“I should get moving, too,” Jake said with some hesitance.

“Will you be okay? Do you want to call someone to stay with you?”

“I’ll be fine,” Rachel replied. “I’m a lot tougher than I look.”

A faint smile tipped his lips. “So I’ve noticed. You paint, you plow snow, you run a successful business, and you even make a decent cup of coffee. I’m impressed.”

“Don’t be,” she said, smiling. “It’s all smoke and mirrors.”

“No, it isn’t,” he returned. “It’s all you.” Then out of the blue, the night seemed to shrink around them, his gaze softened when he looked at her. “You’re an extraordinary woman, Rachel.”

The Lord is close to the brokenhearted; He rescues those who are crushed in spirit.

—Psalms 34:18

Dear Reader,

Welcome back to Charity, Pennsylvania, where friendship, church and a strong sense of community keep the town a warm, interesting place in which to live—despite the recent capture of a serial killer and the skeleton that was just found on Rachel Patterson’s property.

If you’ve read this book—or anything else I’ve written—you probably picked up on my love of small towns and woodsy settings. It’s where I live, where I met and married my soul mate and where we raised our family. It’s where “nature walks” along our country road with our grandkids offer up fascinating things like snails and salamanders in mud banks, and crayfish in the super-skinny creek nearby. It’s where we search the milkweeds for monarch butterfly caterpillars, and check out the neighbor’s shaggy Scotch Highland cattle. And—sometimes—it’s where I see and feel God’s presence even more acutely than I do in church.

Wishing you Peace, Joy and Happy Reading,

Lauren Nichols

On Deadly Ground

Lauren Nichols

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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For Good Friends Old and New.

For the gang from Fisher’s Big Wheel,

and for Allison, Louise and

Ken “Tiki” Soeder. You guys make me smile.

And always for Mike.

Acknowledgments

My thanks to Richard Peck,

who taught me how to sabotage a bulldozer.

No worries, my friend. I’ll leave yours alone!

ONE

Sighing, Rachel Patterson squinted at the clock on her nightstand, saw that it was only 2:00 a.m., then groaned, flipped over and burrowed groggily into her pillow again. Outside, the coyotes were up to their old tricks, howling and yipping at the moon, even though there was barely a moon to yip at. She flipped onto her back again and stared in frustration at the ceiling. Wondered if going totally decaf was the solution to her constantly interrupted sleep.

She’d been a light sleeper since David died, and it had been two years now. Two years of listening to the wind in the trees and the coyotes on the hill. Two years of making dinner for one.

Two years of running their campground business on her own.

She felt the emptiness of missing him again. Losing him had been so terrible at first. If it hadn’t been for her faith in God and the comfort she found in prayer, she might have packed her bags and joined her family in Virginia. But the business had been David’s dream, and he’d awakened every morning, eager to embrace it again. She couldn’t walk away from something that had been so important to him.

A strange, metallic sound broke her thoughts, and Rachel stilled. Cocked an ear … listened for a moment.

There it was again.

And again.

Throwing back her floral comforter, she strode to the long window facing the strip of land she’d recently acquired. The skimpy moon and woods were swimming in fog making it difficult to see, but—

A jolt of adrenaline hit her as Rachel spotted the moving beam of a flashlight in the misty darkness. Someone was out there! And so was the expensive ground-moving machinery the Decker brothers had parked there late yesterday afternoon.

Grabbing her robe from the foot of the bed and pulling it over her dorm shirt, she hurried across the hardwood to the hall, then through the living room to her kitchen. The light below the over-the-range microwave shone dimly, but it was enough illumination to locate the heavy-duty flashlight under the sink. Snagging it, she unlocked the patio door to her elevated deck and strode, barefooted, to the redwood railing.

The intruder’s light went out.

Rachel shone her beam down through the darkness and fog—flicked it over tree limbs that were almost fully leafed—found the mist-shrouded bulldozer, rock crusher and dump truck fifty yards away.

A new rush of adrenaline hit her when the beam revealed a hooded figure crouched near the dump truck. “Hey!” she shouted. “What are you doing out there?”

The figure bolted—clicked his light back on and crashed down through the thick hemlocks and oaks toward the creek below. But not before Rachel caught another glimpse of him.

Rushing inside, she flipped through the phone book, found the number for Charity, Pennsylvania’s tiny police force and punched it in. Chirpy night dispatcher and church organist, Emma Lucille Bridger, answered. Rachel and Emma Lu were kindred spirits of sorts. They were both avid readers and borderline insomniacs. Even though it was common knowledge that the sixty-seven-year-old dispatcher napped during her shift, no one on the force minded. Her only job was to answer the phone.

