by Jennie Marts
Charlie knew so few people in Broken Falls that her list of suspects was pitifully short. She pondered her choices.
Maybe Cash didn’t know Gigi had found her. Could he have hoped to inherit the farm and pushed Gigi down the stairs? Or was he trying to cash in on some of the railroad money himself?
Could this story be a diversion to lay the blame on someone else when Sophie was the actual cause? Was she angry that Gigi wasn’t her real grandmother or was Gigi holding out on a secret family recipe that she promised to leave Sophie in her will? Could Sophie have pushed her so she could finally get her hands on the perfect pie crust recipe?
All of those scenarios seemed as likely as if Clyde the goat had been the culprit and head-butted Gigi down the stairs.
The only person who had anything to gain was Wayne, the railroad guy. But how could he benefit from Gigi’s death? She couldn’t sell him her land from the grave.
Unless…he knew she had an heir halfway across the country who might be more interested in a big fat check than a little farm in Podunk, Montana.
She thought of the man who sat across from her at the diner a few days ago and had a hard time imagining him as a killer. The guy couldn’t even seem to get his pants ironed, let alone plan a murder.
Did Wayne Roberts really hide an evil side behind those glasses that had gone out of fashion a decade ago? And, if he really was a killer, could that mean she was in danger if she didn’t cooperate with his demands?
All these questions made her head hurt, and Charlie was glad to see the barn in sight. She was ready to get off this horse and into a hot bath. She could open a can of soup tonight, maybe read a book.
Or maybe spend a little time on her manuscript. Why was it so easy to write a mystery, yet so hard to actually solve one?
…
Sizzle-CRACK.
A bolt of lightning shot across the sky, and the sound of thunder followed right behind it. A ripple of fear pulsed through Charlie’s veins as she knew that meant the lightning was close.
A drop of rain hit her cheek, and she called for Joy. The black and white dog came running across the pasture just as a deluge of rain plummeted from the sky. Like a sudden icy shower, the rain soaked her to the skin within seconds.
She’d only wanted to go for a nice evening walk around the farm to get some exercise after consuming half a pan of Sophie’s homemade macaroni and cheese.
In the past few days since their horseback ride, she’d been thinking about the sale of the farm and the possibility of someone resorting to murder to make that happen. Or maybe the sale of the farm was an obvious scapegoat and there was another reason for harming Gigi. Or maybe Sophie just imagined that someone had tried to kill Gigi.
Her mind swirled with possible scenarios in her real life yet she could think of nothing new for the imaginary life of the characters in her latest novel. She’d spent another several hours that morning staring at the computer screen and coming up empty of ideas.
She was tired and frustrated and had needed a walk and some fresh air to clear her head. She wanted to see the valley again that was the source of all this drama.
Underestimating the distance to the valley on foot versus horseback, she’d watched the sky quickly darken with the clouds of an evening thunderstorm.
Cash had warned her that storms could appear suddenly and without warning, and she knew she needed to get back to the farmhouse quickly.
Now, she was completely soaked. The shorts, camisole, and lightweight button-up shirt offered no protection against the torrents of rain pouring down on her. Her white tennies were covered in mud. Pain accompanied her every step as the small rocks trapped in her shoes rubbed against the bare skin of her feet.
The rain was so thick, she couldn’t see more than a few feet ahead of her. She’d been on the edge of a copse of trees, blindly stumbling forward, stems of vegetation scraping against her bare legs. A step in the wrong direction and she ran into a low-hanging branch, knocking her to her knees as she clutched her forehead in pain.
Tears of pain and fear mingled with the rain coursing down her cheeks. The dark grove of trees proved more dangerous than the meager protection from the rain they offered. In New York, if it started raining, you ducked into a coffee shop and waited out the storm, drinking warm cappuccinos and biscotti.
With no coffee shop in sight, she knew she had to keep walking to find shelter. Shivering, her arms wrapped around herself, she pushed to her feet, determined to get back to the farmhouse.
