Peppermint Creek Inn

by Jan Springer

  She nodded in polite approval, and sat down on the edge of her seat opposite Justin. Her insides screamed at him to hurry up and finish the tea and leave. For all she knew, Tom could walk inside without being the wiser that they had company—company of the worst kind.

  “How’d you make out with last night’s storm?” he asked as he took another sip, his eyes scanning her kitchen.

  “Fine.” Sara frowned as she remembered this morning’s horrible dream of the shadow about to kill Tom. And now she realized her sick dream had been some weird, twisted premonition.

  “It sure was a doozie,” Justin laughed. “Lightning hit the church steeple. Killed the clock. It stopped ticking at 3:15 a.m. Electricity is out in some of the rural areas. Phones are still out all over the county. So, who’d you hire to cut and pile your romance tree? They come in through the hydro road, too?”

  The question caught her unexpectedly, trailing a frosty shiver through her spine.

  “Um—” She forced herself to keep eye contact with him. “What makes you think I’ve hired someone?”

  “The flannel shirt on the back of your chair for one.”

  Oh, my gosh! She tried to keep her face blank as she silently cursed herself for forgetting about Tom’s shirt.

  “Actually the shirt belonged to Jack. I use it for my late evening strolls. And I did the wood by myself.”

  “You?” His eyes widened with surprise. “You use those gloves over there?”

  She followed his gaze and spotted Tom’s giant work gloves sitting on the countertop. Her gut twisted awfully.

  “They are a bit big, I must admit. But I didn’t want to get my hands all chafed.”

  His shifty gaze flew to her knotted hands on the table as he took another sip of tea.

  “You sure did a good job lifting those heavy logs. I guess a lot of the manual work has fallen onto your shoulders without Jack around.”

  Sara stiffened at Justin’s comment. “I manage.”

  Reaching out, he placed a cool hand over her clenched fists making her terribly uneasy at his touch.

  “Sara, the case is still open on Jack. I know it’s been a while and chances are slim but…” He shrugged his shoulders. “Someone might inadvertently say something or we could get a tip or maybe even find the missing bullet.”

  The last two words hung in the air like a guillotine over her head.

  She didn’t like where the conversation was heading. “I’m not giving up hope, Justin. The murderer will be caught. You can count on that!”

  His gaze snapped to her face. “You sound pretty sure. You know something new?”

  She wanted to tell Justin if anything was still around regarding Jack’s murder, Tom would find it. Anything to take that utterly pitying look off his face, but she held back the sharp reply.

  “No,” she finally replied rather meekly. “Nothing new.”

  “Too bad. But if you do remember anything, even the slightest thing, let me know right away, okay?”

  Sara nodded.

  Seemingly satisfied, he removed his hand and drained the rest of the tea. She breathed a bit easier when he stood up and strolled toward the front door. Sara got up to follow him.

  He quickly shrugged into his coveralls and boots and the moment he cleared the veranda he suddenly asked, “You mind if I take a look around?”

  Sara felt her heart skip a beat. “Look around? Why?”

  “See if everything is in working order.” His reply seemed casual, but Sara could see he was far from casual as his suspicious gaze carefully scanned every single building.

  “Oh, don’t worry. I’ve got everything under control.”

  His voice lowered and his thin lips wavered into somewhat of a smile. “As I’ve said in the past, Sara, just call on me anytime to give you a hand. I’ve been known to work wonders with a hammer and saw.”

  “I’ll definitely keep you in mind,” she replied with fake brightness.

  His gaze flew to scanning her buildings again.

  She decided it was best to keep him occupied with conversation as she tactfully led him toward the all-terrain vehicle without his even realizing it.

  “Have you found Sam yet?”

  “Nope. I suspect he’s fallen to foul play at the hands of that hermit. You sure you don’t want me to look around?” he asked again when they reached his vehicle.

  “I’m sure. I’ve been keeping my eyes open ever since you called yesterday. Haven’t seen hide nor hair of anyone, except you, of course. Besides he’s probably long gone by now. Most likely in the next biggest city trying to blend in so no one will recognize him. Isn’t that what most criminals do?” she innocently added.

