On Deadly Ground

“Good morning,” she said. “I would have thought you’d be sleeping in today after being up half the night.”

He stepped into the kitchen. “Nope. My mom phoned a while ago and woke me up.” He paused. “As for getting more sack time—I could say the same about you. You probably got less sleep than I did.” This morning he wore jeans, a dark green T-shirt that hugged his broad shoulders and, for a change, not boots but running shoes. His dark hair was still damp from his shower, and the clean smell of citrus clung to his skin.

His voice softened. “I just came by to see if you were all right. I figured you’d be up because the guys were starting work at seven.”

That warm feeling in her chest blossomed but soon gave way to jitters. Maybe because this was the first time he’d been inside her home and he seemed to fill the room. Or maybe because she was so aware of him filling it. He towered over her, seven or eight inches taller than her five-feet-six. She slid the screen shut. “I’m good. As I said last night, I’m a lot tougher than I look.”

“But you still had trouble getting back to sleep,” he guessed.

“Sad but true.” He knew about her sleepless nights. They’d talked about them. “But I dug out my iPod, and listened to a new CD I’d downloaded. That helped.”

“Casey Kasem’s top forty?”

She smiled. “No, moody oboes and ocean waves. Top forty for insomniacs.” When his rugged features lined in sympathy, she felt another rash of nerves. She gestured toward her round oak table and chairs. “Have a seat. Can I get you a cup of coffee?”

“Yeah, thanks, if you’re having some. But I can’t stay long. I have to get back and dress for work. I’m giving a talk to the kids at the elementary school this morning.”

“About?”

“Respecting wildlife, the necessity for hunter safety courses … that kind of thing. What’s on your agenda today?”

“After I deliver coffee to Tim and his crew, I’m headed to town. I have a hundred things to do before I go to the nursing home.” During the off-season, she occasionally helped out in the activities room. It gave her something to do, and made her feel good at the same time. That would change soon with the campground opening.

“Since we’re both on the clock, do you care if we take our coffee outside? At the risk of looking like a stereotype, I wouldn’t mind walking over to see how the ground moving’s going.”

Good idea. She’d be more comfortable out there. “Sure. Just give me a second, then we can go.” She pulled brown stoneware mugs and a stainless steel thermos from her oak cabinets. “Actually, I should have seen Tim before this. My insomniac’s top forty worked so well that I overslept this morning, and didn’t have a chance to tell him about my late-night visi—”

Heavy footsteps on the deck stairs stopped her in mid-sentence, and a second later, a beefy man in a plaid flannel shirt and jeans appeared at the screen door. Beneath his salt-and-pepper crew cut, Tim Decker’s deep-set gray eyes couldn’t have been colder.

Rachel strode to the door—opened the screen. “Tim?”

“Sorry,” he said. “We’re shut down, and I don’t know for how long.”

Her pulse quickened as she realized that those engine sounds had ceased. “What happened?”

“Someone punched holes in my dozer’s oil and transmission filters. If we’d noticed, we could’ve replaced them. But we fired up the dozer, put it to work and ran every last drop of fluid out of it. Froze it up solid.”

Rachel felt sick. If she’d gotten up earlier, she could have told him what had happened last night, and he would have checked his equipment. This wouldn’t have happened.

Jake’s gaze hardened. “Unbelievable.”

“Yeah,” Decker said. “The freak tried to puncture the fuel tank on my truck, too, but couldn’t get through the thick wall.” His gaze shifted to Rachel again. “Okay if I use your land line? I gotta report this, and there’s no cell service this far from town.”

“Of course,” she replied nervously, then followed him to the kitchen’s wall phone. “But before you do that there’s something you should know. There was a—a disturbance here around two this morning. I called the station, and Fish drove down to check things out.”

Tim pivoted abruptly, the stunned look on his face quickly turning to anger. “Are you telling me you knew about this?”

Jake stepped between them. “Calm down. I was here in the middle of the night, too. None of us knew your dozer’d been sabotaged. That includes Fish. You need to let Rachel explain.”

The officer who answered Tim Decker’s call wasn’t a friendly redhead with a mouthful of silver. The rip cord-thin man who got out of the black-and-white cruiser had piercing eyes, a square jaw and a severe buzz cut. Chief Lon Perris wore a gray uniform shirt, black pants and tie, and an almost smothering air of authority. Thirty years after the fact, his lean cheeks still bore the scars from teenage acne.

