A Dark Lure (26 page)

He crooked a brow.

Irritation flared through her features.

“Look, I was able to help a man and his daughter today. Both lonely and hurt. I made them seem just a little bit happier, even for a moment. And that made
me
feel good, okay? That’s
all
. I don’t know what you have against him. I don’t have to listen to this.”

She was about to turn away again, then added, “Grief isn’t linear, Cole. I’m sure you know that. And I’m not even going to grace your comment about me encouraging him with an answer. If you’ll excuse me, I—”

Impulsively, his hand shot out and he caught her arm. She stilled, tension tightening her face. A cool flint entered her eyes.

“Be careful, Liv, I don’t trust him.” He paused. “I don’t believe in coincidences.”

“What does that mean?”

But before he could answer, Adele approached them, sans apron, purse in hand.

“Unless there’s anything else,” she said to Olivia, “I’ll be on my way. I heard on the kitchen radio that it might start snowing as early as tomorrow morning. I might have to take one of the rooms in the lodge tomorrow night if it gets bad.”

“I tell you what,” Olivia said. “Why don’t you call in early tomorrow before you leave Clinton. If it looks as though the snow will be heavy by tomorrow evening, we might not be having anyone for our Thanksgiving dinner anyway. Might end up canceling. And if the storm sticks around, you could get stranded here for a while.”

“You might have trouble calling in tomorrow,” Cole said. “The landlines have gone down. As well as sat reception.”

Both Adele’s and Olivia’s eyes shot to the TV. It was blank.

Another sharp gust of wind rattled at the shutters and howled up high in the chimney. Adele went over to the phone on the wall near the bar, lifted the receiver.

“You’re right,” she said, coming back. “No dial tone.”

“Okay, maybe it’s best if you don’t drive up at all tomorrow,” Olivia told Adele. “Just stay home. Stay safe and warm. I’ll handle things here.”

The housekeeper hesitated.

“Honest.” Olivia smiled. “We’ll be fine.”

“All right then. I’ll call the phone company from Clinton tomorrow,” Adele said. “Just to check that it’s a regional problem and not a ranch-specific issue.”

“Thank you.”

“Well, good night then.” She nodded at Cole.

“Regards to Mr. Carrick and Tucker,” he said. Then on impulse, “Will you see Tuck soon?”

She looked fidgety. “He often comes around to our house. So, yes, probably.”

“You mentioned he’s in finance. Who does he work with? Clinton is such a small town.”

“A development company.”

“Forbes, perhaps?”

Her face reddened. Her gaze cut to Olivia. “Well, yes, he’s doing some work with Clayton Forbes’s real estate business. He’s helping on his mayoral campaign as well.”

“
Forbes
is running for mayor?”

She nodded and gave a quick, forced smile. “Like you say, small town, not many opportunities outside of ranching. Got to take what one can get.” She turned to Olivia. “Jason said he’d be ready to serve in five minutes. Well, good night, Olivia, Cole.” She gave a quick nod without meeting his gaze again.

Cole watched Adele head into the hallway. The housekeeper removed her coat from the hook, cast a quick backward glance. Their gazes met for a brief instant. She opened the door, a draft of wind flapping her skirt, and she slipped out into the night. Cold washed in along the floor, and the flames in the hearth shivered. The door slammed in the wind.

Olivia turned abruptly to him “What was that about?”

“Did you know that Tuck Carrick works for Forbes?”

“No.”

“But you know Forbes wants to buy the ranch.”

“Everyone in Clinton knows that.” She frowned. “Do you always observe a room like this? Like you’re doing some sort of analysis? Are you always so damn suspicious of everyone’s motives?” Irritation laced her voice.

“Old habits die hard, Olivia,” he said quietly, holding her eyes.

“It’s as if you’re searching for reasons to dislike everyone.”

Gage returned with Cole’s drink.

“If you’ll excuse me,” Olivia said coolly, “I’m going to check with Jason to see if he’s ready to serve.”

Olivia strode toward the kitchen, back stiff. Cole noticed again her slight limp.

. . . wrapped only in a rancid bearskin and burlap sack. She wore hiking boots and no socks. She carried a rifle, was severely hypothermic, badly cut, bruised, frostbitten, and babbling nonsense. She had a frayed rope secured tightly around her neck. Sarah Baker. Miraculously, she’d survived . . .

Cole absently sipped his drink as he watched the kitchen door swing closed behind her.

Great, buddy. You sure blew that one. Right out of the water. Way to build trust.

Burton was watching the door where Olivia disappeared, too. He met the man’s eyes, and something dark and malignant swelled between them.

CHAPTER 16

Myron hunkered at the head of the table like a sick old raven, his eyes sunken and bleary from drugs, drink, illness, or all three, as he poked at his dinner. He seemed in an odd mood, his gaze darting restlessly between Olivia, Cole, the kid, Burton. And he was being more reckless with his drink tonight. Something had altered in him, and as the wind outside howled, bringing the storm closer, Olivia felt the
tick tock
of a metaphysical clock.

Cole was seated to his father’s right. Gage had taken the chair beside Olivia. Tori sat across from her. Rancor seemed to percolate around the child as she fiddled with the corner of her white linen napkin.

