Matchmaking with a Mission

by B. J Daniels

  “Faith?” he asked, even though he knew better.

  “No, McKenna.” Eve took a breath and let it out slowly. “I know you think I shouldn’t be worried about her and that house. But now there is a man who is hanging around out there. When I was at the house yesterday I could tell that McKenna was upset about something. That man was there.”

  Carter frowned. “Someone I know?”

  She shook her head. “He was driving a black pickup with Dempsey Construction on the side. She said his name was Nate.”

  He nodded. “You want me to see what I can find out about him?”

  “Would you mind?” She sounded so relieved he couldn’t help but lean across the space between them and kiss her.

  “Not to worry. I’ll get right on it. If there is something amiss, I’ll take care of it.”

  Eve blessed him with a smile and he walked her to the door. He’d promised himself and her that they wouldn’t make love until they were married, but it was getting more difficult with each passing day.

  “I can’t wait to be your wife,” she whispered as she brushed against him.

  He groaned. “You’re a vixen,” he whispered.

  She laughed. “You’re the one who said we had to wait.”

  “Yeah.”

  “You could change your mind.”

  He shook his head. “No, I want to do this right. We have the rest of our lives as husband and wife—and, believe you me, I intend to make up for lost time.”

  She laughed and kissed him. “I can hardly wait. You won’t forget about checking on this Nate Dempsey guy. I took down his plate number, if that helps.” She handed him a slip of paper with a license plate from Park County.

  Carter studied his bride-to-be with admiration and a little concern. “You’re really worried about this guy.”

  She nodded. “It’s just a feeling.”

  “Then I’ll see what I can find out right away.”

  MCKENNA HAD PLANNED to pick up paint and supplies and head for the house. The last place she’d intended to go was Frank Merkel’s on the edge of town.

  But after showing Flynn Garrett the document she’d found, she felt even more worried. Flynn had taken it seriously, although she suspected the sheriff had played down his concern.

  A small dust devil whirled through the yard as she parked and sat for a moment trying to talk herself out of this. What was she going to say, anyway?

  She saw the curtain in the front room move and decided since she’d driven out this far…

  Climbing out of the truck, she heard a dog bark in the backyard, then a deep male voice yell at the canine to shut up.

  Before she even reached the front door, it swung open and a large, dark-haired and bearded man filled the doorway. He wore faded overalls and a flannel shirt with holes in the elbows, and his feet were bare.

  “Frank Merkel?” McKenna said, questioning the impulse to come out here.

  “Yeah?” He had a broad, flat face that looked as if it had been slammed in a door and flat, dark eyes that stared blankly at her.

  This had seemed like a good idea a few minutes and miles ago. “I’m McKenna Bailey.”

  His eyes narrowed.

  He looked past her to her pickup, then shifted his gaze back to her face. “What do you want?” His tone was even less friendly than his expression.

  “I just bought the old Harper House—”

  “You have the wrong person.” He started to close the door.

  “Wait. I heard you used to work there. I wanted to warn you.”

  “Warn me?” he demanded through the crack between door and jamb.

  All she could see now was one of his eyes. “I found something in the house, a piece of paper that the boys wrote on. I think you might be in danger.”

  Her words echoed off the closed door as he slammed it. In the backyard, the dog began to bark again.

  She didn’t have the wrong person. She’d seen his change of expression when she’d mentioned Harper House. She stood for a moment, thinking he might come back. Then, admitting this had been a mistake, she walked back through the patch of weeds to her pickup.

  Angry with Frank Merkel for dismissing her concerns so rudely and furious with herself for thinking talking to him was a good idea in the first place, she started the engine and checked her watch. She needed to get out to the house. Her sisters would be there soon to help paint. She needed the help, and they would both be understandably angry if she wasn’t there when they arrived.

  But she had one more stop to make and then she would put this whole blood-oath thing behind her.

  As McKenna pulled up in the driveway of the small clapboard house at the end of the Whitehorse street, she saw a small white-haired woman out watering her flower beds.

