Murder on the Horizon (13 page)

Gracie's mouth dropped open. A jolt of electricity traveled all the way down to her fingertips.

It was Rob.

16

G
RACIE
sprinted up the hallway into the little bathroom. A glance in the mirror told her there was no hope. Fading bruises on her forehead and upper lip. Face devoid of makeup. Hair hastily caught up into a knot at the top of her head. She scraped tiny spots of Calypso Blue from her nose and chin with a stubby fingernail and did the old-fashioned thing by patting her cheeks to bring a little color into her face. She drew off the powder blue Camp Ponderosa sweatshirt she had turned inside out while painting, turned it right-side out, and hauled it back on. Not much she could do about the paint-spattered shorts.

Then with a sense of unreality, she walked through the outer reception area and out the front door.

Hands on his hips, Rob was standing next to the Jeep, looking around. Gracie noticed immediately that the hard “city” look had relaxed since the first time she had met him. Gone were the black pants and V-neck sweater. Gone were what she had dubbed butt-ugly roach-killer city shoes—black leather, over the ankle, alarmingly pointed. He was dressed now as any
other stunningly gorgeous SoCal native going for an early autumn drive in the mountains—faded Levi's, blue, green, and white–striped rugby shirt, and sneakers. His hair shone like corn silk in the late afternoon sun. The only sign of extraordinary monetary wealth was the gold watch on his wrist.

Rob caught sight of Gracie walking down the front walkway and smiled, turning her legs into instant mashed potatoes.

He cut diagonally across the grass, put his hands on her upper arms, and kissed her on both cheeks, first the left, then the right. Nothing romantic. Nothing sexy. A kiss an acquaintance might give.

Or a brother.

Still, Rob's touch sent shock waves of electricity coursing through Gracie's body.

He smiled down at her with obvious affection and said, “Hi, twit. How are you?”

“Hi, dolt,” she said, managing a tight smile in return. “Good. I'm good. What . . .” She swallowed, her mouth dry. “What . . . are you doing here?”

In an echo of the words Winston had spoken earlier that same afternoon, Rob said, “I was in the neighborhood.”

Thumbs hooked in the back pockets of his jeans, Rob studied Gracie—her hair, her clothes, her face, the scrutiny making Gracie squirm. “Using the same makeup artist, I see,” he said without smiling.

“I'm not . . .
what
?”

“The bruises on your face, love.”

Love
, Gracie thought, then reminded herself that Rob used the term of endearment frequently. It meant nothing, signified nothing. “And I see you're getting out of your cave once in a while.” Ignoring Rob's look of consternation at her deliberate change of subject, she added, “The first time I saw you, you were the color of the down side of a right-side-up fish.” She looked up into his face, trying to resurrect the smile. “Remember?”

He smiled then. “I remember.”

“Your pants were soaked and Cashman gave you his pants to put on . . .” She knew she was chattering. “And you were hopping around on one foot . . .” She giggled at the memory. “Holy cow, were you white!”

He studied her face for a moment, brows merged into a line above the dark eyes. “Gracie, I—”

“Would you like . . .” she interrupted again. “I mean, can I . . . ?” She stopped. Everything she said sounded so stilted and formal. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Would you like to see around camp?”

“Love to,” Rob said with a sigh. “I haven't given up, you know.”

Pretending she didn't know what he meant, Gracie said, “The only group in camp is at dinner, so we shouldn't see anyone. Unless you need to eat. We could always . . .”

“No. I grabbed some take-away on the way up,” he said. “Bloody awful. Tasted like cardboard.”

“We have to walk,” Gracie said. “That okay? No cars allowed past the main lodge.”

“Of course. Lead on,” Rob said with a dramatic sweep of his arm.

A brief introduction of Minnie to Rob resulted in instantaneous mutual adoration. With Rob holding Minnie's leash, they walked along the little road leading down from the Gatehouse, a modest two feet between them.

Like opposing magnets
, Gracie thought.

In the cool shade of the cottonwoods, they strolled across the little creek.

“So, you're manager here now?” Rob asked.

“Interim manager, really.”