Jake and Rachel left their coffee mugs on the deck stairs where they’d been sitting and walked out to meet him. Too agitated to sit and wait, Tim was rechecking his equipment.

Charity’s chief of police position had seen major turnovers in the past year. First John Wilcox had died, elevating Rachel’s friend Margo to acting chief, then when Margo and her husband Cole started their private investigations firm, Brett Johnson had accepted the post. Now Brett was in law school, and Lon Perris, a quickly hired, unknown commodity from the Philadelphia area wore the badge. It was like a game of musical chairs. Hum a few bars, stop short and Charity had a new lawman at the helm.

Perris shut the cruiser’s door, gave Rachel a rude once-over that made her go still, then shook hands with Jake and introduced himself. “Chief of Police Lon Perris. You Tim Decker?”

Jake slid Rachel a what’s-with-this-guy? look before he answered. “No, Jake Campbell. Tim’s over at the site.”

Perris glanced through the trees and tall grasses where Decker stood with his two-man crew, then addressed Jake—not Rachel—again. “Which one’s Decker?”

Rachel watched Jake’s eyes narrow, and visible lines of tension crease his brow. “Decker’s the big guy in the flannel shirt,” he said coolly. “And you should be talking to Rachel. This is her property, not mine.”

If Jake’s brusque tone surprised him, Perris didn’t let on.

Deciding that one of them should be polite, Rachel stepped forward and spoke amicably. “You probably don’t remember me, Chief. We met at the—”

“Yes, the chamber’s dinner. I know who you are, Mrs. Patterson, and we’ll be talking. But at the moment, Mr. Decker is my main priority.” He started away. “I trust you’ll stay available.”

He trusted that she’d stay available? In the back of her mind, a tiny voice whispered the latest message posted outside the church: Remember, he who angers you controls you. The words fell on deaf ears. “I’ll be here until nine-thirty if you have any questions,” she replied. “After that, I’m afraid we’ll have to make other arrangements.”

“That’ll be fine,” he said without turning around. Then he continued on through the trampled-grass path leading to the construction site.

Rachel stormed over to her redwood steps where Jake sat, cradling his coffee mug between the spread of his legs. She dropped down beside him. Strangely, even as irritated as she was, she couldn’t overlook the obvious. He was a big, attractive, well-built man, and he looked good sitting on her steps. Almost as though he belonged there.

“Ignore him,” Jake said. “He’s not worth your time. The man’s a dyed-in-the-wool chauvinist with zero respect for women.”

“Did I say I was upset?”

“You didn’t have to,” he returned with a faint grin. “The flames shooting out of your nostrils spoke volumes.”

Rachel accepted the coffee mug he handed her. “Sorry. Apparently, I get grumpy when I’m shunned.” She took a sip. “But the man got so far under my skin that I was afraid I’d have to see a surgeon.” She met his amused brown eyes. Then she smiled, too—until a subtle wave of tension moved between them, and she had to look away.

“Do you ever wonder what makes people like Perris tick?” she asked, masking her uneasiness. “What possesses someone to be deliberately rude?”

Something in Jake’s tone told her he’d felt that brief connection, too. It was a hesitance—something she couldn’t put a name to. “Hard telling. Basic unhappiness? Lousy upbringing? No social skills? We’ve all dealt with people like that.”

“Not like him.”

“No?”

“No,” she repeated. “Most people I come in contact with are pretty decent. They say, ‘Hello,’ they say, ‘Have a nice day,’ and they don’t give women dismissive looks. Then there’s the lovely Mr. Perris.”

“Count your blessings. At least with Perris, what you see is what you get. He doesn’t pretend to be something he’s not. Some people—” Jake’s tone cooled. “Some people are so good at hiding their feelings that it takes months to see who they really are. Even then, you can’t be sure you’re on point.”

The knowledge that he was no longer talking about Perris landed with a thud, and Rachel’s uneasiness faded. She glanced at him again. When he’d first arrived, they’d talked like all new neighbors do. Nothing personal—just everyday chitchat that had led her to ask if he had a family. He’d joked that he’d been engaged once, but luckily his head had cleared before he’d taken that trip to the altar. Is that what he’d been referring to? she wondered. His broken engagement? And was that hurt or anger she’d heard in his voice?

