Blue Ridge Hideaway

by Cynthia Thomason

  Dorie rubbed one hand up and down her arm while keeping a tense fist near the pocket where she’d put the canister.

  “You’re freezing,” Bret said. “And it’s only going to get colder. We’re supposed to dip into the upper twenties tonight.”

  “Doesn’t this mountain know it’s the end of March?”

  He smiled.

  “Whatever. I don’t plan to be here to watch the thermometer drop,” she said through chattering teeth. She glared at Clancy. “My business shouldn’t take long.”

  Bret swept his arm toward the building. “Let’s go inside. I turned the furnace off this morning since I knew I’d be outside most of the day, but I can at least start a fire while we wait for the heat to kick on again.”

  She studied his face a moment before eyeing the lodge with definite longing, but she didn’t take a step. “I don’t know...”

  “Look, you’ll be fine. Nobody’s going to hurt you.” He jabbed a thumb in the direction of her pocket. “If anything, we’re scared of you.”

  She remained still, apparently considering his promise.

  “We’ll just get out of the wind while we talk this over. Besides, I don’t know about you, but I could use a cup of coffee.”

  She looked one more time at both men before nodding. “Yeah, coffee sounds good. And there’s another thing...”

  “Oh?”

  She pointed to the lodge he’d been working on all day. “I’m hoping you have modern facilities in there.”

  Understanding her concern, he said, “All the comforts of home. Plumbing included.”

  She stepped back, clearing a path for Clancy. “You go first. I don’t want you behind me.”

  He frowned but moved ahead of her. “And I don’t want that can of pepper spray to come out of your pocket,” he said. He stopped at the door Bret held open and looked over his shoulder. “Don’t try using that stuff on me. My son here used to be a cop.”

  As Dorie followed him inside she spared a quick glance at Bret. “A cop, eh? And while you were protecting and serving your community, how many times did you arrest your own father?”

  Bret let the door shut behind him. “Never had to.” His lips curled up in a grin. “We always lived in different cities.” He started to recite directions to the bathroom, but stopped when his cell phone rang. “I’ve got to take this. It’s my son, and I don’t always get clear cell service on this mountain.”

  “Sure, go ahead.”

  Anxious as always to hear Luke’s voice, Bret waved Dorie to the hallway bathroom. “Hey, buddy, how’s everything going?”

  In a hyper, enthusiastic voice, Luke regaled his father with the latest escapades he’d enjoyed with his cousins.

  “Can’t wait for you to get home tomorrow,” Bret said. He hoped his son felt even a small percentage of the longing he himself was experiencing at seeing the boy again. They had been apart almost a week now, and to Bret, that was far too long.

  “Me, too, Dad,” Luke said. “But I was wondering why Aunt Julie has to bring me home tomorrow. Why not Sunday? School doesn’t start until the next day.”

  Bret hid his disappointment behind parental prerogative, stopping just short of saying, “Because I said so.”

  “We talked about this already, Luke. Saturday is the day Aunt Julie can come up here, and Saturday is the day you’re coming home. Okay?”

  “Sure. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Bret disconnected and stacked logs in the fireplace. He struck a match and blew on the kindling, creating a nice start to a fire. Aware that his father was fiddling with the coffeemaker, he waited to see if Clancy would offer an explanation for Dorie’s accusation. But the only sounds in the room were the crackle of the flames and the hiss of the brewing machine.

  Crouched in front of the hearth, Bret turned to his father and said, “I’d really appreciate it if, before she comes out of the bathroom, you’d tell me what you did to that woman.”

  Clancy stared at him before taking a seat on a bench at one of the recently assembled wood picnic tables in the center of the all-purpose room. “Why are you assuming I did something to her?” he asked, doing his best to affect a tone of wounded feelings. “Maybe she did something to me. Maybe she showed up here on some crazy vigilante mission, and I’m caught in her crosshairs. Maybe...”

