by Jodi Thomas
“Emily. Thanks for having dinner with me. I don’t get out much with people. I guess I’m not great company. I usually stop by and pick up something on the way home.”
She watched him knowing his words didn’t come easy. “You were fine.” She looked away, relieved that they were both in shadows. “I’m surprised you’re not married with a couple of kids by now. Most of the people we graduated with are.” She thought of adding that he wasn’t bad-looking. She’d heard two women in the bakery talking about him once. One said he was walking, breathing sex appeal, but he was hard to work for. He expected everyone in the office to put in forty hours of work a week and everyone knows that no one in an office works every minute. The other added that receptionists didn’t stay around long once they learned there would be no sleeping with the boss, but he kept hiring lookers for the front desk.
“I guess your business takes up a lot of time.” She couldn’t help but wonder if the gossip she’d heard was true. Folks said he was a workaholic who never took a day off. The shy boy she’d known had morphed into a machine.
“Yeah.” He shrugged. “Not much time for dating.”
“Me neither,” she admitted. “In truth, I was never any good at it anyway.”
“Me neither. I gave it my best effort in college, but not one girl I took out felt right.” He spread his arm over the seat back, almost touching her shoulder.
She didn’t move. He was closer than anyone had been to her in a long time, but Tannon didn’t make her uncomfortable.
“I used to have a group of friends I’d run with now and then after I was settled back here. We’d play poker and go out to the deer blinds and drink beer without bothering to even try to shoot anything. We even went down to the Fort Worth Stockyards for a rodeo a few years. I thought we were having some great times. Then, one by one, they were roped and dragged off to the altar.”
She grinned. “You don’t have a very high opinion of marriage.”
“It’s like selling yourself into slavery. I don’t think I ever want to be responsible for making someone else happy. Hell, most days I can’t even make myself happy.”
“You made me happy tonight.” She managed a slight smile. “I haven’t had chili cheese fries in years.”
He straightened up and got to work backing up the truck. “Then we’ll have to do it again.”
She sat in silence as they drove back to her place. Part of her didn’t want to be friends. There was too much between them neither could talk about. The few weeks after she’d been attacked in the school parking lot all those years ago, she’d cried, wishing he’d come up to the hospital. If he’d just said he was sorry or explained why he hadn’t been there, she might have forgiven him. Only now it was too late. She’d finished high school at home and gone off to college without ever seeing Tannon Parker again until he’d started dropping by the library after she took the job. He’d probably been in a dozen times before she ever spoke to him.
She knew the attack in the parking lot that night hadn’t been his fault, but every time she thought about it, she remembered. He wasn’t there. He hadn’t shown up as he’d promised to.
He parked his truck in front of her apartment and walked around to open her door.
“You don’t need—”
“I’ll walk you to your door,” he answered before she could finish.
She punched the code and the security door opened. Neither one of them had anything to say on the way up to her apartment. When she turned the key and pushed her door open, she looked up at him. “Thank you for dinner.”
“You’re welcome. I know I might not have acted like it, but I enjoyed tonight.”
“Me too,” she said uncertainly.
After he left, she crossed into her apartment already bright with light from timers plugged into every outlet. She moved to the window and watched him striding toward his truck. The memory of their friendship when they were young floated back to her. He’d never been unkind or rude. He treated her more like a kid sister than a girl his age.
She smiled, thinking about the summer before they entered high school. She’d made him let her practice kissing on him. He’d been more interested in baseball than girls, but he’d agreed. After she’d spent thirty minutes practicing, he’d wanted to continue, but she’d said she’d learned enough.
She knew she’d hurt his feelings by stopping. When he’d walked away that day, he swore that she’d make some man miserable someday and it wouldn’t be him.
Emily watched Tannon drive away now. Maybe she owed him one. She might not ever call him friend again, but it wouldn’t hurt to go out to eat with him now and then.
Chapter 14
SATURDAY
RICK GLARED ACROSS THE TABLE IN THE SHERIFF’S OFFICE at the dozen relatives who’d decided to hold an intervention on his behalf. “I love you all,” he began, trying to sound calm, “but I repeat: I am not going to have a bodyguard following me around. I’m related to half the people in this town—that should be enough watching over me.” Just for Alex’s benefit, he added, “No safe house, no off-the-map farm, no disappearing. I’ve got work to do.” He did have two cases to get ready for even if they were over a month away.
No one in the room looked like they wanted to hear his argument.
Alex, the town sheriff, and Liz, his law partner, had presented all the evidence. One letter, two sawed boards formerly from the stairs, and a picture of the remains of a car he’d driven since his freshman year in college.
Hank showed him a report from an arson expert who said there was no doubt the fire in the car had been set after the backseat had been stuffed with trash.
His mother had even cried, but Rick didn’t budge. Deep down, he felt he had to figure this out himself and he had no intention of someone bunking in with him until the crimes were solved. He’d played football through college and no one had taken hits for him then. He wasn’t about to let them stand in the way of trouble now.
Finally, the meeting ended with him promising to stay at the bed-and-breakfast. Martha Q had made it plain when she left at six that morning that he’d better do his job.
