BIG SKY SECRETS 01: Final Exposure Page 4

  “After just a week? I can’t do that to him. He’s needed to retire for years, but refused to give up Grandma Millie’s beloved house and store. He’d move back in a flash if I called, and then he’d be chained to this place forever. He deserves his freedom. And I need to be a big girl about being back here. I probably only imagined there was an intruder, anyway.”

  Ashley grew quiet. “Are the nightmares back?”

  “No—of course not.”

  “Somehow I’m not believing you. Would it help if I came a little sooner for my visit and stayed awhile? Just until you got acclimated there? I’ve got some vacation time built up.”

  “That’s sweet of you, but I’m fine. Like I said, the past is…well, it’s in the past.”

  “And what about this bad-news renter dude?”

  Erin laughed. “You’re still working on the adolescent unit at the hospital, I take it.”

  “And I love being there…for the most part. I’m going to ask for a permanent transfer to that floor. But you didn’t answer my question.”

  “Jack and his young nephew came up from Texas for a three-month lease. His references checked out okay, but then I found some interesting headlines on the Internet about an investment firm owned by Jack and a partner.”

  “What did you find?”

  “The partner embezzled client funds. Jack says he had no idea that it was going on. Still…”

  “Birds of a feather?”

  “That was Megan’s thought, though he seems like a nice guy. He has a darling little orphaned nephew with him and seems to be a very caring guardian.”

  “Ahh. I think I hear the sounds of a little interest going on,” Ashley teased. “Maybe we’ve both found someone special.”

  “Maybe you, but definitely not me. I’m perfectly content to be free, independent and starting my new life—alone.”

  The initial morning rush—four customers who picked up caramel rolls and coffee to go, their purchases totaling less than twenty dollars—had been over a half hour before Ashley’s phone call.

  The rest of the morning brought someone wondering if the store carried the New York Times, a request for a whole-house aerosol flea bomb and a walk-in customer who dawdled over nearly every display in the store before purchasing a single package of gum.

  Disheartened, Erin stepped out the back door and walked the few steps to the gate leading into the yard surrounding the cottage. As soon as she whistled, Charlie bounded across the yard like a massive white mop and threw himself at the gate, his fluffy paws draped over the top rail and his tail wagging madly.

  “Ready to come in for a while?” she murmured, resting her cheek against his soft fur. “Best behavior only, though. Understand?”

  She lifted her gaze toward the west, where splashes of early September crimson and brilliant gold were already starting to paint the hills rising behind the store, offering the promise of an influx of fall leaf-watchers during the upcoming weekends. Please, God, let that happen.

  Peak fall color usually hit the first weekend of October, just three weeks away. Would it bring an infusion of tourist dollars or echo the lonesome Labor Day weekend, when the exodus away from the resort area brought almost no tourists into Millie’s?

  Charlie licked her cheek, interrupting her thoughts. “I wish you were more grown up and a lot bigger,” she murmured, giving his shaggy neck a hug.

  He wiggled ecstatically, his tail wagging as she snapped a lead onto his collar.

  “Can you remember to be good?” She framed his face with both hands and looked into his soulful, dark eyes. “That means no potato chips ever again. No kissing customers. Stay by my side, okay?”

  His first shift as a guard puppy hadn’t gone well, and if a dog could feel guilt, this one sure did. His brown eyebrows wiggled up and down as he tried to avoid her gaze, and his head dropped lower into her hands.

  Only the memory of the torn bags and chips scattered everywhere kept her from laughing at his forlorn expression.

  He’d apparently thought the chips weren’t only tasty, but were great for dog hockey, because she’d found them in every corner of the store after leaving him alone for the ten minutes it took to run to the post office.

  The dog book she’d been reading said an animal couldn’t associate a reprimand with a behavior unless the two were nearly simultaneous, but Charlie clearly knew what she’d been talking about.

  He trotted to the front of the store at her side, giving the potato-chip display a wide berth, his head averted and his white plume of a tail hanging low.

