by Amy Frazier
Rachel gave her a knowing look. “I understand what it’s like when visiting kin overstay their welcome. You don’t need the excuse of placing an order. Just come in anytime, and I’ll let you eat in the storeroom.”
“You don’t ever offer us the storeroom,” Douglas said as he, Owen and Francis plopped themselves down on the stools next to Samantha.
“That’s because you want to be right up front,” Rachel quipped, automatically pouring three sweet teas. “Where you can see and be seen.”
“Speaking of which…” Douglas turned to Samantha. “You seen your pa today?”
“Not yet.”
The men looked at each other and grinned.
“What do you know?” Samantha asked, a hard lump joining the cobbler in her stomach.
“If we did know anything,” Francis replied, “and I’m not saying we do—we wouldn’t say anything because we’re not gossips.”
Rachel snorted indelicately.
“We’re not!” Owen declared, an injured look on his face. “We’re retired gentlemen. And we don’t kiss and tell.”
“Nosiree,” Douglas added. “We live and let live. Your business is no business of ours.”
“Then why did you bring up the subject of my father?” Samantha asked.
“We didn’t,” Francis sniffed prissily and turned his attention to his iced tea. “We were just asking after him. Neighborly like.”
Right.
Samantha didn’t need any more surprises. She needed to get home to grill her mother. Wolfing down the rest of her cobbler—oh, wouldn’t Helena swoon over that lapse in etiquette?—she paid Rachel, then headed out to the sidewalk and her bike. When she couldn’t resist glancing next door at the sheriff’s offices, she was startled to see Garrett coming toward her. He was dressed, as usual, in his pressed and starched uniform, but all she could see was the man who had emerged bare-chested from the lake on Russert’s Mountain. The summer heat must be getting to her.
She half expected him to tip his Stetson and walk on by. He didn’t.
Instead, he stopped in front of her. “Can I have a word with you?”
She was a little disconcerted that she couldn’t see his eyes behind his sunglasses. “S-sure.”
Without explanation, he escorted her down the sidewalk and across Main Street bustling with Saturday traffic to a gazebo on a little patch of green that served as the town war memorial. Although anyone passing by could see them, their conversation wouldn’t be overheard. She wondered why the expression hiding in plain sight sprang to mind.
“Okay,” she said, once they were alone. “What’s on your mind?”
“I’m sorry I flew off the handle the other night.”
“Are you going to let me pay for the phone then?”
“No. I don’t believe throwing money at a problem solves anything, but, even so, I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did.”
“As if I were your ex, perhaps? And an automatic adversary?”
“No, I’ve never confused you with Noelle,” he replied. “But maybe her tabloid fascination with the rich and famous prejudiced me toward your situation.”
“My situation?”
“Your parents. Their obvious wealth. You.”
“That’s an interesting prejudice.” This was turning into the strangest apology. “Quite frankly, I don’t understand you.”
“Which was my argument exactly.”
She reached up and took off his sunglasses to better read his mood. “What is your real complaint here?”
“We’re totally different,” he replied, standing stiffly before her, hands on his hips, staring at her with those unsettling blue eyes. “We don’t look at life the same way. We don’t approach problem solving the same way. In fact, I’d say we come from two separate universes.”
“Oh, so we’re different?” She frowned at the painful truth. “As in…I’m a recovering alcoholic and you’re sober as a judge? As in you have a child and I’m childless? As in you have roots and know who you are, but I’m just beginning to discover my identity? Yes, we’re different. I think you were going for the idea that one of us is privileged and one isn’t. But who is which?”
He had the good sense to look uncomfortable.
“I’m feeling this vague dislike coming from you,” she continued, warming to her subject. “As if you find the person you think I might be irresponsible, immature, unattractive, distasteful. I don’t really know. At least Tanner Harris dislikes me honestly. Because, the way he sees it, I did something detrimental—something specific—to him and his family.”
Garrett startled her by laughing.
“What’s so funny?”
“I’m sorry,” he said with a grin. “But I’m offended you compared me to Tanner Harris…and Tanner came out on top.”
“If the shoe fits—”
“But the biggest joke is that you’d think I dislike you.”
“You don’t?”
“How could I dislike a woman who had the guts to stand before me in nothing but a robe and damp hair and give me a tongue-lashing?”
She smiled. Perhaps the heady scent of the old-fashioned pink roses climbing the gazebo made her soften. “So you don’t consider me a threat to public safety?”
“Never really did.”
“How about a dangerously spoiled heiress?”
“Not anymore.”
“What made you change your mind?”
He took both her hands in his, then turned them palms up. “For starters, heiresses don’t have calluses.”
She tossed her head. “And here I thought you were attracted to my wild and wanton, wet tresses.”
He didn’t smile at her attempt at humor. In fact, his expression was dead serious. And filled with a blatant hunger.
A little startled at her own audacity, she withdrew her hands from his as he suddenly looked over her shoulder. She turned to see her parents’ limo coming to a stop alongside the little park.
Her father got out of the back before Ruggiero opened the driver’s door. “I’m glad I found the two of you together,” Cameron said, climbing the gazebo steps, a sheaf of papers in his hand.
