Читать книгу Stalked In Conard County - Rachel Lee - Страница 13

“I was talking about my reaction,” she said after several minutes. “At first it seemed like a bad dream, but then it raked up old memories. It was a childish thing to say, Roger. It happened. Reporting it has nothing to do with its reality.”

She pushed back from the table and went to the refrigerator, where she pulled out a bottle of water. “Want some?”

“I’m fine, thanks.”

She sat again, unscrewing the bottle cap. “I remember the tap water here being very tasty, but I’ve been chicken to try it. I suppose I should.”

“It’s good water,” he agreed. “Better than some of the stuff in bottles.”

Again she smiled. “I remember way back when, when we were both kids. You were infinitely patient then, too. Remember the fishing expedition?”

He laughed. “How could I forget? I got you all excited about going to my favorite fishing hole and when we got there it was nothing but mud.”

“And I wanted to know where the fish had gone since there was no water left.”

He laughed again. “They had the sense to get out of Dodge.”

“I guess. You must have been as disappointed as I was, but that didn’t stop you. We drove up a little way into the mountains and you found us a small pool. What’s more, I caught my first fish!”

At least this memory was making her smile. He was glad to see it. In terms of time, her kidnapping seemed like a lifetime ago, at least to him. Apparently not so much to her.

Then she sighed and her smile faded. “I know it was a long time ago,” she said, almost as if she could read his mind. “I don’t think about the kidnapping often anymore. My dad made sure I had therapy afterward, and I got over it. Mostly. But once in a while…” She trailed off and sighed again, as if some heavy weight filled her. “Once in a while… Like last night. It dragged everything up from the depths. I was kidnapped through my bedroom window, you know.”

His heart lurched. God, last night must have been Halloween-like for her. “I didn’t know.”

“I guess that’s why I overreacted.”

He shook his head. “Waking up to find someone looking in your bedroom window? Well, I don’t think you can overreact.”

“Maybe not.” She shook her head a little, as if trying to shake off bad memories. “I’m wondering if I should sleep upstairs now. I wanted to use that room because I’d shared it with my grandma on the few occasions I came to visit here. When I was really young, before you and I met, it was such a treat to crawl into her bed and have her tease me with riddles until I fell asleep.”

“And you wanted to recapture that?”

“Can you ever? But, yeah, good memories. And maybe I should just sleep upstairs, where no one can peek in the windows and I can leave the curtains open and enjoy the fresh night air.”

There was a sadness to that. Maybe time to change the subject? “You can decide that later. Frankly, you look like you need a nap, but I guess you had plans for today?”

“I did, sort of. I’m sure I need a nap, but I’m too wound up. Anyway, I was going to go through some more of my grandmother’s things. Looking for keepsakes and so on. But then…” She hesitated. “I came here convinced I was going back to Baltimore in a few weeks. But I started to wonder why I shouldn’t just stay here. I always liked it, and it’s so much quieter than my home. I called yesterday and the community hospital said they could definitely use me, so I’d even have a job.”

She drummed her fingers briefly. “At least I was thinking about it until the wee hours this morning. Now I’m not so sure.”

“That’s understandable. But there’s no reason to think the creep will bother you again. And now that he’s been reported, he’s going to have to be awfully careful about what he does.”

“How will he know he’s been reported?”

Good question. Roger resisted the impulse to reach across the table and cover her hand with his. Childhood was far behind them both and, for all intents, they were now near strangers. “You opened your eyes and sat up, right? Then he knows he was seen. He’d have no reason to think you didn’t report it. Then, Kelly’s car was out there this morning and she brought Bugle with her.”

Haley smiled wanly. “You’re right. My head is kind of foggy. But I’m not ready to take a nap. First I want some of Grandma’s green tea, then I’m going to open all the curtains and let some sunlight in.”

“Good idea. Then?”

“I’m going to go back to what I was doing, going through her things for keepsakes. Everything else can wait.”

“Mind if I go back to work on the ducts downstairs?”

“Help yourself.” Her smile widened a bit. “Sure I can’t talk you into some tea?”

He laughed, feeling the atmosphere leaven. “Nope. But I’d be willing to make another pot of coffee if you don’t mind.”

The cup of tea helped. So did opening all the curtains downstairs and letting in the brilliant summer sun. The nightmare of the wee hours seemed to evaporate in the cleansing morning light. The dark miasma that had clung to her since she’d seen the man at the window began to slip into the background, like a bad dream. The sounds from the basement, where Roger occasionally hammered on something, or a duct clanged, helped, too.

Life had returned to this house, and she was almost ashamed of the way she had reacted during the night. Overreaction. Like a child. A hot shower helped, as did dressing in her oldest, softest jeans with threadbare knees and an old T-shirt worn thin from many washings. Age improved some things, for a fact.

She caught her wet hair back in a ponytail and tried to recall her list of tasks for today. Well, it wasn’t long before she remembered she’d wanted to air the house out. Despite her grandmother’s love of lavender sachets, the house still smelled musty from being closed for so long. Since she’d arrived here a couple of days ago, she’d felt chilled and had wanted to keep the windows mostly closed.

The summer here wasn’t very warm. She wondered if that was typical or just a spell. At home in Baltimore, it was a great deal warmer right now, and far more humid. Wyoming felt almost bone-dry. Refreshingly so, she decided.

She put the kettle on again, trying to center herself completely in the here and now. Another cup of tea would help. It would remind her of good things. In the meantime, despite lingering wisps of fear from last night, she opened every single downstairs window and let the soft summer breeze blow through.

