Loreen sniffed. “There’s no need to be snippy.”
Snippy? Did people still use that word?
“I—” She bit back her angry words. She’d tried every approach to forming a relationship with this woman. She’d played the dutiful daughter, the casual friend, the indifferent stranger. Nothing changed. Her mother was as cold and judgmental as she had been when Jaci was five and failed to win the crown as Little Princess at the Corn Festival. Thankfully for Loreen, her second daughter, Payton, had won it three years in a row. “Whatever,” Jaci breathed. “I need to get these to Trina.”
Expecting her mother to eagerly bring an end to yet another unwelcomed encounter with her daughter, Jaci was caught off guard when her mother pointed toward the tray in her hands.
“Wait,” she commanded. “I’ll take two of the tarts.”
Jaci’s eyes widened. “You?”
The woman looked uncomfortable. “I’ll pay.”
“It’s not that,” Jaci protested, reaching beneath the plastic to grab two of the tarts. “I’ve just never seen you eat dessert.”
Her mother gave a lift of her shoulder, reaching to take the tarts.
“Blake is meeting clients at his office in St. Louis, but he promised to be home in time for dinner. And . . .” Her words trailed away before she was stretching her lips into a smile. “Christopher is home.”
“Oh.” Jaci managed not to grimace. She hated her half brother. He’d been born an arrogant ass, and as he grew older, he’d become a cocky bully who used his family’s wealth as a “get out of trouble free” card. She doubted that the last three years he’d been away at Washington University in St. Louis had improved his slimy personality. “Is it spring break?”
“He’s done with his classes.”
Hmm. If the golden boy had actually completed his college education, there would have been trumpets blaring and a party fit for royalty.
Which meant he’d flunked out. Or more likely, he’d been kicked out.
“When did he get back?” she asked.
“A few days ago.”
Well, that was vague.
“Does he plan to stay in the area?”
“For now.”
More vagueness. Weird.
“I’m sure you’re happy to have him back.”
“Yes. Yes, I am.” An unexpectedly fierce emotion touched her mother’s pale face before she was once again the cool, aloof matron. “How much do I owe you?”
“Consider it a gift for the prodigal son,” she said.
Something that might have been fear flashed through the blue eyes.
“Why would you call him that?” she snapped.
Jaci frowned. What the hell?
Her mother was always brittle. As if she was spun from caramelized sugar. But at the moment she looked like she was about to shatter.
“He was gone and now he’s come home,” she clarified in wary tones. “That’s all.”
Loreen forced a small laugh. “Yes. Of course.”
Jaci’s brows pulled together as she studied her mother’s face.
“Is something wrong?”
“Certainly not.” The smile remained grimly pinned in place. “Everything is perfect.”
“Right. Perfect.” Bafflement was replaced by a sudden weariness that blanketed Jaci, as thick and dreary as the clouds above.
It’d been a hell of a morning. She didn’t have the emotional strength to deal with this woman. With a resigned shake of her head, she turned toward the tea shop.
Whatever had her mother’s panties in a twist had nothing to do with her. And the older woman wouldn’t thank her for trying to interfere.
In fact, that would be the last thing her mother would want.
Pressing the door open with her shoulder, Jaci entered the pink-and-white shop that was decorated with overstuffed couches and low tables.
At her entrance, Trina rushed from behind the glass counter at the back, her round face wreathed with a relieved smile.
“Thank God.”
Handing over her tray of tarts, Jaci collected her money and hurried back to her Jeep before Trina could get her cornered. Everyone wanted to discuss the gruesome discovery.
Everyone but Jaci.
She just wanted to finish her errands and get home.
A hot shower was just what she needed.
It was past eleven o’clock before Jaci was at last leaving Baldwin and headed along the back roads to her grandparents’ farm. The narrow road was isolated, and thick with mud. Which meant that the last thing she expected was to meet a large black SUV as she swerved around a corner.
Slamming on the brakes, she watched as the vehicle cruised past, missing her bumper by less than an inch. But even as she breathed a sigh of relief that they hadn’t collided, she caught sight of the man behind the steering wheel.
A very familiar man.
Her stepfather, Blake Hamilton.
Absently, she turned her head to watch as the SUV disappeared around the corner.
The older man was the CEO of Hamilton Enterprises, a company he’d inherited from his father. She didn’t really know what that meant beyond the fact that he made a butt-load of money, and that he used the small airport north of Baldwin to daily commute between his home and his office in St. Louis. It was only a forty-minute flight, and he could enjoy the benefits of living in a small town.
After all, in the big city he was just another businessman. Around here he got to act like he was something special.
So what the heck was he doing out in the middle of nowhere?
And why did her mother think he was flying back tonight?
With a slow shake of her head, she pressed her foot on the gas pedal.
Weirdest. Day. Ever.
Chapter Three
Rylan Cooper climbed the narrow stairs.
He should feel triumphant.
After a week of caulking, sealing, and pumping water, he finally could proclaim victory.
A dry basement.