“Emma Lu, it’s Rachel Patterson at the campground. I’m trying not to be an alarmist, but someone’s prowling around outside my house.”

Emma Lucille’s sweet soprano rose, and her grandmotherly instincts kicked in. “Are you okay, Rachel?”

“Yes, I’m fine. I’m just worried about—Emma Lu, Decker Construction parked some equipment here yesterday. I’m afraid it might have been vandalized.”

Emma Lu spoke quickly. “Okay, honey, I’ll radio Fish and tell him to get down to your place right away. He’s on patrol, so it might take him a few minutes. You sit tight now. Don’t you go outside.”

“I won’t,” Rachel agreed, meaning it. She’d already done that, and going outside to check on someone who obviously didn’t want to be seen wasn’t the smartest thing she’d ever done. “Thanks, Emma Lu.”

“You’re welcome. Just stay safe.”

She’d just finished pulling on jeans, sneakers and a navy sweatshirt, when she heard the not-too-distant rumble of a vehicle. Her pulse picked up speed. It was after 2:00 a.m., and her campground was five miles from Charity. It was too soon for Patrolman Larry “Fish” Troutman’s arrival.

Striding to the window facing her driveway, Rachel cupped her hands against the glass. Headlights poked through the blanket of fog, then followed the winding lane past her camp store and tourist cabins. From Memorial Day weekend through Pennsylvania’s deer hunting season, light poles lit the way, but the holiday was still almost three weeks off—and the breaker for the lights was in the camp store.

The motion lights at the corners of her wood-sided ranch house clicked on. And Rachel’s anxiety dissolved when a green truck with a Pennsylvania Game Commission emblem on the door swung in beside her red Explorer and parked.

Startled to see him at this hour, but unable to stop the happy quickening of her pulse, Rachel tossed her fingertips through her straight sable bangs and shaggy cap cut—then went stone-still with guilt. Guilt and another emotion it shamed her to acknowledge.

Gathering her composure, she stepped outside to greet her unexpected visitor.

The early-May temperatures had been cool until yesterday when they reached the low seventies. Now, according to the round outdoor thermometer wired to the deck railing, it had dipped twenty degrees. A faint breeze ruffled the trees, carrying with it the fog-damp fragrances of earth, pine and fallen leaves.

“Jake?” she said when he’d exited his vehicle. “What are you doing here?”

He kept his voice low, but she could hear the concern in it. “I was driving back from a callout when your call came over the radio. Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” she returned, warmed by his concern despite her feelings of disloyalty. “Just a little on edge.”

Wildlife conservation officer Jake Campbell started up the flight of six steps, his dark brown hair attractively mussed. For a big man, he had a loose, confident way of moving and chiseled good looks that were a little grim until he smiled. He had good eyes, too, Rachel thought. Perceptive brown eyes that missed nothing. The dark green uniform jacket hanging open over his black T-shirt and jeans nearly concealed the sidearm on his hip.

“So what happened here tonight?” he asked when he’d reached her. “The dispatcher said something about a prowler and vandalism.”

She nodded. “The prowler part’s correct. Vandalism’s only a possibility right now.” She backtracked to bring him up to speed. “When we spoke last, I think I mentioned putting in a mini golf course on the strip of land I acquired a few months ago. A little putt-putt for the kids.”

“Yeah, you did.”

She indicated the foggy clearing beyond the trees. “Yesterday, Tim Decker dropped off his equipment because he’ll be leveling the land in the morning. He said it would be fine sitting there. Then a few minutes ago, I heard noises and went outside. Someone with a flashlight was messing around near Tim’s truck.” She paused. “When I yelled, he took off into the woods.”

Jake’s features lined and he sighed. “Rachel, you’re alone here. You should have stayed inside and called the police immediately.”

“I know. I thought of that after the fact.” But the past two years had forced her to become independent—and part of her liked it. “If David had been here, he would have handled it. But he isn’t, so it’s my job.”

Jake didn’t comment, but the troubled look in his eyes sent a clear message: He didn’t like that it was her job. “Did you get a good look at him?”

“Not really, considering the fog. But I know he was white, and he was wearing a dark hooded jacket with a light-colored emblem on the back of it.” She stilled as her mind re-created that split-second happening, then spoke hesitantly. “He was carrying something. Something light-colored that flapped when he ran. A bag, maybe.”

“If it was a bag, that says he expected to carry something away. Do you know if Decker left tools or anything portable behind?”

“I’m not sure. I hope not.”

Another set of headlights pierced the darkness and fog. This time, the vehicle was a black-and-white police cruiser, and the patrolman who got out was a tall, lanky young man in his mid-twenties with fire-red hair and a mouth full of silver braces. Fish was the youngest member of the department, and the one with the least experience. The thud of the cruiser’s door closing sounded hollow in the stillness.

