Her Secret Protector

by Roxanne Snopek

  Pansy shrugged. “I’m full of surprises. And there’s always a baby starting to cook, somewhere. How’s your mama these days? I see her in you, you know.” She patted Carrie’s hand again, as if in sympathy. “But don’t worry, you’re still young.”

  Carrie lifted her eyebrows and spoke around a mouthful of butter and cinnamon crumbles. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Although she knew full well what Aunt Pansy meant. Cathy Logan, daughter of Nathan Jackson – Grandpa Nate – headed up numerous church committees, sat on boards and councils and raised funds for whatever needed money. She ironed her husband’s clothing to bright sharp points every morning, never forgot lipstick, and was, generally, a shining star of goodness and light.

  Carrie spent a lot of time wearing sweat pants, in a dark room, muttering to her cat, but she shared the same tendency to tight shoulders and cautious joy as her mother. Whether it was nature or nurture, she couldn’t say.

  “I knew her as a girl, you know.” Pansy reached for another muffin.

  “You knew everyone as a girl. Good thing you walk everywhere. Hasn’t your doctor told you carbs aren’t good for you?”

  Pansy wrinkled her nose, making lines appear between her eyebrows. On anyone else, it would look gnomish. But Pan, with her lanky limbs, wild hair and easy smile, looked like an aging supermodel. Talk about good genes.

  “How can something that makes me so happy not be good for me? This is what I’m talking about, sweet-pea.” She poked her treat in Carrie’s direction. “That Cathy work-work-works and smile-smile-smiles but she’s too brittle. One day, she’s gonna break. That woman needs something. Rolling around with a dozen muffins would be a start.”

  Carrie laughed. “Good luck with that.”

  Her mom’s diet revolved around kale, quinoa, nutritional yeast and bio-identical hormones.

  Pansy quirked an eyebrow. “Makes me wonder what else she’s missing in her life. Everything okay between her and your dad?”

  “Auntie, please.” Carrie winced. Her parents’ love life was right up there at the top of her Don’t-Think-About-This-Ever list. As far as she was concerned, she, Mark and Natalie had been dropped into a cabbage patch by fairies. As five-year-olds.

  “Oh, play spinster with me. I can tell you know what I’m talking about.” Her eyes narrowed. A roguish expression came over her face. “Sometimes there’s nothing a woman needs more than a good-”

  “Aunt Pan!”

  “Oh, well.” She shrugged a shoulder dismissively. “Maybe I thought of you because I ran into that fetching young man that lives to hell and gone up Mission Range Road. You know the one I mean. He bought the old Lewis place. If I wasn’t older than dirt, I tell you-”

  “Stop, I’m begging you.”

  Fetching young man? Up that direction. Carrie’s cheeks grew warm. Did she mean Ethan?

  “Evan something?” Aunt Pan made a face, working a bit of dough out from her back molars. If old age was the price of such self-assurance, thought Carrie, it was a steal of a deal.

  “Erwin maybe? He’s a big, dark pile of a man who fills out a pair of jeans like a cowboy but drives that fancy sports car instead. It’s red, like that old prom dress of yours. Always pictured you in a car like that.”

  She knew that car. Everyone knew that car. It was a sleek Infiniti Q60 with blacked-out windows, a stomach-tickling growl and a custom paint job in, as Pansy said, a gorgeous chili-pepper red. But the vehicle in Ethan’s yard had been a Land Rover. He didn’t have two cars, did he?

  “Sports cars look like fun,” said Carrie, “but they’re useless for hauling equipment.”

  The business line rang downstairs, and Carrie jumped.

  “I’ve got to take this,” she said. Hopefully this would derail Pansy’s Ethan Nash train of thought. Wherever Pansy was going with it, Carrie didn’t want to join her. Especially since the man in question was due to show up in… she glanced at her smart phone. Ack! Any time now.

  “Actually, I’ve got a meeting planned, as well. Thanks for stopping by with the treats.”

  “Take your call,” said Pansy. “I’m in no rush.”

  Carrie ran down the stairs to her office, wondering if she’d have to actually kick Pansy out.