She turned as she swore she heard her name being called. Brushing her wet hair from her face, she squinted through the curtain of rain and thought she saw a dark figure standing in the downpour.
Crying out in relief, she staggered toward the shadow, calling for the dog to follow.
The dark figure stood silent and didn’t call to her again. But she had a goal and kept moving forward, one muddy step at a time, until she fell against the dark shape.
A sharp edge bit into her leg, and she sobbed as she recognized the purple banister. The dark figure had been Sophie’s steps.
She wept with relief as she now had her bearings. Crawling over the steps, she could see a faint light burning through the driving rain, and she knew she could make it to Sophie’s house.
She half-stumbled, half-fell down the hill and across the driveway. The rain stung her skin with every freezing drop. So thankful for the little dog, she heard Joy ahead of her, barking out their presence.
The porch light came on. She collapsed in the front lawn, struggling against the pain in her head and too weak to keep moving, now that she’d made it so close to safety.
Joy was back, licking her face and running a half-circle around her. A large presence followed on the heels of the dog. “What the hell? Charlie, are you okay?”
Was she dreaming? How could he be here?
Strong arms lifted her, and she broke into tears as she leaned into the man she’d spent the last few weeks fantasizing about. Reaching her arms around his neck, she whispered his name, “Zack.”
He carried her into the house, and she registered rustic furniture and a log cabin decor. Zack set her in an overstuffed chair next to the fireplace, the warmth of the roaring flames reaching out to her.
He pulled a thick quilt around her and tipped her head up to him to examine her face. “You’re bleeding. Where are you hurt?”
He used his no-nonsense, I’m-a-doctor voice, and she instantly obeyed and lifted her hand to point to the spot on her forehead where the branch had hit her. Her teeth were chattering, and she shivered violently as she tried to pull the blanket tighter around her.
He pulled her bangs back from her forehead. “It looks like you’ve got a nasty scrape on your head, but there’s so much mud mixed with the blood, I can’t tell where else you’re hurt. And you’re shivering so hard, I can’t get a good look at you. C’mon.”
He lifted her again, and she curled into herself, trying to contain the quivers. He carried her down the hallway, through a bedroom and into a large bathroom.
Not bothering with the light, he opened the glass door to the shower and stepped inside. The light from the bedroom illuminated his face, and she looked up at him in wonder. “Wha-what are you doing he-here?”
He used one hand to work the knob and blessedly warm water flowed down on them. “I’m trying to get you warmed up.” He held her tightly to him, seemingly oblivious to the warm water soaking through his T-shirt and pajama pants.
“No, what are you doing at this hou-house?” She couldn’t yet control the chattering of her teeth.
“I live here.”
Geez, she must have really been mixed up by the storm. “I thought this w-was Sophie’s house.”
“You must have really bumped your head a good one.” He looked down at her in concern and rubbed his hand over the back of her head. “Charlie, this is Sophie’s house.”
“Then, where is she?”
“She’s spending the night at a friend
’s tonight.”
“Then what are you doing here?” She was so confused. Did Sophie’s family have a sick animal? Was he making a house call? If so, then why was he wearing his pajamas?
“I told you. I live here. With Sophie. Remember me, I’m Zack. Sophie is my daughter.” He spoke as if he were explaining addition to a first grader or the internet to an old person.
What was he talking about? Sophie couldn’t be his daughter. And why was he talking so slow? “But you said you had a baby girl.”
“I do. Sophie’s my baby girl.”
“How can that be?” She couldn’t grasp this new mental picture of Zack as Sophie’s father.
He pushed her tennis shoes off, and they dropped to the bottom of the shower. He was preoccupied as he spoke, still intent on getting her warm, and seemed to misunderstand the meaning of her question. “I don’t know either. It went by so fast. One minute she was a baby, and the next she’s telling me she wants a cell phone and needs a bra.”