“Hey, Rachel,” he said solemnly as he ascended the steps. “Emma Lu said you had some uninvited company tonight. You okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine,” she assured him as he reached her. “Fish, have you met Jake Campbell? Jake’s—”

“The new W.C.O.,” Fish said cordially, clasping the hand Jake extended. “Our paths cross from time to time. Nice to see you again, Jake.”

“Same here, Fish.”

“You live around here?”

Rachel nearly smiled. It was a casual inquiry, but Fish obviously wondered why Jake was here at two-thirty in the morning. The amusement in Jake’s eyes told her he’d caught that unspoken question, too.

“About a mile up the road,” he replied. “I was coming home from a callout when I heard your dispatcher on the radio. Thought I’d see if my neighbor needed some help.”

Apparently satisfied with the answer, he smiled his approval and pulled out a notebook and pen. “Okay, Rachel, let’s take it from the top. First, can you give me a description of the guy? If it was a guy.”

Rachel told him everything she could remember, glad that Fish was on duty. With the Charity P.D. being small, there was a chance the new police chief would have responded. She’d only spoken to Lon Perris once since he’d pinned on the badge—the night of his welcoming dinner sponsored by the chamber of commerce. But she hadn’t come away from that conversation feeling warm and fuzzy. Chief Perris was … She searched for a word Reverend Landers would approve of. “Condescending” was the best she could do.

When she’d finished detailing what had happened, Fish made a final note, then tucked his pen and pad away. “Okay, I’ll take a look at the site and drive around the loops before I leave—make sure this guy isn’t coming back for a vehicle. You’re pretty far off the beaten path, so I doubt he got here on foot.” He chewed his lip. “You didn’t hear any engine sounds before Jake got here, right?”

“No.”

“Jake? See any vehicles on the road tonight?”

Jake wandered closer, his boots quiet on the plank floor. And Rachel felt another stir of attraction as she looked up at him. “No, and I was watching for them. But I came in from the other direction, not from town. Since the guy cut through the woods, he might have parked on one of the logging roads.”

“Yeah, he probably did.” Fish pulled a flashlight from a loop on his belt, then shone it in a wide arc over the construction site and campground. “Could have been a kid looking to siphon gas or steal tools. It’s a little early in the season for that stuff, but it happens.”

He tucked the light away and turned back to Rachel. “Like I said, I’ll check out the sites and loops, but it’s kind of hard to see now. I’ll be back in the morning for a better look, okay?”

“That’d be great,” she returned. “Thanks for coming. I know I should have told Emma to hold off sending you down here until daybreak, but I wanted to report the incident right away in case there are damages.”

“No problem,” he said, heading for the steps. He stopped then and glanced back. “One more thing. That logo or whatever it was on the back of the jacket? Can you describe it?”

Rachel hesitated. As descriptions went, it wasn’t the best. “It looked like a round head with rabbit ears. That’s probably not very helpful, but I only saw it for a second.”

“It’s a start,” Fish replied. He started down the steps, his lanky body still half-turned toward her. “I’ll stop back if I find anything out of the ordinary. Otherwise, I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Thanks, Fish.”

“Yep. Night, Jake.”

“Night, Fish.”

And in short order, the cruiser’s red taillights had disappeared, leaving her alone with Jake again. Rachel looked up at him. She was more attuned to his presence now that they were alone, more attuned to their woodsy isolation.

“I should get moving, too,” he said with some hesitance. “Will you be okay? Do you want to call someone to stay with you?”

“I’ll be all right,” she replied. “I’m a lot tougher than I look.”

A faint smile tipped his lips. “So I’ve noticed. You paint, you plow snow, you run a successful business and you even make a decent cup of coffee. I’m impressed.”

“Don’t be,” she said, smiling. “It’s all smoke and mirrors.”

“No, it isn’t,” he returned. “It’s all you.” Then out of the blue, the night seemed to shrink around them, his gaze softened and he looked at her in a way no man had looked at her since David. “You’re an extraordinary woman, Rachel.”

For a few seconds, she didn’t even breathe—and she wasn’t alone. Jake seemed just as stunned by his words as she was. Then he quickly rebounded and spoke again, his tone a little gruff.

“Well, I’m out of here. Maggie’s probably wondering why she’s still in her pen.” He drew a breath. “If there’s another problem, and you’re not sure it’s serious enough to call Fish, I’m only a phone call away.”

Rachel found a smile somewhere, but her heart was still racing. “Thanks. And thank you for checking up on me.”