  “Forever Yours Photography,” she said, somewhat breathlessly. “Carrie Logan speaking.”

  The caller was a brand new client that had recently booked a family portrait session.

  “I’m so sorry to do this,” said the woman. “Something’s come up. I have to cancel.”

  “No problem,” said Carrie. She forced herself to smile, thinking of Pansy, waiting upstairs. “When should we reschedule it for? I’ve got openings on Tuesday and Thursday the following week.”

  And Wednesday and Friday, but no need to draw attention to that.

  “That’s okay, I’m not sure… I might be going out of town. I’ll call you when I know, okay? Thanks.”

  The woman hung up before Carrie could respond. She’d sounded odd. Uncomfortable. As if she was lying.

  Maybe she was lying.

  “Have a wonderfully awesome day,” she said into the dead phone. She hit the end button and set the phone down on her desk, a distant thud of fear starting to drum deep in her chest.

  Two cancellations in as many days? Schedules changed, things happened and it wasn’t unusual to shift appointments, sometimes several times, to accommodate her clients’ busy lives.

  That’s not what bothered her.

  It was that, like Bethany, this woman had sounded… odd.

  “You don’t normally get cancellations, do you?” said Aunt Pansy from the top of the stairs.

  “I’m the only game in town,” said Carrie. “So, no.”

  But in these days of camera phones and cheap editing programs, professional photographers were going the way of the dodo.

  “Maybe you need to branch out.” Pansy waved her hand vaguely. “Specialize. Offer something they can’t get anywhere else.”

  “People cancel. It’s no big deal. I really need to get to work though. It’s been lovely seeing you.”

  Pansy was oblivious. “What about wildlife photography? Bear season’s coming up, you know. Or pet portraits? Oh, I know. Babies in teapots, covered with flowers, like that famous photographer does. I can’t remember her name.”

  “Anne Geddes.” As if. Carrie wanted to crawl out of her skin.

  “Or romantic old people pictures. We are the demographic of power, you know. I could drag your ornery grandfather over for some practice poses, if you like.”

  Gross. Carrie pressed the heel of her hand against her forehead.

  “Pansy, I don’t mean to be rude but I’ve got a computer guy coming this morning…”

  “Computers!” Pansy poked a finger at Carrie. “That’s it! The mountain man. He’s into computers somehow. What is his name? Edgar? Reginald? No.” She stroked her chin for a moment. “Ethan! That’s it. Ethan Nash. And, as I understand it, not married in the least. You should look him up. I saw how you enjoyed that muffin, my girl.”

  Carrie felt her cheeks turn various shades of fire.

  “You should see your face, Carrie-mine. All shocked, just like a proper Jackson.”

  “People talk like he’s some sort of gangster, that’s all.” She felt bad, knowing it wasn’t true.

  “What people?” The old lady chortled. “Clinton Calloway? He had his eye on the Lewis place himself, only he couldn’t do it without his wife’s say-so. I’m sure Mr. Nash has the same amount of good and evil in him as the rest of us. Wait. He’s your computer guy. You already know him! Oooh, girl, you do like to hold your cards close to your chest, don’t you?”

  A knock sounded on the office door.

  “I interviewed him for a job,” said Carrie, stretching the truth a tiny bit. “He comes highly recommended and he seemed like a perfectly decent man… person… to me. So I hired him. Now if you don’t mind…”

  Aunt Pansy gave Carrie a good, hard hug, pushed the ba
g with the lone remaining goodie at her, and trotted up the stairs, waving gaily as she went. “I’ll let myself out the kitchen, give you kids some privacy. Have fun, okay? You can tell me everything about your man-person later.”

  Chapter Six

  ‡

  Ethan sat in his car outside Carrie’s studio, listening to the engine grow silent, wishing he’d had some cooling-off time between this and Melvin’s visit.

  He made himself look at the little house. Pretty. An old restored farmhouse, like what the original home on his property could have looked like, had he chosen to save it. White clapboard and shingle siding and even a length of decorative picket fence between the hedges.

