Danger in Deer Ridge (Blackthorne, Inc.)

by Terry Odell

  The woman stopped to scratch the dog behind the ears. She reached into a pocket of her oversized patchwork vest and offered him a crunchy morsel. Grinch decided it wasn’t worth telling her not to feed him. It was clear Chester expected it.

  “I hoped to see Mrs. Parker,” she said. “Is she here?”

  He nodded her inside. Elizabeth came into the room, a smile on her face. “Mrs. Fitzsimmons. Would you like some coffee? It’s fresh. Or I can make you some tea.”

  “I told you, call me Norma. And yes, I’d love a cup of coffee. I wanted to let you know I heard about the lightning strike, and told Mark I’m available if you need anything.” Her subtle smirk said she didn’t believe he’d delivered her message. Which he hadn’t.

  Elizabeth, bless her, didn’t give anything away. “Yes, that was nice of you, but we’re fine here for a couple of days. The boys are having a wonderful time getting to know each other.”

  Norma extended the basket. “That’s quite neighborly of Mark. And here. I brought some cookies.”

  Elizabeth took the basket and peered inside. “These are lovely. I’ll get the coffee.”

  Norma wandered through the living room, commenting on pictures, his mother’s bric-a-brac, how nice the house looked. Petty small talk. He’d rather be fighting a hurricane in a Cessna.

  She ran a finger along the mantel. “It must be nice having someone help with the housework.”

  That didn’t deserve a response, and he didn’t give one.

  Apparently ignoring the slight, she went on. “Your parents are traveling, as I recall.”

  “Yes, they’re in the Galapagos. Having a great time last I heard.” None too soon, Elizabeth returned carrying a tray with three cups of coffee, sugar and milk, and a plate of the cookies. She headed for the coffee table, and he hurried to move some newspapers and magazines out of the way.

  Grinch took one of the coffee cups. “I … um … need to take care of a few things, if you don’t mind.” He shot Elizabeth a glance part questioning, part pleading.

  “Go ahead,” she said.

  “But please, have a cookie,” Norma added.

  He checked the plate and snagged an oatmeal raisin one. Munching, he motioned to Chester to follow.

  “Oh, goodness,” Norma said.

  Grinch paused, turning toward the women.

  Norma fumbled in her vest pocket. “This darn phone. It’s new and I’m still figuring it out.” She held it up, squinting at the display, pressing buttons. “I did figure out how to set it to vibrate, not ring, but I never know which button to push to answer.” She tsked. “I guess I lost the call. Ah, well. Whoever it was will call back if it was important. Or leave a message.” She laughed. “Of course, I haven’t figured out how to retrieve them yet.” She tucked the phone into her pocket.

  Grinch stifled a groan and beat a hasty retreat. Elizabeth seemed perfectly content to play hostess to the busybody. The women were doing fine with small talk. Weather, bargains on fresh produce, something about an interior decorator. Finally, the front door opened, closed, and Norma’s car departed.

  Grinch went to the kitchen for another caffeine hit. Elizabeth came in seconds later, carrying the tray. She rinsed the cups and put them in the dishwasher. He waited.

  She put the leftover cookies in the basket. “The boys will like these.”

  “Elizabeth.” He pointed to her purse. “Ignoring it won’t make it go away.”

  Chapter 21

  Elizabeth’s hands trembled as she removed the blue leather folio from her purse. She forced a smile. “Guess you were right. It’s here.”

  Gingerly, she laid it on the counter and poked it toward Grinch. When he took it, she felt as though they were bound together by an invisible cord. Invisible, yet unbreakable, like the monofilament thread used in cheap clothing.

  He took a seat at the table and opened the ledger, first flipping through pages. She studied his face, but his expression was no more readable than the cryptic notations in the book.

  After several moments, he went to the beginning and looked at each page in turn.

  When he’d perused about ten pages, he closed the book over his forefinger. “I never asked you what your husband does.”

  “He’s an accountant.”

  Grinch’s eyebrow lifted. “Care to elaborate?”