He sent her a tight-lipped nod. “Just being a good neighbor.” His brow lined then, and he glanced toward the construction site. “Make sure you lock up, okay?”

“I will. Good night.”

Rachel waited until his vehicle, too, had been swallowed by the fog, then went back inside and shoved the lock into place. Her pretty hunter green-and-burgundy kitchen was ablaze with light, warm and welcoming. But she was far from relaxed. She and Jake had developed a comfortable friendship since he’d transferred from Potter County to the valley last November. Shortly afterward, he and his Irish setter had started showing up at her camp store. Several times over the winter, he’d even plowed the campground’s incredibly long driveway before she could get David’s snowblower out of the utility shed. Now … now their friendship was changing. She couldn’t deny her attraction to him. What woman with a beating pulse and decent vision could? But she’d loved only one man in her life, and she’d loved him with all of her heart. This felt …

Wrong? a tiny voice in her head asked.

“No,” she whispered. “And it should.”

Jake clicked on his low beams and drove deeper into the mist, his nerves on edge. What had happened back there? And what had possessed him to say something so totally idiotic? The second the words left his lips, he’d felt the hairs at the nape of his neck stand on end. She was beautiful and smart, and so many other things. But the widow Patterson was still grieving, and he wasn’t looking. Not after Heather trashed his dreams and took a sledge hammer to their future. No, he wasn’t looking for anything more than friendship, some pleasant conversation and, occasionally, a good cup of coffee—maybe one of her chocolate chip cookies. She liked to bake.

He followed the winding lane to the highway, waved to Fish who’d just exited one of the side loops, then turned right and headed for home. He snapped off the radio when Hank Williams’s twangy “Your Cheating Heart” flowed from the speakers. He didn’t need a musical reminder. The stack of bills he’d paid for the November wedding that hadn’t happened was reminder enough.

A pregnant cow elk that looked mere minutes from delivering lumbered out of the fog and crossed the road. Jake touched the toe of his boot to the brake. He managed a smile. It was birthing time in the Pennsylvania wilds—which seemed to be happening a week ahead of time this year. Other wildlife conservation officers had already reported seeing a few calves. Unusual, but calving time generally occurred when the most nutritious food was available, and they’d had an early spring.

The commonwealth’s huge elk herd was approaching seven hundred here and in neighboring counties, and drew visitors from all over, especially in the late summer to early fall when the bulls were bugling and gathering their harems. Rachel had mentioned that she did a booming business then.

Pretty, shocked-by-his-words Rachel who would always love her husband with a quiet devotion Jake would never know. Never even glimpse. But that was life, wasn’t it?

Suddenly a vehicle shot past him in the opposite direction. Glad for the distraction, Jake made a U-turn in the middle of the road and hit the gas. The dated SUV had two people in front, and as he gained on it, he tried to make out the license plate. Even if one of them was Rachel’s night visitor, Jake couldn’t stop them; he had no authority. He could get some information for Fish, though. They hit a stretch of road where the guardrails seemed to pin back the fog.

He clicked on his high beams—and quickly recognized young Marty Miller’s beat-up beige Cherokee. Then he dropped his gaze to the brand-new vanity plate on the back of it and rolled his eyes. RD HNTR. Road Hunter.

It took only a few moments for Jake and his gut to decide that twenty-something Marty wasn’t Rachel’s 2:00 a.m. trespasser. He’d talked to the kid a few times, and while Marty seemed to enjoy grinning it up and waving red flags at authority figures, he wasn’t the clandestine type.

Clicking on his low beams again, Jake put some space between their vehicles, then smiled at the mocking license plate. Kids.

When he got to the only red light on Main Street, he pulled into the left turning lane beside the driver and put his window down. Marty did the same. “Nice plates,” Jake called.

The kid with the bushel basket-size mass of brown curls smiled. “Thanks. Just got ‘em.”

Jake smiled back. “You weren’t doing anything you shouldn’t out there tonight, were you? Like spotting the fields looking for newborns?”

Miller glanced at the cute blonde beside him. “Nah, I wasn’t grocery shopping. Even if I wanted to—which I don’t—she wouldn’t let me. She likes the babies.”

“Good. Now you should get her home before her dad comes looking for you.”

“Don’t have to,” the kid returned in a cheeky voice. “She has her own place. Her dad doesn’t know she’s still out.”

“Yeah? He’ll know if I tell him.”

Laughing again, the kid waved, raised his window and drove off.

Nice kid, Jake decided. But if he caught him hunting from his car, he’d still fine his scrawny butt.