  The woman looked up as McKenna got out of her truck and walked up the narrow sidewalk. The street was quiet except for the groan of a lawn mower a block away and the coo of a dove on a telephone wire overhead.

  That was something McKenna had missed living in a larger city: the sound of birds instead of traffic. In Whitehorse, if four cars went by, you could bet something was going on.

  Rosemarie Blackmore gave her the once-over and returned to watering her flowers. Ever since McKenna had purchased the old Harper House she’d felt as if people were treating her strangely. She suspected Rosemarie knew why she was here and wanted none of it—much like Frank Merkel.

  But, damn it all, she had to try. She’d never forgive herself if something happened to them and she hadn’t even tried to warn them. As the new owner of Harper House, she felt responsible.

  “Mrs. Blackmore?”

  Rosemarie flicked a look at her but said nothing.

  “I need to talk to you about Harper House,” McKenna said, getting right to the heart of it. “If you could just spare me a minute. It’s important.”

  Rosemarie made a displeased face, but she shut off the water, wiped her hands on the apron she was wearing and said, “Well, come on in, then.”

  McKenna followed her inside. Rosemarie Blackmore looked like a grandmother, from the countless knickknacks everywhere to the crocheted doilies and the knitting bag beside her chair with a half-finished afghan spilling out of it. Across from it was a worn leather chair with a stack of hunting magazines next to it—no doubt just as it had been when her husband was alive.

  “I’m McKenna Bailey,” she said once they were standing in the cluttered living room. “I just bought the old Harper House.”

  “I know who you are,” the older woman said impatiently.

  “I understand you used to work at what was known as Harper House when it was a home for troubled boys.”

  “It’s no secret. I used to cook out there.” A large yellow tomcat came strutting into the room. He wound his way around Rosemarie’s legs and purred loudly. As the elderly woman stooped to pick up the cat, she motioned McKenna into a chair, then took one herself, the large cat on her lap as she waited for the next question with impatient politeness.

  “When did you work there?”

  Rosemarie shrugged. “A few months in the early eighties, I believe. Why do you care about this anyway?”

  “I heard that some of the boys might have been mistreated.”

  She snorted. “So you’re one of those people who thinks they should have been pampered. Let me tell you something—those boys were hellions. I lived in fear every minute I was in that house.”

  “I had no idea they were that bad,” McKenna said.

  “Bad? They were evil. The whole lot of them were destined to become hardened criminals.”

  “But they were so young,” McKenna said.

  Rosemarie snorted again. “Their characters were already forged by the time they ended up at Harper House.” She hugged the cat closer as if chilled.

  “Can you tell me who else worked there?”

  “Why?” she asked suspiciously.

  “I’m trying to find one of the boys,” McKenna said.

  “I can’
t imagine why.”

  “Would you know any of them or how to contact them?”

  She shoved the cat off her lap. He skulked away, meowing loudly. “No, I wouldn’t.” She rose to her feet. “I stayed in the kitchen, did my job, then got the devil out of there. They were a rowdy bunch of boys. It wasn’t my place to say how they should be raised. They were boys nobody wanted and there was a reason for it.”

  “But you did hear things.”

  “I didn’t hear anything. I didn’t see anything.”

  “You never heard from any of them?”

  Rosemarie’s eyes widened. “Why would I?”

  “I just thought there might have been one who appreciated your cooking, one you might have gotten close to.” McKenna knew she was clutching at straws, but she couldn’t help thinking of the boy she’d seen in the third-floor window that day so many years ago.

  Clearly agitated, Rosemarie shook her head. “I didn’t want to see any of them ever again and I hope I don’t. They were like wild dogs. I saw the way they looked at me each day when I left.” She cringed. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have things to do. Leo will be wanting his lunch.”

  It wasn’t near lunchtime, and her husband, Leo, had been dead for four years. But McKenna didn’t argue. She rose, thanking Rosemarie for her time.

