by Lisa Jordan
Shivering, Lindsey dug through her bottom drawer and pulled out an old crimson-and-silver Shelby Lake Lions sweatshirt. She slid it over her head, unleashing memories of football games, playing her clarinet in the marching band and spending more time sneaking peeks at Melissa’s older brother who was home on leave from the Marine Corps than cheering for the Lions who went to the championships her senior year.
Yeah, she had a secret crush on Stephen even as a teenager. For the first time since they met in seventh grade, Lindsey kept a secret from her best friend. Sure, she may have broken some kind of BFF code, but seriously? Tell the sister of the hunky guy she had a crush on? So not likely.
She definitely had to snap out of it. It was back to reality, because she had work to do.
Putting all her weight behind her, she pushed the bed out of the way and set a trash can in its place to catch the water.
Plink.
Plink.
Plink.
The worn hardwood creaked with each step as she crossed the hall and headed down the stairs to the kitchen to call Granddad.
She picked up the cordless phone and punched in the number to the farmhouse. Grandma answered, but thankfully, Granddad was still eating breakfast. After she explained the situation, he promised to swing by after doing the milking to check out the roof. With the sun shining, she didn’t have to worry about more rain.
Lindsey hung up the phone. She filled the copper kettle with cold water and set it on the stove to heat for tea. She made a mental note to strip the bed before heading to the hospital. Hopefully the mattress hadn’t gotten too wet.
A light tapping on the kitchen door window startled her. She glimpsed at her reflection in the microwave door and squelched a scream. Her hair looked as if it had been combed with Mom’s KitchenAid mixer. The borrowed pajama bottoms were a couple inches too long. Lindsey rolled over the waistband to keep them up. They didn’t match the Lions sweatshirt she threw on a few minutes ago. Well, it wasn’t as if she expected guests so early in the morning.
Maybe she could pretend she wasn’t there. She crouched below the breakfast bar that separated the cooking and eating areas. But the kitchen light was on. Anyone sneaking a peek through the curtains on the door probably saw her moving around anyway.
Another knock. Louder this time. “Open up, Lindsey. I know you’re in there.”
Captain Obvious back on the job. So much for her stealth skills.
What was he doing here so early anyway? She so did not have time to deal with him today.
She stomped to the door and yanked it open. “May I help you?” Each word slid out between clenched teeth as she forced a smile.
Stephen gave her a once-over and grinned. Clearly amused. “Can I come in?”
She wanted to wipe that silly grin off his face. As if he always crawled out of bed looking like a cover model for GQ. “And if I say no?”
“Your choice.” He shrugged and turned away.
Lindsey’s conscience gave her a mental kick. She sighed. Why was he always around when she looked her worst? “Wait.” She stepped back for him to pass, then shut the door. She crossed her arms over her chest.
Stephen handed her a white bag.
“What’s this?” She took it, inhaled the delicious aroma of cinnamon and sugar and looked inside. Two yeasty swirled rolls half-wrapped in tissue sat in the bottom of the bag.
“A peace offering.” Stephen shoved his hands in the front pockets of his faded Levi’s, leaning one shoulder against the wall near the refrigerator.
“For what?”
He rubbed a hand across his nape. “Truce. I acted like a jerk last night—”
“Glad to know we finally agree on something.”
“Can I continue?”
“Oh, by all means. You were saying something about being a jerk.”
“Look, I’m sorry. I just wanted to say thanks for bringing Ty home. The kid took about ten years off my life. I appreciate your kindness even though I didn’t show it last night.” He paused and held her gaze a moment. “Being in the cemetery must have been tough for you.”
Lindsey looked down at her feet. Tough? Every second spent in Shelby Lake was tough. But she didn’t say that. “I probably owe you an apology. I said some mean things yesterday at the hospital. You were only trying to help. I was just so upset about Mom, and my mouth opened before my brain could properly supervise.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “We’re even, then. Truce?” Stephen stuck out his hand. Lindsey hesitated for a moment before taking it. His touch set off a series of sparks charging through her arm. Stephen must have felt it, too, because he dropped her hand quickly and shoved his fingers in his front pocket.