Slowly, barely crawling along, the vehicle left one of the rutted logging roads lacing the woods, only dim parking lights illuminating the way. A large cloth bag and shovel lay in the backseat. Nervous thoughts zinged through a mind too rattled to think clearly. How much had Rachel Patterson seen? Was the hood and fog enough to obscure her view? What to do? What to do? A small, jittery voice whispered that the only solution was to leave Charity. A louder one shouted, No! Not when things are finally working out.

Unquestionably, the second voice was right. The idea of leaving Charity was nearly as disturbing as the thought of a prison term. He commanded himself to think. He had to delay that construction project or risk losing everything. Sugar in the diesel tanks wouldn’t work … and the tires were too thick to slash and too easily replaced. If only he’d heard about Rachel’s plans sooner than yesterday.

Gripping the steering wheel, he exhaled a blast of frustration. With construction starting tomorrow, his only recourse was to go back and try again.

Or was it?

A dark thought rose, then twisted and turned and became increasingly darker. He began to tremble, felt sweat bead his upper lip. No! No, that was a last resort.

He had to go back.

TWO

Rachel jerked awake the next morning at seven-fifteen to sunshine and the growl of construction equipment flowing through the screen in her bedroom window. She leaped out of bed and dressed. The machines were already leveling the ground, so that meant there’d been no damage to the equipment, thank the Lord. But she’d still wanted to greet Tim when he arrived, and explain what had happened last night.

She’d just shut off her coffeemaker when someone rapped at her patio door. Crossing the kitchen, she opened her hunter green vertical blinds to see Jake standing on her deck. Feeling a burst of nerves that seemed to double her heart rate, she slid open the glass pane and screen.

“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?”

“I’d like you to invite Maggie to a slumber party.”

She cocked her head. “You want me to keep your dog overnight?”

“Yeah, I do. I have a meeting in Harrisburg first thing tomorrow morning. I could drive down there at the crack of dawn, but I’d rather leave tonight.” He pinned his gaze on the dark pines and leafy maples lining the road ahead. “Naturally, I explained to her that she’d be fine in her pen, but after hearing about your prowler … Well, weird as it sounds, Maggie said she’s afraid to stay alone.”

Rachel smiled, a lovely warmth enveloping her. He wasn’t concerned about Maggie, he was concerned about her. “Maybe you should tell Maggie that she has nothing to be afraid of. Now that the nasty man has accomplished his nasty deed, there’s no reason for him to come back.”

As if to punctuate his point, Maggie crashed out of the darkening woods and undergrowth, her golden-red fur wet after a splash through the creek below. She circled her good-looking master, then nuzzled his hand until he reached down to scratch behind her ear. But his gaze never left Rachel’s.

“You’re probably right,” he said, straightening. “Chances are he won’t come back, but I still wish you’d keep her. She wouldn’t be any trouble. She could sleep on your deck.”

“Jake—”

Briefly touching a finger to her lips, he softened his voice. “Before you refuse again, maybe I should tell you something. I’ve mentioned my younger brother Greg to you before, haven’t I?”

Rachel searched his face. “Yes.”

His dark gaze clouded. “Once upon a time we had a sister.”

THREE

Had. They’d had a sister. Past tense.

“Tell me,” she said quietly.

He took a second to gather his thoughts, then began. “One summer night, Carrie and two of her friends were walking home from the library—something they’d done dozens of times before. It wasn’t quite dark, and we lived in a safe neighborhood. So as everyone said later, there was no need for our parents to worry.”

But there was a need, Rachel realized, and a feeling of dread settled over her.

“That night, Carrie and Erin dropped Liza off at her house, then half a block from ours, Carrie said goodnight to Erin and headed home.” He paused and his brow furrowed. “She’d just turned sixteen. She was pretty and smart, and she wanted to be a fashion designer. She drew all the time.” He blew out a breath. “They never caught the man who raped her. She died from a blow to the head during the assault.”

Rachel didn’t know what to say for a moment, then murmured a time-worn response that never really said enough. “Jake, I’m so sorry. How old were you when Carrie died?”

“I was her big brother by three minutes.”

Twins. That seemed to make losing her even worse. They’d begun life together, were born together—learned to walk and talk together. How many times had he wished he’d been with her that night? Rachel wondered. Big brothers were supposed to look after their baby sisters—keep them from harm. But he hadn’t been able to do that. And now she understood his need to protect. What was it her mom always said? If you want to understand someone, take a look at their past.

“Okay,” she said softly. “If Maggie would feel better hanging out with me tonight, then a slumber party it is. But she’s staying in my room.” She smiled a little. “We can’t possibly braid each other’s hair and talk about boys if she sleeps on my deck.”

The tenderness in his dark eyes brought back that billowing feeling in Rachel’s chest. “Good,” he murmured, returning her smile. “Good. Now I won’t worry about her while I’m gone.”