When she’d learned she’d inherited the house, she’d had every intention of cleaning it out, storing the important items and selling it. Her life was in Baltimore, after all. Her job, her friends and the hospital she had seemingly wrapped her whole life around. Did she know anyone these days who wasn’t in the medical profession?

Anyway, she’d believed herself to be happy. Then this. Somehow over the last couple of days, she’d started thinking of staying. Maybe a crazy decision based on her childhood visits and memories, but the urge was growing. It would certainly turn her life on end, but she wasn’t sure that was a bad thing. She’d been kind of digging a comfortable rut at home.

But Wyoming? The state’s name could still unnerve her, if only a tiny bit. After her kidnapping, her mother had taken her away to a cousin’s in Michigan, no doubt trying to remove any reminders. Her dad had eventually moved his drilling business to the Bakken oil fields in North Dakota. Far enough north to feel different. The family had come together again.

Then her brother, five years her elder, had taken off with the Marines and had become a visitor in her life when he wasn’t overseas somewhere. Her mother had left, tired of the life of a woman surrounded by roughnecks, and Haley had stayed with her father because she hadn’t wanted him to be all alone.

But he’d been alone eventually anyway. Those summers he’d driven her to stay with her grandmother for a few weeks, and then when she’d knuckled down on her studies, determined to enter a medical career. Like all kids, she became eighteen and moved on to bigger dreams.

Her dad had evidently had some dreams of his own. These days he was working in the Middle East and would occasionally call her with stories of exotic places, but no, she shouldn’t visit him, because life was uncomfortable there for women.

So, once in a while, like her brother, he passed through her life.

But she had a good life, she reminded herself as the kettle whistled and she made a fresh cup of tea. Maybe, however, she’d caught a touch of her dad’s wanderlust. Maybe that was making her think of leaving everything behind to move to Wyoming.

Although moving here didn’t sound so fantastic after last night. But stamped in her brain like a tattoo was the memory of the moon and seeing that guy peering in, silhouetted against its light. Sheesh, maybe she’d seen a werewolf or something.

The tea tasted good and energized her. There was definitely a nap in her future, but she had wanted to sort through the sideboard in the dining room, with its drawers full of treasured table linens and, once upon a time, a bag of candy corn for a little girl who could have a few if she was very good.

A smile danced across her lips as she carried her cup into the dining room and set it carefully on a hand-crocheted doily that she remembered making when she was about nine. Imagine Grandma saving that all these years. A warmth suffused her and she faced the real reason she wanted to stay. For all she’d built a life in Baltimore, this was the only place that had truly meant home to her.

Sitting cross-legged on the floor, she pulled out the bottom drawer. Carefully folded tablecloths filled it, and the scent of lavender aroused her senses.

“Haley?”

It sounded as if Roger was at the top of the basement stairs. “I’m in here,” she called back. “Need something?”

“Lunch,” he admitted as he entered the dining room. She felt him stand just a little behind her. “That’s beautiful,” he remarked.

She reached out and touched the top layer, a carefully handcrafted lace table cover. As her hand brushed it, she heard the layers of protective tissue underneath rustle slightly. “Lots of history here,” she said. “You want me to make lunch?”

“Heck no. I was thinking about running out and picking something up. You want?”

It was still early, but the egg and toast had vanished some time ago. A glance toward the Regulator caused her to wonder where the hours had gone. She hadn’t done that much. Had she? Maybe dozed while she was sitting here, given last night.

“Sure,” she said after a moment. She started to close the drawer, but Roger squatted beside her and surprised her. “There’s a story in that drawer.”

She glanced at him and saw his expectant smile. “There probably is,” she admitted. “The sad thing about us when we’re young is that we aren’t always interested in stuff that might be important later. I have a vague memory of Grandma telling me that this drawer holds tablecloths and napkins that belonged to her mother and grandmother. Maybe her great-grandmother. I wish I remembered. Anyway, this top one? Hand-crocheted by my great-grandmother, if I remember correctly. This is a drawer full of antiques and lost memories.”

“That’s at once neat and sad.”

“Yeah.” She slowly pushed the drawer in. “She did try to tell me. The drawer above has her personal tablecloths. The ones she used frequently. They’re pretty, I remember that much. And this top drawer? I believe it holds her family silver. It also held candy corn for me.”

He laughed at that, bringing an answering smile to her face. “I don’t suppose someone in your family would know the history of the tablecloths?”

“Not likely. I don’t think my dad would have been even as interested as I was, which isn’t saying much. Not guy stuff, you know?” She got herself to her feet and pulled the top drawer open. To her amazement, a small, tied-off bag of candy corn sat in one corner. She touched it with a fingertip and felt her eyes burn as she blinked back a few tears. “Aww, Grandma.” After all these years. Then her gaze fell on some ceramic squares, maybe an inch-and-a-half on each side, the glaze crazed from the years, but not so much that the brown pattern wasn’t visible. “Butter dishes,” she said. “Now, those did belong to my great-great-grandmother. I think Grandma said they were well over a hundred years old when she showed them to me. See, I do remember something.”

Beside them was the big, flat, wooden box that held silverware. The silver was probably tarnished and in need of good cleaning by now. Flora had let some things go over time.

Haley slid the drawer closed and when it stuck just a bit, she decided she needed to wax the runners. “This house is full of treasures,” she told Roger. “I just wish I knew more.”

“Maybe some of her friends know something. She had a pretty tight-knit group at the church. I’m sure they’d be glad to share anything they know.”

“Good idea.” She faced him. “Do I need to change into something that doesn’t look like it came from a rag bin?”