Now what? Were they friends?
Letters floated inside Lindsey’s head like a bowl of alphabet soup. She couldn’t piece them together to form coherent words, let alone sentences.
Stephen shifted from one foot to the other.
At least she wasn’t the only one uncomfortable here.
The teakettle whistled, breaking the silence. Lindsey breathed a silent sigh of relief and flicked off the heat. “I’m making some tea. Would you like some, or would you prefer coffee?”
Hello, what are you doing?
Inviting him to stay for coffee? What happened to needing some distance?
Please say no. Please say no.
“Coffee would be nice.”
“Hope you don’t mind instant. Mom keeps it on hand for company.” Lindsey grabbed two cobalt-blue café mugs out of the oak cabinet. Warmth spread up her neck. She fought back a shiver. Why did he have to watch her?
“Is that what I am, Linds? Company?” His voice was as smooth and rich as dark roast.
What could she say?
She reached for the teakettle. Her hand trembled so badly that she couldn’t pour water into the mugs without sloshing it onto the counter.
She grabbed the belly of the mug to hand it to Stephen. Heat spread through the glass and scorched her hand. She yelped as the mug slipped from her and smashed on the ceramic tile, splashing her bare feet with boiling water.
She jumped back, landing on a shard of glass. Pain sliced through the ball of her foot. She lost her balance and landed hard on her bottom. She clenched her teeth to hold back a scream. The tops of her bright pink feet throbbed to the rhythm of her heartbeat.
“Don’t move.”
Stephen crossed over in two large strides, crunching broken glass under his worn sneakers. He scooped her against his chest and deposited her on the counter, pivoting her feet into the sink. He adjusted the water temperature, grabbed the sprayer and showered her feet with a cool mist.
Lindsey thrust her scalded palm under the spray. She pulled the legs of her pajama pants up past her knees to keep them from getting soaked and then grabbed on to the windowsill for balance.
She wouldn’t allow herself to think about how well she fit in the cradle of his arms, even for the briefest of minutes. Neither would she dwell on the strength in those arms that promised security.
She sucked in air as he pulled the shard from her foot.
He gave her a lopsided smile. “Sorry.”
Heat warmed her face. She rested her forehead on her knee. “I’m such a klutz.”
“Don’t worry about it. Happens to all of us.”
“You’re saying that to make me feel better.”
“Is it working?”
She nodded, her forehead brushing against the flannel of her pajamas. She didn’t dare look at him.
“Good.” Stephen ripped off a paper towel and pressed it against the cut on her foot. “Hold this. Got any bandages in here?”
She raised her head but wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Check the drawer to the left of the sink. Mom keeps a small first-aid kit in there.”
Stephen found the plastic box and grabbed some antibiotic cream and bandages. He dried her skin, applied cream to the bandage and stuck it to her foot. He wrapped a loose covering of gauze over
her burns. “Your feet will be tender, but the burns don’t appear to be serious. The gauze will keep the burn clean. Watch for blisters. Need some acetaminophen or anything?”
Lindsey begged her heart to slow down. Being this close to Stephen was nerve-wracking. She grabbed a dish towel off the counter and dried her legs and ankles. “Thanks, but I can get it. I took up enough of your time today.”
“It’s my day off.” Stephen grabbed a handful of paper towels and dropped them over the puddle of water and broken glass. He cleaned up the mess and threw it away. After washing his hands, he touched Lindsey’s elbow. “Come on, I’ll help you down.”
Lindsey scanned her brain for something to say. “Where’s Tyler?”
“Hanging out with Ma and Dad. He’s tired of being at home. I needed to swing by the station to talk to the chief, so they offered to keep him for a bit.”
Lindsey braced herself against the counter and slid down. Pain singed her nerves as she applied pressure to her injured foot, causing her to grab on to Stephen for support. He gripped her forearms.
“Are you okay?” His breath fanned her cheek like a gentle breeze.
He smelled of sawdust, sunshine and soap. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. A quiver danced down her spine. Another time, another place, she would have brushed a kiss across his lips. But what they had was over a long time ago.