Rachel closed her Bible, then lay back and turned off the light, a contemplative mood settling over her. She’d read passages from Revelations, then moved on to the Book of Psalms, and one verse kept repeating itself in her mind, probably because of Carrie Campbell’s death. Psalm 34:18. “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted; He rescues those who are crushed in spirit.”

For the second time today, Rachel wondered how Jake had dealt with his twin’s passing. She’d needed her faith, needed her trust in God when David died. The comfort she’d received from her family and friends had been invaluable as she’d found her way back to a life without him. But without her faith, and the solid belief that David was whole and happy again, she knew she would still be broken and adrift. She hoped that sixteen-year-old Jake had turned to God, as she did, and found peace. He’d never mentioned his beliefs, but she knew he didn’t go to church.

Rachel repositioned her feet, smiling when they bumped into a big, muscular lump. After a few sad, high-pitched whines when Jake left without her, Maggie had accepted Rachel’s hospitality and settled in for the night. Now, as she lay curled up at the foot of the bed, she snuffled from time to time, doggie-dreaming.

“I guess I should get some sleep, too, Lord,” Rachel whispered in the silence. She’d already told Him how much she regretted the vandalism done on her land. Now it was time to center on the good in her life. “Thank You for this day, and for my friends and family. Please watch over my dad as he continues to get stronger after the stroke, and keep my mom well in Your care.” She paused. “Also, a friend of mine is on the road tonight. He’s a good man, Lord. Keep him safe.”

Then she rolled onto her side and, minutes later, welcomed the dozy, groggy beginnings of sleep … fuzzy shapes and images coalescing behind her closed eyelids.

Two hours later, a sharp bark shattered Rachel’s dreams and she bolted upright to see Maggie vault from the bed and disappear into the hall. Rachel pulled on her robe and hurried to the kitchen where the Irish setter was barking and leaping against the patio’s glass doors. Nerves buzzing, she snapped on the kitchen and deck lights.

Did dogs go ballistic over minor sounds in the night? Or had her intruder returned to wreak more havoc on Tim Decker’s already-damaged bulldozer? Rachel snagged the dog’s leash from a hook in the broom closet, then clipped it to Maggie’s collar, grabbed a flashlight and pulled open the door. She couldn’t let Maggie out on her own. She couldn’t risk the dog being hurt when she was in her—

Maggie lunged onto the deck, yanking the leash out of her hand.

“Maggie!” Rachel rushed barefooted down the steps after her. “Maggie, get back here!”

She clicked on her flashlight, played it around until it landed on fifty pounds of reddish-gold fur. The dog stood rigidly, a low growl vibrating in her throat, her attention pinned to the construction site. Rachel looked around apprehensively, then quickly picked her way over the dirt and stones in her driveway and grabbed the leash—tugged the dog back.

Suddenly something shifted in the shadows. Rachel’s fear skyrocketed—until she saw five massive figures wandering in the moonlight near the small cluster of gnarled apple trees close to the site.

She blew out a breath. “Really, Maggie. All this over a few elk?” Her yard was a constant stopover for animals making their way from the woods west of her house to the clover and trefoil across the highway. She loved to see them come through. They were shedding their winter coats now, and the bulls had just begun to sprout velvety antlers. Soon, they’d be stately and majestic again. But obviously Maggie wasn’t as impressed with them as Rachel was.

“Come on,” she grumbled. She gave the leash another tug, then gingerly crossed the stones and climbed the steps behind the now-unconcerned dog. “Back to bed with you. You have the luxury of staying up all night and sleeping all day. I don’t.”

At least this little foray took care of a question she’d been pondering. No way was she getting a dog of her own. Chronic insomnia was bad enough without having a four-legged nutcase sound the alarm every time a few elk showed up. Nope, no dogs or guns for her.

Sweat flowed from his pores as he scrambled frantically on the ground, trying to be quiet, feeling one-handed for the keys he’d dropped in the ferns and undergrowth. In the other hand, he gripped the handle of the pick and prayed he wouldn’t have to use it. Where had that dog come from? She didn’t have a dog!

He touched something cold and mushy in the vegetation—a disgusting slug!—but he kept his hand moving, moving. Then his fingertips bumped his key ring and his heart nearly burst in relief as he snatched it up. Fifty yards away, lights on the elevated side deck still blazed. The inside lights, too.

Jamming his keys deeply into his jeans pocket, he retrieved the pick, shovel and bag beside him and waited for the house lights to go out. He’d stopped the construction temporarily, but the problem remained. So did he stay or leave? This time, she’d blamed his nosing around on the mutt’s interest in the elk. But if he alerted the dog again, she could call the police, and that could start a more diligent investigation. Bile rose in his throat, and he swallowed. Swallowed again. Maybe … maybe he was out of options.

