Blue Ridge Hideaway

by Cynthia Thomason

  “I suppose a gentleman would ask permission, especially under these circumstances, but I’m not going to do that, Dorie. I’m beyond asking.” He pulled her to him, wrapped his arms around her back and settled his mouth over hers. The kiss was hungry, needy, almost desperate and yet the sweetest, most honest one she could remember. When it ended, Dorie lowered her forehead against his chest and breathed in the musky pine scent of him.

  He released her and stood. The swing pitched at the change in weight, leaving her even dizzier. “If I crossed the line, I’m sorry,” he said, then added, “though maybe that’s not quite true.” He smiled slightly, then turned and went into the cabin.

  * * *

  BRET COULDN’T HAVE planned the opening scene of the next day of his life any better if he had been a professional director. It wasn’t enough that he had been thinking of Dorie all night, but she was the first person he saw when he came into the kitchen at sunrise. As he walked in from the hallway, she came through the back door, King trotting beside her.

  They both stopped, looked at each other. She coughed into her hand before shrugging out of her jacket. He rubbed his neck while his gaze lingered on the light pink-and-white checks of her blouse. The pink was the exact shade of her lips, the lips he’d kissed. The same ones he wanted to kiss again.

  “What’s going on with you two?” Clancy said from the kitchen table. “You both look like you’ve seen ghosts.”

  Bret blinked hard. “Pop. I didn’t see you there.”

  Dorie scurried to the counter. “Everything is fine, Clancy. Thanks for making a whole pot.”

  Bret and Dorie each reached for a mug and then simultaneously grabbed the coffeepot handle. She jerked her hand away. “Sorry. You first.”

  She wouldn’t touch him this morning? He’d been afraid of this. He’d spooked her last night coming on so strong after disagreeing with her about her brother. He’d said too much. He’d done too much. They would have to talk, and soon.

  When all three adults were settled around the table, Clancy looked from his son to Dorie. “Kind of quiet this morning, isn’t it?”

  “Why would you say that?” Bret asked, too loudly.

  “Takes me a while to wake up,” Dorie said, covering what looked to be a fake yawn.

  “So what’s on the docket for today?” Clancy asked.

  “We can work on the last cabin so all will be ready for occupancy.” Bret waited for someone to comment. When no one did, he added, “Dorie, can you come up with a list of contacts for corporations that sponsor employee retreats and camping stores that might let us advertise The Crooked Spruce on their bulletin board or website?”

  Staring into her cup, she nodded. “Sure.”

  “Are you kidding? It’s Sunday!”

  King gave a loud yelp and scrambled to the door where Luke, in his pajamas, had just entered. He reached down to scratch the dog before going to the refrigerator. “You don’t work on Sunday, Dad. We’re supposed to do stuff.”

  “Oh.” Bret thought about that. “Didn’t you do stuff yesterday?”

  “Not with you. Today I figured we’d go to Mountain Spring Park. All of us.”

  “Why the park?”

  Luke poured a glass of orange juice and took the last chair at the table. “Hi, Dorie. You’ll love this idea.”

  “I will?” She twisted her hair to one shoulder while she took a sip of coffee. “Why is that?”

  “They’re having Poochpalooza today.”

  “Pooch what?” Clancy asked.

  Bret just stared. If this activity had the word pooch in it, he didn’t think he was interested.

  “Poochpalooza. They have it twice a year. It’s like a big fair for dogs. People tell you how to take care of your dog. They give stuff away free, like treats and Frisbees. And your dog gets to meet other dogs. I’ve got a flyer in my room I brought home from school.”

  Bret leaned back in his chair and refused to look at Dorie. Luke was right. She would love the idea, and if both of them worked on him, he’d have to give in. “Luke do I have to remind you that we don’t have a dog?”

  “I know. But Dorie does. We’ll all go for King. We’ll be his family.”

  Bracing his hands on the table, Clancy rose. “Tell you what. I think I’ll take a pass on this. I can get started around here and maybe squeeze in a nap while you guys palooza all around that park.”

