Читать книгу A Question Of Honor - Mary Anne Wilson - Страница 11

CHAPTER THREE

JOHN MUTTERED, “Crazy people,” when the speeding car came to a full stop. “Thought we’d get this type on the weekend or closer to Christmas when the tourists come around to visit,” John grumbled. He tucked the cruiser in behind the compact car with an Illinois plate on it.

There was a single passenger from what Adam could see, a woman grimacing at the glaring light that John had switched on. She wasn’t moving at all.

John tipped open the onboard computer, brought it up and put in the license-plate number. A moment later, he was reading the screen. “Gerald Lewis Reich and Martha Reich, Chicago area. Looks like Martha is on her own. Car’s clean, and they’re clean. Not even a traffic ticket between them in the past five years.” He reached for the door handle. “Be right back,” he said and got out.

The wind was picking up, swirling the snow, and John ducked his head while he gripped his cap with his free hand. He got to the driver’s window as it slowly slid down and he leaned in to speak to the driver. A hand pushed some folded papers out toward John, who took them and stood to read. Then John turned his head as if he was trying to hit his left shoulder with his chin.

Adam knew John was in full uniform and his two-way radio was wired into the shoulder. He spoke into it, then went back to the car. He pushed the papers back to the driver, bent to say something, then jogged back to the cruiser. He slammed the door on the cold wind and snow outside. “Got a call,” he said. “It’s Amos Joe and Birdie. They’re at it again. Got to get there before someone does something stupid again.”

He punched the gas on the idling cruiser, veering out and around the car still ahead of them. Adam glanced at the driver, who still had the window partially down. He caught a glimpse of a shadowy shape before they raced past and down the highway. “What about the stop?” Adam asked, motioning behind them.

“She just bought the car and didn’t get it registered before she took off, so I let her go.”

Adam saw the way John was biting his lower lip and he knew there was more. “What else?”

John shook his head. “Just a hunch, that’s all.”

“Just a hunch?” he repeated to his friend. “A hunch about what?”

John frowned at the road ahead. “Actually, the thing is, I get a feeling she’s scared of something, and not just of a speeding ticket.” He shrugged on a gruff laugh. “If I had a dollar for every right hunch I had about people, I’d still be broke.”

Adam stared at the darkness outside. “I don’t know. Your hunches have worked out sometimes.”

“Dumb luck,” John muttered.

Maybe John was right about the woman, maybe something was going on, but it wasn’t something either man could do a thing about.

What they could do was help his brother.

“When did you see Jack last?”

John cleared his throat. “Out at your pa’s place.” He was referring to Adam’s grandfather’s ranch just north of their parents’ spread.

“Why there?”

“Don’t know. Maureen said he’d headed out there, so I followed.” Maureen Cane, Jack’s assistant in the law office, kept close track of her boss. “I caught up with him sitting on the porch of the old house.”

Adam thought maybe the old place gave his brother some comfort. That adobe had been the first thing his grandfather had built when he’d migrated from the high country on the res, down to the low country. Eventually, he brought his expanding family to the raw land that had been in the Wolf family for what seemed forever. Pa, as the boys called their grandfather, had been obsessed all his life about making something out of nothing for his family. He’d been told to stay with his people, to not go off on his own to mingle with others.

But Jackson Wolf, whom Jack had been named for, hadn’t listened. He’d followed his own vision. He’d gone down and worked hard and long, clearing first the homesite, building the sprawling adobe to house his seven children, then went on to clear pastures to graze cattle and sheep. When he’d finished, his family had a home with efficiently run land that extended over three hundred acres.

Adam’s mother, Lark, had loved it, and when she’d married Herbert Carson, an Irish banker from Boston, whom she’d met by chance in the town, there was no question that they would settle on Wolf land. And they did. They moved south of the original house, onto a piece of land that was three times as big and ended up being three times as fancy.

But the Carson boys had always been drawn to Pa’s land. Like metal to a magnet, when school let out and they were free for the summer, they were at the old ranch. They’d trail after their grandfather, working alongside him and listening to his stories about their ancestors and his plans for the land. He’d gone even farther and helped develop the town of Wolf Lake. He’d been there when the name of his people had been put on the town. He’d realized his dreams.

As the squad car drove through the persistent snow, Adam remembered an incident when he’d been around fourteen. The brothers had left Pa’s place and hiked up into the fringes of the high country. At sunset, they’d been sitting on a ledge that looked down on the reservation in one direction, the town in the other and the vast expanse of Wolf land far below. Off in the distance, the soaring mountains beyond the buttes and mesas stood starkly against the early-evening sky. A deep gouge that cut through them opened a way to the other side.