He laughed. “For around here, you look fine, like any other hard worker. Grab whatever you need. Did Flora ever take you to Maude’s diner?”

“Probably.” She shook her head a little as if trying to free a memory. “Is that the one called the City Diner now? Just off Main?”

“The same.”

That brought another smile to Haley’s face. “Now, there’s another story. I guess I should close the windows.”

Roger hesitated. “Usually, I’d say it’s not necessary. But after last night…yeah. I’ll go around and help you.”

Though it was only a few blocks to the diner, Roger insisted on driving. “You had a rough night. A walk might really wake you up, but a good meal might help you nap.”

She certainly didn’t feel like arguing. She’d been feeling like a squirrel on high alert since the middle of the night, and no matter how much she thought she was relaxing, even having slept briefly shortly after four, part of her clung to a deep tension. Man, she had to get over this. So some random creep had peered in her window. He’d leave her alone if she kept the curtains closed, and eventually he’d peep in a window where someone would recognize him. Anonymity, she remembered her grandmother saying, didn’t come easily in these parts.

The streets looked so familiar to her, though, and soon she forgot the night and began remembering being outside on a breezy summer afternoon, jumping rope, playing hopscotch, or just sitting on the grass and looking up through leafy trees at the bottomless blue of the sky. When Roger’d had some free time, he was kind and would bring over a board game. Together they’d sit on the porch for hours playing Parcheesi, backgammon or checkers. Often her grandmother had brought them a pitcher of fresh-made lemonade, tart and sweet all at once.

She glanced his way again and noted once more how the gangly kid had filled out. In all the right ways, too. A surreptitious smile caught her mouth as she quickly looked away.

“You said there was a story about this diner,” Roger remarked as he steered them into a parking place almost directly in front of it.

Haley noted that it hadn’t changed much in the intervening years. “Yeah,” she said after a moment. “Way back when, around the time this place was first being settled, my great-great-grandmother—at least I think it was, I keep losing track of the greats.”

“Can’t imagine why,” he answered lightly as he turned off his truck’s ignition.

She laughed. “There’s a lot of them. Anyway, about the turn of the twentieth century, or just before, my ancestors settled here. Grandad opened an apothecary and, right off it, my grandmother at the time opened a lunch counter. I hear it was quite busy with folks who traveled through by train. The tracks aren’t that far from here, as I recall.”

“They’re near, not that you can tell that often anymore. Few enough trains come through here.”

She nodded and pointed at the diner. “It was right there. Anyway, Grandma said they retired just before the war and their son sold it to whoever Maude inherited it from.”

“Your roots go deep around here.”

“Some of them. Others kind of sprang up elsewhere. Grandma didn’t talk a lot about it, but you know Miss Emma, right? The librarian?”

“Doesn’t everyone?” he asked wryly. “Founding family.”

“Exactly. The McKinseys weren’t far behind.”

“Another reason to stay,” he remarked lightly. Then he climbed out and came around to open her door for her. “Eat well,” he said as he helped her down. “Food is good and plentiful and, with any luck, you’ll be lights out by sunset so you can catch up on your sleep.”

“That’d be nice.” Fatigue hadn’t reached her yet, but she figured her nursing schedule had made her reasonably immune to the occasional long stint. She could handle it for a while. Tonight she would probably crash into a dead sleep, disturbed by nothing short of an emergency.

Inside, the diner was reasonably quiet, just a few of the tables busy. Either they were ahead of the lunch rush or behind it, but they had no trouble getting a table in the back. Haley had little desire at the moment to sit in front of a window. Sheesh, she thought, that needed to stop before the fear dug in.

Maude, who looked as if she hadn’t changed a bit in twenty years, slapped menus in front of them and filled coffee cups without asking. “Got fancier stuff now, if you want one of them lattes.” Then she peered at Haley. “Well, well, well. Heard you was in town. Wondered when you’d show up.”

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it? How are you doing, Maude?”

“Same as usual. Mavis is helping me out these days, but she’s got a lot to learn.”

Haley figured Mavis would never learn enough to suit her mother. Maude was born to be a dragon.

“Sorry about Flora,” Maude added, surprising her. “A good woman.” Then, “Order up. The grill’s still hot.”

Amusement caused Haley to look down at the menu. Some things never changed, like the menu here and Maude’s crusty attitude. Of course the grill was still hot. It’d be hot until close of business tonight. Although that seemed a gentler than usual way for Maude to hurry them along.

“Is the steak sandwich still as big as I remember?” she asked Roger.

“Big enough for two meals, you mean? Easily. And as tasty as ever.”

She settled on that, thinking it would save her having to worry about making a meal this evening, assuming she was still awake.

“I’m hardly settled,” she remarked to Roger as they waited for their orders to arrive. “I’m twixt and tween, mainly because I can’t make up my mind. Am I cleaning Grandma’s house to ready it for sale? Or getting it ready to move into? I think that’s a question I need to answer.”

“It might help with what you’re doing.”

Of course it would. Then it struck her that she’d dumped all over him about the Peeping Tom, she’d shared her family’s history, had let him work in her basement without making any arrangement to pay him…and she hadn’t even been polite enough to ask about him or his family.

“I was thinking earlier,” she began cautiously and then paused as their lunch platters were slammed in front of them and the coffee cups refilled. The banging platters was a Maude-ism she’d never forgotten. It would be easy to think the woman was always angry.

“You were thinking what?” Roger asked as he lifted half the huge sandwich in hands that were big enough to handle it easily.

“About you. We hardly know each other after all this time, but you were one of the bright spots in the summers when I visited Grandma. Awfully patient with a young girl.”