The house went dark.

Then slowly, painstakingly, he picked his way through the woods to the logging road where he’d concealed his SUV … trembling as an anxious little voice hissed at him, whispered things he doubted he was capable of … murmured that desperate times called for desperate measures. He resisted at first. But in the end, he knew what he had to do. There was only one way to ensure his freedom, and that was to make sure the land stayed as it was. Natural, unspoiled, covered by grass and weeds.

She wouldn’t need a mini golf course if she was dead.

The next morning, Rachel smiled as Maggie nosed her dog food dish aside and padded over to the stove where Rachel was frying scrambled eggs.

“I don’t blame you,” she said, stirring another egg to the pan. “No slumber party I ever went to ended with Kibbles ‘n Bits.” She gestured with her spatula. “Not that you deserve anything better after waking me up last night. But being a nice, Christian woman, I’m willing to let bygones be bygones.” In a minute, she filled two plates, put Maggie’s aside to cool, then set hers on the table next to her fruited yogurt and tea. She’d just asked the blessing and picked up her fork when the phone rang.

Rachel strode to the phone to check the caller ID and could tell by the number that it was a cell phone call. She picked up the receiver. “Hello?”

“So how did the slumber party go? Did she make a pest of herself or did she behave?”

The sound of his voice brought a smile to her lips and a little leap to her pulse. “We had a very nice evening. Your girl was a perfect lady. Although I have to tell you, she’s not much of a conversationalist, and she really doesn’t like the local wapiti.”

“She barked at the elk?”

“She did, and she wasn’t shy about it. They couldn’t have cared less, though. They just went about their business.”

“That’s surprising,” he returned. “She’s flighty sometimes, but she usually ignores the elk.”

“Maybe she didn’t appreciate their being so close to the house.” Rachel laughed. “Or maybe she’s just on edge because of the P-R-O-W-L-E-R. Anyway, she was great company. We were just about to have breakfast.”

“Then I won’t keep you,” he said, and her spirits fell. “I’ll pick Maggie up around five or six, depending on construction traffic. It’s a real mess down here.”

Rachel smiled against the receiver. “Okay. See you then. Travel safely.”

“Yep, see you.”

She’d just settled at the table again when two honks and the sound of an approaching vehicle drew a sharp bark from Maggie. Rachel sighed. Obviously, God thought she liked cold eggs.

“Sorry, girl,” she said, heading outside with Maggie trailing. “It’s not him. He can’t be in two places at once.”

A shiny black truck with a gun rack in the back window rolled down the drive and came to a stop. Tammy Reston got out, carrying a hefty package. Tammy was a pretty blonde with the long, teased and sprayed hair of a country singer, dancer’s legs and—according to the bumper sticker on her truck—a proud member of the NRA. Her camouflage skirt, tank top and cropped vest seemed to bear that out. Tammy ran Charity’s sporting goods store, had a sideline parcel delivery business and sold more blue-ribbon pies out of her backroom kitchen than the bakery did.

Rachel descended the steps to meet her.

“Hey, Rachel,” Tammy said. “Got a package for you.”

“Thanks. It’s probably my new microwave for the store. But you didn’t have to deliver it.” Usually Tammy sent a postcard letting her know a package had arrived. “I could have picked it up when I went to town for my mail.”

“Nah. I have a package for your gorgeous neighbor down the road, too, so I was going to be in the area anyway.” She spotted Maggie then, and added wryly, “But he’s not at home is he?”

Rachel hid a smile. That certainly answered her question about special deliveries. “He had a meeting.”

“Probably just as well,” Tammy replied, laughing. “It’s hard to go home to meat loaf when you’ve had a peek at ambrosia.”

This time Rachel did smile. “Now, now. Your Joe’s a nice-looking guy.”

“But he’s not Jake, is he?” She looked away and got quiet for a moment, then turned back to Rachel. “I think Joe’s fooling around again.”

Stunned that she’d share such personal information, Rachel remained silent.

“Come on,” she said quietly. “You’ve heard the rumors. Everyone has.”

A few years ago, yes, but Rachel hadn’t heard anything lately. “Why do you think he’s seeing someone, Tammy?”

“Because he didn’t come home a couple of nights ago. He said he went out with the guys after bowling and knew I’d be mad, so he crashed down here at our camp.” She drew a breath. “Then last night, I ran into Ellie Sennett at the Quick Mart, and she mentioned that her boyfriend had subbed for Joe Sunday night. Did you see his truck down here? It’s a dark gray Silverado.”