Charlie stared at him in confusion. The hot water and the heat of Zack’s body as he held her against him helped to warm her, and her teeth had thankfully stopped chattering. “No, I mean, this whole time I thought you and your wife had an actual baby.”
“We did. Thirteen years ago.” He lowered his arm and eased her to her feet. He pulled the sodden T-shirt over his head and tossed it to the floor. He eased her arms from the button-up shirt she wore and let it fall as he rubbed her arms vigorously.
She clung to his arms, still unsteady on her legs. The sight of him wet and bare-chested caused a physical ache of need in her chest. It took all of her remaining strength to ask the next question and still it came out as barely a whisper. “And where is your wife now?”
“My wife? Who knows? Probably in California somewhere.” A dawning realization passed over his face. “Is that what all this is about? My wife? You think I’m still married?”
Her breath caught in her throat. Her heart gave a tiny flutter, and she dared not to hope for his next words. Unable to speak, she could only nod her head.
“This is all starting to make sense now.” He took her chin and tipped it so he looked directly into her eyes. “Charlie, my wife left me before Sophie could even walk. I guess she was a small-town girl with big-city dreams, and when she found out I wanted to stay in Montana, she left without even saying good-bye. I came home one day to find a half-empty closet and a crappy note telling me the baby was up at Gigi’s. She took my heart and our entire savings account and left me to raise our baby girl alone.”
The feelings inside of her battled with pain for this heart-broken man and soared with relief that he hadn’t been cheating on a wife. She reached up to touch his face, her hand still trembling. “So, you’re not married?”
“Of course not. Shari must have found someone else, because I got a packet of divorce papers in the mail when Sophie was three.” He cupped her cheek. “I haven’t been married for ten years now. Charlie, I wouldn’t have kissed you if I were still married. And I’m a little insulted that you would think I was that kind of man.”
She closed her eyes. “That’s the only kind of man I know.”
He reached down and pulled her closer to him. “Well, not anymore.”
They stood for a few moments, holding onto each other. Zack pulled back and looked down at her.
Taking a bottle from the shower shelf, he flipped the lid and poured a circle of shampoo into his hand. He rubbed it between his palms then gently massaged the creamy soap into her hair. He turned her away from him and, starting at the top of her head, worked the shampoo through her hair. The woodsy scent of a man’s shampoo filled the steamy shower.
Stepping to the side, he let the shower pulse water on her head, washing the last of the dirt, blood and soap from her hair.
She watched the sudsy water swirl down the drain, their wet clothing piled at their feet, and tried to absorb all that he had told her. He was Sophie’s dad. He lived on the property next to hers, and he was NOT married.
Zack wasn’t cheating on his wife, and he hadn’t turned her into the other woman. He wasn’t married. She would have wept with relief, but the way he massaged the shampoo from her hair was awakening her other senses.
He turned her back to face him and reached for the hem of her camisole. She felt powerless, locked in his gaze, as he pulled the wet shirt over her head. Taking a bar of soap in his hands, he rubbed it into a foamy lather. He knelt in front of her and spread soap up and down each of her legs, lightly scrubbing the embedded dirt from the scrapes on her knees.
As he rose, he rubbed the bar of soap along each of her arms and across her bare stomach. Fire ignited in her belly under the firm strokes of his hand. Her nipples pebbled and strained against the thin fabric of her bra, the wet, lacy material virtually transparent.
Zack put the soap back in the dish and ran his hands from her belly button around to her back, the remaining soap making his hands slick against her skin. He dipped his head to lay the slightest of kisses along the top edge of each of her breasts.
He trailed his lips up the line of her neck, and she tipped her head back. A sigh of bliss escaped her as every synapse of feminine pleasure fired to life. Gripping his lean waist, she pressed her hips against his.
She could feel his desire come alive against her. His lips trailed a line of heat along her neck. His breath, ragged against her ear, only fueled her longing for him.
He slid his hands up her waist, stopping to cup her breasts and run his thumbs along her hardened nipples.