“Jake?”

Flashing a smile that never reached his eyes, he stood, drained his coffee and stepped down to the ground. “Sorry. We’ll have to continue this stimulating conversation another time. I need to change for work, and you have things to do in town.”

He handed her his cup. Then, as though he’d done it dozens of times before, he surprised her by taking her hand and easing her up from the step, bringing them eye-to-eye. Rachel drew a soft breath. His sun-warmed hand was broad and tanned, and after a brief moment, she took hers back. He started for home.

“Have a good morning.”

“You, too,” she said, her emotions warring with her sense of propriety. Despite the pangs of guilt she couldn’t ignore, she liked him. She honestly liked him. And lifting her chin, she told herself there was nothing wrong with that. Nothing at all.

But ten minutes later when she entered the living room to turn on the morning news, David smiled at her from their gold-framed wedding photograph, and tears welled in her eyes.

Holy Savior Elder Care was set on beautifully landscaped grounds, the low, white brick building ablaze with bright yellow forsythias, vibrant greenery and red and yellow tulips. Ringed with more spring flowers, a snow-white statue of Jesus sitting with children at his knee rested on a raised platform before the wood-framed double-door entrance.

Jake crossed the parking lot and went inside, asked for directions, then proceeded past pink-and-green floral wallpaper to the activities room. He spotted Rachel at one of the tables, chatting with two elderly women who were cutting coupons from newspaper supplements. At the front of the room, other residents worked on puzzles or watched a rerun of Little House on the Prairie. He stopped just short of the doorway, feeling conspicuous in his uniform.

Rachel glanced up in surprise, beckoned another volunteer over to take her place, then strode into the hall to meet him.

“Jake?” she said, slightly alarmed. “Is something wrong?”

“No. Not wrong, exactly. But I was having an early lunch at the diner with some friends, and Perris came in.” He glanced around. The hall had gotten busy with visitors and nurses aides wheeling residents to other venues. “Can we talk somewhere else? I know you’re busy. I won’t keep you long.”

“Of course. Let me talk to Gail—she’s the activities director—then I’ll see you outside.”

A few minutes later, he watched her breeze through the home’s double doors. Sunlight glanced off the small gold cross she wore with tiny gold earrings, a white knit top and deep purple chinos. Trying to ignore the uninvited change in his pulse, Jake joined her on the sidewalk and reminded himself he was only here to make a pitch for protection. Nothing more. No matter how beautiful she looked.

They fell into step together, strolling past bright yellow goldfinches pecking seeds from multilevel feeders “So what’s up?” Rachel asked. “What did Perris tell you?”

Jake glanced down at her. “He said your visitor had to have made a second trip back to your place last night.”

“I know. He mentioned that to me before he left. He said the light ‘chinking’ sounds I heard earlier weren’t consistent with someone banging a screwdriver into a fuel tank.” She glanced up at him. “Did he tell you that whoever damaged Tim’s dozer got the hammer and screwdriver from Decker’s own toolbox?”

“Yeah, he did.”

She sighed. “I’m not sure I like someone coming and going at will on my property.”

“I’m not wild about it, either,” Jake said gravely. “Which brings me to the reason I’m here. When Perris said the guy came back, your living alone in the woods really started to bother me. I think you should get a dog.”

“A dog?”

He had to smile. He liked the way her sable bangs just missed colliding with her dark eyelashes, liked her sea-green eyes. “Yeah, a dog. They look a lot like Maggie—four legs and a lot of fur. Good ones bark up a storm when their owners are threatened.”

The little lift he felt when she grinned took a sudden nosedive.

“David loved dogs—big, slurpy breeds. And we did consider getting one for a time. But we worried that a big dog and our guests might not be a good mix.”

Jake looked away for an instant—told himself that Rachel’s mentioning David wasn’t any big deal. “Then you get a smaller, even-tempered dog with a big bark.”

“Maybe someday,” she said. “But I don’t see the need right now. The man I saw last night was angry at Tim, not me.” She glanced toward the home’s entrance, then brought her pretty gaze back to him. “Was there … something else?”

Annoyed with himself, he shook his head. Now she probably thought he’d made a special trip to talk to her, when he could have phoned or stopped at the campground later. “No, that’s it. I just thought I’d drop in because I had to pass the nursing home anyway.”

