A Deadly Love (5 page)

“Laugh if you want. I deserve it. I’m not usually such a scaredy cat.”

“Who’s laughing? Not us, right, Zack?”

The boy snickered.

“I used to run wild in these woods with all you locals. I guess living in San Francisco turned me into a nervous city girl.”

Dillon turned into her driveway and let the engine idle. “After a couple of weeks, you’ll get used to how dark it is without street lights.”

She opened the door. “I imagine I will. Thanks for the ride.”

His eyes were warm. “Any time.”

Dillon backed his truck and pulled into his own driveway. Zack’s happy laughter echoed in the night as he slammed the truck door. A moment later they went into the house. Quiet descended. The wind whispered through the ferns surrounding the bird bath and stirred the limbs of the fir tree in the front yard. When a branch cracked like a gunshot, she hurried inside.

Chapter Three

Blood pumped through his veins in a molten flow as he zigzagged through the trees, stumbling and going down hard in the dense underbrush. Heaving to his feet with a grunt, he brushed dirt off his hands onto the seat of his jeans and raced onward beneath the star studded sky.
Close, so close.

A flash of white in the trees ahead.
Tricia.

He smiled and gasped for air. The woman had spunk, fire! Qualities that had attracted his attention all those years ago were turning the chase into a challenge. She had nearly escaped on the road the previous night. If she hadn’t stopped running when Brooke Wakefield almost hit her…

A surge of adrenaline gave wings to his feet. He didn’t usually take the same woman out two nights in a row, but he hadn’t been able to resist. His quarry lost speed. The moonlight illuminated her trembling arms as she pushed through a thicket of bushes. Glancing back over her shoulder, she screamed, long and shrill. The primitive cry raised the hair on the back of his neck.

Leaping forward, he sunk his fingers into a cloud of dark hair and jerked her off her feet. She kicked and shrieked, fighting for freedom with every ounce of strength she possessed. Tightening his grip, he pulled a damp rag from his pocket and clamped it over her mouth and nose. As she slumped into his arms, he howled in triumph.

****

“Hurry up, Otis. I want to go back to bed.”

The dog ambled around the yard and stopped to sniff a bush before finally lifting his leg.

Brooke wrapped her arms across her chest and shivered in her fleece robe. A cold wind blew through the trees, chilling her to the bone. “You peed. Now let’s go.”

The dog ignored her. Lifting his nose to the breeze, he gave a deep woof and loped toward the woods behind the garden. She ran after him, the wet grass soaking her slippers before she reached the edge of the lawn.

“Otis, get back here,” she yelled. “Come here this minute!”

A three-quarter moon cast shadows across the yard and washed it in a pale glow, but its silvery light couldn’t penetrate the dark forest. A few thumps and crashes sounded in the underbrush, followed by silence.

“Otis!”

A shrill scream echoed deep in the woods, carried faintly on the wind. A prickle shot straight down her spine. Turning, she ran back to the house, her heart thumping. She waited on the back porch, listening.
Should I call someone? The sheriff? Dillon?
She’d feel like an idiot reporting a noise in the night, even if it had sounded like a woman in trouble. She gnawed her lip and strained her ears. The forest was still and silent.

Otis will just have to fend for himself.
Not wanting to wake her grandmother, she quietly shut the kitchen door and tiptoed up the stairs to her room. Tucking her knees against her chest, she huddled under her comforter until warmth seeped back into her body. But sleep eluded her, the sound of the scream reverberating in her head. It was nearly dawn before she finally slipped into an uneasy slumber.

****

Brooke stood on a ladder scraping paint off the side of the house. White flakes showered down around her, speckling her hair and clothes. She yawned hugely and nearly toppled to the ground.

Time to take a break before she did some permanent damage. She backed down the ladder and frowned at the dog. Otis lifted his head and thumped his tail against the ground.

“It’s your fault I’m tired. What the heck were you chasing last night, anyway?”

June leaned on her rake and smiled. Her wrinkled cheeks were rosy from the cold air. “Probably a squirrel.”

“I imagine. Grandma, why don’t you make us both a cup of tea, please? I’ll haul the debris to the compost pile and then join you.”

June pressed her hand to the small of her back, her slight frame swallowed up by an oversized, quilted jacket. “I suppose my old bones could use a rest. I’ll have our tea ready in a jiffy.”

