Hard Evidence (9 page)

“Probably that guy I saw slipping through the trees with a flashlight.” Janna took a shaky breath. “And in the meantime, you and I both have children at the lodge and cabins—less than a hundred yards away.”

“I’m going to alternate with one of my officers for the next week or so and maintain surveillance of that area. In the meantime I want Ian and Rylie staying close to home.”

“Agreed,” Janna said fervently.

It was a good plan. Far more than she would’ve expected, given the situation and the limited manpower in the sheriff’s department.

But surveillance couldn’t last forever. The stranger might stay clear until he knew no one was watching…and he might have all the time in the world to wait.

So how was she going to keep her family and guests safe?

“S
urely you don’t want to spend your day off doing this,” Janna protested, when Michael appeared at the door of Cabin One on Saturday morning. “You and Ian could go to town or something. Have some fun.”

Michael stepped into the cabin anyway, a tool belt slung low at his waist, his denim shirtsleeves rolled back. He looked so competent, so masculine, that she just wanted to stop and stare.

“We’ll go to town later. I promised we’d help, and I’ve gotten back too late the last few nights to do anything.” He smiled, but his eyes were weary, and she knew he had to be exhausted. She hadn’t seen his patrol car arrive until almost nine o’clock on Thursday and Friday, and then he’d gone out into the timber on surveillance.

“Really, this could wait,” she said when Ian followed him to the wobbly kitchen table with an armload of tools. “I could just start cleaning up some of the other cabins and get these repairs done later.”

A sudden breeze stirred up the dust on the floor. She tried to hold back a sneeze, but failed. “Sorry—you could probably find me anywhere on the property by listening to me sneeze.”

“It is handy,” Michael said with a twinkle in his eye. “You should probably let us do the heavy cleaning, too.”

Janna laughed. “And miss all this fun? Not on your life.”

“Then at least let us tackle some repairs. The sooner this cabin is done, the sooner you’ll have more paying guests.” Michael looked down at the legal pad in his hand. “I’ve already made a list. We’ve got to fix this table. Replace the countertops in the kitchen and bath. Repair some of the cupboard doors…and hang a new exterior door. I figure we can get it done in a couple days, easy. Did you pick up a new door at the lumberyard?”

“I drove up to Jackson yesterday, and all of the supplies you need are in our truck.” Janna surveyed the dark little cabin, envisioning how it would look with new cherry-red countertops and bright-red-and-white gingham curtains. She’d already ordered pretty patchwork quilts for the bedroom, and linens for the bath and kitchen. The image made her smile. “Just tell me what to do.”

He thought for a minute. “We can handle the carpentry, if you want to do something else. Stop back now and then, though, in case we have questions.”

“Good enough.” She stayed to watch them, though, entranced by Michael’s loving patience with his son.

After they set up some sawhorses on the porch, Michael helped Ian measure boards and cut several lengths of pine, then showed him how to brace the table high underneath, where the legs and top met.

Perspiration formed on Ian’s forehead and he bit his lower lip as he awkwardly managed the screws and screwdriver. He repeatedly dropped the screws and had to search the floor for them, and as the minutes passed Janna could see the tension increasing in the stiff set of his shoulders.

When the last leg of the table was braced, Ian sat back with a gusty sigh, his face etched with relief.

“Good job, son.” Michael clapped him on the back. “This sort of thing isn’t easy the first time. Let’s set ’er up and see how we did.”

They stood and flipped the table over, and Michael grabbed the edge. “Solid as a rock. Perfect!” He ran a practiced hand over the top surface. “You know, this would be a pretty table if we stripped and sanded it. What do you think?”

Ian stared at it with something akin to horror, probably imagining endless hours of work.
“Today?”

“For now I’d rather just go for the basics,” Janna said, “so I can get this place up and running. I can do the refinishing this winter.”

Ian’s shoulders slumped with relief. “So, are we done yet?”

“Nope. Next, the cupboards.” Michael sauntered over to test the doors, one by one, making a chalk mark on the ones needing repair. “It’s a good feeling, when you can work hard and really see what you’ve accomplished. This should be fun.”

The boy looked so restless that Janna took pity on him. “You know what? I’ve got a pitcher of lemonade up in the fridge at the lodge,” she said. “I’ll bet you and your dad would enjoy some. Could you run up and get it?”

He nodded and took off so fast that Janna laughed. “I’m not sure carpentry is his cup of tea.”

