Ryker’s Justice (2 page)

For
now, though, he did as he’d planned and scouted the perimeter of the land in search
of any clues or evidence. He found nothing out of the way and by the time the
sun stood straight overhead, his empty stomach rumbled. Jude settled down at
the base of a favorite tree, a broad oak so wide it had to be at least a
century old. After resting his .22 rifle against the trunk, he dug out a
bologna and cheese sandwich from his backpack. He ate it without haste,
savoring each bite of the simple lunch with relish. The solitude rested easy on
his soul as he ate. He washed the sandwich down with a bottle of strong, sweet
iced tea he’d brewed that morning.

During
moments like this he didn’t regret coming back. Sometimes he considered what it
might be like if he’d come home without an assignment and could stay. After
years aboard first battleships, then submarines, then time spent as a special
agent pursuing a wide spectrum of criminals, life in the Ozarks offered
possibilities he’d love to explore. As a single guy, he’d managed to save a
fair amount of money over the years. When Daddy was alive, he’d sent money home
each month but after his death, Jude had no other family obligations.

Leaning
against the oak, he contemplated coming back on a permanent basis. A lazy
lifestyle with no supervisors and no duties appealed to him. He could hunt and
fish to his heart’s content, keep up his handyman duties at the inn, maybe even
expand and offer odd jobs to the public. His choices would be his own, his
decisions self-dictated, not career driven.
Maybe,
he thought,
maybe after this
assignment, I’ll think about it.

Comfortable,
he heaved a contented sigh and shut his eyes. He slept little most nights,
consumed with desire to find the moonshiners and shut down their operation. The
past haunted him, too, sometimes. Although he didn’t believe in ghosts, at
night he often thought he heard the floorboards creak or caught the smell of
his mother’s perfume. Memories, the good and the ugly, assaulted him and kept
him awake.

In
the quiet forest, he let the bird songs lull him to sleep. A squirrel chattered
overhead, fussing at Jude’s intrusion, and if he concentrated he could hear the
quiet gurgle of the river. Distant highway sounds, an eighteen wheeler shifting
gears, and the whine of steel-belted radials against the pavement filtered
through the other sounds but they didn’t disturb. Completely relaxed, Jude
drifted into a light sleep, aware that if anything happened, he’d wake. He’d
been trained to rouse at the slightest interruption and he knew he would.

No
dreams came and when he woke, Jude judged by the sun’s position that he’d slept
about two hours.
Time to bag a few
squirrels and head home
, he decided. He rose and stretched his tall,
muscular frame. He marched through the woods, quiet and with cunning. Unless
the tree rats had changed their habits, he knew where to find a large squirrel
population. When he reached the site, the animals scampered overhead. He aimed
and fired, bringing down the critter with a single head shot. Jude got two more
and decided three would be enough for his solitary supper. He field-dressed
them to save time and headed for home through the woods.

Jude
washed them at the huge, old-fashioned kitchen sink and cut each into four
pieces. He tossed them into a bowl, added water and a little salt,
then
stuck them into the ancient refrigerator. To pass the
time, he sifted a little flour and cornmeal together,
then
added some seasonings from the cupboard. A little salt, a bit of pepper, some
Cajun seasoning blend, a dash of onion powder, and a hint of garlic would do,
he decided. On impulse, Jude shook a little cayenne pepper into the mixture,
too.

As
he glanced at the clock to see if he had time to split some wood, his cell
phone on the counter buzzed. “Ryker,” he said as he answered, in case his
supervisor phoned.

“Jude?”
Mary Cockrell, who ran the inn with her husband, said. “Are you busy?”

Supper
could wait. “No,” he drawled. “What’s up?”

“I’ve
got an electrical outlet that fried,” she told him. “And the bar sink won’t
drain again. Can you come fix them?”

“Sure,
I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

Mary
laughed with relief. “Oh, thank you. You know I love you, Jude?”

The
woman had to be sixty, at least. He chuckled. “I know, Mary, like the son you
never had.”