  She motioned to the soft dog bed she’d set up behind the cash register. “Stay.”

  With a resigned sigh, she turned to the drawers beneath the front counter and searched each of them again. Her extra set of keys for the property had been here, hidden at the back of the top drawer. Or was it the second? She couldn’t remember.

  Crouching at the bottom drawer, she methodically emptied the contents onto the floor.

  Old receipts.

  Outdated maps and brochures for area resorts.

  A lifetime supply of pens and pencils and stray Band-Aids.

  Junk mail Gramps had never bothered to open, though he’d kept it for some reason.

  She’d already searched the cottage and the small kitchen at the back of the shop, but to no avail. An uneasy sensation crawled up her spine. What if the intruder had found those keys?

  She closed her eyes, imagining the quiet snick of a lock in the dead of night. Furtive footsteps sliding across the worn plank floors of the cottage. A rough hand on her shoulder—

  “Hey.”

  The gravelly baritone came out of nowhere. She jerked around, a hand at her throat as she lost her balance and fell against the wall.

  Silhouetted by the overhead lights, a man loomed over the counter. His face was cast in shadows and framed by a wild array of long, steel-gray hair. “You open here or what?”

  Next to her, Charlie froze and gave a long, low growl.

  “O-of course.” Flattening her hands against the wall at her side, she slowly straightened without taking her eyes from the man’s face.

  “Good. I didn’t see you back there.” He tipped his head toward the door. “Ollie and me would like some of those good caramel rolls and coffee we’ve been hearing about.”

  Her gaze veered toward the entrance, where a towering, heavyset man rocked on his heels, fidgeting with the battered cowboy hat he held in front of his waist with both hands.

  For all his size, there was a simple, childlike quality in the way Ollie darted a glance at her, then dropped his head to continue staring at his hat.

  The man standing at the register looked like an aging hippie, his grizzled face ravaged by the years. With the ripped-off sleeves of his sweatshirt and the heavy tattoos covering his arms, he would’ve blended in with the homeless old men and druggies who lurked in the dark corners and alleyways of any city, guarding their ragtag possessions.

  How had she missed hearing footsteps on the wooden porch outside or the tinkle of the bell over the door? Had she been too lost in thought—or had they slipped quietly into the store, intending to score the cash in the till before seeing she was behind the counter?

  Taking a deep breath, she waved a hand toward the café area and wished some other customers would wander in. “Have a seat, and I’ll get your coffee.”

  The man made a sharp hand motion to Ollie, then the two shuffled over to one of the tables and pulled the chairs back with a screech of wood against the plank flooring.

  Ollie eagerly grasped his mug between both hands as soon as she poured coffee for him, his wide, pasty-white face a picture of bliss.

  “I tried to buy this place from your grandpa for years, but heard you took over for him,” the older man growled as he leaned back in his chair and glanced around the store. “It’s a shame he didn’t do a better job of warning you away.”

  “Warning me?”

  “This place has been struggling for a long
time, but it’s always worse trying to hang on over the winter without the tourist trade. You won’t see many locals, either. When you want to give up, you know who to call.”

  She tried not to stare. Could he be the guy who had broken in the other night, hoping to frighten her away? “Why would you even be interested, then?”

  He shrugged. “Sentiment. I grew up near this part of the lake. I’m Barry Hubble, by the way. We’re neighbors.”

  “We…we are?” Stunned, she imagined a run-down shack littered with beer bottles and a fierce, mangy dog chained to the front door. He definitely didn’t look like the sentimental type.

  “I own Mountain View Florist—a little less than a mile up the road.”

  “You’re a florist?” She tried to quell the incredulity in her voice, but knew she’d failed when she caught the knowing look in his eyes.

  “Gifts, floral arrangements, a greenhouse out back. Ornamental bushes, trees…you name it.”

  “Orchids,” Ollie breathed.

