“I saw your van at the trailhead and came looking for you.”
“Why?”
“To catch you.”
“Doing?”
She rolls her eyes. “Nefarious deeds on park property.”
“Can you give me a hint about what laws I’m breaking out here?”
She points at Patsy, who isn’t paying any attention to us as she meanders ahead, like she knows this whole situation is ridiculous and doesn’t want to get involved. Smart girl.
“Walking your pig, for one thing. Pets aren’t allowed on trails.”
“Busted.” I hold up my hands.
“You’re awfully cocky for someone who could be facing serious charges.”
“Do you have one of those citation pads? Are you going to write out a ticket? What’s my penance? Jail time or can I pay a fine? Will you take a check?” Searching for an imaginary checkbook, I pat my pockets.
“Don’t think you can talk your way out of this one. I’m immune to your charms and your bone structure. Your muscles won’t save you.”
From her fierce stare, I don’t think she realizes how hysterical she sounds. She lifts her arm and sneezes five times into her elbow.
I’m beginning to believe Daphne might be delirious.
Risking further finger jabs, I remove my glove and place my hand on her forehead beneath the rim of her official hat. The skin there is warm but not hot. I don’t think she has a fever.
“I’m fine. How many times do I need to tell people? Fine, fine, fine.” She sneezes again.
“We’re almost back to the campground. I’ll put Patsy in the van and escort you home.”
As she rolls her eyes again, her entire body sways with the movement.
“Humor me,” I tell her, more stern than I intend. The van is about five yards ahead. “Can you make it or do you want me to drive you?”
She mumbles something about kidnappers but waits while I load Patsy into her crate and secure the door.
“Walk or ride?” I point to the passenger door.
“Getting into a white panel van with a stranger? Thanks, but no thanks.”
I’m tempted to point out that I’m not really a stranger. She knows my first and last name, knows about my farm stand business, and could easily track down my home address if she asked Griffin.
“Suit yourself. Which one is your cabin?”
Waving behind her and then turning in that direction, she wanders away.
“Driving would’ve been the drier option, you know.” My stride lengthens to keep up with her.
“You didn’t even offer me candy or ice cream to get inside your van. You’re a terrible kidnapper. Better stick with your other criminal activities.” She sounds serious despite the silliness of her accusations.
“Thanks for the advice. I’ll make a note to buy some candy for next time.” With some effort, I suppress my chuckle.
The ranger cabins are situated off of the main road, opposite the campground, tucked together in neat rows. I follow her to the steps of one of the single-story log buildings.
“This you?” I watch her pat her pockets and then pull out a collection of keys. When she unlocks the door, I add, “Guess so.”
“What are you doing?” She spins when the boards of the stairs to her little porch squeak.
“Following you inside.” Okay, maybe not the best thing to say to a woman I barely know.
“Why?” She’s right to be wary.
“Because no matter how many times you declare yourself to be fine, you’re obviously unwell. I’m already here and can make you something warm while you get out of your wet clothes.”
Her eyes bug out and her pupils dilate and maybe narrow then dilate again. “I’m not having sex with you just because you followed me home.”
“Whoa.” Holding up my hands, I give her space, which isn’t easy on the narrow landing. “I was thinking tea or soup. As far as I know, that isn’t code for sex, or anything else. Just trying to help.”
I’m out of my comfort zone and should probably leave. Patsy’s not going to be happy with me for leaving her in the van.
I expect Daphne to protest, but she says “Okay.”
Removing her hat and shaking off the rainwater, she opens the door and enters, leaving me standing awkwardly on her porch.
I stomp my boots and try to brush off as much water as I can from my jacket and hat before entering. If I were a dog, I’d give myself a head-to-toe shake.
The interior of her cabin is simple if not generic. Other than a bookshelf clogged with paperbacks and a map full of pins, there aren’t a lot of personal touches. No girly pillows on the blue couch or framed sayings like You’ve got this! or Live, Laugh, Love on the walls. Honestly, I’m not sure what I expected because until I walked through the door, I hadn’t given her home much thought.
