"Walsh Industries signed off this morning. I've got the copies right here. Your deal is in the bag. Father is on cloud nine. We'll break ground next quarter."
All Zeke felt was tired, but this was good news. He wouldn't have to work with Sophie on the project anymore, wouldn't have to see her again, if he played his cards right. She wouldn't be able to hurt him anymore. He slapped his hand flat on the desk and stood abruptly.
"In that case, I'm out."
"Out? You just said you were back for two weeks." Gabe twisted in his chair to watch Zeke grab his jacket and sling it over his shoulder.
"Gone fishing, consider it a vacation," was all he said as he walked through the door and into the hallway. He was on the stairs and headed to the front door before Gabe could stand up.
"Hell of a reaction," Gabe said to himself. He shook his head and wondered what had happened to set Zeke off. Hopefully, he'd be back soon. They had lots of work to do on the Walsh deal before they met with the architects.
Zeke went straight home, changed into old, comfortable clothes and shoes. He couldn't find his hat, which aggravated him to no end. He settled for a baseball cap instead. He'd hitched his boat to the back of his truck and was on his way to the cabin, his personal refuge, within the hour. He turned his phone off, having no desire to talk to a soul. He considered throwing it out the window, but the danged thing was too expensive. He rolled down the windows and let the hot air blow his mind clear. He tuned in to a country station and sang along with the somebody done somebody wrong songs. As town ended and the woods surrounded him, his mood settled from a desperate race to get out of all the complications he'd made for himself into a need to turn his mind off completely.
The air on the lake smelled clean, and the wind in the trees made music to his bruised soul. The best part of going to the cabin was that he'd never taken Sophie there. He wished he'd never mentioned it to her, but that was in the past, and he couldn't fix it. He had no memories of her to erase here. He got the boat in the water by noon and had a cooler full of bass by three. He cleaned and filleted them by rote. Dinner that night was a simple affair consisting of pan-fried fish in the century-old cast-iron skillet and beer. His belly full, he lay under the stars in a hammock until the moon set, and the humidity and mosquitoes drove him inside.
Three days later, his beard was coming in shaggily. He'd needed a haircut before he left town, and his hair was hitting his collar now and falling into his eyes anytime he wasn't wearing the baseball cap. He sorely missed his cowboy hat. Closing his eyes, he tried to block out the image of Sophie wearing it and nothing else. He must have left it when he'd stormed out of her house. The danged woman. She wasn't worth losing his hat.
He'd worn the same clothes since he left town, diving into the lake occasionally to clean the sweat off and cool his body. The refrigerator was getting low on beer, but he'd think about that later. He needed to brush his teeth, but had no desire to get off the couch to do it. He reached for another long-neck and twisted off the cap. The cold brew went down smooth. When he finished that one, he started on another. Bottles littered the floor around the couch. He'd tripped on one earlier and it made him so mad; he'd kicked it across the room. It lay shattered in pieces in the hallway. He'd need to wear his shoes to bed. He wasn't in the mood to clean up the crap.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The air-conditioned office was cold, yet sweat pooled under Sophie's armpits. It would ruin her silk blouse. The light summer jacket hid her body's nervous reaction. She'd been in meetings with Tucker Hart before, but never when he was in such a state. The sound of his voice was like the roar of a lion. It reminded her of the Serengeti series she'd been watching on public television. His son's departure earlier in the week had set him, and consequently the entire office staff, on its ear. No one knew where to find valuable information on the new version of the website Zeke designed. He’d implemented it the day before he left. It looked great, but where were their favorites and bookmarked pages? The interns couldn't locate forms they were asked to retrieve. Tucker Hart was not happy.
Sophie hadn't known Tucker expected her to be up on the website changes, have answers to Gabe's legal questions about the Walsh deal, and babysit his oldest son. She had an idea where Zeke might be, but she was the last person he'd want to see. She shrugged her shoulders when the question of his whereabouts came up.