  Barry tipped his head in acknowledgment. “Those are his favorites. You help me out sometimes, don’t you, Ollie?”

  The other man nodded earnestly.

  The incongruity of Barry’s appearance, manner and his supposed profession made alarm bells go off in her head.

  Florist or not, there was something about him that she couldn’t quite trust, and his friend appeared devoted enough to do anything he was asked without question.

  Charlie apparently felt the same way. He furtively moved from behind the cash register, head low and one slow step at a time, his stalk mode revealing some vestige of his border-collar genes.

  “Easy, boy.” Erin went to him and rested a hand on his head, feeling his low growl vibrate through her fingertips.

  His attention didn’t waver from corner of the café where Ollie and Barry were seated.

  Frowning, Barry swiveled in his chair and leaned back to peer around a greeting-card display. “Bad business, having a dog like that here. He’s gonna cause you no end of trouble, with customers and all.”

  “I like to think he’ll be good protection.”

  “Humph. What you’ll have is lawsuits when he bites some kid or scares some old lady into falling over. If I were you,” he added darkly. “I’d get rid of him soon as you can.”

  FIVE

  Erin pulled back on Charlie’s collar until she broke his rigid attention away from the two men in the café, then led him back to his bed behind the cash register and ordered him to lie down.

  Whimpering, he obeyed, but his eyes were still riveted on the front of the store—as if he was waiting for his two enemies to come into view.

  “I don’t blame you,” Erin whispered, leaning down to give him a reassuring stroke. From outside came the sound of a car pulling up to the front of the store. “But it’ll be okay.”

  Erin straightened to greet an older woman who headed toward the coolers along the back wall. After the woman bought a gallon of milk and left, Erin continued her search through the drawers for the heavy ring of keys.

  Barry and Ollie polished off several cups of coffee and a half-dozen caramel rolls—a feat she’d never thought possible.

  At the cash register Barry paid the check and studied her for a long moment from beneath his shaggy eyebrows. “It ain’t only the slow trade all winter long. OI’ Pete never had much trouble out here. Oh, maybe some shoplifters, but nothing big since ’eighty-nine. But a young gal like you, all alone…” His voice trailed off as he shook his head. “It’s just bad business all around. You’re gonna need help one of these days, and there just ain’t anyone close by.”

  “Maybe.” Behind the counter Charlie shifted and leaned against her legs, his body trembling. “But that’s why I got a dog. A fierce one, actually,” she added. “Very.”

  “Looks like a troublesome pup to me.” He pulled a business card out of his wallet and flipped it onto the counter. “My business and cell numbers are on the card, in case you ever need any real help.”

  Bold, black lettering spelled out Mountain View Florist against a background of colorful roses and greenery, with lacy white latticework around the perimeter of the card.

  The incongruity of the man in front of her and the frilly, feminine design nearly made her smile, though the thought of being alone here at night, with him at her door, made her shiver, instead.

  She handed over his change. “Wouldn’t I call the sheriff?”

  He gave a humorless laugh. “Yep—but out here, don’t count on fast attention.”

  He and Ollie were going out the door when she regained her composure. “Wait—what happened in ’eighty-nine?”

  “Some guy came up from California to hit a lot of the resort towns. He knocked your grandpa out cold and ran off with the whole cash register when he couldn’t get it open.”

  Horrified, she put a hand to her cheek. “Grandpa Pete never said a word about that!”

  “You just never know what—or who—could be lurking in the shadows. And everyone up here knows how long it takes to get help.” He bared his teeth in an eerie smile as he stepped out the door. “Even the bad guys, lady. So think about that.”

  Jack eyed the pristine white steeple of the old country church, set his jaw, then took Max’s hand and walked through the gathering of folks chatting on the lawn outside.

  Lost Falls was a small town that undoubtedly served a wide and mostly unpopulated mountainous area, but the people in front of the church all seemed to know each other very well. From the whispers and glances coming his way, he knew they were probably curious about the stranger in their midst.