Prior to a couple weeks ago, I hadn’t given Daphne much thought either. Yet here I stand.
“Feel free to snoop in my cupboards for tea and or soup. Not sure if you’ll find anything. I’m going to go change.” She points at the open kitchen on the wall opposite the door and then disappears down a short hallway to the right.
Having been granted access, I decide I should follow through on my offer and make her something warm. Not a fan of canned soup, I’m hoping she at least has tea. Maybe some honey and lemon too.
The first cupboard I open contains oil, jarred marinara, elbow macaroni, peanut butter, canned beans, and an opened bag of rice. On the lowest shelf are a couple bowls stacked on two plates and an assortment of mismatched glasses and mugs. The other cupboard contains a box of generic cocoa, instant coffee, and a single black tea bag. A few spices and cupcake liners along with oatmeal and flour occupy the upper shelf.
That’s the entirety of her pantry contents. I’ve seen better supplies at questionable short-term rental properties.
Moving on to the fridge, I’m greeted with condiments, a loaf of white bread, cheese slices, apple butter, and a bowl full of the little half-and half-pods, the kind diners put on the tables for customers.
Did she steal a bowl of creamers from Daisy’s Nut House?
Where is the rest of her food?
Not feeling hopeful, I open the freezer to find ice cream, a few frozen dinners and a single-serving pizza.
Examining one of the boxes, I mutter, “That’s it?”
“If you’re looking for a kettle, it won’t be in the freezer. Also, I don’t have one. I heat water in the microwave.” Dressed in sweats and a Grand Canyon fleece zipped all the way up, she opens the cupboard, and takes out a dark green mug with Smoky Mountains scrawled on the side and pauses. “Why are you glaring at that pizza?”
“You only have one tea bag.”
Not meeting my stare, she turns to the sink. “Hmm, that’s not surprising.”
“No soup, either.” The lack of food is bothering me. “What are you going to eat?”
“I have options.” She points at the box still in my hand.
“You need something healthy, not freezer-burned plastic.”
After pressing the buttons on her microwave, she faces me. “Why are you so concerned?”
“You’re unwell.” The idea cements itself in my brain before I have time to consider my motive. “I’ll take Patsy home and stop at the store for supplies. Meanwhile, you should nap. I’ll only be gone an hour or so.”
Our eyes lock for a moment in a silent challenge. Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes are still glassy, but she’s not backing down. Rather than stick around and argue with her, I decide to go.
“I like the noodle soup in the box.” Her chin juts up. “If I get a say in what you’re buying.”
“Okay then. You rest. I’ll be back.”
I’m halfway to the door when she calls my name. “Odin?”
Squaring my shoulders, I face her.
“Why are you being so nice to me?”
“Because I suspect you need someone to be kind to you.” I don’t wait for her t
o reply.
Chapter Fifteen
Odin
Once I get Patsy and Roman fed and settled, I unload the contents of my backpack into a bushel basket and place it inside the fridge.
After taking care of business, I pull out a wooden crate and load it with food from my pantry and fridge while making a mental list of recipes.
“Honey, lemon, broth, ginger, cayenne, cinnamon, apple cider vinegar,” I say to myself as I double-check my supplies. I’ll swing by the Piggly Wiggly for the things I don’t have, including her powdered soup mix.
Her question about my motives keeps echoing through my head.
Her bare cupboards remind me of the empty shelves in my parents’ kitchen. Things were often tight and too often, the gap between paychecks meant we made do without extras. Hunting, veggies from the garden, and whatever my grandmother could forage kept us going through the lean days. When I was real young, anything store-bought was a rare treat.
Maybe she’s just been busy with work and hasn’t had time to stock up.
Or maybe it’s none of my damn business and I should stop speculating.
My crate packed, I scour my bathroom for anything that might help with allergies. I didn’t have the chance to inspect Daphne’s medicine cabinet, but I doubt she has much. I rarely get sick, so my stores are similarly lacking.