Samantha recognized the take-charge glint in his eye. “What have you been up to, Dad?”
“I took care of your problem.” He thrust the documents toward her, but shot Garrett a pointed look. “When it seemed neither you nor the sheriff were going to do anything about it.”
With increasing alarm, she stared at the papers in her hand. A bill of sale signed and notarized. Giving her sole ownership of Tanner Harris’s property. “Oh, no, what have you done?”
“I made him an offer he couldn’t refuse.” Her father appeared more puffed up and pleased with himself than usual. “Harris and his family will be out by the end of next week. I don’t care what you do with the place. When Dr. Kumar gives you the okay to leave Applegate, donate the combined properties to the town for a park. That would make a helluva tax write-off.”
The expression on Garrett’s face was unreadable. But she’d bet the twitch of his jaw muscle didn’t signify approval.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
GARRETT’S FIRST IMPULSE WAS TO smash his fist into the middle of Cameron Lawrence’s self-satisfied face.
His next thought was the memory of Samantha, all dressed up and looking vulnerable with a bottle of forbidden wine in her hand simply because her overbearing parents had rolled into town for a visit. He needed to protect her. To get her away from the damage they’d now caused. Physical violence wasn’t going to help her.
“Well, sweetheart,” Lawrence said, engulfing his daughter in a bear hug she clearly didn’t appreciate, “our work here is done. The luggage is in the limo, and I’m on my way to the farm to pick up your mother. Nothing left to do but say goodbye. You want a ride?”
As if stunned, Samantha shook her head.
“Don’t be long then,” he said, casting a smug proprietary glance in Garrett’s direction before heading down the steps and in
to the big black car.
Samantha fairly shook with unexpressed rage. Her eyes flashing a certain desperation, she threw her hands and the papers into the air. “How old do I look?” she shouted to no one in particular. “Do I have helpless minor stamped on my forehead?” Her cheeks aflame, she began to pace the gazebo. “What am I going to do with these people?”
“You’re not going to let them get to you. They’re leaving.”
“And leaving me with a mess. Can you tell me Tanner’s not going to spread the word of his windfall? Can you tell me people aren’t already regarding me differently because of my parents’ actions?”
He couldn’t tell her otherwise.
But he could offer her a breather. “Ride your bike back to the farm,” he said. “I’d take you, but the exercise will let off some steam. Say goodbye to your parents. Then cancel any trek you might have scheduled for tomorrow.”
She scowled. “Are you trying to boss me around, too?”
“No. I promise. I’ll explain later.”
“This better be good. I’m so angry I could scream. In fact, I think will. All the way up to Whistling Meadows. People might as well start talking now as later.”
“Don’t worry about other people.”
“How much later should I expect your explanation?” she asked, narrowing her eyes at him as if trying to determine if he might be a spy for the enemy.
“Give me a call when your parents are gone.”
“Do I dial 9-1-1?” she asked, rolling her eyes.
He unclipped her BlackBerry from her belt and entered his personal cell number.
The stiff outraged set to her shoulders hadn’t eased one bit as she grabbed the phone, turned on her heel and sprinted toward Rachel’s Diner and her bike, leaving the legal papers strewn over the gazebo floor.
SHE WAS SO EXHAUSTED WITH unresolved fury that Samantha almost hadn’t called Garrett after her parents left. What could he possibly do to help? But she’d called her sponsor because she’d really, really wanted a drink. She’d suggested Samantha first listen to what Garrett had to say, then, if the urge to drink was still strong, she’d swing by. There was plenty of time to catch the evening AA meeting in Brevard. So Samantha had phoned the sheriff. To give him a shot at providing a magic solution. He’d told her to be ready with an overnight knapsack and sleeping bag.
When Garrett pulled into her yard, she was perched on the top step of the porch, watching the hummingbirds hover over the newly trellised trumpet vine, reminding herself to breathe, to stay in the moment. At the sound of the cruiser’s approach, she looked up and saw that it was towing a trailer loaded with an ATV. Garrett came to a stop at the end of the stone walkway and got out of the car with a poster-sized roll of paper in hand. He was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt.
Not exactly brimming with enthusiasm, she dragged her gear down the steps toward him. “So why did I cancel on tomorrow’s customers?”
He unrolled the sheet of paper and spread it out on the hood of his car. “I reckoned you probably couldn’t put your finger on your own copy—what with your mother’s redo and all—so I borrowed this from the land management office. Because I thought you might like a reminder of who the real Samantha Weston is.”
She looked down on a map—not an ordinary map but a surveyor’s map of the property, including Whistling Meadows and Russert’s Mountain. Her land.
“I know you’ve groomed the west-side trails to Lookout Rock and the lake,” he continued, “but I didn’t know if you’d explored some of the old logging roads running along the eastern boundary. Or if you’d had a chance to hike to the cabin Rory and Red took shelter in.”
“No, I haven’t.”
“Then that’s what we’re going to do.”
This was not what she’d expected. She’d anticipated some not-so-patient hand-holding, maybe, while he allowed her to vent. Or an AA–type intervention to keep her from turning to drink. Or maybe a trip to Asheville and the movies as a distraction. But this…this offer cut to the heart of the discoveries she’d begun to make about herself. And where she belonged. He was absolutely the sweetest man.