  “Dad? Dorie?” Luke’s smile was infectious, as was the hope in his eyes. “We can go, right?”

  Dorie waited until a slight shrug of Bret’s shoulders must have told her he was putty in his son’s hands. Then she said, “I’m game.”

  He didn’t stand a chance. His day was obviously going to be filled with barks and tennis balls and watching where he stepped. But then again, there probably was nothing like a few dozen dogs to cut the tension around here.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  TWO HOURS LATER, surrounded by more than two hundred dog-happy people and half again as many people-happy canines, Bret pointed to a plus-sized furry creature with huge paws. “I thought they only allowed dogs here, not bears.”

  Dorie smiled. “That’s a Leonberger, a large breed from Germany. A friend of mine had one.”

  “A large-breed bear?”

  “No. A large-breed dog, of course. They were bred to look like lions and actually look like a cross between a lion and a bear. But they are very gentle and adapt well to families.”

  “I would think the biggest concern would be the opposite, the families adapting to them.”

  “Come on, nature man,” she said. “You’re not afraid of a dog, are you?”

  “I guess you didn’t read Cujo.”

  They walked the gravel pathway, following Luke and King, who was sporting a new retractable leash since arriving at the dog fair. He trotted along with an inspired gait, as if he believed he were the best dressed dog around. Bret stopped next to a German shepherd. “Now at least this is a dog I’m familiar with,” he said, dipping his fingers into the thick hair at the dog’s neck.

  “Naturally,” Dorie said. “Cops know shepherds.”

  “And poodles and Yorkies,” Bret added as they hurried to catch up with King who had stopped to enjoy a dog biscuit from a pet-sitter’s booth.

  “You’re familiar with those two dogs?” Dorie asked.

  “Sure. Every senior citizen in Miami who ever called 911 had either a miniature poodle or a Yorkie, or as we cops call them, ankle biters. I’ve been mauled by them on many occasions.”

  Dorie laughed. “I’ll just bet you have.” She automatically slowed her pace when she saw him rub his thigh. “Let’s take it easy. There’s still a lot to cover and I don’t think Luke is going to want to miss a single giveaway.”

  Bret didn’t argue. He measured his walk carefully. “It’s funny. I can climb up and down a ladder all day, but get me walking a half mile and I give out pretty quickly.”

  “You might consider exercise,” she said. “You should start taking short but aggressive walks on a daily basis. You’ll gradually notice you have your strength back. I’ve heard that movement is the best cure for stiffness.”

  “Yeah, so I’ve been told. But it’s hard to work exercise into my schedule.”

  “Don’t think of it as a chore. Call it an exploration of nature trails. Luke would be happy to walk with you. So would I.” Then realizing how their time was limited, she said, “For the days I’m still here, anyway.”

  He gave her a sideways look. “Nature walks, eh?”

  “Hey, Dad!”

  They hurried to catch up. “What is it, Luke?” Bret asked.

  “Can I take King on the small dog obstacle course? If he makes it to the end, he wins a package of poop bags.”

  “Boy, King will love those.” Bret looked at Dor
ie. “What do you say? Can King strut his stuff?”

  “Absolutely. Good luck, King.”

  Luke patted the dog’s head. “He could handle the large dog course with no problem, but I don’t want to stress him out.”

  “Good idea,” Dorie said. “Start small and work your way up.”

  Luke and King ran across the yard to the obstacle course where they met up with Bobby Callahan. Now King had two people in his cheering section.

  “He’s going to miss that mutt,” Bret said.

  “And the mutt will miss him.” Spying bleachers used for spectators during ball games, Dorie said, “Why don’t we sit awhile, rest your leg? I brought a couple of bottles of water in my backpack.”

  Bret readily agreed. He followed her to a bench three rows up where they could keep an eye on the boys and took the bottles she offered him. Unscrewing the cap, he handed the first one to her and opened the second for himself. “Cheers.”