“I know you're amazing and all, love, but wasn't that a fast ascendency?”

“It was. Good timing really. The previous manager . . .” She stopped, not wanting to relate the entire sordid tale of how she had acquired her job, then finished with, “left unexpectedly.”

The two emerged back into the open between the Serrano Lodge parking lot and the rec field. They skipped a tour of the main lodge with the accompanying dinner crowd and continued in the dwindling daylight down the Main Road hill leading to the lower portion of camp, past two double-wide mobile homes, formerly employee lodging and now sitting empty.

As they walked, Gracie recovered from her initial shock of seeing Rob again. Her hands steadied. The horizon leveled. And the warm feeling in the pit of her stomach she felt whenever she was with Rob returned.

At the bottom of the Main Road hill, at the base of the driveway leading up to Mojave Lodge, Rob stopped, hands in pockets, studying an old wooden sign, painted brown, lettered in white. “What's this?”

“Names of movies filmed on the property.”

His face lit up like a ray of sun emerging from behind storm clouds. “
The Trail of the Lonesome Pine
was filmed here?”

Gracie grinned at him. Once again, she had forgotten how Rob loved anything and everything to do with old American westerns.

“And
High Sierra
?”

Gracie studied the man examining the sign. The curling hair. The sparkling dark eyes. Heavy brows. Mouth curving up at the sides.

I'm in the right place when I'm with you
, she thought
. On solid footing. At my best. Whole.

This time there was no suffocating feeling of panic. No mental ping-pong game back and forth. No
What if this?
or
What if that?
No making excuses that it would never work. No dredging up of old hurts and rejections, telling herself she wasn't ready or that it was too soon.

I am all-in
, she thought.
Full-body immersion. Heart and soul. In love with you
.

Then the champagne bubble of joy that had welled up inside burst as reality full-body-slammed into her.

He's engaged.

To someone else.

Gracie coughed to disguise an escaping sob.

Rob glanced over at her. “You okay, love?”

Gracie faked another cough, stepping back and turning away. “Yeah. Fine. Dust.”

“I'll have to watch them all again,” he said, eyes back on the sign. “Now that I've been here. Seen the camp.”

“There are some rustic cabins up ahead there,” Gracie said, gesturing farther down the road. “They were used for some segments of
Bonanza
.

“That's just brilliant!” he said. “I'm loving this!”

“They're used for storage. But I want to show you the team challenge course first. It's across here.” Rob followed Gracie across a narrow wooden plank leading across a gully, rushing with water after a rain, but now dry and filled with fallen leaves and spent pine needles.

Standing among the tall pines on a soft, thick mat of shed needles, Gracie explained the purpose of each of the low-to-the-ground elements, designed for problem solving by teams of people, how each element was accomplished and its intended lesson.

Back out on the road, they walked past the three side-by-side single-wide trailers on the left, one occupied by twin sisters in housekeeping, one by Allen.

Gracie unlocked one of the rustic cabins, taking Minnie's leash, so that Rob could walk around inside, examine the thick logs and beams, and exclaim how it was “all-fired brilliant!”

Outside again, they stopped to drink out of the artesian well water by cupping their hands and catching the icy water as it gushed out of the ground. Then they continued alongside the lake and down the railroad tie steps to the high ropes course.

They stood on the mulch in the middle of the course, looking up to where thirty feet in the air cables stretched from tree to tree forming individual challenges. No need to mention that only a few months before, Gracie had almost
been killed in a fall from the central belay cable fifty feet up. That sordid story could also wait for another time.

If
, she reminded herself,
there is another time
. The full force of Rob's engagement hit her again and sadness almost overwhelmed her. She looked over at him standing next to an enormous ponderosa pine, head tipped back, scrutinizing the cables overhead.

The idea that she might never see Rob again hit her with a fresh shock that left her feeling chafed and raw. Never see those dark bright eyes. Never touch the soft hair. Never witness firsthand the brilliant smile. Or taste those soft lips. Or feel those hands—

Rob swung around toward Gracie, the golden smile at full wattage. “This is fantastic, Gracie.” He walked up to where she stood in the middle of the mulch. “I got the numbers from The Sky's the Limit camp.”