One corner of his mouth crooked upward and his green eyes crinkled at the corners. “First of all, I was only a few years older. That probably seemed bigger back then than it really was. And second, you were someone new, which was nice, and you were good at board games, which I used to love. Why wouldn’t I hang with you when I could find time?”

“You must have been working awfully hard with your dad, though. And how’s he?”

“Retired. He’s living in Oregon now with his brother Tim’s family, working a small horse-rescue facility.”

She laughed. “He calls that retired?”

“It’s different,” Roger pointed out, returning her laugh with a chuckle. “Now eat.”

She was only too happy to take a bite of the sandwich. It was every bit as good as she remembered, with impossibly tender steak. She had to grab a napkin as juice ran down her chin. “You must be awfully busy running the business by yourself now.”

“Not as busy as I could be, I guess. I get orders from all over for custom saddles these days. It depends on how much I want to travel and how long I want to be away. And that’s good because there are other things I like to do.”

“Like fishing?” she asked, and they both shared a laugh.

“Like fishing. Like hiking in the mountains. Sometimes I even want to go cross-country skiing. I can work those things in if I’m careful about the jobs I take.”

“So I take it there’s no one else you have to report to?” That was the most indirect way she could ask if he had his own family. A question that suddenly seemed of burning interest to her.

“Just myself. Only child. My mother died long ago in a riding accident. I don’t think you ever met her.”

Haley racked her brains while eating another mouthful of the heavenly sandwich. “If I did, I don’t remember.”

“She wasn’t easy to meet,” he offered. “She used to help Gideon Ironheart with training horses. That man’s a genius with it. Unfortunately, my mother decided to saddle-break a mustang, and the horse wanted no part of it. Or her.”

“I’m sorry.”

He tilted his head a little, a mild shrug. “It’s been a while.”

“I think I’m living proof that some things don’t stay in the distant past.” She looked down, wondering why she was casting a shadow over this meal.

“No,” he agreed, “they don’t.”

Change the subject, she advised herself. She could get gloomy later on her own time. “How’d you guys get into making saddles? It’s not the first occupation that would spring to the top of my mind. Of course, my dad was a wildcatter before he settled into contracting with larger oil companies, an independent who drilled exploratory wells, and I don’t suppose that would be at the forefront of anyone’s mind, either.”

He laughed. “Maybe in this part of the country it might. But as for saddles? Well, we get back to grandparents and even greats again. My family were shoemakers back East. My great-grandfather was a very young guy, maybe eighteen, when he decided he was bored with making shoes. He was working for his uncle, who reminded him that people always needed new shoes or shoe repairs, and thus there was always plenty of work. My great-grandad didn’t care. He wanted something different, maybe with a dash of adventure. So he apprenticed to a saddle maker, where his leather skills were useful. When he struck out on his own, he settled here, repairing saddles back in the days when ranches were thriving and there were plenty of cowboys. Eventually he found plenty of work making custom saddles and here we are. I repair them, I build them from the very bottom up, and make tack, as well. Keeps me busy enough.”

“I can’t imagine what goes into that.”

“Layers and layers,” he said jokingly. “If you have time one day, stop by. I’ve got three in the works right now.”

“Three?” The idea surprised her. She guessed she had imagined him working one from start to finish.

“All at different points in the process. More efficient if I can swing it. It helps to take my time, too. The most important thing is the horse’s comfort, so every fit is custom. If I hurry anything, I might blow it.”

“And when you finish one?”

“Me and the saddle pay a visit to the horse to make any adjustments necessary. Usually there aren’t many because I start off taking care with my measurements.”

That fascinated Haley. “I never thought of saddles as being a custom fit.”

“Any owner who can afford it, and who gives a damn about the horse, sees to it. Horses don’t all come in the same size, and an ill-fitting saddle can cause problems. But when the horse is no longer being ridden, for whatever reason, the saddle doesn’t have to be ditched. I can modify it to fit another equine.”

So complicated. Her initial interest had arisen from the unusual nature of his work. Now she began to imagine just how complex it could be, and how much knowledge might be necessary. “Like being a doctor,” she said slowly.

That caused him to laugh. “I don’t know that I’d go that far.”

After lunch, with their leftovers in insulated containers, they drove back to her grandmother’s house. The sun was still high, the day warm, and the streets active with kids and adults engaged in everything from play to shopping to yard work.

Bucolic. Perfect. She closed her eyes, breathing in the fresh air that blew through the window, and let her thoughts drift to dreams of staying here.

But as soon as they pulled into the driveway, all of that washed away. Little prickles of fear returned, but she tried to quash them ruthlessly. A stupid Peeping Tom. Was she going to let that pervert ruin everything?

No, she told herself. Absolutely not.

But the discomfort wouldn’t quite leave her. Even as she went back to looking through drawers and closets, it pursued her.

She hoped they’d catch the guy soon, or she might be hightailing it back to Baltimore. Even though she was now not at all sure that was what she wanted.

Downstairs in the basement, working on the last of the ducts, Roger thought over all he’d learned from Haley. Given that she’d been abducted through her bedroom window as a small girl, he was kind of surprised she wasn’t ready to pack and leave.

He hated to think of how she must have felt here alone in this house after seeing the peeper at her window. She sure as hell should have called the police rather than suffer through agonizing hours of memory and most likely overwhelming fear.

Anyone would have been unnerved but, given her past, it had to have been truly awful.