Not sure she’ll take it, but I add one of the mushroom extracts to my supplies. Nannie Ida swears by them, and she’s almost a century old. Must be some truth to her old tinctures and remedies.
After successfully avoiding anyone I know at the Piggly Wiggly, I drive back up to Cades Cove. I’ve been gone well over an hour and hope Daphne’s taken my advice to nap.
After a soft knock on her door, I wait a moment and then turn the handle.
Daphne is asleep on her couch beneath a blanket. One arm dangles off the side, her hand almost brushing the floor. The other hand is resting on the pillow behind her head. She reminds me of a cartoon princess or an old black and white film star in mid-swoon.
“Hello?” I say, softly because I don’t want to startle her.
She doesn’t stir.
Torn between knocking louder to wake her and letting her sleep, I choose the latter. With care, I cross her small living room to the kitchen and set my crate down without making too much noise. I unpack anything perishable into the fridge and put away a few things in her cupboards.
Deciding to make Nannie Ida’s remedy, I search for a decent pot and a paring knife. I quickly realize I should’ve brought my own knives with me. Her one chef’s knife is so dull I wonder what’s she’s been using it on—is she opening cans with it? Cutting cardboard? With no sharpening steel in sight, I’ll have to make do.
God, I sound like a snob.
Probably because I am one when it comes to cooking and using the proper equipment for the job.
At least all my clanging around in the kitchen hasn’t awoken Sleeping Beauty.
Once everything is chopped and added to the pot of simmering water, I glance around the compact living space. These old cabins were built with local timber during the early years of the park, and from the looks of it, the kitchen was last updated in the nineties. The electric range is too clean to be used on a regular basis. When I open the oven door, I expect to discover it being used as pantry storage.
Not wanting to give in to the urge to snoop, I take a seat in the lumpy old arm chair adjacent to the couch where Daphne quietly snores.
A small wooden bookcase in the corner draws my attention. Paperbacks and hardcovers fill two shelves. Upon closer examination, I realize all of the books relate to world religions. Her collection includes everything from The Tao of Pooh to various editions of the Bible, a couple of Deepak Chopra titles, and an Eckhart Tolle book I also own.
Glancing around the room, I notice the absence of family photos or framed pictures of Daphne with friends. The map and its pins hint at some travel. There isn’t much that feels personal to her, nothing to give insight into who she is and what she loves other than books on religion and spirituality.
The memory of our first meeting comes back to me, how easily she quoted the Bible. She’s obviously into religion, maybe even a religious fanatic. Could explain her over-zealous appreciation for rules and regulations.
Her reading list hints at someone who’s seeking answers. Maybe she hasn’t found what she’s looking for.
With nothing to do but wait, I select a random book off the shelf and bring it over to the chair to read. Women Who Run with the Wolves: Myths and Stories of the Wild Woman Archetype.
Hmm. Daphne wants to be a wild woman?
When I open to the beginning, a photo slips out. A younger Daphne stands with her arms spread wide in a vertical starfish with the Golden Gate bridge behind her. Her hair is cut short, almost boyish. I recognize her eyes and smile, joy illuminating her face. Flipping it over, I don’t see a date, but I’m guessing she was in college when the picture was taken.
Daphne who runs with wolves.
The woman in question softly moans and rolls to her side. One of the blankets shifts, its weight dragging it to the floor where it pools on the rug. Sensing the lack of warmth even in her sleep, she curls her body into a tighter ball.
Without thought, I’m up and out of the chair to readjust the blankets to keep her covered.
As I’m standing over her, a knock on the door startles me. I jerk back, bumping my calf against her coffee table’s sharp corner.
“Shit,” I curse. The expletive hangs in the air, not loud enough to wake the dead, but definitely loud enough to wake a sleeping Daphne.
She sits up, stares at me, and screams.