  A few appeared to start in his direction, then seemed to think better of it—perhaps after catching the grim expression on his face.

  He made himself smile and nod, though right now he just couldn’t bring himself to engage in idle conversation.

  Janie and her husband had never missed Sunday church if they could help it, and Jack was certainly going to follow through on their behalf by seeing that Max still went. But even after six months, stepping into a church filled him with a renewed sense of anger. Janie had been a devout Christian, yet where was God on the night of that fatal crash? Why hadn’t he protected her?

  And if she didn’t deserve God’s sheltering wing, who did? The blind faith of Jack’s youth had been shattered the day she died, leaving an aching, empty place in his heart.

  Someone fell in step with him and he glanced over to find Erin Cole giving him an uncertain smile.

  “Everything okay?”

  “Fine.” She looked like a ray of sunshine on this cloudy September day, in her soft yellow sweater-and-skirt set and with all that blond hair cascading down her back, but he quickly reined in his flare of attraction.

  Max was his greatest focus, followed by efforts to salvage his business via the phone and Internet. He certainly wasn’t in Montana for any sort of romance—short-term or otherwise—no matter how pretty she was.

  She tilted her head to study him, her hair shimmering like a silky waterfall over her shoulders. “You look a little…stressed. Is everything all right with the house?”

  “Great.”

  “Did Charlie come?” Max twisted his hand within Jack’s as he craned his neck to look around them, then he gave Erin a hopeful look.

  She laughed, the sound soft and musical. “I’m afraid this is the last place he should be. He’s a sweetie, but he’s just a tad rambunctious for this crowd.”

  “Can we play today?”

  “Only if it’s all right with your uncle.” Erin lifted a brow. “The fenced backyard ought to be pretty safe, though I wouldn’t leave them there alone.”

  Did he look that inept as the boy’s guardian? Stung, Jack shot a glance at her. “Of course not.”

  “Well, then—” her eyes veered toward a trio of ladies by the steps, and she waved at them “—enjoy the service. I haven’t been here in decades, but if Pastor Gordon is still here, I’m sure you’ll enjoy it. He’s an amazing
preacher and—”

  “Doubt that,” Jack muttered.

  He hadn’t meant to say the words aloud, but she must’ve heard him, because she gave him an odd look. “And you still came?”

  Glancing down, he gave his nephew’s hand a gentle squeeze. “It’s the right thing to do, eh, Max?”

  Erin’s stride faltered. “Forgive me. I—I’ll talk to you later.”

  She joined the women over by the steps and fell into animated conversation with them without looking back, and Jack felt strangely bereft at her departure.

  Not on a personal level, of course. It was just that adult conversation was in short supply these days, barring the clients he talked to on the phone.

  Still, his thoughts veered back to Erin, and he found himself wondering about her previous life in Denver.

  How had she managed to stay unmarried all these years? Were the men in Colorado so blind that they hadn’t seen her?

  Watching her visiting with her friends, her face open and sunny, and her musical laughter floating on the breeze, he was suddenly glad—even if he wasn’t interested.

  Jack swept Max into his arms and climbed the wide stone steps leading to the open double doors of the church, where the pastor stood in his white robe, his face wreathed in smiles as he greeted each person who entered.

  “And who’s this?” he exclaimed when Jack reached the door. He playfully reached for Max’s hand to shake it. “Are you bringing your daddy to church, young man?”

  Max jerked his hand back, his eyes wide, and sucked in a deep breath as he twisted away and burst into tears. “Not my daddy! He’s not!”

  “I’m his uncle,” Jack said, though the older man probably couldn’t hear him over the wailing child. “His parents are recently…gone.”

  The minister blinked. “I am so sorry. I never meant to upset him.”

  “Happens a lot,” Jack said firmly. “So don’t think twice about it. And maybe the church reminds him too much of the funeral.” He leaned back to look at Max’s tear-streaked face. “I don’t think we’d better try going in today. Maybe another time.”