"His car was at your place all night, and then he disappears? Don't act innocent," Gabe said. He'd cornered her as soon as they ended the grueling meeting.
"That's none of your business." Her hackles were up, and she wasn't backing down. She'd always kept her private life to herself, why should it be any different now? Dating the son of the big boss was a mistake she wouldn't make again.
"He never leaves without telling Nat or me where he's going. Something's up." Gabe raised an eyebrow, so like Zeke's, it gave Sophie pause, but only for a moment.
She tried to shove past him. He grabbed her elbow and pulled her in.
"We need to talk," he said with a grimace she couldn't ignore. He walked her to his office and shut the door behind them. He pointed to a chair and told her to sit.
"I don't see…"
"You will." He paced with his fist on his chin, thinking. He turned to face her.
"You need to hear this if you're seeing my brother. I've heard you accuse him, me and Nat of several things, most of which are true. We were hellions, I admit it. But Zeke, he has a soft heart under that gruff exterior."
She put her hands on the arms of the chair as if to stand. Gabe held his hands out in a gesture that put her butt back in the seat. She thought it must be awful to face him in court when he was wound up. She waited.
"Not long ago, you accused him of getting off easy after breaking the Lawson's window. Well, I'm here to tell you, you don't have the slightest idea of what happened."
She opened her mouth, but Gabe stopped her again with only a look.
"We all knew about old man Lawson. Johnny's mother would show up at the grocery store, occasionally sporting a black eye. She wore those huge Jackie O sunglasses all the time. Remember?"
Sophie nodded. She'd always thought the woman was vain. Now she was getting a different picture.
"We were all playing ball. Johnny hit a pop up that went foul. The next ball was right over the plate. Johnny swung with all his twelve-year-old might and put that ball through the front window of his own house. Zeke knew the old man would take it out on Johnny or Mrs. Lawson, so he pretended he hit the ball. That way, our father would pay for the new window and Old Man Lawson would have the rich son of a so and so to blame instead of his own kid. We never told a soul. Zeke was grounded for two weeks after that, but he counted it worthwhile. He was a good kid, and he's a good man now. Our father rides him hard, and Zeke takes it in his stride. You might want to reconsider whatever it is that's happened between you two. Give the guy a break." He stopped pacing and took his seat.
"I had no idea. I've called him out on that at least a dozen times. Why wouldn't he say something?" Her heart pounded. How could she have read him so wrong?
"He wouldn't. Not even if you asked him. That's just how he is. And there's something else you should know," Gabe said. "That black eye Johnny sported when he was thirteen? No Hart did that. That was his old man. If I knew then what I know now, I would've reported the man to child protective services. We were ignorant back then, so we helped Johnny cover up his dysfunctional family drama.
"I have to go." She stood abruptly and sprinted to her office. She shut the door and slumped into her chair, swiveling so that her back would be facing anyone looking inside. Today should be a great day. All her hard work had paid off when the Walsh deal went through. The story was in the newspapers; the town council was ecstatic. Tucker should be elated.
She worried that the short affair she'd had with Zeke would ruin her chances of promotion should Tucker find out she was the reason his son skipped town at a critical time, and it was all her fault.
And that was to say nothing of the heap of trouble she'd find herself in when her family found out, because if what Gabe said was right, and she believed it was, she was going after Zeke. She was sure that the family would find out. If Gabe had seen Zeke's truck parked in her driveway all night, others would also have. Rumors were probably circulating as she sat ruminating in her windowless office. She wasn't going to be good for anything all day.
"He's got to be at that cabin on the lake," she said out loud as she turned her chair back around. She pulled up a google map to see if she could figure out how to get there from the stories he'd told her.
"I'll drag your butt back here, Zeke Hart. I'm not facing this alone. You may have a big soft spot, but you've let me down this time, damn it." She hit the keyboard so hard; she broke one of her nails.
"You're going to buy me another manicure, too, you son of a gun."
Great, she thought. He's got me talking to myself like a crazy person. When did I let him get to me like this? I know better.