  Bret stood, placed his hands on his hips, and fixed his gaze on the entrance to the hallway. “And maybe you owe her money like she said.”

  Clancy threw his hands up. “I helped her, that’s what I did! She came into my place looking for a job, and I did her a good turn.”

  Dorie stormed into the room, her jacket draped over one arm. “That’s how you’re telling this story? A person could end up homeless because of your good turns, Clancy. In fact, I practically have!”

  She marched to the table. Wavy strands of wheat-colored hair fell to her shoulders. She raked her fingers through wispy bangs nearly covering eyes that snapped with blue fury and shoved her other palm under Clancy’s nose. “Give me my money. And don’t tell me you don’t have any of it left!”

  He made a show of twisting around to reach into his back jeans pocket. When he pulled out his wallet, he withdrew some bills and crammed them into her hand.

  Dorie stared at the pile. “That’s it? There can’t be fifty dollars here.”

  “Fifty-two,” he said. “Take it or leave it.”

  Dorie stuffed them in her pocket. She looked up at Bret who’d been watching the show with a pretty good idea of how it would end up. His expectations were right on. His father had been up to his old tricks. He’d obviously conned this woman somehow, and he’d run away to the mountains to lay low.

  “Arrest your father, Mr. Police Officer,” Dorie said. “He’s a liar and a thief.”

  “That may be so,” Bret said. “But I’m an ex-cop, remember? I can’t officially arrest anybody.”

  “Well, you’ve got a problem then, junior. I’m not leaving here without my five grand.”

  Bret looked at his dad. “Five grand, Pop?”

  Clancy shrugged. “Can’t remember. Might have been.”

  “So what are you two going to do about it?” Dorie asked.

  Bret blew out a long breath. He was going to have to tell this woman that he wasn’t responsible for his father’s debts. And when he did, was he going to have to wrestle that can of mace out of her grip?

  “Right now I’m going to put more wood on the fire,” he said, buying some time. The room was growing colder by the minute, but the chill he felt now had little to do with the plunging temperature outside.

  CHAPTER TWO

  WITH THE FIRE roaring nearby, a whisper of heat coming from the floor vents and her hands wrapped around a steaming cup of coffee which Bret had refilled twice, Dorie felt a subtle hint of encouragement seep into her bones. Tension eased from her shoulders. She let out a long breath and took an even longer one deep into her lungs.

  As her body let go of some of the day’s anxiety, she made a thoughtful appraisal of Bret Donovan that went beyond his obvious good looks. He had been attentive and responsive to her story. Perhaps, she almost allowed herself to believe, even a bit sympathetic. Could she conclude now that he was nothing like his father and would do the honorable thing and make amends for what Clancy had done to her?

  A few minutes ago she’d paused in relating the events which had led her to Clancy more than three months ago. She waited for Bret to respond to what he’d learned so far.

  He set his coffee mug on the table. “So this company you sold the rights to, this Family Picnic Company, was your principal livelihood?” he said.

  “That’s right. And along with my partner, we made a decent living.”

  “So, if you don’t mind my asking, why did you sell your half to your partner?”r />
  “I had to. I needed money.”

  She didn’t elaborate about the small cottage her mother had left her when she ran off. He didn’t need to know that. The simple two-bedroom house wasn’t worth much, but Dorie was determined not to sell it. So she told him how she and her friend had started the Family Picnic Company to cater to people who wanted to host outdoor events, barbecues and such. She would hitch a wagon that carried ribs and all the makings of her secret sauce and baked beans behind her Ranger. Her partner would tow the funnel-cake-and-candy-apple cart, and they would set up anywhere folks wanted to treat friends and family to an outdoor party. Once word got around, she was busy almost every weekend.