“So what do you say?”
“I’ll have to get at least one llama ready,” she replied, eager to get started.
“This trip we’re going my style.” He indicated the ATV on the trailer. “I’m feeling a need to correct a bad rap. Not all ATV riders are ecological knuckle-draggers.”
“Then I’ll have to see if Red can keep an eye on the boys.”
“Already taken care of.”
“What about Rory?”
“Geneva’s staying with him.” He grinned. “Hey, your father’s not the only one who can make things happen.”
She couldn’t help herself. She jumped him.
Threw her arms around his neck, her legs around his waist and kissed him full on the mouth. And he responded not like a sheriff, but like a man on twenty-four-hour leave. Boy, he could kiss!
When they drew apart they were both breathing heavily. “This kind of behavior,” he said, cocking one eyebrow, “is not going to get us very far up the trail.”
“Let’s go,” she replied. “I want to leave civilization behind.”
He quickly removed the ATV from its trailer. A narrow shelf on the back contained a cooler and his personal gear. He secured her stuff, then straddled the seat. “Hop on.” He nodded over his shoulder.
She slid behind him and soon discovered it was far more agreeable to nestle up close to him than to sit back against the cooler.
As the late afternoon sun began to sink into the west, they took off east toward the Stones’ farm until they came to a dirt track that ran between the two properties. “This is the old logging road,” he said, letting the ATV engine idle. “It’ll take us almost the whole way to the cabin.”
“When was the property logged?”
“I’d say in Red’s father’s day.”
“It makes me sad. To think of all those indigenous hardwoods harvested. Some, like the American chestnut, almost to extinction.”
“Hey, I bet a few of those very hardwoods ended up in five-star hotels. Supply and demand, your father would say.”
She should have been ticked at his comment, but he spoke the truth. And she’d been part of that truth, seeking out the best, the most exotic or simply the loveliest to complete the Singapore Ashley. She hadn’t worried where her materials came from as long as the source didn’t dry up.
He drove carefully, stopping often to point things out on the way. A family of deer grazing in a clearing. A particularly spectacular mass of mountain laurels. A pileated woodpecker, looking for all the world like a pterodactyl. She couldn’t get over the fact that he was doing this for her.
Garrett thought he could easily get used to the sensation of Samantha up against him. This was the woman he was drawn to. Not the socialite or the high-powered businesswoman, who could probably buy and sell all of Applegate, but the wide-eyed llama farmer drawn to nature’s every living thing. He might have been crazy to suggest this overnight trip, but he was tired of holding in and holding back. He couldn’t tell what the morning might bring, but for now he was going to enjoy her warmth and her closeness.
Even though night was hours away, the sun had disappeared behind the treetops when they came to the end of the logging road and reached an ugly slash of land up against a ridge that had been stripped of its lumber years ago. Runoff and erosion had left little soil, and what was left supported a low growing scrub.
Garrett turned off the ATV’s engine and pointed to a gap through the ridge. “We hike through there to the cabin. It’s not far.”
He felt her shiver. “I hope it’s prettier than this.”
“It is. Because they couldn’t get the big equipment through the gap, the forest hasn’t been touched on the other side.”
He shouldered his gear, then helped her with hers. Together they carried the cooler between them. It wasn’t particularly heavy, but Garrett felt the weight
of years of managing alone, of being in control, slip away with the simple shared task. How much of his isolation, he had to wonder, had been of his own doing?
When they reached the rustic one-room cabin, snug in the hollow amid old-growth trees like something out of “Hansel and Gretel,” he was pleased to see that Rory and Red had done a little cleaning while they’d been stranded. It wasn’t an Ashley International hotel, but the floor had been swept and the stone fireplace had freshly chopped wood stacked next to it. There was no furniture—the place had been built merely as a place for hunters to get out of the elements—but for an overnight stay he and Samantha wouldn’t need anything more than they’d carried in.
“So what do you think of your cabin?” he asked, lowering his side of the cooler and slipping off his gear.
Her eyes wide and her smile luminous, she stood in the middle of the room, turning slowly and looking up at the open beamwork. “It’s absolutely wonderful. If I’d known this was here, I would have headed for the hills the minute I saw the limo coming up the county highway.”
“Well, now you know. Of course, if you were to use this as a trek destination, you might have to reroute it to avoid that unsightly mess of scrub back there.”
“I’m not going to use this for the treks.” She ran her hand over the large, rough stones of the fireplace. “This is going to be my secret place.”
“So you’re saying you’re gonna have to kill me.”
She laughed, and the sound brightened the room. “Oh, no. For what I have in mind, I need you alive.”
He liked the way this place made her bold. “What do you have in mind?” He placed his hand over hers on the stonework and leaned in.
Her mouth was barely an inch from his. “It’s going to be cold tonight,” she breathed, making him hot. “Surely this isn’t enough wood to keep us warm. I’m going to need you to…chop more.” Like a forest sprite, she ducked under his arm and ran out the door to dance around the cabin, singing, “Mine, mine, all of it mine!”