“And now that he’s escaped, I’m probably not going to get him back anytime soon.” Michael frowned at her, though she caught a twinkle in his eye. “Sooo…want to help me get these cupboard doors off?”

“My pleasure.” She picked up a screwdriver and started at one end of the row of cupboards, while he started at the other. “I enjoyed watching you work with Ian,” she said after a few minutes.

Michael deftly released a warped door from its rusted hinges and set it on the floor. “I figure it might help with his dexterity and the strength in his hands. It might even be a creative outlet someday. He…lost a bright future in that accident.”

“Future?” Curious, she looked down the row of cupboards at him.

He worked on another hinge, his grip on the screwdriver turning his knuckles white. “Ian was something of a prodigy. At sixteen his acrylics hung in a Chicago gallery, and two sold for five figures. Just before the accident, he was accepted into one of the most selective art schools in New York.” Michael’s voice roughened. “I suppose he didn’t mention it, though. The whole situation is still hard on him.”

“But he still has that talent. It’s innate, isn’t it? If he tries—”

“He can barely write. Trying anything beyond that just fills him with rage, and now he’s refusing to continue therapy.” Michael braced his palms on the counter and bowed his head. “It breaks my heart to see it, because there’s not a thing I can do for him except pray—and so far, those prayers haven’t been answered.”

Ian strode back to the lodge, his hands thrust deep in his pockets, his eyes still burning from the frustration of trying to awkwardly wield that stupid screwdriver.

His fingers curled around the old knife that he still carried in his pocket every day, and he jerked it out, tempted to throw it way out into the woods where Dad would never see it. But after being a huge disappointment—a failure—in so many ways, what would one more thing matter? Ignoring Dad’s orders to stay near the lodge that day was nothing compared to everything else Ian had done.

Trudging up the front steps of the lodge, he jerked open the screen door and stalked inside after the lemonade Janna wanted. He paused, uncertain where to look. In the big kitchen meant for the restaurant area? The private quarters?

The old lady, Claire, stuck her head out of a hallway leading to the family quarters, glared at him and slammed the door shut…so that probably wasn’t an option.

From over by the fireplace, Rylie looked around the edge of a big leather chair. Her face brightened. “Ian! You did come!”

Guilt slithered through his stomach at her obvious joy. He hadn’t come to see her once since she’d gotten hurt…but maybe it was that same feeling of guilt that kept him away. If he hadn’t selfishly hurried up the trail and left her behind, nothing bad would have happened.

It was just one more time that he’d been a total jerk and caused someone a lot of pain.

“Uh…hi.” He lifted a shoulder, suddenly feeling awkward and out of place. “Your mom said I should come get some lemonade.”

Rylie’s face fell. “Oh.” She pointed toward the double doors leading into the restaurant. “It’s probably in the big kitchen. Go through there.”

Feeling even worse, he tried to think of something else to say. Everyone here had to hate him, after he had so thoughtlessly left Rylie on the trail.

He made himself cross the room. “So…whatcha doing?”

“Nothin’.” She gave a weary sigh and closed the oversize spiral notebook laying in her lap. “It’s sorta boring, ’cause I’m not good on my crutches yet.”

He took a second look at the notebook. Art paper. The cheaper stuff, to be sure, but still his heart twisted and his fingers itched to take the pencil she held—as if his hands had a mind of their own.

As if, in this lifetime, he could ever draw again.

She withdrew a little at the expression on his face, so he made himself smile and ask to see her drawings, knowing that her childish sketches would probably intensify the deep gnawing feeling in his gut.

She hesitated, then shyly opened it to the first page.

“It’s my dog, Maggie,” she ventured shyly. “I know it’s not very good. And this is Aunt Tessa’s horse…”

She flipped through several more sketches, and it wasn’t until the fourth page that Ian remembered to breathe.

The drawings were just what he’d expected of someone who was nine. Nothing special. But the scent of the paper and graphite hit him like a wave of intense homesickness—powerful, overwhelming. The ache blossomed in his chest and grew until it felt as if he would explode.

“Is s-something wrong?”

He heard the tremble in her voice but couldn’t form a response. He blinked. Stared. Then closed his eyes and remembered a thousand early sketches of his own. His excitement when Mom had started taking him for lessons at the Art Institute. The thrill of learning and growing, and at hearing the murmured praise of passersby when his projects were posted on the display board in the hall.

Her lower lip trembled as she closed the book. “I know,” she whispered, her eyes downcast. “I’m not very good at drawing.”