“Exactly
right and I’ll see you when you get here.”

He
changed out of his hunting camouflage into faded jeans and a snap-button
Western shirt. As soon as he pulled on his oldest cowboy boots, Jude headed out
to the truck, a beat-up forest green Ford, and drove to the inn. If he hadn’t
had to cross the river, he could’ve been there in five minutes, not fifteen.

After
he parked across the narrow two-lane old highway, Jude paused for a moment to
look at the place. The grey clapboard structure dated to 1910 or 1915 with its
high gables and full porch. It sprawled out in haphazard fashion, some sections
added over the years to the original. Crisp white curtains covered each window
and the vintage rocking chairs on the porch sent out an invitation to unwind. The
place radiated homey charm and he liked it.

With
toolbox in hand, he mounted the porch steps and entered the lobby. A fire
crackled in the massive fieldstone fireplace to his left and the desk loomed
empty. Jude rang the shop bell on the counter and waited for Mary or her
husband Rick. When he heard footsteps on the stairs behind him, he didn’t turn
around but he knew they didn’t belong to either of the Cockrell’s.

“Hello,
Jude,” Nicole said. He would recognize her voice anywhere, a little deep for a
woman with the rich, sweet sound of honey in her tone. “You made it back from
the woods, I see.”

A
grin stretched his lips as he faced her. “Oh, yeah, I did.”

Nicole’s
perfume wafted across the lobby and he inhaled it with pleasure. The sweet
aroma of summer roses filled his nose and his body prickled with anticipation. After
he did the jobs, he thought maybe he’d linger at the inn awhile.

His
planned fried squirrel supper could wait.

Chapter Two

By
the time he finished both jobs, enticing aromas wafted from the kitchen area. Jude
sniffed with interest. His bachelor diet provided sustenance but had little
appeal. During his Navy years, his meals came from the nearest mess hall and
although edible, they failed to delight his taste buds. A restaurant meal or
invitation to dine with a married friend introduced him to quality cuisine,
tying into his vague memories of his mama’s home cooking. Since going to work
as a special agent, Jude’s diet lacked inspiration and he’d fallen back into
the old habits of his later childhood. Judging by the delightful smells, he guessed
the inn must be serving pot roast. He thought he smelled baking hot rolls, too.
The few meals he’d taken here in the past had always been delicious and he
decided the squirrel could wait for another day.

As
Jude carted his tools out to the truck, he noticed Nicole sat near the
fireplace, feet tucked beneath her, in one of the oversized chairs. Head down,
she read a book and didn’t appear to notice. He slowed his gait to admire her. A
neat braid dangled over her left shoulder and bared the back of her neck. A
tiny dark mole lurked below her hairline and Jude repressed an urge to kiss it.
Instead, he paused, noting her light brown hair with auburn highlights and the
graceful way she sat. As if she sensed his gaze, Nicole glanced up and offered
a small smile.

“Hi.”

He
put down his toolbox and sat on the sofa opposite her. “Hello, Nicole.”

“Did
you finish your work?”

“Yeah,
I’m done.” And should be heading home but he no longer wanted to go. To stall
for time, he stretched. “Have you seen Mary or Rick?”

Nicole
shook her head. “I haven’t, not lately. This time of day, Rick’s probably in
the kitchen. He does most of the cooking but I suppose you know that.”

Her
voice almost hypnotized him, thick and somehow sweet. “I do. What about Mary?”

“I
don’t know. She might be in their private quarters. I think she watches
Jeopardy
every afternoon.”

Jude
laughed. He hadn’t known and didn’t care but Nicole made him happy. She’d never
been chatty before but he liked it. “I’m not in a hurry.”

Her
long, slender fingers placed a bookmark between the pages and she put the book
aside. “Won’t your wife wonder what’s taking so long?”

The
casual question hung between them, heavy and filled with importance.
By God, she’s fishing,
he thought with
glee.
If she wasn’t interested, she
wouldn’t care if I’m married or not.
“Nope,” he said. “I don’t have one. It’s
just me and I don’t even have a dog waiting at the house.”

