Читать книгу Blue Ridge Hideaway - Cynthia Thomason, Cynthia Thomason - Страница 10

CHAPTER THREE

ALONE IN THE ROOM, Dorie wondered what she was going to do if she couldn’t squeeze five thousand dollars out of these two men. Bret must have some money, especially if he owned this entire piece of property. She allowed herself to hope that he would bail his father out of this jam.

She stifled a yawn and shook her head to clear her mind. Her brain was fuzzy from lack of sleep. She hadn’t eaten anything since this morning except for a candy bar she’d bought at the convenience store. Her bones ached from sitting behind the wheel for hours. Her emotions were frayed beyond what should have been normal even considering the abundance of stress in her life lately.

Before leaving Winston Beach seven hours ago, she’d spent most of the morning at the attorney’s office, trying to convince him to keep working on Jack’s case. Counting on finding Clancy, she’d promised the lawyer more money soon and had finally extracted a promise from him that he would pass along the paperwork he’d accumulated to a new associate in the firm who would “revisit” the facts of the case and see what he could do. Dorie hadn’t met the associate, a man named Eric Henderson, but she had to accept Mr. Schreiber’s recommendation that this new attorney was clever and hardworking. Not to mention expensive. Waiting to hear from him only added more anxiety to an already-troubling day.

She got up from the picnic table and rolled her shoulders to relieve tension that had left a dull ache in her neck. She walked around the room and tried to concentrate on details of the basically Spartan environment. Besides the pair of picnic tables, which took up much of the center of the space, there was one long, dark pine buffet table along the wall that flanked the kitchen door. The fireplace, almost large enough for two men to squat inside, filled much of the opposite wall. A comfortable pine-framed sofa and pair of chairs faced the fireplace, and a flat-screen television was mounted above it.

One of the longer walls consisted mostly of windows which looked out on the screened porch. The opposite wall was lined with pine shelving. The scent of freshly milled wood was still strong in the room, suggesting the shelves were new. There was a state-of-the-art computer on a corner table.

The ambiance of the room was masculine but peaceful, an homage to simplicity and nature. She breathed deeply, attempting to infuse her body with the tranquility of her surroundings even though there was nothing tranquil about her life now. And, as it turned out, nothing simple about what she’d come here to accomplish.

She returned her focus to the door, walked closer and tried to hear what the men were saying. Clancy’s low, guttural mumbling was easy to identify. Dorie couldn’t tell what he was saying, but his muffled words seemed argumentative.

The steady timbre of Bret’s voice was just as distinctive as his father’s but for a different reason. She wasn’t able to make out the specifics, but Bret seemed to be countering his father’s grumbling with rationality.

She exhaled slowly and leaned against the door frame. She wanted to believe that Bret would devise a plan to pay her back, but her instincts warned her to remain wary. Even so, hope began a slow, steady battle with her skepticism.

Her thoughts backtracked to when they had all entered the lodge. Bret had removed his mackinaw, hung it on a rack by the door, along with the Marlins baseball cap he’d been wearing. Maybe his cap was from Florida, but he seemed much more at home in this rugged, harsh climate.

Dorie twisted so her shoulder was against the door, her ear close to one of the dark-stained panels. The conversation inside seemed to have reached a lull, prompting her to put even more faith in Clancy’s son. If he was reasonable, she could be, as well. She wouldn’t fall into the trap of judging all police officers by the few who’d treated Jack with such overt prejudice. That would be no more justified than watching cops judge her brother by the standards of all troubled teens.

Yes, Bret would make this right. He would understand that his father had cheated her and, recognizing that their family honor was at stake, very well might assume responsibility for paying her the money his father owed. In a few minutes, with five thousand dollars in her pocket, Dorie could be on her way back to Winston Beach.

* * *

BRET PACED. It’s what he’d done back when he was on the Dade County homicide division and all the clues had been there, in front of his eyes, and he hadn’t been able to put them together. It’s what he did now when he was worried about his son, Luke, and wondered if the decision he’d made for both of them was the right one. It’s what he did when he thought of Miranda and how he could have saved her if only...

Clancy sat at the kitchen table, his hands folded, his gaze fixed on his son. They’d discussed and argued the details of the debt, and Clancy had admitted his guilt.

“Look, Bret, I know how you must be feeling. I screwed up again. I get that. When I’m able to put a few bucks in my pocket, the old demon comes back, and I just have to risk it on the bigger payoff.”

“How many times are we going to have this conversation, Pop?”

“This time is different, son. This time I really disappointed you. I’ll make it right. I’ll stay here and work on this project of yours until I pay you back the whole five grand.”