Just how awful had been revealed by her statement that reporting the matter to the police would make it all real. He wondered how hard she had clung to the idea that she’d imagined the man at her window. How much effort she had spent controlling her fear and trying to tell herself it hadn’t really happened, that it wasn’t going to happen again as it had when she was a child. That it couldn’t happen now that she was grown.

Son of a… He bit the cusswords back before they could begin to emerge. The idea of a Peeping Tom was bad enough. No one wanted to think their privacy was being invaded while they slept, all so some sicko could get a charge. Yeah, windows would get locked and curtains drawn. Anyone would do that. But add to that a past kidnapping and the whole ballpark changed.

He bit off another cussword as a piece of metal duct slipped and sliced his finger. Being experienced with home repair—his own and Flora’s—he’d come prepared and was able to get a bandage out of his tool kit.

He liked this kind of work. It used his body and mind in a different way from saddlery, gave him a different kind of workout. It was almost fun. Well, mostly fun, especially as a change of pace. There were occasional tasks that were just plain irritating, but most of the time he liked working with his hands.

Finally he had to call it quits for the day. He needed an elbow joint and another three more feet of ducting to make everything fit tightly. When he finished, he wanted the heat to come on without all that rattling. Yeah, the ductwork would tick as it heated, but it shouldn’t shake and bang as if it was about to fall apart.

Which it had been, he acknowledged as he packed up his tools. Flora had let it go way too long, probably because it had become background noise. Or maybe because she didn’t want to impose. God, he hoped not. He’d tried over the years to make it clear to her that he didn’t at all mind doing odd jobs around her house.

Roger supposed he needed to make that clear to Haley, too. If she didn’t hightail it back to Baltimore after last night.

He hoped she wouldn’t. He’d enjoyed their time together and, in the privacy of his own mind, he could even admit she was one sexy woman. Regardless of his own feelings, the decision would be hers, and he had the sense that right now she was fragile.

Well, why not?

Picking up his tool kit, he headed up the stairs and turned the lights off behind him. The basement stairs opened onto a mudroom just off the kitchen. As he walked through it, he saw Haley standing by the counter with a box in front of her.

“Find something interesting?” he asked.

She looked over her shoulder at him. “Photos. I’ve been pulling them out one at a time and trying to figure out who everyone is.”

“Oh, man,” he remarked. He put his kit on the floor against the wall and came to join her at the counter. A big stack of photos, all right, most of them black-and-white, indicating age.

She gave him a rueful smile. “Why don’t people ever think of labeling?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because the people at the time knew who everyone was. Why would they consider that fifty or more years down the road someone who hadn’t even been born yet might want to know?”

“Probably.”

He spied one that he recognized. “Hey, that’s my granddad. I didn’t know Flora had that.”

He lifted it from the box. “Man, he was young then. Look at him.”

Haley leaned in closer. “You look a lot like him.”

“Maybe that’s why I recognize him. He was a lot older when I came along.”

She pointed to a corner of the photo. “That looks like part of a sign.”

“Yup. It’s still there, much older and painted different colors. McLeod’s Saddlery and Tack.”

“You should keep this, then. One mystery solved.”

He didn’t argue, merely slipped the photo into his breast pocket. “I’d be happy to go through those with you. Maybe some of them will ring a bell for me.”

“Thanks, I’d like that.”

So, apparently she hadn’t decided to leave just yet. He gave her points for courage.

“You know,” she said after a moment, “this whole day there’s been an undercurrent of sadness for me.”

He leaned back against the counter so he could see her face better. “Sorrow?” And here he’d been thinking of her fear.

“Yeah, but not exactly. That’s a strong word. It’s just that I’m going through things that people considered important enough to keep, but I don’t know why. So much is lost.”

“Maybe your dad could help? Flora was his mother, right?”

“Yeah.” She left the box on the counter and went to put the kettle on. “Maybe I can persuade him to come home for a visit. He’s awfully busy, especially after he fell behind on drilling because of Flora’s funeral.”

“How do you fall behind on drilling?”

She surprised him by laughing. “Danged if I know. I just know when he kissed me goodbye before getting on the plane, he said he had a backlog he needed to catch up on, so he might miss a few phone calls. Can I make you some fresh coffee?”

“I need to run to the store to get a few more things for the ductwork. How about I do that and come back after?”

“I’d like that, Roger. I can’t tell you how nice it is to reconnect with you.”

“Same here. Okay then, I’ll be back as soon as I get all the parts.”

She was still smiling when he left. He almost felt like whistling.

Across the street, the beefy man walking a white Yorkie watched Roger pull out of the driveway, then stared at the house for a few minutes before moving on. Edgar Metzler was a regular sight at this end of town, although usually he walked Puddles, his dog, in the early morning or evening, varying according to his schedule.

Haley McKinsey was still there. Maybe that McLeod guy was making her feel safe…

Edgar would give it another day or two, but if she didn’t leave town, he was going to have to do something stronger than look in her window.

He was almost positive she couldn’t identify him. She hadn’t been able to do that right after he’d kidnapped her, mostly because he’d taken care not to show his face, except once by accident when he’d returned her.

He didn’t really have a criminal nature, he assured himself. Yeah, he’d made a big mistake stealing six hundred bucks from her dad and getting himself fired. He’d known he’d been stupid, but the way Jack McKinsey had treated him—as if he were poop to be scraped off the bottom of his boot—that had rankled.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t found another job. Of course he had, up in Alberta, far away from the scene of his crimes. But McKinsey’s treatment of him had been like a constant irritation until he’d decided to teach the man a lesson.