  “There is one other thing,” McKenna said, unable to leave without at least warning the woman. “I found something in the house. A note the boys wrote,” she said, playing it down. “They sounded angry and made some threats….”

  Rosemarie was visibly agitated now. “You really should go.”

  “I just thought you should be warned. I doubt there is anything to worry about, but if any of them should come by—”

  “I don’t see why you want that house,” Rosemarie said. “Makes no sense.”

  Makes no sense to anyone in this town, McKenna thought. And lately it hadn’t been making a lot of sense to her either.

  “Please, just take care of yourself,” McKenna said as she left, Rosemarie closing the door firmly behind her.

  McKenna was mentally kicking herself for upsetting Rosemarie as she started to climb into her truck when Nate Dempsey pulled up.

  “Hey,” he said as if surprised to see her. “I thought you’d be painting like crazy by now.”

  Why did she get the feeling he’d been looking for her? “I should be. I decided to talk to a couple of people who used to work at Harper House.”

  “Why?” he asked, sounding worried.

  “I want to know more about the place.”

  “Do you think that’s a good idea? You might not like what you find out. Unless you’ve already found out something that has you upset.”

  Did he know about the paper she’d found? But then, how could he? And why hadn’t she shown it to him? After all, he was staying out at the place. If she trusted him…

  “I’m headed for the house now. My sisters are coming over to help me paint.”

  He nodded. “I came in to pick up a couple of plumbing parts. By the time you get to the house I’ll have your shower working for you.”

  “Thank you. Let me know what I owe you for parts….”

  He waved that off as he drove away, leaving her standing in the street. She couldn’t help but feel that he was upset with her. She reminded herself that he thought she was crazy for buying Harper House. No wonder he thought she was wrong to go around digging up its past.

  As she turned toward her pickup, she glanced back at Rosemarie Blackmore’s small white house.

  The tiny gray-haired woman was standing in the front window. She was staring after Nate Dempsey.

  McKenna saw the expression on the woman’s face and felt her knees go weak.

  Rosemarie Blackmore looked as if she’d seen a ghost.

  Chapter Eleven

  Her sisters were waiting for her when McKenna reached the house. She noticed that Nate’s pickup was nowhere to be seen—just Eve’s parked out front.

  “Sorry. I got hung up,” she said as she quickly began to unload the paint she’d purchased and the supplies.

  “We just got here,” Faith said, even though Eve was giving McKenna a questioning eye.

  “Nate was leaving as we came in,” Eve said.

  “I guess he got my shower fixed, then,” she said as she headed into the house with a gallon of paint dangling from each hand. “I’m going to have to quit early. I have a date with Flynn tonight.”

  “Flynn?” Eve and Faith echoed behind her, making her smile.

  “He’s the one I had dinner with Saturday night after the auction. We’re having dinner again tonight.” She grinned at them as she stopped to open the door.

  “Flynn?” she heard Eve say again behind her. “How many men is she seeing?”

  Faith giggled. “She’s just having fun.”

  “Fun? You call this fun?” Eve said as she and Faith followed McKenna into the house.

  They painted throughout the rest of the morning. Eve had brought a picnic basket. They ate sandwiches on the porch and discussed how the work was going. Well, since all of the rooms upstairs were painted except for the trim, and they would have that done by midafternoon and quit for the day so McKenna could get ready for her date.

  “So tell us about Flynn,” Eve said.

  McKenna smiled over at her sister. “You worry too much.”

  “Right.”

  “He’s picking me up here, so if you’re that curious, you can stay and meet him,” McKenna said.

  “So you aren’t serious about him if you’d let us meet him,” Eve said and took a bite of her sandwich.

  “I’m not serious about anyone,” McKenna protested. “I’m going to be too busy getting my business going to worry about a man.”

  Eve nodded, her gaze saying she didn’t believe it for a minute. “So tell me about this Nate who’s helping with your house.”

  McKenna shrugged. “There isn’t much to tell. He needed a place to board his horse, so we traded services.”