Jack had said something about the new grazing area Pa had cleared, that he’d hoped he’d go farther south. Land had always been Jack’s passion, the Wolf land. Gage had pointed to a site on the far end of town, to the start of construction for a fully equipped medical clinic that Moses’s father would run for years before his son pushed for a real hospital. Gage had said they needed to make it bigger, and they had done that years later, turning it from a clinic to a hospital.

But Adam had looked past the town and the res and over to the separation in the mountains. All he remembered feeling at that moment had been an overwhelming urge to head for the opening and keep going. He wasn’t sure where to, but he knew he wanted to go.

Like Pa, he’d wanted to break free.

“We should discuss our trip and have things organized when we talk to Jack,” John said, snapping Adam back to the present.

“Good idea. We can contact Moses tomorrow and see if he can get away. It’s been a long time since we all went up there together.”

John nodded. “Just have to convince Jack to come.”

Adam relished watching the town of Wolf Lake rapidly come into sight. The familiar shapes and layout welcomed him yet brought a sense of unease about what he’d find there. It didn’t make sense, and when John pulled into the trailer park to find Amos Joe and Birdie, he pushed it out of his mind completely.

* * *

FAITH SHIVERED UNEXPECTEDLY despite the warmth in the car, and for a moment, she felt light-headed. Slowing, she opened the window a crack, letting in frigid air and some errant snowflakes. The coolness on her face helped her to settle down a bit. Obviously she wasn’t meant for a life of crime. She’d barely been able to nod when the cop who had stopped her had let her off with a stern warning. Slow down and enjoy the beautiful country, he’d said.

She kept going, staying below the speed limit, and finally spotted the sign for Wolf Lake. A glow began to spread in the distance ahead. As she got closer, the glow gradually turned into a sprawling town that flowed away from the main highway. She caught the turnoff and found herself driving past small houses, then was jarred when she saw the police cruiser with its lights flashing, parked by some ancient trailers to one side of the road.

She drove past slowly, keeping her eyes on the road. The main street of Wolf Lake was an eclectic mixture of adobe structures, wood frames and brick buildings, all reflecting the reds and greens of Christmas lights. Decorations filled the windows of stores and homes and were strung over the street and outlined most roofs along the way. The whole thing was a merging of the Old West and Native American heritage, overlaid by tons of Christmas cheer. Raised wooden walkways that spoke of the past, when streets turned to mud and snakes could be anywhere, led the route.

Souvenir shops mingled with businesses that ranged from a grocer’s to a surveyor’s office, a potter’s store and a feed-and-tack barn set up in a huge wooden building fronted by haystacks. Native American influences were everywhere, and life-size carvings of wolves framed several doorways.

She spotted a few restaurants, then finally saw what she was looking for, The Wolf Lake Inn. It was what Willie G. had described, a well-kept two-story, flat-fronted adobe structure set well back from the street behind a low stone fence. A carving of an eagle in flight hung over the entrance, faded with age and layered with pure white snow. A red neon sign flashed Vacancy in one of the six arched windows on either side of a broad stoop and a heavy wooden front door.

Faith was excited as she pulled into one of the parking spots outside the fence. Only one other car was there, a blue van with a bumper sticker that read California or Bust. She got out, grabbed her purse and hurried to the door. There was a huge knocker fashioned like a wolf’s head, with its onyx eyes staring out at the night. She ignored it and pushed the door open. A low chime rang somewhere inside.

The front of the first floor was used for a large reception and sitting area, split by a staircase that led up to the second level. Dark wood and lovely furnishings made for a warm, cozy atmosphere. A huge Christmas tree stood to one side of the stairs, its lights twinkling with turquoise and silver decorations. Rugs in rich earth tones partially covered tiles that were worn and faded to a reddish-brown.

“Hello there,” a voice said, drawing Faith’s attention to the reception desk that ran along the left wall and was backed by an old-fashioned cubby for letters. A swinging door by the cubby was still moving as a lithe, black-haired lady came up behind the desk flashing a brilliant smile. Narrowed eyes assessed Faith. “So you did decide to come,” the woman said.

“I’m sorry?” Faith asked, approaching the desk.

“Willie G. said you might be coming by.” She held out her hand and introduced herself. “I’m Mallory Sanchez and I’m guessing you’re Faith.” Her black hair was straight and fell loosely to her waist. Chocolate-brown eyes were warm against a creamy tan, and jeans worn with a heavy red sweater showed off her slender frame. A pretty woman by any standards, and her smile made her even more attractive.

“Faith Arden,” Faith said, taking the woman’s hand when she offered it and met a surprisingly firm grip. “I didn’t expect Willie to call you about me.”