  They guzzled their water and watched the activity in comfortable silence until Bret said, “That dog’s lucky day was when he met you.”

  She paused, the bottle halfway to her lips. “I think you just said something sweet.”

  “It can happen.”

  She sipped. A few minutes passed before Bret said, “I suppose we should talk about what happened last night.”

  “Or about what’s happening right now,” she said softly.

  “What’s happening now?”

  “Well, we’ve been sitting here for almost ten minutes, our shoulders touching, our hips connected at the denim seams. I haven’t moved. You haven’t moved. So I’m going to conclude that we’re finding this closeness less than awkward for once.”

  His eyes narrowed. He took a long gulp of water. “I’m experiencing something completely unlike awkwardness.”

  “Oh, really? What?”

  He rolled the bottle between his hands. “Hard to describe, but basically, if we weren’t in the middle of dozens of yapping dogs and hundreds of prying eyes, I would have my hands locked on either side of your face, and I’d be kissing you like crazy right now.”

  His words warmed her deep inside while a delightful shiver ran down her spine. “Hmm. In that case, I’d say the time for talking about what happened last night is over. We should maybe talk about what might happen in the days to come.”

  “I have a better idea,” he said. “Remember your high school days?”

  “It was a while ago, but yes.”

  “Good. I’ll meet you under the bleachers in ten minutes.”

  She laughed. “Bad timing. We’re kid-and dog-watching, remember?”

  “Okay. We’ll behave for now, but the next time we meet on that porch swing, things could get interesting.”

  * * *

  JUST WHEN HE was allowing his mind to wander in a most pleasant manner, Dorie gripped his wrist. She pointed toward the horizon. “Look. Do you see smoke?”

  Bret tensed in every muscle. He stood, shielded his eyes from the sun. A steady plume of gray smoke rose from the trees some distance off. And he knew exactly where it originated. “Let’s get Luke, King and go,” he said. “It’s coming from Hickory Mountain.”

  Dorie was down the bleachers a couple of steps ahead of him. She ran to the doggie obstacle course and called Luke’s name. By the time they all reached Bret’s truck, sirens could be heard heading out of Mountain Spring.

  “Pop hasn’t called,” Bret said. “I’m assuming that means the fire isn’t at The Crooked Spruce. But I’d wager it’s close.”

  He stepped on the accelerator, pushing the speed limits of the mountain roads. When they arrived at The Crooked Spruce, red lights could be seen up the mountain, thankfully beyond the outpost. Bret screeched to a halt in front of the lodge.

  Clancy was waiting for him on the porch. “It’s okay, Bret. The fire’s about a half mile from us. The sheriff’s car veered left at the fork and headed west.”

  Shouting orders, Bret jumped out of the truck. “Luke, in the house. Dorie, you, too.”

  “Do you think it’s Dabney?” she asked as she ran inside.

  “I do.” His mind had settled on the most logical explanation for the blaze. Shelton had been at it again. Luckily the smoke had diminished, indicating the fire trucks had gotten there before the fire could spread to other properties. Studying his key chain, Bret followed Dorie inside, found the key that opened his rifle case and grabbed his .22. He wasn’t about to take a chance that Shelton would try anything at The Crooked Spruce. He headed for the back door.

  “Dad, are you hunting for someone? I want to go with you.”

  “Absolutely not. Stay inside with Dorie and Grandpa.” He gave Dorie a quick glance and was rewarded with her nod. She would keep his son safe.

  Bret raced for the nearest trail that headed up the mountain and crouched among the low brush. His hunch that the Sheltons would be escaping down the mountain and not up proved correct. He heard a rustle in the trees just seconds before two figures darted out of the brush several yards in front of him.

  Bret stood and immediately swung the rifle to rest against his shoulder. “Hold it right there,” he hollered.

  Both males paused long enough to consider the threat facing them. A large man with his head shaved, obviously Dabney, turned suddenly and ran back into the trees. The younger one, Leroy, started to follow.