  “I don’t know a whole lot.” She coughed out the semblance of a laugh. “You know, I’m the dumb housewife. His business was man’s work. No need to strain my pretty little brain.”

  “But you met some of his clients, didn’t you? At social functions.”

  “Mostly it was the wives.” She scratched her nose. “I never thought about it, but Victor had very few female clients, for whatever reason. He probably figured they couldn’t possibly make enough money to be worthy of his skills. I’ll bet any potential woman client would have been put off by his chauvinistic attitude and taken her business elsewhere.”

  “So, he was a high-end accountant.”

  “He sure thought so.”

  “Did the wives talk about their husbands’ work? Any complaints? Bragging?”

  “Gossip?” She grinned. “Like Norma Fitzsimmons?”

  He lifted his hands. “Hey, I didn’t say anything.”

  “And you’re commended for your tact.”

  His eyes twinkled, and that crooked grin warmed and dissolved the tension she’d been carrying. She realized she’d found some degree of comfort in being Elizabeth. She’d hardly thought about role-playing while she and Norma chatted. “I think Norma’s lonely. Her kids have usurped her position at work, and she needs to feel important.”

  “You’re probably right.” He opened the ledger again. “It’s obvious from the writing that two different people wrote this.”

  The man shifted gears faster than a NASCAR driver. She stepped behind him. On the one hand, she didn’t have to deal with his disarming grin. On the other, his scent sent currents of desire coursing through her.

  Ignoring them, she took the book and found the page where the writing shifted. “From here on, it’s Victor’s writing.”

  “Do you know who did the first part?”

  “No, but it might have been his father. It’s a guess, but after he died—that’s when Victor transformed into a brute. I mean, he’d always been a chauvinistic pig, but until then, he was a kinder, gentler chauvinistic pig.”

  Grinch chortled. He swiveled to face her. He stood there for several heartbeats. His smile faded. His lips parted. His eyes smoldered. What he wanted was clear. Yet he made no move. Her blood pounded in her ears. All she had to do was speak. Say what she was thinking, and they’d be upstairs. If they could wait that long.

  All she had to do was speak.

  Which was crazy. She’d known him less than a week. But whether she understood it or not, her desire was real. Demanding. All-encompassing. And they were alone.

  All she had to do was speak.

  She cleared her throat. “Can you decipher it?”

  She waited. The steady tick-tock from the grandfather clock in the hall seemed to be the only sound in her universe. He scrubbed his hands across his face, wiping away the spell.

  “Nope. No clue what it means.”

  She strolled across the kitchen and wiped down the already clean sink and countertop, waiting for the heat suffusing her to dissipate. “So what should I do?”

  “I’ll overnight it to Jinx.”

  “Jinx?”

  “My colleague at Blackthorne. He’s been helping out.”

  Her brain cleared. “Right. Jinx.” Grinch had said the man was a genius at ferreting information out of databases. And that Blackthorne had access to a lot of databases.

  “We can stop at the Post Office on the way to pick up the boys,” she said. She checked the clock. Almost three hours from now. A long, awkward three hours. She opened the fridge, searching for something that would take three hours to prep. Something more complicated than the hot dogs which seemed to be the only
protein in sight. No, she’d bought meat. Where had Grinch put it? She rummaged a little more, found pork chops, chicken parts and ground beef. Pork chops, she decided and pulled out their plastic-wrapped foam tray. Next, she headed for the pantry.

  “Elizabeth?” Grinch’s voice stopped her.

  She took a steadying breath. “Yes?”

  “It’s all right. Before. You were right. I shouldn’t have … “ He whistled, and Chester came running. “We’ll be outside.”

  Without so much as a glance in her direction, he strode to the mudroom and out the back door.

  Maybe she should call the electric company and see if they’d speed up the repairs on her house. As soon as she processed the thought, she knew she wouldn’t. Telling herself it was because she didn’t want to deny Will the company of a playmate, she assembled the ingredients for a pork chop dish complex enough to keep her mind occupied, but kid-friendly enough to serve the boys.

  As always, engrossed in cooking, her worries melted like the butter in the skillet.