  It was postcard perfect, but then again, if anyone knew how to create a pretty picture, it was a photographer. He wondered if she’d taken the same care with the inside of the house. She seemed to be someone who cared about keeping up appearances, if her worry over those relatively tame photos was any indication.

  Appearances. What a waste of energy.

  Man. He had to get a grip on this mood.

  But if Blondie-Amanda hadn’t wanted to lodge an official complaint, who was Calloway to do it on her behalf? The man seemed to have Ethan pegged a mouse to the mayor’s cat and it seriously pissed him off.

  He’d done nothing wrong, and getting Animal Control involved was a low blow. If Calloway managed to get them deemed dangerous, Ethan would have to keep them hidden away on the property for the rest of their lives. Or make them wear muzzles.

  His sweet, smart, beautifully-trained dogs. It didn’t bear thinking.

  Let it go, man. He stepped out of his car onto the cobblestone sidewalk leading to the front door. Rosebushes flanked the gingerbread frontage, except these were blooming enthusiastically, which was more than he could say for the tangled, thorny jungle on the south side of his place. But then, what did he know about roses? He should get rid of them. Or ask Carrie what to do with them.

  A mischievous brown-and-white face peered out at him from the shrubbery.

  “Here, kitty, kitty,” he said. The cat narrowed her eyes, then scrambled under a bush.

  The door opened then and Carrie’s face appeared. “Good morning,” she said. “Right on time. Come on inside and I’ll show you around.”

  Thoughts of the mayor faded as the warmth of Carrie’s smile washed over him. She seemed so at ease with herself, at least, until she started talking about her photos.

  “Nice studio,” he said.

  Family portraiture was obviously the mainstay of Forever Yours Photography, if the numerous photos displayed on her walls were any indication.

  She led him to a smaller room off to the side. “My office. Go on in, make yourself at home. My cat escaped. I have to go find her.”

  “Brown and white tabby?” said Ethan. “Glint of evil in her eye? She’s under the shrub by the front door. I’ll show you.”

  “Oh, thank goodness,” said Carrie. “You’re a lifesaver.”

  That seemed a little hyperbolic, but Ethan couldn’t help but enjoy being on the receiving end of such casual praise.

  When she bent over to get the cat he couldn’t help but admire the view, as well. He felt his irritation over the mayor evaporating.

  “Belinda, Ethan,” said Carrie.

  Ethan reached out to stroke the cat, but when she flattened her ears at him, he thought again.

  “Maybe later,” he said.

  “Belinda,” scolded Carrie. “Come on in. I’ll put her away somewhere safe and get us some coffee. I don’t know about you, but I could use a refill.”

  “Sure.”

  “Oh!” she said, doing a double-take. “That’s your car?”

  A surge of pride ran over him. His powerful, fully-loaded consolation prize got him a lot of admiring glances, but this one, from Carrie, was like an appetizer to his male ego, letting him know that he wasn’t just hungry. He was starving.

  “You like it?”

  “Who wouldn’t? But I thought you drove a Land Rover.”

  “That’s my work-horse. This baby’s for fun.”

  Carrie slanted a look at him. “Must be nice.”

  Her tone wasn’t lost on him. “So now, because I have two vehicles, I’m some entitled rich guy.”

  “I didn’t say that.” She blinked wide, innocent eyes at him.

  “Right.”

  But was that the impression everyone had of him when he drove it through town? Did those admiring glances contain resentment?

  “I’ve worked hard for what I’ve got,” he said.

  “I’m sure you have,” said Carrie. “But lots of people work hard.”

  He followed her back inside, the flush of pride gone, a vague sense of being caught off guard, of being chastened, in its place.

  And the hunger, once awoken, roared inside him. He wished he hadn’t taken note of the way her denim shorts rode up on her thighs, or the length of her legs, or that thin strip of lower back he’d glimpsed as she bent over.

  Surely the dimples along a woman’s spine were one of God’s wondrous gifts…

  *

  Carrie left Ethan in her office and headed over to the local high school. They owed her the final payment for the grad photos and she thought, while she collected, she might see if there’d been any gossip about her. Mrs. Terlecki was always good for gossip.