  Justin nodded gravely as he climbed onto his four-wheeler.

  “I better be going. Gotta get to work. Doing lots of overtime this week, organizing search parties for the suspect and looking for Sam.”

  “In that case, I’ll definitely let you know if anyone suspicious comes this way.”

  “Thanks.”

  His eyes suddenly grew into mere slits as his gaze flew to the barn. “I could have sworn that barn door was open when I came in.”

  Sara’s breath caught in her throat at his comment. “It catches in the wind,” she said quickly. “I must not have closed it properly when I went out there to do some painting.” He didn’t need to know she’d gone out there yesterday, and it was entirely possible his wanted man was inside the barn right at this moment.

  “Painting? You’re painting again?”

  She’d captured his entire attention.

  Sara shrugged. “Just dabbling, nothing serious.”

  “Can I see what you’re working on?”

  She smiled sweetly. “Now you know better than that, Justin. No one sees my work until it’s finished. I’m superstitious that way. Now, you’d best be on your way before you’re late for work.”

  Taking her hint, he started up the engine. He let it idle for a moment as his suspicious gaze once again raked the closed barn door. Then his gaze fell upon her once again.

  “How about I come over for dinner Friday night?” he yelled above the drone of the motor.

  “I’ll have to take a rain check. I’m using all my spare time painting,” she lied. “I’d rather not have any visitors for a little while. I hope you understand.”

  Justin pursed his lips with a bit of a pout and gave her a quick nod. “Okay. Call me if you need me.”

  “I will,” Sara yelled back.

  He threw her a quick wave, revved up the engine a few times and pulled out of the yard like Evil Knievel himself. Sara breathed the biggest sigh of her life as she watched Justin Jeffries head across her meadow toward the towering hydro lines in the misty distance.

  A few moments later, when Sara entered the barn, Tom raced down the loft stairs three at a time. By the look of concern on his face, Sara became alarmed. “What’s wrong?”

  “Go back outside.” His voice was too low and too calm to her liking. Immediately alarm bells rang.

  “Walk casually into your house. Lock all your doors and windows. Wait there for me.”

  Oh, God! He was scaring her!

  “What’s happening?”

  “He hasn’t left. He’s out there watching the place.” Tom moved into the shadows of the barn.

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “I saw something flash just beyond the knoll. Who is he anyway?”

  “It’s the police officer I spoke with on the phone yesterday.”

  Tom cursed beneath his breath. “I’m going out to keep an eye on him.”

  “No!” Sara grabbed his arm stopping him from leaving.

  “Sara! Just do it! “ Tom snapped at her and she trembled at the fear flashing in his eyes. “If something happens to me, you don’t know anything. Hide all my stuff where no one will find it.”

  Before she could reply, he detached her death grip from his arm and disappeared like a ghost into the gloominess of the barn. A moment later, she spotted
his silhouette climbing out one of the rear barn windows.

  —

  Adrenaline surged through Tom’s body urging him to dash quickly ahead. He could hear his own ragged breathing as he sprinted from the side of the barn, and into the tree line. Dashing from tree to tree, all the while keeping low and cautious, he tried to ignore the painful ache digging deep into his back where the bullet wound lay.

  He’d been heading toward the open barn door when he’d heard the engine of an approaching vehicle. Peeking through the doorway, he’d barely caught a glimpse of a tall man as he’d hoisted paper bags into his arms.

  Even though the man’s facial features were hidden behind the two large grocery bags, and the baseball hat slung low over his head, Tom had felt a strange pang of familiarity grip his stomach as he watched the man saunter up the walkway, a familiarity that clenched his gut into one hell of a tight knot.

  He watched as Sara greeted the man. She seemed to know him and was unafraid of him. And she seemed friendly enough with him. He found himself wondering if maybe the newcomer was Garry, but dismissed the thought instantly. This man seemed young. Most likely his and Sara’s age.