  She had no idea how long Grinch had been outside when the door slammed and Chester came in, panting.

  “Whoa,” Grinch said. “That smells terrific.” He approached the stove. To distract herself from the tantalizing eau de Grinch, she focused on the aroma of her caramelizing vegetables.

  He lifted the lid of the saucepan and sniffed the simmering sauce. He grabbed one of the spoons lying beside the stove and dipped out a taste.

  “Hey, hands off,” she said.

  He dropped the spoon in the sink. “That’s delicious.”

  “Don’t get too used to it,” she said, brandishing a wooden spoon. “As soon as my house is rewired, you’ll be on your own.”

  His eyes registered surprise, and she realized she’d snapped. But instead of snapping back, he grinned. Great. Now her insides tingled again, and she was right back where this whole thing started. She tasted the sauce for seasoning. It was fine, but she added a pinch more salt.

  “Look at me,” he said.

  She lifted her gaze. “What?”

  “Do you know what you did?”

  “No? What?” Her stomach clenched. She adjusted the flame under the sauce.

  “No, don’t look away. You took charge. No cowering, no apologies. No weighing your words. I think I’m in the kitchen with a woman who’s one hundred percent Elizabeth.”

  His smile undid the knots in her belly. “Maybe ninety.” She wiped her hands on a paper towel. “Any suggestions for finding that last ten percent?”

  He paused, clearly debating his response. When he spoke, his voice rasped. “Lizzie, I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but taking it slow is probably the best approach.”

  Lizzie. He’d called her Lizzie? A nickname? Victor had never called her anything but Julie Ann. Or bitch. She wasn’t sure if she liked the name Lizzie—it sounded like a slithery reptile—but she was sure she liked the way it sounded, all low and growly, coming from Grinch.

  “Would touching be considered slow?” she asked.

  He raked a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I think that would qualify. It might kill me, but it’ll qualify.”

  “I remember this from a psych class. Desensitization. You know, if we keep touching, I’ll get used to it. I think we ought to try. You know, consider it an experiment.”

  “Experiment. Sounds interesting.”

  She smiled and took his hand in one of hers. With the other, she stroked each finger. Strong. Warm. A light dusting of hair at the knuckles. Clean, neatly trimmed nails. Not manicured like Victor’s. A working man’s hand.

  She lifted it to her lips. A quick intake of breath from Grinch emboldened her. She placed his hand at her aching breast. “Whoever called this desensitization was nuts.”

  “God, Lizzie.”

  Oh, yes. She could definitely adjust to the nickname. “I think I’m at ninety-five percent.”

  The incessant beeping of the kitchen timer shattered the moment. And none too soon. Grinch might think she was ready to be totally impulsive, but she hadn’t left Julie Ann that far behind. Yet. She dug for a semblance of composure and fumbled behind her to shut off the sound. “Look at the time.” She struggled to keep her voice even. “If we’re going to get to the Post Office before we pick up the boys, we’d better leave.”

  Grinch’s eyes were half-closed. “Leave. Yes.” His hand remained where it was, his palm gently kneading.

  Her nipples rubbed against her bra, demanding more. She wriggled enough to increase the friction. She couldn’t tell if these sensations were new, or merely long-forgotten. “Ninety-eight,” she whispered, and brought his hands to her lips. Her kiss was a caress, a promise. “But we do have to leave. It’s important to show Dylan that you’ll be there for him.”

  He groaned. “I’ll meet you in the truck.”

  She grinned. “You sure you can drive?”

  “As long as you don’t do any more desensitization experiments, yeah.”

  * * * * *

  “And we had cookies,” Dylan said. “Chocolate chip and peanut butter. From the cookie lady.”

  Grinch helped himself to another pork chop while Dylan recounted every detail of his day—for the third time.

  “How about you, Will?” Elizabeth asked. “Did you have fun?”

  “I guess,” he said.

  Grinch stopped mid-bite as Elizabeth’s face showed alarm. Seemed a bit over the top, but she knew her kid.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  “Nothing.” Will poked his food around the plate. He’d barely eaten.