“Whoa. It’s me, Odin.” I wave at her while backing up. “Just your friend Odin who brought you soup. In a packet, like you asked for.”
My words come out stilted and exaggerated like I’m speaking to someone who doesn’t understand English.
Hand to heart, her chest rapidly rises and falls as she tries to regain her composure.
Continued knocking on her door startles us both.
“Daphne? Everything okay?” a female voice asks from the other side. “I thought I heard screaming.”
“I’m fine,” she replies, so quietly I can barely hear her from a few feet away.
Whoever is outside turns the knob, barely opening the door before repeating, “Daphne?”
Given I’m standing between the visitor and Daphne, I turn to face the door.
“Odin?” Ranger Abbott asks, stepping across the threshold. “What are you doing here?”
“Good question.” Daphne’s voice sounds like she’s trying out for lead frog at the pond.
“I brought groceries.” I point at the counter, where my empty crate sits.
Gaia lifts her chin, inhaling deeply. “What’s cooking?”
“I can’t smell anything.” Daphne’s now sitting with her feet on the floor and the blankets wrapped around her shoulders.
“Probably for the best.” Gaia frowns.
“My great-grandmother’s remedy,” I explain.
“I didn’t ask him to make it,” Daphne tells Gaia. “He was here when I woke up.”
Way to throw me under the bus.
“Oh really? You sensed someone was sick and came over with a pot full of vinegar and groceries?” Gaia’s expression is questioning and more than a little confused.
“The recipe only calls for a quarter cup of apple cider vinegar.” That’s my defense and I stand by it.
Both women stare at me, waiting for a better explanation.
“I was walking with Patsy in the woods and ran into Daphne, who was clearly unwell. I escorted her home, and when I saw the sad state of her cupboards, I went to get groceries while she napped. We discussed this. Don’t you remember?” I direct my question to Daphne.
Her mouth pops open and her forehead wrinkles as she visibly struggles to recall our encounter.
“You and Patsy weren’t on the trails again, were y
ou?” Gaia asks. “We’ve talked about this.”
Now is not the time for official reprimands.
“You snooped through my kitchen?” Daphne says in disbelief.
I’ve admitted as much, so there’s no point in denying it. “Guilty.”
“And you came back when I was asleep and started cooking? Then … what? Watched me sleep?”
When she puts it that way, I sound like a creeper.
Gaia crosses her arms and widens her stance in a posture that tells me she’s ready and willing to take control of this situation if I can’t explain my way out of it.
“Again, I told you all of this before your nap. How would I know you like noodle soup from a box unless you asked me to get you some?”
“Okay, I vaguely remember, but … was that today? I feel like I’ve been asleep for a hundred years.” Daphne scoots to the edge of the cushion and slowly stands, bringing her blanket cape with her as she shuffles over to the kitchen.
Gaia still watches me with a guarded expression.
“Will you tell your boss to stand down, please?”
From her spot near the stove, Daphne lifts the lid on the pot and inhales. “This isn’t soup.”
“How long has she been acting like this?” Gaia relaxes her stance.
“Since I found her. She seems really spaced out.” I don’t want to tell her boss I first suspected Daphne was drunk or high.
“I sent her home earlier this afternoon, and I saw her take a couple Benadryl. Why was she in the woods?”
“No idea,” I say, leaving out the details of my conversation with Daphne.
Either she’s ignoring us or she’s not paying attention, because Daphne doesn’t answer for herself. Instead, she stirs the liquid in the pot while inhaling the fragrant steam.
“Daphne?” Gaia walks over and taps her shoulder. “Maybe you should lie down.”
“Odin mentioned soup,” she mumbles.
“We’ll get you some in a minute,” I tell her.
Reluctantly, she obeys and returns to the couch.
“It’s probably a good thing you’re here. I’m not sure she should be left on her own.” Gaia’s tone switches from suspicious to relieved. “I can come back later if you need to get home.”
Stranger Ranger: An Opposites Attract Romance (Park Ranger Book 2) Page 11