“Pay me back? Now I’m supposed to hire you on top of everything else?”

“You told me you were going to hire somebody. Why not me? I can work hard.”

Bret stopped walking, turned and faced his father. Yes, he had admitted that he’d need to hire a helper to get the camp up and running in time. And his dad did have skills. “You bet you will,” he said. “I own you until this place is open and then some.”

“Fair enough.”

Bret stared at the door. “But what about that woman out there? What do we do about her tonight?”

Clancy had the decency to look at least a bit guilty. He avoided Bret’s stare. “Maybe she’ll accept payments. I’ll send her a little every month until we’re square.”

“You think that’s going to make her happy? Because I don’t. She wants the whole thing. I can’t see her leaving this mountain without the five grand.”

Clancy seemed to shrink in his chair. “She does seem determined. Tell me, son, do you have five thousand dollars?”

Bret had known this question was coming. Still every muscle in his body tensed. His reserves were running low. He’d spent most of his savings and the majority of his disability checks to get The Crooked Spruce ready. The last thing he wanted to do was pay his dad’s debt. Yes, he had five thousand, but he wasn’t ready to admit that to his father.

“Oh, sure, Pop.” He pulled out a drawer. “It’s right here in the kitchen junk drawer!”

“I didn’t mean here at the outpost. I meant anywhere.”

“Do you know what she needs the money for?” Bret asked.

“Haven’t a clue. She said she owes somebody. All I can say is that I don’t believe she’s in trouble with bad people or anything. She was a good worker. Came in every day. Never caused any problems.”

The law enforcement wheels in Bret’s head continued to piece together the story of Dorie Howe. “Doesn’t mean she’s not into something illegal or dangerous, Pop. In my business—my former business—you learn that even the most innocent-looking people can be hiding something.” And with that can of mace and a hundred pounds of grit packed into her little body, Dorie Howe could be hiding plenty.

At the image of her pretty face scowling up at him, he couldn’t resist a secret smile. He shook his head. Good grief, Donovan, you’ve been away from women too long!

“Why don’t you check her out?” Clancy said. “Call one of your contacts from the force.”

Bret had been thinking the same thing. Dorie had proved her case, and Pop definitely owed her, but she was so desperate to get the money that Bret’s cop instincts had gone on instant alert. Did he have the right to check her out? You bet he did. She was on his mountain, mixed up in his family. He not only had the right. He had an obligation. Especially with Luke due back in the morning.

Luke. Thinking of his son brought to mind a whole different set of responsibilities. He honestly hoped the kid had had fun with his aunt and cousins the past week. He’d certainly been anxious to go, though Bret had been reluctant to agree to the time away. True, this mountain location wasn’t everything a ten-year-old could hope for. But Bret still believed he’d made the right decision to get them out of Miami, away from the bad memories.

And he’d done all he could to make the move seem like an adventure. In just a few months he’d taught his son survival skills, introduced him to tools and construction, taken him to town a couple times a week to rent video games, see movies, eat pizza. He’d thought he had all the bases covered, and yet the boy still seemed unhappy much of the time. And too excited about going to Atlanta with his aunt Julie.

He refocused on his father and the current problem. “What do you know about Dorie, Pop? Family, friends, that sort of thing.”

“Not much. I didn’t ask her a lot of personal questions when she applied for the job. She was like a saving grace when she walked in the Crab Trap that day, willing to work to put a little spit and polish on the place. A few people she knew stopped in from time to time, and they talked. I don’t know what about, but they seemed to like her. Left her good tips, I remember. I knew about that picnic company and how it was her living. But I just figured that made her more valuable to me. She knew something about food and service.”

Bret took a sip of his coffee. “I’m going to call Rob at the department,” he said. “Let’s see what we can find out about Miss Dorie Howe.” He paused before adding, “She is a ‘miss,’ right, Pop? No husband or mobster boyfriend to show up here one day?”

“Not married,” Clancy confirmed. “And if she has a boyfriend I never met him. She’s a cute little thing, though, so...”

Bret had already determined that for himself but wasn’t about to let Dorie Howe’s cuteness deter him from what he thought was right. “Never mind, Pop,” he said. “As long as some husband isn’t going to follow her up here and put another plug in me.”

“Heaven forbid,” Clancy said. “Can’t go through that again.”

Bret took his cell phone from his back pocket. “Reception is always better at night,” he said. “Less interference from the towers. I’m going to give Rob a call now. Should have info by the morning.”

“What about this evening? What are you gonna do about Dorie?”