Since he no longer had a car, he wasn’t likely to be traveling far. Under threat of torture from his sister, Rick promised to let one of his cousins know when he left Winter’s Inn for work or a date or, of course, the next writers’ group meeting at the library. He planned to continue to at least look like he was working, but a date wasn’t likely. Not many women wanted to date a homeless, carless lawyer, who apparently had a contract out on his life. With his luck, even the county library wouldn’t be safe.
Rick knew he was hurting them by not letting them stand guard over him, but the fear that whoever was after him might go through them frightened him more than being alone. He also wasn’t convinced someone wanted to kill him. There was the possibility that whoever sawed the steps and lit the fire in his car might just be trying to take him out of the game. He had two trials coming up. Maybe this was some druggie who wanted the court date delayed.
When the meeting was over, Gabe Leary, Liz’s husband, looked at him as if he thought Rick was an idiot. Alex frowned at him as if she were considering locking him up. The rest of the family hugged him as they fought back tears. Rick felt like he was attending his own wake.
Hank drove him back to Winter’s Inn with a never-ending list of precautions Rick should take. He didn’t get out, since Rick no longer needed help walking, but he waited to leave until Rick stepped inside and closed the door.
Leaning against the frame, Rick wondered how long this nightmare would last. Tomorrow it would be a week since the accident. His body was healing, but he felt like his mind was shattering piece by piece.
“Mr. Matheson?” Mrs. Biggs whispered. “Are you all right?”
“Don’t ask,” he whispered back, as if saying anything out loud might be the last straw to shatter his reason.
“All right, sir.” Mrs. Biggs moved closer and lowered her voice even more. “But
we got a problem.”
“I’ll be glad to help. That’s why I’m here, so no matter what’s come up, I’ll handle it.” Stepping into his innkeeper role cheered him for a moment.
He was thinking the problem would involve a call to the plumber, moving some furniture, or changing a lightbulb. It would feel good to do something physical.
“The problem is not an it, sir. It’s a woman. She says she’s Mrs. Patterson’s niece, but I never heard Martha Q mention her. I asked her to wait in the parlor until you came back. I told her you were in charge until Martha Q got back.”
“Have you tried to call Martha Q?”
“No, sir. She left her phone with me, saying she didn’t want to be bothered. Whatever came up, I was to go to you with the problem.”
He should have known a free room and a hundred a day would come with some strings. “I’ll take care of it, Mrs. Biggs. Don’t worry.”
The old lady looked relieved. “I’ll bring in some tea,” she said, as if that were her assignment in the campaign.
Rick straightened and walked into the parlor obviously decorated when a craft store exploded. He could see a shadow leaning against one of the long parlor windows, but the sun obscured his view. “May I help you?” he said, sliding into his new role.
“I’d like to see my aunt.” The long form moved away from the window. She was tall, almost six feet and slim built with the movements of an athlete. “I’m Trace Adams.”
When she offered her hand, Rick was surprised by the grip. As she moved away from the sun against her back, her full beauty hit him. Her midnight hair was parted in the middle and woven into a braid that hung past her waist. Intelligent green eyes studied him with caution from a face that was flawless and without makeup as near as he could tell.
“I’m the interim innkeeper, Rick Matheson,” he managed as he took her in like a man seeing his first true work of art. She wasn’t like any woman he’d ever met. There was something strong and controlled about her reminding him of a warrior. She wasn’t a woman any man would call “little lady” or “sweetie.” “I’m sorry, but your aunt isn’t here. She should be back in a few weeks.”
Trace Adams raised a doubting eyebrow as if she was considering the possibility that he’d bumped off old Martha Q and buried her in the basement. “She told me that if I was ever in the area, I’d have a place to hide out for a while. Does the offer stand?”
She was direct. He liked that. Most of the time he listened to females he was wondering what they meant or when they’d get around to the point.
“It does,” he answered. “Provided you’re not running from the law.”
She smiled. “I don’t run from anything, mister, never have, but there’s a storm coming off the Rockies and headed this way. I thought I’d stop by here and ride it out.”
She pointed with her head and he saw the Harley-Davidson parked in the drive. He finally looked away from her eyes and down her body. Leather. She was dressed totally in black leather, molded to her body like a second skin. She could have stepped straight out of a James Bond movie. How could she possibly be standing in Harmony, Texas?
He walked to the window as if interested in her bike. Like her, it was beautiful and probably cost more than most of the new cars in town. “Are you close to your aunt?”
“No. A few phone calls a year.” She slapped her gloves against her palm. “Look, Mr. Matheson, I’m looking more for a quiet place to stay than a long visit. We weren’t that close even when she was married to my uncle, husband number four for her, I think. I didn’t much care for him so when they divorced, I took Martha Q in the settlement. We’ve claimed each other ever since, but if there is a problem with me staying here, tell me now so I can make Dallas by dark, because I don’t intend to stand around taking a test until you make up your mind.”
That directness again, he thought. Surprising, shocking, intriguing. “I’m sorry. I’ll get you a key.” He had a feeling if he asked one more question she’d be out the door.
“I’ll take the attic room.” She walked around the desk tucked in the corner of the parlor and took a key from the center drawer as if she already knew where everything was. “Any problem with my putting my bike in the garage?”