Guilt clutched through Olivia. She glanced at Cole. He was watching her from below his dark lashes as he ate and sipped his glass of Burgundy. And while the food was excellent as usual, while sounds of merriment rose from guests at the other tables, the mood at their table was off.

“Compliments to the chef.” Cole wiped his mouth with his napkin, setting it beside his plate.

“The trout starter was from the lake,” Olivia offered, trying to lighten the atmosphere. “The venison is from the neighboring ranch, and the roasted autumn vegetables came from the kitchen garden.”

“A vegetable garden your mother started,” Myron muttered to Cole, reaching for his third glass of red wine. “Back when we took delivery of the first chickens. She tilled that soil by her own hand. Grew peas up the back fence, right to the top. Watered from the rain tank.”

Cole’s hand stilled, glass in midair as he regarded his father.

“Jason Chan tends it now,” Olivia cut in, trying to break the tension.

Kim cleared the starter plates and brought in the main course. Zack came from the bar and set two more bottles of wine on the table, one white, one red. Music was good. Conversation at other tables grew louder, and there was more laughter. The wind rattled insistently at the shutters and keened plaintively down the flue.

Olivia glanced up, saw that Tori’s gaze was fixed on her. Their eyes met for a moment.

“You doing okay there, Tori?” Olivia said. “Did you like the trout?”

“Yeah,” she said, glancing at her father before she returned her attention to pushing food around her plate. Olivia met Cole’s gaze. Something surged between them. Unspoken.

She swallowed.

“Gage,” Cole said suddenly, reaching for the wine bottle and topping up the man’s glass, “Olivia mentioned that you recently retired.”

Gage braced slightly. “Yes.”

“What did you do?” he said, offering Olivia more wine. She shook her head, casting him a hot, questioning glare.

“Consulting,” said Gage.

Tori’s knife clattered to the floor. Everyone jumped. She stared up at her father, mouth agape.

“Pick it up, Tori,” Gage said curtly.

“No, no, it’s okay,” Olivia said quickly. “Leave it, please. Kim?” She called Kim over from the bar. “Could you bring us another knife?”

Kim bustled off into the kitchen.

“Consulting?” Cole cut into his food, delivered a forkful of venison to his mouth. Olivia scowled at him. He ignored her.

“Security systems.”

Tori shoved her chair back abruptly and came sharply to her feet.

“What are you doing?” her father said.

“I’m going back to the cabin to sleep. I’m tired.” She started for the hallway.

“Tori,” he growled. “Get back here. Mind your manners.”

“Why! Why should
I
pretend? Why should
you
? I don’t want to be here.”

Olivia surged to her feet. “Tori, come here. Why don’t you come sit by the fire. Kim can bring your dessert there.”

Her gaze shot daggers at Olivia. “And why should I listen to
you
? You’re not my mother. How did you get that ugly scar around your neck anyways? The one you try to hide?”

Everyone around the table fell dead silent. The fire crackled, popped. Even the chatter at the other table fell quiet. Wind battered the house.

Cole got to his feet, about to interrupt, when Olivia said quietly, “It was a crab-fishing accident. I worked a season up at Dutch Harbor. I got a cable from one of the crab traps around me when they were about to drop it overboard.” She forced a smile. “I was lucky to live.”

Tori stared, something warring through her features, as if she wanted to think Olivia was cool but she needed to honor her mother. Mouth flattening, hands tight at her sides, she turned and marched over the wood floor into the hall. She grabbed her jacket and yanked open the big door, slipping out into the night. The door banged shut behind her.

Gage hesitated, then got up, slapped his napkin on the table. “I apologize. She’s having a rough time after losing her mother.”

Olivia said, “If there’s anything we can do—”

“It’s fine.”

“I’m sure you’re
both
having a rough time,” Cole said.

Gage met Cole’s eyes, hostility flashing through his own. Choosing silence, he strode for the door, his boots loud on the wood.

“What in the hell did you have to go and do
that
for?” Olivia snapped.

“You know why. His lavishing attention on you is hurting his daughter. It’s as obvious as day.”

“And
you’re
the ranch shrink now? The arbiter on how one should experience grief?” She stormed off and slapped through the kitchen door with both hands.

Plates of blueberry crumble were lined in rows on the kitchen counter, ready to serve, dark purple berry juice bleeding into ice cream as white as snow. It was as if Olivia had smacked straight into a wall. Berries. Blood. Thanksgiving. Storm coming.

He leaned closer, and my mouth turned dry. And he told me about the wild blueberries. Down by the bend in the river.

I took the lure.

I went in search of the berries.

I never came home.

She tried to swallow, to catalogue her surroundings in order to stay present.

Nella was busily unpacking the dishwasher. It was warm in the kitchen. Jason had a glass of wine on the windowsill. Kim came in behind Olivia, snagged four dessert plates, balancing them on her arms as she backed open the door.

Music played softly on the radio.

She tore her eyes from the “bloodied” ice cream, cleared her throat. “Jason, you outdid yourself tonight.”