“Thanks for your help.” Lindsey eased out of his grasp and hobbled to the table. She plopped on the chair and nodded toward the opposite side. “You can sit if you want.”
“Would you like tea? I’ll get it.”
Lindsey started to stand. “You don’t need to wait on me.”
He pushed her back in the chair. “Rest your foot. I don’t mind.”
She choked out a weak, “Thanks. Mugs are on the middle shelf and tea bags are in the jar on the counter.”
Stephen placed two steaming mugs on the table and sat across from her. He pushed the white bakery bag toward her. “Have a cinnamon roll. Baked fresh this morning.”
“By you?” Lindsey unwrapped an orange-spice tea bag and dropped it into the water.
He laughed. “Right. I can barely get dinner on the table for my kid, let alone do any kind of baking. No, these came from Cuppa Josie’s. I stopped by on my way over here.”
“The new place in town. Mom mentioned it.” Sure, she could mention the new café in town, but failed to mention she was dating the owner’s father.
“Josie is Max’s daughter. You probably haven’t had time to meet her yet.”
Lindsey tugged on the cuffs of her sweatshirt. “Technically, I haven’t met Max yet. I just learned about him yesterday. I guess mentioning she had a boyfriend slipped Mom’s mind.”
“Ouch. That stinks.”
“Something like that.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Not your fault.” She traced the Cuppa Josie’s logo on the front of the bag. “What’s he like?”
“Max is a great guy, Linds, and treats your mom well. He attends Grace’s church. He raised his daughter on his own after his wife left when Josie was young. They moved to Shelby Lake a few years ago and opened Cuppa Josie’s. Josie bakes and runs the shop. Max is the principal at the high school. Josie has a daughter near Ty’s age.”
Lindsey appreciated Stephen’s input, but still couldn’t understand why Mom didn’t tell her. Well, she’d know soon enough.
Stephen grabbed a napkin out of the wicker holder on the table and reached into the bag. He set the cinnamon roll on the green place mat in front of her. “Have one. They’re great.”
Melted icing painted the pastry with a translucent sheen and puddled in the cinnamon-laced spiral. Lindsey’s mouth watered, but she sipped her tea instead. “Thanks, but I’ll save it for later.”
“Breakfast is the most important meal of the day. I remember the spreads you and your dad used to share.”
Lindsey peered at him over the edge of her mug, and then looked away, finding sudden fascination in the pitcher of sunflowers in the center of the table. She would not cry in front of him again.
“Man, I’m batting a thousand today. I didn’t…I mean… I’m sorry for putting my foot in my mouth.”
“No, no, not your fault. It’s just that, well, those were special times. Since Dad’s death, I haven’t found a good enough reason to have breakfast.” She traced the wood grain in the oak trestle table with her finger. “You must think I’m such a dork.”
“I think you’re beautiful.”
Her finger stilled. Her breath caught as a warm feeling skittered down her spine. Did he say what she thought he said? She shifted in the chair.
“What did you say?”
“Nothing.” Stephen gulped the rest of his coffee. He stood and looked at his watch.
“I need to get going. I’ll see you later.”
Lindsey stood and held on to the table for support. “Thanks for the cinnamon rolls.”
Stephen walked to the door, turned and gave Lindsey a long look. “You’ll find someone special to share breakfast with again.”
Problem was, Lindsey didn’t want just anyone. She wanted Stephen, but she wasn’t sure her heart could take the rejection a second time.
Stephen swiped his ID card and waited for the buzzer to sound. As soon as the light turned green, he pushed through the back door of the police station. Disinfectant mixed with burned coffee and sweat nearly choked him as he strode down the hall to Chief Laughton’s office.
Seeing the chief’s half-opened office door, Stephen rapped twice. Chief motioned him in. He pointed to one of the gray upholstered chairs in front of his desk with the pen in his hand.
Stephen sat and waited.
Chief hunched over his desk with the phone pressed to his ear while he doodled on his desk blotter. His grunts of agreement mingled with the hum of the fluorescent lights and ringing phones in the squad room. He rolled his eyes at Stephen.
Ending his conversation, the chief hung up the phone. Sighing, he rubbed a hand across his face. “Politics. That’s what this job boils down to. I’ve been invited to have lunch with the mayor next week.”
