”
“If you don’t want to be noticed, you probably shouldn’t wear that sweater,” he said with a wave of his hand.
She grinned so brightly at him as she took a step closer, he felt certain his heart skipped a couple of beats. “You like?”
“I love. But you’ll turn every head in the place if you wear that.”
She sighed. “I can keep my jacket over it. I don’t want to change because it’s cashmere and it’s so soft.”
He reached out and touched her shoulder, letting his fingers trail down her arm. She was right. The cashmere was as soft as a kitten’s fur and warm from her body heat. The urge to let his fingers continue exploring the warm, soft curves of her cashmere-clad body was nearly impossible to resist.
He shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “Yeah.”
Those azure eyes locked with his for a long, electric moment before she looked away. “I know it’s a little bit of a risk, but I’m getting cabin fever already and we just got here.�
� Her lips curved up in the corners. “And I bet it’s been a long time since you just went out and had some fun, isn’t it?”
“You have no idea.”
Her smile faded. “I guess I don’t. I’m sorry. I didn’t even think—”
He caught her cheeks between his palms, making her look at him. “It’s okay. I’m glad you don’t dwell on it. It helps me feel more normal, and it’s been a really long time since I’ve felt that way.”
“I know what you mean.” She covered his hands with hers, holding them in place against her cheeks. “Let’s just do this. Let’s go, eat some good food, listen to some good music and pretend like we’re both normal for a little while. What do you say?”
Impulsively, he gave her a quick, fierce hug and let her go. “Just point me to that cap and we’ll get out of here.”
* * *
SETH HAD TOLD Olivia the truth. The food at the Song Valley Music Hall wasn’t fancy or complex, but it was delicious, fresh and prepared with care by someone who clearly knew his way around a country kitchen. The music didn’t disappoint, either; the band Rafe Hunter had booked for the evening was young but wildly talented, doling out an inventive blend of bluegrass, country, rockabilly and blues that kept the patrons clapping.
After a trip to the bathroom a little after nine, Olivia returned to find the waitstaff clearing out a space in the center of the restaurant. Circling around the buzz of activity, she found Landry at their table, chatting with Rafe. Both men stood at her approach, the courtly gesture making her smile.
“What’s going on?” she asked, nodding at the hustling waiters hauling tables away from the center of the room.
“Dancing, darlin’,” Rafe drawled, winking at Landry as he wandered away to talk to a couple of patrons nearby.
“Dancing, darlin’,” Landry repeated, holding out his hand. “Shall we?”
She let him draw her onto the dance floor as the band fired up a brisk two-step.
“If I’d known about this place when we were both in Richmond, I would have suggested a weekend trip to check it out,” he murmured in her ear a few minutes later as they swayed to a bluesy arrangement of “The Tennessee Waltz.”