“I’m not her keeper, Pop. But I certainly don’t want her driving that beat-up truck of hers down the mountain in the dark. And it’s freezing out there. The only place she can stay is that fleabag motel by the convenience store.” He tapped the phone against his thigh. “I’ll tell her she can stay here tonight.”

“Okay, you do that. And I’ll make sure my door’s locked.”

* * *

DORIE JUMPED WHEN the knob turned, and she quickly put a few feet between herself and the door. The men came out of the kitchen. Bret looked at her, but his face was unreadable. In fact, father and son could have been a pair of granite bookends for all the clues she could derive from their expressions. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to get good news. She stood straight, hooked her thumbs into the pockets of her jeans and said, “Well?”

His gaze never wavering, Bret rubbed his hand over the nape of his neck and said, “I need to sleep on this, Dorie. There are extenuating circumstances I need to consider.”

“What extenuating circumstances?”

“Well, for one, you can’t possibly think I have five thousand in cash in this building.”

That would be nice, but also unlikely.

“But I might have a plan.”

A plan? The only plan she was interested in was one that put five thousand dollars in the palm of her hand. She narrowed her eyes. “What are you suggesting?”

“I’m going to try to work something out that is fair to everyone.”

“Everyone?” She glared at Clancy. “I couldn’t care less about being fair to your father. He cheated me. He obviously doesn’t understand the meaning of the word fair.”

“I know it seems that way,” Bret said. “But you have to admit that I’m not responsible for his mistakes.”

Yes, she supposed she did have to admit that. But doing so wouldn’t get her the money, so she said, “What about the Donovan family honor? Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

A grin tugged at his mouth. “I think our family honor, if we ever had any, went up in smoke at the craps table in Mountain City.”

“So I’m supposed to go away and let you two ‘sleep on this’? I guarantee you I won’t be having such a good night’s sleep while you’re deciding my future.”

“About that...” Bret said. “There are no places I’d recommend for you to stay in this area. So I’m suggesting you don’t have to leave here.”

“Yeah, right. Like I’m going to stay with you two.”

“That’s exactly what I’m hoping you decide.”

She put her hand up to stop all discussion of bunking anywhere within a mile of Clancy Donovan. By morning, he’d have devised a plan to steal back the fifty bucks he’d given her. “Thanks, but no—”

“You can’t attempt the drive down the mountain in the dark, Dorie,” Bret said.

“That’s why they invented headlights.”

“Still, one wrong turn and you could end up in a gully or wrapped around an oak tree. In these temperatures, there will be icy patches, and I’m guessing you don’t have all-weather tires. You’re used to driving near the beach. This mountain is a whole different story.”

She pondered her options. She didn’t want to accept what these guys believed might pass for hospitality. The last thing she wanted was any reason to be grateful to them. One night under their roof didn’t compensate for the money Clancy owed her.

Apparently assuming her silence meant she was considering his advice, Bret continued. “You can stay here or your closest choice is the Sleep Haven Motel next to the convenience store. Did you get a good look at that place?”

She had, and she’d been glad she planned to get her money and leave for Winston Beach without a layover. The only kind of “haven” the motel appeared to offer was for roaches.

Her attention switched from son to father. Bret seemed to be sincere. And he’d more or less promised her an answer, or a plan by the morning. Clancy hadn’t looked at her since he’d come back into the room. His eyes remained fixed on a knot in the wood plank flooring.

She huffed in frustration. “Okay, I’ll stay. But I’m sleeping with one hand wrapped around my can of mace.”

Bret placed his hand over his heart. “Ouch.” And then he smiled, and she felt that sense of comfort again. And she didn’t like it all that much. A girl gets to feeling too comfortable with a man, and that’s when her life starts unraveling.

“We’re perfect gentlemen, aren’t we, Pop?” Bret said.

Finally Clancy looked up and met her gaze. “You might be, son, but I don’t think Dorie will believe it of me.”

“Anyway, I’m glad that’s settled,” Bret said, glancing over his shoulder at the kitchen door. “When I was talking to Pop just now, I opened a couple of cans of stew and set a pot on the stove to heat. It might be ready by now. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”

Her mouth watered just thinking about it. “I could eat, I guess.”

“Fine. I think a meal will do us all some good. Have a seat and I’ll bring out the grub.”

She almost laughed out loud. “Grub? What is this place, junior? A Boy Scout camp?”

He gave her a serious stare. “Funny thing. That’s exactly what it used to be. But not anymore. Now it’s for grown-up Boy Scouts. Ones with money who are looking for a whole new level of merit badges.”

He went into the kitchen and Dorie wondered what he meant. What kind of a place had she wandered into?