Brooke bagged the fir needles and cones her grandmother had raked from the flower beds edging the house and dumped them on the compost pile behind the garden. She paused to stare into the woods before putting away the gardening tools, then went inside.

“I think I’ll take Otis for a walk this afternoon.” She hung her jacket on the peg by the back door and took the cup of tea her grandmother handed her. “Maybe if he gets a little exercise, he won’t feel the need to run wild in the middle of the night.”

“That’s a fine idea. A walk would do you both a world of good. You’ve been working harder than a lumberjack at a timber sale all week.”

Brooke sipped her tea, burned her tongue, and grimaced. “Scraping paint isn’t the most stimulating job in the world.”

“Well, you’ve made great progress. Oh, I almost forgot. Gabe Wilson said he’d have the porch repairs finished by tomorrow.”

“And the yard looks terrific thanks to you. The place is really shaping up.”

June smiled. “It’s a good feeling.”

“Yes it is. I want you to rest this afternoon while Otis and I take a nice long hike. You look tired.”

“I’ll nap until Zack gets home from school. It isn’t easy to rest with that boy around.”

“Let him rake up all the paint flakes. That should keep him occupied.”

Brooke finished her tea and changed into hiking shoes. Outside, she called Otis and headed up the trail behind Dillon’s house. The path meandered through the grove of old growth redwoods surrounding the town and continued into the newer area of forest. Here the trees, though still towering, were far less massive and grew further apart. The redwoods and Douglas fir had been planted decades ago after loggers clear cut the forest.

She and Otis blazed onward through sword ferns and red huckleberry bushes, climbing steadily. Eventually they emerged onto a barren tract of land consisting of stumps and small saplings. The cold winter sun shone down on the desolate area. Logging left brutal scars, but someday trees would soar above the land again.

Whistling to the dog, she started back. The sun rode lower in the sky, casting the forest in shadows. Late afternoon gloom had settled in when she realized she wasn’t on the trail. Brooke stopped and looked around. Uneasiness slithered down her spine. Otis leaped into a salmonberry bush, and a squirrel chattered angrily in response. She wasn’t lost, exactly. If she continued walking west she would find her way back to town.

She took a sip of water from her bottle, stuffed it into her backpack, and trudged onward toward the glow of the setting sun through increasingly dense underbrush. When a light appeared ahead, she smiled and let out a breath.

“We made it, Otis.”

She skirted a Sitka spruce and stopped. The cabin nestled beneath a giant redwood wasn’t one of the homes on her grandmother’s road. The door opened, and an old man with a long white beard stepped out. He wore a plaid flannel shirt and overalls and pointed a shotgun in her direction. Her heart leaped into her throat.

“Didn’t you see the signs? I shoot trespassers.”

Otis responded with a growl. Brooke grabbed his collar and steadied her voice before speaking. “I’m sorry. I’m a little lost.”

“Damn fool tourists. Thought I was safe from your kind in the winter.” The man gestured to his right with the shotgun. “Trail to town starts over there.”

She edged toward the place he indicated. “I’m not a tourist, but I’ll try to be more careful about trespassing in the future.”

“Nothing wrong with my eyesight, and you’re no local.” He squinted at her with familiar green-gold eyes.

“Jesse?”

Dillon’s grandfather stepped forward, the shotgun leveled at her. His bushy white brows lowered.

“I’m Brooke Wakefield, June’s granddaughter.”

The shotgun lowered an inch or two. “Little Brooke?”

“All grown up.”

“Well, why didn’t you say so? I could have shot you.”

Her heart rate slowed a fraction. “I’ll keep introductions in mind the next time someone points a gun at me.”

His beard twitched. “You always did have a smart mouth.” He lowered the barrel of the gun to the ground. “Come in and visit for a spell.”

“I’d like to, but it’s getting late, and I don’t want to get caught in the dark without a flashlight.”

“Dillon called a few minutes ago and said he was bringing me some groceries. He’ll walk you back.”

“In that case, I’d be pleased to stay.” She let go of the dog and followed him into the cabin. The furnishings consisted of a single bed against the far wall, a wooden table with two chairs, a wood stove, and a tiny kitchen area with a sink and an ancient propane refrigerator. Apparently any cooking was accomplished on the wood stove. A kerosene lantern sat on the table next to a cell phone.