“Oh. Well, thank you.” She consulted her wrist-watch, and the sun glanced off the gold wedding band on her finger. “I’d better get back inside now, though. It’s almost lunchtime, and some of my friends need help with their food.”

With the workload waiting for her at the campground, she still took time to help others. He liked that about her. But today he wouldn’t tell her she was fabulous—or whatever idiotic word he’d used last night that made them both uncomfortable. “I have to go, too. But think about what I said.”

“I’ll do that. Thanks again.”

Brushing off her thanks, he headed for his vehicle. “No problem. Friends are supposed to look out for each other.”

Friends, he thought, getting his head straight as he started the green game-commission truck and pulled back onto the road. That’s what they were, and what he was comfortable with. He could do a lot worse.

At two o’clock, Rachel drove down into her wooded campground to see Nate Carter’s yellow company truck parked beside her white-sided camp store. Sunlight flashed off two long silver canisters in the truck’s bed, both secured by steel framing. She swung in beside him as Nate got out of his vehicle.

Nate was a compact man about her height with light brown hair, dated steel-rimmed aviator glasses and a nice smile. A denim jacket stitched with his company name—Carter Propane Sales—topped his jeans and chambray shirt, but on Sundays, he was a suit-and-tie man all the way.

“Afternoon,” he called, walking around the truck to meet her.

“Afternoon,” she called back. “Have you been here long?”

“Just a few minutes. I was making deliveries in the area and stopped to see if you needed to have your tanks filled.” He wiggled an empty foam cup before dropping it in the nearby trash receptacle. “I was also hoping for a cup of coffee and some scintillating conversation.”

Laughing and choosing a key from her ring, Rachel ascended the wide wooden stoop, opened the white screen door and inserted her key in the lock. “If you’re looking for ‘scintillating,’ you’ve come to the wrong place, but coffee’s doable.” She stepped inside, and he followed. “As for my tanks, I haven’t checked the gauges yet, but I’m probably low.”

“You are,” he admitted sheepishly. “I had some time to kill before you got here.” He stepped around three waist-high stacks of cartons on the floor. “You’re under twenty percent at your house. Camp store’s just a little better than that.”

Rachel dropped her keys on the blue counter separating her galley from the store, then slipped behind the bar to start her small coffeemaker. The large dispenser would be pressed into service when her guests began piling in.

“Well, then, let’s fill them.” She put a filter pack of coffee in the basket, added a dash of salt and turned on the unit. “How’s tomorrow for you?”

“Tomorrow’s good. Morning or afternoon?”

Rachel carried two white mugs to the counter where Nate had commandeered a stool. “Come anytime. It doesn’t matter. I’ll be here all day.”

“Great. I’ll stop by in the morning. Jillian has a hair appointment around three, so if my afternoon’s free, I can tag along. Maybe take her out afterward for an early dinner.”

“Can’t imagine her saying no to that,” Rachel returned, smiling.

“Yeah, she’ll like that.” He paused for a moment as the rich aroma of coffee brewing spiced the air, and steaming, spitting coffee dripped into the carafe. A sly twinkle rose in his eyes when Rachel took the stool beside him. “So,” he said far too innocently, “anything new going on in your neck of the woods?”

She had to laugh. So that’s why he’d waited for her. He’d heard. Some days she swore the number of police scanners in Charity outnumbered the population. “Let me guess, you have a scanner.”

“No, I ran into Emma Lucille at the Quick Mart early this morning. She’d just turned over the dispatcher’s desk to Sarah. You know Charity. On a slow day, somebody’s hangnail is big news.”

That was an understatement.

“Anyway, Emma Lu was talking to Ben Caruthers from the hardware store, who apparently does have a scanner, and they were discussing your prowler. Ben was really champing at the bit for information—wanted to know if Fish had made an arrest.”

“Well, if you heard her answer, you know he didn’t. And technically, the guy was Tim Decker’s prowler. Apparently, Tim’s not one of his favorite people.”

“Apparently.” Nate’s broad face lined in concern. “Rachel,” he began hesitantly, “I know this is none of my business, but … do you have a gun?”

“A gun?” she repeated.

He hurried to explain himself. “Only for your protection. What if this guy thinks you recognized him? You’re miles from help if you need it.”