A
smile flirted with her lips.
Her eyes,
the color
, he thought, of autumn or topaz,
sparkled
.
“Me, neither.”

Serious-minded
Jude who hadn’t teased anyone in years said, “You don’t have a wife?”

Laughter
erupted from Nicole. Her features softened as she grinned. Jude wanted to make
her smile and he had. “No,” she told him. “Or a husband or a dog.”

The
last thing he needed to do was get involved in a relationship but he wanted it,
more than he’d wanted anything in a long while. “Good,” Jude told her. “I’m
glad.”

Color
pinked her face. Her blushing reaction confirmed his notion that Nicole found
him as intriguing as he found her. His flirting skills were more than a little
rusty. Hell, if he was honest, he had never quite perfected them. Women liked
him and often pursued him. He had let more than one catch him but he could
count the ones he’d chased on the fingers of one hand. And he had lost them,
one at a time due to the demands of the Navy, then his job. Jude had learned to
fly solo and he’d thought he could be content with it--until now.

“Then
we’re on the same page,” Nicole told him.

Asking
her out on a date would be the next step so he tried to think of somewhere he
could take Nicole, someplace that wouldn’t be cheesy or lame. Before he could, Rick
came out of the dining room, wiping his hands on a towel. “There you are,
Jude,” he said. “I guess you’re finished. I can’t tell you how much I
appreciate you coming so quickly.”

“No
problem,” Jude replied.

“I
can go ahead and pay you now, unless you just want to wait until next week,” Rick
said.

Jude
shrugged. “Now or later, either is fine. You hired me with a monthly fee so I
can wait. It’s not a problem.” He often forgot that here he had little social
standing. Rick, bless his heart, probably thought he needed the cash. As far as
anyone knew, he spent some time in the service, nothing more.

“Well,
if you don’t mind, next week it is,” Rick said as he slapped Jude on the back.
“I’ll have more guests over the weekend and have a little more jingle in my own
pockets. Do me a favor, though, and stay for supper.”

He
glanced at Nicole, who smiled. “Sure,” Jude said. “I’d like that.”

“We’ll
start serving around six,” Rick said. “Make yourself at home.”

“Thanks.
I will, as soon as I put my tools in the truck.”

When
Jude lifted his toolbox, Nicole stood up. “I think I’ll go out to the porch,”
she told him. “It’s lovely this time of evening.”

It
sounded like an invitation. “I’ll join you, if you don’t mind.”

A
small smile lit her face. “I’d like that.”

Once
he’d tossed his box into the truck bed, Jude settled into the old porch swing
beside Nicole. He kicked with one foot and set it in motion. They swung in a
slow, easy rhythm and to his surprise, Jude relaxed. Spending years aboard
ships and submarines hadn’t enhanced his social skills in the wider world and
his reticence was often mistaken for being aloof or superior. In reality,
neither word described the Jude within.

“So,
what were you doing in the woods?” Nicole’s voice interrupted reverie.

Clueless
as to why she’d decided to get acquainted, he decided to tell the truth from
the start. Should anything develop between them, it would make things smoother
in the long run.

“I
was squirrel hunting,” he told her, then waited to see how she reacted. He
half-expected her to turn up her pretty little nose with distaste but Nicole
surprised him.

“Do
you prefer it fried, stewed, or with dumplings?” she asked.

Jude
grinned. “All of the above,” he said. “But since I’m cooking for myself, it’s
gonna
’ be fried. I love squirrel and dumplings, but I wouldn’t
have the first idea how to make dumplings.”

“Cooking’s
one thing I can do,” Nicole told him. “Dumplings are pretty simple. Of course
it depends on whether you want fluffy dumplings or cut ones.”

For
a moment, he had no clue what she meant but Jude thought it over. He remembered
the biscuit-like dumplings his mama once made and compared them to the thick,
noodle-type dumplings Grandma Ryker fixed. “I’m not picky,” he said. “Either
will do. Were you going to make me some?”