“He was calling about something else, a big Christmas party, actually, but mentioned you might be coming by. He said you’re looking for a place to rest.”

Faith felt uneasy at her words. The police stop had been bad enough. She didn’t want to be a topic of conversation for the town. “I need a room,” she said with more coolness than she intended.

“Well, of course you do,” Mallory said and spun an old registration book around to face her, then handed Faith a pen with a bobbing Santa head on the end of it. “Just put in your information, and let me see your identification.”

Faith handed the fake driver’s license to Mallory, who said, “The inn is peaceful and you can get a good rest here. No problem.”

“That’s great,” Faith murmured while she quickly signed her name, then stopped. She was drawing a blank for her address. What was wrong with her? She’d used that address in Rockford at every stop so far, but she couldn’t for the life of her recall it right then.

Mallory asked, “Is there a problem?”

“Oh, no, I’m just so tired,” she said and yawned without having to force it. Then the address came to her and she quickly wrote it on the ledger. “I’ve been driving forever.”

Mallory glanced at the information in the book, made a notation off her driver’s license, then handed it back to Faith. “I hope you didn’t drive all the way from Illinois nonstop?” She smiled at the absurdity of her question and didn’t wait for Faith to answer. “Do you want the first or second floor? Although, if you’re here to rest and take it easy, the second floor is probably your best bet. It’s more private, and there’s only one guest up there in a front room, a gentleman from Texas.”

“That sounds good, second floor, in the back?”

“We have a great room at the end of the hallway with its own bathroom. The other rooms up there have to share. It’s a bit more, of course, but it’s very nice.”

When she mentioned the daily rate, Faith was okay with it, and although she doubted she’d stay more than a few days, she asked about the weekly rate. The figure was 20 percent less than the daily. “I’ll take it for two nights,” Faith said and paid for the room. When Mallory argued she should see the room first, Faith wanted to say, If it has a bed and a door to lock, I’m sold, but instead said, “I’m sure it will be fine.”

Mallory selected one of the keys from the cubby and talked as she led the way to the staircase. “We have more choices if you need to change. We have two rooms down and four rooms up.” Faith followed her up the stairs onto a small landing that branched out in either direction. They went left and passed only one door as they walked toward the end of the corridor.

Mallory unlocked the door to Faith’s room, flipped on a light, then stepped aside for Faith to go in first. “If this doesn’t work for you, I have another that might do.”

Faith barely heard Mallory. The room was perfect. A huge poster bed fashioned out of what looked like stripped tree trunks stood by a window framed by lace curtains. The floor, worn wooden planks, was warmed by a braided rug in blues and lavenders that matched the bedding. An open door to the right exposed a small bathroom, and a closet on the opposite wall stood open and empty.

“What do you think?” Mallory asked as Faith went to the window and looked down at a garden area dominated by a leafless tree that was almost as tall as the building itself. Snow covered the ground and chairs were tipped up on three tables. It looked right. No one would be out there in this weather.

Faith could almost feel the knots in her body starting to dissolve. “This is fine,” she replied. Mallory crossed to a large armoire by the bathroom door and opened both doors. A TV sat on a top shelf over another shelf that flipped forward to make a writing desk. Faith had to fight the urge to just collapse on the big bed.

“Why don’t we go down for your things, then you can settle in and get your rest?”

Five minutes later, Faith had her bag and computer in the room and she was closing the door behind her and locking it. While she’d retrieved her things from the car, Mallory had put a pitcher of ice water along with a glass on a tray by the bed. A chocolate mint lay on the fluffy pillows piled against the headboard, and the scent of roses faintly drifted on the warm air.

Faith felt weariness wash over her. She sank down onto the bed, tugged off her boots and pushed back until she was half sitting against the pillows. The chocolate fell to one side and slid to the floor, but she didn’t pick it up. She thought she’d rest for a few minutes, then set up the computer on the desk and pull up the files.

The next thing Faith knew, she woke with a start, and for a second she couldn’t remember where she was, but then the world settled. One look at the bedside clock showed her she’d been asleep for over two hours. It was almost eight o’clock. She got off the bed, stretching her hands over her head. Should she just go to her car and get the leftovers she had from Willie G.’s place or see if there was someplace close by to get something hot to eat?

She tugged on her boots, grabbed her jacket, her car keys and wallet, then went downstairs. A man and woman were relaxing in front of the fireplace. On the table in front of them were wineglasses, a carafe of deep red wine, and a platter of crackers, meat and cheese.

If things had been normal, she would have said hello to the couple, filled a plate with cheese and crackers, poured a glass of wine and gone back up stairs. But since she’d left Chicago, she hadn’t been normal. She stayed away from people as much as possible to avoid contact, hopefully without looking odd or being remembered by any of them.