  He’d cursed as Sara opened the door to allow the man inside. His eyes flew to the stairs and straight up to the loft. From up there he’d be able to look into the kitchen windows and keep an eye on the newcomer. Quickly, he brushed past the open barn door and headed up the stairs three at a time. When he was half way up the steps, he thought he heard the barn door creak shut.

  In the loft, he’d snuggled up to the side of the giant picture window, keeping in the shadows just enough so he couldn’t be spotted. He smiled at the excellent view of the east side of the house and sighed with immense relief as he spied Sara walk quickly past one of the side kitchen windows. Through another window, he spied the unwelcome guest at the kitchen table.

  Unfortunately, the man’s facial features were still hidden from his view as a result of the rising sun reflecting brilliantly against the glass panes. But the intense pang of familiarity still rode Tom.

  He’d sat on pins and needles until a few minutes later when Sara and the newcomer finally walked into the parking lot. They chatted beside the all-terrain vehicle for a few minutes and when the man swung his gaze toward the barn, Tom ducked away from the window wondering if the newcomer had been so observant to notice the door to the barn door was now closed. Shit! Who was this guy? A minute later, he heard the roar of the all-terrain vehicle as it took off. Then he dared to peek out again.

  Sara stood in the parking lot watching the man as he headed toward the power lines in the near distance. Except for bare feet, she was dressed in hip-hugging black jean shorts and a sweetheart pink short-sleeved knitted sweater. Her hair was tied into one long braid that cascaded down her back.

  His first impulse was to run down the stairs, and out to the parking lot and gather her into his arms. To reach out and untangle her hair. Run his fingers through the shimmering auburn tresses. To slide his hand around her neck, and kiss her ever so gently on those rosy lips and tell her how relieved he was she’d gotten rid of that guy. But a minute later when he gazed up into the hills where the newcomer had disappeared, Tom spotted a flash at the top of a knoll, and he’d run back down into the barn to meet Sara.

  Now Tom’s entire back was drenched with sweat as he neared the area where he’d seen the flash of light over the knoll. He wasn’t surprised when he spied the tall man entrenched into the side of the hill, binoculars raised as he watched Sara’s place.

  This time he was allowed a full view of the man’s face. As soon as Tom’s gaze fell onto the man, recognition speared a hole into his guts.

  It was him!

  The same cop he’d seen in the cruiser as it had whizzed past him the first day he’d stumbled along the road leading to Peppermint Creek Inn. Same jet black hair, thin black mustache.

  The cheerful chattering of nearby chipmunks shifted into the background as a fierce pain shot through Tom’s head. He grabbed onto the nearby tree for support as flashes of white light shot out of nowhere blinding him.

  Images flickered…

  The icy cold seemed to seep into his every muscle as he lay on the ground, breathing heavily. A sea of pain engulfed his every movement, his every thought. But he fought against it as he listened to the two men’s raised voices on the other side of the wall. They were arguing about what to do with him. Hell, why not let him go? Problem solved.

  There was such a weakness in him—he could barely clench his fist. But clench his fists he did, ignoring the painful bite of the handcuffs and ignoring the soreness in his muscles as he moved his legs up and down to keep them limber and warm.

  He had to stay conscious this time. He had to escape, to stay alive because he was the only one left who knew the burning truth. The only one who could set things straight…

  The vision abruptly vanished leaving Tom spent.

  Too tired to retreat back to the inn and too tired to stand, he dropped to his side and allowed the tall, wet grass to conceal him from the cop. Wearily he massaged the painful knot in his temples, trying to make some sort of sense out of what he’d just remembered.

  He was the only one who knew the burning truth. The only one who could set things straight.

  Maybe he wasn’t a criminal after all! Maybe someone wanted him dead because he knew too much. The two cops had been arguing over what to do with him.

  If he was a criminal, why not arrest him? Take him in? Not hide him in some weird dungeon and try to figure out what to do with him.