Sunday night? The same night someone vandalized Tim’s bulldozer? Could there be a connection? “Tammy, I’m more than a hundred yards off the highway. Unless someone drives down here, or I’m out walking the road, I rarely see anyone. Especially at night.”

“You’d tell me if you had?”

She couldn’t lie. She didn’t involve herself in other people’s business. It was tough enough to handle her own sometimes. “I don’t know.”

Tammy seemed to consider that, then nodded and moved toward her truck. “I checked the camp. Someone was definitely inside since I was there last. Things had been moved around. Maybe it was Joe. But I can’t get past the lie he—” She shook off the rest of it, then opened the door and changed the subject. “If you want pies again this year, give me a call.”

“I do,” Rachel replied. “Let’s go with last year’s weekly numbers—same kinds. Can you deliver them on the Thursday before Memorial Day weekend? I’m not sure what the date is.”

“Absolutely. I’ll make a note of it.” She sent Rachel an apologetic look. “And sorry. I didn’t mean to bother you with my problems.”

Rachel waited until Tammy was gone, then strode back inside to reheat her cold eggs and put Maggie’s on the floor. Her mind spun. Was it Joe Reston she’d seen Sunday night? And should she give that information to Chief Perris? She hadn’t heard that there’d been trouble between Joe and Tim Decker … but then, she hadn’t heard that Joe was wandering again either.

Something else occurred to her. What if she dragged Joe into this and he was innocent of the vandalism but guilty of something else? If he had to supply an alibi and that alibi was female, then Tammy would be hurt. Even though Tammy was an acquaintance, not a close friend, she didn’t want that to happen.

The microwave beeped, and Rachel removed her plate and carried it to the table. She couldn’t make this decision alone. She needed to discuss it with someone she could trust, someone who’d be discreet. She glanced at Maggie. Someone who wasn’t wearing a collar and a fur coat.

Just after five o’clock, Maggie jumped up from her dozing position on the bathhouse floor and bolted for the exit, whining to be let out. A second later, the sound of a familiar truck reached Rachel’s ears. She put down her paintbrush. Apparently, Jake had found the note she’d taped to the camp store telling him where they’d be.

“Okay, girl,” she said, opening the door. “Go to it. I’ll bet he missed you, too.”

The chuckles and yelping outside went on for a half minute while Rachel replaced the paint can’s lid and rinsed her brush. Then Jake came to the door, and she felt that tingle again. She liked the way his collarless knit shirt clung to his shoulders and biceps. Burgundy was definitely his color. It complemented his year-round tan.

“Hi. How did your meeting go?”

He smiled. “Like most of them. Some issues were resolved, others were tabled. Have you had dinner?”

“No, but Maggie and I were thinking about grilling hamburgers. I’m afraid she’s lost that loving feeling for her dog food.”

“No surprise there,” he said, grinning. “She thinks she’s human.” He paused. “Getting back to food, how about something easier than hamburgers?”

Rachel laughed. “Like what? Cold cereal?”

“No, you kept Maggie safe from the boogeyman last night, and I want to thank you with dinner. Nothing fancy, just chicken at the diner and maybe some ice cream for dessert.”

For a long, uneasy moment, Rachel stood silently, a lump in her throat. She wanted to say yes. She did. Jake was a good man, and everything about him lately seemed to make her … react. But somewhere in her mind and heart, the part of her that would always love David still ached when she considered moving on with that “other” aspect of her life.

She was saved from trying to explain when his expression darkened and he got the message.

“Then again,” he said coolly, “maybe dinner in town isn’t a good idea. After all, people would see us together, and they might make assumptions. The way gossip spreads around here, it would take weeks to set everyone straight.” He paused. “We wouldn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea.”

A tidal wave of remorse hit her. “Jake, I don’t want you to get the wrong idea. It’s not—” How did she say this without sounding positively horrible? “It’s not as though I don’t want to be seen with you, if that’s what you’re thinking. We’re friends.” But while having coffee or lunch with a vital, good-looking man seemed incidental, having dinner was significant. “I haven’t been to dinner with a man since—” She stopped before she said David’s name and sighed.

She wasn’t totally clueless. She knew something was happening between them, but she also knew that she wasn’t ready yet. “Will you and Maggie stay for hamburgers and macaroni salad?” she asked gently. “I’d really like that. Besides, there’s something I’d like to talk over with you.”

He waited for her to go on.

“Tammy Reston came by to deliver a package this morning and said something that could be important. It might be connected to Tim’s trouble.”

It took Jake so long to reply that she thought he’d refuse. Finally, he nodded and said, “Sure. Maggie and I would like to stay.” But the warmth in his dark eyes seemed to have dimmed at the same rate as the joy in her heart.

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