So he’d stolen the guy’s daughter. Okay, he’d been young and stupid, and it had taken him only two days to realize just how stupid. Taking a man’s daughter and demanding a hundred thousand in ransom? Made him look like a pettier crook than he actually was and had walked him into deeper trouble than he’d even thought about until he’d done it and seen the reports on the news. Kidnapping. To this day he couldn’t figure out how he’d come to the conclusion that would be a good idea. It was like that ad he saw on TV about diamonds: kidnapping is forever.

But as soon as the light bulb had turned on, he’d dumped the evidence where he was sure she would be found and fled back to Alberta.

For a long time he’d felt safe. A quarter century safe. He’d retired from the oil fields and had been drawn here by a job teaching about drilling equipment for a vocational program at the community college. Less than two years ago.

Then he’d heard that Haley McKinsey was in town to take care of her grandmother’s house. All of a sudden he didn’t feel quite so safe. What if she remembered him even after all this time?

Going by the house last night to look in on her while she was sleeping had been a test as much as anything. Yeah, he’d wanted to scare her a bit if she woke, but mostly he’d wanted to know if he could remember her. She’d been a kid when he’d last seen her, but if he could recognize her…well, buried somewhere deep in that blond head there might be a memory of him. He’d recognized her. She was just an older version of the kid.

So she might recognize him. But apparently she hadn’t because if she had, she surely would’ve called the cops pronto. Still, that didn’t make him feel terribly safe because she hadn’t gotten a good look at him, what with it being dark, and how fast he had ducked when her eyes opened. But she’d get a really good look if she ran into him on any street in this town.

Obviously, he hadn’t learned to restrain his impulsiveness, though he’d been working on it for years. Looking in that window might have been royally stupid, might have dredged up memories. On the other hand, it might have told him that he needed to hightail it to some other part of the country.

He’d never been a settled man. Half-unpacked wherever he went, ready to go at a moment’s notice.

Regardless, he had to hurry her back to wherever she’d come from so he could bury all that stuff in the grave where he’d been keeping it for a long time. He couldn’t live on the edge of fear for long. He’d figured that out when he’d kidnapped her.

He’d also learned over the years that he was capable of a lot worse than kidnapping if his blood got riled enough, so that woman better not recognize him. She might wind up dead, and while he assured himself he wasn’t a murderer, it wouldn’t be the first time if he got upset enough. Worse, whatever he told himself about everything being the fault of circumstances and his own impulsiveness, not some rooted evil, he couldn’t escape the shiver of pleasure than ran through him when thinking about killing Haley.

She’d been stalking his nightmares and dreams for a whole bunch of years. He didn’t deserve that. He’d returned her safe and sound, after all. He deserved some peace after all this time. He’d built a respectable life for the most part. Look at him now. He didn’t need that woman’s ghost sitting on his shoulder all the time.

Word making the rounds was that she’d be here only a few weeks. Sure, so what was she doing hanging out with that saddle-making dude?

But given the assumption that she was going to clean house, put the place on the market and leave, the local “welcomers” hadn’t tried to make an appearance yet. No casseroles arriving. No pies or plates of cookies. Just the saddler who was often at that house anyway, doing odd jobs from the look of it.

Maybe that was the only reason McLeod was there now.

That didn’t make Edgar feel a whole lot better, though. Now he had to waste time figuring out if he needed to do something else, like peep in a few more windows so the attention wouldn’t be drawn to Haley and create the impression someone was interested in her especially. Someone might well put two and two together if she was the only one visited.

Hell. He rubbed his face and looked down at Puddles. Small enough to fit in his tote when needed, and about the best companion he’d ever had. He wished the dog could give him some answers.

Because if there was one thing life had taught Edgar, it was that he wasn’t much of a thinker. Plotting, planning… Damn, what a waste of time and effort. And now he might be stuck needing to do it.

“Come on, Puddles,” he said. “Let’s go home.”

Puddles wagged her tail happily and continued to trot at Edgar’s side. Why couldn’t everything be as easy as this dog?

Ridiculously—or so Haley told herself—being alone in the house after Roger left really bothered her. She’d been alone here for most of the last two days, working her way through mementos, treasures and trash, and thinking almost constantly of her grandmother. She’d felt comforted then by being so close to the woman she had loved as only a child can love.

Now she was uncomfortable?

She shook herself and gathered some boxes she’d purchased two days ago, spending a few minutes to fold them into shape. Most of her grandmother’s clothes would have to be donated, at least the ones in good enough condition. It seemed she, like her granddaughter, occasionally like to wear a pair of pants or a shirt until it was just shy of falling apart.

Slowly she began to empty drawers, first from Grandma’s bedroom. Later she’d gather from upstairs, where a whole lot seemed to have accumulated. Proof, she supposed, that stuff filled the space available. Then she’d have to start on the books. Maybe she ought to call the local librarian—Miss Emma, she recalled—and ask if she wanted donations, possibly for a fund-raising sale. To judge by the creaking and overflowing bookcases upstairs, Flora had bought nearly as many books as she’d read.

That made Haley smile at last. She had the book bug, too, but avoided needing yards of shelf space with her e-reader. Great invention, especially for someone living in a small apartment.

She did, however, miss the smell and feel of books. Her memory reached into her younger days, summoning the remembrance of getting a new book, opening it, smelling the ink and feeling the paper, seeing those tightly bound pages as a mystery to be explored. The e-reader just didn’t give her those tactile sensations, nor quite the sense of adventure. Once in a while she went to the library just so she could feel the weight of a book in her hands.

Flora had never wanted to give up on that from the looks of the upstairs.