“Wait until the big meal tomorrow,” he replied with a grin.

She glanced at the window. There was a green glow in the dark sky, which meant it was still clear. “If that storm does hit tomorrow, we might have to cancel.”

“We’ll play it by ear.” He reached for his glass of wine, took a sip. “Whatever I prepare can always go into the freezer if we call it off. You could be having turkey pot pie well into the winter.”

“Can I help clear up?”

“All under control.”

“You guys must be getting excited,” she said to Nella. “You all packed?” Her mother was taking her away for a week to Mexico. And Jason would be leaving after the weekend for his summer job cooking for a tour group in New Zealand. It was doubtful he’d return. Olivia wondered if there’d even be a ranch next year this time.

“Just about,” Nella said. “Still need to buy sunscreen.”

“We’ll miss Broken Bar.” Jason’s eyes held hers, reading her mind. There was a shift in the warm kitchen atmosphere.

“I know,” she said quietly. “Me too. Well, I’ll call it a night then, once the last guests have left.” She paused on her way out. “Oh, Nella, thank you for the berry basket.”

“What basket?”

“You know . . . the one left outside my door.”

“I didn’t leave any berries.” She grinned. “Now I wish I had. We picked tons for the dessert and had plenty to spare. They were growing all over the forest. Ripe in perfect time for Thanksgiving blueberry crumble.”

“Oh. Okay . . . thanks.” Olivia backed up a few steps, turned, and woodenly pushed through the door.

There had to be a simple explanation, but her mind was suddenly messing with her again. Cole’s words curled through her mind.

Be careful, Liv
. . .
I don’t believe in coincidences
. . .

The warning suddenly felt sinister. She wanted to ask him what he meant. He never did get a chance to explain.

Shadows darkened the porch. Eugene reached for the door handle, surprise washing through him as he found it unlocked. His quarry was still too bold. Disquiet trickled through him—had she not received his lure? The newspaper? Why was she not more fearful? She would be after tonight.

Trees bent and groaned in the mounting wind as he stepped inside, eyes adjusting to the dark interior. Concern sliced afresh through him as he thought of her with the kid and father in the boat. Things were not quite what they seemed there. The kid brought unsettling thoughts about his mother. And while he didn’t personally recognize the father as a cop from Watt Lake, it gave him pause for thought.

Who was the game and who the hunter?

Urgency prickled through his blood.

He found her bedroom, entered with his mouth slightly open as he breathed in her scent. Tasting her. Refamiliarizing himself. He moved to her bed. Wind rattled branches outside. He froze, listening for the approach of footfalls. None came.

He reached for her bed cover.

Kim placed a plate of blueberry crumble in front of Cole and one in front of his dad.

“What’s gotten up your ass?” Myron grunted at Cole as Kim left.

“I don’t trust Burton.” Cole picked up his spoon, poked at the ice cream.

“It’s not like he’s going to abscond with the silverware.”

“Something’s off.” He glanced up. “About the way he is with Olivia.”

He had his father’s attention now—his bushy brows hunkered in a low frown over his eyes.

“Off, like how?”

“Burton was the one who left that newspaper in the office with her name on it, and the lure inside that freaked her. It’s a big-ass steelhead lure. Got nothing to do with local trout.”

“So?” But a glimmer of interest peered through the inebriated haze.

“The coincidences are weird, that’s all. Burton arrives on Broken Bar right as the news breaks about a woman found hanging by her neck from a tree. This freaks Olivia, who also has scars around her neck. Then he leaves that newspaper with her name right over the story.” He couldn’t say more, not without revealing Olivia’s past as the Watt Lake Killer’s last victim. That was hers to tell.

“Doesn’t sound terribly nefarious to me.”

“You saw how his kid reacted when he said he worked in security. She dropped both her jaw and her knife. Then she spoke about pretending. I think he’s lying.”

“Probably means nothing,” Myron muttered into his beard. “Just coincidence.”

“That’s the thing,” Cole said. “I don’t believe in coincidences.”

“So what do
you
think he wants? What are your hyperaware journalistic observation skills and conspiracy theories telling you?”

Cole raised a brow. “I don’t know,” he said quietly.

His father swirled his drink with his gnarled hand, spilling a few drops like blood onto the white linen. “You found something out about her past, didn’t you,” he said, words a little more slurred. “Something you’re not telling me.”

Cole didn’t reply. He reached for his own glass, took a sip.

His father held his eyes a long time. “Something’s changed—what is it? You going to tell me or not?”

“I’m not.”

His father took a deep swig, and drew in an even deeper breath.

“It
has
to come from her,” Cole said. “It’s not mine to tell.”

“But you’ve got her back, right? You’re going to see her straight. You’re going to see that she’s okay running this ranch on her own.”

Emotion—something close to affection—sideswiped Cole as he looked into his father’s rheumy eyes and saw a raw earnestness in the old man’s craggy features. Guilt snaked through it all as he thought about Forbes, Jane, the document he’d signed. His mind turned to the big fight he and his father had had thirteen years ago, when Myron had yet again thrown at Cole the fact he’d killed his mother and brother and destroyed this family and the ranch because of it.