He shook off his memories. “Yes you are, Rylie. I was just, um, surprised. I didn’t expect—”

He broke off on a sob that came out of nowhere, over all that he’d lost. The skill and talent that had made him special. That had filled him with joy.

And whenever he inadvertently allowed himself to remember what had been, the wrenching guilt and grief over his mother was soon to follow.

“I…I gotta go.” He spun around and hurried for the door.

“But the lemonade—”

He didn’t go back. He couldn’t answer. He just ran for his cabin, ignoring the screaming tendons in his bad leg and praying Dad wasn’t there, so he could be alone.

The cabin was dark. Cool. Quiet.

He rushed through the combination living and kitchen area to his bedroom. Slammed the door and flung himself onto the bed just as his hot tears started to fall.
I never cry. I never cry.

A quiet thud came from just outside his door. Then another. With it came the eerie realization that he was not alone. His heart lodged in his throat.

“Dad?” he said softly. “Is that you?”

A floorboard squeaked. The hinges of the cabin’s screen door squealed faintly, as if being slowly, slowly opened.

“Dad?”
he whispered again.

But the only reply was the sound of a twig snapping, the faint rustle of leaves outside the cabin.

And the thundering of his heart.

“I don’t like leaving all of you here alone,” Michael said. “If it wasn’t for the Monday-night city council meeting, I wouldn’t go. It’s one of the requirements of my job.”

“I’m a big girl,” Janna said firmly. “I can handle things here—and I can also call for help, if need be. We’ll keep Ian up at the lodge until you get back, but I’m sure everything will be fine.”

He stared over her shoulder at the lane that meandered up the hill to the cabins. “I still don’t like it. If Ian was right, someone was in our cabin on Saturday in broad daylight, and I’ll bet it’s no coincidence that someone tampered with Claire’s tires.”

That was certainly true. The wrecker guys had figured it had taken about a half hour for the tires to deflate—which meant the damage had probably been done when Claire had stopped to check on her cattle. She would have been on Snow Canyon Ranch land, not far from the lodge.

Still, Janna knew she could hardly expect Michael to babysit them all day and night. She gestured toward the door. “You’re forgetting that I’m a ranch girl. I grew up shooting coyotes, and the gun rack in my mother’s pickup was never empty. She probably shot more varmints than I could count over the years. We had to protect our calves.”

He didn’t look convinced.

“Go. You said they were discussing budget cuts on law enforcement tonight. Heaven knows what they’ll decide if you aren’t there to speak up.”

“You’ll lock the doors and windows?”

“Scout’s honor.”

“Keep everyone inside?”

“Of course.”

“Call me every half hour?”

She shooed him down the steps of the lodge, though inwardly she was warmed by his concern. “That’s going a little far. See you back here—” she glanced at her watch “—around ten?”

“Or earlier.” He jogged out to his patrol car and opened the door, but turned back before climbing inside. “We’re going to get to the bottom of all of this trouble before Ian and I move to town, Janna. I promise you.”

She watched him drive away, his car nearly obscured by the cloud of dust it raised, and felt a small, empty place in her chest when he was out of sight.

He and Ian had dutifully worked on Cabin One all weekend, while she’d gone up to Cabin Ten to start clearing out all the rubble in that one. Once the piles of whiskey bottles and tacky magazines were hauled out, the cabin was in surprisingly good condition, so it was next on her list. And with Lauren Young starting work tomorrow she could make even faster progress.

All good—though Michael and Ian’s eventual departure would definitely be a sad ending to the summer. Once the plumbing and rewiring was finished in their house on the edge of Wolf Creek, the roofers would start, and then Michael would start some of the smaller projects inside.

Even though the number of lodge guests would be growing, she knew it would seem like a very lonely place after the two of them were gone.

No longer feeling quite so upbeat, she went back into the lodge and dutifully locked all the windows and doors, pulling shades and blinds as she went.

She found Claire dozing in a recliner in her bedroom, so she quietly locked the windows, then tiptoed out. Out in the lobby of the lodge, Ian was playing a handheld video game, and Rylie bent studiously over her drawing tablet. Maggie snored softly in front of the flickering warmth of the fireplace.

Ian put his game down and leaned over to look at Rylie’s picture. His brows drew together as he pointed to several places and muttered something to her. He was
coaching
her? Until now, he’d been wrapped up in himself—with good reason—but this could be a promising sign.