  Bret couldn’t fire. He knew his advantage over the two was just bluster, one he’d hoped would work. Despite a dull throbbing in his thigh, Bret advanced on Leroy. “Get down!” He said. “To your knees.”

  Leroy dropped to a kneeling position and followed Bret’s command to thread his hands behind his head. Fear bright in his eyes, he said, “Who are you?”

  “A concerned citizen,” Bret said. “One who doesn’t want to see the properties on this mountain scorched to the ground.”

  “You don’t need to shoot me,” Leroy said. “I didn’t have anything to do with starting that fire.”

  Bret lowered the rifle. “Sure you didn’t, kid. That fire just started itself.”

  “I tried to talk...” He stopped, bit his lower lip.

  “You’re going to have plenty of time to say whatever you want,” Bret said. “So start thinking of a good way out of this.”

  He lifted Leroy to his feet and followed him back to The Crooked Spruce. Clancy waited by the closest cabin.

  “Get some rope,” Bret said. “I’m thinking this boy won’t appreciate our hospitality.”

  Within minutes Leroy’s hands were tied behind his back and he was safely secured to a kitchen chair in the lodge. Clancy stayed in the kitchen to guard the prisoner while Bret went outside to call the sheriff on his cell phone.

  “Matt? Bret Donovan. I’ve got a Shelton tied to a chair. You want to come get him?” Once the details of the capture were explained in detail, Bret reentered the house and went upstairs to check on Luke. The boy was fine, waiting anxiously to hear what had happened. But Dorie? She was nowhere to be seen.

  * * *

  DORIE OPENED THE kitchen door as quietly as she could and peeked through. She saw two males. Clancy, who stood with his arms folded over his chest, his gaze fixed on the second person, a youth who appeared younger than Jack. This boy was tied to a chair, his arms bound behind him and his feet roped together.

  Determining there was nothing to be frightened of, she walked into the room. Both men stared at her. She tried to see into the younger one’s eyes, but his hair, long and unkempt, fell well below his eyebrows. He jerked his head back, flinging dirty strands away from his face.

  “Who is this?” she asked Clancy.

  “Bret caught one of those brothers who have been causing all the trouble around here,” Clancy answered.

  “I didn’t do anything,” the boy said.

&
nbsp; “Then why are you tied up?” she asked, suddenly realizing that she was close to jumping to the same conclusion as the police would.

  “You tell me and we’ll both know,” he snapped back. “Some wannabe cop threatened to shoot me in the back if I didn’t cut short my walk through the woods.

  Clancy scoffed. “You’re talking about my son, and he’s no wannabe anything. He used to be with the Miami Police Department. And that wasn’t any walk you were taking. You were escaping the police.”

  The boy snorted. “Everybody around these parts seems to draw conclusions without having any proof.”

  Dorie couldn’t help imagining a comparison between this young man and Jack. Both in trouble, confused, defensive. Both having taken wrong turns in their lives.

  “You’d do well to admit whatever you were involved in,” she said. “It will go easier for you.”

  He looked at her with deep blue eyes that melted her heart. “Lady, I’m not lying to you. I didn’t start that fire. I know who did, but it wasn’t me. And I didn’t want him to do it.”

  “But you didn’t do anything to stop him.”

  “What could I do?” He stared down at the kitchen table, shutting down.

  Clancy grunted. “Don’t pay any attention to this mongrel, Dorie. He’d lie as soon as take a gold filling from your tooth.”

  The boy sat straight. “I’m not lying. I didn’t start the fire.”

  Dorie turned to leave the kitchen. “Good luck. I hope you are telling the truth.” She thought of Jack again, and a familiar pain squeezed her chest. “And I hope someone believes you.”

  She stopped at the door when he called out to her. “I’m thirsty,” he said. “Hungry, too. I know I can’t eat with my hands tied like this, but I might be able to drink some water if you have a straw.”

  She went to the cupboard and took out a glass and a straw and filled the glass with water. “Here you go.”

  He gulped the whole thing and slumped back in the chair. “Thanks.”