But first the clothes. Undergarments went into the first box. Most of what she found approached pristine condition, almost as if Flora had bought it all then had scant opportunity to use it. Or maybe when she’d grown ill, she had started to wonder what her granddaughter would find in these drawers and had replaced the most intimate items. That would be like her, all right. She wouldn’t want to leave anything tattered or stained behind her.

In the next drawer she found neatly folded nightgowns, but one in particular caused her breath to catch and her throat to tighten. It was almost threadbare now, but the pale green flowers stamped on the white background, an old-fashioned look, carried her back to her visits. Grandma had often worn that when Haley stayed with her and, holding it now close to her face, Haley could almost feel her presence.

That one was not going to charity. It was too old and worn to begin with, but it was also loaded with memories. Little Haley had loved it and Grandma knew it, which was probably the only reason she’d kept it all this time.

Blinking back tears, Haley folded it carefully and put it on the end of the bed. For now, at least, it was a treasure she would keep.

She paused, looking out the open window to see that the day had begun to dim. Where had all the time gone? She glanced at the digital alarm clock beside the bed and saw that it was still early. Then she remembered. When the sun fell behind the mountains, the light changed, not exactly darkening, but losing some of its depth and brightness. A long twilight had just begun. Only slowly, and much later, would real darkness begin to approach. She had hours left.

She released a sigh and got back to work. It didn’t take long to finish emptying the bureau drawers. Next came the closet. Flora had church clothes in there and two heavy winter coats. Someone would be happy to receive them.

As she finished folding dresses into a box and started on the hats on the top shelf, she wondered how many dressers upstairs held more clothing. She hadn’t really looked closely, and while Flora had never been a hoarder, who knew how many generations had been carefully laid away up there? If only because no one had looked for many years.

She guessed she was going to find out.

She glanced at the clock again and wondered where Roger was. That peeper last night had left an impression she just couldn’t shake. The sooner she got done here, the sooner she could escape back to Baltimore and forget that voyeur.

She paused as she stacked the last hatbox on top of the boxes full of clothes. Had she made up her mind? Just like that? All because of some creep?

That didn’t sit well with her. Not at all. Not since childhood had she allowed fear to drive her decisions. She was no coward. Not like that.

But now, as she stood in a bedroom that had once been full of cherished memories, feeling as if someone had flung dirt all over the place, she wondered.

After Grandpa’s death, when Haley had been too young to have more than the vaguest memory of the man, Grandma’s life had become limited to the bottom floor of this house, almost as if she had cut something off. Yeah, on the occasions when Haley’s dad came to visit, he’d taken an upstairs bedroom. Other than that, however, those rooms had remained untouched.

Maybe as a result of heartbreak, Flora had narrowed her life down to one floor of this house and her church. Haley, who would have been too young to know this, had heard her father talking about it once with her mother. How they should insist Flora sell the house and come to live with them.

Haley had no idea why her mother had opposed the idea. Maybe because her mother hadn’t been happy living in the oil fields. Or maybe whatever her mother had thought hadn’t mattered. Maybe Flora had just refused to give up her home.

Shaking her head at the way her thoughts were wandering, realizing she was trying to avoid thinking about the fact that another night was approaching, she carried the boxes into the foyer. She needed to call around to find who might want them and would pick them up. Her little rental car wasn’t really designed to carry much beyond her and a couple of suitcases.

Just then, much to her relief, the front door opened, revealing Roger with his arms full of ducting and a paper bag with handles hanging from his arm.

“Need help?” she asked swiftly.

“Grab the plastic bag?” he asked. “I thought salad would go well with our leftovers for dinner.”

So he was planning to be here at least that long. Her heart lifted for the first time all afternoon. Smiling, she took the bag from him and carried it into the kitchen. Inside she found not only two containers holding chef salads, but two tall lattes, still piping hot.

Roger was already clattering down the basement steps with his armload of galvanized steel, or whatever it was, and she hurried after him. “Do you want me to bring down the coffee?”

“Nah. Thanks. I’ll be up just as soon as I unload.”

She placed the coffee cups side by side on the table, unsure if he wanted both himself, and set the containers with salad beside them. She glanced at the clock, surprised to see it was nearly five.

Man, she must have gotten lost in memories, or even her fearful thoughts. It felt as if one second she had hours of the day ahead of her and the next the afternoon was gone.

Roger emerged at the top of the basement stairs and closed the door behind him. “I didn’t expect to be gone so long,” he said. “I know I told you just a few minutes, but I always underestimate.” He flashed a grin. “Besides, I ran into one of my customers and he wants an adjustment to the saddle I made for him a couple of years ago.”

He stepped to the table, passing her one of the coffees before pulling out a chair and sitting. She liked the way he settled into this house as if he belonged. After all these years, he probably belonged here more than she did. “What was wrong?”

“That remains to be seen.” Again another grin. “He may have lost his own padding. The saddle sure shouldn’t have broken down, but as we get older…” He winked at her.

Haley laughed. “I keep hearing that. My dad started carrying a pillow with him a few years ago. He swears they don’t make a chair soft enough.”

“He might be right.” He snapped open the lid on his coffee and took a sip. “Ahh. Maude, when you learn to do something new, you learn to do it right.”

She had to agree. “I’ve never had a better latte.”

He leaned back in his chair, holding his cup. “You can tell me to skedaddle if you want some private time. I’m done with the basement for today.”

Private time. No, she didn’t want any. At this moment she wondered how she was going to handle the evening and mostly the night. “You know,” she said slowly, “closed curtains have two purposes.”

“Yes?”

“They keep anyone from looking in, but they also keep me from looking out.”