Entering the kitchen, he closed the door behind him. The narrow room had been built onto the old farmhouse nearly a hundred years ago, which might explain why it felt like it slanted downhill. The cabinets were worn, the linoleum floor was scraped to the studs near the back door, and the appliances should have been hauled to the junkyard in the sixties.
But there was a bank of windows that ran along the back wall that offered a priceless view of the Mississippi River, and the air was filled with the warm scent of pancakes and pipe tobacco.
The scents of home.
A warmth spread through Rylan, even as he tried to deny it. He didn’t want to feel this constant sense of comfort even after two weeks of staying at his father’s farm.
He was supposed to be eager to return to his California condo. It was a spectacular designer space with a stunning view of the beach. And, of course, there was his prosperous business with his friend and partner, Griff.
The two of them had met at the local college in Baldwin. Rylan had been finishing up his criminal justice degree with dreams of entering the FBI, while Griff had been a computer nerd. They’d met when they’d worked for the same security company installing alarm systems. Together they’d started tinkering with a new database that could track the burgeoning wave of cybercriminals.
He’d assumed that it would be a summer project that might bring in a few extra bucks. Something that would come in handy as he neared graduation and his student loans were looming over his head like the sword of Damocles.
Within a few months, however, they’d received an interest in their work that had stunned both of them. They leased the program to various law agencies. And then created several new security systems that had been licensed around the world.
Rylan was living the dream.
But he couldn’t deny that more than once he’d felt a pang of restless dissatisfaction.
He assumed that at least a portion of his frustration was the fact that he missed his father. It’d just bee
n the two of them after his mother’s death when he was twelve. Of course he missed the old man when they were separated by a couple thousand miles.
Crossing the slanted floor, he joined his father, who was finishing up the last of the breakfast dishes.
Rylan leaned against the counter, folding his arms across his chest. He studied the face that looked remarkably like his own. Lean. Angular cheekbones. A narrow nose and wide brow. Both had the same unusual golden-brown eyes.
There were a few differences. Rylan’s hair was bleached to a light blond and his skin tanned from his hours in the sun, while his father had thick silver hair and a leathered face that was pale from a long winter and even longer spring.
Elmer had also been honed to the point he was little more than bones and sinew. Rylan, on the other hand, was slender, but he spent enough time in the gym to ensure he didn’t embarrass himself on the beach.
“The patch is holding for now, but you’ll need to call in a contractor,” he informed his father. “Better yet, you can call in a mover and sell this damned place before it collapses on your head.”
Elmer snorted, reaching for a worn towel to dry his gnarled hands. A lifetime of working the land had taken its toll on the older man.
“The only way I’m leaving this house is in a coffin.” He repeated the words he’d been mouthing since Rylan had first suggested the move.
“Stubborn old coot,” Rylan said.
Elmer tossed aside the towel. “Look at it this way, son. If the roof does fall, then my thick skull should protect me well enough.”
“There is that,” Rylan wryly agreed. Then, with a sigh, he glanced toward the torrential water that swept past the house less than a mile away. “Still, I wish you’d come and stay with me until the river goes down.”
Elmer shrugged with the confidence of a man who’d seen about everything in his sixty years.
“It’s supposed to crest the first of next week.”
“As long as it stops raining.” Rylan pointedly glanced toward the sullen clouds that hung so low they nearly brushed the tops of the trees. “And that doesn’t seem likely.”
“Don’t fuss,” Elmer said, moving to the narrow opening that led to the enclosed back porch. “I’ll be fine.”
Following behind his aggravating father, Rylan leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb. “Is there a reason you don’t want to stay with me?”
Elmer reached for the muddy coveralls that were hung on a nail. The narrow space was built with a wooden plank floor. The slanting edge of the roof and framed screens that kept out the bugs and wildlife did nothing to block the icy breeze.
“LA has too much sunshine.”
“Sunshine?” Rylan arched a brow that was several shades darker than his hair. “That’s your reason?”
“Yep.”
“You prefer endless days of rain?”
“I like to wake up and be surprised,” Elmer corrected, stepping into the coveralls so he could pull them up and over his jeans and flannel shirt. “Here it might be hot or cold. Sunny or rainy. You might get a bit of snow or it might suddenly turn off with a blizzard.” He pulled up the zipper before training his piercing gaze on Rylan. “What about you? When you open your eyes there’s nothing but sun, sun, and more sun.”
“It would only be for a month or two,” Rylan insisted. It wasn’t just that he would enjoy his father’s company when he returned to California, but he wanted to have the entire house rewired and new plumbing installed. A home built over a hundred and fifty years ago was in constant need of repairs. “Just long enough for the river to go down and someone to make a few upgrades around the place.”
Elmer grabbed his rubber boots and settled on the edge of a wooden chair.
“I have a better idea,” he said, yanking a boot over his foot, which was covered by a thermal sock.
“What’s that?”
“Why don’t you move home where you belong and do the repairs yourself? Computers are fine and dandy, but a man needs to work with his hands on occasion.”
Rylan’s lips twisted. He’d walked right into that one.