“Oh, yeah?” Suddenly anxious, she mentally hunched her shoulders, preparing for the bad news.

“Why are you getting all tense?”

Gracie had also forgotten how, as an actor, Rob was a student of mannerisms, inflection, body language. How he missed almost nothing.

“They were great, love,” he said, bending to look into her face. “You did a fantastic job.” He put his hands on her upper arms and kissed her cheek.

Again, very chaste. Very brotherly. Very irritating.

“Really,” he said. “Fantastic. Thank you.”

“You're welcome,” Gracie said, turning away. No need for patting her cheeks to make them pink up. She could feel the hot flush travel up her neck and onto her face.

Gracie led Rob back up the railroad tie stairway, across the strip of sand that was the swim beach, and stood on the shore of Ponderosa Lake, the water a mirror, reflecting the opalescent sky, striped with long, dark tree shadows.

Minnie's ears perked as a pair of mallard ducks sailed in from the right, landed on the water with a faint splash,
and paddled along the far shore, widening ripples in their wake.

“It's beautiful here,” Rob said in a low voice, as if in reverence of the tranquility. “Stunning. I've been wanting to visit for months.”

“You should have been here when the camp was full of kids. Your kids. It was awesome. They were awesome.”

“Wish I could have,” he said. “The summer was hellaciously busy. Seems like I haven't had a free afternoon for bloody months.”

“I know the feeling,” Gracie said. She studied his profile for a moment, aware that they were both stalling, both talking about anything and everything but . . . “Why are you here?”

Rob turned toward her. “Because . . .” He stopped.

Gracie closed her eyes, took in a breath and held it.

“I missed seeing you.”

Gracie opened her eyes.

“Missed your down-to-earthness. Your sanity.”

“I wouldn't go that far . . .”

“You ground me, Gracie. Keep me focused on what's really important in life.”

“Okay, so if that's true . . .”

“Isn't that enough?”

“No. I . . . Yes. I mean . . .” She shook her head. “Never mind.”

Rob took her hand. “Can we sit somewhere? Please?”

She gestured to a bench several feet away at the edge of the water. They walked over and sat down, Minnie lying in the sand at their feet.

Rob leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, hands clasped, looking out over the lake. “I wanted to see you,” he said. “That's why I drove up today.”

“Long drive.”

“Awful, disgusting traffic.”

“I might not have been here. Why didn't you let me know you were coming?”

He straightened. “I called.”

“No, you didn't.”

“Yes, I did. I left a message on your cell.”

“Oh. Oops. Sorry. Forgot to check.”

“When you didn't answer or return my call . . . as usual, I might add.”

“Sorry. I've had . . . things . . . going on.” The excuse faded away.

“I figured I'd drive up anyway. Take a chance. I wanted to . . . I . . . Before I . . .” He blew out a breath, running a hand through his hair and making it stick up in the back.

Gracie almost smiled. A global superstar tongue-tied. And vulnerable. One of the reasons she loved him.

“I wanted to see you,” he said again. “Talk with you. Spend time with you. I haven't seen you since . . .” He sat up. “The last time I saw you, you bolted.”

“I had to get back.”

“You left without a bloody word, didn't you?”

“Yes. That I did do.” And she was paying for it now. Big-time.

Rob settled elbows on knees and looked over the water again. “I just wanted to sit and talk with you. For a little while.” Then he reached out and took Gracie's hand. “If that's okay.”

“I'd like that,” Gracie said.

As the daylight waned, drawing in the exquisite mantle of stars and darkness along with an occasional mosquito, Gracie and Rob sat on the little bench overlooking Ponderosa Lake and talked. About what they had been doing over the past months, about the search for Baxter Edwards and Gracie's growing affection for the boy, about Rob's newest movie, a dark and brooding action-thriller taking place in the mean streets of Los Angeles.

Throughout, Gracie never mentioned the nightmare that was growing around her. And Rob never mentioned his impending marriage. Both, Gracie figured, holding on to the warmth and peace of the moment.