“You here visiting June?” he asked, waving her toward one of the chairs.

She sat. “I’m staying for good. Grandma and I are opening a bed and breakfast in the spring.”

His eyes widened. “What sort of fool talk is that? Eli would roll in his grave.”

“He would not. Gramps was very progressive. He’d be proud of our enterprising spirit.”

Jesse grunted. “Maybe. Eli did have some strange notions.”

She smiled at his grudging admission. The cabin door squeaked open, and Dillon came in carrying a paper bag brimming with leafy greens and a loaf of bread. He paused when he saw her, and his lips quirked in a smile.

“I didn’t know you had company, Grandpa.”

“She wasn’t here when you called.”

Brooke stood. “I misplaced the trail a ways back.”

His grin broadened as he set the bag on the table. “That’s an interesting way of putting it.”

She fisted her hands on her hips. “All right, I got lost.”

“That’s what I thought. When I asked June to watch Zack while I brought up Grandpa’s groceries, she said you’d been gone for quite a while.”

She met his gaze. “Is she worried?”

“Not anymore. I told her I’d bring you home.”

“It’s a big forest, Dillon. I’m surprised you were so confident you’d find me.”

Jesse leaned back in his chair. “It isn’t hard to see where someone left the trail and blundered into the undergrowth.”

“Grandpa’s right. If you know what you’re doing, tracking is a simple matter in these woods.” Dillon frowned. “But I did see something strange. I noticed several different places where someone crashed through the thimbleberries and tan oak. I knew it wasn’t you because the damage was done more than a few hours ago.”

“Probably some other nitwit out hiking, or maybe a poacher.” Jesse pulled canned goods and fresh vegetables out of the grocery bag and scowled. “Why the hell did you buy spinach? I can’t stand the stuff.”

“It’s good for you. Let’s go, Brooke. It’s getting late, and Zack is probably starving by now.”

She smiled at Jesse. “I’ll try to warn you before I trespass again.”

“Next time I’ll recognize you, so it won’t matter.”

Dillon gave his grandfather a pat on the back as he headed for the door. “Eat the spinach. I’ll see you in a day or two.”

Outside, dusk had fallen. Otis raced around the side of the cabin and stopped next to them. Dillon scratched the dog’s ears, snapped on his flashlight, and looked over at Brooke. “Did Jesse threaten to shoot you?”

She nodded. “Does he always greet visitors with a shotgun?”

“I’m afraid so.” He headed down the trail, the light illuminating the path ahead. “After my parents and Gail died, Grandpa fell apart. He signed Big Timber over to me and moved up here. Losing his only son broke his spirit and turned him into a hermit.”

“He still has you and Zack.”

“Yes, he does, and I think he’s getting a little better. Every now and then he’ll come down to the house for dinner or even into town for lunch. A couple of years ago, he wouldn’t leave the woods for any reason.”

She shoved her hands into the pockets of her fleece jacket. “That sounds promising.”

“I hope eventually he’ll move in with us. That cabin of his doesn’t even have electricity.”

“I don’t suppose he’d give up his shotgun.”

Dillon laughed. “Not a chance. Jesse isn’t really dangerous. He’d never actually shoot someone. At least I hope he wouldn’t.”

She stepped over a branch that lay across the path. “He seems perfectly lucid to me.”

“He’s sharp as a tack. But if he keeps waving that gun around, I’m afraid the authorities will lock him up for posing a public threat.”

“It’s a difficult situation.” Something rustled in a bush near the trail, and she edged closer to Dillon. He stopped and turned to look at her.

“Brooke Wakefield, are you afraid of the dark?” Laughter rang in his voice.

Her back stiffened. “Not exactly.”

“Then what’s making you so nervous?”

She released a long breath. “I heard a scream in the woods last night. I guess I’m still on edge.”

“What sort of scream?”

“You’ll think I’m crazy, but it sounded like a woman. I contemplated calling the sheriff, then reconsidered. He already thinks I imagined the person on the road the night I crashed my car.”

Dillon frowned. “The scream was loud enough to wake you?”

“I was out in the yard with Otis, and the sound was pretty faint.”

“It was probably a rabbit. Owls hunt at night, and a rabbit’s scream is unnerving.”