  “He sure didn’t stick around long once he saw us,” Eve commented.

  “I’m sure he had things to do,” McKenna said, wondering where he’d gone—and why he did seem to make himself scarce when her sisters were around.

  NATE DROVE HIS PICKUP down the dusty, rough road, keeping his eyes peeled on his rearview mirror for any sign of another vehicle.

  He was certain he hadn’t been followed, but for days he’d felt as if he was being watched. It surprised him that Roy Vaughn hadn’t made his move. But, then again, Vaughn had always loved playing cat and mouse—just as long as he got to be the cat.

  Nate couldn’t be sure that the man who called himself Hal Turner was indeed Roy Vaughn. But Vaughn had been a big kid, a bully, and he’d liked to think of himself as the next legendary Hal Turner.

  That was why for years Nate had found himself looking over his shoulder, expecting at any moment to feel the burning prick of a knife blade in his back. He remembered only too well the switchblade that Roy Vaughn had kept under his mattress. It took a dark soul to like killing up close and personal with a blade.

  So what was Vaughn waiting for? That’s what bothered Nate as he drove. That and the fact that he hadn’t seen Lucky.

  “I’m not afraid of Roy,” Lucky had said.

  “You should be.”

  Lucky had only shrugged. “Maybe I’m enough like him that he’s always left me alone.”

  Lucky had always liked to think himself tougher than he was. But, thinking back, for some reason Roy Vaughn had left Lucky alone. Maybe it was because Vaughn had had Nate and Johnny to pick on.

  The road wound through a narrow canyon in the Bear Paw Mountains. Pine trees grew lush green against towering vertical slabs of sandstone. Not far up the road, the canyon opened some to end in a jumble of rock. A box canyon. A dead end.

  Nate slowed the pickup, on alert. He’d seen the tracks in the road where someone had been up here right after the rain. But that could have been anyone
. He’d seen no sign of another living soul. Not unusual in this part of the country. Montana had an average population of six-point-two people per square mile—except up here, where it was more like zero-point-three people.

  In this part of the state there were more cows than people. Hell, cows outnumbered people in Montana three to one.

  Nate stopped the pickup at the end of the road and sat for a moment, window down, just listening. This is where they’d found Roy Vaughn the one and only time he’d escaped from Harper House. Nate would never forget the look on Vaughn’s face. He’d been holed up in some rocks at the back of the canyon. The fool hadn’t realized it was a box canyon—no way out.

  Mostly Vaughn hadn’t realized that Harper House was the same way. No way out back then. Except maybe death.

  Nate always wondered if Vaughn hadn’t wished for that very thing when he saw the Harper House’s old Suburban drive up and knew he was trapped. Worse than trapped. Caught.

  Shoving away the memory, Nate cautiously got out. The ground had dried since the rain. Heat beat down from a sun positioned overhead. The ponderosa pines glistened, a silky green. There was no breath of air down in here. No sound. The stillness would get to anyone, Nate told himself as he pulled his weapon from his holster and walked toward the back of the canyon wall. To the place where they’d found Vaughn hunkered down.

  He’d looked like a wild animal. His eyes glowing in the blare of the flashlight beam. Everyone had known he would head for the mountains if he ever got away. He missed the mountains the most, he used to say.

  It had taken four of them to restrain Vaughn. He’d fought like the animal he appeared to be. But that wasn’t what haunted Nate to this day. It was the sound Vaughn had made. A high-pitched keening sound. The sound Nate suspected someone made when they were being tortured—right before they were killed.

  As he neared the rocks, he felt his pulse quicken. His senses intensified; he thought he could feel Vaughn’s presence here. He peered into the shadows of the rocks, the gun in his hand, the hair standing up on the back of his neck.

  He’d thought just by coming back to Harper House he would have drawn Vaughn out by now. Instead Roy Vaughn was toying with him. Or maybe he was waiting to see if Nate found Johnny’s body, all the time knowing that wasn’t going to happen because he’d moved it.