She fell back in her chair and searched the ceiling for answers. Zeke's breathtaking kisses were all that filled her head. Why did I ever let him get close?
She leaned forward and pressed the intercom button on her phone.
"Janice, I'll be out this afternoon. Take messages for me, will you?"
"Sure thing, boss," Janice chirped. Sophie thought the woman had no right to sound so happy when she was feeling dejected and lost.
"Thanks. If Walsh calls, put him through to Gabe."
"Got it. Anything else?"
"That ought to do it."
"Want to tell me where you're going?"
"Nope." Sophie lifted her finger, ending the call. It was nobody's business where she was going. They had her cell phone if an emergency arose. She slipped her feet into the shoes she'd kicked off when she sat down. She'd need to change clothes before she drove out to the cabin. Not finding it was not an option. She'd drive until she located his hideout, and drag him back by his chin hair if he wouldn't cooperate. If he resisted, she'd stay until she convinced him to see things her way. She'd take time to pack a bag, even though she wanted to get in the car and go immediately. He would not deprive her of her just rewards. How dare he slink off like a kicked puppy just because she'd taken too long to answer his questions, and when she did, everything came out wrong. She'd have to convince him that she was not ashamed of him; she was simply terrified of her family's reaction. If he hadn't acted like an imbecile and stormed out, she wouldn't have to hunt the woods for him. She hoped this wouldn't take too long.
##
Zeke was too drunk to fish. He’d about convinced himself that he had the beginnings of an ulcer, because his stomach had never felt as bad as it did after days of drinking nothing but beer and eating nothing but fried fish. The beer was gone, so he’d need to drive into town to get more soon. Even as drunk as he was, he knew he couldn’t drive the car or the boat, so he decided to try riding the old rickety bicycle he’d found on the side of the road the summer before. He stumbled onto the porch and pulled the door of the storage closet open. The bike hung from a bracket overhead. He pulled a ladder out and climbed unsteadily with his hands reaching for the bike. His hand landed on a wheel, spinning it, and throwing him off balance. He felt pain as his hip hit the floor, then his head. After that, the world went black.
##
The summer rains had finally ended, leaving the ground soaked and the air full of humidity. No clouds floated above, and the sun in her eyes was brutal in spite of sunglasses. Sophie drove for over an hour in the direction of the lake before she found what she thought was the correct turn-off. It was a dirt road. The sides were overgrown with thick vegetation that scraped the side of her Mini-Cooper. She mumbled to herself that Zeke would pay for a new paint job in addition to her growing list of other items for which he'd need to reimburse her. The woods closed around her, blocking the bright sunshine.
She tossed her sunglasses onto the passenger seat and groaned when they kept going and slid between the seat and the car door. She'd lost more than one pair that way, so she stopped the car to retrieve them. The screech of an owl made her jump, and one of her shoes fell off. She stepped in a puddle of mud with her bare foot and let out a string of curse words. She used a bit of dried grass to wipe her foot and limped around to get back in the car. She was fuming by the time she turned the engine over and headed farther down the road.
"This better be where you are," she said. "If you're not dead, I may have to kill you." She blew air through her nose noisily, then used her left hand to pinch the bridge, hoping to avoid a headache. Sunlight dappled through the leaves. The alternating light and shadow played havoc on her vision. She could hear mud flying off her tires and spraying the rear end of the car.
"OK. Car wash, too." She wished she had a pad of paper to write all this down.
And then she saw it. It was as Zeke had described it. One story, green roof, surrounded by loblolly pine trees, some limbs shaded the roof. A stone pathway wound between wilted flowers in a neglected garden bed. The cabin was built out of big logs with lots of white filler between each. There was a porch out front with cedar railings and steps in need of repair leading to a centered front door painted hunter green. Had there been any doubt, he had parked his truck and boat beside the cabin. The windows were open, and faded curtains fluttered in the light breeze. Country music poured out into the yard. She thought she recognized Johnny Cash's voice. She pulled the emergency brake and stepped out, squinting in the sunshine. She fisted her hands and rested them on her hips, turned in a circle, then headed up the path toward the door.