No one was behind the reception desk, so she avoided seeing the owner. She quietly passed behind the couple, reached the door and cringed at the soft chime that sounded when she opened it. She quickly slipped out into the biting cold.

She got into her car, started the engine and the heater, then put her things on the passenger seat and let herself relax for a moment. Slowly, she backed out onto the street and turned away from the direction she’d entered the town. She drove along the deserted street and spotted a modest shop that was open. Its neon light proclaimed it as The Hitching Post, along with advertisements for sandwiches, burgers, cold drinks and doughnuts. A real mixture of offerings, she thought as she stopped her car in front of the low brick structure.

The snow had let up a bit, she noted as she left her car and sprinted into the store. She got a sandwich, some cookies and a take-out cup of coffee. When she reached her car, her attention was drawn by raised voices close by.

“Jack!” a male voice ordered. “We have to talk this over.”

She glanced over and saw two men nearby on the sidewalk. One had his back to her. He was at least six feet or more, with broad shoulders that tested the seams of a leather jacket trimmed in shirred wool that he wore with jeans and black cowboy boots. She took in the sound of his quick breathing as he faced the other man.

Faith couldn’t see that man’s face, since it was lost in the shadows and he had a cap pulled low on his face. He was in a blue down jacket with dark pants and running shoes. She couldn’t see his expression, but she didn’t miss the edge to his voice when he countered, “Leave me alone! I am not a charity case, and I don’t need you suggesting—”

“Hey, I’m not here for charity,” the first man said in a lower, calmer voice. “I came because—”

The man in the cap spun on his heel and hurried off with a wave of one hand over his shoulder. “Go back to where you came from,” he said as he strode off down the sidewalk.

Faith realized she’d been eavesdropping and quickly went to open her car door. But before she could escape, the remaining man turned abruptly and ran right into her. Her coffee flew out of her hand, and her bag of food fell at her feet along with her wallet and keys.

She bent quickly to gather what she could, and the man did the same, his large hand grabbing her bag while she got the rest. “I’m really sorry,” he said as they crouched and faced each other.

She looked up into a face with sharp features, a strong jaw that showed a new beard, then eyes as dark as the night around them. She felt flustered under his intent gaze and stood. He matched her action and seemed to tower over her. “I...I wasn’t looking where I was going,” she said in a breathless voice. “I’m sorry.” She looked away from the man, her gaze landing on her coffee, which had spilled right by her car. “Oh, shoot.”

“What were you drinking?” the stranger asked.

“Just plain old coffee,” she muttered, frowning at the still spreading pool of brown liquid that was melting the snow beneath it.

Before she realized what he was doing, the stranger had gone into the shop. She could guess what he was up to, and soon he returned with a cup in his hand, which he held out to her. “My treat,” he said with a smile that revealed a dimple on his right cheek.

“Oh, no,” she said, awkwardly trying to get her wallet open.

“I mean it,” he stated firmly. “I was distracted by...” He shrugged, his smile fading. “I feel it’s my duty to make sure a visitor’s stay in Wolf Lake is a pleasant one.”

She was thankful her mouth didn’t drop open with surprise that he’d spotted her as a visitor so easily. “How would you know that?”

“Easy,” he said and that dimple was gone.

Faith felt her anxiety rising. Enough was enough. She quickly took the coffee he offered her, ignoring the warm touch of his hand, and said, “Thank you.”

He inclined his head slightly, looked past her and his brows knit together questioningly. She turned to see he was checking out her car. “You’re from Illinois?”

She nodded as she opened the car door and slipped inside. She set her things down, wanting to close the door, but the man was still there, blocking her. “Yes, from Illinois.”

“You’re a long way from home,” he said.

In that moment, she felt intensely her total isolation, and she almost hated him for saying it out loud to her. “A long way,” she echoed.

He had his hand on the top of the door frame. “I’m Adam,” he said, expecting her to give him her name, but she didn’t.

“And you live here,” she finished for him.

“Used to. Right now I’m just home for Christmas.”

He wasn’t aware of her situation, thankfully, but everything he said made her feel sad. He was home for Christmas, and she knew she wouldn’t be. She wouldn’t be home for her birthday or New Year’s Eve, and probably not for a long while. She felt the heat of tears stinging her eyes and quickly said her thanks.

He drew back, and she slammed the door shut with more force than she intended to. Without looking at him again, she pulled onto the street and drove back to the inn. She was worse off than she thought she was if a total stranger could make her feel this way just by making innocent conversation. She really needed to relax and calm down for more than a few days.

But she couldn’t and she hated that. The tears came silently. She hated tears, too, but couldn’t stop them, either. Like so much else in her life...