  She walked through the double front doors and was immediately flooded with memories of her own time within these walls. Pride swelled as she looked at the framed graduating class photos, six of them now, that had Forever Yours Photography stamped on them.

  So many young faces, full of innocence, bravado, hopes and plans. How many, she wondered, had been as crippled by anxiety as she’d been? How many had been desperate to fit in?

  It had taken ten years, but she walked upright and proud now.

  Limping now and then perhaps, she thought as she pushed through the doors to the secretary’s office. But not crippled.

  She hoped to stay that way.

  “Carrie Logan.” Mrs. Terlecki looked up from her keyboard with a frown.

  If anyone had her finger on the pulse of rumor and innuendo in this town, or at least at the high school level, it was the school secretary. She knew which kids were getting into what kind of trouble, and was always happy to contact parents with her information.

  “Hello, Mrs. Terlecki. You must be relieved to see the end of another successful school year.”

  “It’s never over until it’s over. What’s wrong?”

  The woman saw trouble in everything and everyone. Some things never changed.

  “Was everyone happy with the grad photos?”

  “As far as I know. Why?”

  “Oh,” said Carrie. “I haven’t received the final payment. It’s probably in the mail, but I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d drop by, in case you had it here.”

  Mrs. Terlecki didn’t flicker an eye. “I’m sure it’ll arrive any day. I forwarded it, like I do all large invoices, to the school board office.”

  They’d never once done that with her payments. Her checks had always arrived directly from the school. But Carrie knew better than to argue.

  “Oh. Okay. Well then.”

  The secretary shifted a stack of paper files. “I have to say, I was surprised to see that Jessica Palmer back in town. I didn’t think she’d show her face around here again, after all this time. You’re a good girl, Carrie. You’d do well to stay away from your cousin. She’s trouble.”

  She nodded emphatically.

  When they were in eighth grade, Jason Tiller had jumped off the gym roof and broken his leg. Mrs. Terlecki believed Jessica had goaded him into it and had had it out for her ever since. In fact, poor skinny Jason had been suffering from unrequited love and was trying anything and everything to catch her attention. Nobody remembered that though, did they?

  “Can I ask you a question, ma’am?” she said now, hoping she wasn’t making a mistake.

  “Hm. Go o
n.”

  “Have there been any complaints about my work for the school?”

  “The school photos, you mean?”

  “Yes. Or the team pictures or the grad photos. I’ve had some cancellations lately and,” she forced herself to laugh, “I guess I’m getting a little paranoid.”

  “I haven’t heard anything. How many cancellations have you had?”

  “Oh, one or two,” she said, waving her hand dismissively. “But as far as you know, the school is happy with my work? No complaints from anyone?”

  “What kind of complaints would we be getting?”

  Carrie gritted her teeth. “I have no idea. That’s why I’m asking.”

  Mrs. Terlecki tapped a pencil against her lips, thinking. “I’ll ask around. Have you checked with your grandfather?”

  “Why?”

  The woman gave a little shrug. “That’s usually where people go, if it concerns a Jackson. Shows respect.”

  “Since I’m a grown woman,” said Carrie tightly, “I’d appreciate it if any complaints came directly to me. Will you let me know if you hear anything?”

  “I’ll try.” She had a memory like an elephant. If only it was as accurate as it was long. “There’ll be nothing to hear, I’m sure.”

  “Oh, I almost forgot,” Carrie added, hoping it didn’t sound as fake as it felt. “I’ve been getting warning messages about my website being targeted by hackers. Apparently whoever’s been doing it is local. I hope the computer science department has a handle on their students.”

  “Why would anyone hack your website?” Mrs. Terlecki’s skinny eyebrows jumped on her lined forehead.

  “I have no idea, Mrs. Terlecki,” said Carrie, suddenly so tired of how hard it was to maintain the image people wanted to have of her. “Sometimes people just do stupid things.”

  “That they do, my dear.” Mrs. Terlecki gave her a reptilian smile. “You have a nice day now.”

  *

  “So?” said Carrie. “How’s it going?”

  “Good. Fine.” He pushed back the dark hair that fell in messy waves over his temples, only to have it slip back again. She found herself wanting to see if she could smooth it out of his way.