Passion flared through her, and the muscles tightened inside of her. He slid his hands up her throat then held her face between his palms as his lips found hers. He kissed her as if his very life depended on it.
She closed her eyes and gave herself over to every sensation. The warm water running down her skin. The rough callus of Zack’s palm against her cheek. The hunger she felt in his every kiss.
Then his hands were moving down her back, releasing the clasp of her bra and pulling the wet fabric from her skin. The cool air caused her nipples to pucker tighter, and she felt the sensation run through to her very core. The pale white of her breasts shone in the dim light of the shower.
She pressed her breasts against the hard muscles of his chest, the remaining soapy film making her bare skin slick against his.
“You are so beautiful.” He said the words in reverent awe as he looked at her body, now clad only in a pair of shorts.
He turned her away from him, and she pressed her hands against the cool glass of the shower wall. He skimmed his hands along the waistband of her shorts, popping the button, then releasing the zipper. He knelt behind her and slid the shorts down her legs.
She stood, frozen in place, her breath coming in shallow pants, as he trailed his lips along the lacy band of her thong panties. Sliding his hands up her legs, he stood, and she felt him push his pajamas down and step free of the soaked pants.
Then his chest was against her back, the contact of his naked skin ramping up her yearning. He pressed his body tightly against hers, trapping her between the shower wall and the muscled wall of his chest.
Her hands were still open against the glass, but his hands…oh my. His hands were everywhere. Sparking fires of need every place they touched. His right hand moved from her waist, across her belly, cupping her breast, around her neck, gripping fistfuls of her hair, then moving along the line of her arm to clasp her hand and entwine his fingers through hers.
He kissed her back, her shoulders, her neck, and the soft, delicious spot under her ear. His low moan reverberated in her ear, and she pushed back against him, drawing a deeper moan of need.
His other hand found the center of her passion, and his touch enflamed the fire of her hunger. Each stroke drove her further to the limit, until she was flying over the edge, free-falling as she cried out. He pulled her tighter against him, absorbing the shocks of pleasure pulsing through her. His hand tightened on hers, their fingers still entwined
in a lover’s embrace.
She collapsed against him, her legs weak and her body spent. The temperature of the water dipped as the hot water heater ran low, but the cooler water felt good as it coursed down her flushed skin.
“Let’s get you dried off.” Zack lifted her again then stepped from the shower. Wrapping her in the thick, cream-colored towel, he set her down on a padded stool that was pushed against the bathroom’s vanity counter.
Charlie rubbed her hair dry with the edges of the towel as he left the bathroom. He returned moments later carrying a faded blue T-shirt and a tube of antibiotic ointment. He walked with purpose, oblivious of his nakedness. Pulling the T-shirt over her head, he pushed her hair back to apply the ointment to her scraped forehead.
She was anything but oblivious, boldly staring at his hard, toned body. She pushed her arms into the sleeves of the shirt. “You seem to always be dressing me in one of your shirts.”
“I much prefer undressing you, but I don’t want you to start shivering again.”
“I much prefer the undressing part, too.” She finger-combed her hair and smiled coyly. “That was the best shower I’ve had in years.”
His face broke into a naughty grin. “Well, I am a doctor. I’m pretty skilled with my hands.”
“Yes, you certainly are.” She flushed at her bold comment, gaining a chuckle from him.
“Come on, let’s get you over to the bed.”
Her legs were shaky, but she stood and walked into the bedroom. Heavy rain still beat against the darkened windows. The room was lit by a warm glow radiating from a lamp on the nightstand, its base an unusual mix of conjoined deer antlers.
He pulled the dark green bedspread down, and she sank onto soft flannel sheets imprinted with pine trees.
She looked around, noting the log cabin decor extended into this room. An armoire stood in one corner, and a flat screen television took up most of the wall opposite the bed. The nightstand held a toppling mountain of paperbacks and thick medical journals. She would explore those later. She could always tell a lot about a person by seeing what they read before they fell asleep at night.