  Other than admitting she needed money, she hadn’t given Bret specific details explaining why she’d been forced to sell her only means of support. When she’d gone to work for Clancy a few months ago, she hadn’t even told him that crucial bit of information, and he hadn’t asked. Now, even if she told them, she doubted the heartless father and his ex-cop son would understand her need to pay the fees of the high-priced attorney she’d hired to defend her brother. Especially since her brother had been accused, wrongfully she believed, of participating in a shooting. The money she’d gotten from the sale of her share of the picnic company had gone to the firm of Hawkes, Schreiber and Bolger, and more was owed now.

  Maybe Bret wouldn’t ask her why she needed the money. The honorable thing would be to just give her the five thousand dollars and send her down the mountain. Maybe he even had the cash squirreled away at The Crooked Spruce. The outpost was so remote, there would be little danger of theft. And a lot of people didn’t trust the bank anymore. If Bret didn’t have the cash, she’d take a check. Once she was gone, he could get Clancy to pay the money back any way he could.

  “You must have needed money pretty badly to take that step,” Bret said.

  “I did,” she said. “I sold my share of the business because I owed money and was obligated to pay it.” She speared Clancy with a telling look. “That’s what honest people do when they have a debt.”

  He stared at the ceiling.

  “Now I need what you owe me, Clancy.” Especially since I’ve found out that my financial responsibility to Jack’s defense is just beginning.

  Bret sat across the picnic table from her. He put his elbows on the top and leaned forward. Those soft nut-brown eyes, which had captured her imagination an hour ago, now seemed capable of reading her thoughts. She looked down, avoiding his gaze. She’d never been in trouble with the law, but still, after what Jack had been through, she didn’t think she’d ever be comfortable under a cop’s intense scrutiny.

  “So how does all this lead up to you getting a job working with my father?” he asked.

  She focused on Clancy. His hands were clasped on the tabletop. His attention could have been fixed on the tiny hairs on the backs of his fingers. Since he wasn’t looking at her, maybe he was finally embarrassed about how he’d misled her. Or maybe he was trying to figure out another plan to get away with cheating her.

  “You know your father owned the Crab Trap, a bar on Winston Beach?” she said to Bret.

  He admitted that he was aware of his father’s business venture. “I never saw the place for myself,” he said. “For the short time my dad owned it, I was—” he stopped, glanced at his father “—I was indisposed for a while and couldn’t visit him.”

  The vagueness of his answer registered as a tingle of alarm down Dorie’s spine. Maybe the ex-cop had some secrets of his own. “I had been in there a time or two after Clancy bought it,” she said. “The Crab Trap catered to a local crowd, people who had been around Winston Beach for a long time.”

  “So not your typical tourist types?”

  She shook her head. “Definitely not. The Trap was filled with old-timers, bikers and roughnecks, mostly.”

  Bret smiled. “And one Dorinda Howe.”

  “I wasn’t a regular. But the day after I sold my business, I drove by the place and saw a help-wanted sign in the window. Being unemployed at the time, I went in and applied for the waitress job.”

  Clancy finally raised his head to stare at his son. “Which I gave her because of the generous nature of my character.”

  Bret frowned. “Right. Go on, Dorie.”

  “Oh, that much is the truth, minus the generous nature part. He gave me the job.”

  “I sure did,” Clancy said. “I figured she could make the Trap the place to go for barbeque in the area, plus clean up the image a bit. A win-win for both of us.”

  Dorie frowned. “But what Clancy isn’t telling you is that he had the Crab Trap up for sale at the time, which totally affected my job security. But that was okay. He had a right to sell it. Only thing is, he didn’t own the building. He was only leasing it, so he didn’t have much real property to sell. He was trying to find a buyer for his license, the equipment, which basically included the beer taps, furniture, grills and deep fryers.” She leveled an icy stare at Clancy. “And, what he calls the goodwill he’d established by running the place.”

  Clancy put one finger in the air. “That’s right. Goodwill. It’s not easy to put a price on that.”

  “But you did,” Dorie said. “You put a price of twenty thousand on it.”