Stephen tried to suppress a grin and failed. He knew what lunches with the mayor meant, having had a few himself. “You lucky dog.”
“Don’t I know it. Listen, did you see Ramirez yet?”
“Ramirez? About what? I thought you wanted to talk about Lieutenant Delaney.”
Chief Laughton nodded and drummed his beefy fingers on his desk. “I do, but I think you’re gonna want to hear Ramirez’s story for yourself.” He pulled himself out of his chair and rounded the desk. He motioned for Stephen to follow. “Walk with me.”
They headed down the hall to the front of the building where Reba, Shelby Lake P.D.’s dispatcher, sat behind a glass wall—the same spot for the past thirty years. If anyone needed information, Reba was the go-to girl, well, woman, actually. She knew more about what happened in Shelby Lake than the Shelby Lake Gazette editor.
“Hey, Reebs. What’s up?”
“Hi, yourself, handsome. Ramirez here has someone you should meet.” She called over her shoulder. “Hey, Jorge. Sarge’s here.”
Patrolman Jorge Ramirez glanced over his shoulder, nodded at Stephen and pushed away from the wall where he was talking to another Latino man. “Hey, Sarge, ’sup, man?”
“Heard there was a story I might be interested in.”
Ramirez grinned. “Yes, sir.” He motioned to his friend. “Meet my cousin, Manny. He just got back from a hunting trip up in Maine.”
Manny held out his hand. “Nice to meet you, sir. Jorge here says good stuff ’bout you.”
Stephen shook the man’s hand. “That’s always good to hear.”
“Hey, Manny. Show Sergeant Chase your photos.”
Manny withdrew a blue-and-white packet of photos from the inner pocket of his camouflage jacket. “Me and my two boys spent a week in Maine. Bagged us a moose, too. Huge sp
read.” He held out his arms to demonstrate the size of the moose’s antlers. “You ever eat moose, sir?”
Stephen nodded. “Once in the Marine Corps. A buddy hunted one on leave and brought some back. It’s been a while, though.”
“Nothing like a moose steak and a cold brew.”
Ramirez nudged his cousin. “Hey, Manny, the pictures.”
“Oh, right. Right. Sorry, sir. My mouth tends to take field trips.”
Stephen smiled, liking the guy. “No problem.”
Manny opened the envelope and pulled out the glossy prints. He fanned them like a poker hand, selected two or three and slid the rest back into the envelope. “This here’s a picture of me, my two boys and the moose. Check out that spread. Didn’t I tell ya?” He handed the picture to Stephen.
Stephen looked at it and understood the man’s pride. The moose took up most of the picture.
“Here’s the one Jorge thought you might like. Here’s a picture of me, my two boys and our guide.”
Stephen had no clue why Jorge thought a moose hunt would interest him. He had nothing against hunting but didn’t have the time for it. He humored the men and took the picture that Manny extended to him.
He glanced at the photo and felt the blood drain from his face. His heart pounded so loud that he was sure the other guys could hear it. His head snapped up. Reba, Chief, Jorge and Manny watched him. He schooled a neutral expression on his face, but his insides somersaulted.
He scanned the wanted posters hanging behind Reba’s dispatch desk and zeroed in on a clean-shaven man with short hair who had a scarlet boomerang-shaped birthmark bracketing his right eyebrow. Stephen looked at the man in the picture. Even though Manny’s guide had scruffy hair and a beard, the birthmark was the same. After five years of dead ends, they finally had a lead worth investigating.
Stephen stared at the picture of Hank Earle.
Thomas Porter’s killer.
Chapter Seven
Dimmed lighting cast a peaceful glow, bathing Lindsey’s mother in an aura of deceptive tranquility. The light haloed the top of her head, highlighting hair a shade darker than Lindsey’s. Webs of fatigue lined Mom’s green eyes. Her eyelashes brushed the mauve shadows beneath her eyes. Looking at Mom was like staring into a mirror of the future. People commented on their similar appearances. Lindsey didn’t mind—she loved the compliments because her mother was beautiful.