He sipped his coffee and she could tell he was thinking. “I understand,” he said after a minute or so. “You’re going to be wondering if that Peeping Tom is creeping around the house out there tonight.”

Haley hated to admit it, but it was true, so she nodded. She couldn’t lie to herself and could see no reason to lie to him. “It’s stupid.”

“I don’t think so. You’re alone here and that would scare the bejesus out of just about anyone, having someone peer through their window in the middle of the night. I know I wouldn’t like it.”

She thought that was very generous of him. She somehow had the feeling that little would scare this man. Too big, too competent. She sipped more of the coffee he’d generously provided and wondered if she could change the subject to something that sounded more rational than she was feeling right then. Her next words told her she couldn’t.

“Something happened to me today,” she offered honestly. “And I don’t like it. Today this house became less welcoming and warm. Just now, as I was packing things, I realized that the charm I’d always felt here in Conard City was evaporating. That’s what I mean by stupid. One creep shouldn’t be able to change my feelings about this whole town. I used to love to play out in front, you remember?”

“I remember.”

“The streets, in my memory at least, are always warm and friendly. Not so much this afternoon. And the house is full of some of my best childhood memories. I love it. But now I no longer feel comfortable here. A huge part of me just wants to call someone in to empty out the house while I go back to Baltimore.”

He looked down at his lap, nodding slowly. “If that’s what you want to do, I can take care of the house. But I wish you wouldn’t, Haley.”

“Why?”

“Because I’d hate for you to leave here with a bad taste instead of those warm memories.”

He had a point. She didn’t think of herself as someone who ran from things, but maybe some vestiges of that five-year-old kidnapping victim remained in her. Some deep-seated fear she didn’t often have to face, if ever. At work, she was fearless. Among her friends at home, she was fearless.

Or so she had believed. She remembered how her mother had taken her to Michigan after the kidnapping, to get her away from reminders. Maybe she’d learned the wrong lesson from that: run.

“A penny for your thoughts?” Roger asked. “Or has inflation raised it to a buck?”

She had to laugh, disturbed as she felt. “I was just thinking. They teach you to do that in therapy, you know, and I had lots of therapy after I was kidnapped.”

“I should hope so.”

She half smiled. “I learned not to lie to myself, for one thing. Which doesn’t mean I never do. I’ve built quite a sense of my own strength and the belief in my ability to handle anything. Then I come here and discover I can’t handle a Peeping Tom because the child is still alive and well inside this adult, and she still remembers the stark terror of a man coming through her window and carrying her away. That child isn’t fearless.”

Something in Roger’s face gentled. He had a man’s face, marked by sun and wind, with a square jaw and crinkles around his green eyes, but right then it looked less like granite and more like something far softer. “I’d be shocked if that child weren’t still with you.”

“I thought she’d given up her grip.”

“She probably has, mostly. Then this. How could it not stir things up?”

She gave a wan, mirthless smile. “Resurrection?”

“Not completely. I’m sure you haven’t forgotten all the things you learned and practiced over the years. But a whisper? A ghostly reminder? Hell, yeah. Who wouldn’t be disturbed?”

She sipped more of the coffee, savoring its milky, bitter heat, and thought over what he’d said. She reached one conclusion swiftly, however. “I can’t give in to it.”

“Maybe, maybe not.”

She raised her gaze to his. “Meaning?”

“How important is it to you to fight it? I mean, there’s no reason to face it down all over again, is there?”

That hardened her resolve. “Sure there is. That man soiled my memories of this house and this town. They were good memories, all of them. I don’t want to let him taint them.”

He tipped his head back to drink more coffee, then he gave her a heart-melting smile. “You’re tough, Haley. Know that?”

She blinked. “I don’t think so. I’ve been thinking about turning tail for hours now.”

“That makes you all the tougher. You’re refusing to give ground to your past. As for this creep…” He shrugged. “I don’t know the stats, but I imagine Peeping Toms don’t often do more than look. Want me to check that out online?”

She had to laugh. “Would you believe the first thing I really noticed when I got here was that Grandma didn’t have a computer and doesn’t have internet? I may start suffering withdrawal soon.”

“Your smartphone can pick up some of the slack if you want. We have good reception here in town.”

She shook her head a little. “I think it’ll do me good to break the habit.” Then her stomach rumbled, startling her. She glanced at the clock. “Has it really been that long since lunch?”

“We ate early,” he reminded her.

“Well, if you’re hungry, I’ll get out the leftovers.”

She even went as far as to bring out the crockery. Flora would never have considered serving anything in containers, not even leftovers. A nice touch. Also another journey down memory lane.

She skipped serving it in the dining room, however. Grandma considered the kitchen table to be for working on, not eating on, but Haley changed all that in just a few minutes. She’d never had a separate dining room in all her life except when she was here.

Inevitably, though, night drew close and Roger, nice as he’d been all day, had to get home. He had stuff in his own life to take care of.

He stayed long enough, however, to help her draw all the curtains once again and to check all the locks.

Then she was alone with the ticking Regulator, the otherwise silent house, and memories she wished would return to their mausoleums.

They were just memories now, she reminded herself. They’d lost the power to hurt her unless she let them.

The guy at the window was another matter, but he wouldn’t even be able to peek in tonight, if he bothered to return.

With that in mind, she determined she’d spend the night in Grandma’s room. It was where she wanted to be, and it even had a small television on the bureau, something that had surprised her. Maybe an addition when her grandmother had started to become ill.

Soon she was settled in, wrapped comfortably in blankets and surrounded by good memories. The best memories.

To hell with the creep.