  “Was it the doctor?” Elizabeth said. “Did he say something?”

  Will shook his head. “No. All he did was listen to my heart and poke my stomach, look in my ears and stuff. Not like going to Dr. Hodgkins.”

  “He didn’t say anything about your scar?”

  Will snorted. “He didn’t even make me take my shirt off. Just poked the stethoscope underneath.”

  “Will was last pick on the team,” Dylan said. “And he dropped the ball.”

  Will glowered across the table. “So, what’s the big deal about football, anyway? Bunch of guys jumping all over each other.”

  Grinch heard the hurt behind the bravado. “Don’t suppose you’d want me to give you a few pointers, then? I was going to suggest we guys go out and toss the football after dinner.” He glanced at Elizabeth. “That is, after we help clean up in here.”

  “I guess so.” Will’s attempt at nonchalance wasn’t particularly successful.

  “Finish your dinner,” Elizabeth said. “I’ll do cleanup myself.” She winked at Grinch. “But all of you need to clear your own places and put your dishes in the dishwasher.” Her smile of approval spoke volumes.

  Will dug in, and a warm glow spread through Grinch’s chest. Damn, had he gotten one of the Dad things right for a change?

  “Will’s not bad,” Grinch said to Elizabeth. He perched on the edge of his desk and tilted his beer bottle to his mouth. Playing with kids was thirsty work.

  She closed the book she was reading. “It was sweet of you to show him some moves. By the time he’d recovered from his surgery, Victor had written him off. And God forbid I try to do something like play catch—not that I could have thrown a football anyway.”

  “He needs some confidence.”

  “Like his mother,” she mumbled.

  “Who is making great strides in that direction. Besides, I had an ulterior motive.”

  She arched her eyebrows. “Really?”

  He shrugged. “I figured if I tired them out, they’d crash and…”

  “And?” She cocked her head and arched her eyebrows. A smile peeked out.

  Sweet Mother of God, she was toying with him. Teasing. He didn’t know if he liked it better because it meant she was integrating Elizabeth into her persona, or because it was him she was flirting with. “And I thought you might want to work on your … experiment … some more.”

  “I’ve been thinking
about that,” she said.

  His heart thumped. “And?”

  “And what you said, about not touching me unless I asked. I think I’m ready to deal with touching on your own.” Her lips curved up in a smile. “But beginning touching.”

  His brain had stopped functioning. “Which is?”

  She flapped her hand. “You know. Taking my hand, or touching my shoulder.”

  “I get it. So if I wanted to do something more … advanced … I need to wait for you to ask first?”

  She flushed, her face matching a mountain sunset. “Well, maybe you could ask, too.”

  He stood. “Lizzie, may I—”

  Shouts from upstairs about wanting a song. Déjà vu all over again. “Didn’t this happen the other night?”

  “Rituals are nice,” she said, setting her wine aside.

  Could something be a ritual after only a couple of repetitions? Harmonizing at bedtime? What about sitting in the den, having a nightly drink once the kids were asleep? That sounded like a ritual he could get down with.

  Sweet Mother of God. He was moving as fast as an F-15 with a five-hundred-mile-an-hour tailwind. The only reason Elizabeth was here was so he could keep an eye on her. He couldn’t drag out the repairs on her house much longer, and then she’d be gone.

  He went upstairs, with Elizabeth behind him. “You go in,” he said. “I’ll be right there.”

  He detoured to his old room and found the box he remembered on the top shelf of the closet. He carried his old treasure into the boys’ room where Elizabeth stood, leafing through Will’s drawing tablet. Clearing his throat, he tossed the well-worn bear onto Will’s bed. Will caught the critter, then gave Grinch a puzzled look.

  “That’s Billy Bear,” Grinch said. “I know you’re kind of big for a teddy, but he’s been in a box for years, and I thought he’d be better off getting some fresh air. You know, so he won’t get all moldy and musty. He can sit on the windowsill if you’d prefer it.” He stepped closer and leaned down. Lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Don’t tell anybody, but I slept with him until I went to college—and I wasn’t too happy about leaving him home then, either.”