  Bret’s eyes widened. “Jeez, Pop, I only lent you three thousand to start up that business last year. Did you get twenty grand for it?”

  “Of course not. That was just my asking price.” Clancy’s eyebrows came together in an insolent gesture. “I ended up getting only fifteen thousand.”

  Dorie could sense the wheels turning in Bret’s head. After pausing a moment, he said, “And out of that fifteen thousand, you owed me three and Dorie five?” At least Bret was remembering his math correctly.

  “And I earned every cent of it,” she said. “Your father never would have sold the Crab Trap if I hadn’t come in there and made a deal with him to turn it into a presentable establishment that would appeal to buyers.”

  “What exactly did you do?” Bret asked.

  “A whole lot more than any other so-called waitress would have done. I used my special recipes to bring in crowds. I changed the advertising so he’d attract a better clientele, revised the menu to include healthier food and kids’ meals. Handed out coupons all over the area so we’d attract the few tourists who actually stopped on Winston Beach.”

  She looked at Clancy and was gratified to see that he was listening and didn’t appear ready to argue. “Basically I was his nutritionist, marketer and public relations department. In addition to all that, I scrubbed years’ worth of old grease off the walls,” she added.

  “You did all that for a waitress’s salary?” Bret said.

  “No. I’m not that gullible. What I asked in return was a regular job as the waitress with salary and tips, and a percentage of the selling price up to five thousand dollars. Clancy and I agreed that he would keep anything over five grand. At that time, five thousand was what I needed.”

  “Okay. Sounds fair enough,” Bret said. “Did you get this agreement in writing?”

  She fished in the pocket of the jacket beside her on the bench and produced a wrinkled envelope. After removing a one-page document which she smoothed over the surface of the table, she said, “Check it out for yourself.” She pointed to the financial terms and then to her signature and Clancy’s at the bottom. “We both signed it.”

  Bret studied the paper and then looked at his father. “That’s your handwriting, Pop,” he said. “This isn’t the fanciest contract in the world, but I think it would hold up in court.”

  Clancy crossed his arms over his chest and scowled. “Whose side are you on?”

  “I’m on the side of what’s right. Did Dorie fulfill her part of this contract like she says?”

  Clancy stubbornly stared into space for several uncomfortab
le seconds before finally, almost negligibly, nodding his head. It wasn’t a definitive admission, but he wasn’t denying Dorie’s story.

  “Her contribution helped you sell the place?”

  “I suppose.”

  “You know darned well it did,” she said.

  Bret shrugged. “Then you owe her, Pop. And you owe me three grand. That was the deal we made when I lent you the money.” He waited for his father’s reaction, and when the old guy didn’t so much as blink, he said, “And funny thing, Pop, when you arrived here, I asked you about the Crab Trap and you told me there had been a kitchen fire and you lost everything.”

  “I might have said that,” Clancy mumbled. “But I was just stalling for time before I paid you back.”

  Bret looked down as if he was used to this kind of scenario from his father. “You’ve got the money, right? I mean you obviously didn’t have it in your pocket a few minutes ago when Dorie asked for it, but you’ve got it somewhere, don’t you?”

  Clancy stared blankly.

  Dorie bit her bottom lip and tried not to squirm. What would she do if Clancy didn’t have the money? There was no doubt he was a weasel, but even a weasel couldn’t lose fifteen thousand dollars in a little over a week. Could he?

  “Pop?”

  Bret’s gaze zeroed in on his father’s eyes under the ledge of Clancy’s bushy white brows. Clancy shifted away from his son’s stare.

  “The money’s in your room, isn’t it?” Bret said. “Or safely in a bank somewhere?”

  Tense seconds ticked by until Clancy fisted his hands and made a sound between a moan and a snarl. “Not exactly.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I had it for a while.”

  Skepticism etched itself in creases around Bret’s eyes. “How long is a while? And what happened to it?”

  “I didn’t come straight here after leaving Winston Beach,” he said.