  Hope soared inside him and he fiercely clung to his new theory. Maybe he wasn’t a bad guy after all?

  He stayed hidden in the tall, sweet-smelling grass and continued to watch the cop as the cop watched Sara’s house. After awhile, looking seemingly satisfied, the cop left.

  But Tom remained rooted to the same spot until his growling stomach urged him to return to Peppermint Creek Inn.

  —

  Bright sunshine streamed through the kitchen windows as the sun shot over the pine trees, cascading Tom in its late morning glow. Since he’d returned, his demeanor had changed.

  His cheeks were rosy, his complexion healthier than she’d ever seen it and his appetite—

  Sara smiled as he shoved his fourth fresh-baked, giant, luscious Widow McCloud biscuit drenched in golden butter and blueberry jelly into his mouth. He was on his third cup of pure black coffee. And he’d devoured a heaping plate of blueberry pancakes. He reminded her of a bear fattening himself up for winter hibernation.

  “And all he did was watch the house?” she asked.

  He nodded, his delicious-looking mouth working away at the biscuit.

  God, he looked so good today. So handsome. So masculine. So sexy. A man she could so easily fall in love with.

  The heavenly taste of coffee scalded her throat as she took an unexpectedly large gulp and almost choked, but managed to keep a straight face when Tom threw her a curious glance.

  Love?

  No way. Couldn’t be.

  Lust, maybe, but not love.

  “You’re staring.”

  Sara blinked. “What?”

  His lips curled into a gorgeous smile. “I said, you’re staring.”

  “At what?” she said dumbly. God, what was wrong with her all of a sudden. She couldn’t even keep her eyes off him. Her face grew toasty. Just the sun streaming through the windows. That’s all. Just the sun.

  “At me!” Tom laughed heartily. “What’s wrong with you this morning, Sara? You’ve been unusually quiet. You don’t have to worry about Jeffries coming back. You said yourself he told you he was busy setting up search parties for the week. Why are you so—preoccupied?”

  “Preoccupied?”

  A quick concerned frown trashed his smile. “You’re not sick are you?”

  “No. No. Would I be hungry if I was sick?” Hungry in more ways than one. She should have made him leave. He’d be gone now, and she’d be snuggled aw
ay with all her work. No sexy man hanging around the house. No sexual cravings for him to make love to her. No problems.

  But since he was still here, she might as well ask him the big, burning question she’d been dying to ask ever since she’d seen him sifting through the ruins. “You didn’t find anything in the building that I should know about did you?”

  His mouth halted in the middle of a chew.

  “Could we hold off on that question until I’ve had another biscuit?”

  “I can tell by your face, it’s not good news. So let’s have it now, Tom.”

  He shoved the last piece into his mouth and stood. “Okay, I’ll be right back.”

  She waited for a few anxious minutes until he strolled back in with a lunch-size brown paper bag.

  “You went grocery shopping?” she teased half-heartedly as she set her coffee mug down on the table with a slightly shaky hand. By the watery smile on his face, he wasn’t too pleased at what he’d put into the bag.

  “I went shopping, but not for groceries. Do you have some plastic wrap?”

  “Sure.”

  A moment later Tom was ripping some clear wrap from the box Sara had given him. He placed a strip of wrap across an area of the table, free of any dishes. Then he wrapped some plastic around his hand and delved into the brown paper bag.

  “You’re not going to like what I’ve come up with.” The serious tone of his voice had her heart thumping madly. She watched anxiously as he withdrew some green shards of glass and laid them one by one on the plastic wrap. Next, he pulled out what appeared to be a full green wine bottle with a yellow shoestring hanging out of the spout.

  “What in the world is it?” Curiosity raked through her and she reached out to grab the bottle.

  “Don’t touch it,” he warned. “It may still have fingerprints. It’s highly unlikely, but you can’t take any chances.”

  “What is it?”

  “A homemade bomb.”

  Chapter Eight

  Sara couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Did you say a bomb?”

  He nodded and she leaned forward to stare more closely at the green wine bottle.