“My business—”
“Can be done anywhere,” Elmer interrupted, pulling on the second boot.
“Okay,” Rylan conceded. It was true. Although he had to meet with the occasional client, most of his work was video chatting with his partner as they brainstormed their newest creation. He offered suggestions from a crime-fighting or security perspective, while his friend decided whether his vision was technically possible. “But unlike you, I prefer a view that includes beaches with beautiful, barely covered women to a muddy cow pasture.”
Elmer shoved himself upright, sending his son a chiding glance.
“We have our fair share of pretty gals, although they’re smart enough to cover up what God gave ’em.”
Rylan snorted. “A sin.”
Elmer shook his head, moving to open the screened door that led to the backyard.
“And speaking of pretty gals, I need to get going.”
Rylan frowned. He’d assumed his father was headed out to finish his chores.
“Where?”
Elmer glanced over his shoulder. “I want to check on Jaci. She should be back from her deliveries by now.”
Rylan frowned. “Why?”
The older man shrugged. “It’s what neighbors do when we have bad weather.”
“At least you admit it’s bad,” Rylan said.
Elmer stood in the open doorway, eyeing his son with a hint of impatience.
“Are you coming?”
Rylan grimaced, not overly excited at the thought of getting out in the chilled rain.
“Why don’t you just call?”
His father gave a disappointed shake of his head. “Is that how you do it in LA? Talk to each other at a distance so you don’t have to look each other in the eye?”
Rylan narrowed his gaze. The older man had been distracted all morning.
Something was up.
“Okay, old man,” he said. “What’s bothering you?”
Elmer grimaced. “Frank stopped by before you got up this morning.”
Well, that explained the voices that’d woken him before the crack of dawn.
“I thought I heard someone here at some ungodly hour,” he said. “What did he want?”
“He came to tell me that he’d got up early to check on his bottom fields. They were flooded after the levee broke during the night.”
“And?”
His dad’s eyes darkened with the worry he’d been trying to conceal.
“And, he caught sight of a dead woman floating in the water.”
A shocking fear blasted through Rylan. Pressing his hand against the wall to keep himself upright, he swallowed the sudden lump in his throat.
“He didn’t think it was Jaci, did he?”
“No.” His father gave a shake of his head. “There wasn’t much light and the body was in pretty bad shape, but he was sure the woman had long hair.”
Shit. Rylan forced himself to suck in a deep breath.
The intensity of his fear had been . . . cataclysmic.
Which should have been odd. He’d only seen Jaci on a handful of occasions since he’d left for California. And even when they were young, they hadn’t been more than neighbors. He’d made very sure of that.
And, of course, there was the little fact that she’d never forgiven him for his refusal to believe her claims of a stalker when he worked part-time at the local sheriff’s office.
Yeah. They weren’t exactly BFFs, but there was a part of him that knew his world would be a darker place without her in it.
Grimly he hid his surge of relief. He’d never shared his confusing mix of emotions when it came to Jaci Patterson. And he didn’t intend to start now.
“Then why are you worried?”
“Frank said he also saw a skull.”
“Christ,” Rylan breathed, his attention fully captured. “Did he call the sheriff?”
“I still don’t understand what this has to do with your neighbor,” he said, even as he moved to grab his old coat and boots that he left there for his visits.
God knew he didn’t need them in California.
“Jaci has never accepted that those lockets she received were just someone’s idea of a bad joke,” Elmer explained as they headed down the back steps and across the soggy yard.
Rylan shivered as the icy rain pelted his face. Was the sun ever going to come out?
“Has she still been getting them?” he demanded.
“Not that I know of.” Elmer stomped his way past a shed and the pole barn where he kept his lawn equipment. Then he angled his way toward the opening in the hedge that was a natural barrier between the Cooper and Patterson farms. There was no point in suggesting they take the old pickup parked a few feet away. His father was a firm believer that God gave him feet for a reason. “But a dead body floating in her neighbor’s field is sure to bring it all back,” he continued as they moved past the hedge and into the open pasture.
Struggling through the muck, the two of them managed to make their way to the two-story white farmhouse with a trellised porch and black shutters. It looked a lot like every other home in the area, except for the gorgeous stained glass in the upper windows that had been created by Jaci’s grandfather.
“Looks like she’s just getting home from her deliveries,” Elmer said, nodding toward the black Jeep that had been backed toward the front porch.
“What deliveries?”
“She bakes all sorts of pastries and breads and sells them to various shops,” Elmer explained. “She also makes crafts that she sells at art fairs.”
Rylan nodded. That seemed a perfect choice for Jaci. He’d heard at one time that she was living in Columbia and working as a graphic artist. It never seemed to fit.
“Does she still rent out her land to Virgil Porter?”
“His son,” Elmer said, heading across the front yard. “Andrew took over most of the farming last year. ’Course, if the rains don’t stop, no one will be getting in any crops.” Both men came to a halt as the woman rounded the back of the Jeep. “Hey, Jaci,” his father called out.
Pretend You’re Safe Page 3