First Jake’s suggestion that she get a dog, now this. God had been good to her. He’d blessed her with wonderful friends … and one very caring neighbor. “Nate, I appreciate your concern, but really, who would risk killing someone over an act of vandalism? We’re not talking about the mob here.”

“I know that, but you’re alone,” he said, pressing his point. “Non-mob things happen. Now if you want a gun—”

“No way.” Rising, she retrieved the coffee carafe and returned to fill their cups. “A gun in the hand of someone who’s never used one is a surefire recipe for disaster.” She reached under the counter for a basket filled with stir sticks and sugar and creamer packets. “Now let’s talk about something uplifting. Something that will put a smile on my face.”

Still troubled but seeming to know that she wouldn’t change her mind, he conceded. “Okay, like what?”

Rachel laughed. “Well, you could tell me that my propane will be cheaper this year.”

* * *

Maggie crashed into the woods after another chipmunk, and with a sharp whistle, Jake called her back and slowed his run. The sun was sliding toward the horizon, but the day was still warm, full of the smells, sights and sounds of spring. Every bird in the valley was out doing what birds did, and seemingly overnight, grassy fields had become endless carpets of dandelions.

He wiped his face with a hand towel, jammed it into his back pocket, then settled into a cool-down jog. He paused to listen outside Rachel’s camp store. Music. Somewhere on the property, country singer Alan Jackson was recalling coming of age on the Chattahoochee. Jake followed the song to the bathhouses—and Rachel. She’d propped the door open with a rock, and low sunlight shone through it, highlighting her face-framing sable hair as she slapped mint green paint on a wall. She looked young and industrious in cutoff jeans and a yellow T-shirt.

She whirled around in surprise when Maggie dashed past him and bolted inside to say hello, her toenails clicking on the concrete floor. “Three visits in one day?” she said, laughing and scrubbing her fingers through the setter’s silky coat. “You two are going to spoil me.”

Jake worked up a smile. That’s what he’d been afraid of. Not the spoiling part. He was worried about sending the wrong message. He didn’t want her thinking what women probably thought when a man made three trips to see them in one day. He was here only because his house felt empty, he’d put in a full day, and he was—as his grandmother used to say—at loose ends.

Rachel took in his navy cutoffs and white tank top. “Out for a run?”

“Just a short one. I was about to head for home when I heard the music and thought I’d see what you were up to.”

She had amazing eyes. Eyes that saw too much, he decided, recalling the conversation he’d put a stop to this morning. He knew he’d piqued her interest. But no man with an ounce of pride admitted to a beautiful woman—even one who still wore a wedding band—that his fiancée had preferred someone else to him.

He glanced around at Rachel’s handiwork. “Looks good.” The bathhouse was constructed of cement blocks, smooth now under countless coats of paint. Above white fixtures, a long, wood-framed mirror was bolted to the wall, while the opposite wall hosted freshly painted shower stalls. “Got another brush? I’ll help you finish.”

“Thanks, but I only have one wall to go.” Rachel dipped to scoop a rag from the floor, then wiped her brush and walked toward him. She was long and lithe, grace in motion on two white-sneakered feet. “I was ready to call it a day anyway. Give me a minute to seal the paint can and clean my brush, then we can walk up to the store. You and Maggie look like you could use a cold drink—and I know I could use one.”

“Sounds good,” he said. “But I’m buying.”

They didn’t stay at the camp store; they walked. The store was too warm, and the sunset was too vibrant to miss. In a while, they found themselves sipping Pepsi from plastic bottles near the site of last night’s vandalism. The twilight song of the peepers filled the air, Alan Jackson’s boyhood reminiscing long gone.

Rachel glanced at the partially chewed-up earth and lone piece of equipment and once again felt a twinge of guilt over the dozer’s damage when it was in her care.

Jake spoke. “Looks like Decker moved his other equipment before it could suffer a similar fate.”

Rachel nodded. “Chief Perris suggested it, but Tim had already decided to move them until they were ready to resume work. He’s sending a flatbed for the bulldozer tomorrow.”

“Nothing from the police yet?”

“No, but the way Perris feels about me—make that women in general—I’m not expecting a call.”

Rachel watched him take another swig of his Pepsi, then screw the cap back on. “I have a favor to ask.”

A favor? “Since I can’t imagine you asking anything I wouldn’t say yes to … sure. What do you need?”