“No, please, help yourself.” She obviously knew her way around. “My car burned a few days ago so I’ve no use for the garage.”
She looked up at him as if he were drooling again. Information she didn’t need, but Rick couldn’t seem to stop himself. “I guess you should know, Miss Adams, the sheriff seems to think someone is trying to kill me.”
She picked up a bag and walked toward the stairs. “Not my problem, Mr. Matheson, unless your screaming wakes me.”
He watched her disappear up the stairs and wasn’t surprised when Mrs. Biggs poked her head around the corner to watch also. “Friendly, isn’t she?” Mrs. Biggs laughed. “I can see why Martha Q loves her so.”
“How come you don’t know her, but she seems to know her way around?”
“Martha Q had the place open for a while before I got here. She could have visited then, but I’ve never seen so much as a Christmas card from family. Then, with family like that, cards might not be a priority.”
“You think she’s really Martha Q’s niece?”
“She’s strange enough to be. Martha Q told me once that one of her husbands was so wild his wolf pack of a family wouldn’t even claim him. She said he ran full throttle all day and most of the night. Once, he caught her napping and gave her such a hard time about it, she left him. She claimed he was great in bed, but if she’d been married to him another six months she would have been dead from exhaustion.” Mrs. Biggs glanced up the stairs. “This one looks like she could be from that branch of the family.”
Mrs. Biggs looked him up and down. “If I were you I’d stay away from her. A woman like her would kill you.”
Rick was getting tired of everyone thinking he couldn’t take care of himself, but in this case the old lady was probably right. A night with Trace Adams might be his last.
Rick laughed. “She’s sure going to make it interesting around here. You know, I think I feel better than I have all week.”
He spent the rest of the day watching for the lady in leather. Now and then he’d hear a door close or footsteps above, but she did not appear. A half hour before dusk he saw her running down the drive wearing a black jogging suit with a hood. Her movements were long and fast like a seasoned runner.
Strange, he hadn’t heard her coming down the stairs.
When she returned it was full dark. She stopped on the porch to stretch. Rick couldn’t resist grabbing his jacket and stepping outside. “You have a good run?” he asked.
She glared at him for a moment, then turned away.
He fought to keep from rattling off his entire life’s résumé. He wanted to tell her that he had been a football star in high school and played all four years in college. She might like that. He was a lawyer. Women always thought he was handsome. He could never remember being turned down for a date.
Rick forced his mind to stop listing things that probably wouldn’t impress her anyway. He suspected that even if he smiled big enough to show his dimple, she’d just walk around him. So he settled for the basics. “What time would you like breakfast?”
“I don’t…”
“We are a bed-and-breakfast,” he reminded her.
“All right. How about seven?”
He’d thought more like nine or ten. “It is Sunday tomorrow, you know.”
“I know. That’s why I thought I’d sleep in and wait until seven.”
Was she teasing him? Somehow he doubted it. “Seven it is. I’ll tell Mrs. Biggs.”
She walked past him.
“Good night,” he said when she was halfway up the stairs.
He went into the sitting room on the second floor where he’d set up his office. He needed to get his mind off the woman upstairs and work on finding the man who had it in for him.
; Whoever he was, he’d taken the time to saw the steps. He’d rounded up trash, mostly packing material and dead wood, and stuffed it into his car. He’d mailed a note: Leave.
Rick wrote down premeditated on a legal pad. This wasn’t a crime of anger or rage. Whoever did this must have been watching him for a while. The guy knew where Rick parked his car, what time he left the office, and that he was the only one who used the back stairs after dark.
Rick added logical to his list.
The law office was in the center of town. Whoever set the fire had to be able to move around during the daylight without anyone noticing him. Even if he’d filled the car at night, he’d lit the fire during daylight hours when it would draw the most attention. When Rick would see it.
He wrote down George Hatcher’s name on the paper, then scratched it out. He was certainly close enough to have sparked the fire and saw the steps, but the bookstore owner had no motive.
At ten o’clock, Rick stood and stretched. It was time to call it a night. In his stocking feet, he passed the stairs on the way to his room and decided to climb. After all, he was paid to watch over the house. He might as well make sure everything was locked up. With great care, he slowly moved up each step testing his muscles.
The attic widened at the top of the stairs. The top floor was big enough for two small rooms with a bath in between. One door was closed. Trace Adams had picked that one, he guessed. The bathroom door was open and so was the other bedroom.
Without a sound, he moved into the darkened bedroom and walked to where the windows opened out with a grand view of Harmony sleeping.
For a few minutes he looked out and took it all in, thinking about how much he loved this town. No one was going to run him out. He planned to live his life and be buried with generations of his family here. Until the staircase accident it had never seemed so important. Someday, if he ever got where he could afford it, he’d travel the world on vacation, but he’d always return home to Harmony.
The light from the other window drew him. For a moment, he didn’t see her sitting just outside the glow from her room. She was on the roof with just enough moonlight to outline her form. She was sitting as still as stone with her knees pulled up to her chin. Her black hair was free of its braid. The ends were dancing in the wind, but she didn’t seem to notice.