"Zeke?" she called loud enough to be heard over the radio.
Nothing. She walked onto the porch and saw an old baseball cap and dock shoes, so Zeke would probably be close. She tried the front door and found it unlocked. Stepping inside, she regretted inhaling. Stale beer and grease hit her nostrils. The room was in shambles. Beer bottles seemed to be the theme of the décor. Dirty dishes filled the sink, broken glass littered the hallway, and she found a crumpled and unmade bed in the back room. She didn't dare look into the bathroom for fear of what she'd find.
Where are you?
His duffle bag was at the foot of his bed. It looked as if he'd never unzipped it. She sat on the unmade bed and tried to think of where he might be.
Hiking? No. His boots were on the floor. Surely, he wouldn't be at the lake without the fishing equipment that he'd left stacked in the corner.
She marched into the living area and found the offending radio. When the sound was off, she called out loudly, "Zeke?"
Again, no answer.
She walked out the back door and almost tripped on Zeke's body. He lay sprawled, halfway in a storage closet and halfway on the back porch. He was out. She gasped and bent to check his pulse. His heart beat steadily, so she rolled him slightly. His eyes remained closed, but when he moaned, his beer breath almost knocked her to her knees.
"Zeke, wake up," she patted his face, but he didn't move.
"Damn it, Zeke." She got up and surveyed the scene, saw the ladder, and the bike hanging on the wall above it.
"Idiot," she said. She checked for blood but found none. She slapped his face a little harder than before. One of his eyes opened slightly.
"Zat you, Soph?" he slurred.
"Can you sit up?" She moved back as he tried to lift himself to his elbows.
"Head hurts."
"That would be the beer," she said. Zeke opened his eyes and tried to focus. She held her hands out, and he reached for her.
"How'd you find me?" he asked as she pulled him to a standing position. He swayed, but held onto the porch rail for support.
"Let's get inside." She draped one of his arms over her shoulder and steered him inside. They limped into the nearest room, his bedroom. She let go, and he fell onto the bed holding his hands over his head.
"Fell off ladder. Need a beer."
"No. You've had enough beer for a lifetim
e from what I can see." She removed his flip-flops and lifted his legs onto the bed. She pulled the covers up to his chin and left him to sleep it off. While he sobered up, she drove into the nearest town and bought eggs, bacon, bread, and coffee.
He woke when the smell of coffee wafted into the room. His head felt like it had been bashed in with a sledgehammer, and his eyes were swollen almost shut. He rubbed his chin and noticed the scraggly beard he'd been ignoring. His mind felt soggy and slow. Who was making coffee? And then he remembered. Sophie. Sophie had been here. She must have put him in the bed. The last he could remember before that, he'd been going to get the bike down to peddle in for more beer. Must've hit my head, he thought as he felt around and found a lump the size of a tennis ball. His butt felt bruised, too. His stomach lurched, and he launched himself off the bed and into the bathroom to throw up.
Sophie walked in and held a wet washcloth out.
"Damned pretty sight you are," she said.
"Why are you here?" He snarled at her invasion of his privacy. He rued the day he'd told her about this place.
"To save your sorry ass, apparently," she said. She took the washcloth back and ran water over it in the sink, rung it out, and shoved it in his face. He took it and wiped his mouth.
"I don't need you to save me."
"Looks like it to me. Come eat. I made eggs. You should be able to hold that down." She left him there on his knees.
When his head cleared, she told him about the state of the office. He scoffed in disbelief.
"Nobody needs me there," he said when she urged him to come back.
"I do."
His head shot up. Was she mocking him? No, she looked sincere.
"You least of all," he said.
"Me most of all. Look," she said. She got up and walked back and forth in front of the couch. "I screwed up, OK? You took off before we could talk this out fully."
"Damn tootin', I did." The hurt came back as he recalled the look on her face when he'd jokingly accused her of being ashamed of him and the argument that followed.
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